AE30: Wood Masonry

Back in 2011 I included logs as an installment in the "architectural element" series. In that post I looked at buildings, like Piet Hein Eek's study for Hans Liberg, that turned logs 90 degrees from what we usually think of in terms of log cabins. Therefore the exterior walls were made up of the center cuts of logs rather than their bark exteriors.


[Piet Hein Eek's study for Hans Liberg | Photo by Thomas Mayer]

In that post I also mentioned traditional stovewood (or stackwood or cordwood) buildings, where roughly one-foot-long logs were stacked, and the in-between space filled with lime mortar. The main difference between the study above and the more traditional building on the cover of Cordwood Building: The State of the Art by Rob Roy is the presence of mortar. While the study's logs are held in place in front of the steel frame with glue and copper brackets, the wood and masonry of cordwood buildings act together to create monolithic walls; they may not be structural but they bear their own weight.



The distinction can be seen in two more recent projects, one completed and one under construction.
Bert Haller's Seven Easy uses wood logs in a contemporary vein, as a means of creating an image and texture. This is befitting an interior application, where keeping out water, air and bugs is not necessary. The wood wall seen below separates the dining room from the bathrooms.


[Bert Haller, Seven Easy]

The second project is Studio Gang's Arcus Center for Social Justice Leadership at Kalamazoo College in Michigan, now under construction. The building is a "Y" shape in plan with curved walls spanning between the large apertures that are found at the end of each wing.




[Arcus Center | Renderings from Studio Gang website]

As can be seen in the top rendering, the walls sometimes peel in to allow for access to the building, and in other cases openings are created through slits in the wall (above) or with round openings sized similarly to the logs. The construction photo below reveals how the wood masonry basically functions like a brick wall, sitting in front of a wall that has insulation, waterproofing, and vapor barrier.


[Photo by Mark Bugnaski | MLive.com)

This photo of the construction reveals a lot about how the logs and mortar work together. According to Studio Gang, the "wood masonry [is] a low-carbon, highly insulating building method traditional to the surrounding region, updated by Studio Gang to respond to the needs of a contemporary institutional building for the first time." I'm sure when this building is done, these walls will be much talked-about.


[Photo by Mark Bugnaski | MLive.com)

AE29: Archaeological Covers

Less an architectural element than an odd sort of typology, archaeological covers serve multiple purposes: protecting ruins from the elements, particularly rain, and marking a historical site in a way that reinforces its cultural importance. The former could be accomplished through a tent-like structure, but the latter requires something more substantial in terms of form, material and detail. Here I highlight a few recent and historical examples.


[Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr., Casa Grande Ruins National Monument | Photo: Robert Young]

The below archaeological covers are exclusively European, which makes sense given the density of the continent (and therefore the inevitability of building on or near ruins) and the importance placed on history both for cultural and touristic reasons. Nevertheless, an early cover worth pointing out is the Casa Grande Ruins National Monument in Arizona. The second cover on the site was designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, Jr. (the son of the Central Park designer) and completed at the end of 1932. As Ronald Rael points out at Earth Architecture, this cover, which stands to this day, gives greater distance between it and the ruins than its predecessor, such that the ruins can be appreciated as a standalone entity rather than "an introverted and fragile piece of history, wrapped within the security of modernity."


[Sverre Fehn, Hedmark County Museum | Photo: Ilha Lee]

Yet, what distinguishes Olmsted's 80-year-old cover from the more recent examples collected here is the location of the visitor. Instead of traversing the same ground as the ruin, and therefore experiencing the ruin as an object in the landscape, covers like the Hedmark County Museum in Hamar, Norway, situate the visitor on walkways between the ruins below and new cover above. This shifting of the horizon – from ground that is shared to a new, built horizon that gives a God-like, if close-up gaze from above – is an important one for many architectural reasons, among them the spaces created and the role of walls. Forced to confront these considerations, the new covers can interact with the old ruins in ways that distinguishing the two is not always clear.


