Four Walls and A Roof

The Complex Nature of a Simple Profession

it’s quite a title, right? And with an engaging and thoughtful opinion piece published on Dezeen, it’s exciting that there’s an entire book!. But, in short, this book is good. Not great. Just good. Let me explain.

Reinier de Graaf’s state of mind in the preface is refreshing: “Why this book? Most architects are lousy theorists: I am no exception. Whenever we offer theories, they should be mistrusted,” and then he notes, “That doesn’t mean, however, that what architects have to say is without value,” (xi).

I appreciate his self-awareness. Even though it doesn’t necessarily come across in the book, it’s a nice gesture. If anything, it’s a great jumping off point. It’s meant to ground him. He and the reader are equals. (It has taken all my willpower to not make a sarcastic comment about architects thinking they are equals with others. You’re welcome.)

Image Courtesy of Harvard University Press

The book is a collection of 44 different essays from de Graaf - about half written for the book and the other half written for other occasions. And, the topics are wide ranging.

There are well-researched history lessons - profiles of communism-led urban developments, origin stories of building technologies, and specific case studies, in particular the Hartsfield-Jackson International Atlanta Airport (I’ve said this before, but I love airports, so woohoo!)

Broad architectural theory is sprinkled throughout the book, including one chapter titled “The Inevitable Box”: “In the name of creativity, architecture sides with the masterpiece against the cliche, with the unique against the common, with the specific against the generic. Creativity prioritizes the exception over the rule and chooses the margins over the mainstream,” (72).

A box is a traditional and fundamental way to approach architecture. (Hi, yeah it’s me, not de Graaf). It has stood the test of time, so should we continue to design boxes? Should we design an anti-box, just to be different? What is the guiding principle there? Just to be avant garde? Is that enough of a reason?

In terms of architectural theory, I thought de Graaf did an okay job. Starting from an incredibly abstract idea, he jumps around a lot (in time, scale, and everything in between). This chapter is the epitome of the book. It’s exhaustive (not quite a compliment), but it leaves you with some thought-provoking questions.

De Graaf also shares personal anecdotes from his travels and work experience, that give you a (albeit still foggy) peek behind the curtain of one of the most influential architecture firms in contemporary times. Oh, maybe I should’ve mentioned that earlier. Reinier de Graaf is a partner at Office for Metropolitan Architecture (OMA), which was founded by Rem Koolhaas. Maybe I’ll eventually do an entire post about OMA, but they’re behind iconic buildings like Seattle Public Library, CCTV, among many others, and, they’re also heavily involved in theory including masterplans like the unbuilt Parc de la Villette and books like Delirious New York and Elements of Architecture. Oh, and don’t sleep on their research arm AMO, which de Graaf leads.

Like I said, I like the book. I think it’s an interesting perspective on the current state of architecture from someone who actually has a pulse on the profession. So, I guess my issue is the actual writing. it’s often dry and unapproachable. It’s not bad, but I just think it could be better. And it being a collage of essays, it lacks a certain cohesion, yet easily hits the 486 page mark.

Demolition of Pruitt-Igoe Housing (St. Louis), which is featured in the book

Image Courtesy of Chad Freidrichs via MOMA

And, it doesn’t touch on actual architecture as much as I thought it would. Which, in general, that’s fine. It’s undeniable that the influence of architecture extends beyond its walls. For most people, that’s the point of architecture - to influence people and society beyond just the building you design. And that’s certainly what this book is trying to get at. There are many other players and decision makers, sitting right next to the architect at the table. But, my preconceived notions of de Graaf being an actual architect and the title of the book made me believe that we were going to be playing on the beaches of architecture, not jumping into the ocean of urbanism and surfing the waves of critique. Idk. Maybe, that’s my fault. But when the title of your book is literally describing a very basic house, I would think you would talk about smaller scale projects of the actual built environment. But, maybe that’s his tongue in cheek way of doing things.

In good faith, I can’t recommend this book as an “essential.” To put it bluntly, it’s overly written, and it doesn’t push the narrative enough. But still, Reinier de Graaf and this book both give me hope. There is potential in this work. De Graaf talks about the future, and there is an undeniable emphasis put on the upcoming years. However broad the questions are (there are no answers), they make you consider the future. Which is good! We need to constantly question our present. Always be looking at what is next. No, don’t get bored with what you’re doing, but question why you’re doing it. There’s always room for improvement. And, remember, the answer isn’t necessarily more complicated. it might just be as simple as four walls and a roof.

The Eyes of the Skin

Architects really struggle to write. They use pedantic, superfluous linguistics to examine the circuitous principles of the abstract, but also relatively concrete, schemas of architectural codification. Have you started banging your head on a wall yet? See what I did there? For older generations, this way of writing is not their fault. It was the style of time, but nonetheless, it’s frustrating and confusing to read. For contemporaries, well, I don’t know what to say. Architects need to release their hold on academic language. Look, I’m guilty of falling into this trap at times, but we all have to work on improving. Anyway, I was reminded of this while I was reading The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture of the Senses, which Juhani Pallasma first published in 1996.

