20.6.10
Balance
Balance is the latest installation piece by artists Dwayne Bohuslav and Joanne Brigham, who together perform as Moving Bodies. Their art typically addresses the most primal aspects of our existence and that of our planet, here using the theme of vernal equinox for a show that opened on the date thereof.
Though their themes are often primal in nature, addressing topics such as ice, human instinct, myth, and habitation, their palette of materials is a modern one that attempts to reconcile these ancient themes with our modern lives, and discourage our ever increasing distance from a life engaged with the planet.
Many of their pieces are designed by Bohuslav, who is also an architect, and occupied by Brigham for a performance of her sound works. This synthesis of space making with occupation encourages comparisons to the primitive hut, which is furthered by the ad hoc quality of the workmanship and which again attempts to reconcile modern life with our roots, just as it first did in the writings of Laugier in the 18th century. That the installations are opened as a performance, a movement from within, rather than object installed in space for our consumption as is typical, demonstrates to the viewer our connection to these themes by showing how they may be occupied. Past themes have allowed for the art viewer to be art participant, as they were encouraged to walk through elevated constructions where they set off sonic constructions and lights through motion detectors.
This piece, Balance, while scoring the vernal equinox in its tilted frame, also took inspiration from the Japanese Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, which tells of a baby girl found inside a bamboo shoot and ends with her return to the Moon, from which she originally came. The story of something/someone from the earth returning to the heavens is a common theme through the ages, and exemplifies our desire to make sense of our place in the realm of things, and reconcile our life on this surface with the sky above. The scale change in the Japanese story, from bamboo shoot to Moon in the heavens, is typical of Japanese philosophy that finds equality between the tiniest detail and largest gesture. In the Bohuslav work, one finds a massive structure overhead giving birth to small suspended bottles, scaled to ones hand, and making sense of "balance".
Many of the works by Bohuslav and Brigham are suspended from above with the viewer passing beneath, so that present in these pieces are representatives of the earth and heavens, thereby posing a meeting of body and mind, instinct and learned, and in the end, an articulation of our presence on earth.
12.6.10
House Holman
It's not often that you're able to compare a painting with a work of architecture, but i thought i'd take the opportunity to do so with House Holman, constructed in 2004 near Sydney, Australia.
This house has received a lot of attention due to its dramatic siting, and its unusual for a house, even one with a substantial budget, to live up to such a site, much less to exceed it. The house is perched on a 70 meter cliff overlooking the ocean in what is otherwise a completely unremarkable suburb. You will never see pictures of this house from the street, because the house is sited so as to rid itself of its mundane neighbors.
The designers, Durbach Block Architects, have said the inspiration for the house came from "The Bathers", a painting by Picasso i was unfamiliar with.
Picasso did another work called "The Bathers" in the '50s, but i see more of this painting in the house than the later piece, so i'm assuming it to be the painting from 1918. Its easier to understand the link between the house and the painting if you see the plans:
This house has received a lot of attention due to its dramatic siting, and its unusual for a house, even one with a substantial budget, to live up to such a site, much less to exceed it. The house is perched on a 70 meter cliff overlooking the ocean in what is otherwise a completely unremarkable suburb. You will never see pictures of this house from the street, because the house is sited so as to rid itself of its mundane neighbors.
The designers, Durbach Block Architects, have said the inspiration for the house came from "The Bathers", a painting by Picasso i was unfamiliar with.
"The Bathers" 1918
Picasso did another work called "The Bathers" in the '50s, but i see more of this painting in the house than the later piece, so i'm assuming it to be the painting from 1918. Its easier to understand the link between the house and the painting if you see the plans:
Level 2
Level 1
The most notable feature of the painting is the composition of the figures. Two of them are resting on the beach, and belong to it compositionally as their figures are mostly enveloped by the beach. The third figure, by contrast, is standing and expressively enchanted with her visit to the beach, with arms undone and playing with her hair as she gazes upward . She breaks the edge of the beach and that of the horizon, as if to express her joy as a limitless one, belonging more to the clouds than the earth, pointedly expressed here by her white striped bathing suit foretelling the clouds above. Her suit is blue, and here again Picasso identifies her as belonging more to the sea and sky than the earth below.
House Holman, like the figures in the painting, is both anchored to the earth and fleeing to the sea and sky, as you can deduce by the plans above and the pictures below. It seems also, i think, to express as much joy as the woman in the painting.
