August 21, 2015 § Leave a comment
Bad news from Turin last night as the Italian media reported three fires in Nervi’s Palazzo Lavoro. The fact that all three broke out simultaneously makes it beyond suspicious, though it appears that it may have been the work of squatters and not an attempt to remove a ‘problematic’ building from a development site.
No matter the cause, the damage appears to be limited but, given the building’s recent history, another blow to efforts to rehabilitate or revision it. Even if squatters prove to be the cause, it’s evidence of the maliciously poor stewardship the structure has experienced over the last generation; filled with garbage, weeds, and feral animals, there must have been no shortage of kindling.
More on the fire here.
August 18, 2015 § Leave a comment
A great piece on the New Yorker’s website this week by Patrick House on what scientists mean by “elegance.” This has echoes in the design world’s inability to describe what, exactly, makes something we turn out “elegant,” or “sweet,” or “boss,” or any number of other exclamations that indicate a shared sense–often just among the design cognoscenti–that someone’s done their job really well. L and I have a running joke about the word “compelling,” which seems to get closer to the problem of describing the neuronal flutter we tend to get when we see a problem solved fluently, efficiently, and expressively…but even a term that diligent still leaves us grasping for a description of exactly what the hell is happening when we put our hand on a Scarpa handrail.
House starts with the “you know it when you see it” gambit. Sweetness is akin to obscenity in that sense, but he nicely shifts into high gear when he tries to define elegance by thinking about its opposites: “baroque” and “clunky” both qualify, which seems to apply to design as well as science. Clearly there’s a broad spectrum of inelegance, too.
The best technical definition House can come up with comes from a paper in the unlikely journal Nature Nanotechnology:
“When a theory or a model explains a phenomenon clearly, directly and economically, we say it is elegant: one idea, easy to understand, can account for a large amount of data and answer many questions.”
That’s pretty sweet (see?), but House also quotes astrophysicist Alyssa Goodman, who thinks that:
“There is something about the way things fit together, a kind of fluidity. If it is done right, and elegantly, you do not see all the individual parts, because they all fit together in a way that looks like a whole.”
Totally boss, right?
“She was talking, unfortunately, about tennis.”
Astrophysics, iPhones, stair details, and forehand serves…the elegance continuum apparently encompasses multitudes…
August 8, 2015 § Leave a comment
Huge thanks to these folks for welcoming me into their office for the last two weeks…really honored to have been the Virginia Design Medalist and to have been part of discussions and project reviews at Hanbury Evans Wright + Vlattas here in Norfolk. (Where are we in that photo? Watch this space…) And particular thanks to John Den Boer and Rob Reis, two ISU alums who helped make this happen. I’m feeling both re-energized and optimistic about architecture in general after hanging out here. HEWV does a lot of things right, not just bringing in academics to brainstorm with them, but also running a Summer Scholar program that brings in students to really engage with the office–far beyond the usual internship duties–and taking an annual retreat that’s included Portugal and Japan in recent years. Their work, too, is centered on creating strong community spaces, mostly on college campuses, and the energy and engagement in the office seems to fuel much of their design work.
So, why bring in a mild-mannered construction historian for a couple of weeks? When we first started throwing out ideas we talked about disruptive technologies–inventions or developments that create huge shifts in practice, lifestyle, etc. The iPhone, for instance. A lot of my research really involves looking at disruptive moments throughout history in construction. What happens, e.g., when you move a good chunk of America’s plate glass industry to the outskirts of Chicago? We thought it might be interesting to take a few case studies and use them as ‘parables,’ showing how design and practice responded in the past, and to draw parallels to what influences are disrupting practice today. Good fun for me, and these have stirred up some good discussions with people in the office about what’s changing in architecture today, and how to surf these changes to engender three vital things in our offices and in the buildings and spaces we design–agility, resilience, and vitality.
Broadly speaking, we’ve looked at four realms where things are changing quickly: the tools we use to design, the materials and systems that go into our designs, the way we collaborate and organize our practices, and the ways we reach out and connect to our communities. The ‘parables,’ respectively, are the advent of descriptive geometry toward the end of the 18th century (sort of a proto-Revit), the coincidence of cheaper steel, plate glass, and terra cotta in Chicago around 1890 and the subsequent switch to electricity (comparing these to smart systems and materials today), Nervi’s integration of engineering design, fabrication, and construction (and the efforts by SHoP, bludesign, Gluck+, etc. to combine these in a tougher economic and legal environment), and–today’s talk–the tight connections between the architects who drew up Chicago’s great civic plans and the developers who benefited from them (echoed by today’s micro-scale collaborations between civic organizations, entrepreneurs, and designers to create public spaces like the High Line that ‘do well while doing good.’) And we’ve supplemented these by looking at projects that HEWV is doing ‘on the ground,’ often in the tight circumstances you’d expect from higher education work–especially public work. How do you leverage vitality out of budgets, sites, and expectations that are almost never up to the task?