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caraveggio, which appears on the cover of the book

Image Courtesy of Wikipedia

Pallasma argues that architecture has been diluted to merely the visual image. As a culture, we are so obsessed with things ‘looking good’ that we have pushed away all other senses. I wholeheartedly agree. The idea is a simple and legitimate point to digest. The book, however, was like choking down a fiber bar. You know it’s good for you, but it ‘s a bit of a struggle. Okay, I’m being dramatic. But he doesn’t make it easy. I wasn’t an English major, but I remember my 7th grade teacher constantly saying “show, don’t tell.” Pallasma tells a lot.

I don’t want to bad mouth Pallasma any more because, like I said, he’s got some very valid arguments. We need to embrace all of our senses (even beyond the classical 5)! And, I get it. Architects search for a way to communicate beyond their buildings. Writing is one of the easiest ways to get those ideas across. Yeah, you could draw. You could paint. You could create a sculpture. Or, you could even build something. But how do you distribute those mediums? When you’re communicating, you want to be able to easily connect to your audience. Writing gives you that platform. And, thanks to technology, it’s now even easier now to connect and share with. That’s literally why I write this blog. But, you also have to engage the audience. Keep them interested!

Speaking of, one interesting quote is “The door handle is the handshake of the building,” (56). I’ve definitely heard this quote before, but it was great to see the context behind it. Before reading this book, I saw that quote as an excuse to design a whacky door handle for no reason. Maybe I’m just a shallow designer, but now I get it. Pallasma is emphasizing the importance of details and the power of tactility and materiality.

My favorite quote from the book is: “The real measure of the qualities of a city is whether one can imagine falling in love in it,” (70). What can I say…I’m a romantic, and I love cities. Here, Pallasma is talking about the influence of the urban environment. He’s not talking about the beauty of buildings themselves but about the beauty that the buildings can create. What a powerful notion. And, felt from the rest of the book, he would argue that the beauty, any beauty, comes from a combination of all the senses, not just a pretty picture.

A third quote to snack on is: “Understanding architectural scale implies the unconscious measuring of the object or the building with one’s body, and of projecting one’s body scheme into the space in question,” (67). To be honest, I don’t really feel like dissecting this right now, but it’s important and thought provoking.

I have to say that I’m biased. I get really frustrated with all academic writing, not just architecture. It’s pretentious and inaccessible. The author seems to be actively attempting to alienate themselves from their own audience. This book reminded me of that. But, luckily I love architecture, so I was able to barrel through it. (And it’s a short book!) I just want architecture and the conversations around architecture to be for everyone. Everyone should be able to love, appreciate, and learn about architecture because it has the power to change lives. Like I said, I’m a romantic.

Burglar's Guide to the City

Do you ever look at a wall and say: that could be a door if I just throw my entire body through it? Yeah, I don’t either. But that’s because we’re not burglars! Retelling stories of thieves, shadowing law enforcement, training for a zombie apocalypse, and thinking through the ‘defensive’ built environment, Burglar’s Guide to the City by Geoff Manaugh (the man behind BLDGBLOG) provides a new way to look at architecture and urbanism. The book’s scope starts big. We look at cities and their infrastructure, and then we zoom into buildings. Eventually, we asses the tools that both assist and fight burglars.

Image Courtesy of burglarsguide.com

I’m biased because I have an obsession with Los Angeles, but one of the more fascinating parts of this book is the light that it sheds on LA and its crime scene. Manaugh joins in a helicopter patrol flight, surveying the vast landscape, noting the noodled network of highways and the countless dead-end cul-de-sacs. LA is urban sprawl. It’s a huge group of smaller neighborhoods that are well connected. Racing in a getaway car, burglars use that to their advantage.

The location of a building greatly impacts its vulnerability. If you’re a burglar, looking to rob a convenience store or break into a house, you want a quick means of getting away. You look for a place that is close to a highway on ramp. But even in a denser, more urban city like Chicago or New York, you search for a potential target that is close to a public transit stop. Rob the place, hop on the subway, blend into the crowd, and never be seen again. Yet, it’s counterintuitive. As a prospective homebuyer, you want access to these transportation stops. But your desire to be connected runs parallel with a burglar’s desire to be able to get away.

On a more positive note, Jason Bourne (my favorite movie character) gets a shoutout. Manaugh mentions Matt Jones’ essay explaining why Jason Bourne is the “ultimate urbanist.” Manaugh notes: “Bourne’s superpower is simply that he uses cities better than you and I,” (258). I think that Jason Bourne is better than me at everything, not just using cities, but hey maybe that’s just me.

