Functionalism Revisited: Architectural Theory and Practice and the Behavioral Sciences 9781409407010, 9781315254838

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FUNCTIONALISM REVISITED

Lujiazui, Pudong, Shanghai in 2004

Functionalism Revisited Architectural Theory and Practice and the Behavioral Sciences

JON LANG

University of New South Wales, Australia ERG/Environmental Research Group, Philadelphia, USA

WALTEr MOLESKI

Drexel University, USA ERG/Environmental Research Group, Philadelphia, USA

First published 2010 by Ashgate Publishing Published 2016 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business Copyright © 2010 Jon Lang and Walter Moleski Jon Lang and Walter Moleski have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the authors of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Functionalism revisited : architectural theory and practice and the behavioral sciences. 1. Functionalism (Architecture) 2. Architecture-Philosophy. 3. Architecture--Human factors. 4. Architectural design--Psychological aspects. I. Lang, Jon T. II. Moleski, Walter. 724.6'01-dc22 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lang, Jon T. Functionalism revisited : architectural theory and practice and the behavioral sciences / by Jon Lang and Walter Moleski. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4094-0701-0 (hardback) 1. Functionalism (Architecture) 2. Architecture and society. I. Moleski, Walter. II. Title. III. Title: Architectural theory and practice and the behavioral sciences. NA203.3.L36 2010 720.1--dc22  ISBN  9781409407010 (hbk)

2010011712

Contents

List of Figures List of Tables About the Authors Preface

PART I 1 2

INTRODUCTION: ARCHITECTURAL THEORY AND FUNCTIONAL THEORY The Inheritance: Architectural Practice and Architectural Theory Today A Framework for Theory in Architecture

PART II 3 4 5

CREATING A THEORY OF FUNCTIONALISM

Concepts of Function in Architecture Experiencing Architecture: The Foundation for a Theory of Functionalism Functionalism Updated

PART III

THE FUNCTIONS OF THE BUILT ENVIRONMENT: THEORY AND PRACTICE

vii xiii xv xvii

1 3 27

31 33 39 63

73

Basic Functions 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

The Accommodation of Activities: Behavior Settings and Architecture  Shelter and Salubrious Environments Physical and Psychological Safety and Security Architecture, Financial Security, and Profit Identity and Community Identity, Individualism, and the Unique Buildings as Signs and Status Symbols

79 111 131 155 173 205 213

Advanced Functions 13 14

The Cognitive Function of Architecture: The Environment as a Source of Learning Experiential Aesthetics and Intellectual Aesthetics 

243 255

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PART IV 15

The Function of the New as a Shaper of its Environment

PART V 16

EXTERNALITIES: BUILDINGS IN CONTEXT

CONCLUSION

Architectural Theory, Functional Theory, and Design Methodology

References and Bibliography Index

289 291

313 315

321 345

List of Figures

Frontispiece: Lujiazui, Pudong, Shanghai in 2004

ii

Part I

1

Burj al ‘Arab Hotel (2000) and Jumeirah Madinat (2003)

1.1 Rationalism and Empiricism in Modernist architecture  1.2 The application of early twentieth-century Rationalist concepts in urban design 1.3 The second generation of Modernist architecture 1.4 Utilitarian, or Corporate Modernism  1.5 Neo-Modernist architecture and the architecture of structural dexterity  1.6 The architecture of signification: literal, abstract, and Post-Modern 1.7 Deconstruction in architecture 1.8 Revivalist and Neo-Traditional architecture 1.9 Images of sustainable environments 1.10 A traditional approach to architectural theory—A focus on the creator 1.11 A traditional approach to architectural theory—A focus on the design paradigm

6 7 9 11 15 17 19 21 22 24 25

2.1 Architectural theory and functional theory 28 2.2 Environmental psychology as a basis for design theory and design practice 30 Part II The Grande Arche at La Défense, Haut-de-Seine, France (1983-9)

31

3.1 Traditional concepts of functionalism 3.2 Architects’ world views and concepts of functionalism 

35 37

4.1 The fundamental processes of human behavior 4.2 Balance Theory 4.3 Environment, spaces, objects, and people 4.4 Buildings as objects in space and as environment makers 4.5 Behavior settings 4.6 Fixed- and semi-fixed feature milieus 4.7 Potential and effective environments 4.8 The concept of affordance 4.9 The hierarchy of human motivations as seen by Abraham Maslow 4.10 The concepts of competence and environmental press 4.11 The perception of environmental quality in terms of costs and rewards  4.12 The elements of a living culture

39 42 45 47 49 51 52 54 56 57 58 59

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5.1 A human motivations-based model of architectural functionalism 5.2 Environment types and human and machine needs

64 69

Part III Tegel Harbor Phase 1 Housing, Berlin, Germany (1988)

73

Basic Functions: Trump Tower, New York City, USA (1983)

77

6.1 Designing for activities and the issues involved 6.2 Places and links 6.3 A Neo-Traditional district shopping center—Rouse Hill Town Centre, NSW, Australia (completed 2008) 6.4 Designing for the efficient (and safe) movement of pedestrians and motorists 6.5 Dual circulation systems 6.6 Interior landscape, free-plan, campus-plan, or open-plan design 6.7 House form and culture: India 6.8 Zones of penetration and residential unit design 6.9 Management organization, activities, and floor plans 6.10 Room geography, sociopetal, and sociofugal settings 6.11 Anthropometrics and ergonomics 6.12 Activities and illumination levels 6.13 Barrier-free environments 6.14 Playgrounds as challenging environments for children 6.15 The Richards Memorial Laboratories, University of Pennsylvania (1957) 6.16 Le Corbusier’s Modulor based on an image of the human body

80 81

87 88 90 92 94 96 97 100 102 103 105 107 108

7.1 Designing for shelter (and comfort) 7.2 The destructive power of nature and people 7.3 Climate and urban and building form 7.4 Mechanisms for ameliorating climatic conditions 7.5 Humidity levels and architecture 7.6 The Gallaretese Housing, Milan, Italy (1967-70)  7.7 The Rationalists, Empiricists, and salubrious environments 7.8 Shelter and the architecture of structural dexterity  7.9 Energy conserving, comfortable buildings in a variety of climatic zones

112 114 118 120 121 123 125 126 128

8.1 The segregation of movement systems for safety, efficiency, and comfort  8.2 Designing for defence—walls and gates 8.3 Designing to counteract terrorism and its effects 8.4 Building types and territorial hierarchies 8.5 Designing for defensible space 8.6 Freeway Park, Seattle, Washington, USA (1976) 8.7 Layouts that make way-finding difficult 8.8 The elements of cognitive maps in urban areas and in buildings 8.9 A dynamic model of privacy

133 135 137 139 141 142 143 144 146

  

    

83

list of figures

8.10 The interplay of distance and the formality of the behavioral loop between people according to Hall’s Proxemic Theory (Hall 1969) 8.11 Proxemic Theory and room geography  8.12 The visual invasion of privacy 8.13 Sacred geometries and architectural design 9.1 Developers and the financial security of their investments 9.2 Operating costs and ecological design 9.3 The public sector as property developer 9.4 Security of tenure and investment decisions  9.5 Public investment as a basis for creating a sense of financial security for private investors—the case of Bilbao, Spain 9.6 Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, Germany—property developers and urban design 9.7 The architecture of the international money markets 9.8 Signature buildings 9.9 The architect as developer 9.10 Generic building forms

ix

148 149 150 152 156 158 159 160 162 163 164 166 168 171

10.1 Complete territorial communities—do they exist? 10.2 Cresive communities 10.3 Building design and community formation 10.4 Designing for a sense of community—the case of Bedok Court, Singapore (1985) 10.5 The neighborhood unit concept 10.6 Neighborhoods and communities 10.7 Districts 10.8 The aesthetics of community and the New Urbanism 10.9 Neighborhood personalization and ethnic identity 10.10 Public art and identity 10.11 Memorials, shared histories, and a sense of community 10.12 Symbolism and cultural diversity 10.13 Changing/destroying the identity of a building and a place 10.14 Modernist and Neo-Modernist approaches to the creation of a sense of place 10.15 Revivalism as a technique for establishing a sense of regional identity 10.16 Route 7 in Rutland, Vermont and Harrisburg Pike in Carlisle, Pennsylvania 10.17 The German Pavilion (1928), Barcelona, Spain

176 178 180

11.1 Environments as expressions of self 11.2 Buildings as images of self 11.3 Uniqueness in design 11.4 Naïve works of architecture and display?

