Literally "Going Green": I Am Lost in Paris

By Abbie Gentry

Being “environmentally friendly” and “going green” are prominent themes in the world right now. Television commercials are devoted to encouraging us to live healthier by walking or riding a bicycle rather than driving a car to decrease the effects of pollution. Advertisements and signs are posted throughout cities and on buses to kindly remind us to recycle. Activists will stand on street corners or congregate on college campuses to hand out flyers to anyone who will listen about the importance of conserving energy, water, and natural resources by taking simple, easy measures such as taking shorter showers, turning off the lights when leaving rooms, et cetera. It, of course, does not stop there. This theme has, as it should, strongly affected architecture.

Sometimes, “going green” can develop a whole new meaning. Francois Roche’s project, “I Am Lost In Paris,” intrigued me because of his creativity through his choice of materials. While he makes use of strong materials such as concrete and steal, his design also includes living walls of ferns infused with an array of glass beakers. These beakers capture sunlight to illuminate the interior while also functioning as a harvesting system of water for the ferns. “The ferns are wrapped around the structure and fed mechanically with a liquid mix of bacteria and need no soil base to grow. They get their nutrition drop by drop through 300 glass beakers full of especially prepared bacterial chemical culture mix while rainwater is collected to water the plants” (Wallpaper). This “wild” strategy of architecture is just one way to design sustainably.

Sustainability is not simply about using recycled materials, wind turbines, and solar panels. Sustainability also means thinking logically and economically. This means using local materials when possible to reduce the cost and energy necessary for transporting materials. This means considering every single design detail very carefully and making sure that everything has a function and, if possible, can be multi-functional. I’ll refer back to the apples diagram that I mentioned in an earlier post about the Design/Build studio that I took this past summer. My professor, Dan Harding, constantly reminded us that one should constantly have the “apples” or “needs” at the forefront of your mind at all times because time is money. Therefore, in order to hit all of the “apples” with the “arrow” of time and money, you must constantly be adapting your perspective. When one is focused on the necessities of a design, the rest follows. Beauty is discovered through creativity and when you find a simple, elegant solution.

Last year, Clemson University was fortunate to receive architect Chad Oppenheim as a guest speaker. I found his lecture to be particularly inspiring because he is very young to have accomplished so much and to have designed so many buildings in the United States as well as abroad. He is very creative but it is evident that he is a disciple of the phrase, “form follows function,” because everything in his designs has a purpose. He is very concerned with sustainability and always incorporates local materials, roof gardens, wind turbines, and the use of solar energy in his buildings whenever possible. His motto is to build “with the land,” not “on the land.” This means that he is careful to first study the environment because he wants to compliment the beauty of the location. His designs are symbiotic with nature and regenerative rather than destructive. He wants to create pleasurable and enjoyable architecture because he believes it is all about the feeling, space, experience, and best living environment.

(Photograph of a few of Chad Oppenheim’s projects)

Francois Roche, Dan Harding, and Chad Oppenheim set excellent examples for the younger generation of rising architects for how to approach architecture. If we follow their lead by designing with purpose and sustainability, the world will be a healthier place for our future generations to enjoy. There is an African proverb that says “ the earth is not ours but something we hold in trust for future generations.” Because the world belongs not to us but to the future and because we are merely the caretakers for now, it is our duty to protect the environment and to build (literally) a healthy future.

“‘Lost in Paris’ house, by R&Sie architects.” Wallpaper*. 6 February 2009. 20 November 2012. Web. <http://www.wallpaper.com/architecture/lost-in-paris-house-by-rsie-architects/3071>

Musical Inspirations to Generate Forms

By Abbie Gentry

Le Corbusier’s Phillips Pavilion for the 1958 World’s Fair in Brussels originally intrigued me because it reminded me briefly of a project that I designed in the fall of my sophomore year studio. The two designs, though very different in form, were similar in that both of the designs’ concepts were conceived through the inspiration of music. Upon further inspection, my interest in Le Corbusier’s temporary structure only increased. 