[Sverre Fehn, Hedmark County Museum | Photo source]

In the case of the Hedmark County Museum, which Fehn started working on in 1967 and continued until 2005, "the interior of the former [late-12th-century manor/]barn is now a constructed landscape," according to Per Olaf Fjeld in his monograph on the architect. Fjeld further writes: "New ramps and plateaus together with the ruins form a varied spatial sequence. The old structures remain untouched with the clear intention of allowing all paths and marks in the 'landscape' to continue their now slowed decay." Fehn's approach, as the other projects here indicate, had a strong influence on the typology of archaeological covers.


[Peter Zumthor, Protective Housing for Roman Archaeological Excavations | Photo: Felipe Camus]

A couple decades after Fehn started working on the museum in Hamar, Peter Zumthor realized one of his first projects, the Protective Housing for Roman Archaeological Excavations in Chur, Graubünden, Switzerland. Wood lamella walls follow the Roman outer walls, "producing a package-like effect which gives a visible form to the location of the Roman buildings in today's city landscape," per Zumthor in his 1998 monograph.


[Peter Zumthor, Protective Housing for Roman Archaeological Excavations | Photo: Felipe Camus]

Zumthor describes the modern steel footbridges running the length of the building as a "raised, a-historical observation level," from which visitors can descend to reach the level of Roman soil. Open-air like the Hedmark County Museum, the archaeological cover allows the sounds of the city to enter the interior, as well as the wind through the wood slats and the sun through dark skylights.


[Peter Zumthor, Kolumba | Photo: Andrew Carr]

Two decades later and Zumthor found himself designing a museum above the ruins of the Gothic church in the center of rebuilt Cologne, Germany. Unlike the previous examples, which cap the ruins with a roof, occupied space (art galleries) sits above the ruins at Kolumba. The line between the open-air archaeological cover at the museum above is visible in the distinction between the solid and the perforated custom Petersen bricks.


[Peter Zumthor, Kolumba | Photo: Andrew Carr]

Like Chur, the ruins in Cologne are traversed by bridges, in this case wending through the slender new columns supporting the building above. 


[Paredes Pedrosa, Public Library in Ceuta | Photo: Fernando Alda]

A similar tactic can be found in the Public Library in Ceuta, Spain by Paredes Pedrosa, although the existence of the 14th-century Arab ruins below the building cannot be grasped from the surrounding streets.


[Paredes Pedrosa, Public Library in Ceuta | Photo: Fernando Alda]

One must enter the building to be confronted by the ruins, which are overlooked by lecture rooms and other library spaces.


[Savioz Fabrizze Architectes, Coverage of Archaeological Ruins of the Abbey of St. Maurice | Photo: Thomas Jantscher]

The last pair illustrates a third technique: Translucent canopies that shade and protect the ruins while leaving the sides open. The Coverage of Archaeological Ruins of the Abbey of St. Maurice in Switzerland covers a gap between the Abbey and a cliff face in a dramatic fashion – 170 tons of stone sit atop the translucent surface like horizontal gabions.


[Savioz Fabrizze Architectes, Coverage of Archaeological Ruins of the Abbey of St. Maurice | Photo: Thomas Jantscher]


[Amann, Cánovas y Maruri, Cubierta de El Molinete | Photo: David Frutos]

The last project is ACM Arquitectura's cover "protecting the remains of a Roman assembly (thermal baths, forum and domus) in the archaeological site of Molinete Park in Cartagena, Spain." Perforated steel plates sandwich the long-span structure to create a solid white cover during the day and a glowing lantern-like cover at night.


[Amann, Cánovas y Maruri, Cubierta de El Molinete | Photo: David Frutos]

AE28: Inverted Topographical Fins

One architectural element I've noticed in a few retail and dining establishments lately is what I'm calling "inverted topographical fins," which are made from tightly spaced parallel strips of wood that vary from one strip to another to create contours. It's a tactic that can be seen in perpendicular and larger form in Studio Gang's Aqua Tower. Formal gestures like these always take me back to a Shinkenchiku competition from the 1990s, in which the winner reconsidered Philip Johnson's Glass House by making a box of parallel planes of glass where the "rooms" were created by the change in the openings cut in each pane. (A realized project in this vein is the Laminata House.) But divorced from the wider architectural concerns (facade, structure, weather, etc.) of those precedents, the below three projects are free to use the wood to shape space and create a certain ambiance through the contours and varying degrees of transparency, depending on one's orientation to the fins.



