Daily insights for city builders, delivered every morning at 6 AM ET. I’m Brandon Donnelly — a Toronto-based real estate developer and founder of Globizen. I’ve been writing here since 2013.
I’m so predictable. This is the kind of house that tends to grab my attention: modern design, relatively small footprint (~7.8m x 12.3m), narrow street (~4m), and panoramic views (of Seoul). But what does it take to actually build a house like this in an urban fabric as dense as Seoul’s?
If you read TIUM Architect’s description (using Google Translate for those of us who don’t speak Korean), you’ll see that the house was built out of concrete and steel, but that concrete trucks couldn’t stage on the narrow and dead-end street.
So what they ended up having to do was build a 100-meter concrete conveying pipe (~328 feet) and staging somewhere else. It was such a pain in the ass that they only wanted to do this for the foundations. The rest of the house was built out of steel. (I think because of the clear spans that they wanted.)
Sometimes small infill projects aren’t as simple as they may seem. In this case, the lot size is 92 m2. The building footprint is 51.53 m2 (56% lot coverage). And the total floor area is 136.52 m2.
Yesterday’s post was written in the co-working (/lobby) area of Junction House. I wrote about this space nearly a year ago when it was under construction, but now it’s complete and people like me are using it:
I spent a few hours working in the space yesterday, and it was amazing to see residents and guests coming and going. Some people were waiting to meet someone. Some people were just playing on their phones. And others, like me, were jumping on and off calls and writing blog posts. Later in the evening, it transitioned to guests carrying bottles of wine and flowers.
This was always the intent of this “amenity.” We wanted to create a social space for residents and guests, replicating a bit of the feeling that you might get in a hotel lobby bar. But ultimately, this is the kind of space that will almost certainly evolve over time, depending on how residents choose to use it. It’s not rigidly defined; it’s more of a flex space.
It’s also worth mentioning that this space was designed well before COVID. A lot of people have asked us if this was in response to that, hoping to identify tangible ways in which design has responded to the pandemic. But honestly, we didn’t change anything. Gathering spaces were important before, and they remain important today.
I guess in many ways this is a space that sits somewhere in between a “first place” and a “third place.” It’s almost a first place in that it’s in a building that people call home. But it’s also a more public social environment that isn’t technically home or work. So I’m really looking forward to seeing how it settles in and evolves over time.
If you were in the market for a 3-bedroom penthouse, and its 1,100 sf wraparound terrace with skyline views just so happened to have an enormous neon-like sign above it, would you consider this to be a feature or a bug?
The sign does turn off at 11PM, but before then, it creates this awesome/lovely pink glow on the terrace. My sense is that this will be fairly divisive. You’re either going to love it or you’re going to hate it. Which side are you on?
I opened up X this afternoon and I saw a photographer tweet that he hadn’t sold a single NFT in the last four months. His conclusion: The NFT market is dying, if not already dead. There are no collectors left. Damn.
I’m sure it probably feels this way to most. But the reality is that there are a lot of asset classes that feel this exact same way today. (I know that many of you will contest whether NFTs are actually an asset class.) There aren’t a lot of buyers out there right now.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the NFT market, in particular, is done with. In fact, if you look around, there are countless signs that point to the opposite.
I, for example, find it interesting that if you’re an architect or a city planner in the US, and looking to check off some continuing education units, you can now register for a course at Harvard called From Crypto to the Metaverse: Blockchain Applications in Real Estate.
And if you look at the learning objectives, it includes things like demystifying how Blockchain technologies work, how they might impact real estate businesses in the future, and what opportunities they may create. This suggests we’re still early.
Right now just feels like that time in the cycle that tests both your conviction and your discipline. It’s easy to believe in something when everyone else does. But what about when most people don’t?
When I was in grad school they used to always tell us that architects are a leading indicator for the development business. Because if architects are getting fewer jobs/billings, it means that at some point in the future there will be fewer construction starts and then fewer completions. And not surprisingly, that is what we are seeing happening right now. Below is the latest data from the AIA/Deltek Architecture Billings Index (via Bloomberg).
Billings, inquiries (an even earlier leading indicator for billings), and design contracts are down:
And it seems to be most pronounced in the West and the Northeast:
This is always something to watch if you want to try and forecast where hard costs might be going and what completions might look like in the next few years.
I was recently on Monocle Radio (The Urbanist) talking with Andrew Tuck about our Steelport project in Hamilton, Ontario. For those of you who aren’t familiar, Steelport is a new 800-acre industrial development on the city’s waterfront (almost the size of Central Park in Manhattan). Slate acquired the site in 2022 and, when fully built out, it is expected to create up to 23,000 new jobs and nearly $4 billion in economic activity for the Ontario economy. To have a listen to the interview, click here. It’s only about 8 minutes.
Thanks for having me on the episode, Monocle. But more importantly, a shout-out to my colleague Steven Dejonckheere. He lives and breathes this project every day, and is the real mind behind it.
I definitely wouldn’t call a 40-foot wide lot minuscule. But I guess when it’s located on the side of a mountain in Zell am See, Austria; you have a required 13-foot setback on both sides; and your architect is one of the world’s leading practitioners, it starts to feel a bit smaller. This is the recently completed Austrian House, designed by Rem Koolhaas:
I’m always drawn to houses like these because they demand creativity. You can’t just repeat what was done on that other 40-foot wide lot, because then you might conclude that the lot is unbuildable. And it’s not. You just have to solve the puzzle. Then you’ve unlocked something that that many, or perhaps most, thought wasn’t possible. And that’s truly exciting to me.
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”.
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.