For my “Door, Window, Stair” project, I closely followed “The Cello Song” by Jon Schmidt and Steven Sharpe Nelson to generate the form of my building. The song, composed at first with a single cello, gathers momentum as seven more cellos eventually join. As I listened to the song and considered how the tempo, magnitude, and power of the song gracefully ascend during the song’s progression, I envisioned the hands of an orchestrator. This gesture inspired my initial concept of a spiraling staircase to exemplify this gently swooping inclination. The song in its entirety is very peaceful and soothing. The design for the structure follows this sense of being immersed and surrounded by beauty, elation, and awe. The song begins slowly and quietly. This is portrayed by a smaller space with muted lighting. Platforms exist where the song smoothes out into a melodic, peaceful sequences. The series of platforms grow increasingly larger in size to symbolize the addition of instruments throughout the song. Similarly, the louder and more emotional the song, the less contained the space. The beat of the song (1-123) is continuous throughout the song and is represented by the stairs (a longer tread followed by three shorter treads). Even when the song is less forceful, the beat is still present, albeit subdued, and its presence is represented as the structure and support beams beneath the floors. Although there is an inspiring build up, there is a lack of a powerful finale. Because of this, the stairs continue to climb into the sky without a ceiling of limit to symbolize this unattainable climax. 

(Study Model and Final Model of "Door, Window, Stair" Project)

Although my project was perhaps much more metaphorical than Le Corbusier’s project was, his was no less interesting. The purpose of the pavilion was to “display electronic technology in as many forms as possible, serving arts, culture, and the overall betterment of humankind.” Le Corbusier is quoted to have said, “I will not make a pavilion for you but an Electronic Poem and a vessel containing the poem; light, color image, rhythm and sound joined together in an organic synthesis.” However, rather than basing his design off a song, he instead was the one who gave inspiration for a song to compliment his pavilion, which composed by Edgard Varese. Le Corbusier was in charge of designing the interior of the pavilion and left the exterior to fellow architect and music theorist, Iannis Xenakis. Le Corbusier “gave minimal input into the details of how the interior of the pavilion would work, instead giving only a vague concept of what the experience should accomplish. The basic guidelines given to both Xenakis and Varese were that the interior was to be shaped in a manner similar to the stomach of a cow, with the form coming from a basic mathematical algorithm” (Lopez). He used musical proportions and mathematics to generate the form, which resulted in a very organic interior that was juxtaposed against the rigid exterior. He designed the pavilion in such a way that people would hear the song, which then leads them into the “stomach” in order to observe a film while continuing to be engaged by the music, and then be “digested” and led out.

I find the notion of combining architecture with music, film, or any other kind of art to be the quite fascinating. To be able to create a physical representation of something so abstract and conceptual as music adds a whole new dimension and meaning to architecture. And that is just what architecture is all about – exploring new boundaries and testing the limits of our knowledge and skills.

(Initial Concepts and Photograph of Phillips Pavilion)

Works Cited:

Lopez, Oscar. “AD Classics: Expo ’58 + Phillips Pavilion/ Le Corbusier and Iannis Xenakis.” ArchDaily. 25 October 2011. 19 November 2012. Web. < http://www.archdaily.com/157658/ad-classics-expo-58-philips-pavilion-le-corbusier-and-iannis-xenakis/>

Independent Travels: Experiencing Different Styles

By Abbie Gentry

Over my independent travels in the middle of this semester, I was given the chance to explore many different types of architecture. I was able to visit Muslim mosques in Istanbul; Classical ruins and a modern museum in Athens; and medieval as well as contemporary buildings in Prague.

I was particularly thrilled to visit Turkey because the very first building that I remember studying in Art and Architectural History 101 was the Hagia Sophia. To be able to see this iconic building with my own eyes was unreal. I had never before personally experienced Muslim architecture so it was an exciting, new opportunity. I was able to sit casually on the lawn in front of the Blue Mosque and sketch to my heart’s delight before entering into this sacred building and wandering with my head constantly swiveling back and forth, up and down, trying my best to take it all in. Even shopping in the Grand Bazaar was an interesting architectural moment. It was akin to entering a new city with its own infrastructure and crowded shops. It was so large; it was easy to get disoriented. We also explored the underground cisterns, which, again, was an entirely new experience for me. The cisterns were located in a cavernous room with paths suspended over water. As you ambled along, you were able to admire the monumentality of the massive columns and raw beauty of archaic carvings such as the large sculpted heads of Medusa.

