October 25, 2016 § Leave a comment
The Art Institute lions look pretty good in Cubbie blue, don’t they?
I could go into great detail about Shepley, Rutan, and Coolidge’s building behind those be-capped cats, or about Zachary Taylor Davis’ riveted steel masterpiece at the corner of Addison and Clark (he, by the way, is going to be recognized by the new hotel being planned for Wrigleyville…well deserved), or about how Kyle Hendricks, hero pitcher of Game 6, played college ball for Dartmouth and thus spent winters practicing that pennant-winning changeup under a rather nice Nervi roof in Hanover.
But I’ll just leave it at this: I’ll be radically unavailable for the next few evenings, hoping for an outcome that last happened the year this Loop landmark opened for business:
October 19, 2016 § Leave a comment
Happy to announce the first pre-publication event for both Beauty’s Rigor and the 50th anniversary reprint of Aesthetics and Technology in Building. Both book projects will be the subject of a day-long presentation associated with the Venice Biennale on Friday, 11 November at Isola di San Servolo. I’ll be helping to moderate and to place Nervi and these projects in context, but the day will be highlighted by presentations by scholars and architects who have contributed critical essays to the ATB reprint. If you’re in Venice, or anywhere nearby, this should be a great day of Nervi scholarship, the first in a series of events that will surround the books’ hitting the street sometime next Fall.
October 15, 2016 § 3 Comments
Here we go again…a piece in last week’s Sunday New York Times, while proclaiming that “brutalism is back” nevertheless pitched it as a style intended to “brutalize” its occupants:
IN THE RANK OF UNFLATTERING monikers for an artistic style, “Brutalism” has got to score near the top. Like the much kinder-sounding “Fauvism” or “Impressionism,” it was a term of abuse for the work of architects whose buildings confronted their users — brutalized them — with hulking, piled-up slabs of raw, unfinished concrete. These same architects, centered on the British couple Alison and Peter Smithson, enthusiastically took up Brutalism as the name for their movement with a kind of pride, as if to say: That’s right, we are brutal. We do want to shove your face in cement. For a world still climbing gingerly out of the ruins of World War II, in need of plain dealing and powerful messages, this brand of architectural honesty was refreshing.
Nikil Saval, “Brutalism is Back,” New York Times T Magazine, Oct. 6, 2016.
So, just for the record, here’s the same newspaper, back in 1969, explaining the origins of the term:
“The ‘brut’ in brutalism is a play upon ‘bèton brut,’ Le Corbusier’s description of his own reinforced concrete work. ‘New brutalism’ is, therefore, a definition of an esthetic approach, coined by Reyner Banham in an article about the influence of Le Corbusier upon certain English architects. A building of bèton brut, like a bottle of champagne brut, is to be judged on its own merits, rather than the imagery of its nomenclature.”
Francis Booth, “The Brut in Brutalism,” The New York Times, Jan. 10, 1969. 46.
To Saval’s credit, the article goes on to talk about the straightforward expression of materials as a key to the ethic and aesthetic of Brutalism, quoting its patron saint and fiercest critic, Reyner Banham:
“Whatever has been said about honest use of materials,” Banham wrote in a 1955 article, “most modern buildings appear to be made of whitewash or patent glazing, even when they are made of concrete or steel.” The Smithsons’ project at Hunstanton, by contrast, “appears to be made of glass, brick, steel and concrete, and is in fact made of glass, brick, steel and concrete.”
What isn’t quoted is Banham’s two-word definition of the style: “bloody mindedness,” which suggests much more the intellectual reach and overreach that led to buildings as rigorous and sublime as Kahn’s Kimbell, and as baffling and alienating as Netsch’s Art and Architecture building at Illinois-Chicago.
“Brutalism” came out of expressing the processes of making and constructing a building–the “brut” of “beton brut,” and not an evil conspiracy to distress and discomfort the public at large…and a simple keyword search on the writer’s part here would have made that apparent.