The beautiful, sinuous forms of the Living/Dining spaces (02, 03 in plans above), dancing on a couple of columns and extending to the sea and sky in two different directions, have a dual nature in that they also inform the inflected space below (10), carved into the earth/context below and referencing a cave in its form, so as to reconcile earth and sky. This same spacial device is also used to define the courtyard space that leads to the pool, where the apparently free form of the living space is disciplined into a conforming part of a semi-circular formal court that appears to emerge from the edge of the cliff, along which one walks on the stepped approach from the pool, and again reconciling earth and sky; the nature of a cliff.
The approach to the court
Living space setting up the formal court to the right
Entrance from Courtyard
View from Kitchen to Courtyard
Sea and sky
7.6.10
The Plan
i thought i would add a sniff of my current favorite archy magazine, The Plan. Its published in Italy, so its not cheap, and in fact i rarely buy it due to $18.50 a copy. Thats because i'm stupid; its essentially a book and $18.50 is cheap for a book.
The project selection is always interesting, the drawings beautifully done, and there is a focus on how building are put together as well as the usual pretty pixies. Czech it!
The project selection is always interesting, the drawings beautifully done, and there is a focus on how building are put together as well as the usual pretty pixies. Czech it!
2.6.10
Packages 1
Every now and then, you run into packaging that strikes you as beautiful. i remember thinking that Parkay (and maybe others used the same packaging) had a beautiful package concept, which had to do not with the graphics, but the package itself. It opened in such a way as to foretell the delivery and shape of the item inside, which in this case was a stick of not butter. i haven't seen this package in years, so i guess its been poofed. The old style match boxes had a similar design, with a box within a box, one sliding with respect to the other, so as to embody a foretelling of the lighting of the match on the side of the exterior box, which i think is a beautifully simple, though most likely unnoticed, way of packaging matches.
Another favorite package is the Wiffle packaging for both ball and bat.
The problem, i imagine, wasn't an easy one to solve. How to package a small round object with a thin object, 32 inches long? The solution was brilliant. A simple cardboard construction is placed at the end of the bat that is held in place by the friction created through the fitting of its (slightly smaller) hexagonal shape over the cylindrical form of the bat.
This shape is then ingeniously cut along the folds of the hexagon to allow it to open and accommodate the larger "circle" of the ball, after which the cardboard returns to its original form of a hexagon to create closure. The two differing diameters of bat and ball are reconciled through the manipulation of this single hexagon. But thats not the end of it. Even more excitement! The cardboard, after returning to its hexagonal form, is now perforated on half the creases, with the intent that it be opened here in order to get the ball out. After doing so, these "freed" ribs, through the nature of their geometry, can be bend down upon themselves so as to form a nest for the ball to sit in, against the back ribs which have remained upright.
At this point, a single person can put the ball in the nest, toss the ball into the air, and hit it with the bat. In this brilliant packaging, the ball is reconciled with the bat, both prior to purchase and after, and from a formal standpoint, manifests that line, as bat, is but a series of many points (ball). Nothing but clarity. Now go out and play.
Another favorite package is the Wiffle packaging for both ball and bat.
Hexagon to circle
This shape is then ingeniously cut along the folds of the hexagon to allow it to open and accommodate the larger "circle" of the ball, after which the cardboard returns to its original form of a hexagon to create closure. The two differing diameters of bat and ball are reconciled through the manipulation of this single hexagon. But thats not the end of it. Even more excitement! The cardboard, after returning to its hexagonal form, is now perforated on half the creases, with the intent that it be opened here in order to get the ball out. After doing so, these "freed" ribs, through the nature of their geometry, can be bend down upon themselves so as to form a nest for the ball to sit in, against the back ribs which have remained upright.
Package, broken but showing closure of ball
Nest
At this point, a single person can put the ball in the nest, toss the ball into the air, and hit it with the bat. In this brilliant packaging, the ball is reconciled with the bat, both prior to purchase and after, and from a formal standpoint, manifests that line, as bat, is but a series of many points (ball). Nothing but clarity. Now go out and play.
29.5.10
Cambridge Public Library, MA
The original Cambridge Public Library, a Richardson-romanesque influenced building built in 1888 by Van Brunt & Howe, was recently renovated and added onto with a very modern addition by William Rawn Associates. The addition has been well received, and the city should be applauded for encouraging a contemporary solution for the addition.
The contrast between the two buildings is instructive. The original building, in heavy, articulated masonry with volumes defined through the use of geometry rather than material change, establishes a clear civic presence with a central tower set about the clearly defined entrance and reading room. There is a recognition here that society is bound by its institutions, and that government, as the organization of society, is a good thing that has the potential to improve our collective being, and especially so when it is representative of the people it is organizing.