(Hagia Sophia in Istanbul)

Athens is, I believe, every architect’s dream to visit. We have all studied classical architecture and know how it strongly it affects architecture even to this day. With this in mind, being able to see ancient ruins that most people only see in photographs was surreal. While I was very fortunate to be able to visit the Acropolis, the Temple of Zeus, the very first Olympic stadium, and Hadrian’s arch, surprisingly, one of my favorite buildings that I saw was very contemporary. The New Acropolis Museum, designed by the Swiss architect Bernard Tschumi and Associates, was simply captivating. It was the perfect complement to the old city because it used its own beauty to bring attention to the beauty of the ruins. From far away, the building may seem slightly out of place with its enormous canter-levering balcony and glass façade. Upon further inspection, however, one realized that the balcony pointed directly to the Acropolis and the glass was used to reflect the surrounding architecture. Since the museum was crouched on top of ruins, glass was also used in the floors to create a 360 degree view down to the old and up to the new. Interestingly enough, as we wandered through the city, we also happened upon a building that have a very Carlo Scarpa-esque flair to it. Unfortunately it was a private residence so I was not able to see more than the front façade but it was a nice change to see a contemporary edifice in the landscape of old houses and shops.

(first Olympic stadium in Athens)

(Carlo Scarpa-esque door in Athens)

Prague had its own surprises for me. I knew little of the city before I visited but I was instantly enamored with the charm of the Old Town and the sleekness of the New Town. While in the newer section of the city, I was insistent on visiting the Dancing House by Frank Gehry. After having researched and given a speech on Gehry a couple years prior, as well as being inspired for my first project freshman year by this particular building since it was similar in program and style to my own design, I felt a special connection to his building that was so radical and controversial in the city. While the locals may disapprove of Gehry’s flamboyant style, I admired his ability to weave together the concrete and glass in such a playful and metaphorical manner. I was even able to visit the rooftop after purchasing a glass of wine – the fee to ride the elevator – and was astounded by the beauty of the interior with its play of light and shadows. The other building that captured my interest was a restaurant/bar/club that we happened upon. It had its own distinct architectural style and artistic expression that was a mixture of industrial and modern. Its décor consisted of old clocks, pipes, cogs, and aged pieces of machinery.

It was extremely rewarding to be able to experience all of these different styles even within such a short span of time. It intrigued my curiosity and reminded me of my passion for architecture.

(the New Acropolis Museum in Athens)

(the Dancing House in Prague)

(Club in Prague)

Designing for the Client

By Abbie Gentry

In an earlier post concerning the Architecture Biennale in Venice, I wrote about the responsibilities of an architect and how “architecture is not only what it looks like, but what it does.” This week I would like to revisit this simple but profound statement. However, rather than exploring the “pro bono” duties, I would like to consider our greatest commission; that is, designing with the sole purpose of supplying the clients with exactly what they request and need. In the Biennale post, I wrote that, as architects, “we are charged with the task to design structurally sound, economical, sustainable buildings that will fulfill all of the needs of the clients and add beauty to the existing environment.”  Jean Nouvel’s Nemausus Social Housing Project in Nimes is, in my opinion, an excellent example of designing with the full intent of answering to the client’s needs while still maintaining artistic freedoms and innovative strategies. Furthermore, this project resonated with me in particular because it reminded me of a design/build project on which I worked this past summer.

Nouvel aimed to design a housing complex that was low budget and cost-effective with larger living spaces for the same cost as regular apartment complexes. He also designed nondescript, multi-functional spaces in order to suit the interior decorating tastes of different residents.  Similarly, the main objective our summer project was to design a pavilion that was low-maintenance, low budget, and multi-functional for the plant nursery in the South Carolina Botanical Gardens (SCBG).

Our professor, Dan Harding, encouraged us to continually consider our basic needs before becoming distracted by details. He gave us the analogy of hitting as many apples as possible with one arrow. Each apple represents a basic need or requirement. If they are all lined up in a row, in order to hit all of them, you have to change the direction of your arrow or, in other words, change your perspective. Therefore, you must always be adapting your perspective and adjusting your design in order to “hit all the apples” and to insure that the design is always functional and necessary. It would appear that Nouvel also constantly considered “his apples” because it very evident that every element of his design is rational and functional.

The two projects compare on many levels. Nouvel’s apartment unit consisted of a free plan arrangement with no interior walls. He deliberately designed the skeleton and infrastructure of the building while leaving the interior “empty and naked”. This allowed the residents to be free from restrictions when arranging their individual apartment spaces. The only permanent elements within the apartments were the placement of the water and light system. Although there were not interior walls, the exterior walls that separated the apartments from the verandas were intended to be mobile and adaptable. These walls were multifunctional because they were sound proof, provided insulation, and were light enough to be easily moved.