Ultimately, there’s a legal dialogue in what defines burglary. Burglary is the invasion of space. So, there needs to be a clear distinction of the boundaries of that space. This begs the philosophical question: what are those boundaries? Where does architecture start and end? Is it your property line? Is it the exterior edge of the cladding on your house? Is the center line of the threshold of your door? If you live in a multi-unit building, does it start in your lobby? I don’t have any answers here. I am scared of lawyers, and I don’t want to trigger a personal existential crisis. But these are important ideas to think about as we continue to shape and create buildings and urban landscapes.

Continuing on our enlightenment coffeehouse talk, we can look at our view of burglars that Manaugh brings up near the end of the book. He said that he approached the book with the hope that he could be a cheerleader for the person who flips architecture on its head, the person who keeps you on your toes, the person who stretches the ideas of architecture, the person who writes their own script. But, you can’t. Burglars are “assholes.“ They physically break architecture and emotionally destroy people’s sense of security, often scarring people for years to come.

I agree. Nobody wants to root for the bad guy (unless you watch Breaking Bad or Ozarks). But, as Manaugh shows throughout the book, there’s still an opportunity to learn. One of the big takeaways for me is this idea that burglars are some of the few people that create architecture, well after construction has ended. Most of us are purely consumers of architecture. We take the finished product and live with it. No doubt, we surely take advantage of it. It becomes a home. It becomes a place of productivity. Whatever it is for you, it becomes a collection of memories. But there’s a beauty to endlessly creating and changing architecture. Architecture shouldn’t be static, nor should our interactions be with it.

We, the normal people, approach a building and allow it to tell us what to do. Burglars are creators. They use a building to do what they (the burglars) want to do. Most people see walls as walls. The twisted few make walls into doors. Maybe we can all look at walls as more than walls. No, not as doors, but as a blank canvas, waiting to be painted.

Devil in the White City

I just finished reading Devil in the White City (DWC) by Erik Larson. I know, I know. I am really late to this. With my passion for architecture and my connection to Chicago, I have been recommended this book many a time. I’m not really sure why it took me so long to finally pick it up. For fear of this becoming a personal journal entry, I’ll just quickly say that I had quite a dry spell of reading. But, I am getting back into it.

DWC is a fascinating book of two parallel stories - one of civic and cultural triumph; the other of psychopathic darkness and deceit. At this point, I think these stories are pretty well known, so I am not going to give a Spark Notes version (do people still use that?). However, I have a few thoughts after finishing the book.

Image courtesy of eriklarsonbooks.com

For the World’s Fair, it’s amazing to think how a temporary event with temporary structures can have such a long lasting impact on our society. Traditionally, we think of capital A Architecture as very permanent buildings. Residences, government offices, civic halls, and public infrastructure are all built to last for various financial and social incentives. Fortunately, the conversation around architecture is shifting towards recognizing temporary structures (i.e. transitional housing, art installations, etc) as equally important as the permanent structures. And DWC is a great example (although, it’s not really a contemporary one, but still relevant right?).

As an architecture nerd, I geeked out as Larson explicitly explains how the World’s Fair buildings were built. Instead of using the traditional stone, steel, and brick of the time, they opted for wood frames covered in staff (a mixture of plaster and jute that could stick to wood and be shaped to create the illusion of stone - p. 120) due to financial and time constraints- they were given a mere 6 months! But the impact of the event was lasting. For architecture, and in particular civic architecture, this revitalized an interest in neoclassicism leading to buildings across the country, showing off their columns and capitals.

With the uniformity of style, yet uniqueness of each building, the fair also introduced the idea that a city could in fact be a celebration of beauty, both at the building scale and the urban scale. After the fair ended, Daniel Burnham became one of the first modern day urban planners, working with many cities, including Chicago, Atlanta, etc.

I love this. It’s exciting to think how your impact can come from temporary things. You don’t need to build a building to make an impact. You don’t need to invent something to make an impact. In Burnham’s case, it was a heroic undertaking in scale and time. But still, he just needed to be crazy enough to have a vision and see it through, even though he knew this fair, nor the associated structures would stick around.

But with great power, comes great responsibility. Personal impact can also be dangerous and scary. H.H. Holmes, unfortunately and grotesquely, impacted many people’s lives. And he used architecture to do it. He created a labyrinth inside his “castle.” In this way, architecture is the supporting cast in a rather dark and twisted crime thriller. His castle was built with purpose, but it also was inevitably town down,

I hate to put a damper on the mood, but I feel like I needed to bring that up. It’s one of the main themes of the book; there is black where there is white; there is darkness where there is light. That’s life. But hopefully, we can shine that light a little brighter with architecture - temporary or permanent.