Mythbusting Saturday morning…
September 15, 2016 § 3 Comments
This is pretty unbelievable, but multiple sources report that San Francisco’s Millennium Tower, finished in 2009 and at 58 stories the tallest residential tower in the city, is experiencing potentially grave problems with settlement–the building as a whole has settled more than 10 inches farther into its site than originally calculated, and it’s done so unevenly, so much so that the tower now has a supposedly noticeable lean.
The problems with settlement were first reported a few weeks ago, but the national media (and several friends, family, and SCI-TECH alumni) have now caught wind of the problem and it’s making headlines for the potentially explosive political consequences, if in fact the owners received an overly generous assessment from the city. Inspectors were aware of the problems as early as August, 2009, according to some reports, but approved the building anyway.
Politics aside, any building that tall that leans that much is going to attract attention, especially mine. So what’s up? (Disclaimer–all of the following is pure speculation, researched lightly with whatever’s available on line. Take with a grain of salt).
The New York Times yesterday had a particularly misleading take on this, one that SCI-TECH alums should be able to parse out pretty easily:
Mark Garay, one of the lawyers for the apartment owners, says it is too early to pinpoint the precise causes for the building sinking, but that it had already begun significantly before work on the transport terminal started.
“What we do know is that the foundation of this building does not go into bedrock,” he said. “It’s all landfill. It used to be part of the bay.”
That sounds terrifying. After all, shallow foundations on landfill were major factors in the collapse of several much smaller building in the Marina District in the 1989 earthquake. As the earth shook, the soil under the water table liquified (exactly like shaking up a french press full of settled coffee grounds), setting the buildings above afloat.
Garay’s quote makes it sound like Millennium Tower is a big version of the same problem. The excavation for the tower goes 75 feet underground, but bedrock in SOMA is more than 200′ below ground level. The basement is tanked to prevent water infiltration, so there’s a displacement force, but nothing close to the weight of the tower above.
But Garay’s quote doesn’t address the actual system in use here. Millennium Tower’s designers relied on an old-school foundation technique, friction piles, to support the weight of the tower (there’s also a 12-story mid-rise and a three-story connector…more on those shortly). Friction piles work by surface resistance with surrounding fluid soil. Imagine driving a broomstick into beach sand–you can only go so far before there’s enough broomstick in contact with the sand to put up fearsome resistance. This has always been a standard technique for building in liquid soil, and it’s why coastal construction always comes with the dulcet tones of a pile driver. Chicago builders used these to support the dozens of grain elevators that used to line the River, and Dankmar Adler was on record as wondering why building engineers didn’t use friction piles when designing skyscrapers–a foreshadowing of his eventual development of caissons for architectural applications.
According to a case study by the Concrete Reinforcing Steel Institute, Millennium Tower’s core is supported by 950 square piles, each of them 14″ x 14″. The loads from the surrounding building are apparently transferred to these piles, in part, by a 10-foot deep pile cap (with, CRSI, notes a fair dose of “vertical shear reinforcing.” No kidding.) The number of piles, the case study notes, was “governed by gravity design” and not “overturning due to earthquake.”
So that’s the section, at least as I understand it (happy to be corrected by anyone who knows more). This looks like it could be a classic vertical vs. rotational equilibrium problem. If you remember your elementary beam statics, we’re worried about structure moving through space (usually the problem is down) and providing enough resistance to prevent its translational movement. But we’re also worried about things rotating (beams in particular, but bear with me). Rotational equilibrium means providing enough resisting leverage to keep elements from spinning around one point or another. Where that resistance goes is critical–the larger the lever arm, the better able a support is able to push back and resist an unbalanced load. While the piles under Millennium Tower are designed to resist the translational load of the tower against gravity, they’re not in the most efficient place to resist rotation. So the lean could have something to do with this.
The larger-than-expected settlement in general–something like 15″ vs. an expected 5″–may not be that big a problem. Buildings in poor soil settle more or less than expected all the time, and the Chicago experience shows that guessing how much a fluid soil will compress is at best an art more than a science. There’s discussion of adjacent construction at the Transbay Terminal that may have exacerbated the gradual movement of the building down through the soil.
