Necessities

By Caroline Smith

Ludwig Mies van der Rohe’s German Pavilion built originally in 1929 for the International Exposition in Barcelona is an iconic view of Minimalist Architecture. He uses the least amount of elements possible to achieve a maximum effect.  He wanted the exhibit to appear bare with only one sculpture and the furniture that he would design, like the iconic Barcelona Chair. The lack of requirements kept Meis from being restricted so he was free to play with the space as an experience and free to make a statement about architecture.

The kind of simplicity Mies works with in the pavilion emphasizes what is already necessary in the building- straight walls and continuous planes. Simple earthy materials provide ornamentation.  He plays with natural lighting in the pavilion by blurring the boundary between the inside and outside world. He highlights continuity between perfect planes, but contrasts it with interruption in the space, so the path through the building is not fixed or straight. Furthermore, there is no one perspective. The density of architecture in this case comes from variety of experience and perspective, which derives from the simplicity of the simple geometries. In this way, the building itself becomes the sculpture, and its simplicity may be pondered on a different level than something with elaborate ornamentation.

Architecture is sometimes more interesting when it is reduced. People find comfort in the natural environment so when a space can replicate that nature it becomes calming and tranquil. The plan of the pavilion is U-shaped, and contains a small pool. The concrete floor projects out on top of the water, unifying the viewer with an element of nature. The white roof plane cantilevers past the load bearing walls implying the idea of a sky. These simple elements combine with the natural materiality of marble and concrete create a place to stay and not just to pass through. Something that is natural is in its most pure, simple state. Reducing architecture to natural elements, or something that implies nature can improve it.

The furniture within can enhance architecture as well.  If a space is simplistic but what occupies it is not, then the minimalist nature of the space is overlooked. The whole idea of Mies’s pavilion was to better the experience of the architecture. The experience should not be the details of the chair or what it looks like, but instead should be about where the chair is and what emotions it evokes. In order to have a chair that fit perfectly within the space, Mies had to design one himself.  The Barcelona Chair is simple and minimalistic, and complements the surrounding architecture. It serves the same purpose as ornamentation but does not distract, and is completely functional. The focus is no longer on the chair itself, but how the chair works with the space.

Mies van der Rohe exemplifies simplicity in both a small scale and a large scale so that nothing is taken away from the occupant. Every element of the German Pavilion shows us how to reduce something for the best possible outcome, a kind of architecture that is appears more and more today because function comes from keeping only what is necessary.

Basic Elements In The Mass City

By Caroline Smith

Jean Nouvel’s Nemausus Social Housing in Nimes, France is one of the most simple and effective low-costing structures to board a large amount of people comfortably and affordably. Up until this point in 1985, the size of low-income apartments had been decreasing since the 1920’s. Nouvel wanted to find a way to design larger spaces for the same price. The most rational way to do this was to simplify almost every aspect of the apartment and design with basic materials using a simple parallel pipe head block scheme.

The structure of these buildings is broken down into the most essential elements. Parallel load-bearing walls run across the entire building at 5-meter intervals. The walls extend from the ground to the roof, serving as a barrier between each apartment. This composes a vertical arrangement of each apartment. An apartment that is vertically arranged can seem much bigger with higher vaulted ceilings in places and also eliminates the need for hallways and doors becasue program is distributed among different floor levels. Each apartment has it’s own stair for private circulation within, which reduces the amount of public circulation required. In these ways vertical arrangement is the simplest and most rational solution to increase space at the same price.

Furthermore, the public circulation is pushed outside of the structure so that it does not interfere with the existing wall pattern. Circulation does not take up space inside of the building, so the apartments can be bigger, and cost of construction and materials is much lower. Walkways and verandas are also a part of the “outer structure” attached to the façade of the building. When the building is separated into two structures- apartments and circulation, the layout can be much less complicated and there is less to manage.

My current project located in Genova also deals with large numbers of people. Instead of housing, multiple programs like libraries and theaters and lecture space are required, but the ideas of Jean Nouvel can influence a central tower that houses these functions as well as circulation and regulation for surrounding theaters.  If we start with 4 load bearing walls each program of the building can be arranged vertically acting as its own “apartment”. In this case the main circulation can be pulled in instead of out so a central staircase is the main connection to everything within the building. Now an outer circulation ramp can be used publically for the theaters. All three structures on the campus are tied together in a very basic way so there is no complexity with the form, which can crowd a space that is already complex in program.