205 206 209 210

181 183 184 187 188 190 192 193 195 197 199 201 202 204

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12.1 The taste cultures of architects and of lay people 12.2 Taste cultures 12.3 Prestigious urban landscapes 12.4 Skylines and prestige 12.5 Building size, height, and prestige 12.6 House form and social status in India 12.7 Prestigious building types 12.8 Interior architecture, symbolism, and status 12.9 Taste cultures and interior architecture 12.10 A mediational theory of environmental meanings applied to doors 12.11 Doors and windows 12.12 Le Corbusier doors 12.13 Design characteristics, maintenance levels, and the perceptions of status 12.14 Les Echelles du Baroque, Montparnasse, Paris (1979-85)

214 217 219 221 223 225 227 229 230 232 233 234 235 238

Advanced Functions: Museu de les Ciències Príncipe Felipe, Valencia, Spain (2000)

241

13.1 Formal, semi-formal, and informal opportunities for learning 13.2 Educative urban environments 13.3 Playgrounds as formal settings for informal learning 13.4 Architectural theory and the cognitive functions of the built environment at the beginning of the twenty-first century 14.1 Federation Square, Melbourne observed as an object, set of objects, and as a set of behavior settings 14.2 Aesthetic theory and the domains of functional and architectural theory 14.3 The Cathedral of St Joseph and St Philomena, Mysore, India 14.4 Sensory aesthetics 14.5 Formal aesthetics 14.6 The Gestalt theory of perception’s laws of visual organization 14.7 Expression through line and form 14.8 The dynamics of visual form 14.9 Proportional systems 14.10 Proportional systems and building design 14.11 The relationships between visual complexity and pleasure 14.12 Serial vision/sequential experience as analyzed by Gordon Cullen 14.13 Sequential experience in the design of the university city of Louvain-la-Neuve, Belgium (1972+) 14.14 Attitudes towards the destruction of the World Trade Center towers as explained by Balance Theory 14.15 A contemplative analysis of the Bianchi House, Riva San Vitale, Switzerland (1971-3) 14.16 The architectural idea and aesthetic appreciation 14.17 The Jewish Museum, Berlin (1999)

245 246 248 253

256 257 257 259 261 262 264 265 266 268 269 271 272 274 276 277 279

list of figures

14.18 Decorated sheds, ducks, and a duck in the foreground and a decorated shed in the background? 14.19 Compositional and abstract design as mechanisms for visual expression in the work of Le Corbusier 14.20 Habituation level and aesthetic preferences 14.21 The traditional Japanese garden and Shibuya—aesthetic expressions in two very different behavior settings

xi

281 282 285 286

Part IV Grand Avenue, Los Angeles, CA, USA in 2006 with the Walt Disney Concert Hall (1987; opened 2003)

289

15.1 Investment decisions and their catalytic effect 15.2 The potential effect of out-of-scale developments on neighborhood space 15.3 Dealing with blank façades 15.4 Reflections and glass façaded buildings 15.5 Building design and wind movement 15.6 Urban patterns and climate impacts 15.7 Overshadowing 15.8 New buildings and a sense of place 15.9 New buildings and their contexts 15.10 Marin County Civic Center, California, USA (1958-72) 15.11 Low environmental impact buildings

293 294 297 298 300 301 303 305 307 309 311

Part V Moscone Convention Center, San Francisco, California, USA (1981)

313

16.1

317

Functional theory, procedural theory, and the design process

References and Bibliography: Alexandrina Library, Alexandria, Egypt (1989-2002)

321

Index: Kresge College, University of California at Santa Cruz (1970s)

345

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List of Tables

3.1

Building functions and the concerns of architecture

4.1 The human perceptual systems 4.2 The affordances of environmental features for children’s activities

38 40 53

10.1 Formal and communal organizations 10.2 Spatial and aspatial communities 10.3 A classification of community types 

174 175 177

12.1 Taste cultures, aesthetic standards, and architectural patterns

216

Professor Lang is an international authority on architectural theory and has contributed to generations of young architects and urban designers through his teaching and writing. This latest publication on functionalism serves as a much needed roadmap for understanding buildings and cities in transition from the last century to the present. Alfonso Vegara, Fundación Metrópoli, Spain

About the Authors

Professor Jon Lang is the principal of his own urban design consulting firm in Sydney as well as Director for Urban Design for ERG. He headed the School of Architecture at the University of New South Wales and was Associate Dean for Research during the 1990s and early 2000s. Earlier, he taught at the University of Pennsylvania where he headed the joint M. Arch/MCP program in urban design during the 1980s. He has been a visiting professor at a number of universities in the Americas, Europe, and Asia and a juror for international architectural competitions and a consultant on architecture and urban design in Afghanistan, Australia, India, Korea, the United Arab Emirates, Libya, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, and Vietnam, as well as the United States. His cross-cultural perspective is clear in the books he has authored on urban design, the relationship between people and the built environment, and on modern architecture in India, the land of his birth. In 2010 he received the Reed and Malik Medal from the Institution of Civil Engineers in London.

Walter Moleski is executive director of ERG/Environmental Research Group, Inc. The firm specializes in the study of the relationship of people, their activities and aesthetic values, and built form as a basis for architectural design. The firm’s projects have included commercial and university buildings, the improvement of public housing schemes, inner city developments, and a variety of art, medical, and research facilities as well as neighborhood planning. Throughout his long career he has developed new methods of evidence-based architectural programming and design. He has been a consultant to many of North America’s leading architectural firms, organizations such as Revenue Canada and the Philadelphia Orchestra, and academic institutions such as Harvard, Princeton and Tulane Universities. He has taught at Drexel, Temple, Carnegie Mellon, and the University of Pennsylvania. His contributions to the field have been recognized by two Progressive Architecture prizes, an American Planning Association award, and a career award in 2002 from the Environmental Design Research Association.

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Preface

The concept of functionalism was central to architectural thought and much practice throughout the twentieth century. It still is. It has generally referred to the instrumental, or utilitarian, purposes a building or urban space is to serve, and the purposes its structural and constructional systems are to fulfill. This definition is no longer sufficient. A more generous view of functionalism is taken in this book. In providing this view the book describes the broad range of purposes that buildings and, more generally, the built environment affords people and, but only in passing, other species. It also describes what architects are striving to do today and the purposes, or functions, of buildings that they deem important. We have learnt much about the built environment, the purposes it serves and the manifestations of these functions in the buildings of different cultures. This knowledge has come primarily from the behavioral science research of people in the field that is loosely called environmental psychology or person-environmental studies but also from architects. The research results are, however, scattered and thus difficult to access. The purpose of this book is to provide a framework for organizing our present understanding of the functions that buildings and urban areas that fall within the domain of concern of architects can perform. It is also to locate this understanding within the body of knowledge that is loosely called theory in the design fields.

