Architectural Kintsugi

When I look back at my thirty-plus years in architecture, perhaps even my entire life, I realize much of my architectural design has been a form of Kintsugi. I have always been attracted to making the most out of existing abandoned buildings.  To be sure there is much more freedom in designing a building from scratch, but I like the idea discovering a building’s (and its former occupant’s) history.  I enjoy the sleuthing that occurs during the many site visits before “selective” demolition begins. We are constantly asking, “What stories will we discover today?”  When demolition does begin there are those exciting moments when the workers stop everything and say, “Look at this! Look what I discovered!”  Once the demolition process is completed and the site is cleared of debris, there is a temptation to stop the project all together and leave the building as nothing more than a neatly ordered archaeological dig site — a cleaned up ruin to allow explorers to imagine the past.

Unfortunately work can’t stop at this point.  The building must be made serviceable for current day service.  Fortunately, for me, this is where things get fun.  I love the idea of keeping the original “good bones” of the previous life of building exposed to be enjoyed again, and bringing in the new architectural elements of the proposed use in such a way that they don’t hide the historical building elements, but rather call attention to them…the new elements become jewel settings for the old.

The hope is always that, like a Japanese Kintsugi tea cup, the original usefulness is restored but in such a way that the final work is even more beautiful than before.

This is Where the Lie Began

This is where the lie began.  The lie that architects have used to defend their designs in the modern age.  The lie is, “Form follows function”— Louis Sullivan’s 19th century prophecy of 20th century modernist architecture.  The actual quote is “Form ever follows function,” and Sullivan wrote the phrase five years prior to Kindergarten Chats; however, it is in his “Chats” that Sullivan fleshes out what he means by the phrase.  As I understand it, Sullivan is arguing for clarity and truth in a form’s meaning.  Not simply that the function oak tree, cloud, and rose result in the form oak tree, cloud, and rose, but that truth in form is better able to communicate truth in meaning.  

In our modern age the phrase has been used to defend architectural form.  The form is a direct result of the function — it is what it is and can be no other way.  Architects have defended their designs on this foundation that appears to be an objective truth—form is a direct result of its function.  However, those of us in the architecture business know the truth.  Our architectural form making has little to do with actual empirical data. Except in the case of concert halls for orchestras and operas, most architectural form is created from simplistic rules of thumb, precedent spaces, and a hunch that the realized space will have the right spacial feeling when erected.  

So why the lie?

Confident architects have been able to defend their designs on the basis of sheer delight.  I recall Louis Kahn’s quote regarding the porches at the Kimbell Museum.  He loved them because they were so unnecessary.  For less confident architects it’s hard to look a client in the eye and say this $700,000 porch is unnecessary but it looks cool and I believe we should have it in the Contract Documents.  We seem to need something objective, something rational to hang our design decisions on….and so we lie.  We convince our clients (and ourselves) that although the form is visually and spacially stimulating it is the way it is because the function dictates that.  Perhaps a little finesse is allowable, but the gargantuan doodad that brings such visual pleasure is really there for shade, for clarity of entry, for heat stratification, for rain screen requirements.  It’s not just aesthetic.  It’s functional. It’s practical. 

Sullivan’s understanding wasn’t so limited.  It seems he was looking for truth in form founded on function but not boxed in by it.  He was from a previous generation that did not see the split between the physical and the metaphysical, the material and the spiritual.  However, those of us in this modern age struggle with the stratification between analytical and continental philosophy and we find ourselves justifying our designs with the practical.  Until our society and clients are willing to financially put Delight on equal footing with Firmness and Commodity, lesser architects will continue use this lie as a crutch.  

If You’ve Got the Money (I’ve Got the Time)

Working for developers you realize it’s all about the “money shot.” The one photograph that will pull in the most buyers. Whether it’s reeling in customers or seducing the architecture press, I would like to think fantastic photographs are just the amuse-bouche. I would like to think that architecture is best experienced in the flesh rather than in the frame. But it takes time. Time to approach slowly, thoughtfully, calmly. Would Le Corbusier been so awestruck by the Parthenon had he not been quarantined and forbidden from running up the acropolis upon his arrival in Athens. From setting an edifice on a hill to hiding the entrance, the best architects have manipulated their sites to slow down the experience of their work. Fay Jones meanders a path through a scrim of pines. In doing so he extends the experience of Thorncrown Chapel. Wright’s Falling Water is all about delay. It’s world renown image is discovered not guaranteed. And here, as I take the time to experience Gordon Bunshaft’s LBJ Library, my appreciation is heightened by the care taken in setting up the approach. If you got the money (shot), I’ve got the time to time to experience your architecture.

Teaching Evolution vs. Creationism on Campus

A beautiful campus holds together because of rules. Think of any attractive campus, and there is clear sense of the DNA embedded in the college’s buildings. I’m sure we can think of campuses where rigid adherence to the rules suffocates the life out of that place; however, let’s not throw out the baby with the bath water. For a place to thrive it must grow. It must change. It must evolve over time, and like the evolution of all living things, a campus must evolve, not start over. Architects who add new growth to a campus must understand the DNA—the rules— of the place. There are dead places on the UT campus where the architects du jour failed to graft into the living fabric of the University. Fortunately, there are several works of architecture that have successfully rooted into the soil of the campus, while at the same time exhibit details and elements that are unique to our current milieu. Often this approach is quiet, respectful and doesn’t grab headlines in the architecture media, but this is the right thing to do. Don’t play God designing ex nihilo. When it comes to architecture, I believe in evolution not creationism.

