Exposure/Enclosure

Simon Unwin, in Twenty Buildings Every Architect Should Understand, quotes Oswald Spengler as part of his analysis of Mies' Barcelona Pavilion. According to Unwin's reading of Spengler, "the 'Destiny Idea' of Western culture was its fascination with and drive towards infinite space." He also quotes Spengler's notions of the metaphysical prowess of the window in Western architecture: "In it can be felt the will to emerge from the interior into the boundless." Unwin then goes on to defend the Pavilion as an example of that will toward the boundless. In some respects, I think this is a sound argument, especially in the Pavilion's reflective qualities, which create a sense of recursive and therefore infinite possibilities.

However, Mies' Barcelona Pavilion is not the main focus of my interest for this post. The Unwin quote got me thinking about the Midwest, and specifically our local desire/ need for enclosure or "boundedness." Living in Chicagoland this summer has viscerally reminded me of the giant thunderstorms that come rolling across the plains as large cold fronts crash into warm gulf air. There is a unique sense of awe and anxiety inspired by these looming thunderheads. They, in themselves are a manifestation of forces and powers far beyond our control. They are things against which we seek protection and shelter.

And that psychological necessity for shelter and protection is perhaps why styles like FLW's Prairie and Usonian Houses seem to "fit" the Midwest better than a Modernist Glass Box ever could, or why the typical suburban home is often some derivation of a French Chateau or English Country Cottage. Wright's use of the ribbon window, while providing visual exposure to the outside world and opening up the dark brick box of old, also keeps a waist-level wall intact, thereby affording some level of remove from the elements. His deep, overhanging eaves also provide a shade and umbrella from wind-driven rain and snow, and enhance a sense of coziness and enclosure. Overall, Wright's Prairie style houses were long, low horizontal structures which seem to nestle into, rather than project out of, the earth.

Ashes to Ashes

Why does the ephemeral hold such sway over us? Maybe it's because we relate to the passage of time and the inevitability of change. The flower that blooms then wilts, the candle which burns out- we enjoy and are entranced by them.

Yesterday evening, my in-laws and I lit something called "Wish Lanterns." My brother-in-law, Neil, and his wife, Melissa, bought them and brought them up for Bob's 73rd Birthday. They were beyond magical.

Originating in China perhaps as early as 3 BC, Sky Lanterns were first used in military applications as signaling devices. The paper lanterns would float up and stay illuminated for a relatively short period of time, then drift back down to earth once extinguished. This sounds not unlike a modern-day military signal flare. The lanterns eventually trickled into everyday civilian culture and have been a staple of Asian celebrations and festivals for centuries.

They have been making their way to the West, and I have seen them used in a variety of recent television commercials, typically evoking a sense of free-form, spontaneous, open air parties in support of some new alcoholic beverage.

We each lit a lantern of our own, waited a minute or so for the heat of the air to fill the balloon, then released them into the night sky. Most went straight up into the air, then caught a southerly breeze and zoomed out over the treetops and sleepy suburbs. It was amazing.

How can that same sense of wonder and amazement be put to use in architecture? How does one make an event-driven edifice or space without becoming relegated to pure spectacle?

Poor Circulation

Having spent an unfortunate amount of time in hospitals in the past nine months, I've come to notice that, as a type, they tend to often have incredibly convoluted circulation and poor wayfinding. I understand that there are major obstacles to overcome, with the competing requirements of access control, complex mechanical systems, widely varying user groups and changing needs over time. Nonetheless, the resulting mishmash of endless corridors, blind corners, strange connectors and inscrutable directions seems as though it should be avoidable.

Often, the less-than-desirable results stem from a series of additions and amendments, as new wings and facilities are tacked on to existing structures. Previous constructors' lack of foresight or poor planning has gestated into gatherings of sub-optimal conditions. If one were to project ahead 50 years, one might create a new system where units or wings could be easily added on.

Hospitals are a type which clearly requires but has yet to achieve a successful architecture of expansion. The image that pops in my head is Kenzo Tange's Tokyo Bay City, or the Metabolist pod-apartments...

Square Dancing

After a conversation with my sister-in-law, Dawn, about how much water is wasted through our everyday domestic activities, I was curious -what percentage does that use account for in the grand scale of things? Half? One quarter? Ten percent? As it turns out, according to a 2005 report from the USGS, domestic water use accounts for only one percent of overall water use in the United States. Thermoelectric production is the largest drain at %49, while irrigation accounts for 31% of U.S. water use.

This surprising fact got me thinking about the center-pivot-irrigation systems spread across the vast majority of the agricultural landscape in the U.S., the use of which results in a mosaic of circular formations hemmed in by the endless grid of Midwestern and Western land allocation.

The center-pivot systems used to be set up with a deep well drilled in the center, or pivot location, which would pump water up from an underground aquifer and then spray that water in a controlled fashion around that point, resulting in the even irrigation of crops in a circular plot. Marvelous hydrodynamic devices, the irrigators were driven by the pressure of the water themselves, so that the product being delivered was also the force by which the delivery mechanism itself functioned. Most modern center-pivot systems are now either hydraulically or electrically driven.

The pursuit of agricultural efficiency runs head up against the imposition of the grid. I thought I had seen somewhere the idea of allocating center pivots in honeycomb plots, which would result in a more efficient system with more land covered. However, such a system would also be intrinsically more convoluted to navigate through (no more straight roads through).