The Argument Our present model of functionalism simply does not cover the range of functions that buildings can afford human beings nor is it tied in a conceptually clear manner to architectural theory. Indeed, it is important at the outset of this book to clarify what we mean by theory in the design fields. It will be argued here that it should cover not only an architect’s intentions and the mechanisms used to convert those intentions into building forms, but also how people experience those forms given their own knowledge, attitudes, and motivations. The argument continues by stating that buildings can be experienced as environments or as objects. Each involves a specific mode of paying attention to the world. Considering the built environment as a set of nested behavior settings enriches our understanding of what it affords us. We do, however, also appreciate buildings as aesthetic objects to be admired (or not). The first two parts of the book deal with the nature of current practice and the necessity of having a clear understanding of the nature and scope of theory for the discipline of architecture. The goal is to add clarity and specificity to the knowledge base that informs practice. It will be argued that what is needed is a theory of the functions that buildings can perform and theories of architecture, as ideological statements of what actions should

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be taken. The focus in the book is on the first. A model of functionalism based on the theory of human motivations developed by Abraham Maslow (Maslow 1987, Huitt 2004) helps us understand the various tugs on architects’ hearts and minds in practice. It adds clarity to the debates about what our contemporary design ideologies offer us. What one does with this body of knowledge—this functional theory—depends on one’s attitudes. The core of the book, Part III, contains a description of the purposes that the built environment can serve. Buildings afford not only activities, but can also fulfill shelter, security, and esteem needs, and offer aesthetic interpretations. Secondly, buildings are often a source of financial gain and are frequently designed with that purpose paramount. New buildings also change their surroundings. They can be catalysts for change and can be specifically located and designed to fulfill that function. Often, however, the side effects of erecting a building are not considered by its designers. They are left to be dealt with by those people affected by the impacts. Part IV of the book looks at the issues involved. Part V of the book contains a brief essay relating this new model of functionalism to the act of designing and thus to our understanding of design methodology.

Acknowledgments This book brings earlier statements of functionalism up-to-date as continuing research enhances our understanding of the nature of architecture. In so doing it draws heavily on the professional architectural experience of Walter Moleski and the ERG/Environmental Research Group in Philadelphia. The book clearly owes a great debt to many other practicing architects and academics. In particular, the work of those researchers enhancing our knowledge of architectural designing as a socio-political act and of the environmentbehavior relationship must be acknowledged. Their names parade through the pages of the book and the References and Bibliography at the end of it. Visiting and examining cities and buildings around the world and interviewing architects and critics is expensive. I have been aided in this task by many organizations. In approximately chronological order, they are the Philadelphia Foundation, the University of Pennsylvania, UNESCO, NATO, the Ford Foundation, the Fulbright Foundation, the American Institute of Indian Studies, the Grosser Family Fund, the Australian Research Council, the Faculty of the Built Environment at the University of New South Wales, the Chinese Academy of Urban Planning and Design, and the Getty Foundation. I have been extraordinarily fortunate in receiving the generous support of these institutions and programs. This book was written and prepared for publication entirely at the University of New South Wales. The indirect financial support provided by the Faculty of the Built Environment in its production over a number of years is very much appreciated. Many individuals have given Walter and/or me a highly precious commodity—time, either their time or time to allow us to develop our work. The list of people includes Janet and Mick Aylward, Mark Brack, Michael Brill, Charles Burnette, Akhtar Chauhan, George Claflen, Abner Colmenares, Alexander Cuthbert, Madhavi and Miki Desai, Ruth Durack, Sengül Gür, Linda Groat, Roman Herrera, Hwang Luxin, Arun Jain, Jin Jung Hwa, Bruce Judd, Aykut Karaman, Aziz Kraba, Anemone and Jusuck Koh, Kathy Kolnick, Geraldine Lang, H. Powell Lawton, Lee Jung Man, Tom Lee, Ranjit Mitra, Francisco Moccia, Aileen Moleski, Ng Waikeen, Karen Rutberg, John McCory, Neela Shukla,

preface

xix

Cornelia Thiels, Alfonso Vegara, Alix Verge, Jamie Whitehouse whose help with preparing the illustrations for publication was invaluable, James Weirick, and most recently, Caroline Nute. Thank you. Over the past 40 years the clients of ERG have provided the opportunity to test in professional practice the utility of the model of the functions of buildings and urban designs presented in this book. From the first project, the Federal Reserve Bank in Philadelphia, clients and architects have supported ERG financially and have provided the group intellectual stimulation and many new ideas. Of the clients who have enabled the firm to pursue research as well as professional objectives, a number deserve special recognition: The Philadelphia Orchestra, The National Center for the Humanities, Princeton University, Richard Allen Resident Council, Seattle University, The Washington Home, and the University of Washington Law School in Saint Louis. The contribution of many architectural firms to the intellectual underpinnings of ERG’s work also needs to be acknowledged. They include Hartman-Cox, Filson Eskew, Louis Sauer, and WRT [Wallace, Roberts and Todd]. Ron Goodrich and George Manos with Walter Moleski founded and developed ERG and Michael Rubin, an architect and anthropologist, added a host of intellectual concepts to its work. The firm’s experience was recognized by the Environmental Design and Research Association [EDRA] in awarding Walter Moleski its career award for the application of environmental design research in practice.

The Illustrations Jane Jacobs’s book The Death and Life of Great America Cities (1961) contains no illustrations. Instead she wrote: “For illustrations please look closely at real cities. While you are looking, you might as well also listen, linger, and think about what you see”. In contrast, this book is full of illustrations. They are only examples of what can be observed in cities and buildings around the world. Almost all could have been taken from any one city. Jane Jacobs’s advice is still sound and worth following. The illustrations are no substitute for experiencing the environment around us at first hand. Compiling illustrations is an arduous task. In assembling them for this volume, I have been aided by many people: friends, relatives, students, academic colleagues and many, many professionals. The photographs, diagrams, and drawings, unless otherwise indicated, are by me or I am their copyright holder, or they are in the public domain. Every effort has been made to contact and credit the copyright holders of the other material used. It has been extremely difficult to trace a number of them. I have no record of the provenance of the illustrations identified as being part of the “Collection of Jon Lang”. If copyright proprietorship can be established for any work not specifically or erroneously attributed, please contact me at the Faculty of the Built Environment, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia 2052 or at [email protected]. I will be pleased to rectify any errors. Jon Lang Sydney, February 2010



[Modern architecture’s problems] are due not to its having been too functional but to its not having been functional enough. James Marston Fitch (1980)

[A] narrow functionalism [cannot] be sufficient for complex societies. Ali Madanipour (2007)

Part I Introduction: Architectural Theory and Functional Theory

Burj al ‘Arab Hotel (2000) left

Tom Wright of WS Atkins PLC, architect.

Jumeirah Madinat (2003) right

DSA [Dubai South Africa], architects.

1

functionalism revisited

This introductory part of the book describes what we understand by theory in architectural practice and education and how that understanding can be taken a step forward. The argument presented is simple. We need a general model of the scope of architectural theory. We need to differentiate between our understanding of how the world of buildings, streets and landscapes functions and our theories of what good architecture and a good built world are. The first can be quasi-scientific but the latter is always socio-political and thus shaped by the political economy within which architects work (Clarke 2004). There are, it will be suggested, three bodies of theoretical knowledge for the design fields: a) a theory of functionalism, b) a set of architectural theories—statements of the purposes that buildings and urban designs should serve in a particular circumstance and how to achieve them, and c) theories about the design process. The first draws on the experiences obtained in practice and on systematic empirical research while the second consists of the normative philosophical statements of individuals and schools of architectural thought on what is deemed to be important and what good environments are. The third deals with design methodology—the theory of designing. That too can be divided into two parts: knowledge of design processes and techniques and ideological positions on how to employ that knowledge. The issues of design methodology fall outside the scope of concern of this book but they are discussed in passing in Chapter 2 and later in Chapter 16, the conclusion to this book. The objective here is to revisit the concept of functionalism. Although the Modernists who were designing functional buildings (Behne 1926, Le Corbusier 1923, Sert and CIAM 1944, Gropius 1962, Giedion 1963) and critics (e.g., Norberg Schulz 1965, Steele 1973) wrote much about what the functions of architecture should be, they provided only sketchy outlines of the functions that buildings can serve. There are many descriptions of architectural theories (see, for instance, Conrads 1970, Nesbitt 1996, Hays 1998, Jencks and Kropf 2006). What the range of functions of architecture is perceived to be in these ideological statements is unclear. In response there have been a number of calls for an explicit and broader theory of functionalism than that the Modernists provided and we now possess (see, for example, Canter 1970, Lynch 1984, Milner 2001, Venturi and Scott Brown 2004, Madanipour 2007). The purpose of Chapter 1: The Inheritance: Architectural Practice and Architectural Theory Today is to give a synopsis of what is happening in current architectural practice, the philosophies that guide it, and their twentieth-century antecedents. Much current practice fails, however, to attract the attention of architectural critics. Its work fails to interest the cognoscenti. The concern here is with what is actually being built. As a consequence we provide a broad overview of the range of current practices. The purpose is to provide a foundation on which to build a model of functionalism that can serve architects well today. If Chapter 1 establishes what we now regard as architectural theory, Chapter 2: A Framework for Theory in Architecture distinguishes more thoroughly between the nature of functional theory and the nature of architectural theory. It also relates these two bodies of knowledge to procedural theory in architecture, to design methodology.

