Sunday, July 29, 2012

The Iconic Architecture of Cities

Should architecture endeavor to be iconic? Now more than ever cities are searching for an iconic structure, be it a bridge (e.g. Santiago Calatrava's Jerusalem Chords Bridge), a skyscraper (e.g. Renzo Piano's London Shard), or a museum (e.g. Sanaa's New Musuem), to represent itself to the world. How and why did this trend begin and, most importantly, how might it evolve? I looked at two books, as well as the New Museum's iconic 2007 building in the Bowery, for some answers.

As Sofia Borges says at the beginning of The Sky's the Limit: Applying Radical Architecture (Ed. Klanten, Robert, Sven Ehmann, and Sofia Borges. Berlin: Gestaltin, 2012. P.3), "cities need icons. Icons instill within us a sense of place and collective identity, helping personalize and humanize our built landscape...." Businesses and governments have always sought unique designs to represent their identity but ever since 1997 cities have also jumped on the architecture bandwagon. "The remarkable success of Frank Gehry's Bilbao museum and its corresponding "Bilbao effect" that rocketed an unknown Spanish port town into the global spotlight" greatly elevated the desire for iconic architecture such that "the creation of city identities through architecture became not only a reflection of the cultural value of a given place, but also a strategic marketing tool."

Iconic architecture is indeed often financed with the goal of raising property prices. Anthropologist David Harvey, in his recent Rebel Cities (London: Verso, 2012) argues that cities are integral to capitalist processes of surplus creation. He notes how cities have historically been the object of investment and speculation on a massive scale - and how such investments frequently benefit the city's wealthier residents (Harvey, 10 - 16). Harvey conducts a fascinating analysis that touches upon themes such as monopoly, scarcity, culture, language, authenticity, and profit. One particular term, what he calls "monopoly rent," is particularly important when it comes to iconic architecture and its relation to the urban fabric.

Monopoly rent is different from conventional rent. In both cases an owner benefits from the value of a commodity he/she exploits. The "monopoly" aspect enters into the equation when the commodity possesses qualities that are to some degree unique and/or irreplaceable (Harvey, 90). This kind of monopoly can take many forms such as a vineyard that produces a superb wine or a city block with a central location. However, that unique value can be cultural, such as the the rich history and identity of a neighborhood. Harvey observes that monopoly rent has a curious intrinsic contradiction: "the more easily marketable such items become, the less unique and special they appear." (Harvey, 92). In other words, the facility with which one generates revenue from a monopoly rent commodity reduces its perceived scarcity/uniqueness and consequently reduces its value.

Here's where architecture becomes important. Harvey refers to the Bilbao effect in terms of city's "branding" and "collective symbolic capital" (Harvey, 104). An iconic building that carries cultural value links the space around it to its uniqueness and scarcity (and value). Moreover, I would argue that while a new development of condominiums makes a neighborhood look like its selling out, an artful design gives the impression that a neighborhood is cultured and aspiring to greater things. I think an iconic building can become a thoughtful symbol for the changes in a developing urban space; it can lend identity to a built environment that's being excised of its older structures and residents. It's this new identity that will generate monopoly rent without being perceived as improved marketability.

What's also interesting to me is that the success of the museum in Bilbao is in some part due to the stunningly beautiful contrast between Gehry's museum and the surrounding town (https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiftUeshugKcB1mmEuPUM7ajOTwwm6iyGj5js_ALQXu9EhOGrMj1EDYfQm5VIPo0RY266Tee333-V4xTMA3qPVfMS6IGJ-QSKi8TIKk8BFXdcXILUe2fqmCCxHyUcpG5AMordTq8fH-0w/s1600/DSCF2361.jpg, credit to Mark Whitfield). Such framing and contrast is no new trick; neoclassical and beaux-art designers knew how to magnify the importance of buildings by putting them at the end of a vanishing point in space. One need look no further than the Arch in Washington Square Park or the Helmsley Building on one side of Park Avenue and Grand Central Station on the other.

Where these three threads intertwine, of iconic architecture, monopoly rent, and perspective is at the New Museum in the Bowery. It's an iconic structure in a gentrifying area. Designed by the firm Sanaa, the building itself is composed of several stacked blocks enveloped in a steel mesh skin. The museum sits on Lafayette slightly off center from the terminus of Prince St. Its height, combined with its slight dislocation, allows the building to gradually and dramatically reveal itself as one approaches it. It's more than an iconic perspective; it's an almost cinematic process of viewing as you stop at each street, wait for traffic to stop, and then continue your journey to the ever-growing tower.


Helmsley Building on Park Ave.


The New Musuem 1


The New Museum 2


The New Museum 3


The New Musuem 4


                                                                                        The New Museum 5

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Ancient Greek Kosmos and Craftsmanship

The mural below, located at Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences at NYU, really got me thinking about the ancient Greeks, their architecture, and our contemporary architecture. In the scene depicted we can trace a genealogy of ideas directly from the physics of the cosmos, through the ancient Greeks, through the cathedrals of Europe, and finally (by logical extension) to us and that very building. The legacy of the Greeks loomed large in architecture for hundreds of years. The history of early Western architecture is a tug of war between groups who advocated either "ancient" stylistic conservatism or "modern" stylistic innovation.