It’s the uneven settlement that’s more worrying. The lean itself isn’t such a big deal–the Fisher Building in Chicago leans a good 6-8″ out over the street, and has done for 120 years now–but the small changes to the building’s structural geometry could have all sorts off serviceability issues, from doors that won’t fully close because their frames are racked to pens that roll across the floor when they’re dropped. If one segment of the building is settling more than another, that can also put unanticipated stress on structural connections.
What happens in an earthquake? That’s a bigger question. Friction pile foundations can have problems with horizontal shear in large seismic events as the momentum of the building above works out of phase with the movement of the liquid soil below, but assuming they’re designed for this force they present a pretty solid keel for a tall building that suddenly finds itself afloat, and the resistance of the 950 piles will theoretically prevent the building from moving or rotating laterally. No building on the planet is “earthquake proof,” but a slight lean doesn’t necessarily make the building any more vulnerable.
What’s to be done? All kinds of possibilities. Adding piles under whatever part is experiencing greater settlement is one. Soil remediation with concrete is another, but unlikely given the surrounding soil. It’s possible that doing nothing is the best option–as long as the settlement is slow it may be that the building is entirely habitable for generations before things get too far out of hand.
But my favorite solution is the one finally employed in 1907 at the Fisher Building. The owners bought the lot to the immediate north of the leaning tower and constructed a slightly taller, heaver structure there, rigidly connected to the existing building’s steel frame. The new structure is tiny, but it balances out the lean of the older structure and literally helps to keep it upright. Sort of like the designated driver (left, below) walking a drunk friend (right, below) home from a late night…
September 6, 2016 § Leave a comment
Some longtime readers may recall a particularly successful run of option studios at ISU several years ago that combined Interior Design and Architecture students on teams that produced award-winning schemes for high rise hotels in Chicago (when I taught it) and Miami Beach, when it was taught by Jason Alread. After a fortunate elevator conversation in June with our Interior Design chair, Lee Cagley, the two of us decided to revive theidea in the Fall, when I actually teach studio, and to re-cast it as an Integrated Design studio–full of technical requirements like structure, wind bracing, exiting stairs, and climate response, but still exciting, design-wise. Lee had planned to do an ecologically-themed resort in Panama City this fall, and we used that as the basis for a hotel program on a site in Amador, formerly one of several US military installations around the Pacific end of the canal. We had a great response from students in both disciplines, and we’re just finishing up four days of site visits, precedent studies, and empanadas consumption in Panama City.
Lee orchestrated a great trip, one that started with a morning at the Miraflores Locks, where an eight-story visitors center gives you a stadium seating view of the daily ballet of ships inching through locks that are at most a meter or so wider than they are. The scale of the operation is literally unbelievable, and the fact that the locks themselves are a century old makes them that much more impressive (built, let’s remember, by many of the same people and machines that built the Sanitary and Ship Canal outside of Chicago…)
We stayed in university dorms right across the road from the locks, so this was a daily drama. But the competing drama, even just a couple of miles outside Panama City, was the rainforest that occupies every available square inch of this part of the world. And Lee made sure we saw plenty of that, too. An aerial tram and tower at Gamboa was a good introduction, but a more informal–and much more immersive–chance to see Panama’s biodiversity in action came in the form of a drenching morning at Canopy Tower, a defunct and lightly re-occupied radar tower a few miles inland. A couple of hours atop that, and walking through the dense, stratified forest, was a really intense blast of what the climate and land here are capable of, and the forces that are very obviously taking back whatever we’ve borrowed from them. Every road we drove on outside of the city was edged in an impatient tangle of vines, grasses, and trees, reminding you that everything we’ve built here is temporary–even that big slice through the Isthmus.
So that is kind of the theme for the fall–can you create an environment that lets guests have a real connection to the power and beauty of the natural forces at work in this place while also fitting in to a city that is seeing phenomenal growth, that is connected to the whole world through its unique infrastructure and its financial industry, and that respects the complicated natural and political history of this place?
