Sunday, May 16, 2010

Sterility in Architecture. A Manifesto.

The United States is turning into a hermetically sealed, sanitized environment. Bright lights, wide hallways, tile floors. Easy access, wide doors. Sterile. More and more buildings are starting to look like hospitals. Look at newly renovated historic buildings. The insides are clean drywall, harsh overhead fluorescent lighting, tile floors. It is probably the MOST irritating thing for me to walk into a wonderful building from the early 1900s or before and be met with the same sterility of a building completed yesterday. For Ohio State people, a good example of this is Jennings Hall. This type of interior is dominating commercial and domestic design.

Another example is of newly done wood flooring/paneling. Look for seams. It is nigh impossible to find them. The surface is so perfect, so sterile. What is interesting about perfection? My room has beautiful old hardwood flooring (sadly covered up by carpet at the moment), and it isn't a sterile, smooth surface. You can feel the grain, see and feel the joints. It is authentic to its material properties. It is wood trying to be wood, not wood trying to be concrete, or glass, 0r tile. All of this deception is driving me insane. The next time I see a bastardization of authenticity with new garbage, I just might go postal. Maybe I'm a classicist, but I would rather be a classicist than someone in favor of half-baked plans of renewal.

Ok, so we're finally getting to the argument here... That argument is that I like excessive, bordering on frivolous complexity in circulation. The more unnecessary twists and turns your path takes form Point A to Point B, the better. The further the ideas and form seem from functional, the better. I like the option for people to be left to their own terms to explore. The more nooks and crannies, the more uncomfortable interstitial space, the better. The places I like the most, are the places one should like the least. Little else gets me more excited in the experience of a building than finding idiosyncratic floor layouts and complex series of rooms. The procession through several delightfully dingy spaces is infinitely better than one sterile space. Modern hallways lead directly from place to place, lit harshly from above. There are few bends in the path. For example, the donkey path city will forever have a more rich and complex urban fabric than the tabula rasa approach of a Voisin town plan. The micro of this scale produces the same effect. Layout of rooms sets the tone for exploring a building. The more spaces to explore, the more interesting (usually) it is.

The spirit of exploration is something that has always been with me. Recently, I feel this spirit has weakened in my thoughts about architecture. I am too afraid to take risks in my line of thinking. The possibility of failure is all too evident at all times. I realize, that to create truly interesting work, I will need to think in an interesting way. The return of complexity to architecture has been a long time coming, and I find it to be necessary. There is more to a space than the pure function. The interesting aspects of a building come through tireless detail. The parts contribute to a total, interesting whole. The qualities are based off of both a generative process to develop a strategy of circulating, but also with consideration to the experiential aspects. Buildings today clearly have little thought behind them in regards to the quality of a space. It is rendered in shades of gray, consistently and cleanly sheathing the good character with poor design. This needs to stop. We collectively need to regain a sense of "bad" design, and return a sense of backwards logic to architecture.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

A Late Admission.

I'm really, I mean terribly, bad at admitting things. I can never admit I am wrong, or admit failing. I can never admit fault, or that I just can't do something. If you have doubts, my sister, or anyone who knows me well, can definitely attest to this failing to own up to my wrongs. This is something I am having to come to terms with, in the constant campaign to try and stop being so stoic. Being stoic can be good, but I'm not a good stoic.

Recently, I've been hit really hard with this failure to admit. Working with others can be... frustrating, to say the least. I'm really not a team player. (I'm working on this. It's hard for me). I do my best work alone, or maybe with one other person to toss ideas around with. When I work by myself, I'm "always" right. So, it is in these group situations where I feel the highest need to be right all the time and the stoicism sets in. As far as my ego is concerned, I am literally never wrong. That's what's nice about opinions, you aren't wrong. Maybe that is why I have such strong opinions... hmmm that is something worth considering. Back to the point though, I just cannot find the respect and humbleness in my heart to just say, you got me, I was wrong. You just don't want to entertain the thought that you aren't the smartest guy in the room. Everyone thinks in different ways, so intelligence can be hard to judge, but you can't help but thinking that your brand of intelligence is more, well, intelligent. So this leads to not admitting things. This happens very frequently. I can rectify my actions in my mind, but there is no way to express feeling bad about being a jerk except for not being a jerk. In my mind, I feel bad about being a bad person at times, but no one knows the tumultuous thoughts, just the actions. My actions need to speak truthfully.

This late admission is something long coming. Being wrong sucks. No one likes to not be the smartest one in the room, but the thing is, you usually aren't the smartest guy in the room. Deal with it. I'm struggling in that respect, but maybe with a little more humble, and a little less self centered/serving attitude, this can be achieved. I admit (in a late fashion), to being a snob.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Cycling and the Seven Lamps of Architecture

Sacrifice
Truth
Power
Beauty
Life
Memory
Obedience

These are the Seven Lamps of Architecture according to John Ruskin. The one in particular I want to concentrate on is Sacrifice.

Sacrifice. What does it mean to sacrifice? To give up part of yourself for the benefit of the whole. To maximize happiness for the most amount of people without regard for your own happiness. To work harder than necessary to achieve beyond the norm. Basically, enduring something so that you will eventually get something better and the loss you felt in the moment will be made worth it by the reward your sacrifice earned you. This is pretty common knowledge and sports teams across America and the World have adopted slogans and cheers that involve sacrifice. This is something simple yet important.

Cycling is a form of much enjoyment. I genuinely enjoy riding my bicycle, as many people do. I also have the desire to go fast on said bicycle. Once again, many people are going to agree with me here. The thing about going fast is you get this sense of insecurity. There is a level of safety that you give up to go fast. You also get the feeling of wind in your hair, zipping around at high speed; immersed in your surroundings. Cycling is great for this. So what does Sacrifice have to do with this? In short; everything.

If I say I want to go out to the East of High neighborhoods and just fly around, that only means one thing. I want to ride fast through the tough urban environment that is off-campus at OSU. The curved roads and changes in elevations give the ride enjoyment and complexity that you just can't get anywhere else. How fun would it be to just drive a car around? You lose something when the resultant is not earned. You complete a fine car ride through the off-campus area and upon returning you realize that you were in no ways enriched or strengthened.

Cycling is different. When I finish a tough but fun ride, I'm sweating. I'm tired, maybe a bit sore and really happy. This is something that a car cannot give you. You can put the top down on the convertible and ride with your hair flapping in the wind, but you will never recreate cycling. The sense of flying, the speed at which you move and the lack of a covering. Cycling is so exposed and simple that there is a great joy in it. If you don't sacrifice, you don't ride a bicycle. The feeling of reward achieved through sacrifice cannot be achieved any other way. Now, this isn't to say there aren't other means of movement or recreation that don't involve great amounts of sacrifice, I'm just focusing on one that is particularly enjoyable to me. The great thing is, they all share something very elemental in common. The feeling that we must pick up the old Ruskinian tenets into some new forms of logic and march on; or ride on I should say.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

I'm With COCO

Show your support.
Give this man's site a look, he's a good artist.