[Spar Supermarket in Budapest by LAB5 | Photos: Zsolt Batár | Via Dezeen]

A portion of LAB5's design for Spar Supermarket uses the inverted topographical fins to display wine bottles and "to create a unique atmosphere," as they intended. Some of the fins "curl up" at the wall, allowing the shelving in between the planes to be of a more suitable dimension. The dark structure and systems above the ceiling accentuates the latter's contours, while the lighting creates dimples in the contours in some areas.



[Banq Restaurant in Boston by NADAAA | Photos: John Horner | Via World-Architects]

NADAAA describes the ceiling in the aptly named Banq Restaurant (housed in the old Penny Savings Bank) as "a landscape, undulating in relation to the [mechanical] equipment they conceal overhead." Like Spar, the undulating slats extend to the floor at times, covering columns and walls and making the expression all the more extensive.



[Pastry Shop in Gondomar, Portugal, by Paulo Merlini | Photos: João Morgado]

Architect Paulo Merlini focused on luring people into this pastry shop from outside, thereby focusing on light and the ceiling as the means of doing so. Further he determined that the design should "break the sound waves and refract the light," to creating a pleasing space to be in. The strips of wood "melt" in some areas to resemble cake topping, according to the architect, hopefully spurring the customers to buy some pastries through the association.

Update 01.11: Thanks to an anonymous commenter, here's a much earlier precedent, Isamu Noguchi's lobby design for 666 Fifth Avenue:




Update 01.14: It's worth showing dECOi's OneMain Street (Boston, MA) office refurbishment, thanks to another anonymous comment:

AE27: Honeycomb Oculi

Nature has a good way of explaining to us humans how things can be structured. Think trees, termite mounds, beehives, the list goes on and on. A couple recent projects made me think of the latter -- beehives -- for the way they are structured with hexagonal, honeycomb like modules. Neither regular nor mimicking beehives, these two projects have another interesting thing in common: at the apex of each cell, if you will, is a round opening, an oculus that makes each the enclosure porous.

The first project is the Picoroco Wall from Emerging Objects (design by onald Rael, Virginia San Fratello, Seong Koo Lee):


It is a freestanding wall system with a "variegated pattern [that] allows for views and light to pass through in some areas of the wall, but not in others." The front (above and below) lets the cones and holes come to the fore, but the underlying geometry is apparent where the aggregated pieces meet.



But it's the back of the 3d-printed wall (below) where we can see the structural geometry: hexagons, but also pentagons and the occasional trapezoid. A regular orthogonal grid of vertical and horizontal pieces add additional structural support.



The second project is the “Pavilion for one Summer” by Manuel Fabian Hartmann and his team from the University of Innsbruck:


Unlike the Picoroco Wall, this installation was constructed free of CNC, robotic, and other hi-tech techniques. This isn't to say computers did not play their part, for the modeling of the form was derived in the computer, with help from Buro Happold. After finding a decent pavilion form, the class researched "so-called D-Forms or simple curved surfaces, [and] 30 D-Forms were arranged in a voronoi-pattern on the generated form. By intersecting these forms with each other and the main form, the corresponding structure was developed."



Underlying the whole design are the hexagonal elements that bow out to the round openings. Therefore the pavilion is less about shelter from the elements (as the name makes clear, it was constructed and meant for only one summer) than in creating an enclosure that changes one's way of seeing the surrounding landscape of Alberschwende in Vorarlberg, Austria.



Believing that other projects must use what I'm calling "honeycomb ocluli," I searched the Internet and found the Shellstar Pavilion by Matsys (photos by Dennis Lo):


The way this installation in Hong Kong encloses space is similar to the pavilion in Austria (both were modeled similarly on the computer via D-Forms), but here we see the introduction of structural elements: ribs span from one clustered base to another. The secondary structure of the hexagons (below) is made by the exterior panels themselves, which are folded down and zip-tied together. 



