New Building Review: New Inntel Hotel, Netherlands.

This is a concept rendering of the New Inntel Hotel, an interesting project to be built in the Dutch town of Zaandam later this year. The building is actually a simple rectangular block that is collaged with the facades of traditional Dutch houses. The folks over at BoingBoing thought this was just great, but we at Adobe Submarine think the zealous façade treatment borders on tacky. I can almost appreciate the lego-like facade treatment, but it screams "regionalism" in the worst possible way. The New Inntel reminds us of some of the more unfortunate regionalist architecture located throughout New Mexico. The entirety of Downtown Santa Fe is built in the "pueblo" style that permeates much of the southwest. Of course, the intention is to expose visitors to the region's unique vernacular building style, but while that goal is admirable, what results is a lack of authenticity. An exterior veneer is nothing but a cheap knockoff of the real thing, and unfortunately, this somewhat confusing assemblage of Dutch vernacular fits that particular bill. But hey, if American tourists will pay good money to stay in tragically themed bed and breakfast rooms, who's to say that this kitschy little nugget won't turn into a gold mine?

Images (from top):

1) New Inntel Hotel Rendering. 2) Traditional Dutch row houses. 3) Present-day Downtown Santa Fe. 4) Taos Pueblo, circa 1893.

                                                                                                    

Tree Houses: Negotiating the Natural with the Built.

This morning, the MSN homepage features a delightful little sideshow featuring some rather unique tree houses. I'm going to be real: I loose my cool over tree houses. When I was little, all I wanted was a tree house with a staircase that spiraled up the trunk.... Remember "Chip and Dale: Rescue Rangers"? Me too. I still have daydreams about living inside a tree; what sort of spaces are could exist in twisting trunks and tapering limbs. Trees are among the longest living organisms on the planet. They embody our conceptions of the 'wild' and whether it be through fairy tale forest adventures or arboreal architecture, they're a huge presence in our cultural psyche. While the concept of the tree house not a new one, it represents humanity's primal desire to be closer with nature. Especially as technology becomes increasingly omnipresent, our environments evermore urbanized, and our social interactions near constant, the solitude and serenity of nature, has sent many looking to the trees. 

                                     Beach Rock Tree House, CA.                             Driftwood Egg Tree House, Japan                                         

                                                                                                                        

However, most people are the sort of crazy hippies that are willing to go out into the woods and build an awesome little shrub shack... Nope. But, people have tried, oh have they tried, to foster a harmonious relationship with nature through industrial means. The “Glass Box” of High Modernism utilized transparent glass walls to place its inhabitants in nature. While Mies Van der Rohe was the first to popularize the technique, the most renowned incarnation of the technique can be found in Phillip Johnson's Glass House. The house is beautiful, and is set in a similarly beautiful forested field in Connecticut. Architecture history praises Johnson for framing the surrounding forest; making nature an art piece on display, and eliminating the boundaries separating man from wild. However, rather than immersing people in the wild, it can be argued that the house is more like a shark diving cage: creating an interactive experience of sorts, but acting more as a barrier rather than a conduit between Man and the wild. The Glass Box forces one to look at nature, perhaps to appreciate it, but not to interact with it. The house is a sterile box among nature, but not within it. Modern interpretations of the Johnson House fail in similar manners.

Glass House, Philip Johnson, New Canaan, CN

 Container Studio, Mazair Behrooz, NY

The geniuses at JAJA Architecture have developed a solution for the Glass Box paradox: Their 'Watchman's Hut' project is essentially a glass box set in nature; But, rather than utilizing transparent glass, the Watchman's Hut has an entirely mirrored exterior. The effect is pretty amazing. The building practically disappears into the backdrop, providing an entirely immersing experience where nature and structure interact within the mirrors. The Hut doesn't impose like the industrial beams of modernist glass houses. It blends, and thus encourages mutual engagement. The concept is inspired, and the effect beautiful. The project is currently non-profit, and seeking funding. Hopefully it is realized in the near future. 

Watchman's Hut from JAJA on Vimeo.
Watchman's Hut from JAJA on Vimeo.

Watchman's Hut in the snowplains of Norway.