Simplicity is a way of enhancing architecture’s meaning and value but it is also the most sensible way to control space and structure. It is easy to add to a project but taking away must be learned from architects like Jean Nouvel and applied in our own projects. His process of starting from the inner structure and working outwards produces an effective way to separate programs and decrease what is inside of a building.

Can an Informal Campus Exist in Genova?

By Caroline Smith

Last week we discovered how Cedric Price’s 6 strategies can be related to the specific parts of my current project in the space behind the Albergo in Genova, Italy.  However this week I would like to explore how the campus model can be applied to my project as a whole, still keeping the idea of simplicity as a driving concept.  The campus model may seem complex at first, but it really can be simple when broken down into individual units. The many different programs in my current project, including both indoor and outdoor theaters, library space, lecture space, offices and other related spaces can be fit into three separate, free standing towers. But is there a way to allow ambiguity within the entire complex and still remain functional and successful for each program?

Architecture can be formal, with a formal purpose and function, but still have an informal plan. The Acropolis in Athens, which I recently had the opportunity to visit, is one of the oldest surviving examples of the informal campus. The Greeks put their most important public buildings on the tops of hills.  Each building in the Acropolis was sacred and important, but had no pattern of connection or circulation through the site, and the buildings were not orientated towards any common space. There is no one place you are drawn to stand, and no specific vantage point. The buildings do not overlap, but are completely independent serving the one very simple function that they were built for.  Still, The Acropolis was very practical and millions seek the brilliant architectural site out every year.

The more modern example of an informal campus is The Biennale in Venice. The international garden section is composed entirely of independent structures that do not have any concern for the others. They are free of any surrounding influence, but their only purpose is that of an exhibition space. The overall purpose of the biennale is so ambiguous that the informality of the campus is completely appropriate.  Each exhibition space takes into account its own simple function, similar to the pavilions of The Acropolis, while encouraging one to wander through the garden on no specific path. In this way, the entire complex is informal, but the architecture within is formal.

My question is if this can be replicated in Genova, a city filled with piazzas where surrounding buildings are designed specifically for these public spaces. It is easy to compress each program into three individual structures, but is there a way to simplify the entire site enough to create an informal campus? Is there enough ambiguity to successfully create free-standing architecture with little or no clear circulation or pattern? I already know that I must coordinate around a vantage point. In this way the spaces must be more organized than those in The Acropolis, but could there still be enough vagueness in circulation and orientation to imply an indefinite campus successfully around the gallery spaces?  Potentially, the three main towers will still have specific and simplified functions, like each pavilion in The Acropolis and the Giardini, but the circulation and gallery spaces surrounding the three structures will be ambiguous and seemingly disordered to allow one to wander through the entire informal campus. 

Six Strategies

By Caroline Smith

Cedric Price shows us six strategies to transforming a building- reduction, addition, insertion, connection, demolition, and expansion. Each of these are simple and easily applied to any existing structure. It is interesting to relate these techniques to my own current project just below the Coso Firenze in Genova, Italy. The program for the design includes both indoor and outdoor theaters, library space, lecture space, offices and other related spaces.  The site takes place in a crucial location within the city, behind the historical Albergo. I would like to think of the multi-purposed terraces as the existing architecture to be updated.  Although there is no historical building, the six strategies could be applied to the site because of its own history and complexity. In this case, the product of our design will be considered parasitic.