It’s also been helpful to see the discussions that a thoughtful, progressive firm has on its own–a lunch’n’learn on Dynamo, the Grasshopper-like add-in for Revit, was particularly enlightening. Seeing how architects here have already discovered it on their own and are writing scripts at their desks to help manage information and changes has emphasized just how important scripting is going to be over the next few years. Studio this Fall is, for sure, going to push this. What’s been most interesting is the discussion about how tools like this are really starting to fall into the “cognitive assist” camp instead of the “artificial intelligence” camp. It’s not that architects are going to get replaced by digital tools, rather that the tools seem to be getting easier and easier to use. Being able to play around with sliders to find optimal solutions to the sorts of problems designers deal with every day seems likely to raise our game, and to help us make the sorts of decisions that optimize otherwise less-than-promising budgets and situations. Dynamo on the iPhone, helping to figure out a tough re-detailing in a jobsite trailer site meeting? I’ll bet it happens, and within a few years.
So, heading out tomorrow with lots to think about, and certainly hoping the folks here have been provoked a little by images of Nervi, Gaspard Monge, Burnham, and a few other heroes. I’ll miss the corner office (!) and the no-holds-barred enthusiasm and optimism here…as well as a few truly awe-inspiring works of engineering design across the river and some very not-Iowa type of scenery…
August 7, 2015 § Leave a comment
OK, so the gig in Norfolk has been interesting to me for many reasons, but one of them was the Scope Arena, one of Nervi’s least-known–but most intriguing–collaborations. The folks at HEWV were great about getting access for me and about twenty of their staff this week, and to introduce me to Bradford Tazewell, one of Norfolk’s legendary architects and the site architect for the Scope project and the adjacent Chrysler Hall. Tazewell’s recollections were sharp and he helped answer some of the questions that the archives hadn’t answered.
The Scope was conceived in the aftermath of two events: the razing of much of downtown Norfolk in the U.S.’ ‘model cities’ program, and the global broadcast of the 1960 Summer Olympics in Rome. With lots of empty downtown space to fill and a desperate need to attract people to downtown, city leaders took advantage of their strong political connections to convince the federal government to replicate its sponsorship of a cultural complex in Denver in the northeastern corner of Norfolk’s decimated urban core. Having seen Nervi’s domes on the Olympic broadcasts, Tazewell convinced the city to hire Nervi as a design engineer, with his firm, Tazewell and Williams, serving as architects of record. The project was built between 1968 and 1971, and while Nervi prepared plans for both the arena and the performing arts center, ultimately Tazewell and Williams designed the latter–in Mr. Tazewell’s recollection, Nervi’s design was more of an opera house than a concert hall, and his real interest lay in the dome.
And it’s quite a dome–134m span and about 35m from floor to the top. Nervi adapted the tavelloni method that he’d used on the Palazetto dello Sport but with a couple of changes that had evolved in other projects during the 1960s. Most importantly, the shape of the pans for Norfolk is triangular, instead of the diamonds that formed the dome in Rome. This allowed the system to more easily tile the doubly-curved surface, since a triangle will always sit flat on its three points, while a diamond must be kinked to place all four of its points on such a surface. But the triangular pans also produced a third set of ribs in the dome’s overall pattern–ribs that are circumferential around the dome and that thus offer resistance to any hoop stresses that develop (see https://www.iass-structures.org/index.cfm/journal.article?aID=670. FWIW, ace ISU grad student Kyle Vansice has some interesting finite element analysis work that he’ll be presenting at this year’s IASS conference in Amsterdam later this month that–gently–challenges some of this paper’s conclusions).
The other slight change is the detail where the pans come together. Nervi had typically plastered the joint between adjoining pans over, making the roof of the Palazetto read as purely structural ribs and disguising the modular nature of the ferrocemento formwork. But while working with Harry Seidler on the Australia Square tower, Seidler questioned this detail. In a letter dated 4 August, 1965, Seidler notes:
Your details show quite a large V-joint between units as well as a tolerance gap. I presume that you intend for this groove to remain so in the final installation and that you do not intend for it to be filled up as I know you have done in some of your floors, such as in Turin.
Since finding this last year I’ve never quite known what to make of it, but there’s a part of me that really wants to believe this is Seidler gently correcting Nervi’s instincts. Plastering the joint over conceals an important element in the expression of the construction process–leaving one to think that the surface of each rib is really the surface of the concrete itself. But it’s not, of course. What we’re seeing is the surface of the formwork pan. Nervi agreed quickly to Seidler’s suggestion, and in all of his subsequent work, including the Scope, he kept this joint open, as you can see in the detail photograph above. It adds a shot line to each rib, of course, visually emphasizing the pattern, but it also reveals the thickness of the pan, and visually explains the modular nature of the construction. (Subtle evidence that this was Seidler’s innovation comes from subsequent correspondence from the Studio that noted Nervi was “of the opinion of leaving unfilled the ‘V’ joint between the units, considering that in the photographs it appears perfectly finished”).
