Genius and Insanity: A Look at the Walking City

By Jordan Grant

The fine line between genius and insanity is often discussed and often crossed; the topic of this post is about architects that perch on that fine line and stay there.

 

Archigram, the 1960s avant garde London firm is perhaps one of the best examples of this tightrope act of insanity that I can think of. Their futurist-inspired work glorifies machines, the glamour of technology and mass consumerism. It disregards concerns for the environment and the social implications of mass standardization.

Perhaps my favorite example is that of the Walking City, a project from 1964 by Archigram. Simplified, the Walking City is a collection of insect-like robot cities that roam the world in search for resources. The cities could join forces when a metropolis was needed and even the buildings could move to wherever their owner commanded. 

My first reaction to this proposal is to deem Archigram insane, past the line between genius and insanity. The thought of giant bug robots carrying human cities and stomping across continents sounds absolutely ridiculous. The image that forms in my mind is absurd- mechanical cockroaches jumping over forests while humans ride their backs like fleas.

Yet, Archigram may have had a genius premise, one that is actually something much more ancient and instinctual- a nomadic lifestyle and the benefits that it grants. Following resources, protection from attack on permanent structures, the capability to flee dangers and escape harsh climates. It’s not a new concept at all, it’s just the first time it’s presented in such a ridiculous manner. Yet in reality, the Walking City might have already existed.

Railroad cities were once prominent, popping up along the US Transcontinental Railroad. The tracks lent the perfect opportunity for cities to become moveable and nomadic by following where the railroad led.

Additionally, some ships have verged on the scale that the Walking City suggests; the largest aircraft carriers can hold up to 6,000 people. These are the only vessels of such a large magnitude that support extended living, but their counterparts could be considered cruise ships- though only intended to be lived in for short periods of time, these ships can fill almost any function or program for a large number of people. Yet the few attempts at a true floating city have failed.

Even the notion of a city in space is not a new one, though it reminds me of the children’s movie Wall-E. The Walking City might one day exist in space in a ship that can simulate a city environment for humanity and an escape from a decaying planet Earth.

Genius or insane, I know not. However, the Walking City is an interesting idea to contemplate- perhaps I must categorize Archigram as a blanket of insanity that obscures genius from sight, but does not remove it.

Operahuset/Operaen

By Jordan Grant

A few weeks ago I got the opportunity to visit Oslo, Norway for a few days. Of course, the city is most famous for the Oslo Opera House- called the Operahuset in Norwegian- and after experiencing it for myself, I couldn’t agree more with the positive criticism that it was received.

I guess the main reason that I feel capable of providing commentary on the Oslo Opera House is because I can contrast it the Opera House located in Copenhagen, Denmark, which I experienced days after. One opera house provided the city with a lively landmark that attracted tourists and residents alike- from early in the morning to late at night. The other seems unconnected to the city and is unoccupiable in the way that the Oslo Opera House is famous for, and is most often viewed at a distance. This is why I feel that the city of Oslo has really gotten the most value out of this building- because many other cities have failed to make such a lively node with their Opera House, such as Copenhagen.

The Olso Opera House in Norway

Oslo’s Opera House has a wonderful location in the city center, on the edge of the water. With the chill in the air as I approached the massive structure it almost looked like an iceberg, large and imposing, exposing itself to the shore. Similarly, the Copenhagen Opera House is located on the shores of ocean bank- but away from the city center, so a large distance of water usually stands between the viewer and the structure. Additionally, it makes no connection to the water aesthetically, which makes it appear out of context.

What really makes the Oslo project so great is that it’s monumental but still interactive with the community. It invites all its visitors to climb its roof and gain a panoramic view of the city. Additionally its doors were open even in the middle of the day with no event planned, so I was able to experience the interior of the space as well. It’s quite an interesting feeling to be standing on the ground but also be able to see people walking by the windows located many meters above your head.

Once you’ve ventured your way up the tilting roof the entire city opens up at your feet, it’s really quite an amazing feeling. In the front you can see where the sea meets the land; in the back a line of contemporary buildings, some still under construction, are a focal point. It’s really a great orientation tool for those unfamiliar with the city. For all these reasons I believe that the architects behind the Oslo Opera House should be commended for their work and that other cities can use this example as a way to create a community-interactive building.

The Copenhagen Opera house lacks the vibrant, interactive design of the Oslo Opera House, as well as the accessibility to the public. You can see it here on the left, located across on the opposite bank of the canal:

The Copenhagen Opera House

 As far as Opera Houses go it was one of the most expensive ever built, over 500 million US Dollars. As far as I'm concerned, they could've taken a page out of Oslo's book with some of that money!