But, with more people than ever living in cities, and the opportunity to escape out to nature increasingly rare for most individuals, the question becomes how to quench our thirst for the ramble within the urban environment. Our current models of urban development emphasize the geometry of street systems, overload our senses with concrete, asphalt, smog, and our lack of available green space is one factor contributing to the our increasing levels of unhappiness. We need to be around trees. We were built to walk on grass. And when we spend our days in cubicles breathing filtered air and crushing our ankles walking on harsh concrete sidewalks, be become increasingly distant from the environment we were designed to inhabit. The design field needs to begin negotiating more overlaps between natural and urban phenomenon. Since I love exploring the hypothetical realm, here are a couple ways we could bring nature to the city:

 

1: Biomorphic Design.

A recent proposal that I really found intriguing was the Lace Hill Gallery. The building is essentially a 900,000 square foot biomorphic mountain that connects the surrounding city with it's hilly topography. The geographic allusions are pretty cool, but my favorite part of this concept is the fact that it's chock full of plant life. There are trees within the interior, grasses on the exterior, plant life virtually everywhere. It's really encouraging a holistic, green lifestyle and the project seems more "plant/mountain" than "building" which I find very interesting. 

 

 

                              

2. Urban Wall Gardens

Living walls aren't a terribly new idea, but the New York Times just featured Living Walls in it's style section. Hydroponic technology is becoming more and more affordable for consumers, and especially in crowded, hard-scaped cities like New York, a private source of freshly converted oxygen would help us feel healthier on a physical level, while simultaneously providing us a tiny taste of living within nature. Visiting nature is nice, but there's no better way to initiate and nurture an intimate relationship with the natural world than inviting it into your home, right? I don't really know, but it sounds cool. And looks awesome. Why isn't everyone doing this?

3. Botanical Mobility

Ok. This is admittedly stolen from Design Under Sky and a speech I competed with last year. But the Play Coalition developed an idea for a robotic plant pot that would allow plants to seek out elemental necessities, making them a dynamic, and seemingly "alive" component of our environment. Rather than sticking ficus trees in large planter pots and placing them the foyer of the mall, why not put them in robotic pots and let the loose in the mall. There could be immersive experiences similar to swimming with dolphins or tide pool wading where we interact with these mobile plants. Imagine drive through safaris where the animals aren't the attraction, the tree is! "Hey dad! Check out that Acacia!!" "That's great son, but get a look at that Oak!" Better yet, imagine a Time Square where robotic trees mill about among the pedestrians.

 

Courtesy of Design Under Sky

4. Coral Reef Effect

A couple summers ago, I was really into the whole "World Without Humans" scene. I watched the show, read the book, and was really fascinated (and terrified) by how quickly nature will take over our buildings after we go. After a while, however, I stopped thinking about how this is an inevitability once we're gone, and more about it as a potential landscaping method in the present. A photo series posted a long time ago on Design Under Sky focused on a soviet-era summer retreat for the wealthy, located in present-day Georgia, which is quickly being overrun by plant life. The photos are stunning, and the way plant can literally consume our structures makes me think that we should be doing this with our derelict structures on a regular basis. Near coastlines around the globe, we purposefully sink old ships in order to foster the development of artificial coral reefs. In time, these underwater junk piles become thriving marine metropolises, and become prime diving locations. Why not utilize this method on land as well? A notable example of how effective this could be is the New York City Highline: A section of old, elevated freight railroad through the City's west side that has   recently been redeveloped into a park. The redevelopment kills two birds with one stone: It transformed what was an ugly, useless, space-wasting pockmark on Manhattan into a destination with purpose again. Additionally, it brings much needed green space into the middle of North America's densest urban environment, satisfying even the staunchest Manhattanite's need for the good outdoors. This got me thinking of what other deteriorating structures this technique could be applied to. I recently saw a rendering of the New York Guggenheim Museum where the iconic spiral atrium is overrun by plant life. I think the idea of that space brimming with plants is particularly inspiring. It led me to consider the botanical gentrification of another cylindrical space. Ponte City, in Johannesburg, South Africa, is the tallest residential building in Africa. Once located in a highly desirable neighborhood, the skyscraper fell into disrepair thanks to gang violence and Apartheid in the 1980's. Now, the building is mostly vacant. The building's exterior isn't terribly exciting, but the interior is pretty incredible. In the center of the building is a 54-story atrium dubbed "the core" that provide sunlight to the interior windows. The core spans the entire vertical height of the skyscraper, and has an uneven rock floor. During the 1980's, this core was filled with trash as the tower functioned primarily as a slum, but today, it's stands entirely empty. Thee are plans to revitalize the building (especially since it dominates the city's skyline), and I feel like the Core could easily facilitate the greenhouse/jungle vibe that was rendered in the Guggenheim Atrium. Garden views from the interior windows provide an incentive to move, and the landscaping of the premises to make them greener, more hospitable, and less prison-like would only aid efforts to revitalize the once popular neighborhood.  

