In the second half of the 19th century, the way Londoners had historically lived, started to change:

In the 1870s, a striking change was occurring in the residential habits of London’s elite. After centuries of living close to the ground in houses, Charles Dickens Jr. (son of the famous writer) observed that wealthy residents were starting “to avail themselves of the continental experience … and to adopt the foreign fashion of living in flats.”

The resulting housing typology was something known as the mansion block. And as the name suggests, one of the principal design ideas was that these blocks should, ideally, look like a single giant mansion. In other words, the individual homes were to be obfuscated:

The mansion block was a grand building that borrowed elements of the English terraced house (as a row house is known in British English), particularly the elite “palace fronted” terraced houses designed by Scottish architect Robert Adam and his brothers a century earlier, which concealed individual houses behind a grand facade to resemble a single palatial structure.

It is a design approach that makes sense. I mean, I can see wealthy people wanting to appear as if they're living in a palatial mansion. That said, it is an approach to multi-family housing that feels somewhat foreign today. Most people don't look up at tall buildings and wonder if it's one person's home.

And we don't aim for that.

Presumably this is, at least partially, because scales grew, builders were looking for economies of scale, and because modernism told us that mansion-looking structures were outdated. Whatever the reasons, multi-family buildings today are not generally conceived of as sub-divided mansions.

What's maybe ironic about this shift, though, is that we went from elaborate and varied facade designs intended to communicate single structures, to modern and repetitive facade designs that, somehow, better communicate the individual homes.

I suppose we got used to the "foreign fashion of living in flats".

Image: Josh Kramer for Bloomberg CityLab

The building season is short in Park City. There was still snow on our site in May and there was snow again on our site by October. You can certainly build through the winter, but it's not ideal. It slows you down, and so the team has been racing to get "closed in" before the real winter weather arrives. (Park City Mountain Resort opens for the season on November 17.)

Right now, it looks like we'll be finished framing by early next week. We have our framing inspection scheduled with Summit County on Wednesday. Here's a progress shot of level three from last week:

This is the top floor of the house, which will house the kitchen, dining area, living room, terrace (which is where the above photo was taken from), and two bay windows. The far one is going to serve as a seat in the living room, and the closer one (on the right) is going to be a workspace area. In both cases, they're designed to orient you towards the trees and the mountain.

Overall, this was Mattaforma's design strategy -- to create a kind of introverted house. The windows facing the street are generally small and placed to frame very specific views of the landscape; whereas the windows facing the trees and mountain are generous. The intent was to always connect you with nature as you move throughout the house.

Sadly, PMH won't be available for rent this winter. But if you'd like to get on the list for next summer and winter, click here.

You may not have ever used this exact term before, but I'm sure that most of you know what it is. On his blog over the weekend, Witold Rybczynski wrote about a new architectural term he just learned called: "multiple expression." What it refers to is the use of different architectural styles on a long facade in order for the building to appear as if it's multiple smaller ones.

And today, I would say that this is largely viewed as a positive thing. Typically it is done to "break up a massing" or create a "fine-grained retail experience." In fact, you'll find things like this in some design guidelines. Here's one from Toronto's mid-rise performance standards:

This doesn't explicitly stipulate that architects should use "multiple expressions", but it does suggest that long repetitive facades are suboptimal, and that they should be broken up. But Witold's view is the opposite. He argues that this "bespeaks a lack of confidence, a poverty of the imagination." And he gives the example of Park Crescent in London, designed by architect John Nash.

It's long (well over 60m) and it's repetitive:

Perhaps a good counter example to this would be Mirvish Village in Toronto, which was designed by Henriquez Partners and which has been largely celebrated as a way of creating the feeling of fine-grained urbanism in a larger master-planned development. Here it is on Google, still under construction:

So what is it that makes Mirvish Village a generally desirable outcome in today's planning environment, even though I suspect that most people would still appreciate what John Nash did on Park Crescent back in the early 1800s? Are we saying -- with our guidelines -- that we like Park Crescent, but that we shouldn't do that ever again today?

And to what extent do age and architectural style play into these opinions? Are long repetitive facades over 60m acceptable as long as the architectural style is "Regency" and the buildings aren't too tall? Is modernism the problem? Because here's another example from London: The Alexandra and Ainsworth Estate.

Built in the 1970s, it is a Brutalist housing estate with a largely repetitive design, and even a slight curve reminiscent of Park Crescent:

Does this have confidence and imagination? Witold would probably say no.

In the end, I guess the answer is that it all depends. Guidelines are just that -- guides. They are not set in stone rules that must never be broken under any circumstances. That would be to reduce architecture to a strict science, and there's clearly also an art component to building great cities.

"Multiple expression" is usually done to create the feeling of finer-grained urbanism. But sometimes -- if you're old and regal-looking enough -- the opposite can be okay too.