architecture

Monday, August 31, 2009

Chateau Miromesnil

Chateau Miromesnil is known for it's architectural beauty but also the wooded country in which it sits and its vegetable gardens (seen below). It has also been home to some famous characters. The famous author Guy de Maupassant was born in the chateau in 1850 while his parents rented it for 3 years.
Earlier the chateau had been home to Armand-Thomas Hue de Miromesnil. Armand was made a Knight of the Holy Spirit Order by King Louis XVI and later tried to defend the King at his trial during the revolution. He also abolished the use of torture for those who were imprisoned for supposed crimes. He died here in 1792 and left his fortune to the peasants of his estate.Of course the chateau has its own private chapel, as most ancient estates do. Solid and square -don't you think?
The chateau also acts as a bed and breakfast with very reasonable rates! Can you even imagine staying here? Heaven!
Visit the official website HERE
see information about renting rooms and photos HERE.

Digital Architecture London

The second upcoming event that I want to announce is Digital Architecture London, organized by Ruairi Glynn. That will take place on Monday, September 21st, at the Building Centre here in London. "Introducing the latest developments in digital design practice," we read, "the conference will explore new spaces, social interactions, design and fabrication processes, and speculate on architecture’s post-digital futures."

A related book – Digital Architecture: Passages Through Hinterlands – edited by Glynn and documenting the parallel exhibition, will be released the same day.

The program sounds amazing, and I'm really looking forward to this. The day's complete list of panelists looks like this: Rachel Armstrong, Tony Dunne, Marcos Cruz, and Rachel Wingfield will be discussing "Digital Architecture & Bio-Technology"; Usman Haque, Matt Webb, Tobi Schneidler, and Stephen Gage will look at "Digital Architecture & Interaction"; Brett Steele, Patrik Schumacher, Marjan Colletti, Alvin Huang, and Daniel Bosia will analyze "Digital Architecture & Form"; and Bob Sheil, Hanif Kara, Charles Walker, and Michael Stacey will discuss "Digital Architecture & Fabrication." I will be speaking on a panel featuring Alan Penn, Neil Spiller, and Murray Fraser, and our topic will be "Digital Architecture & Space."

[Images: Two projects from the Hinterlands exhibition: (left) MatArc by Patrick Usborne, (right) Crackology by Mayhem].

Information about venue, timing, tickets, and more can all be found on the conference website.

Optioning Architecture

This weekend in Lund, Sweden, Sir Peter Cook and Abelardo Gonzalez will be hosting the 2009 ASAE conference, the theme of which is Communicating Architecture.
    ASAE is an annual symposium at the School of Architecture, Lund University, Sweden. It celebrates the beginning of the academic year. This year's ASAE will be a two-day event with lectures, seminar, critique, exhibition and more.
I'm still pretty stunned to find myself listed as a speaker, alongside people like Thom Mayne, Odile Decq, and Hernan Diaz Alonso; but I'm also excited by the opportunity to bring blogs again into this sort of organized discussion.

Unfortunately, I'll be speaking first thing Saturday morning! But I'll be giving a talk called "Optioning Architecture." There will be at least two major themes to be developed:
    1) What are the options available to architects when it comes to communicating spatial ideas? Are renderings, plans, and diagrams still the most communicationally effective media to use (from the perspective of the interested public) or simply the most industrially useful (from the perspective of fellow architects and contractors)? What happens when, say, Bernard Tschumi's next building is not announced to the public via well-rendered images and a press release but in the form of a novel? There is also much to discuss here by inverting this scenario and asking: what happens when novelists, screenwriters, poets, and so on begin creating buildings to communicate their literary and narrative ideas, instead of producing texts? While this obviously risks repeating the textualist arguments of an earlier decade, it still seems worth asking what might have happened if James Joyce, for instance, had been a junior architect at KieranTimberlake: what effect might his literary urges have had upon that firm's built output? Put another, slightly cheesy, way: if Mervyn Peake had been a successful architect, what strange and sprawling manor houses might now exist somewhere in the English countryside? In any case, what, in the end, are the communicational options available to architects?
    2) What possibilities exist for "optioning architecture," in the sense that a book, short story, or screenplay can be "optioned" by Hollywood for production in another media? That is, what might happen to the world of architectural design if your final graduate thesis project was to be optioned by Steven Spielberg or David Fincher? Would this be similar, in some ways, to the relationship between Rem Koolhaas's co-authored graduate thesis project, "Exodus, or the Voluntary Prisoners of Architecture," and Rupert Thomson's under-appreciated novel Divided Kingdom? To what extent is the latter a novelization of the former? Finally, would it be possible for someone from DreamWorks to come along, see a new museum under construction in Chicago or Baltimore, and then option it, the way he or she might option a promising novel? Could you literally translate the spatial dynamism and implied narrative logics of a building – could you option them – into an act of mainstream cinema? How might such a process work – and is there a reason why this hasn't yet occurred (i.e. it would be a totally ridiculous thing to do)?
Of course, there are other types of architectural options that we could discuss here – but I'll be focusing on the two ideas described above.

The complete conference line-up includes Florencia Pita, David Garcia, Drura Parrish, Megumi Matsubara, and Daniel Golling. Read more on the conference blog.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Monday, Monday

My weekly page update:
image01sm.jpg
Montauk Residence in Montauk, Long Island, New York by Pentagram Architects.

This week's book review is Le Corbusier: in his own words by Antoine Vigne and Betty Bone.

Some unrelated links for your enjoyment:
architecture buzz!!
"Buzz by architects." (added to sidebar under blogs::architecture)

Blue Architecture
The blog of "Eric McNeal, a licensed architect in the state of Colorado, a LEED Accredited Professional, and the Principal of the architecture firm S7g Architecture." (added to sidebar under blogs::architecture offices)

Emergent Urbanism
"A blog about the new science of building cities." (added to sidebar under blogs::urban)

hugeasscity
"Seductive congestion. It’s what the best cities are all about.*" (added to sidebar under blogs::urban)

Veg.itecture
A spin-off site from Jason Landscape+Urbanism King that "focuses on the representation and implementation of green roofs, living walls, and vertical farming solutions from around the world." (added to sidebar under blogs::landscape+maps)

Today's archidose #349


Manchester Hilton, originally uploaded by Doilum.

The Hilton Manchester Deansgate Hotel by Ian Simpson Architects, 2007.

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Saturday, August 29, 2009

Three DVDs

Recently I saw a string of architecture-related documentaries, one on a famous building, one on a man straddling famous buildings, and one on the suburbs. Here's my thoughts on those three documentaries, all available on DVD.

3dvd.jpg
[image description | image source]

Radiant City is the first of this trio that I watched. It is a documentary on suburbia that is filmed in Canada (Calgary, Alberta) and made by Canadians, but its setting could be anywhere else in North America. Only the accents and occasional reference to "un-American" things belies the generic sprawl that is more often associated with Canada's neighbor to the south. The film is a mix of documentary and reality TV, with some of the usual experts and critics of suburbia (James Howard Kunstler, Andrés Duany) comprising the first and some families living in a subdivision in the suburbs of Calgary making up the second. Both the commentary and the statistics flashing up on the screen were second nature to this reviewer, but the actions of the parents and children of sprawl as they went about their bored and detached lives was particularly humorous, a more scathing critique than the retread lines of Kunstler. Like other books and documentaries on the suburbs, New Urbanism is the alternative that is proffered, though its deficiencies (I've critiqued NU elsewhere, so I won't go into it here) point to the need for another alternative...besides cities themselves.

Next I watched Man on Wire, the story of Philippe Petit's death-defying wire-walk between World Trade Center towers one and two in the summer of 1974. The film combines interviews with Petit and others helping on the stunt with scenes of training in France beforehand, footage of earlier feats in Paris and Sydney, and recreations of the hours before rigging the wires from roof to roof. The documentary does a great job of building the suspense, even though we know the unharnessed Petit survives; after all, he's interviewed in the film. Even though the film was released seven years after the events of September 11, they are not mentioned; in many ways they are not relevant or significant for the story here, except that his stunt cannot ever be faithfully recreated. The fit of fearless wire-walker and Twin Towers is so perfect it seems hard to imagine that it didn't happen, but watching this documentary it's even more amazing that it happened at all. Relatively insignifant events (a security guard pacing, a glitchy walkie-talkie) are painted as if they would make or break the stunt. But this film, the numerous photographs, and the book by Petit on which this film is based are testimony to the daring spectacle. Of course without these documents only stories or descriptions of a speck in the sky would be conveyed, hardly satisfactory relative to what Petit did. His actions tame those of his current-day predecessors, of the celebrities hyping and prancing about their supposedly death-defying stunts that are actually drained of danger. Petit did the opposite: he snuck into a building in the middle of the night and risked his own life nearly 1,500 feet in the air, doing what he loved and trained for all his life.

Lastly, The Edge of the Possible is a ten-year-old documentary on the design and construction of the Syndey Opera House, a masterpiece of architecture with a history almost as well known as its form. Almost everybody knows about the then young Dane Jørn Utzon (38) winning the competition in 1957; the rushed construction; the structural difficulties inherent in Utzon's design; and of course the architect's departure from the project in 1966, never to return to Sydney and see the project completed. But the details on the above tend to be blown out of proportion, particularly Utzon's resignation, which he describes here as amicable, not angry or bitter as is the norm in descriptions of it. Interviews with Utzon at his home in Denmark and archival footage of the construction make this documentary valuable -- and much more entertaining than a Wikipedia entry -- for those interested in the building. It was especially nice to see the various models made for the design, be it the roof structure, the house ceilings or the proposed plywood structure. While the quality and impact of the result is undeniable, the loss of Utzon at a crucial stage brings to the fore the need for a consistent guiding hand, a visionary if you will, but one more nuanced, more focused than today's "starchitect." Utzon moved himself and his office to Sydney in 1963; how many high-profile architects would do the same today?

(Note The Edge of the Possible is now available in a brand new Special Edition with an extended interview with Utzon, extra construction footage, and other bonus features.)

Friday, August 28, 2009

Paris Opera House

One of the things I hope to see while in Paris next week is the Paris opera house by Charles Garnier -especially the ceiling by Chagall (one of my favorite artists!). This sketch by Raoul Dufy depicts the opera house in 1924, long before Chagall started the ceiling - can't you see the similarities? How did he know what was coming?!The Dufy sketch is part of the Phillips Collection here in DC.

Today's archidose #348


Chips, originally uploaded by Doilum.

Chips at New Islington in Ancoats, Manchester, England by Alsop Architects. The firm "prepared the strategic framework scheme design for New Islington" and was "commissioned by Urban Splash to design the first of the proposed residential buildings -- Chips -- by the Ashton Canal at New Islington's southern periphery." Check out the developer's handy commercial and residential brochures in PDF form for more information on Chips.

Recently Will Alsop announced he will be leaving his architectural practice to devote his time to painting and to teach at Ryerson University in Toronto, home to his Sharp Centre for Design.

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Procedural Destruction and the Algorithmic Fiction of the City

[Image: From Procedural Modeling of Cities by Yoav Parish and Pascal Müller].

Note: This is a guest post by Jim Rossignol.

In 2001 Yoav Parish and Pascal Müller spoke at the SIGGRAPH conference in Los Angeles, California, to present a mathematical city. Their presentation contained an algorithmic approach for modeling city-like topologies. The results were remarkably realistic, and were one among a host of city-like generative systems to appear at the start of the decade.

Another, Jared Tarbell's Substrate (pictured) remains a fantastic example of how a mathematical approach to generating apparently urban patterns can also be artful.

[Image: From Jared Tarbell's Substrate].

But it was looking at the work of Parish and Müller that inspired game designer Chris Delay to develop his most recent project: the cryptic (and as-yet-unexplained) Subversion, of which little is known, other than it relies on large, procedurally generated cities for the backbone of its game world.

Having already been burned by the problems of creating content "by hand," Delay set out to let algorithms do the work of building buildings in his new game. Not only that, but he was determined to create an artistically interesting experience without artists.

[Images: From Chris Delay's Subversion].

Of course, videogames have long been the home of procedurally generated landscapes where numbers and mathematical equations played the role of the visual designer. Early paranoid classic The Sentinel made use of these techniques to create an astonishingly atmospheric 10,000 levels in simple vector graphics, from just a few kilobytes of data. Other games have used similar techniques as a shortcut to creating solar systems and vast fractal landscapes.

But when it came to cities, well, it took a long time for anyone to take up the challenge.

[Image: From The Sentinel by Geoff Crammond].

Rather than opt for procedural techniques, game designers usually elect to build their cities by hand, often with startling results. The re-imagined contemporary New York that features in last year's Grand Theft Auto 4 required a small army of well-paid artists and designers to hand-craft the entire world. Their accomplishment is unmatched, but the cost to the company behind the project is in the tens—and perhaps hundreds—of millions of dollars. To build up a living city from blank polygons is one of the most expensive possible projects in game design.

Delay, whose project is being undertaken with a tiny budget and by just a handful of staff based in Cambridge, UK, does not have the luxury of vast content teams. His vector-drawn city is far less realistic than Rockstar's textured, heaving metropolis, but there's nevertheless a beauty to it. It's a kind of mathematical map of the essential urban environment: there are roads, sidewalks, and a no-man's land of corporate moats around great skyscrapers...

Identify the key equation that define urban patterns, and you, too, can summon a city into existence.

Delay has begun to show off how his cities emerge from the ground up in a series of videos, and he spoke to me about the process.

"I started out with road layouts, and then began to modify the parameters," he explained. "Sometimes you'll get lovely radial, spiral patterns, or you can tell it to create a really rigid Manhattan-style grid." One set of numbers delivers the block logic of American cities, another is rather more like the spirals of Medieval European sprawls. The two merge to create something even more believable. "Every subsequent layer builds on the previous layer," Delay points out, "so the very next layer looks for the spaces between layers, and makes judgments about 'is this likely to be a skyscraper, or to be a house?' Then you zoom in, and carry on. You do another procedural generation process for each layer of detail, filling in that world."

[Image: From Chris Delay's Subversion].

A few weeks after speaking with Delay I attended Thrilling Wonder Stories—a seminar at the Architectural Association in London, curated by Liam Young and BLDGBLOG—where I watched conceptual designer Viktor Antonov explain how he had created a science-fictionalized Paris (for a now-cancelled videogame called The Crossing).

Antonov approached the problem by altering just a few parameters in the standard architectural model. For instance, Antonov had noticed a few fundamental details about how the mid-nineteenth century neo-classical core of Paris had been constructed: big street-level floors, smaller attic spaces, complex chimney stacks. By increasing the emphasis on the lower floors, and stretching them out—and by emphasizing the height and complexity of the chimneys—Antonov was able to create a thematically consistent science fiction Paris.

Simply by altering a few basic architectural parameters, he said, you were able to fictionalize the city, whilst at the same time retaining its fundamental identity. His designs were still recognizably—even mathematically—Parisian, in other words, but they were also otherworldly.

[Image: By Viktor Antonov].

This idea instantly connected back to Delay's project: what parameters would we need in order both to understand and create a science fiction Edinburgh, or Sao Paulo, or Vancouver? Identify the necessary fantasy logic within a procedural city-building system and you could recreate cities with their alternate identity in an instant. An accelerated future Moscow, or a retropunk Venice, instantly sprawling out of the monitor.