Finally, Tempe, Arizona's failed Centerpoint Condominium Project went bankrupt almost 2 years ago. The result is two skeletons of skyscrapers that have become embarrassing eyesores for the city that was once the envy of the valley in regards to urban development. The Towers are currently up for sale, and many are wondering what a potential buyer would do with the real estate given the unlikelihood of selling condos and the expense of preparing the buildings for habitation. I think it would be cool to turn the towers into green houses, and put Tempe at the forefront of the urban farming movement. The square footage of the towers is equivalent to acres of potential garden space. Urban farmers have emphasized that efficiency of space is key to their movement and that a little land can produce a surprising amount of food. Utilizing the buildings as farm space could create a highly profitable farmers market culture on Mill Avenue, and be infinitely beneficial to the surrounding neighborhood, drawing more people from around the valley into Tempe and helping to pull Tempe out of the recession before other valley cities.

 Tree House in the most literal sense.

These are all sort of stretches, but are functional both in regards to economic returns, but also for effectively bringing more greenery into our urban environments. I think that green space is going to continue to be a big design issue in coming years, but I believe it's important that we begin thinking outside the box in regards to how we approach green design. We don't have to necessarily innovate new forms and new types of structures to make our cities more natural.... We can easily retrofit old structures to become the equivalent of land borne coral reefs. After all, nature's going to take over once we're gone anyway...We might as well help it along if it can benefit us now.

The Perfect Crime: Ziplines

I'm obsessed with this new urban transportation concept from Bulgarian architect Martin Angelov which is basically a large-scale zip line that utilized above-street cable systems and battery-powered backpacks to carry passengers across town above ground-level traffic. 

kolelinio from kolelinia.com on Vimeo.

kolelinio from kolelinia.com on Vimeo.

I think this is pretty genius. Clearly, finding alternatives to the automobile is going to become a huge priority in the coming years. Oil is increasingly not only increasingly expensive and detrimental to air quality and the ozone, but catastrophes like the Gulf Oil Spill indicate that drilling deeper and deeper for this substance is not financially or environmentally feasible. Luckily, a more pedestrian (and environmentally) -friendly trend is gaining momentum across the country. In February, New York's Time Square, once famous for it's gridlocked car-traffic, was closed to cars for good. As a result, traffic on other streets sped up, pedestrians and cars interacted less, and not surprisingly, the number of automobile accidents dropped. However, New York is uniquely positioned for this sort of action, because Manhattan is already such a walkable city, and the Subway offers a reliable, and universal public transit alternative. 

Times Square Sans Traffic

The sprawling, car-dependent cities of the Western US would be incapable of creating such pedestrian only zones with similar effects. Furthermore, some cities like Phoenix, Arizona (the 5th largest in the US) have relatively underdeveloped mass transit systems. Until August 2009, Phoenix was the only major metropolitan area in the US without some sort of rail system. That fall, they completed a 20-mile Light Rail line connecting Downtown Phoenix to the Eastern part of the city. However, the Phoenix Light Rail if far from efficient. It's built at street level, so it interacts with car traffic and adheres to traffic lights, and has worsened traffic in some cases. Additionally, the construction costs of building at street level were massive, roads were redone, entire intersections re-shaped, and sections of road closed down for long periods of time. Phoenix has plans to expand the system, but the next sections aren't due until 2015... The zip line, however, could present a far more practical alternative for sprawling cities like phoenix. Under Angelov's Zipline plan, sections of the city could be closed to traffic and become zip line centers, where commuters could transition from one line to another in order to accurately ride the line to an appropriate "stop." These sections of no-car zip zones could be connected to other zones by higher lines that would carry passengers over areas of car zones. "ZipZones" are an appropriate alternative pedestrians in this case, because the density of these city sections are much lower than a typical pedestrian zone on the East Coast would be, and the zip line would provide a similar degree of accurate and universal transportation as the subway. 