The Scope has an interesting section in that the seating bowl is literally separated from the dome by several feet–this has been closed up now for safety reasons but it builds on the Palazetto’s idea of bringing in daylight under the dome, emphasizing just how delicately it’s propped up in the air. Tazewell noted that this also represented a split in design responsibility–Nervi had almost exclusive control over the dome itself, but agreed to leave the design of the seating bowl entirely in the hands of the local architects and engineers. It’s substantially different from the Palazetto, however, in that the tension ring preventing the dome from flattening out was moved from underground (the solution in Rome) to the base of the dome proper, above the concourse, supported by massive buttresses. This was clearly necessary because of the need for a subterranean parking garage that would have pushed the tension ring well below the water table, but it does lead to a very different reading of the dome from outside–instead of the light, ‘pie crust’ edge at the Palazetto, the Scope has a rather heavy ring beam enclosing the steel tension ring.
This also, I suspect, is one reason that the buttresses in Norfolk are much heavier than those in Rome, though here they employ the twisting board forms that evocatively combine a record of construction and an intuitive hint at their performance. The forking configuration of the ones here isn’t matched anywhere else in Nervi’s work, and combined with concrete ‘feet’ at the plaza level that recall the massive piers of St. Mary’s Cathedral, these piers are particularly sculptural. (For the record, they taper from vertical blades at the base, allowing the dome to expand and contract thermally around its circumference, to horizontal blades at the top, allowing the dome to expand and contract radially).
Mr. Tazewell talked at length about a genuine mystery–at the edge of the dome, inside the dark-tinted glass curtain wall, there’s a ring of thin, tapering columns that are clearly helping to hold the ring beam up against gravity. These are very obviously redundant statically, in that the tapering buttresses are certainly taking plenty of the dome’s vertical load. I had thought, seeing them in photographs, that they might be wind bracing for the curtain wall, an idea that was explored for Rome’s large sports palace. But they’re not connected to the glazing, and they’re shaped just like a good, pin-connected, axially-loaded column ought to be shaped–skinny at the ends, wider in the middle. Mr. Tazewell recalled that they were added very late in the design process, and rather hastily, and the only conclusion I can draw is that there was some concern about the sizing of the exterior buttresses–probably about buckling, given their slenderness. If so, it’s evidence of a rare error on Nervi’s part, but also of the conservative streak that marked some of his late work. This would be a similar story to that of the exterior walls of St. Mary’s.
There are a couple of easter eggs in the complex, including this small bus stop on the complex’ east side made up of pan-formed concrete (in this case the pans appear to have been stripped instead of left in place) and a gloriously stumpy ruled-surface column, both signature elements deployed, I’d guess, with tongue firmly in cheek.
The Scope was at the time the largest span reinforced concrete dome in the world, 13 meters larger than the basketball arena at the University of Illinois (hail, alma mater), which had been finished ten years earlier. It’s span was beaten in 1976 by Seattle’s Kingdome, but when that came down in 2000 the Scope re-took the record, which it still holds. Admittedly, it holds the record because steel these days is, by far, a more efficient and cheaper way to build roofs of this span–Singapore’s steel National Stadium more than doubles the Scope’s record.
The building is now home to minor league hockey, concerts, and exhibitions. There have been additions to the interior that hide much of the original ceiling, beginning with a lighting catwalk that had to be added at the opening to provide enough footcandles to televise basketball games. And there are plans to replace much of the extant curtain wall, allowing space for much-needed toilets and concession stands. All of this will, I think, muddy the clarity of Nervi’s work further, but none of it involves demolition of any parts of the Nervi dome or buttresses–which on balance means that the structure will continue to be viable and active and should thus avoid the Kingdome’s fate.
A great afternoon out, both as a Nervi fan and as a onetime Virginia Squires fan. The Scope’s first tenants were the regional ABA basketball team, though Norfolk shared them with other arenas in Hampton, Richmond, and Roanoke. So, in addition to Nervi, there may have been some small amount of communing with the spirits of Dr. J and George “Iceman” Gervin…Thanks to all at HEWV and at the Scope for making this happen.
July 29, 2015 § Leave a comment
Coast to coast…delighted to be in Norfolk, VA for a two week residency as the Virginia Design Medalist in Hanbury Evans Wright Vlattas’ offices. HEWV invites a scholar in each year to address issues in the profession, and they’ve asked me to help them brainstorm about the future of architecture…and of architects. As we’ve looked into our crystal balls, we’ve come up with four areas that are undergoing huge, productively disruptive change: design tools, materials and methods, organization and contractual relationships, and opportunities for engagement with social and urban networks. All of this is fascinating enough, but we’re basing our discussions on ‘parables’ from my historical research–after all, the introduction of steel and plate glass in Chicago construction was nothing short of massively disruptive.