And perhaps this is not such an outlandish thing to aim for—especially when you consider the speed at which procedural city projects have been appearing across the tech landscape. Could one of these cities potentially be refitted to allow for this type of radical tweak?

Projects like Shamus Young's impressive PixelCity, or Marco Corbetta's Structure seem ripe for such strange fictions. Corbetta's system is particularly impressive in its verisimilitude: he aims to create a basic engine for rapidly generating the kinds of cities that games like Grand Theft Auto 4 require, and consequently doing so for much cheaper.

Could Corbetta's engine come with a Paris or a Barcelona preload, which could then be put through Photoshop-style filters for alternate reality logic in its architecture? A stronger skyline, weirder street furniture.

[Image: From Marco Corbetta's Structure].

More exciting, at least for the thrill-seeking gamer in me, is the fact that Corbetta is aiming one notch higher than any of his peers: he's aiming to make these cities procedurally destructible. His site contains a demonstration video of neatly arrange office interiors and a domestic library being blown to pieces with a machine-gun. What good is an imaginary city if you can't go inside the buildings? What good is a virtual downtown if you can't go crazy with a bazooka? Corbetta's work preempts these questions.

Further, it conjures visions of massive demolition exercises in parallel worlds—entering an Antonov-algorithm for neo-Rome, where gladiatorial escapades see us going through the walls of the coliseum and into the randomly generated plazas beyond.

That, perhaps, is the greatest promise of procedural cities: that soon they'll be real enough that their destruction will seem like tragedy.

[Jim Rossignol is a games critic for Offworld, an editor at Rock, Paper, Shotgun, and the author of the fantastic This Gaming Life: Travels in Three Cities. A full-length interview with Rossignol appeared on BLDGBLOG in May, and he has written a previous guest post, Evil Lair: On the Architecture of the Enemy in Videogame Worlds].

City Laid Out Like Lizard

[Image: View larger].

Last week, Josh Williams, formerly of Curbed LA, emailed with an amazing link to an article, reportedly published back in 1934 by the L.A. Times, about a race of "lizard people" who once lived beneath the city.

"Did strange people live under site of Los Angeles 5000 years ago?" the article asks, supplying a bizarre treasure map through the city's undersides in the process.

[Image: View larger].

Although you can read the article in full through these links, I wanted to give you a taste of the story's strange mix of gonzo archaeology, Poltergeist-like pre-Columbian cultural anxiety, and start-up geophysical investigation squad:
    So firmly does [a "geophysical mining engineer" named G. Warren Shufelt] believe that a maze of catacombs and priceless golden tablets are to be found beneath downtown Los Angeles that the engineer and his aides have already driven a shaft 250 feet into the ground, the mouth of the shaft behind on the the old Banning property on North Hill Street overlooking Sunset Boulevard, Spring Street and North Broadway.

    And so convinced is the engineer of the infallibility of a radio X-ray perfected by him for detecting the presence of minerals and tunnels below the surface of the ground, an apparatus with which he says he has traced a pattern of catacombs and vaults forming the lost city, that he plans to continue sending his shaft downward until he has reached a depth of 1000 feet before discontinuing operations.
The article goes on to suggest that this ancient subterranean city was "laid out like [a] lizard"; we visit a Hopi "medicine lodge," wherein geophysical secrets are told; there are lost gold hoards; and, all along, the engineer's "radio X-ray" apparatus continues to detect inhabitable voids beneath the metropolis.

"I knew I was over a pattern of tunnels," Shufelt is quoted, "and I had mapped out the course of the tunnels, the position of large rooms scattered along the tunnel route, as well as the position of the deposits of gold, but I couldn't understand the meaning of it."

Perhaps this is what we'd get if Steven Spielberg hired Mike Mignola to write the next installment of Indiana Jones.

(Thanks to Josh Williams, and to vokoban, who originally uploaded the scan. Vaguely related: The Hollow Hills and Mysterious Chinese Tunnels).

Thursday, August 27, 2009

The apartment


The theme song from the great 1960 film starring Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine is "Jealous Lover" - a song I love dearly and played about 100x on the piano while home this past weekend. The film won five Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Original Screenplay. Enjoy!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Fill Those Voids

Walking around the Nolita/Bowery area a few weeks ago, I passed by some sites to catch up on construction progress. Disappointingly, but not surprisingly, I saw either little or no progress, a clear sign of the troubles plaguing the realms of architecture, construction and development. These sites include:

Sperone Westwater Gallery on the Bowery by Norman Foster
voids1.jpg
[site photo by archidose; right image source]

Bowery Hotel by FLANK
voids0.jpg
[site photo by archidose; bottom image source]

Nolita Townhouse by Diller Scofidio + Renfro
voids2.jpg
[site photo by archidose; right image source]

Some quick research on the web (i.e. Curbed) indicates that Foster's gallery is moving ahead sloooooowly (if uncertainly), FLANK's Bowery developer is in the throws of foreclosure, and the Nolita Townhouse has made zilch progress since last April. All three projects would be welcome additions to the area, so I'm hoping they don't end up like Diller + Scofidio's earlier Slow House, never to get past foundation work:

voids3.jpg
[Slow House by Diller + Scofidio | image left source, right source]

All in one kitchen

I recently came across this amazing all in one kitchen system. Made in Italy by Meneghini, the mini-kitchen fits into a wood or lacuqered cabinet that looks like a piece of furniture. However, it opens up to reveal 2 electric rings, a sink and faucet, a fridge and 2 storage compartments - magic!I think a cabinet like this would be great for a mountain or beach cottage - or maybe a city studio apartment in NYC where one doesn't cook at home. I immediately thought of the beach huts that Meg at Pigtown talked about last week as a perfect place for one of these contraptions.I especially love this image of the item in wood with a mirrored top. What do you think? Good or bad?