But are the arching ribs necessary? Yes, to achieve this particular form. But as the time-lapse video of the construction process below shows, the hexagonal pieces, once clipped together, are quite malleable and lightweight, meaning they can be hung, draped, or structured to enclose space in a variety of ways.

AE26: Squeezeboxes

Today a press release from Portuguese office AND-RÉ about their new BIOMED Research Center in Coimbra landed in my inbox. Here's a view of the design:


[BIOMED Research Center by AND-RÉ | image courtesy the architects]

The renderings reminded me of a project from Trahan Architects, the River Center Library (2010):


[River Center Library by Trahan Architects | image source]

These designs are what I'm calling Squeezeboxes. Unlike exteriors that are serrated in one direction (here's an example), these work in two directions: angling towards the corners at top and pinched near the middle in the above. Another project, 11-19 Monument Street by Make Architects (2006), is oriented vertically, but the same angular lines are apparent.


[11-19 Monument Street by Make Architects | image source]

Of course, calling something a Squeezebox begs movement. Perhaps the Tango series by Victor Enrich, which implies movement through various images, could someday be a reality. The architecture may be mundane, but the imagined transformation is much more radical than the above buildings...though it's more Slinky than Squeezebox.


[L-R: Tango 1, Tango 3, Tango 4 by Victor Enrich Photography | image source]

AE25: Umbrellas

[The Umbrellas by Christo and Jeanne-Claude | image source]

In art and architecture the term "umbrella" makes me think of a couple things: 1-Christo and Jeanne-Claude's installation The Umbrellas in Japan in 1991 (above) and 2-abstractions of the term in building design, such as Eric Owen Moss's piece "The Umbrella" in Culver City, Brooks + Scarpa's Solar Umbrella in Venice, California, and the much-hyped Metropol Parasol in Sevilla, Spain by J. Mayer H. In the first, the installation looks like umbrellas but don't really function as such, since they arbitrarily litter the countryside. In the second, the buildings, or parts thereof, mimic the function of umbrellas without resembling them. Yet a couple recent projects come close to the appearance of Christo and Jeanne-Claude's artscape while functioning as umbrellas (providing shade and shelter).


[HTO Urban Beach, aerial photo by Tom Podolec | image source]

HTO Urban Beach was completed in 2007 to a design by Janet Rosenberg + Associates, Claude Cormier Landscape Architecture + Urban Design, and Hariri Pontarini Architects. The beach and the larger HTO Park are part of an even larger redevelopment of the city's waterfront, of which HTO is an early piece. The yellow umbrellas are found in the sandy area close to the water. From above they look like normal everyday beach umbrellas that people pitch into the sane in beaches from New Jersey to Nice, France, but from below...


[HTO Urban Beach, photo by Neil Fox | image source]

...It's clear that the umbrellas are permanent fixtures, mounted to poles that are anchored to the sand and the adjacent walkways. They stand straight up and look to be at least eight feet high, bold splashes of color that help draw people towards the water from the inland side of the park. I'm guessing that Claude Cormier is responsible for this element in the park/beach, since other projects on his web page utilize umbrellas of other colors. One is the Urban Beach at the Old Port of Montreal (below), currently in development.


[Urban Beach at the Old Port of Montreal, rendering | image source]

A rainbow of color is found in the umbrellas that cover the Centro Abierto de Actividades Ciudadanas (CAAC) in Córdoba, Spain by ParedesPino Studio (below). The umbrellas in various colors, sizes, and heights cover an equally colorful grid of paving that is used for recreation and commerce. Shade seems to be the driving consideration, as is the "fifth facade" seen by the surrounding buildings. Interestingly, Claude Cormier admits that the HTO Urban Beach is influenced by Georges Seurat's Un dimanche après-midi à l'Île de la Grande Jatte; from above the CAAC's colorful dots also recall the pointillist masterpiece.