The addition, by contrast, presents the ideal of civic responsibility and identity as a much weakened proposition. Its appearance is not of library any more than it is of corporate headquarters or large house, except for its attachment to something so clear as to be a library, or its mother, a church. Solidity and groundedness have been replaced with transparency and airiness, and the assuredness of stone replaced with the tenuousness of hundreds of maintenance seeking motors making countless adjustments to movable louvers and foils, so as to enable the near complete transparency.
The new addition is slick. But its only mediocre architecture. Its attraction is the transparent bar that presents itself as the new identity of the Public Library, but this bar is not much more than a kit of parts shipped over from Germany and extruded the requisite length. It's more about technology than space making, and is emblematic of the current fetishizing of facades over space making/defining. For all it's articulation, it's completely inarticulate, with entrance noted only as a horizontal plane hovering over the doors. Entrance exists as an intrusion through expensive German technology, and with respect to the facade appears incidental in its placement, though located on axis with Trowbridge St.
One doesn't arrive at this building; one passes through two bars until confronted with a fourth bar at an elevated position. As you can infer from this description, this is another "bar" scheme, consisting of laminated bars through which one (effortlessly) penetrates upon entry, a bit like chomping into a wafer bar. One can observe these layers, but they are so subtly articulated that passing through them doesn't add to the experience, as each bar is equally open and light, in contrast to the original building, in which each volume is highly articulated, sequenced, and dark. The first bar in the new addition is a reading room and shares the curtain wall; this space can be understood as a Loggia of sorts, and is no doubt a pleasant place to sit and casually read. I say casually, because with the near total openness one is constantly subject to distraction. This is an interesting contrast with the old building, and points to the difference in attitude and culture between the eras. It's as if the new wing had a set mission to articulate the multitasking distracted citizens of today with a library intent on reinforcing those traits.
The contrast between the two buildings is instructive. The original building, in heavy, articulated masonry with volumes defined through the use of geometry rather than material change, establishes a clear civic presence with a central tower set about the clearly defined entrance and reading room. There is a recognition here that society is bound by its institutions, and that government, as the organization of society, is a good thing that has the potential to improve our collective being, and especially so when it is representative of the people it is organizing.
The addition, by contrast, presents the ideal of civic responsibility and identity as a much weakened proposition. Its appearance is not of library any more than it is of corporate headquarters or large house, except for its attachment to something so clear as to be a library, or its mother, a church. Solidity and groundedness have been replaced with transparency and airiness, and the assuredness of stone replaced with the tenuousness of hundreds of maintenance seeking motors making countless adjustments to movable louvers and foils, so as to enable the near complete transparency.
The new addition is slick. But its only mediocre architecture. Its attraction is the transparent bar that presents itself as the new identity of the Public Library, but this bar is not much more than a kit of parts shipped over from Germany and extruded the requisite length. It's more about technology than space making, and is emblematic of the current fetishizing of facades over space making/defining. For all it's articulation, it's completely inarticulate, with entrance noted only as a horizontal plane hovering over the doors. Entrance exists as an intrusion through expensive German technology, and with respect to the facade appears incidental in its placement, though located on axis with Trowbridge St.
Facade as composition of volumes/elements
Facade as tool of light delivery and temperature control
One doesn't arrive at this building; one passes through two bars until confronted with a fourth bar at an elevated position. As you can infer from this description, this is another "bar" scheme, consisting of laminated bars through which one (effortlessly) penetrates upon entry, a bit like chomping into a wafer bar. One can observe these layers, but they are so subtly articulated that passing through them doesn't add to the experience, as each bar is equally open and light, in contrast to the original building, in which each volume is highly articulated, sequenced, and dark. The first bar in the new addition is a reading room and shares the curtain wall; this space can be understood as a Loggia of sorts, and is no doubt a pleasant place to sit and casually read. I say casually, because with the near total openness one is constantly subject to distraction. This is an interesting contrast with the old building, and points to the difference in attitude and culture between the eras. It's as if the new wing had a set mission to articulate the multitasking distracted citizens of today with a library intent on reinforcing those traits.
The East Elevation is all about articulating the bars
One of the saddest aspects of the new wing is the way it eviscerates the original library. The main entry to the complex is now through the new wing, and the circulation bar provides connection to the original building, which still houses a reading room and a "teen room", along with some other functions. The original entry is now a dead end conference room of some sort, with the loggia infilled with glass. The steps now have blocks set on them, centered on the arches, to emphasize that entry "no longer happens here".