Price’s first set of sketches demonstrate reduction and addition. These opposite actions could be applied to two different aspects of the project. Addition creates more of a parasitic element because one structure (the new) rests solely on another (the old). The site is full of vantage points already, but we would like to see a new belvedere added to enhance the view. This belvedere would completely rely on the site because its surroundings define it, while it adds to the value of what is already there, similar to Korteknie Stuhlmacher Architecten’s Parasite Strategie in Rotterdam, which draws people in while creating functional value to the space. Therefore we are designing a belvedere in the South West corner of the site allowing a view down towards the harbor, but also up to the mountains in the back, which is something overlooked in the existing site.  Reduction in this case is a little more conceptual.  Presently, the site behind the Albergo is very ambiguous. The space is almost wasted because it is non-functional. By giving the area a specific purpose through additions and other strategies, the ambiguity of the space can be reduced, or simplified, and more functional for visitors. Aisslinger and Warner use this conceptual reduction with the Standard Parasite, an inhabitable box that can be placed anywhere, simplifying an ambiguous space for specific purpose. In this way, Reduction can result from parasitic architecture in a simple way without changing a space too much.

The second set of sketches- insertion and connection, are used together. The theaters will be inserted into the remaining terraces. There will be little change to the massing of these areas, so insertion is a very simplified way of transforming the space, while keeping the original structure. Every part of the project will be connected through the base of the belvedere, a central tower which will act as a hub for all of the programs. The tower will then connect to the Corso Firenze, so that the actual site is connected to its surroundings by the parasite. This will once again enhance the space, presenting a functional, direct path for visitors into the site, which is currently confined.

Finally, in the third set of sketches the actual new tower structure is revealed through expansion and demolition.  An expansion is a freestanding object connected to what is existing- the terraces of the site. However in order for the central tower to be built, parts of the site will have to be demolished. In this way, demolition and expansion will work together within the site to add a greater meaning.

The site we are dealing with has a history of many different programs. Currently it stands unused and abandoned, but Price inspires us to design for continual change. He understood that architecture must change with the times, and his techniques allow the architect to be that agent of change. Often times parasitic architecture results from these changes, which can add functionality to a place, while attracting more people. Cedric Price’s strategies teach us the most simplified way of doing this, and transforming architecture to keep up with the current times, while respecting the history of a place.

Simplifying for Common Ground

Caroline Smith

Over the past few weeks I have shown an interest in simplifying architecture, inspired by many great minds like Eisenman, Le Corbusier, and Scarpa. Peter Eisenman’s process of Deconstructivism has fueled my exploration of simple architecture that is enriched by its surroundings, or that acts as an aide to something else. At the Architecture Bienale in Venice, I was interested in more ways that architecture could be simplified in order to evoke an emotion. I concluded that architecture can create illusions of a space within another, without always using walls or distinct edges.

            Valerio Olgiati wanted to display works from the most unique contemporary architects, in his opinion. The space that he created for the display takes the shape of a small room within a larger one. No walls are used for the boundaries of this room, but are instead implied by columns and a change in height. The ceiling of the smaller area is much lower than that of the main room. It seems to be a small space, because of the enormousness of the surrounding one, but is still rather large when standing inside. The works are arranged on a large white table that mimics the lower ceiling, creating a visual third space. The technique is so simple, but it draws you in to look at what is displayed. Furthermore the display carries out the idea of the Biennale’s theme “Common Ground.” Each architect’s style displayed is very different but is united on this common ground, which architecturally exhists as a simple space within a space.

            Robbrecht  en Daem Architecten represented Places, Heights and Depths using cinematography and photography. Similar to Olgiati’s his work was displayed as a space within a space. Again, a lower ceiling created the implied boundaries of the exhibit but these pieces were suspended in the air. Lights contributed to this illusion by shining through the hanging pieces and adding a floor element resembling change in material. Now a boundary exhists between the new ceiling and the new floor. Architecture does not have not be made of clear walls and roofs, but may be composed of other elements that may appeal to more of the 5 senses. Again, this method is simple, but appealing, drawing a person into the space.

            Another exhibit appealing to the senses is Poland’s Giardidi exhibit- A “sound sculpture” by Katarzyna Krakowaik. The sound has been described as “making the walls quake as if they are dialating with the secret knowledge of great powers.” The exhibit is a bare, slightly uneven concrete room. There is not much to look at, but the beauty exists in the sound of the architecture and the emotions provoked by the noise. An uncomfortable fear came to me at first, but as I explored the room I became curious about the sound, causing me to linger in the space. Although the architecture appears to be in its most basic form, the sound works with the space, creating a depth and a reason to stay.