What remains of the Greeks in our commonplace architecture today? To be sure, their works and their legacy are still discussed by architectural critics and scholars, but can we see anything of their ideas in architecture that's not designed by top architects? For a Euro-American civilization that prides itself as being the intellectual descendants of the ancient Greeks, is there anything significant of the Greeks in our commonplace everyday architecture?

Indra Kagic McEwen, in Socrates' Ancestor  (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1993), offers an alternative way to look at Greek architecture and partially answer the question of their legacy. McEwen conducts an examination of the philosophical origins of Greek architecture during their Pre-Classical Period (roughly 800 - 500 BCE), arguing for an intimate relationship between architecture, craftsmanship, and kosmon. Kosmon is a "rhythm or order" that is revealed through the works of expert artisans (McEwan, 42). The act of making conducted by the demiourgos, or Greek artisans, showed the divine in the universe.

This is reflected in a number of crafts, especially weaving and shipbuilding. In a fascinating analysis (McEwan, 98 - 120) she argues that the famous Greek peripteral design we all know (think: Parthenon) draws heavily on the perceived eurythmia of ship construction and the construction of the vertical Greek loom. To summarize, she posits that the Greek temple was an amalgamated manifestation of the craft forms (such as the ship and the loom) that revealed divine beauty.

So what's left of that in us? I took a random sampling of photos of buildings in and around NYU and Washington Square Park. On the surface, the conception of order and rationality that Renaissance Europeans interpreted as being central to Greek designs is very prominent. Western architecture, from colonial styles to Modernist designs, seems to have kept a rational and ordered (though not always symmetrical) form that's certainly valued for its austere nobility (especially in this selected university setting). And yet in the final photo there are some fun examples of precise expert craftsmanship just under the surface. Perhaps as a culture we do not perceive craftsmanship on a philosophical/religious level but we certainly value it on a practical level. The rigorous facade system in the final image reveals that our practical reverence is still pushing the boundaries of our technical prowess.



Photo Study 1: Washington Square Park
Mural



Photo Study 2: Washington Square Park
Colonial



Photo Study 3: Washington Square Park
Romanesque/Byzantine Revival



Photo Study 4: Washington Square Park
Beaux-Arts




Photo Study 5: Washington Square Park
Modernist & Gothic Spire



Photo Study 6: Washington Square Park
Modernist

                           

Photo Study 7: Washington Square Park
Contemporary



Photo Study 8: Washington Square Park
Contemporary Facade


Photo Study 9: Washington Square Park
Contemporary Facade System




Thursday, June 21, 2012

Skin vs. Structure in Architecture

It's hard to describe the state of architecture today. It's a field that's always undergoing technological innovation that may or may not interact with concurrent changes in artistic intent and architectural schools of thought.

However, I think that Richard Serra very accurately describes one of the biggest issues in architecture today.  Serra is world-renown artist specializing in large iron structures. He makes his architectural observation in an interview conducted by Hal Foster (a professor at Princeton) in his book The Art-Architecture Complex (New York: Verso, 2011).

In the past, "industrial space was largely defined by the frame and the grid" says Serra. This comment may allude to Mies Van der Rohe, his disciples, and their use of a strong structural grid as the fundamental visual characteristic of their designs. However, as Serra observes, "contemporary space is much looser, smoother, faster - about a movement rather than framing." He adds "it's more related to skin, to surface to extension. Our first relation to architecture is to its skin. That's a big difference." (Foster, 226).

I think Serra could be alluding to any number of architects. Zaha Hadid, whose work is all about surface, visual representation, and doesn't focus on context. Or perhaps the "folded paper" architecture of Frank Gehry, where his building's sculptural surfaces are detached from their interiors.

So can surface and structure be reconciled in contemporary architecture? This question got me thinking about Thom Mayne (of Morphosis Architecture) and his firm's 009 building at 41 Cooper Square. Housing a variety of Cooper Union classrooms, the building wears its surface and its structure on its sleeves. While the ground floor is highly structural in its appearance, the main body also features a metallic skin draped over a semi-visible steel frame. It's a building whose exterior established a clear relationship between surface and structure. The latter shapes and supports the former. This relationship is turn creates a unique sense of space and character that extends beyond the unconventional forms for which Morphosis is known.


 Photo Study: 41 Cooper Square 1


 Photo Study: 41 Cooper Square 2


Photo Study: 41 Cooper Square 3



Photo Study: 41 Cooper Square 4


Photo Study: 41 Cooper Square 5

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Photo Study: 9/11 Memorial


Back in September I had the opportunity to hear Michael Arad speak about his experiences designing the 9/11 Memorial in New York City. I was most struck by how emotional and personal the design was for him. His initial idea for the project, to have two empty spaces in the shape of the towers being perpetually filled with water, came unbidden to him after witnessing the towers fall from the roof of his apartment building. This is in contrast with many memorials (and most architecture) which are a very deliberate design acts as opposed to a profound emotional response.

