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.