Our clients requested a covered space that would provide protection from the elements with a system for secure storage. Because our clients were concerned with weather inhibiting the safety of people during plant sales since it seemed to storm every plant sale day, we were also asked to provide a wall system. Because we did not want to obstruct any of the views of the surrounding gardens and forest on the site, we were hesitant to build a permanent exterior wall structure. Therefore, we proposed a moveable wall system. These walls could be multi-functional in that they would be either slat walls in order to hang merchandise or they would contain louvers that could be open or closed according to the weather in order to allow sunlight into the pavilion or to block out the rain. We also did not want to limit the use of the pavilion with permanent furniture so we designed a mobile counter system. Two counters, each containing shelving, faced each other; one anchored to the floor and the other on a track system. When the counters were moved apart, they created a “cash wrap” which was ideal for separating the vendors from the customers. When pushed and locked together, they provided the secure storage as requested by the clients. Furthermore, when the counters were together, they could function as a table in a classroom setting for events such as planting seminars. To keep with the theme of a free plan, our interior space was open with the exception of a trough that collected rain from an opening in the roof and then allowed the water to overflow into a garden space.

These projects closely relate to one another because both were concerned with creating adaptable spaces. Both involved continuously considering the clients wishes and thereby reining in perhaps grander schemes in order to create practical, flexible spaces. Both, in my opinion, are superb examples of successful architecture.

A close up of the mobile counter system (when closed)

Diagram of how the counters on the track system works

The sliding wall of the SCBG “Rain Garden” Pavilion

Free interior plan and photograph of one of the apartments

Touch of Red

By Abbie Gentry

The area beneath bridges has always had a bad reputation. In children’s fairytale stories, it is where dark creatures lurk and wait to snatch up some unfortunate soul. In large cities, it is the location where the homeless population congregates and suspicious transactions occur. The region beneath a highway in Pijnacker-Nootdorp in the Netherlands attempts to remedy this ill-fated status. However, while this particular project may not have an actual troll like the one under the Fremont Bridge in Seattle, it does have a ‘Touch of Evil’ …which also happens to literally be the name of the project.

The ‘Touch of Evil’ takes up a 2000 square-metered stretch of land beneath highways and train tracks. It appears to be an ordinary passageway where walkers, runners, and bikers are free to go about their business. The difference between this underpass and other tunnels lays, however, in the huge splashes of red upon the concrete walls. These vibrant, splattered splotches liven up the atmosphere to create a fun and whimsical environment. There is fluidity and motion in the red forms. It has been described as such: “In front of us a big red stain etches concrete surfaces. The smooth gray walls twist, bend, as when a finger touches the surface of the water and a series of waves begin to come alive” (Nio Architecten). There is even a level of third dimensionality to the ribbons of red. In some places the red wrinkles and bulges to give the area not only a brilliant color but also texture.

Maurice Nio, founder of NIO Architecten, aimed to create an environment that is safe and comfortable; though perhaps not too comfortable. There is a sense of childlike wonder and untamed energy associated with this passageway. Within this space there is even a sign that reads “Touch of Evil is a tunnel that you will never understand, even if you follow every day of your life” (Nio Architecten). Moreover, there is the nature of the materiality and color that creates quite the paradox. Red is a warm color; the color of life, passion, and energy. It is “bold, strong, and demands a response… It’s all about movement and flow and making a statement” (Munoz). Concrete, on the other hand, is more often than not linked with the feeling of coldness and harsh, industrial environments. It seems ironic that the two extremes are paired. However, this is not done by accident. In response to its seemingly conflicting nature, Nio says, “This is my dream. Infect the soft with the hard. Limit the lens. The virtual with the real. Intelligence with stupidity” (Nio Architecten). Furthermore, “the project was conceived by the thought about filling the “technical spaces” of our cities with life and expression, the “soulless with a soul” (Gianotti). He takes an ordinary, emotionless, utilitarian space and transforms it into an energetic, personable space. He, in effect, “transforms an out-of-the-way and apparently insignificant place into an experience capable of redeeming a desolate, anonymous location, formerly soulless and slovenly (Touch of Evil).