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Landscapes of Quarantine: Call for Applications

[Image: President Nixon addresses quarantined astronauts from the Apollo program; via NASA].

I'm incredibly excited to announce not only that BLDGBLOG will be living in New York City this fall, but that my wife and I will be hosting a design studio there called Landscapes of Quarantine – the results of which will be the subject of a public exhibition at Storefront for Art and Architecture in early 2010.

Meeting one evening a week this autumn in Manhattan, from October 6 to December 5, 2009, up to 14 studio participants will discuss the spatial implications of quarantine, each developing an individual design project in response to the studio theme.

Quarantine is both an ancient spatial practice and a state of monitored isolation, dating back at least to the Black Death – if not to Christ's 40 days in the desert – yet it has re-emerged today as an issue of urgent biological, political, and even architectural importance in an era of global tourism and flu pandemics.

[Image: "Fear of Flu" by Mike Licht].

Quarantine touches on serious constitutional issues associated with involuntary medical isolation, as well as on questions of governmental authority, regional jurisdiction, and the limits of inter-state cooperation. Quarantine is as much a matter of national security, public safety, and agricultural biodiversity as it is an entry point into discussions of race, purity, and unacknowledged discrimination.

Quarantine is also a plot device increasingly seen in novels and films – from the aptly named Quarantine and Albert Camus's The Plague to I Am Legend and The Last Town on Earth – even as it has become a source of arcane technical debate within plans for Martian exploration and Antarctic drilling rights.

The design implications of quarantine stretch from the ballast water of ships to the way we shape our cities, from the clothes in travelers' suitcases to stray seeds stuck in the boot treads of hikers. Quarantine affects the pets we keep, the programs we download, and the machines we use in food-processing warehouses, worldwide.

Quarantine is about managing perimeters, controlling influence, and stopping contamination.

[Image: Cages for the laboratory testing of rats and mice by Innovive].

So how do we treat quarantine as a design problem?

Whether we design something to demonstrate that the very notion of quarantine might not be possible; whether we produce actionable plans for quarantine units, ready for implementation by the World Health Organization in hot zones around the world; whether we create quarantine-themed graphic novels, barrier-based urban games, or a series of ironic public health posters to be mounted around the city, how can we design for quarantine?

Quarantine also offers fertile territory for investigation through cartography and cultural documentation. After all, if we mapped the contents and locations of quarantine facilities worldwide, designed infographics to analyze the spread of invasive species, or recorded the oral histories of the quarantined, what sorts of issues might we uncover?

Bringing these very different techniques, media, and approaches together in the confines of a dedicated design studio will give participants an exciting opportunity to explore the overlooked spatial implications of quarantine.

[Image: A poster for Quarantine, directed by John Erick Dowdle].

We have already confirmed a fantastic list of participants, whose backgrounds include architecture, photography, illustration, games design, sound, landscape, food, and more; we are now opening the studio to a general call for interested participants.

The brief – which you can download here as a PDF or that you read as a JPG on Flickr – explains more; but potential applicants will be working with a truly stellar group as they meet once a week this fall and produce work eligible for inclusion in the "Landscapes of Quarantine" exhibition to be held at Storefront for Art and Architecture in early 2010.

If you are interested, please download the brief – which includes all necessary application info – and contact us at futureplural @ gmail by September 19, 2009.

[Image: Australian quarantine signage].

For ease of reference, I have decided to include the studio brief in full below:
    Landscapes of Quarantine is an independent, multi-disciplinary design studio, based in New York City, consisting of eight Tuesday evening workshops, from October 6 to December 5, 2009, in which up to 14 participants will gather to discuss the spatial implications of quarantine. Quarantine is an ancient spatial practice characterized by a state of enforced immobility, decontamination, and sequestration; yet it is increasingly relevant—and difficult to monitor—in an era of global trade, bio-engineering, and mass tourism.

    Studio participants will explore a wide variety of spatial and historical examples, including airport quarantine facilities, Level 5 biohazard wards, invasive species, agricultural regulations, swine-flu infected tourists confined to their hotel rooms, lawsuits over citizens' rights to resist involuntary quarantine, horror films, World Health Organization plans for controlling the spread of pandemics, lunar soil samples, and more.

    During the studio, participants will develop individual design projects in response to the problem of quarantine, with guidance and inspiration provided by readings, screenings, group discussions, and an evolving line-up of guest speakers and critics. These projects will then be eligible for inclusion in "Landscapes of Quarantine,” an exhibition hosted by the internationally renowned Storefront for Art and Architecture in early 2010.