1

The Inheritance: Architectural Practice and Architectural Theory Today

He who loves theory without practice is like a sailor who boards a ship without a rudder and a compass. Leonardo de Vinci, architect, sculptor, inventor

We live in fragmented times. The arrival of the twenty-first century was accompanied by a diversity of architectural attitudes and thus designs. This diversity is not surprising because the Modernists’ focus on what they called “function” gave way to concerns of style and during the latter part of the twentieth century to “signification” (Venturi and Scott Brown 2004). Architectural theory today focuses not on describing and explaining how the built world can and does function but on the ideas and works of individual architects, and/or schools of architectural thought whose members espouse similar views. In practice the concern for the functionality of buildings has not disappeared but rather architects today emphasize different functions than their predecessors. To understand our contemporary architectural theories and practices we need a clear theory of functions. Such a theory must be of practice and live and die by its practical utility. In order to achieve this end our story begins by looking at our contemporary architectural ideas and their philosophical underpinnings.

The Intellectual Heritage Two streams of philosophical thought shape architectural theory and practice (Broadbent 1990, Pevsner, Sharp, and Richards 2000). They are the Rationalist and the Empiricist. The former line of thought has roots in Platonic philosophy and later in the philosophies of Descartes, Spinoza, and Leibniz and more recently in the Napoleonic legal code. It is associated with the urban design and architectural ideas that poured out of Continental Europe during the twentieth century. The latter line is rooted in Aristotelian ideas, the scientific tradition of Bacon and the Enlightenment, the philosophies of Locke and Hume, and English common law. Rationalists among designers rely on reasoning not tradition to establish ideal buildings and urban designs. The functions that the Modernists among them believed architecture should serve were best elaborated in the Athens Charter of CIAM (see Sert and CIAM 1944, Le Corbusier 1973, and Sharp 1978). The problem in Rationalist views of architecture and particularly urban design is that in seeking the ideal in a geometrically ordered world the baby often gets thrown out with the bathwater—what works well in terms of people’s lives with what does not.

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functionalism revisited

In designing for the future Empiricists rely on their perceptions of what works as well as what does not, and on learning from precedents—images of the good places and buildings of the present and past. The Empiricist position is exemplified by a whole series of statements written during the past 30 years (for example, Alexander et al. 1977, Appleyard et al. 1982, Lynch 1984) but can best be illustrated during the early twentieth century by the writings of Ebenezer Howard (1902) and, in a very different vein, Camillo Sitte (1889, Hegemann and Peets 1922). Today Empiricist attitudes are displayed in the advocacies of Jane Jacobs (1961) and the Neo-Traditionalists (see Katz 1994, Perera 2005, Talen 2005). Designs, however, have to function in the future. The future is unknown and to be created. No architect can be an extreme Rationalist or a complete Empiricist. Rationalists and Empiricists are united in their concerns for enhancing the quality of life of people and their belief that the built world can be made a better place than it is now. They differed because each had its own image of what future societies should be like and, implicitly, the functions that buildings and urban places should serve. Neither, however, had a fully fleshed model of the functions buildings do serve and might serve for people on which to clearly build their arguments. Today, in the globalized economy, a distinction is often made between Western and Asian attitudes towards the world and thus towards architecture. The distinction between Western liberalism (emphasizing tolerance) and Asian authoritarianism (emphasizing discipline and order) is, however, very misleading. It would classify Plato and Saint Augustine along with Confucius and Kautilya as Asian philosophers and Rationalists while Ashoka, Gautama Buddha, Akbar the Great, Lao-tzu, Mahatma Gandhi or Sun Yat-sen as Western and Empiricists (Sen 2000).

Early Modernist Schools of Thought The architectural theories and practices that attract the attention of the cognoscenti—those people who are highly respected for their deep knowledge of a field—still owe much to Modernist theories, both Rationalist and Empiricist, and to the designs developed during the first two-thirds of the twentieth century. Modernist architecture is, however, generally associated with avant-garde European architects of a period extending from the late nineteenth century to the 1970s. These architects were primarily Rationalists. The First Generation of Rationalists The Rationalists among Modernists shared a common concern for functionalism and the use of orthogonal geometries in design. They embraced modern technologies, industrialization and the standardization of building forms but rejected the use of applied ornamentation. The most influential Rationalist architects were those associated with the Bauhaus (1919-33) in Germany, and those allied with Le Corbusier (Charles-Édouard Jeanneret). There were, however, many other groups such as the Expressionists and the Italian Rationalists. The goal of all of them was to have an architecture congruent with the requirements of their image of what modern life should be. Although they rejected the past their designs, nevertheless, drew on nineteenth-century Rationalist ideas (see Turner 1977 and Brooks 1997 on Le Corbusier).

the inheritance

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Modernist architecture first appeared in Europe before World War One in such urban design proposals as those of Tony Garnier and in such buildings as the Fagus ShoeLast Factory at Alfeld an der Leine (1911) designed by Walter Gropius and Adolf Meyer (see Figure 1.1a). Gropius and his colleagues at the Bauhaus considered functional architecture to be one in which built forms are efficient in accommodating activities that, in turn, are carried out efficiently and that destinations in buildings and cities should be reached in as simple a manner as possible. The structure and construction techniques employed would also be efficient (Giedion 1963, Banham 1967, Benevolo 1980). Le Corbusier’s proposal for the “city for the machine age civilization” (1924; see Figure 1.2a), his designs for the Maison Suisse (1932) in the Cité Universitaire, Paris and the Citrohan houses proposals of the early 1920s had a major impact on the development of architectural and urban design thought during the middle third of the twentieth century. His designs between the two World Wars reduced building forms to the basic geometric shapes of rectilinear, plane surfaces, cubes, and, sometimes, cylinders. His buildings stood on pilotes and, often, had strips of fenestration, glass walls, and flat roofs. They had no applied decoration. In his urban designs the streets were edges to orthogonally placed clusters of buildings and were strictly channels for vehicular movement not seams joining the two sides of a street to make unified wholes. Streets were thus not seen as the center of life of communities, but, rather, places to avoid except for vehicular movement. His ideas were driven by the Spartan, puritanical view of life in which he was raised as a Calvinist (Brooks 1997). Fine Modernist buildings celebrating the purity of forms and the interpenetration of spaces were built (for example, Figure 1.1aiii) and continue to be built around the world. The least successful are the mass housing projects built for low-income people. Based on the perceptions of what a good sanitary simple functional environment is, they largely failed to offer any broader qualities of life (J. Jacobs 1961, Smithson 1968, Brolin 1976, Blake 1977, Gold 2007). Many such projects built in Europe and in the United States during the 1950s and 1960s have been demolished. They continue to exist, however, in extremely large numbers in the former socialist countries of Eastern Europe and are still being built in Asian countries such as Korea and China (Figure 1.2d and e). The Second Generation of Rationalists The second phase of Modernist architecture gave the world a series of buildings more visually lively than their immediate predecessors. Patterns of built form were declared to be an important mode of artistic expression (see Figure 1.3). The definition of function, implicitly rather than explicitly, broadened to include the communication of ideas through the symbolic qualities of built form. In the design for the pilgrimage chapel of Notre Dame de Haut at Ronchamp (Figure 1.3d), Le Corbusier strove to communicate his feelings, positive and negative, as a religious puritan, about Catholicism (Samuel 1999). One has, however, to understand the symbol system to discern the meanings he was striving to communicate—an intellectual aesthetic exercise (see Chapter 14). Many other buildings with sculptural forms designed by leading Modernists were contemporaneous or followed. They include the TWA Terminal at Kennedy Airport designed by Eero Saarinen and the Sydney’s Opera House designed by Jørn Utzon. The forms are even more dramatic now.