What Prada Marfa is Really Promoting

 By Jordan Grant

I know I wasn’t the only one who’s first thought was “wait, what?” when the first photo of the Prada Marfa store popped up in the slideshow. It’s a surprising and interesting concept to unravel before deeming it successful or just silly. It raises too many questions left without answers.

First of all, the location- located on US Route 90 between Valentine and Marfa, Texas. Why? Why Texas, why a small town in Texas, why outside of city limits in a completely empty landscape? To answer this, let me clarify a few points. Prada Marfa is not financed by the Prada brand. It’s financed by a non-profit in Marfa, who adopted the project of two sculpture artists (from Norway and Denmark, who met in Berlin) after they slyly created some false advertisement in Chelsea, New York City, New York. At least the artists had the approval of Prada at this point, though not any money from them. Yet it caught the sight of the non-profit that later financed the project and chose the location.

Now the sculpture enters planning and creation mode- the artists were given $80,000 to create their sculpture, which they have decided in advance that it will never see any repairs and that it will be allowed to become a broken, ruined building to fade into the sparse landscape of the site. Quoted from the artists themselves in a newspaper article, “It was produced by Yvonne Force Villareal and Doreen Remen through their nonprofit Art Production Fund, and they said last week that they intended to forgo maintenance and let time ravage the $80,000 sculpture so that ‘50 years from now it will be a ruin that is a reflection of the time it was made.’” Basically put, the adobe bricks, glass panes, plaster, MDF, carpet, aluminum and paint are going to be left without maintenance in the middle of what appears to be a desert. Already this is beginning to sound like a wasteful and ridiculous project to me.

The probable future of Prada Marfa

So 2005 comes along after 2 hard years in the making and, hooray, a celebration is thrown for the opening of a store with no working doors (wrap your mind around the irony of that). It’s a 25 foot by 15 foot sculpture with stucco walls and minimalist display that shows pieces chosen by Prada from their 2005 collection. Three days later it’s discovered that all 6 handbags and 14 right-footed shoes are missing, the glass smashed, and the words “dum dum” spray-painted on the side of the store. Though put ineloquently, the vandals share my sentiments towards the project. The creators immediately take back the whole part of the concept where the sculpture will never see any repairs and the store is quickly returned to its restored and restocked condition.

What would you find there today? Rocks piled on the ledges, holding down business cards of passing visitors. Peeking in the window at the shoes would also show you a whole lot of dead moths littering the carpet. Ruin has begun to take ahold of the building.

This project previously held for me a sense of whimsical charm, curiosity and some respect. After doing a little bit of research though, I find myself very opposed to this project- $80,000 down the drain, funded by a non-profit instead of the recipients of the glorified billboard in the middle of the desert that attracts vandalism and will one day litter the landscape with its non-degradable materials put there fully knowing that the building would never see maintenance (in theory, only time will tell if they will restore the building should it be vandalized again). It amazes me that more people have not offered commentary on the building, no more than the announcements of the opening in 2005 and no updates or concern on its current and future condition.

Sources: http://www.boston.com/travel/articles/nytimes/articles/2009/11/22/in_marfa_texas_minimalist_art_and_maximum_flavor/?page=3

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9A07E5DA1230F93AA1575AC0A9639C8B63

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/08/national/08prada.html?_r=0

A Non-Mutual Relationship

By Jordan Grant

The topic of parasitic architecture was one of the most interesting to me that we’ve seen in class; to see abstract forms clinging to the sides of buildings or perched on rooftops is surely amazing and interesting. But these forms that are becoming increasingly popular have a name that raises another question- are they truly parasites? If we view the urban jungle like an ecosystem found in nature, perhaps the effects of parasitic architecture might be explored more in depth.

A typical parasite found in nature.

A parasite (loosely described) is a living organism that finds a host and lives off it in a non-mutual relationship. These two organisms are of different species and the host suffers at the expense of the parasite. A parasite is different than a predator because a parasite is usually much smaller than its host, and it’s different from other organisms in the fact that they do not create a symbiotic relationship; the parasite only takes, never gives.

What’s more, parasites in nature can have a drastic effect on their hosts. They most often infect or influence the central nervous system, with the most common effect being a shortened lifespan for the host. So is the name for parasitic architecture just an unfortunate namesake, or could these pieces of architecture be having a detrimental effect on their host buildings or the urban jungle?

The Rucksack House, clinging to a facade.