    By the end of the studio, each participant will have produced a complete design project. This could range from the speculative (plug-in biosecurity rooms for the American suburbs) to the documentary (recording the items and animals detained for quarantine on the U.S./Mexico border), and from the fantastical (plans for extra-planetary quarantine facilities) to the instructional (a field guide to invasive species control).

    Landscapes of Quarantine is looking for applicants who are intrigued by the spatial possibilities and contingencies of quarantine, and who already possess the technical skills necessary to produce an exhibition-quality final design project or installation in their chosen medium. We hope to hear from people at all stages of their careers—from graduate school to retirees—and from a wide variety of design backgrounds. We are particularly excited to announce that we have already confirmed a select group of talented participants from fields as diverse as architecture, illustration, gaming, photography, and sound design.

    The studio is both unaffiliated and independent (there is no college credit), and it is also free (though applicants will be responsible for all costs associated with producing their final project). We will be reviewing applications on a rolling basis until Friday, September 18, 2009, or until all studio positions have been filled. To learn more, and to submit an application, please email futureplural @ gmail with the information listed below.

      1) Name
      2) Email address
      3) Telephone number(s)
      Please indicate the best time to reach you
      4) Mailing address
      5) Education
      • University/college name and country
      • Dates attended
      • Degree
      6) Current affiliations and/or employment
      7) 50-word (maximum) bio
      8) Publications and/or personal blog
      9) Portfolio
      Attach a PDF of no more than 8 pages, or supply a link to online work
      10) 300-word (maximum) statement of interest in the topic of quarantine
      11) Candidate’s declaration
      By submitting your application, you declare the following:
      • I certify that the work submitted is entirely my own and/or my role is clearly stated
      • I declare that all the statements I have provided are correct
      • I agree that, if accepted into the studio, I will participate fully, attend all studio meetings unless previously discussed with the studio directors, and produce a finished final design project
      12) Email addresses for two references

    Landscapes of Quarantine is produced and organized by Future Plural, a project-based, independent design lab launching in October 2009 from a temporary base in New York City. Future Plural is Geoff Manaugh (BLDGBLOG) and Nicola Twilley (Edible Geography).
Finally, a major motivation behind starting Future Plural and hosting the Landscapes of Quarantine studio is to found a new institution without permanent location, dependence on grants, or academic affiliation. After all, as bloggers, why can't we create our own groups, faculties, cultural spaces, and more? By bringing people together, on a project-by-project basis, to explore ideas and issues in a cross-disciplinary environment, we hope to demonstrate that, even in a time of recession, there is a broadly shared enthusiasm for creating something new.

Today's archidose #347


door handle, originally uploaded by d.teil.

A door handle detail in Gottfried Böhm's Maria in den Trümmern (Chapel of Madonna in the Ruins) in Cologne, Germany, 1950.

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Monday, August 24, 2009

EcoCity Hamburg

Hamburg, Germany's new planned EcoCity by TecArchitecture and Arup has received a lot of attention as of late... let's take a look:


:: image via WAN


Wind turbines... check. Green roofs and walls... check. Water and futuristic, semi-biomorphic building forms... check. Reuse of structures... check... Multiple green rating systems... check! Looks like an eco-city...

Ok, I'm being coy, because I think the idea is interesting and it's obviously a sales tool, but I always want to see the social side of the eco. Here's some of the info via WAN: "Comprising ten major structures, ECO CITY offers a variety of different spaces for different purposes, bringing both large-scale industry and creative start-ups together in one, cooperative, and ecofriendly business community. The spaces range from studios to large warehouse and production facilities."



:: image via WAN

So there is a glimmer of social equity with industry + startups... and all living in perfect (yet sort of sterile) harmony... any issues with this particular juxtaposition of old and new?


:: image via WAN

World Architecture News adds some details: "The majority of all visible roofs will be green roofs, serving to slow storm water runoff and significantly reducing the heat island effect of ECO CITY. Green areas will be elevated to the second story where there is more access to air and sunlight. In addition to roof gardens, more than half the site will be covered with vertical gardens, further minimizing the development’s carbon footprint and maximizing leisure space. These raised green beltways will create a microclimate of sorts, allowing workers and visitors ample outdoor recreation space."

As always - nice form... now for the follow through. Read and see more at ArchDaily, and Treehugger.

The Edge

Amongst the huge stacks of reading material that I always seem to accumulate, even while traveling, I have just picked up a copy of Philip Parker's new book The Empire Stops Here. In a nutshell, the book documents Parker's epic tour around the former edge of the Roman empire, "visiting all its astonishing sites, from Hadrian's Wall in the north of Britain to the desert cities of Palmyra and Leptis Magna," the book jacket explains. We're reminded that "the Empire guarded and maintained a frontier that stretched for 10,000 kilometres, from Carlisle to Cologne, from Augsburg to Antioch, and from Aswan to the Atlantic." So why not explore the whole thing?

[Image: Hadrian's Wall].

On page one Parker writes that "I have concentrated deliberately on the edge of the Roman world, on the lands that promised victory, booty and glory and yet so often left the bitter taste of compromise or defeat instead. Here, unique societies developed, distinct from that of the mother-city" – frontier micro-cultures amidst border country that, even today, remains populated with architectural and anthropological evidence of these long-ago evaporated Roman outposts. Outpost tourism, perhaps. Edge-traveling.