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Source: Garnier (1917)

ai. The Railway Station, Une Cité Industrielle (1906-17); Tony Garnier, architect. bi. Frank W. Thomas House, Oak Park, Illinois, USA (1901; restored 1975); Frank Lloyd Wright, architect. Collection of Jon Lang

aii. The Fagus Shoe-Last Factory, Alfeld an der Leine, Germany (1911); Walter Gropius and Adolf Mayer, architects. bii. Detail, Otaniemi Technical University, Finland (1949-64); Alvar Aalto, architect.

aiii. Crown Hall, Illinois Institute of Technology, Chicago, IL, USA (1950-6); Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, architect.

Figure 1.1

biii. India International Center, New Delhi, India (1959-62); Joseph Allen Stein, architect.

Rationalism (a) and Empiricism (b) in Modernist architecture

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© FLC/ADAGP, Paris and DACS, London 2010

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Adapted from Hilbersheimer (1940)

a. An aspect of “a city of the machine age civilization” (1922; a design sponsored by an automobile manufacturer); Le Corbusier and Pierre Jeanneret, architects. b. A generic Bauhaus-type residential design (1940); Ludwig Hilbersheimer, architect.

c. Tangley neighborhood, Roehampton Housing, London, UK (1957-8).

d. Ilsan new town, Korea (1990s).

Collection of Jon Lang Photograph by Kathy A. Kolnick

e. Lianhua Bai, Shenzhen, People’s Republic of China (late 1990s-early 2000s).

Figure 1.2

f. The future Dubai, United Arab Emirates as envisaged in 2006.

The application of early twentieth-century Rationalist concepts in urban design

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The Empiricists The buildings and urban designs of the architects who worked within the Empiricist tradition were based on their creator’s experiences of what worked and what did not work and on precedents (see Figure 1.1b). The term “regressive utopians” sometimes applied to them is misleading because they, like the Rationalists, looked forward to a better new world and their designs broke away from existing norms. In urban design the Empiricists can be divided into two groups: the urbanists (for example, Camillo Sitte, Jane Jacobs, Gordon Cullen, and Christopher Alexander), and the garden city protagonists (Ebenezer Howard and his disciples). They differed because they had different values and were inspired by different precedents. Both groups regarded streets as seams for life, and focused on what they believe works as much as on eliminating what does not. In the design of buildings the Empiricists consist of a broad range of architects. They include people as diverse as Frank Lloyd Wright and Louis Kahn, architects working today within classical traditions such as Alan Greenberg and Leon Krier, and those such as Robert Stern in the United States and Raj Rewal in India looking back at their own traditions. Today there are three philosophical traditions on which Empiricists draw: positivism (Winett 1987, Zeisel 2006), structuralism (Jencks and Baird 1969, Lawrence 1989) and phenomenology (Norberg-Schulz 1980, Seamon 1987). The first group draws heavily on systematic empirical often experimental research. Architects today, however, have generally preferred to rely on the speculative philosophies of the latter two groups, but this book draws inspiration from all three intellectual traditions. Others rely on their own experiences of a multi-variate world (Franck 1987). A different sort of Empiricism also exists. It is exhibited in the corporate world. The architecture of Corporate or Utilitarian Modernism Many buildings today are built in the spirit of the Modernism of the major commercial architectural firms of the twentieth century such as Emory Roth and Sons in New York, Albert F. Martin Jr. in Los Angeles, and Richard Seifert in London. Some of the works of later firms such as Skidmore, Owings and Merrill [SOM], César Pelli, Norman Foster, and Kohn, Pedersen and Fox fall into this category. Today Utilitarian Modernism covers a wide variety of building types. In the United States and in Europe the buildings tend to be towers and curtain wall buildings. In tropical countries they are generally made of reinforced concrete slab and beam, flatroofed construction, with their façades having shading devices similar to a brise soleil. The brise soleil is often employed when not required for its shading purpose as a symbol of being up-to-date. Often in commercial architecture ceiling heights are kept at the legal minimum and internal spaces have large spans so that they can be subdivided in many ways (see Chapter 9). Many commercial firms, nevertheless, show a greater degree of flexibility in their architectural thinking than those architects receiving international accolades. They strive to meet the needs of individual clients rather than their own need for artistic expression.

the inheritance

a. Universidad Autónima de Mexico, Mexico City (1950-3); Mario Pani, planner; José Villagrán Garcia and others, architects.

ci. TWA Flight Center, Kennedy Airport, Jamaica, NY, USA (1956-62); Eero Saarinen, architect.

b. The Sydney Opera House, Sydney, Australia (1967-74); Jørn Utzon, architect. Completed by Peter Hall, architect. Photograph by William Leatherbee

cii. An interior view.

Drawing by Omar Sharif

(i) Plan form.

(ii) Exterior view.

(iii) An interior view.

d. Notre Dame du Haut, Ronchamp, France (1950-4); Le Corbusier, architect.

Figure 1.3

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The second generation of Modernist architecture

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The Criticism The criticism of Modernist architectural ideologies was stinging and, perhaps overreactionary. It is important to understand because it brings attention to the strengths and weaknesses of contemporary understandings of the functions that buildings and urban designs can fulfill. The criticism came from behavioral scientists (for example, Gans 1968, Sommer 1974b, Michelson 1976), critics (for example, J. Jacobs 1961, Perin 1970, Wolfe 1981), and from architects (for example, Venturi 1966, Goodman 1971, Brolin 1976, Blake 1977). The criticisms identified three major problems: the designs failed to meet their stated objectives, the models of the human being used as a basis for design were simplistic, and the perception of the human being-built environment relationship was naïve and deterministic. Implicit in these observations were questions about the nature of the functions of architecture, and the adequacy of the knowledge base for design. These criticisms overlap because views about one impinge on the others. The Designs The criticism of Modernist designs, especially those of the Rationalists, was particularly harsh and vehement at the urban design level. It was observed that one simple building in a complex setting stands out dramatically as a foreground element against a backdrop of others, but when all the buildings are set back from the street in a regular orthogonal geometry set in a park-like area in the name of progress and rationality a boring world is created (J. Jacobs 1961, Blake 1977). There is little incentive for people to explore such places because the view around the next corner is the same as the present one. … the car would abolish the human street, and possibly the human foot. Some people would have airplanes too. The one thing no one would have is a place to bump into each other, walk the dog, strut, one of the hundred random things that people do … being random was loathed by Le Corbusier. (Hughes 1980)

Large-scale Rationalist housing projects offered and still offer little in the way of adventure for young people (Montgomery 1966, Ward 1990, Ladd 1978), and the homogeneity of uses, and often people, reduces the opportunities for everyday vicarious learning about the world (Smithson 1968, Parr 1969). They provided panoramic views (see Figure 1.2a) but were not participatory environments (Lozano 1988). In addition the internal layouts of buildings failed to afford the ways of life that their inhabitants desired (Brolin 1976). A major criticism was that site and building designs in many parts of the world created a loss of a sense of personal security (Montgomery 1966, Newman 1972). They inhibited the development of a sense of community. Much of the architecture was hard—it was difficult to adapt (Sommer 1974b). Symbolically the aesthetic quality of the buildings often carried negative messages to people about themselves (Goodman 1971, Newman 1972, 1980). Much antisocial behavior resulted as youngsters, particularly underprivileged adolescents with few outside opportunities, sought challenges and excitement through vandalism (Ladd 1978, Ward 1990). The architecture is, however, a symptom, not the cause, of such social malaises.

the inheritance

a. Centre Point, London, UK (1967); attributed to Robin (Richard) Seifert, architect, but possibly by George Marsh.

b. 565 Fifth Avenue, New York City, USA (1993); Norman Jaffe and Emory Roth and Son, architects.

d. Westin Bonaventure Hotel, Los Angeles, CA, USA (1976); John Portman, architect.

Figure 1.4

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c. Trump International Hotel and Tower, Chicago, Illinois, USA (2009); Adrian Smith of SOM, architect.

e. Dongchangan Jie, Beijing, People’s Republic of China in 2006.

Utilitarian, or Corporate Modernism

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Designs that looked good on paper had few affordances for a broad range of activities. They served only a limited range of functions (Blake 1977, Fitch 1980, Mikellides 1980, Madanipour 2007). What was included in this range was what architects perceived should be and not what the inhabitants of the environments sought (Michelson 1968, Ellis and Cuff 1989; see also Weaver 2006, Gold 2007, and Dalrymple 2009). Architects began to look anew at their assumptions about people. Models of People and Model People All designs are, implicitly at least, based on assumptions of how people use and derive meaning from the world around them. The Rationalists based their designs on ideal people. They were limited models. Joachim Israel (Israel and Tajfel 1972) identified a number of such models—the organismic, the role, and the relational—implicit in the architectural and urban design theories and practices of the first two thirds of the twentieth century (Stringer 1980). The first assumes that human needs can be reduced to a few universal, primarily physiological, requirements. The second stresses activity patterns and the third social relationships. Fulfilling these needs was regarded as paramount in the theories of the Bauhaus and by Le Corbusier. These needs are indeed important in establishing a functional theory for designing, but they were often operationally defined in simplistic terms. The criticism was that the models of people and their behavior on which designs had been based were much too limited in scope (Gans 1968, Stringer 1980, Scott Brown 2004, and Madanipour 2007, among others). The models are not based on observation and analysis, or behavioral tendencies, or on people’s aspirations. They have also been too limited in the range of types of people considered by age, stage in life cycle, social status, and cultural background, and in the range of behaviors of importance to them (Appleyard 1976). Rather than enriching life through the creation of behavioral opportunities, simplified solutions based on too narrow a definition of function willy-nilly eliminated such opportunities. It is, however, easier to design with a simple rather than a complex model of people in mind! The late twentieth and early twenty-first-century criticism has been more specific. The needs of the handicapped are forgotten (Robinette 1985, Goldsmith 2000, Milner 2001, Graves 2002), the environment as a source of day-to-day learning is neglected (Ward 1990, R. Moore 1991, Woolley et al. 1999), and cultural specific behaviors are ignored (Rapoport 1982, 1990a, 2004). The model of the human still tends to be universalist, often based on the architect’s image of, usually, himself (Brooks 1997). It was a male-oriented view of the world (Weisman 1992, Rothschild 1999, Hayden 2003, P. Williams 2009). There is certainly often a social and an administrative gap between users and designers; they have no direct contact (Zeisel 1974, 2006). More broadly the issues of concern to architects often exclude those of building users resulting in many award-winning buildings being thoroughly disliked by their inhabitants (Weaver 2006). The greatest successes of the Modernists were in bespoke house design (see Chapter 11). A close working relationship and articulate clients who could specify their needs to the architect, plus a similarity of their social backgrounds, provided the basis for behaviorally congruent designs (Eaton 1969, Zeisel 2006). The client/user hired the architect. Considerably less success was achieved when public agencies or company

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officials intervened between architect and user-clients. Often the agencies’ or officials’ needs for the survival of their positions seem to have overridden those of the people they were supposed to be representing. In these cases architects have had to rely on their own assumptions about what is good for people. The Person-Environment Relationship The third major criticism was and still is that architectural ideologies are based on an unrealistic model of the impact of built forms on human activities especially social behavior, self-esteem, and, more generally, quality of life. The layout and aesthetic qualities of the world matter but the way the built world functions was misunderstood. It was believed to be deterministic in shaping human behavior. It was assumed that the users of a building would use it sensibly as the architect intended. Possibly many architects did not believe their own rhetoric but used it simply as a marketing ploy—to make themselves seem more important in shaping future lives than they really are. Much architectural discourse still assumes that changing the shape of the physical world will make “better” people. Many of the relationships we see between behavior and built form are, however, based on the situational opportunities that people perceive. A design may afford an opportunity for a child to play or for criminal behavior to take place. It does not mean that they will occur.

The Response: Current Practice No development in the theory of functionalism emerged in response to the criticism of architectural theory. Practice, nevertheless, evolved. Architects’ oral responses and their correlates in practice were to develop new patterns of built form, to claim less for the role of the built environment in people’s lives and, sadly, to turn their backs on difficult social concerns (particularly in urban design). The first led to a variety of new ideas about what architecture should be. The second and third responses led to a general avoidance by the profession of any concern for the socio-political issues of architecture. The attitude is displayed in much architecture today. Current architectural practice can be categorized under a number of rubrics covering specific lines of thought evident in the patterns of form used. For the purpose here they are Neo-Modernist design, with the architecture of structural dexterity forming part of it, Post-Modernism in a number of forms, and Deconstruction. Clearly Empiricist in nature is a range of Neo-Traditionalist design strategies, and Ecological architecture. The overlaps among them are substantial. The new building forms that have resulted may seem to indicate substantial shifts in architectural thinking but that is not really the case. Neo-Modernist Architecture The core ideas of the Modernists persist although recent designs are visually livelier. For one group of what one might call Neo-Modernists the concern is still for an architecture of pure geometrical forms and the interpenetration of spaces and volumes. Often, but not

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always, the goal has been for buildings to be appreciated as objects to be contemplated as much as for the activities and the spatial experiences they afford in their interiors. These values can be seen in the photographs in the left hand column of Figure 1.5. Typical of recent architecture are the office buildings being built around the world. They attempt to get away from the Corporate Modernism of the 1960s, but have become symbols of the architecture of global capitalism—of the multi-national corporations. Still predominantly in tower form, and often with generic plans of central cores surrounded by letable floor space, the exteriors break away from the box-like forms of the 1960s; their materials are more colorful although their general shiny character has resulted in many being dismissed as “glitzy”. Differing from such exuberant forms of artistic and structural display is a contrasting Neo-Modernists approach. It has been called weak or, better, discrete architecture (de Sola Morales 1989). It is an architecture of good manners in which well-executed buildings fit into their contexts discretely. It is associated with the architecture of post-Franco Spain, particularly Barcelona, in which a major consideration was given to how buildings, with a sense of decorum, build good urban precincts. The architecture of structural and geometrical dexterity stands in strong contrast to it. The architecture of structural and geometrical dexterity  Exploring ways of enclosing space has long been of interest to architects and engineers. Many of the forms they have devised have been highly sculptural (Charleson 2005). They do not, however, necessarily house what they are supposed to accommodate well. A well known exponent today is Santiago Calatrava Valls. His design for the Museu de les Ciències (see Figure 1.5bii) in Valencia, Spain is a ribbed structure of concrete, aluminium, and glass, that proposed for the transportation hub at the World Trade Center site in New York has soaring ribs. Recently developed computer-based design algorithms allow for geometric and structural calculations that were too laborious and time consuming to consider before. Many new, particularly twisting, forms are being explored. The buildings are objects in space with little concern for the quality of life for pedestrians or any other impact they might have on their surroundings. A 2008 design by architect David Fisher is for 70 and 80 story buildings for Moscow and Dubai respectively. Each floor can be rotated independently by its occupants with speeds from an hour to three hours for a full turn. Given the number of stories the permutations of the design are vast. The buildings are supposed to generate more than enough energy to power themselves from wave action and solar access. There are many such towers with a twist in the offing (Callaghan 2008). The architecture of abstract signification  Providing for a sense of place is seen as a significant function of architecture although it is seldom described as such (see Chapter 10). Place is an ambiguous word. It can refer to a social, temporal, or a geographic location. One way to create a sense of locale through the exterior appearance of buildings has been to take elements of local architectures and to incorporate them directly in new buildings. Much nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century colonial architecture in countries as diverse as Morocco, Vietnam, and India sought to achieve this end (Figures 1.6a, 10.12a, and b). Robert Venturi suggested an alternative approach.

the inheritance

bi. The Baha’i House of Worship, Delhi, India (1980-6); Fariborz Sahba, architect.

ai. Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco, California, USA (1995); Mario Botta, architect.

aii. Administrative Complex, Houn, El Jufrah, Libya (2002); Daniel Bruun and Jussi Murole of B&M Architects, architects.

bii. Museu de les Ciències Príncipe Felipe, Valencia, Spain (2000); Santiago Calatrava, architect.

aiii. El Museo del Arte Thyssen-Bornemisza renovation, biii. Southern Cross Station, Melbourne, Victoria, Madrid, Spain (1989); Rafael Moneo, architect. Australia (2006); Grimshaw Architects. Winner of the Lubetkin Prize in 2007.

Figure 1.5

Neo-Modernist architecture (a) and the architecture of structural dexterity (b)

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Venturi argued that the elements of regional architectures should be incorporated in buildings in abstract rather than literal forms (see Figure 1.6bi and ii; Venturi 1966, Venturi and Scott Brown 2004). If, however, the forms are visually dissimilar to the referent, lay people do not recognize the architect’s intended meanings unless those meanings are explained to them (Groat and Canter 1979). This observation holds even more so when metaphors and literary allusions are form generators as in the Jewish Museum in Berlin (1998-2001) designed by Daniel Libeskind (see Chapter 14). In this case only the people educated to understand the referents and allusions can appreciate the architecture in terms of the architect’s highly intellectual story. Kenneth Frampton advocated that architects employ a “critical regionalism” in their work. This approach, like that of Venturi and Scott Brown, suggests that architects incorporate local patterns in an unsentimental manner rather than simply copying the vernacular (Frampton 1982, Lefaivre and Tzonis 2003). Critical regionalism today has antecedents in the writings of Lewis Mumford, and J.B. Jackson in the United States and in the work of a wide range of Modernists around the world including such unheralded architects as Oluwole Olumuyiwa in Nigeria and Minette de Silva in Sri Lanka. Interestingly enough architects, such as Richard Neutra, who are generally identified with the International School showed considerable flexibility in dealing with situations outside the main locations of their work. They attempted to tie buildings into their context in an abstract manner by responding to the local climate and by incorporating local referents in their designs (Lefevre 2003). The work of Álvaro Siza Vieira exemplifies the attitude (see Figure 1.6bii). He combines a sensitivity to site and culture with modern materials while drawing on traditions in abstract forms. Post-Modernism also seeks signification but it is very different. Post-Modernism While Post-Modernism simply refers to anything that came after the Modernist ideals of the first half of the twentieth century (Ghirardo 1996), Post-Modern philosophy is more specific. It argues for a pluralism of thought. This statement is based on a number of assumptions. They include the belief that there is no single reality, no single way to view the world, and no single way to uncover the truth. Architectural theorists sought an understanding of the signification of buildings in post-structuralist literary theory. In literature, texts were no longer studied for the depth of their ideas or the beauty of their language but for the variety of interpretations of their meanings from various points of view (Lyotard 1983, Derrida 1997). Buildings too are seen as texts. Post-Modernist architecture has sought to be anti-rational, eclectic in architectural symbolism, and non-judgmental. It stands in strong contrast to the architecture of abstract signification as shown Figure 1.6. Post-Modernism’s goal has been to defeat elitism and a single worldview. It does not reject empirical knowledge but rather sees it as just one avenue for explaining the world (Jencks 1977, Ghirardo 1996, Hays 1998). Michael Graves has been one of the best-known exponents of a restrained PostModernism in the United States. His architecture is marked by a sophisticated neohistoricism that he calls “figurative”. Buildings such as the Public Services Building in Portland (see Figure 1.6ci), the Humana Tower in Louisville, Kentucky (1986), the Dolphin Hotel in Las Vegas (1987-90), and the Swan Hotel at Disney World, Orlando, Florida

the inheritance

Photograph by Wendy Dickson

a. Église du Sacré Coeur, Casablanca, Morocco (1930-46); Paul Tournon, architect.

ci. Public Services Building, Portland, OR, USA (1982); Michael Graves, architect.

Collection of Jon Lang

bi. Guild House, Philadelphia, PA, USA (1960-3); Venturi and Rauch, architects.

cii. TSR Towers, Hyderabad, India (1957); SEARCH, architects.

Collection of Jon Lang

bii. Quinta da Malagueria housing, Évora, Portugal (1972-90; see also Figures 10.14e and f); Álvaro Siza Vieira, architect.

Figure 1.6

ciii. Hollywood and Highland development, Los Angeles, CA, USA (2002); Ehrenkrantz, Eckstut, and Kuhn, architects.

The architecture of signification: literal (a), abstract (b), and Post-Modern (c)

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(1990) display a use of classical and vernacular elements. Much the same can be said of the work of European architects such as Ricardo Bofill (see Figure 12.14 for Les Echelles du Baroque in Paris) in Europe and Arata Isozaki in Japan. Implicit in these statements is a different view of the functions of architecture, but the issue of what constitutes function was not specifically addressed. The architecture of Post-Modern exuberance  The architecture of Post-Modern exuberance is a display of popular taste. Two basic ways of creating such an architecture have spawned many varieties. One draws on traditional architectural, particularly classical, elements, and the second is a modernesque form. It is a mixture, not an amalgam, of glass and other shiny materials—marble, polished granite, and metals (see the frontispiece and Figures 1.6cii and 12.2f). Often the two types are integrated into what might be called a “Las Vegas Modernism” or “Disneyland traditional” (1.6ciii). It tends to be an architecture that matches the taste culture of the nouveau riche (see Chapter 12). Many academics dismiss such architecture as kitsch. They find the mishmash of styles an anathema. Yet the work is important to clients in establishing their status among their colleagues (see Chapter 12). It is also widespread internationally taking somewhat different forms in different countries. In countries such as the United Arab Emirates, China, and Kazakhstan the exploration is with “modern” materials and eccentric forms although building plans are quite conventional (Dawson 2005). In India, Trinidadian novelist V.S. Naipaul talked about the “Calcutta Corinthian” and “Rotten Rococo” of the mansions of the years past (Dutta 1984; see Figure 12.2c). More recently, Gautam Bhatia categorized much current domestic work in the country under a series of labels based on what appeared to be their antecedents: “Punjabi Baroque”, “Bania Gothic”, “Early Hardwar”, “Marwari Mannerism”, “Singhi Hacienda” and “Anglo-Indian Rococo” (Bhatia 1994). He might have added a Punjabi Le Corbusian! Le Corbusier’s work has become an inspiration for local work by mistris, contractor-designers, in Punjab. Deconstruction  Deconstruction in literature, an extension of Post-Modern thought, challenges the status quo by undermining all the taken-for-granted assumptions. In architecture, the goal has been to create a sense of uneasiness as surfaces depart from expected forms. A trend-setting firm was Coop Himmelblau (now Himmelb(l)au, an Austrian group founded in 1968 by Wolf Prix, Helmut Swiczinsky, and Michael Holzer). Their Merz-Schule project (1981) and roof conversions at Falkestr 6 in Vienna (1983-8) illustrate their radical agenda. These designs have been followed by a set of “eyepopping” buildings such as the UFA Cinema Center (1998; see Figure 1.7d), BMW Welt in Munich (2001-2005) with its 100-meter long titanium roof, the Musée des Confluences in Lyon (2001-2008), and the JVC Cultural Center in Guadalajara, Mexico (2005+). The Parc de la Villette (1984-9) designed by Bernard Tschumi is regarded as the first integrated exploration of the paradigm in landscape architecture and architecture. The Wexner Center (1986) at Ohio State University, designed by Peter Eisenman is another early architectural example (see Figure 1.7b). The Vitra Firehouse (1993) in Weil un Rhein, Germany designed by Zaha Hadid and more, recently, the Jewish Museum (1999-2001; 1.7e and Figure 14.17) designed by Daniel Libeskind, and the National Museum in Canberra (2001; 1.7c) designed by Ashton Raggat McDougall are major examples of executed work. Revivalist and Neo-Traditional approaches stand in strong contrast to Deconstruction.