Based on the lecture, I see a few different types of parasitic architecture evolving; permanent versus temporary and cost-effective versus sustainable (although one is not mutually exclusive of the other, they seem to be often in competition). For example, the Rucksack House is a small room that hangs off of an existing building’s façade and is accessible through a window to add 9 square meters of space to an apartment. Like a parasite found in nature, the Rucksack House leeches to the existing building’s structure and must attach to its central nervous system to at least gain electricity. It’s a temporary structure made of a steel cage and plywood that hangs on steel cables.

Project Orange's parasite.

This project has many similarities to one by Project Orange- but unlike the Rucksack House, Project Orange has created a permanent parasite. It’s still a group of steel blocks that bites through roof of an existing brick building, relying on its structure and stability.

My mind immediately begs the question “Are parasites destroying their hosts? Even more, are they going to cause decay in the urban fabric?” It seems that there is a delicate balance between how much of a structure architectural parasites can inhabit, and if that balance is wrong then the parasite would be doing what it does in nature- shortening the lifespan of the building. Even more, all these “temporary” structures seems to be constructed of low cost, durable materials like steel and concrete. Will the use of these finite materials in temporary structures have a detrimental effect on the environment? It seems to me that temporary structures should utilize recycled/recyclable materials, or at least renewable materials that can be replaced in the same lifespan of the parasitic structure that consumed them.

The Dresden Museum of Military History by Daniel Libeskind.

Perhaps parasitic architecture is just unfortunately named and really does have a helpful, useful role in contemporary architecture. I’m sure that many of my peers will have written about the positive effects that parasitic architecture can have. I have faith that these parasitic structures could become an innovative way to reduce our environmental footprints while improving the quality of life. However, my limited research shows that very little commentary has been made as to the unwanted side effects or risks associated with attaching parasites to our cityscapes and potentially shortening the lifetimes of our buildings. Architects must be aware that we build and inhabit in a very delicate ecosystem here in the urban jungle, and introducing too many parasites that haven’t been well designed could have a detrimental effect.

Sources: http://www.dezeen.com/tag/parasites/

Le Corbusier, the Surrealist.

By Jordan Grant

Le Corbusier, a name inescapable in the study of architecture, is the topic of this next post- or, rather, to be more exact, his work on a Parisian apartment for eccentric millionaire Carlos de Beistegui. This work stands out from the fabric of Corbusier’s body of work as extremely unique since its design heavily relies on the eccentricities of the client, so it is important to understand Beistegui first before discussing Le Corbusier as a surrealist.

Beistegui came from a rich family with a history in art collections- his uncle’s collection is now displayed in the Louvre. He was a world traveler, well-studied and at the center of the social scene in Paris during his lifetime. He’s often regarded as one of the most flamboyant figures of the 20th century and his parties were considered some of the best Paris has ever seen. By the 1930s when Beistegui contacted Corbusier in regards to designing his penthouse apartment, he has already obtained a large number of surrealist portraits in his art collection, and perhaps his apartment itself can be considered one of the greatest works of surrealist art that the collector ever obtained.

Surrealism was a movement that began in the early 1920s with Paris regarded as the most important center of surrealist works.  This philosophical movement centered on the concepts of unexpected juxtapositions, non sequitur, and surprises. It sought to uncover the creative potential of the unconscious mind. As Salvador Dali mentioned himself, "Surrealism is destructive, but it destroys only what it considers to be shackles limiting our vision." When the concept is applied to architecture, it is allowed to break out of what is considered normal or necessary and become a work of art that creates an environment that removes the shackles that are limiting our vision.

Now, keeping both the client and the client's love of surrealism in mind, take a deeper look in to Corbusier’s work for Beistegui. I don't claim to be an expert of any sorts- rather, these are my own observations and ventures into guessing what they may mean. Perhaps the story is best told through photos; from the winding narrow staircases to the mirrors to the furniture, it’s surely a surrealistic experience. Corbusier’s intricate and technologically advanced additions to the house include a camera obscura in the form of a telescope and a movie screen for projection that lowers as a chandelier rises. However, the rooftop garden has always been considered the highlight of the penthouse, which is rumored to have been helped in the design by none other than famous surrealist Salvador Dali.

One of the first similarities that appears is the sparseness of landscape. The rooftop garden of the penthouse has been designed so that only two monuments appear in the skyline, something not often seen (especially from such great heights). It's similar to some of the works by Dali, in which a limited skyline is shown. The images below show the similarities of the limited skyline:

Another recurrent items is mirrors, a popular subject of surrealists. Whether the mirrors were placed by Beistegui or Corbusier I know not, but they strengthen the ties to surrealist art- where heads are often shown disconnected from the bodies similar to how a head appears to be floating in a mirror.