We’ll see, but this seems like a fearless, clever group, and we have lucked into a site that seems to embody all of these contradictions. The Amador Peninsula was one of the most strategic points at the mouth of the canal, and its redevelopment into a convnention and entertainment center comes with all kinds of tough questions about how your remediate land that was aggressively clear cut, and then poisoned by a fuel tank farm.
One answer is to gloss over all of that with something shiny, and one of the really good debates we’ve had is over Frank Gehry’s Biomuseo, a museum of Panama’s natural history that is about half a mile down the peninsula from our site. It has a relentlessly upbeat message–this place is special, and we can do a better job of conserving it–but the building itself, designed to mimic a rainforest canopy with concrete and sheet metal “trees,” is a powder-coated monument to profligate embodied energy. Couldn’t you “raise awareness” (always a signature cop out line) by making your building an analogue of natural processes instead of a metaphorical nod to its mere forms?
I know, show don’t tell, coach don’t preach. But the more I see it (and, FBOW, you can see the damn thing everywhere in Panama City)’ the more this latest Gehry’s crumpled hut strikes me as a dramatic ethical failing and a missed opportunity to do something that really with the experience of fragile relentlessness that we saw in Canopy Tower. Is it possible for human and natural habitats to support one another in ways that are also rich with experience and connections? Good questions to ask, especially over covina alla plancha at Mer e Terra, the official fish shack of Arch 403/603 & ID 668, Fall, 2016.
August 26, 2016 § Leave a comment
Amazing who qualifies as an expert these days, but IA Houston Managing Director (and college classmate) Russ Manthy invited me to talk on their regular company podcast about how we teach designers of all stripes. A good chance to get a bit meta on what it is we do and why….
August 21, 2016 § 6 Comments
Circle of life…summer’s end, new grad students in town, and I’m on both ends of the new student orientation week this year. Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end, and all that.
The big excitement for me this fall will be the re-birth (see what I did there?) of Architecture 423, our department’s Renaissance class. For decades, this was taught by John Maves, much loved but now well into retirement. We haven’t taught the course ever since, and last spring I’d mentioned in a meeting with our Chair that it was a shame to send students off to Rome without having some coursework beforehand that let them know what they’d be looking at. So, guess who’s teaching it now?
My qualifications are pretty much that I’ve spent a good amount of time in Rome, and that I’ve enjoyed this particular era ever since taking the awe-inspiring class at Illinois taught by Richard Betts. So I dove in over the summer and started thinking about how you might teach Renaissance from someplace that encompassed traditional, art historical methods, the history of construction position that I teach from when I include the Renaissance in Big and Tall, and a broader sense of the social, political, and economic contexts that I think are important to any era.
Along the way, I picked up and read Robert Friedel’s A Culture of Improvement, a brilliant 2007 history of technology that makes the case that Europe’s defining moment came with the realization around the Carolingian Renaissance that society could in fact elevate itself–that while the Dark Ages had been a devastating period of decline, it was possible, step by step, to build a better society, economy, etc. Friedel, interestingly, uses Abbot Suger’s reconstruction of St. Denis as a paradigmatic moment in this progressive movement, and this made me think that perhaps the course should include the broadest possible definition of “Renaissance.” So, we’re going to start with Charlemagne and see the Italian Renaissance as a middle chapter in three “rebirths:” the economic and cultural rebirth of northern France and southern England in the 11th-14th century, the Florentine and eventually Italian rebirth in the 15th-17th century, and the English and French rebirth that coincided with the Reformation and the scientific revolution in the 17th and 18th centuries. Fortunately, the class title is “Topics in Renaissance to Mid-Eighteenth Century Architecture”–I owe Prof. Maves for the all-encompassing title that’s going to allow us to see Gervase of Canterbury and Jacques-Germain Soufflot as part of a continuum of technically progressive and aesthetically critical work over the course of 800 years or so.
We start Tuesday, so I’m frantically scanning excerpts of everything from Augustine to Alberti. And in the interest of peer review, I’ll include this year’s syllabus for anyone who wants to follow/read along…