This, of course, would be a great gig anywhere. But there’s this right down the street from the office…which we’re going to tour next week. Full report to follow, obvs…
July 25, 2015 § 1 Comment
St. Mary’s Cathedral, by Nervi and Pietro Belluschi. On the road, and by phone, so just these gorgeous images for the moment. But this one plays a key role in the book, as a bookend to Nervi’s career, a summation of the techniques he developed, and as a cautionary tale about working in new territories with unfamiliar problems to solve…
July 16, 2015 § 2 Comments
It’s author, Joseph Lstiburek, points out that Jeanne Gang’s Aqua Tower in Chicago very effectively mimics a fin-tube radiator, as each of its curved balconies very effectively radiates indoor air temperature to the exterior. The thermal image to the left shows, in Lstiburek’s words, “an 82-story heat exchanger” in the middle of Chicago.
This, of course, isn’t just Aqua’s problem, but the tower is certainly a paradigmatic example of thermal bridging. Concrete’s density makes it a thermally massive material, meaning it not only stores heat well, it also conducts heat well. Passive solar heating and ventilation, for instance, both rely on well-insulated thermal reservoirs of massive concrete to store heat–or the lack of it–that will dampen down the daily cycle of rapid heating and cooling of lighter building materials around them.
The problem with high rise construction is that concrete also offers a great work platform from which to assemble and install building cladding. Full curtain walls are draped outside of the building structure, but as you can see from a closeup of Aqua, a tall concrete frame suggests a much easier way to attach the building cladding–use single-story ‘storefront’ systems that just span between floor and ceiling slab at each story. This eases the structural issues that wind causes for fully hung curtain walls by limiting spans to a single floor height, and by providing robust connections at each slab. It also simplifies the labor involved in erecting cladding, since there is always easy access from the interior and since balconies can provide access (intermittently, in this case) from the outside face of the cladding.
The tradeoff, of course, is that if the slab is monolithic, it works as a very effective way to suck heat from one side of the cladding to the other. If, say, you’re trying to heat your condo during the winter, what you end up doing is heating the air in the room, which then heats the floor and ceiling slabs, which then–because they have so much outdoor surface in addition to their indoor area–try to heat the entire atmosphere.
There are, as Lstiburek points out, details that can reduce or eliminate this. By making a foam joint in the concrete and dramatically increasing the amount of rebar in the slab, you can essentially make a steel cantilever that’s wrapped in concrete–but concrete that isn’t continuous from inside to out. This is as expensive as it looks, of course, and it gives structural engineers fits, since they really want concrete to be as monolithic as it can be.
Aqua, it’s often pointed out, was a super-tightly budgeted project–basically a very standard (if very tall) condo tower with the one super-clever balcony detail that enabled its wave-like forms. There’s no chance that the developer didn’t do a full cost analysis on this balcony detail, and my guess is that this is evidence that we’re still really in a cheap-energy economy. It’s pretty clear that the least expensive way to deal with the thermal bridge issue in an 82-story residential tower is–still–to just throw more energy at the detail than can flow through it in a given day, to accept and pay for the losses through conduction while sitting inside (sorry, inside joke here) bathed in soft light and listening to Dionne Warwick in heart-warming stereo. Now, that may not be true fifty years from now, but that’s well past the developer’s involvement in the building, making this an economically-smart but legacy-dumb detail.
In fairness to Aqua, thermally-bridged concrete slabs have been the modus operandi for high-rise residential towers in Chicago since the 1920s. Flat slab construction has been the most spatially efficient way to squeeze as many floors into as little height as possible–not a great approach for commercial construction, which relies on the hollow spaces in steel-framed floors for duct runs, but perfect for residential construction where all of those ducts are replaced by thinner pipes feeding radiators. There is, sadly, no truth to the rumor that staff in Bertrand Goldberg’s office, located on the bottom floor of the raised office block in Marina City, had to wear winter boots during cold months to keep their feet from freezing on the concrete slab. But that’s as good an illustration as any of the problem.
Details like this are troubling, of course, to anyone concerned with how efficiently our buildings will operate over the next fifty years as energy costs and consequences soar. But to an historian, such details tend to reveal what the building culture of the time is actually responding to. In this case, it’s clear that despite what we know is coming, energy is still cheaper than the labor and the materials that would have been needed to make this a more efficient detail. I’ll leave the socio-political implications of that to the economists–to a developer that fact is a good piece of actionable data, but to humans in general it should be plenty sobering.