Tag: design

• The Birth of a Building

  

  My friend Ben Stevens has just published a book called, The Birth of a Building. It is a primer on all the ingredients that go into a new building: finance, law, urban planning, architecture, engineering, construction, and development. It is a book that I wish I wrote. But at the end of the day, it’s a lot easier to endorse a book than it is to write a book. So I am doing the former here today. If you decide to purchase the book, you’ll also find my endorsement within it. But to be clear, the only reason I’m writing about this is because Ben is a great guy and this is a great book.

  Congratulations on this huge accomplishment, Ben. For more information, click here.

  2019.10.29

• Fall architecture preview

  

  The New York Times’ fall architecture preview is centered around a pretty important and relevant theme, namely the relationship between the built environment and the natural one.

  Some of the projects that they profile include Dock 72 at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, which was raised up in order to lift it out of a floodplain; the “solar carve” tower by Studio Gang, which was designed to prevent shadows from casting along the adjacent High Line (pictured above); and the recently completed Casablanca Finance Tower by Morphosis.

  This last one, pictured below, uses thick aluminum beams to shade the building. That’s a pretty important feature in North Africa.

  

  Photos by Nic Lehoux and Hakim Wiseman Joundy (via the New York Times)

  2019.09.13

• Snøhetta completes energy positive building in Norway

  Snøhetta has just completed an office building in Trondheim that produces more than double the amount of electricity that it consumes. If you recall my recent post on Norway’s new coastal highway, you may remember that Trondheim is the northern terminus of highway E39. I mention this because of access to sun. Latitude 63.43.

  The office building is about 18,000 square meters and it is wrapped with about 3,000 square meters of solar panels. The roof is angled at 19 degrees in order to maximize sun harvesting, and any excess electricity is fed back into the city’s grid / neighboring facilities. Large batteries also help to help carry the building through the winter months (again, latitude 63.43).

  Here are a few photos of the roof (via Dezeen):

  

  

  

  

  I wish I had more of the details so that I could see how the numbers pencil. Hard costs, utility costs, office rents, government incentives/disincentives, embodied energy in the batteries, and so on. Because this looks like an extraordinary accomplishment for a city that is remarkably north.

  Images: Dezeen

  2019.09.06

• Pritzker Prize-winning architect Kazuyo Sejima designs Japanese commuter train

  In commemoration of the company’s 100th anniversary, Japanese rail operator, Seibu, recently unveiled a new commuter train designed by Pritzker Prize-winning architect Kazuyo Sejima. Sejima is a founding partner in the Tokyo-based firm SANAA, which has started branching out beyond buildings. She recently designed a neat and multi-functional bag for Prada.

  One of the key features of the “Laview” commuter train is its unusually large 1.35m x 1.58m windows. They’re designed to maximize views, as this particular route travels from the city and into the mountains. It’s a simple design move, but it’s one I have never seen before. The overall result is quite beautiful and it goes to show you just how much the Japanese value train travel.

  

  

  

  Images: Dezeen

  2019.08.31

• Equatorial Brutalism

  

  Generally speaking, architects are the only people I know who like Brutalist architecture. In fact, architect, professor and author Witold Rybczynski once proposed the following litmus test to determine whether a building is indeed an example of Brutalism: “If people don’t hate it, it can’t be Brutalist.”

  But as I have argued before, sometimes architectural styles take a bit of time to settle in and become fully appreciated. Consider how improbable it would seem to demolish a beautiful old Victorian home today. And yet Toronto, and countless other cities, did this on many occasions. Regent Park, Toronto was once Cabbagetown South.

  Brutalism also took on different sensibilities around the world.

  I love this recent piece in T (NY Times Style Magazine) by Michael Snyder called, “The Unexpectedly Tropical History of Brutalism.” In it he uses the term “Equatorial Brutalism” (a new one for me) and discusses the “surprising apotheosis” of Brutalism in equatorial countries (and in particular Brazil). It is a good follow-up to my recent post on Oscar Niemeyer’s work.

  So here’s an excerpt from Michael’s article. If you don’t already like Brutalism, maybe it’ll get you a little bit closer.