While I've only begun my research on Beistegui and his apartment, which is difficult to find as it is one of Corbusier's most underrated projects, I believe that it is a fascinating topic that ties together art and architecture of the time in the 1930s.

Sources:

http://www.rasa.net/writings/corbubeistegui.html

http://mondo-blogo.blogspot.it/2010_10_01_archive.html

A Gateway to Common Ground: Norman Foster in Venice

By Jordan Grant

The 13^th International Architecture Exhibition at the Biennale in Venice was a once in a lifetime experience, to say the least. I know many students, myself included, found it to be inspiring and amazing. Norman Foster was the curator for one of my personal favorite exhibitions. Located at the entrance of the Arsenal, he called the exhibit “Gateway”, which turned out to be more than appropriate.

My experience of the exhibit began even before I reached the threshold. As I neared the back of the first room, I began hearing sounds- big sounds, frightening sounds, sounds that make you want to walk in the opposite direction of whatever could possibly be making them. Then I turned the corner, only to find a very narrow hallway ending only in black, while the noises got louder and louder. As I ventured down the hallway I found yet another corner to turn, and such is how I came to see the exhibit for the first time. A dark room, filled with lights and pictures all moving across the floors and walls, camouflaged the people already standing in the exhibit as if they had become part of it- and in this way I also became part of it.

First I stuck out my hand and watched the words crawl across it, almost like holding a caterpillar of light. The multitude of words made it almost impossible to read them individually and they constantly intersected and overlapped in a geometric manner, almost like someone had held a dictionary upside down and shook it until all the words fell out.

I was in the midst of observing this sea of words when my focus was ripped away and turned towards the film on the wall- or rather, I should say films, as 10 screens played concurrently, each flashing their own series of images and projecting their own noises. The viewer is really left with no option but to stand in the center of the room and turn in circles in an attempt to understand the connection between the screen and their subjects. People and places from all over the globe appeared in glimpses, some longer than others and sometimes the screens all faded except one with a lone figure or empty space. But eventually the lights and sounds become overpowering and then the viewer is forced to find the exit, which is only a small curtain completely obscured from view.

Though I knew I did not understand the exhibit entirely, I knew that it was serving as a threshold to the rest of the Biennale and was therefore extremely important. How it manipulated my senses and emotions was genius, so I decided to do a little more research about it. The title of this year’s Biennale (given by Curator David Chipperfield) was “Common Ground”, and Norman Foster stuck with this given theme in his exhibit. The words crawling across the floor are actually the names of people in history that have shaped the physical environment, including but not exclusively names of architects. The words are projected straight to the floor, giving a literal meaning to “Common Ground”- the ground is now a collection of past and present figures all sharing a common interest and profession in the built environment. Foster has created unity in this way.

Next, the walls- showing pictures of meeting places across the world, western world next to eastern, first world side by side with third world, peace next to war, rich next to poor. It’s a reminder that we all share the same spaces, no matter where you are. Foster’s exhibit is a tool to prepare visitors for the rest of the Biennale with the realization that the world in which we live is shared, and that it is indeed “Common Ground”. Bravo, Mr. Foster- bravo.

Sources: http://www.dezeen.com/2012/08/28/gateway-by-norman-foster-at-venice-architeture-biennale-2012/

http://www.labiennale.org/en/architecture/exhibition/chipperfield/

OMA Versus Tschumi: The Parc de la Villette

By Jordan Grant

Last week I wrote about the brilliant design of Rem Koolhaas in Berlin at the Netherlands Embassy; this week is dedicated to a competitor of OMA for the winning design of the Parc De La Villette in Paris- Bernard Tschumi Architects.

First, a bit of history about the site itself- the Parc De La Villette was put forth as a design competition by the city of Paris in 1982-1983. The site had previously been a place for slaughterhouses, but the clearing of the structure put the largest remaining empty space back on the map in Paris. As you might imagine, architects worldwide jumped at the opportunity to submit their entries, and over 470 international entries we received.

Among those entries were works from both OMA and Bernard Tschumi Architects. These two plans were extremely different in almost every imaginable way; it’s interesting to imagine what the space would have been like had Tschumi not been chosen as the architect of one of Paris’ largest parks.