It would be a curious project, indeed, to try something similar for a nation-state today, when borders are often fluid and even exportable. In fact, I'm reminded of a plan to "take the UK border overseas," as the Times reported last year, dematerializing the actual national border and replacing it with a series of offices and points of entry maintained far away in the country of origin. Right when you think you've found the perimeter of Britain, it's relocated yet further away, pushed to an airfield or embassy two thousand miles in the distance.

How interesting would it be to set out to explore the edge of a country – only to be unable to find it? China Miéville meets Tlön by way of the UK Border Agency.

For now, Parker's book only seems to be available in the UK – but I've got high hopes for it and plan to report back as I read further. You can listen to a brief interview with the author here.

Dissection of a Cathedral

[Images: All photos by Danny Wills, from his recent photos of Barcelona; I'll print a t-shirt: "Cathedrals are the shape that gravity makes when it takes on the form of a building"].

I couldn't resist posting a few more fantastic photos by Danny Wills, this time of a cathedral in Barcelona.

(Earlier on BLDGBLOG: Doors, Thirds, Bridges, and Doors).

City of Fees and Services

[Image: A parking meter photographed by shooting brooklyn, via a Creative Commons license].

A story I missed earlier this summer reports that Oakland, California, is making up for falling tax revenue by "aggressively enforcing traffic violations."
    The decision is driven by the city's budget woes, which deep cuts to city services alone did not solve. Falling sales and property, property transfer and hotel taxes have contributed to a $51 million decline in revenues.
It's worth asking, though, whether paying "aggressively" increased fees and fines for our everyday use of the city – whether this means road tolls and garbage collection fees or suddenly unaffordable parking meters – is the best financial model for a post-taxation metropolis.

Put another way, if the ongoing recession has revealed, amongst other things, that a new type of city, run along very different financial lines, looms just weeks away – a kind of make-your-own-omelette city of fines, fees, and services, where every ingredient is individually priced – then perhaps the recession might also stimulate a wider debate about what could be called method of payment.

That is, what method of payment do we wish to use when it comes to living in a functioning metropolis? If we find ourselves paying no tax at all, for instance – no income tax, no sales tax, no property tax – would we be happy to pay parking tickets that hit upper limits of, say, $2000 or more each time, if this is what it takes to keep the city running? Conversely, would we be happy to pay more sales tax in order to avoid things like road tolls altogether? How exactly do we mix and match these urban outlays and receipts?

This would seem to cut to some of the most basic questions of what services constitute a city in the first place: what a government might provide and how it is that we will pay for what it offers.

In a distant way, and by means of a long digression, I'm reminded of the oft-repeated idea that nationalized health care would be a mere "hand-out," not a central platform of what any government might do to protect its citizenry.

For instance, one man at a recent but quite bizarre anti-health care rally – during which a U.S. senator apparently praised this very man for his publicly announced support of terrorism – said that "he could trace his ancestors back to the Mayflower and said 'they did not arrive holding their hands out for help.'" Ergo, this man should not "hold out his hands for help" and ask the government for a doctor's visit. Of course, this same argument would surely never be advanced against, say, calling the police, calling the fire department, or accepting the defense of the U.S. military. Yet these are all tax-funded government services.

The bizarre irony for me throughout all of this has been that police officers, fire crews, and members of the military are all, to use this language very deliberately, the most socialized subsector of the U.S. economy. That is, they are paid through what many people would call "government hand-outs." On the other hand, it is these very social positions that are often held up – by these same critics – as triumphant examples of national service and personal heroism. Indeed, it is not entirely inaccurate to say that The Greatest Generation was a generation of near-total tax-funded employment.

If the recent health care debates are to be believed, doctors are not subject to this same sense of national appreciation; they are mysteriously yet fundamentally unlike the police, we are meant to believe, offering services that only private money can afford. But where is the line between private health (diabetes) and public safety (tuberculosis) – and when might this solidify into actual government infrastructure?

Doctors are not like the tax-funded fire departments who we freely call to save us from wildfires, this logic goes, and they are quite unlike the government-supported soldiers who we have stationed in Iraq, Afghanistan, and elsewhere. Surely, then, anyone who relies on the U.S. military to protect them is "holding their hands out for help"?

In this context, it's worth speculating what might happen today if fire departments had, until now, been entirely privatized, motivated to protect you only if your insurance policy was up to date (as, indeed, was the case with the first urban fire departments, and as is now re-emerging in places like California). What would be the reaction, then, if someone proposed that these services be folded into a more general package of government services?

If fire crews, in this model, suddenly became tax-funded and available to all citizens – indeed socialized as part of a shared, city infrastructure – would there be the same level of outrage? One wonders if fire crews might ever attain the entirely deserved levels of public adulation they now receive, if their tax-funded nature was, once and for all, revealed. Protesting citizens, like the gentleman cited above, might never have the stomach to "ask for help" from the government, even if their houses are burning down around them.

In any case, I mention all this because of the urgency with which we need to rethink the world of urban services and the economic basis through which we pay for them. If the tax system, as it is currently operated, cannot pay for the very activities that we once thought synonymous with urbanity, are radical increases in one-off fees a permanent, economically viable solution to this problem or simply an irritating and only mildly effective band-aid? Is it better to pay more, once a year, in order to avoid such fees altogether?