  What these buildings shared, beyond an aesthetic — though they shared that, too, with their radical porousness, their blunt geometric forms and their extensive use of raw concrete — was a commitment to architecture as an instigator of progress. But in the tropics, Brutalism reached an unexpected apotheosis: Infiltrated by lush plants and softened by humidity, buildings that looked cold and imposing against London’s constant drizzle or Boston’s icy slush were transformed into fecund, vital spaces. Concrete surfaces bloomed green with moss. The panels of glass necessary for sealing rooms against the northern chill either disappeared or receded from view, encouraging cross-ventilation while also protecting interior spaces from direct sun. The openness and transparency that the Smithsons had pronounced became a practical reality in these humid environments, both theoretically and literally: Built from inexpensive, readily available materials, equatorial Brutalism was as accessible and functional as it was symbolically potent, resulting in buildings that would define new societies growing around them like vines. Here, Brutalism wasn’t only an architecture that shaped the future or confronted the past — it was an architecture of freedom.

  Photo by Samuel Zeller on Unsplash

  2019.08.15

• #BestStreetInTheWorld

  The below Twitter thread, initiated by Brent Toderian, is a great collection of some of the “best streets in the world.”

  QUESTION: What’s the BEST STREET you’ve ever come across, anywhere in the world? Use whatever way you choose to define “best!” Show the street, tell us why, & include the hashtag #BestStreetInTheWorld pic.twitter.com/lUhZHWwImh

  — Brent Toderian (@BrentToderian) July 23, 2019

  I would encourage you to click through and have a scroll. The one thing that you’ll likely notice about almost all of the contributions is that the streets tend to be fairly dense/urban and they tend to be oriented around the pedestrian. No surprise there.

  My only qualm with some, but not all, of these streets is that — while beautiful from an urban design standpoint — many of them can feel quite touristy and/or commercially generic. They are the street you go to when you’re visiting the place, but they are perhaps lacking in urban authenticity.

  I don’t mean to take anything away from the beautifully designed streets in the above thread. In fact, some of them aren’t at all commercial and are simply magical places to be — period, full stop. See, for example, La Condensa (neighborhood) in Mexico City.

  My argument is simply that the natural cycle of cities and neighborhoods sometimes means that the best streets for new ideas and small businesses are maybe not the most beautiful ones. Part of this is a function of rents and part of this is function of the fact that the best cities are constantly reinventing themselves.

  2019.08.01

• The Château Laurier battle in Ottawa

  1. A thread on the Chateau Laurier battle. In which this addition – modified and approved by Ottawa planners – is being described as “vandalism.” pic.twitter.com/GsitHnN8Xn

  — Alex Bozikovic (@alexbozikovic) July 11, 2019

  As I was going through this Twitter thread by Alex Bozikovic on the “Château Laurier battle,” I came across a great line by Robert Wright: “We cannot recreate the past only parody it.” I told him I was going to steal it, but here I am giving him credit.

  The controversy in Ottawa stems from the fact that a number of people believe that a modern addition to the Fairmont Château Laurier (which was constructed between 1909 and 1912) amounts to heresy.

  Instead, the addition should be designed to match the “Château style” that already exists. There should be no change. As Alex put it, “people want Disneyland.”

  We’ve had this very same debate come up on some of our projects, where people — but notably, not the city — have asked us to replicate something that was constructed in the 1800’s using labor and material techniques that no longer exist.

  This is where Robert’s line comes in.

  Architecture is a reflection of the cultural milieu in which it was designed and built, which is one of the reasons why we sometimes preserve old buildings. They communicate to us a particular moment in time.

  The reason architects, designers, and planners so often respond — negatively that is — to Disneyland-type architecture, is that it lacks that same authenticity. It’s only a simulacra.

  It’s for this reason that one of Ontario’s “eight guiding principles in the conservation of built heritage properties” is, in fact, legibility:

  “New work should be distinguishable from old. Buildings or structures should be recognized as products of their own time, and new additions should not blur the distinction between old and new.”

  This is not to say that we shouldn’t be respectful of the past. Five of the eight guiding principles include the word “respect” in the title. There should be lots of that.

