John Sugden (1922-2003) was one of the most important Utah architects of the 20th century. Born in Chicago in 1922, he studied at the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT) under the legendary Mies van der Rohe, and worked at Mies's firm from 1945 to 1952 before moving to Utah.
For those who may not be familiar, Mies is a big deal in the architectural community. Some of his most noteworthy projects include the Farnsworth House (which hosted a 100th anniversary collaboration between Braun and the late Virgil Abloh in 2021); the Barcelona Pavilion (and its accompanying chair); Crown Hall at IIT (which is high on my list of buildings to visit); the Seagram Building in New York; and, of course, the Toronto-Dominion Centre complex.
Sugden moved to Utah in 1952. He would then spend the rest of his career defining what the International Style — a major architectural movement that dominated modernism from the 1920s to the 1970s — could be in a mountain context, while educating the next generation of architects at the University of Utah's Graduate School of Architecture.
His first major project in Utah was a house for his mother: the Roberta Sugden House in Salt Lake City (1955). It is a classic steel-and-glass structure that takes obvious cues from the Farnsworth House but that was adapted to the Utah landscape. Today, it remains an icon of Mid-Century Modernism in the city.
His own home and studio followed in 1984. Referred to as "The Glass Cube," or the Mountain House Studio, it is located in Park City (just down the street from Parkview Mountain House in Summit Park). A perfect 33 x 33 x 33 foot cube, the home marks an important turning point for architecture and design in the area.
By the 1980s, modernism had entered into a mid-life crisis in urban settings. Architects and designers were beginning to reject its austerity and lack of ornamentation in favor of a new movement: Postmodernism.
But in the Wasatch Mountains, and outside of perhaps only Aspen, the International Style had yet to truly make its mark. Mountain homes simply did not look like this; they were heavy and rustic, and they had gabled roofs. Sugden changed that. His home/studio was the opposite of this: light, transparent, flat-roofed, and industrial in its orientation.
It's also worth mentioning that the construction of the Glass Cube roughly aligns with the rebirth of Park City. By the early 1950s, it was a dying ghost town in the mountains. Many of the silver mines that had made it a wealthy place at the end of the 19th century had already shuttered, and the city was without an economic purpose.
The first ski operations opened in 1963 under the banner of Treasure Mountain Resort. However, it was a makeshift operation, and it would not be until 1971 that Aspen-developer Edgar Stern would acquire Treasure and transform it into Park City Mountain Resort.
By 1974, he had successfully lured the US Alpine Ski Team to the city. And by 1981, he had moved on to even grander ambitions with the opening of his latest project down the street: Deer Valley Resort. It was also around this time (1982) that Toronto-based Noranda stopped all work and closed the last mining operations in the city.
Then came Sugden's modernist Glass Cube in 1984.
Today, the Summit Park area is filled with countless new and under-construction modern homes, designed by award-winning firms such as Klima Architecture and Brach Design. No two homes are the same, and there's a palpable willingness to experiment. It feels like an architectural playground, and I like to think that it all started with John Sugden's simple glass cube.
When I was in grad school studying real estate, I remember one of my professors once making a joke about the lifecycle of developers. He said that developers usually start by first doing a small project. Then they take the profits from that project and roll them into a bigger project. Once that is done, they take those profits and roll them into an even bigger project. And then they go bankrupt.
The point he was trying to make was that development is a risky business. One of the reasons for this — and there are countless reasons — is that projects take a long time. This means that during the regular course of a project, it is not unusual to be faced with a handful of very different markets. And during these varied market conditions, you are likely going to make different decisions (and wish you had made different decisions).
Take, for example, land.
One of the customary ways to buy development land in Toronto during the last cycle was to pay for it with the help of a land loan. Land loans are not based on any sort of debt service coverage ratio because, typically, there isn't enough (or any) income to actually service the loan. It's all based on the land's future potential.
Instead what happens is that you forecast how long you'll need to hold the land, you budget for the interest costs during this period, and then you convince yourself that you'll be able to "take out" this loan in the future — typically by way of a construction loan or by selling the land to someone else. Unless you have the resources to land bank, you are implicitly making the assumption that there will be a market in the future.
This assumption works great in a rising market because the land often continues to appreciate (sometimes regardless of your actions) and usually you or someone else can create a productive use for it. But if the music stops during this period, it can be problematic, because now you may only have one way out:
Yesterday, we spoke about a slender single-stair apartment building on a small 60-square-meter site in Tokyo. Today, let's talk about a different kind of proposal. Earlier this month, the Park City Planning Commission heard a redevelopment proposal from the Kensington Investment Company for a site near Old Town at 1500 Kearns Boulevard. The site is 2.71 acres, and the existing building houses 48,000 sf of office and retail space.
The proposal is for a new mixed-use development including:
117 residential apartments (97 market-rate and 20 affordable)
Over 9,400 sf of commercial/retail space
Over 20,000 sf of amenity space (including a rooftop terrace and patios)
210 underground parking spaces
Some of the key development approvals being asked for include:
Master Planned Development approval & Conditional Use Permit
A reduction of the north setback from 25 feet to 10 feet
A building height exception to 49.5 feet (from the 35 feet currently allowed)
A formal vote has yet to take place, though apparently, the project is somewhat controversial. The developer is asking to increase the maximum height from three storeys to four. Ordinarily, the Planning Commission would want to see an increased setback accompany this ask, as opposed to a reduction.
John Sugden (1922-2003) was one of the most important Utah architects of the 20th century. Born in Chicago in 1922, he studied at the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT) under the legendary Mies van der Rohe, and worked at Mies's firm from 1945 to 1952 before moving to Utah.
For those who may not be familiar, Mies is a big deal in the architectural community. Some of his most noteworthy projects include the Farnsworth House (which hosted a 100th anniversary collaboration between Braun and the late Virgil Abloh in 2021); the Barcelona Pavilion (and its accompanying chair); Crown Hall at IIT (which is high on my list of buildings to visit); the Seagram Building in New York; and, of course, the Toronto-Dominion Centre complex.
Sugden moved to Utah in 1952. He would then spend the rest of his career defining what the International Style — a major architectural movement that dominated modernism from the 1920s to the 1970s — could be in a mountain context, while educating the next generation of architects at the University of Utah's Graduate School of Architecture.
His first major project in Utah was a house for his mother: the Roberta Sugden House in Salt Lake City (1955). It is a classic steel-and-glass structure that takes obvious cues from the Farnsworth House but that was adapted to the Utah landscape. Today, it remains an icon of Mid-Century Modernism in the city.
His own home and studio followed in 1984. Referred to as "The Glass Cube," or the Mountain House Studio, it is located in Park City (just down the street from Parkview Mountain House in Summit Park). A perfect 33 x 33 x 33 foot cube, the home marks an important turning point for architecture and design in the area.
By the 1980s, modernism had entered into a mid-life crisis in urban settings. Architects and designers were beginning to reject its austerity and lack of ornamentation in favor of a new movement: Postmodernism.
But in the Wasatch Mountains, and outside of perhaps only Aspen, the International Style had yet to truly make its mark. Mountain homes simply did not look like this; they were heavy and rustic, and they had gabled roofs. Sugden changed that. His home/studio was the opposite of this: light, transparent, flat-roofed, and industrial in its orientation.
It's also worth mentioning that the construction of the Glass Cube roughly aligns with the rebirth of Park City. By the early 1950s, it was a dying ghost town in the mountains. Many of the silver mines that had made it a wealthy place at the end of the 19th century had already shuttered, and the city was without an economic purpose.
The first ski operations opened in 1963 under the banner of Treasure Mountain Resort. However, it was a makeshift operation, and it would not be until 1971 that Aspen-developer Edgar Stern would acquire Treasure and transform it into Park City Mountain Resort.
By 1974, he had successfully lured the US Alpine Ski Team to the city. And by 1981, he had moved on to even grander ambitions with the opening of his latest project down the street: Deer Valley Resort. It was also around this time (1982) that Toronto-based Noranda stopped all work and closed the last mining operations in the city.
Then came Sugden's modernist Glass Cube in 1984.
Today, the Summit Park area is filled with countless new and under-construction modern homes, designed by award-winning firms such as Klima Architecture and Brach Design. No two homes are the same, and there's a palpable willingness to experiment. It feels like an architectural playground, and I like to think that it all started with John Sugden's simple glass cube.
When I was in grad school studying real estate, I remember one of my professors once making a joke about the lifecycle of developers. He said that developers usually start by first doing a small project. Then they take the profits from that project and roll them into a bigger project. Once that is done, they take those profits and roll them into an even bigger project. And then they go bankrupt.
The point he was trying to make was that development is a risky business. One of the reasons for this — and there are countless reasons — is that projects take a long time. This means that during the regular course of a project, it is not unusual to be faced with a handful of very different markets. And during these varied market conditions, you are likely going to make different decisions (and wish you had made different decisions).
Take, for example, land.
One of the customary ways to buy development land in Toronto during the last cycle was to pay for it with the help of a land loan. Land loans are not based on any sort of debt service coverage ratio because, typically, there isn't enough (or any) income to actually service the loan. It's all based on the land's future potential.
Instead what happens is that you forecast how long you'll need to hold the land, you budget for the interest costs during this period, and then you convince yourself that you'll be able to "take out" this loan in the future — typically by way of a construction loan or by selling the land to someone else. Unless you have the resources to land bank, you are implicitly making the assumption that there will be a market in the future.
This assumption works great in a rising market because the land often continues to appreciate (sometimes regardless of your actions) and usually you or someone else can create a productive use for it. But if the music stops during this period, it can be problematic, because now you may only have one way out:
Yesterday, we spoke about a slender single-stair apartment building on a small 60-square-meter site in Tokyo. Today, let's talk about a different kind of proposal. Earlier this month, the Park City Planning Commission heard a redevelopment proposal from the Kensington Investment Company for a site near Old Town at 1500 Kearns Boulevard. The site is 2.71 acres, and the existing building houses 48,000 sf of office and retail space.
The proposal is for a new mixed-use development including:
117 residential apartments (97 market-rate and 20 affordable)
Over 9,400 sf of commercial/retail space
Over 20,000 sf of amenity space (including a rooftop terrace and patios)
210 underground parking spaces
Some of the key development approvals being asked for include:
Master Planned Development approval & Conditional Use Permit
A reduction of the north setback from 25 feet to 10 feet
A building height exception to 49.5 feet (from the 35 feet currently allowed)
A formal vote has yet to take place, though apparently, the project is somewhat controversial. The developer is asking to increase the maximum height from three storeys to four. Ordinarily, the Planning Commission would want to see an increased setback accompany this ask, as opposed to a reduction.
Cover photo by amirgraphy on Unsplash
But here we have a classic development trade-off. The developer could, in theory, build more density under the existing permissions, but the ground plane and the overall development wouldn't be as pleasant. So, the request is to build incrementally higher, but then open up the site more.
Here's a comparison between the developer's proposal and what is permissible by-right:
It'll be very interesting to see how Park City votes on this one.
Images via Building Salt Lake
Cover photo by amirgraphy on Unsplash
But here we have a classic development trade-off. The developer could, in theory, build more density under the existing permissions, but the ground plane and the overall development wouldn't be as pleasant. So, the request is to build incrementally higher, but then open up the site more.
Here's a comparison between the developer's proposal and what is permissible by-right:
It'll be very interesting to see how Park City votes on this one.
Images via Building Salt Lake
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