AND not OR

When considering a building do we judge it by its form or its function? The engineer would ask, “Will it endure wind load? Will it leak water? How will my crews maintain it year after year?” A favorable response yields a quality building....but not necessarily architecture. The artist will ask, “Does it move me? Does it stimulate my mind, my heart my soul? Does it awaken me?” If the answer is “yes” then we have a good example of sculpture...but we still fall short of having a work of architecture. Function without consideration of form yields a building. Form without a practical function yields sculpture. The rich art of architecture is both function and form. But how much function is enough? Should a residence hall provide stimulating dorm rooms and and a building envelope that doesn’t leak? And what of the form? How much should it yield to the pragmatics of loading docks, shedding water, and exhaust vents? Frustratingly and fortunately there is no simple answer and excellent works of architecture can land at any point on the spectrum between form and function. Quality architecture avoids the tyranny of the OR and embraces the genius of the AND (1).

1 Jim Collins and Scott Porrras

The One Thing Predock Got Right

I think of Antoine Predock’s design for Austin’s City Hall as an example of starchitect detritus; however, there is one thing Predock got absolutely right—it’s a place to be seen. The design is a collection of display cases. Throughout the building are conference rooms surrounded by glass and appropriately nick-named “fishbowls.” The chambers for Council & Commissions are surrounded by glass. At any time, any citizen can walk up and see their government in action. The structure splintering atrium features a grand stair, catwalks and well placed, highly visible waiting areas for well-heeled and handsome courtiers to eddy. These areas allow the politically ambitious to observe competitors and to be observed as they vie for attention. Transparency of government was the design goal, but the opportunity to show off, to be seen, to mill about in a way that says “Look at me, I’m somebody important” is the result. Like the courtiers within it, the building itself attempts to be seen. Framed by static background buildings, Predock’s confused striated pile tries so very hard to be seen as important. Is this architecture or simply form making goofiness? If it gets your attention I suppose it’s doing it’s job.

Foregrounding Background

“Background building” is a term of derision. As architects, we understand and appreciate the necessity of background buildings.  Gehry’s Bilbao wouldn’t have its “effect” if not framed by centuries of dense urban fabric. Unfortunately, architecture has become a zero-sum game.  To stand out we must stand apart.  To be heard we must be loud.  To be new we must destroy, forget, ignore the old.  Like so many aspects of modern culture, architecture is entrapped under the tyranny of the OR instead of enriched by the genius of the AND.  Larry Speck’s Health Learning Building on the Dell Medical School campus is a design that attempts to reject these simplistic false choices.  The design would not be considered “traditional” architecture.  It features the latest trend in staggered window fenestration, sustainability bling, and the ubiquitous community stair found in so many academic buildings.  However, Speck has been careful to assure the building fits in to the urban fabric and natural environment in which it is sited.  In the years to come it will fulfill the role of being a background building, but like the talented architects of the past like Borromini, Bernini and Wagner, it’s unique personality and detailing will bring it to the foreground for those whose tastes have matured beyond magazine cover money shots.

Mehr Dunkelheit

 Consider Darkness.  Most architects seek to animate a space with light. Goethe’s last words were said to be “Mehr Licht!  Has anyone ever said, “More darkness”?  

I wonder if that’s precisely what the designers of the “W” Hotel’s interiors said…“More Darkness!”  Darkness appears to be a design element that is used to advantage both interior environment and hotel guest.  Darkness helps create a mysterious place, a hidden place, a sexy place.   The record room, restaurant bar, tequila bar, and of course the secret bar have their own properly calibrated level of darkness.  Reducing visibility helps extend the space and blur boundaries.  The stair between 1 and 2 is fantastically dark.  The translation between floors is safe, but also an adventure.  

Is this darkness just an aesthetic of shadowy clubbiness?  Perhaps, but if one compares it to the light filled spaces of the South Congress Hotel you might find the W uses darkness to welcome a wider range of clientele.  Both hotels have no shortage of beautiful people; however, the W has created a place for the rest of us.  Darkness helps hide middle age wrinkles, cellulite, varicose veins and the libidinous motives behind offering your lover one more drink. 

An Unexpected Mess

The recently completed South Congress Hotel by Michael Hsu is the latest addition to the studio’s portfolio of work.  Many, such as myself, were excited about the conversion of a parking lot into a street friendly Michael Hsu masterpiece.  Sadly, I have this impression of the hotel—it’s a mess.

This building lacks a clear idea.  The idea could be to pack several functions into one building and allow each function to be it’s own entity.  If this is the idea it fails.  Rather than a clear separation of function, the resulting composition is a blur of materials.

The material palette has most of Austin’s architectural staples. There is raw site cast concrete with it’s smooth form liner face. Raw steel is smattered about ready to patina.  Clear coat pine and terra cotta screening add warmth to the composition.  The gold window frames harken vintage 60’s chic, but come off with dated 80’s faux fanciness.  But herein lies the problem—too many materials.  There is one bright moment in the design—the ceiling lights at the entry. I wish the building could take a cue from this brief moment of restraint and edit the mess to such simplicity.

Silence and Light

A worship space speaks loudest when it’s empty.  The first moment I stepped into the sanctuary of La Tourette it was the deafening silence that struck me.  Empty and dark—barely illuminated by the sun.  Silence and light.  This was the way I encountered Agudas Achim by Lake | Flato.  The Rabbi left us alone in the silence.  I don’t want to equate Agudas Achim with La Tourette’s spartan beton brut rawness.  The space itself is rich, welcoming and comfortable.  Silky smooth concrete, and steel painted with a dark warm french gray is furthered warmed up with oak paneled infill and furnishings.  I found the steering of daylight equally as impressive as the silence.  Filtering in through side slits, overhead orifices and modulated through the layers of stair & sloped balcony the space is not dark, not bright, but just right.  Layers of light, pools of light, and wonderful silence.  The space incarnates the spirit of Louis Kahn.  His palette of concrete and wood. His idea: silence and light.  I’m reminded of a favorite passage….”And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood.