Posts about Brutalism

We did discuss such things as a fa�ade's thickness and depth—"sickness and death," in Moneo's formidable accent—but these were architectonic qualities, not practical ones. Most architecture schools still promote an intellectual and artistic sensibility that has little patience for such mundane questions as whether a building will sustain pedestrian activity.

This issue was the subject of a now famous exchange that took place at the 2009 Aspen Ideas Festival between Frank Gehry and a prominent audience member, Fred Kent. Kent, who runs the Project for Public Spaces, pointedly asked Gehry why so many "iconic" buildings by star architects fail to give life to the streets and sidewalks around them. Gehry, who was once quoted as saying "I don't do context," claimed to be above this criticism, but Kent didn't buy it. I wasn't there, so we'll let The Atlantic's James Fallows tell the rest:

But the questioner asked one more time, and Gehry did something I found simply incredible and unforgettable. "You are a pompous man," he said—and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, much as Louis XIV might have used to wave away some offending underling. He was unmistakably shooing or waving the questioner away from the microphone, as an inferior—again, in a gesture hardly ever seen in post-feudal times.

Gehry was clearly having a bad day, but his imperiousness is worth recounting as a metaphor for some of his work—not all, but some. Kent was no doubt recalling his son Ethan's visit to Gehry's masterpiece, the Guggenheim Bilbao, an experience he describes in the Project for Public Spaces website's "Hall of Shame." After failing to find the front door and taking note of the treeless, depopulated plaza, Ethan observed a mugging, something he later learned was common there. He adds, "In the span of 10 minutes that we spent around the museum, I witnessed the first mugging of my life—and I've lived my entire life in New York City."

Robberies are no longer very common in New York, but the same goes for Bilbao—except for certain problem places. That one of these places enfronts the Guggenheim is partly Gehry's fault, the outcome of a landscape (more of a landscrape) conceived as a tabula rasa to show off the building to its best effect. Gehry is actually perfectly capable of contributing to attractive, engaging landscapes—as he has done in Chicago's Millennium Park—but he rarely does so with his buildings, most of which do not reward proximity. His Disney Hall, in Los Angeles, has about 1500 feet of perimeter, perhaps 1000 feet of which is blank wall of the most slippery sort.

But it's a concert hall, you say. . . it needs to have blank walls. Well, take a stroll around the Paris Opera, or even Boston's Symphony Hall, and let's talk again. These older buildings' facades are awash in engaging detail, so that even their blank walls don't feel blank. Walking next to them is a pleasure.

This discussion reminds me of a wonderful set of drawings by Leon Krier, in which he shows two buildings side by side from three different distances. From far away, we can see that one is a classical palace, the other a modernist glass cube. The palace has its base, middle, and top, while the glass cube is articulated with the horizontal and vertical lines of its large, reflective windows.

As we get closer, the palace reveals its doors, windows, and cornice, while the glass cube remains the same as before: horizontal and vertical lines. Zooming in to just a few paces away, we now observe the palace's decorative string course, window frames, and the rafter-tails supporting the eaves. Our view of the glass cube is unchanged and mute. We have walked a great distance to its front door but received no reward.

Krier presents these drawings as a powerful argument against modernism. But this is not merely a question of style. Any architectural style—except minimalism, I suppose—is capable of providing those medium- and small-scale details that engage people as they approach and walk by.

The high-tech Pompidou Center, by celebrating its mechanical systems on its exterior, gives life to one of the most successful public spaces in Paris. What matters is not whether the details were crafted by a stone carver or a cold extruder, but whether they exist at all. Too many contemporary architects fail to understand this point, or understand it but don't care.

But a preponderance of human-scaled detail is still not enough if a streetscape lacks variety. However delicate and lovely a building fa�ade, there is little to entice a walker past 500 feet of it. As Jane Jacobs noted, "Almost nobody travels willingly from sameness to sameness and repetition to repetition, even if the physical effort required is trivial."

Getting the scale of the detail right is only half the battle; what matters even more is getting the scale of the buildings right, so that each block contains as many different buildings as reasonably possible. Only in this way will the pedestrian be rewarded with the continuously unfolding panorama that comes from many hands at work.

This fact seems to be lost on the vast majority of architects, especially the big names, whose unspoken goal is to claim as much territory as possible for their trademarked signature, even if it means a numbingly repetitive streetscape. It is rarely taught in architecture schools, where there persists a deep misunderstanding of the difference between city planning and architecture, such that most urban design projects are seen as an opportunity to create a single humongous building. Design superstars like Rem Koolhaas, in their giddy celebration of "bigness," have adopted this confusion as doctrine.

To be fair, egotism and the desire for celebrity are only partly responsible for this orientation. It also comes from an insistence on intellectual honesty. Just as a building supposedly bears the obligation to be "of its time," it must also be "of its author." For the designer of a large structure to pretend to be many different designers is to falsify the historical record, especially since the modern myth of the genius architect insists that every designer's personal style is as unique as his fingerprint.

