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.

We have spoken about Paris' Tour Montparnasse before on the blog, and spoken more broadly about the city's discomfort with tall buildings. The Tour Montparnasse is the only skyscraper within the city limits of Paris. If you include the Eiffel Tower, it is one of only two really tall things, though this will soon increase to three with the addition of Herzog and de Meuron's new trapezoidal-shaped tower (now under construction).

The Tour Montparnasse turned 50 this year and so people are now writing about it again. In my opinion, this recent piece in the New Yorker, by Colin Marshall, is particularly thoughtful. Here are two important points that he makes. The first has to do with the fact that kind of old usually isn't enough when it comes to architecture. You need buildings to be really old before they get fully appreciated:

Architectural fashion treasures hundred-and-fifty-year-old structures but derides fifty-year-old ones; hence the works of brutalism that have faced the wrecking ball in recent years. “The destruction of brutalist buildings is more than the destruction of a particular mode of architecture,” Jonathan Meades says, in his television documentary “Bunkers, Brutalism and Bloodymindedness: Concrete Poetry.” “It is like burning books. It’s a form of censorship of the past, a discomfiting past, by the present. It’s the revenge of a mediocre age on an age of epic grandeur.”

The second point is maybe an obvious one:

Aberrations like the Tour Montparnasse only underscore how much Paris remains Haussman’s city, its core frozen in a nineteenth century whose built environment can be restored, and in some cases discreetly renovated, but which—so the severity of the restrictions implies—can never fundamentally be improved upon.

This is, however, a crucial point. Because it directs to why the Tour Montparnasse is so jarring to many, or perhaps most. It is jarring because it is so obviously different from its surrounding 19th century context. It is clearly not that. But as Marshall points out, one way to address this would be to simply add more 21st century context throughout the city.

Of course, this is easier said than done. It would require a new mental model -- one that accepts that the built form of Paris is not static and can be allowed to evolve. We're not there yet. But maybe the current renovation of Tour Montparnasse, or the city's new triangle tower, will give people a fresh set of eyes when it comes to buildings taller than 37 meters.

Photo by Maeva Hemon on Unsplash

I am really interested in these sorts of spaces. In this case, these is an old brutalist office building in Kanazawa, Japan that was purchased in 2019 by artist Hiraki Sawa. The original intent was to turn it into a co-working space, but eventually the idea evolved into a hybrid "co-being" space that can be rented as a place to stay and/or as a place to facilitate creativity.

The space itself was left mostly raw and exposed, but neon movable walls were inserted by AB Rogers Design that allow you to configure the volumes as you'd like. What's interesting about spaces like these is that they enable play and experimentation. Maybe it also makes money, or maybe it doesn't. But that doesn't seem to be the main point.

The point is to empower creativity. And finding spaces to do this can be tough in competitive markets where demand is consistently outstripping supply. Oftentimes you need some slack in the system so that there's literal breathing room for new ideas, or rich people who can make it so.

Whatever the case, I am a believer that when given the opportunity, people will generally find a way to imagine and create. So if you happen to find yourself in Kanazawa and would like to book this space, which is called Fish Market, click here. Guests are being asked to submit a request explaining how and why they'd like to use the space.

It'll be fun to see what this leads to.

Photos: Takumi Ota via AB Rogers Design