The memorial consists of a public park space with the two cavities occupying where the two towers once stood. In the center in each collecting pool is a square drain that disappears into darkness. This simple design invites multiple interpretations: about the passing of water and time, the meaning of the union of many streams to form one flow, etc. Above all else it is about anomie and mourning; the acute sense of absence and the meditation upon that absence. The pools are lined with plaques listing the dead: the list reminds us what we are looking at just as much as who we are missing.

The idea of mourning is more than just grief. It can imply a remembrance, even a transportation, to the past. The memorial itself attempts to provide a tranquil medium or a profound stimulus for this act. However, the memorial itself is surrounded by a context that is firmly rooted in its time and place. Reservations and tickets are mandatory, security and electronic surveillance are heavy, and everything is still under construction. The memorial aims to be an oasis of perpetual mourning though the act of entering it and leaving it will always firmly remind visitors of our post-9/11 world.  


Photo Study 1: 9/11 Memorial 


Photo Study 2: 9/11 Memorial 


 Photo Study 3: 9/11 Memorial 


Photo Study 4: 9/11 Memorial 


Photo Study 5: 9/11 Memorial 

Monday, May 23, 2011

Photo Study: Aqua

This will likely be my ultimate post before I go on Summer hiatus; I hope to return to posting in August or September.

"The Aqua" is a fairly recent addition to the Chicago skyline though it has made quite an impression despite being hidden away in the cluster of skyscrapers West of Michigan Ave. between the Chicago River and Millennium Park. It was designed by Jeanne Gang of Studio Gang architects and was completed in 2009. The tower's proportions, which are long and slender compared to most in Chicago, immediately set the structure apart. What truly makes it unique is clearly its waves.

Skyscrapers have an immense verticality that can be exploited for captivating effect. Art Deco towers emphasized their height by featuring unbroken lines that would run along their surface from top to bottom. Mies buildings, with their numerous I-beams running their vertical length, change their appearance as you walk alongside them. The Aqua building presents a different vista; one that morphs as one's distance to Aqua's base changes. It's surface undulates before your eyes, creating a delightful effect. If the sky had been blue I'm sure Aqua's "valleys" and "lakes" would have been ocean azure as well, though the perpetually grey Chicago sky precluded that possibility for today.


Photo Study: Aqua 1


Photo Study: Aqua 2


Photo Study: Aqua 3


Photo Study: Aqua 4


Photo Study: Aqua 5


Photo Study: Aqua 6


Photo Study: Aqua 7



Saturday, May 14, 2011

Photo Study: The Spertus Center

Architecture does not necessarily rely on context, but it is always sensitive to it. Good contextual architecture enters in dialog with its surroundings by conforming, contrasting, or something in between. Most built environments, specifically urban ones, will have a dominant style or architectural tradition. Sometimes a specific site will have complex restrictions (legal or otherwise) with which a designer must contend. Other times there will only be a few simple parameters, such as a limit on height or space that can be occupied.

The Spertus Center is a fascinating example of contextual architecture. Like most buildings on Michigan Ave, it must fill a narrow but long space that is exposed to pedestrians in one limited facade. The Spertus' striking glass grid contrasts well with its surroundings: it fits in its alloted space while creating a memorable spectacle that leaves an impression in any passerby. It's not just the material and modern appearance of the Spertus; it's also its creation of a landscape with highs and lows that makes the building worthy of note.


Photo Study: Spertus Center 1


Photo Study: Spertus Center 2


Photo Study: Spertus Center 3


Photo Study: Spertus Center 4


Photo Study: Spertus Center 5


Photo Study: Spertus Center 6


Photo Study: Spertus Center 7

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Photo Study: The Rookery

It's a common misconception that buildings are designed and built in one fell swoop. Most are built and modified over time by a number of architects and owners in both subtle and less-than-subtle ways. I wanted to look at the Rookery because it's an excellent example of just such a composite structure that is the result of many creative influences.

The Rookery, located on La Salle St., was initially built in 1887-88 by Burnham and Root, a firm responsible for many of Chicago's great early skyscrapers. The building featured a "light court," a large open internal space designed to bring in natural light throughout the structure. The space has undergone two significant renovations; one in 1905 by Frank Lloyd Wright and another in 1932 that added the staircase that begins on the 2nd floor of the light court.

Wright's renovation totally changed the character of the court, though was able to very successfully subsume elements of the old cast-iron decorations (see photo of column revealing the marble's hidden interior). The art-deco staircase similarly works with the existing space, and not against it, despite its return to the cast-iron motif. This court epitomizes the aesthetic evolution of a building, though hides that evolution behind the great craftsmanship that blurs its heterogeneous styles.


Photo Study: The Rookery 1


Photo Study: The Rookery 2


Photo Study: The Rookery 3


Photo Study: The Rookery 4


Photo Study: The Rookery 5


Photo Study: The Rookery 6


Photo Study: The Rookery 7