ZipZoning Concept

My favorite part about this plan is how minimal it is. Unlike subway systems that require extensive tunneling and reinforcement, or ground rails that require street augmentation, not to mention the actual rails, cars, and electrical systems of each, the Zip Line requires nothing more than cable and towers. There's a certain gracefulness to the idea that juxtaposes nicely with the chaos that typically characterizes urban areas... road rage and speeding would give way to efficient, standardized intervals of the traffic, similar to that of a Ski Lift. Noise would be reduced dramatically, and the absence of roads in large potions of cities could revolutionize our approach to city design. Within the gridded seas of car zones, zip zones could become patchwork islands of green space and buildings... our approach to urban planning could begin to focus less on making a city navigable by car, and more on exploiting the panoramic potential of our cities. Viewing these urban area from the air provides us with a perspective we've not yet exploited... and it could easily be one that revolutionizes urban living for the better.   

Additionally, I frequent concept art forums, mostly because I enjoy witnessing the creative processes of other people, and analyzing how different people approach the same problem. My favorite forum is the Environment of the Week thread at ConceptArt.org/forums. There, participants are given a weekly task/inspiration, and post their creations to the thread to be voted on. A few months ago, the theme was "Bridge between two cities." On contestant seemingly channeled Angelov in his submission, which intended to represent a a sort of "skybike' line that connected residential cities to industrial ones. It's sort of a weird nerdy tangent, but the similarity is pretty awesome. I think that this is such a simple and genius alternative to traditional methods of public transit, and it would be cheap, would have minimal environmental impact, and would give us an opportunity to connect with our cities on a more personal and individual level... Here that Obama Administration? We figured out. Presents Please!

Courtesy of ConceptArt.Org

 

Architecture for the Sake of the Architect?

First of all Welcome to Adobe Submarine! *insert self-deprecating joke about how few people will ever read this* Well, now that we've got that covered, lets dive into this blog business, shall we? DIVE. Get it? Submarine Humor?! CHECK.

Alright. So I've been done with my undergrad for a couple weeks now, and even though the semester is over and I shouldn't really care about it anymore, I've been think a lot about my final paper in my 20th Century Architecture class. See, the paper was about Buckminster Fuller (Engineer, Architect, Dome-Enthusiast, and Wannabe-Revolutionary) and his failed Dymaxion pet-project. Dymaxion is a concept that Fuller developed first in the 1920's as a housing concept that embraced universality, maximum efficiency of materials, portability, and environmental harmony. Though he debuted his first Dymaxion House concept in 1927, he continued to tinker with the idea until the late 1970s. During those 50 year, the Dymaxion house underwent countless design changes, and resulted in only two functional prototypes, most notably the Wichita House of 1945. The intention of my paper was to figure out why Dymaxion concept, which was initially met with critical acclaim, failed so epically. My hypothesis at the onset of my research, was that Fuller, who was a self-proclaimed perfectionist, let his obsessive perfectionism prevent him from ever authorizing a design for mass-production; that he always found something wrong with the design until one day, he no longer wanted to pursue the concept. What I found, was that this was only half of the story: True, Fuller was obsessed with perfection to a fault. However, the reason for this obsession is what I found most fascinating. Fuller, hadn't always been an architect. In fact, in the early 1920's, Fuller was unemployed and incredibly dissatisfied with his life accomplishments. Even though he emphasized throughout his career that Dymaxion was intended to revolutionize and improve the human experience for the good of humanity, his auto-biography reveals that Dymaxion was actually “an experiment to discover what the little, penniless, unknown individual might be able to do effectively on behalf of all humanity.” I was sort of taken aback by the selfishness of the statement. For somebody who built their career on ideas of preserving "spaceship earth" and living efficiently with the environment, it became suddenly clear that Fuller ultimately intended on securing his own legacy.... And THAT is why Dymaxion failed. Just because you mask a house for yourself as a house for everyone doesn't mean that everyone will want it.