           Finding common ground among every country can be a difficult task, but as I saw in the Biennale, architecture can be related to any country when simplified. Architecture in its most basic form can always pair with something else, whether artwork, light or sound; movement or views; or a cause to improve something insignificant, as we have seen in the past few weeks.

Simple Architecture With A Second Level

By Caroline Smith

Previously I have discussed the process of Deconstructivism exemplified by Peter Eisenman’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews in Berlin.  Last week I examined the way in which architecture could be the backdrop of a subject or an event in order to grab attention, thus adding a second level of complexity to the situation. This method could also be reversed so that the process of Deconstructivism, once again for architecture, depends completely on the subject as a backdrop. Now, with moving landscapes, the subject, which might be the landscape, inhabitants or vehicles that interact with the space, is the next level of complexity. This can be shown in a number of ways; by forcing a panoramic view, by responding to landscapes as they are, and by responding to the people, cars, etcetera that move through it.

            Le Corbusier best exemplifies the concept of using panoramic views as an element of architecture in the Beistegui Apartment, designed in 1929, where he leaves only a select point of view of the surrounding. The long, simple walls shape your view into a panoramic, drawing your eyes up to the cityscape in the distance so that architecture exists in its most basic form, while the subject of the landscape adds complexity to the space. The emotions evoked by this process are important because one can feel at peace in solitude while still integrated with the whole city.

 Another example of this I saw recently outside of Vicenza is Carlo Scarpa’s Brion’s Cemetery. The low back wall is simple and plain, drawing attention to a panoramic view of the beautiful mountains in the distance. The cemetery is a very quiet, personal place to reflect, aided by the beautiful views in the background, so once again; you may feel connected to what is surrounding the architecture.

            Many studies have been conducted in architecture in the past decade on the movement through landscapes and interactions with architecture. For example, Venturi studies how we perceive things from the car, since so many Americans spend a great deal of time in the car, in his book Learning from Las Vegas. These studies have alluded to new kinds of architecture that react to the movement of people and cars around and through it. Zaha Hadid and Roberto Burle Marx show evidence of this response to “the subject”, but the most efficient response I have found is Max Wan’s proposal for the Leidsche Rhein Master Plan. Similar to the emotions created in the Brion’s Cemetery and the Beistegui Apartment, Wan’s design allows the person’s experience to be his greatest priority. It provides safer, more comfortable pedestrian circulation around a city, while a partial underground highway would exist for cars only. This separation is a simple way to take the subject into account, allowing the movement of the people and cars to become the second level of complexity.

The Highline in New York designed by Diller Scofidio and Renfro sums up the way in which architecture can use the process Deconstructivism while allowing movement and landscape to add intricacy to a structure.  The bridge itself frames a panoramic view of the city forcing perspective and evoking connections between the city and its inhabitants similar to the first two projects. The purpose of the highline itself as a green space and a way for pedestrians apart from the street is a direct response to “the subject” of the city like Max Wan’s Master Plan proposal. It is important to know that we are always moving through landscapes and landscapes are always changing when designing architecture. In this way you can design something simple that will evoke great emotions and have a much deeper meaning when connected conceptually to what is around it.

A Change in the Landscape

By Caroline Smith

The many playgrounds, designed by Aldo Van Eyck between 1947 and 1978 are combinations of the most simple, basic elements. At the time, playgrounds were a privilege only the wealthiest children were able to enjoy. Eyck discovered that a child’s mind could be occupied by almost anything by experimenting with his first playground, which consisted of a sand pit, benches, and a simple set of bars. He proved that a child would be inclined to go wherever something interesting might exist. A change in the landscape is enough to provide a stimulating place for a child to grow up in. Relating back to my previous post about Peter Eisenman’s Memorial to the Murdered Jews, Aldo Van Eyck used a process similar to Eisenman’s Deconstructivism to break a basic object into its most simple form. This process however, was more direct, because the result was exactly a playground broken down. Over 700 playgrounds of simple components were placed in neighborhoods all over the Netherlands in order to give children the same joy as those who were members of private playgrounds. The meaning of the architecture became much more efficient after the process of deconstructivism.

