sutherland lecture online

Very pleased to note that the Institution of Structural Engineers in London has uploaded video of the James Sutherland History Lecture that I was invited to give earlier this month there.  On “Pier Luigi Nervi and the Role of Structure in Architectural Beauty,” anyone who’s seen me talk on Nervi will be familiar with the first half, but there are some newly jotted-down thoughts toward the end that are fresher.  Many thanks to Rachel Doran, Jane Entwistle, Andrew Smith, et al for putting on such a fine evening…



Tyler Vincent

Tyler Vincent

What would gothic cathedrals have looked like if the groin vault had, like concrete, been lost as a technology at the end of the Roman Empire?  That was last week’s discussion question in my Big and Tall seminar, and the class responded with some intriguing possibilities.

The alternate history has been a go-to question in the course since I started teaching it, since it highlights the evolutionary nature of building.  Developments such as the groin vault, or wrought iron, or plate glass, all solved individual problems, but there would, undoubtedly, have been work-arounds that would have produced viable buildings solving functional issues in other ways.  (Somewhere, in an alternate universe, a Big and Tall course is wondering whether humans would have built sky-dwellings without the discovery of Unobtanium.  Submit your answers in the comments below).

Phil Hess

Phil Hess

Lots of good thoughts, including souped-up barrel vaults like those above.  In the first case the assumption is that the flying buttress still develops, but it turns into a thicker element that can absorb more of the distributed thrust of the barrel vault, instead of just taking the point loads of a groin vault.  The solution just above uses barrel vaults to thrust against one another (or, at least, against the supporting walls), and cleverly steps them down toward the ground to create a pyramid of perpendicular buttressing.

Obishek Mandal

Obishek Mandal

Less spectacular but perhaps more viable, a number of solutions involved more elaborate timber structures, trusses that adopted the pointed arch (imported from the middle east via Norman conquest and diffusion through the Mediterranean) and the availability of heavy timber in northern Europe.  This makes perfect sense–if the groin vault never develops, just don’t build the groin vaults, but let the truss work that supports the tall timber roof express itself to the nave below.

Jeffrey Klynsma

Jeffrey Klynsma

OR, build simple trusses over masonry walls, but then find a way to build the Aya Sophia’s dome over the crossing–focusing your constructive energy on the church’s most sacred point.  I like this one a lot–even though it would have been asking quite a bit of medieval carpenters to figure out that junction between dome and truss (something, let’s face it, that even Palladio couldn’t quite handle).

Thanks to Tyler Vincent, Jeffrey Klynsma, Obishek Mandal, and Phil Hess for some particularly striking suggestions.  More alt-SciTech when we hit the age of iron…

cathedrals of a sort + poetics

(Warning: somewhat hifalutin’.)

Subtly different vibe this week. In London for a pair of lectures, one organized by the good folks at Foster + Partners, my old stomping grounds, and the other the James Sutherland Lecture to the Institution of Structural Engineers, the latter an event that honors a truly great historian of engineering with an annual talk on an historic subject.

Both talks were on the Nervi book, with slightly varying takes. Nervi was, of course a name that floated around the studios at Foster’s often, and the links between fabrication, structural performance, and assembly certainly live on in that firm’s work. There’s a natural interest in the constraints faced by him as a builder, and also in the geometries that proved to be a link between the structural forms his engineering demanded and the largely unskilled labor force that his contracting firm had at its disposal. Break the problem down into a long series of repetitive, manageable tasks, and you can build for less than your competitors.

In my talk to the ISE, I expanded on this a bit. Nervi was always described as a “poet in concrete,” and I’ve gotten a fair bit of mileage out of showing how, far from the airy niceties of poetry, Nervi’s career was based in the muddy realities of job sites and fabrication yards. But the results are, of course, uncannily ‘poetic,’ and being mildly interested in such things I tried to show that, rather than that description making us think differently about Nervi, it might make us think differently about poetry. We often use the term as a shorthand for anything that strikes us emotionally, but even a short delve into debates over what poetry really is takes you to discussions about form, meter, rhythm, and rules. Common definitions talk about emotional content being distilled into rigorously developed forms–sonnets, e.g.–that require the poet not only to express an emotion or sensibility, but to do so within an intentionally limiting set of constraints.

Well, now.

Nervi’s best work does exactly that. His structural shapes, like those of many of his contemporaries, are breathtaking leaps, but they’re inevitably achieved within a tight set of restrictions–economic ones, of course, but also material, labor, schedule, etc.–that refined those shapes into patterns and rhythms that relate to a very different set of rules than the pure structural ones with which he’s most commonly associated. Constraint creates design, as the Eames’ said. It’s to be embraced, not bemoaned. Working this up into a larger paper for the ISE’s Journal, but this seems to me what separates Nervi’s shells from other contemporaries–their realization is filtered through the limited means Nervi had, and this dialogue between structural ambition and the difficult circumstances of the job site is imprinted in the roof forms themselves–patterns that Nervi recognized as visually important and worth celebrating.

What poet, after all, complains about the number of syllables in a haiku?

As you can see, I managed to get out for a day or two as well. London cooperated with a gorgeous Sunday, and I took the opportunity to see Richard Turner’s Palm House at Kew, a wrought-iron and glass cathedral that is a foundational text of sorts. Cluttered up with plants, of course, but still compelling almost 170 years after it was built. The trick of a single radius throughout is another example of how functional ambitions–structural and solar, in this case–get filtered through the constraints of, in this case, bending metal to consistent shapes. Build one jig and use it to bend every single framing member and every piece of glass in the entire structure, and you’ve saved a considerable amount on fabrication–in addition to which you’ve broken down the process of making the building into repetitive, relatively simple tasks that remove the expensive, skilled labor (building the jig) from the bulk of the work (heating up the iron members and bending them around said jig). The result, if not wholly poetic, is nevertheless compelling, especially on a sunny February afternoon.

As is this one, which is another story about structure and fabrication altogether:

Thanks to all, esp. ace ISU alum Kristi, for the invites and logistical help.