I still remember (how could I not) the critic at my architectural-school thesis final review who said, "I don't understand: your two buildings seem to have been designed by two different architects." My fantasy-world response, twenty years after the fact: "Why, thank you, sir."

Speck's book came out on November 13. You can order it on Amazon. For more from the book, see also our first and second excerpts. Speck will also be appearing at Politics & Prose this Saturday.

Criterion F, Creative Masters: "They have been identified as notable works of craftsmen, artists, sculptors, architects, landscape architects, urban planners, engineers, builders, or developers whose works have influenced the evolution of their fields of endeavor, or are significant to the development of the District of Columbia or the nation."

The staff report says the Hilton "is among the best work of William B. Tabler, no household name, but nonetheless an extraordinarily prolific and acknowledged master of hotel design." Just because this is "among the best work" of a hotel design expert doesn't make this a notable work by someone who has significantly influenced the field. By the HPO's logic, any building by anyone who had any impact on a building craft should be landmarked.

In contrast, the HUD building was designed by Marcel Breuer, and whatever you may think of his style, it's hard to argue he wasn't extremely influential.

Criterion D, Architecture and Urbanism: "They embody the distinguishing characteristics of architectural styles, building types, or methods of construction, or are expressions of landscape architecture, engineering, or urban planning, siting, or design significant to the appearance and development of the District of Columbia or the nation."

This sounds like it encompasses everything (what building doesn't embody some distinguishing style, type or method of construction)? But as Louise pointed out in the context of the Wisconsin Ave Giant, the National Register's regulations make clear that this is intended to ensure a diversity of buildings, not to landmark everything. Perhaps there's value in retaining one curved, Brutalist egg crate building, but we don't need to landmark every one. The HUD building is enough.

Criterion A, Events: "They are the site of events that contributed significantly to the heritage, culture or development of the District of Columbia or the nation."

The attempted assassination of Ronald Reagan took place here. But did that event "contribute significantly to the heritage" of DC? Reagan wasn't actually assassinated, making this at most a minor event in DC history; obviously Ford's Theatre really is a landmark, but not this. Also, the layout was completely transformed after the attempt, to ensure it never happened again. There's no opportunity for a visitor to learn about the assassination by visiting the hotel.

This building is not significant enough in any criterion to be a landmark. It contains architectural features that are stronger in a more significant building. It's a somewhat important work of a somewhat important architect. And a minor historic event took place here in a part of the building that no longer exists as it did.

Ultimately, this building isn't going anywhere. The current owners don't want to tear it down, and since it's grandfathered into zoning, there's no incentive to do that. One silver lining of landmarking this would be the opportunity for HPO to review potential changes. I'm in favor of design review, here and elsewhere. But we don't need the force of law saying this building is worth preserving forever as it is. It's not.

In this article DC historic preservation officer Bruce Yarnall argues that "'Architectural patterns go in and out of style, just as in some sense fashion does.' There's value in maintaining some buildings that are no longer en vogue, he said." And "Victorian architecture was once called ugly, too," argues the Washington Times. In fact, even the Old Executive Office Building was seen as "out of fashion and derided for its lavish ornamentation" when built, but is now seen as one of Washington's most beautiful buildings.

But what preservationists are missing is that architecture is more than simply an art form. Each building does present an image and make a statement, but it also interacts with people and with the neighborhood, and forms a piece of an urban fabric to which it can either contribute or detract. This building does not damages the ability of the area to become a vibrant, active region. Its blank, forbidding walls are off-putting not only to people who come to see it as art, as some modern art may do to museum-goers, but makes the corner cold and uncomfortable, and prevents the existence of public space or a sidewalk cafe.

Should a percentage of drivers be forced to drive original Ford Model Ts because of their historic import? That car belongs in a museum, and perhaps so does the building, but both quite simply do not serve their needed function. It's not just that the building is ugly. As the Washington Post's Marc Fisher wrote, "What the preservationists don't get is that the Christian Science complex is a failure, a design flaw that begs to be blown to bits." We should preserve important architecture, but only when it also functions as a useful building and a part of a city.

At the recent ANC meeting, the committee spent over an hour on this topic with some strong emotions, mostly on the side opposing the landmark designation. While many people including church representatives and one ANC commissioner gave eloquent arguments against it, nobody from the preservation office or the Committee of 100 was willing to actually speak to the merits of landmarking the building, instead simply arguing that the process should be allowed to run its course. However, the HPRB is required to give weight to the position of the ANC, and Dupont's ANC voted unanimously to oppose the landmark application.

Tomorrow, HPRB will consider the matter in a special meeting. If the church is unsuccessful, they have several additional options available, including appealing directly to the Mayor, and RLUIPA. But hopefully reason—and the need for a usable building that engages the streetscape—will prevail.