  But we would be fooling, and cheating, ourselves if we believed we could mimic the past with any justice. We cannot recreate the past only parody it.

  2019.07.13

• What I like about Sidewalk Labs’ generative design tool

  Last week I went for a tour of Sidewalk Labs’ “307” workshop here in Toronto. In it they have a generative urban design tool that allows you to toggle things like density, building shape, building height, the amount of green space, the distribution of green space, and so on.

  Perhaps some of you have seen it or used it before. The controls look like this:

  

  

  After you’re done playing around with the dials, you are then able to provide feedback on the design that you’ve birthed through two very simple feedback buttons. One is a happy face. And the other is a sad face. (I wonder if the placement of these two buttons has any impact on responses.)

  

  What I like about this tool is that it immediately imposes a certain degree of reality and it forces you, the participant, to acknowledge the various trade-offs that need to be considered when you’re designing and planning a city.

  For example, if you want lots of parks and public spaces, but you want to hold population density constant — perhaps because you’re trying to make use of an investment made in transit infrastructure — well then you’ll need to accept taller buildings.

  A very similar thought process goes into each and every development pro forma as we all try and manage the myriad of competing interests. But I guess this is also true of life in general. There are gives and there are takes.

  2019.06.11

• Skateboarding to debut at the Summer Olympics in Tokyo

  

  The 2020 Summer Olympics, which will be held in Tokyo, have added 5 new sports, one of which is skateboarding. As someone who grew up skateboarding as a teenager, and is all too familiar with being chased out of public spaces, this lends a great deal of legitimacy to the sport.

  It’s hard to think of a sport that is more closely connected with architecture and, more specifically, public architecture. Curbed’s recent long-form article about “the public spaces that shaped skateboarding” is a good reminder of that. Here is an excerpt (EMB refers to Embarcadero Plaza in San Francisco, which was previously known as Justin Herman Plaza):

  When skateboarding debuts at the Tokyo Olympics next summer, some three decades after the first polyurethane wheels hit the bricks at EMB, it will have completed the long, improbable trip from criminal act to social and institutional acceptance. But even as an Olympic sport, skateboarding will remain a direct physical response to the varied terrain of American public architecture.

  Interestingly enough, one could go on to argue that the history of skateboarding is really steeped in the adoption of public spaces that had, in many cases, failed to serve their intended purpose. In other words, skateboarders were often the only people using these urban spaces:

  “What made Justin Herman Plaza attractive to skateboarders and work for skateboarders was its inappropriateness to the traditional city scale and function,” King says. “You had all these planners and architects in the 1950s and ’60s saying cities need these grand, celebratory spaces—and they really didn’t.” But apparently skaters did.

  Welcome skateboarding to the 2020 Summer Olympics in Tokyo.

  Photo by Frans on Unsplash

  
  

  2019.06.08

• OMA’s first ground-up project in Manhattan finishes construction

  121 East 22nd — which is OMA’s first ground-up project in Manhattan — recently finished up construction at the corner of E 23rd St and Lexington Ave (the site continues through to E 22nd St, where there is basically a 2nd building). I wrote about the project over two years ago, here.

  Below is a photo by Laurian Ghinitoiu, via Dezeen, of it completed:

  

  The defining feature is its “prismatic corner”, which, I understand from this interview with David Von Spreckelsen (President of Toll Brothers City Living), was largely an outcome of the site’s restrictive zoning. There was a requirement to have constant street walls. That minimized what could be done architecturally on the project’s main elevations.

  The solution is two contextual street walls — the punched windows are designed to match the rhythm of their adjoining buildings — coming together and creating dramatic visual interest only at the point where they intersect. Below is a rolled out elevation from OMA. Note the gradient created by the windows as they converge toward the corner (center in the drawing below).

  

  The other interesting thing about this project is that it reminded me just how different the built form of Manhattan can be compared to Toronto. In the case of 121 East 22nd, the streetwalls rise 150 feet without any stepbacks. There is then a 10 foot stepback before the building rises another 60 feet — similarly without any additional breaks.

  I love the grandeur.

  2019.06.07