However, this distraction is not limited to children’s minds; a change in landscape also captures the attention of adults. This change can be used for a cause, or an awareness that could really make a difference. Agnes Denes’s Wheatfield in Manhattan proves this point, serving as an art piece, the natural landscape in the urban setting of Manhattan was to “call people’s attention to having to rethink their priorities.” Denes broke her cause down to its most simple form, the wheat field itself. She then used architecture as a backdrop in order to change the landscape, gaining attention from all of Manhattan, producing the same effect of a child’s attention to a playground. Because of this small change, people’s lives and values were changed.

Finally, a change in landscape does not always have to be true in order to serve a purpose. The MOMA gardens, designed by Ken Smith demonstrate the power of landscaping to affect people’s emotions and productivity. The gardens are designed for the view of neighboring high rises to look down upon. The water and plants are not real, but an artificial creation of synthetic and recycled materials. This park serves no purpose other than a change in the landscape for those looking down from above. Even nature is deconstructed into simple elements. Cost efficient fiberglass, foam and rubber create the effect of a zin garden, captivating the attention of corporate workers and residents all around. Some refer to the garden as a rooftop treasure, even though it is only an imitation. In this case, aim of the project is only to change the landscape and the most efficient solution was to break down the componets of nature into more simple elements, which are much more cost efficient and maintainable.

These concepts can be well related to our current studio work in redesigning organizational aspects of the city: the public realm and the vertical arrangement. After trying too hard to come up with modern, conceptual design, the best solution is to simplify. A change in the landscape is the most efficient and productive way once again, so by using deconstructivism, the simplest elements for the project will reveal themselves.  Sometimes the more elementary architecture can be, the more powerful and lasting effect it may have.

http://www.classic.archined.nl/news/0207/AldovanEyck_playgrounds_eng.html

http://greenmuseum.org/c/aen/Issues/denes.php

 http://www.architypesource.com/projects/649-the-museum-of-modern-art-roof-garden/description

The Process

By Caroline Smith

The Memorial to The Murdered Jews, designed by Peter Eisenman is a controversial piece, built in the heart of the setting of the very crime that it represents.  The 2500 granite stones stand to remember those lost during the Holocaust in Berlin.

I had the opportunity to visit the monument recently where I was impressed by the ­­­solitude of the memorial. From the outer, shallower parts of the monument, crowds gather for pictures, picnics, and a place to hang out. It seems as if the power of what the monument represents is overlooked and disregarded, presenting itself  almost as a disappointment in regards to the peacefulness of a memorial .  However as you move into the narrow spaces, the concrete blocks grow taller and taller, restricting vision and sound to create an element of solitude. In this way the architecture is telling a story that can not be otherwise told. Each intersection of paths creates an opportunity to collide with someone in the other direction, so attentiveness increases as you move through the space. Now you are alone in silence, but constantly aware, and therefore able to experience the journey of those who inspired the story.  All connection to the city is lost as you wander through the intimidating, cold stone, allowing you to feel how a Jew might have felt during this time. The experience can be much more powerful than ­pictures or words about the holocaust as the journey becomes personal.

            Each block is a different height, with a different angle set on top. While understanding the effect it had on my emotions, I wondered if there was a pattern or system that Eisenman used to develop each height and angle.  What I found was that Eisenman used a process called Deconstructivism. He decomposed a basic object into its primary parts, the square granite blocks, then subjected them to a series of analytic movements and geometric transformations by subtly changing their heights and angles. These movements are a product of the surroundings, like the slope of the ground, and the views of the city from within the structure. This technique allows you to appreciate not only the design, but the process itself.

            In an interview with Eisenman he admits  “You pray and pray for such accidental results, because you really don't know what the finished product will be like. For example I didn't realize that the sound would be so muted inside. You don't hear anything but the sound of your footsteps.”  Eisenman’s process is very important to understand as a student of architecture because the effect is something that could never be generated from one single idea. Often times when I am presenting a project I have an immediate idea in my head of what it will look like in the end. If this was the only part of the process, the meaning would shallow. The process through diagramming and breaking everything down into its simplest form, like Deconstructivism, allows an idea to branch and grow into something much more powerful; architecture that can tell a story that might not otherwise  ever be told.