OMA’s submittal for the Parc De La Villette is extremely complex; the plan itself consists of five different stages to develop the site. As OMA’s website describes the project, “The program by the city of Paris was too large for the site, leaving no space for a park. The proposed project is not for a definitive park, but for a method that - combining programmatic instability with architectural specificity - will eventually generate a park.”

The five steps laid forward by OMA were 1) to organize the major programmatic elements in horizontal bands across the site, 2) to place kiosks, playgrounds, barbeque pits, and other facilities mathematically on grid points, 3) the addition of a round forest as an architectural element, 4) to provide connections between the points, and finally 5) to introduce superimpositions.

It’s not surprising that the OMA entry was disregarded when a closer look is taken at that of Tschumi. The winning entry can be described quite simply, as Bernard Tschumi Architects’ website does- “La Villette could be conceived of as one of the largest buildings ever constructed — a discontinuous building but a single structure nevertheless, overlapping the site’s existing features and articulating new activities. It opposes the landscape notion of Olmstead, widespread during the 19th century, that ‘in the park, the city is not supposed to exist.’ Instead, it proposes a social and cultural park with activities that include workshops, gymnasium and bath facilities, playgrounds, exhibitions, concerts, science experiments, games and competitions, in addition to the Museum of Science and Technology and the City of Music on the site.”

This concept of a cultural park rather than the garden-like parks of the past, but instead it was exciting and new and most likely helped this entry stand above the rest. The park today is famous for the red follies (a folly is a building that is constructed primarily for decoration, or is overly ornate or exaggerated compared to its purpose) that are arranged in a grid over the site. The Parc is also noted as one of the first pieces of deconstructivist architecture since Tschumi was greatly influenced by deconstructionist philosopher Jacques Derrida.

The Parc has received its fair share of both praise and criticism, yet no matter what opinions are shed upon the space it is an undeniable fact that Tschumi has created an iconic and successful space in Paris that attracts almost 8 million visitors a year. 

Information and photo sources: http://www.tschumi.com/projects/3/#, http://oma.eu/projects/1982/parc-de-la-villette

OMA in Berlin

By Jordan Grant

Berlin invited many new architects into the city after the fall of the war, and each played a large role in what the city is today. I was fortunate enough to see this in person since I was able to spend some time in Berlin before coming to Italy. I was therefore able to relate to some of the places discussed in lecture, yet also found myself feeling disappointed when I discovered how many buildings I didn't have the opportunity to see. Perhaps one of the projects that I’m most disappointed about missing is that of the Embassy of the Netherlands.

Photo Courtesy of OMA

For a brief history of the architect and project- OMA, a name virtually synonymous with that of Rem Koolhaas, is a firm that began in 1975 and is still going strong today. OMA was invited in to Berlin to design the Netherlands Embassy, which completed construction in 2003. The Embassy was originally located elsewhere but the site was sold following the war, which allowed the Netherlands to move their site to a more strategic location called “mitte” (translated it means “center”), which is composed of former East and West Berlin districts. This detail may seem rather insignificant, but it actually drove the design of the building from the very beginning.

Photo Courtesy of OMA

OMA describes the project on their website as “…a disciplined cube with equally disciplined irregularities which aims to facilitate a better understanding of Berlin, confronting divergent ideas about how the city, with its complexity, heaviness, opacity, and beauty, should build / rebuild. Traditional planning guidelines of the former West Berlin demanded that new buildings in the neighbourhood (the Roldandufer in Mitte) reflect the local 19th century architectural style. Planning officials in the former East Berlin were more open to innovation. As a result, OMA combined an obedient approach (strictly fulfilling the block's perimeter) with a disobedient one (building an isolated cube).” (read more on OMA’s website at http://oma.eu/projects/2003/netherlands-embassy)

The 8,500 square meter project is broken down into the following spaces: 4,800 square meters of offices, 1,500 square meters of housing, and 2,200 square meters of parking. It reaches a height of 8 stories, but perhaps the most important and interesting part of the project is the winding path inside the project that divides the 8 stories into 24 different levels. This pathway determines the arrangement of the interior spaces as well as the exterior façade. At the points where the path comes into contact with the exterior, the façade becomes more transparent and the path allows itself to become more visible.

Photo Courtesy of OMA

I believe that this project is absolutely stunning, especially when lit at night. I’ve included a few photos of the project, but if you are interested at all in seeing more I’ve discovered a website which shows beautiful photos of the project that were taken for a magazine feature. Check out the Iwan Baan’s website for the project at www.iwan.com/photo_berlin_dutch_embassy_Rem_Koolhaas_OMA.php.