It's too bad the original building couldn't be retained as the entrance to the new complex. Its a much more dignified building, and its sad to see it relegated to corner reading room. There would have been accessibility issues, and perhaps the programming would have had to be revised a bit, but it would have been a more satisfying solution.
24.5.10
Arakawa
Arakawa died last week. If you aren't familiar with his work, its because you've been swimming the mainstream and have concerned yourself with "serious" architecture over the friskiness and occasional bizarreness of the near fringes, though perhaps Arakawa wasn't so near. i'm nearly as guilty as anyone, though was exposed to his (and his partner's) work a couple of years ago when the Bioscleve House was published online. i remember a grin passing over my face when i first saw it. For the most part, as architects, we are subject to and have bought into the norms of our profession and those of the public at large: planar walls set in orthogonal composition, a bit of window trickery, a color here and there, yawn. Of course, there are the starchitect and one-off exceptions, but they, too, generally fulfill our expectations as to how "proper" and "correct" architecture should behave.
Thankfully, there have always been some freaks out there. The Dean of my school told me the only time he ever walked out of a guest architect's lecture to the school was after the architect showed a slide of some detail the Dean thought was a violation of the architect's duty to protect the safety and well being of the Public. That architect was Bruce Goff. i loved the idea that he could get our Dean so upset as to walk out of a lecture, but that was just my ignorance as a student interested in rebellion. Bruce Goff wasn't so interested in making people angry as following what he believed in, and Arakawa was just such a visionary.
People have been making fun of the fact that he thought people could avoid death through the making of a specific architecture. And like many an evangelical who promised the absurd, his death has made clear the absurdity of his view, though i suppose one could always take refuge in the thought he just got his forms wrong. Regardless, there is no doubting the joy in his work.
Though its clear that the shaping of space alone won't keep us from death, its clear that the nature of the space we inhabit has a significant impact on our well being. One of the curious aspects of these images of the Bioscleve House is how conventional the spaces are. They really don't have the spacial complexity his thoughts conjure when he talks about the ability of space to (re)shape our being, and keep us from death through a questioning of the most banal aspect of our existence.
As Photographer Hans Silvester noted in one of his books, the more severe and straight-edged the architecture, the less happy the cat. Cats thrive in spatial complexity, where they can hide if need be or watch from a perch as they care for their territory. He believed that if we only took more notice of the feelings of cats in the making of our dwellings, we would all live happier lives.
i appreciate the work of Arakawa, but i don't find it to be great architecture. Its fun, but ironically is too conventional in the ways that would make it interesting to architects. Though he created spherical toilet rooms, the movement through his spaces was generally very two dimensional. Full of knobby sloping floors, its not hard to imagine tripping down into the kitchen, and dying with a hard boiled egg lodged in your eye socket.
Thankfully, there have always been some freaks out there. The Dean of my school told me the only time he ever walked out of a guest architect's lecture to the school was after the architect showed a slide of some detail the Dean thought was a violation of the architect's duty to protect the safety and well being of the Public. That architect was Bruce Goff. i loved the idea that he could get our Dean so upset as to walk out of a lecture, but that was just my ignorance as a student interested in rebellion. Bruce Goff wasn't so interested in making people angry as following what he believed in, and Arakawa was just such a visionary.
People have been making fun of the fact that he thought people could avoid death through the making of a specific architecture. And like many an evangelical who promised the absurd, his death has made clear the absurdity of his view, though i suppose one could always take refuge in the thought he just got his forms wrong. Regardless, there is no doubting the joy in his work.
Though its clear that the shaping of space alone won't keep us from death, its clear that the nature of the space we inhabit has a significant impact on our well being. One of the curious aspects of these images of the Bioscleve House is how conventional the spaces are. They really don't have the spacial complexity his thoughts conjure when he talks about the ability of space to (re)shape our being, and keep us from death through a questioning of the most banal aspect of our existence.
As Photographer Hans Silvester noted in one of his books, the more severe and straight-edged the architecture, the less happy the cat. Cats thrive in spatial complexity, where they can hide if need be or watch from a perch as they care for their territory. He believed that if we only took more notice of the feelings of cats in the making of our dwellings, we would all live happier lives.
i appreciate the work of Arakawa, but i don't find it to be great architecture. Its fun, but ironically is too conventional in the ways that would make it interesting to architects. Though he created spherical toilet rooms, the movement through his spaces was generally very two dimensional. Full of knobby sloping floors, its not hard to imagine tripping down into the kitchen, and dying with a hard boiled egg lodged in your eye socket.
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