It is interesting to think that merely adding color to something as bland as an underpass can cause such a stir. It does not change the reality that it is still simply a passageway under a busy highway. However, it completely changes its perception and the over-all experience.

Sources Cited

Gianotti, Andrea. “AD Interviews: Maurice Nio.” ArchDaily. 26 May 2010. Web. 31 September 2012. < http://www.archdaily.com/61429/ad-interviews-maurice-nio/

Munoz, Frances. “Color Theory Series: Red.” SW Creatives, LLC. 18 February 2010. Web. 1 October 2012. < http://www.swcreatives.com/_blog/SWC_Blog/post/color-theory-series-red/>

“Nio Architecten. Touch of Evil.” Arch’It. 1 June 2005. Web. 31 September 2012. <http://architettura.it/architetture/20050601/index.htm>

“Touch of Evil – Nio Architecten. Pinacker, 2004.” Floornature. 18 September 2007. Web. 31 September 2012. <http://www.floornature.com/projects-housing/project-touch-of-evil-nio-architecten-pijnacker-2004-4922/>

Biennale 2012: the Japanese Pavilion, "Home-for-All"

By Abbie Gentry

This phrase was painted on one of the walls in the Biennale Architecture 2012 exposition that we were fortunate enough to visit during our stay in Venice last week. This phrase stuck out to me because, despite its simplicity, it is a loaded and thought-provoking statement. What is architecture? What does it mean to be an architect? What are our responsibilities as an architect?

There was one exhibit that contained a section in which you could write on a whiteboard your definition of what it means to be an architect. You then took a picture holding the board and the pictures of the different people holding up their definitions combined to become a collage. One picture stood out to me because it read, “Sociological Spiderman: ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’” Though this phrase may have originated from a comic book, it makes the statement no less truthful. Though we may not work in a hospital with people’s lives literally in our hands, as architects, we are still responsible for the welfare of anyone who comes into contact with our designs. Architecture is more than simply insuring that a building will not collapse. We are charged with the task to design structurally sound, economical, sustainable buildings that will fulfill all of the needs of the clients and add beauty to the existing environment. Sometimes, our responsibility extends further. When disaster strikes, it is up to us to provide for the less fortunate and to lend our skills where they are needed. When Japan was struck by a tsunami in March of 2011, a group of architects undertook a project that would turn the suddenly homeless and poverty-stricken people’s lives back around. 

The Japanese Pavilion, “Architecture. Possible here? Home-for-All” allowed people to explore the design process that architects Kumiko Inui, Sou Fujimoto and Akihisa Hirata went through as they designed homes for those who suffered from the tsunami. Moreover, it set the perfect example for what architecture should be. The Commissioner, Toyo Ito, could not have said it better: “Since the modern period, architecture has been rated highest for its originality. As a result the most primal themes – why a building is made, and for whom – have been forgotten. A disaster zone where everything is lost offers the perfect opportunity for us to take a fresh look, from the ground up, at what architecture really is.” Architecture is not about building the tallest skyscraper or the fanciest house. Architecture sometimes needs to be concerned with the most basic of needs. 

As you walk through the pavilion, you can view the before and after pictures of the city of Rikuzentakata, the site of the project, which was struck heavily by the tsunami. It displayed the different iterations that the models had undergone until the architects had reached a decision on a final design. None of the designs were glamorous or particularly mind-blowing. However, it was the story that was so salient.

(some of the later models)

They began with a site visit and then began creating sketch models of their initial ideas. After much deliberation and many futile discussions with little advancement concerning a conclusive design strategy, they decided it was time for another site visit. Though the people had been emotionally devastated, physically displaced, and reduced to living in tents set up in temporary housing sites, they still managed to greet the architects with smiles and laughter. The sense of community amongst this burdened group inspired the architects, as did the story of Takata-Matsubara which told how the storm had scavenged the landscape until there was one lone tree left standing while the rest lay about the area, uprooted and useless. These very trees, however, became the starting point and synthesis for the project. Rather than importing materials for vertical structure elements, the cedar logs would more than suffice as columns. Moreover, they would create gathering spaces within the houses that would seem to be floating above the ground.

There is much to be learned from this example set by Toyo Ito and the accompanying architects. They designed specifically and intentionally for the clients by considering the sense of community and congregation that the people desired. By using local timber, the project was closely connected to its surroundings. Furthermore, the strategy was environmentally friendly since it reduced the amount of energy and resources necessary for transportation of building materials.