[CAAC, aerial photo | image source]

Yet from below the umbrellas are merely white. Perhaps this is so as not to compete with the quilt-like paving pattern or the people and colorful wares that will find their way into the space between the circles and squares.


[CAAC, photo by Jorge Lopez Conde | image source]

AE24: Undulating Metal Fins

[Aomori Nebuta House in Japan by molo design (2011) | image source]

A recent building getting a good amount of press lately is the Nebuta House in Aomori, Japan by molo design. The architects describe it as "a unique cultural building inspired by the craftsmanship and spirit of Aomori's Nebuta Festival ... a form of storytelling during which heroes, demons and animals from history and myth come to life as large-scale, paper lanterns (Nebuta) illuminated from within. The building is a house for these mythical creatures, functionally meant to share the tradition, archive the history and nurture the future of this unique cultural art form." The most notable formal aspect of the building is the wrapper of "twisted steel ribbons, each shaped to create variation: openings for light, areas of opacity, views, or opportunities for pedetrian circulation."


[Aomori Nebuta House in Japan by molo design | image source]

These ribbons, what I'm calling undulating metal fins, seem to be a recurring architectural element of late, the next step of straight projecting fins -- be they glass, metal, wood, or some other material -- that can be found on many facades, from cultural institutions to corporate campuses. An early example of undulations in metal can be found in the Central Signal Tower in Basel, Switzerland by Herzog & de Meuron, predating molo's building by over a decade. The earlier design undulates copper fins in a horizontal orientation to allow ventilation from the primarily solid cube; it elevates a typically mundane industrial structure into something mysterious and poetic. Molo's design turns the metal into fabric, as if the facade is draped from the roof, solidified into place after a breeze.


[Tenleytown-Friendship Library in Washington, DC by The Freelon Group (2011) | image source]

The Freelon Group's design for the facade of the Tenleytown-Friendship Library in Washington, DC, resembles molo's ribbons, in terms of color and direction, if not in undulation. Here the metal fins are angled to control daylighting, but it also gives a variable impression to the exterior, from transparent to solid. To put it another way, undulations across the facade are implied by one's perspective, rather than the manipulation of the fins. The same can be said if the pieces projected perpendicular from the glass wall behind, but the effect is more apparent with the angle, which varies depending on the facade's orientation.


[New Carver Apartments in Los Angeles, California by Michael Maltzan Architecture (2009) | image source]

In Michael Maltzan's design for the New Carver Apartments in Los Angeles, metal fins are used in the central courtyard, a circular space inside the spiral plan with a serrated exterior. The fins jog as they rise to give the cylindrical space a dynamism it wouldn't otherwise have. It's quite cinematic. And while the fins themselves don't undulate like molo's design, their angles give the effect of such.


[ThyssenKrupp Quarter in Essen, Germany by JSWD Architekten and Chaix & Morel et Associés | Photograph by Christian Richters | image source]

What may come to mind when speaking of implied movement and undulations is, well, actual movement. Some facades these days go that extra step and use operable fins to control daylight, but none is more impressive than the ThyssenKrupp Quarter in Essen, Germany by JSWD Architekten and Chaix & Morel et Associés. The louvered stainless steel fins of one building (above) aren't simple rectangular pieces; instead they zig-zag up the building, alternating with the neighboring fins to fit snuggly when closed but can appear folded or even totem-like when open, depending on their positioning.


[Carriage House in New York, NY by Christoff:Finio Architects (2008) | photos by archidose]

Getting back to literal undulating metal fins, here are a couple small projects that twist metal bars as they rise from the ground to the floor above; one I've seen in person (above, the Carriage House by Christoff:Finio Architects), while the other is in Hort Park in Singapore (below). I don't know any details on the latter, but the former impressively holds its own next to much bigger neighboring buildings designed by Richard Meier, Asymptote Architecture, and Daniel Goldner Architects. The fins control visibility into a transition space between the alley and house, but they also create a lovely texture from a simple gesture (the bars twist 90 degrees and alternate to create the pattern).