Further, how are we best to judge the effectiveness of increased fines and pay-as-you-go services: by the psychological sense of irritation that a penalty-based system might cause – I'm reminded of parking attendants required to wear bulletproof vests during streetwork – or by the comfort that a lack of taxes might provide?

Or, more measurably, do we judge them by their physical effect on the city?

(Original article spotted via the denialism blog).

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Monday, Monday

My weekly page update:
image01sm.jpg
The Siamese Towers in Santiago, Chile by Alejandro Aravena.

This week's book review is The Miller|Hull Partnership: Public Works by The Miller|Hull Partnership and Pugh + Scarpa: Report 2005 edited by Bruce Q. Lan.

Some unrelated links for your enjoyment:
ReBurbia
The results are in.

urbanSHED
A competition that "challenges the global design community to re-think the current sidewalk shed standard and create a prototype worthy of today's New York City."

Millennium People
A one-month old blog from Jack Self in London. (added to sidebar under blogs::architecture)

caus
The interactive online magazine of the Virginia Tech College of Architecture and Urban Studies. (added to sidebar under blogs::aggregate)

Critique This
"Critique This at the most general level is simply about architecture, but more importantly it is about change. Our mission is to change how the architectural community discusses and views architecture." (added to sidebar under blogs::architecture)

D-Crit
The "new MFA in Design Criticism at the School of Visual Arts, [an] innovative two-year program [that] trains students to research, analyze, and evaluate design and its social and environmental implications."

Reading List: Andrea Cochran: Landscapes

I've had the book 'Andrea Cochran: Landscapes' for a while now, since Princeton Architecture Press (2009) sent me a copy. I've paged through it numerous times, but figured I'd get around to reading it at some point, at least formally, before putting the review together. Well, for a review I have to admit that I didn't end up reading much of it, but rather poured through the pages, scanning, absorbing, and staring at small vignettes of material and spatial form. Much like her work, the book is something to savor and view, but not necessarily an overly intellectual pursuit. This isn't to demean the work at all, as I'm sure there's a weighty sum of theory and background that the work is built on. It's a complement. Like art, you can view it and feel it, rather than read about it and think on it. This book gives you plenty to feel - and really, that's the best part.



I definitely will preface this 'mash note' to say that I am a huge fan of Andrea Cochran's work - and thus this review will focus less on the work than on the presentation here. Between the black stained concrete of the Perry Residence and the wonderfully whimsical Children's Garden (shown below) as some of the first projects I had seen from Cochran, I was immediately struck with the intricate simplicity of materials and form, yet blown away by the power of such restraint.



The book doesn't disappoint, as it is image-rich - offering many views of some of the fine work of the firm. Projects include a quick synopsis, a graphic plan, and both long and detailed views, exploring not just the overall form, but the connections and interplay of corten steel and grass, stainless and succulants, black concrete and decomposed grey granite. For instance one of my favorite projects, the Hayes Valley Roof Garden - shows wonderful composition of form and materials - powerful in plan and in reality.





It's also fascinating to see a larger body of work, connecting the above 2002 project and the follow up Ward Residence, which re-purposes the sinuous forms of Hayes Valley into a similar set piece - including stone and larger trees that were not possible in the rooftop scenario.



There is an opening essay by author Mary Myers describing some of the philosophy of the firm. It's a good read - and mostly a great way of summarizing both the historical origins of modern landscape architecture and the influence of the larger construct of art theory. But this isn't necessarily the type of work that needs words, and it's good to see that there's many more images than long descriptions of project directives. The materials are authentic and the focus on the creation of space is overt. Words would just get in the way.



The imagery of the Brookvale Residence (above) shows a simplicity of plantings, using hedges of Equisetum to create spaces; a different mood is evoked at the Stone Edge Vineyard (below) with native oaks, sculptural bay and olive trees, massing of ornamental grasses and water, in this case the lap pool expanding into a distant vanishing point through a small opening in the trees, with the the contrastingly rusty facade of the observatory building to the right.



While minimalist, the work is definitely infused with a regional sensibility - co-opting distant view and existing vegetation, as well as showcasing the original sculptural approach to landscape - again from the Stone Edge Vineyard and the ancient olive and bays in a simple field of gravel.





The end of the book offers some detailed line drawings of the spaces, which are just a minimal as the landscapes themselves. These are divided into plantings and built elements - giving some idea of the component items of the spaces. For instance, the image below shows the specifics on the Portland Art Museum exterior courtyard - one of the fine examples of Cochran's work locally. As a designer, these are a nice touch to be able to see the specific materials, colors of Scofield pigmented concrete, and plantings.





The above image captures one aspect of the beauty of this book - and why it transcends the typical photogenic monograph by showing wonderful projects, beautifully photographed, and just enough supporting info to make it resource as well. While the intro is worthwhile, and the project profiles are short and sweet - there's some meat to the beauty... even if that may reinforce that you can create poetry with a few simple materials, artfully arranged. It showcases both beautiful planting design, but a different side of the profession of landscape architecture. Thoroughly modern, minimal - yet still somehow verdant and contextual. It's an inspiration to see - if not to read.

[all images included are from the book]