Incredibly long paper synopsis aside, this has gotten me thinking about the relationship between an architect's vanity/selfish motivations and resulting structures. A book that I've, admittedly, never read (but DO have on my Amazon.com wish list, and have read a lot about) is John Stiller's "Architecture of the Absurd," which focuses on contemporary architects who place more importance on their own artist vision than on the functionality of their creations or the satisfaction of their clients. Stiller uses "Star-chitect" Frank Gehry as his primary examples of an architect who clearly considers himself an artists producing large-scale sculptures, rather than a builder tasked with creating functional space. Gehry's Disney Concert Hall and Stata Center for MIT are now infamous examples of  buildings that went over budget, past-deadline, and were concepts that Gehry all but shoved down the client's throat. 

The Disney Concert Hall, though stunning, required sandblasting weeks after construction finished. The iconic, dancing waves of stainless steel were reflecting sunlight into neighboring apartment buildings; blinding residents and causing cooling costs to skyrocket. What's hilarious, is that the building was intended to be clad in sandstone...however, due to the popularity of Gehry's Bilbao Guggenheim (which was clad in titanium), Disney requested a similar metallic finish. Not surprisingly, Gehry was clearly more interested in stroking his own ego and building his artistic reputation than in preventing a surge in retinal burns in downtown Los Angeles... at least the near perfect acoustics of the building make up for the numerous (and expensive) mistakes on the exterior.

Sandstone v. Titanium

Stata Center at MIT was an even bigger disaster for Gehry. Though the building is a much better "neighbor" than the Disney Concert hall, Gehry's design selfishness resulted in glass-walled cubicles that the resident scientists hated for not allowing for enough privacy, and undulating ceilings that leaked. Gehry's dominating artistic vision is most appalling here, because it all but completely destroys the functionality of the building. This is a lab building. . . Functional office space, and preventing contamination from leaky roofs are basic requirements... Producing this monstrosity at triple the cost and a year over schedule is embarrassing to the profession...MIT was incredibly unhappy with the building, for obvious reasons. Gehry's inner-artist came out when he shrugged off the poor reception of this project, but again, he is an architect...not an artist. His responsibility to his own vision is secondary to his client's, especially if it could potentially hurt chances of receiving future large scale commissions.

Stata Center, MIT

Fuller, Stiller, and Gehry make me think that designing for oneself is what makes a building unsuccessful... especially when the architect claims to be changing the world for the better. Fuller wanted to save the world with Dymaxion. Gehry, seeks to abolish universality and foster creativity in design, even if that means doing away with LEED certification.... but neither really seeks to benefit humanity... they're looking out for themselves; their own legacies... Which makes me reconsider how history approaches the study of the Modernist Style. Mies van der Rohe, Le CorbusierPruit-Igoe Housing block in St. Louis proved that Modernism was incapable of solving the problems it intended to fix. The buildings were the epitome of Modern design, won numerous design awards upon completion, and yet, quickly became slums that were eventually demolished at the request of its residents.

Le Corbusier's Plan for Paris. a.k.a. Utopia?

Pruit-Igoe from Air.

Modernism Dies

As with any art form, the what inspires an artist to make art a certain way is fascinating. But a ill-conceived painting, and an ill-conceived building are worlds apart. Architects fancy themselves as artist, but I think the failures of Fuller and Gehry illustrate that an architect must negotiate their client's needs with their own ideas. It's easy to ignore a piece of art that you don't like... such is not the case with a building. Art is crucially important, but Architecture holds so much more responsibility because we live our lives in it. I don't really understand why an Architect would lessen his role.. especially if it results in bad work. Which I guess sounds a little vain in itself. Am I just making stuff up?! Probably. Thanks for joining us on our maiden voyage. Stay Tuned! . .