the inheritance

Courtesy of Bernard Tschumi, Bernard Tschumi Architects

b. Wexner Center, Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio, USA (1983-9); Peter Eisenman, architect.

a. Parc de la Villette, Paris, France (1984-9); Bernard Tschumi Architects.

Photograph by Mark L. Brack

d. UFA Cinema Center, Dresden, Germany (1998); Coop Himmelblau, architects.

Figure 1.7

Deconstruction in architecture

c. The National Museum of Australia, Canberra (1999-2001); Ashton Raggatt McDougal, architects.

e. Jewish Museum, Berlin, Germany (1999-2001); Daniel Libeskind, architect.

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Revivalist and Neo-Traditional Architecture In the western world there has been a continuity of classical architecture. Architects such as Allan Greenberg, Rob Krier, Robert Stern, Demetri Porphyrios, Lucien Steil, and John Blatteau continue to work in this way. Many more specifically revivalist buildings have been built in recent years. In former colonized countries many new buildings are Revivalist as politicians and architects search for a unique local identity. Architectural theorists pay little attention to such work. Traditional, or vernacular, architectures are, in contrast, attractive to theorists because they emerged over a long period time to deal with a locale’s resource limitations, local climatic conditions, and culturally based patterns of activities. Frequently they have the plastic visual qualities that appeal to architects. This looking back to glean ideas for the future is true of both the Empiricists as represented by Frank Lloyd Wright and the Rationalists as exemplified by Le Corbusier. During the last three decades of the twentieth century at least four overlapping architectural explorations of the vernacular can be identified. The first involved a love affair with a particular type of architecture and architects strove to reproduce it (see Figure 1.8ai to aiii and 10.15). In the second, architects strove to understand the design principles used within specific contexts and reapplied them. The third only occurred in those countries such as China, India and Korea that have historical religion-based canonical texts on design. The fourth amalgamates Modernist and traditional types in deference to local climatic necessities and cultural patterns. The first and second are widespread. In the third type building owners have required their architects to heed religious or quasi-religious canons. Some critics believe that such designs are simply responses to superstitions but many people believe that they have a strong empirical basis (Bubbar 2005; see Figure 8.13). All of the first three types are employed today; the fourth is now in the mainstream of architectural ideas. In a number of countries Neo-Traditional buildings simultaneously achieve the goal of being up-to-date and having “something of us in them” (see Figures 1.8bi to biii). The Income Tax Colony Housing (1996) in Navi Mumbai, India is an example. Designed by Raj Rewal it incorporates elements and patterns from traditional Rajasthani villages in modern designs. The problem in such designs is how to deal with the automobile. This was not a problem in Battery Park City, New York because it drew on models of the early automobile era to establish a sense of place, at least visually. The Critical Regionalism mentioned earlier can be contrasted to the Neo-Traditionalism. While Neo-Traditional architecture relies heavily on the use of design patterns from the past, critical regionalism is “self-examining and self-questioning” (Lefaivre 2003). It relies more on the abstract use of design attitudes and design principles than on traditional design patterns to situate new designs in their context. Ecological Architecture Designing with nature in mind is an increasing concern among architects, landscape architects, and urban designers (McHarg 1969, Spirn 1989, van der Ryn and Cowan 1996, Hough 2004, Roaf 2004). It has been encouraged by the recognition of the finiteness of the world’s natural resources, the potential effects of extreme weathers and, more recently, by the potential impacts of climatic changes on buildings and urban areas.

the inheritance

ai. Shri Ramaiah Institute, Bengaluru, India (1990+) designed by contractor-builders.

bi. The Income Tax Colony, Navi Mumbai, India (1995); Raj Rewal, architect.

Source: Barnett (1987)

aii. Artistic Mansion, E. Chang’au Avenue, Beijing in 2006.

bii. Rector Place, Battery Park City, New York City, USA (1980s); Cooper and Eckstut, urban designers.

Photograph by Ruth Durack

aiii. McNeill Center for Early American Studies, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA, USA.

Figure 1.8

biii. Seaside, Florida, USA (1980s); Duany Plater-Zyberk and Company, urban designers.

Revivalist (a) and Neo-Traditional (b) architecture

21

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functionalism revisited

a. Village Homes, Davis, California, USA (1970s).

b. Newington, New South Wales, Australia (1996-2002). © T.R. Hamzah and Yeang Sdn. Bhd. Drawing by Munir Vahanvati

c. Monnikenhuizen, Arnhem-Noord, The Netherlands (1990s); Meyer and Van Schooten, architects, Lubbers Buro, landscape architects.

e. Europa Congress Center, Budapest.

Figure 1.9

d. A proposal for a tropical high rise city (2001); Ken Yeang, architect.

f. Roof, Euopa Congress Center, Budapest.

Images of sustainable environments

the inheritance

23

It has been accompanied by a concern for designing “sustainable” environments. Such environments are generally understood to be those that reduce the energy consumed in creating and operating buildings and urban precincts to a minimum, that recognize the interdependence of human life and the biogenic environment, that reduce the embodied energy in materials used, and that reduce waste by optimizing the life cycle of materials. In addition they seek to have low impacts on the energy consumed in their surroundings (see Chapter 15). We know much more about how to deal with these concerns than we apply. Arguments for designing environmentally sustainable buildings have yet to convince developers that the return on capital invested is worthwhile. The hotel industry, for instance, believes that until energy consumption contributes a significant sum to operating costs designing energy efficient buildings will not be a priority. Similarly, symbolic demands require more an architecture of exuberance than of parsimony. In some climates it is easier to design sustainable environments than in others. In hot arid climates much can be achieved to reduce the ambient room temperature through natural ventilation and cooling techniques, but being in air-conditioned comfort is what most people seek. In temperate climates the use of artificial heating in winter and airconditioning in summer is clearly the way to achieve a high level of comfort. It is also energy consumption intense. As a consequence mixed modes of heating and cooling are currently being explored. They do require people to trade-off comfort levels for energy efficiency. It is easier to achieve energy-efficient design in low density precincts than in high-rise areas. There are many examples of houses but fewer of tall buildings (see Figure 15.11). Ken Yeang is one architect who has generated a number of exploratory designs for tall buildings, mainly for tropical areas but also for Elephant and Castle in London (Yeang 1996; Figure 9.2b). His designs for buildings such as the Menera Mesiniaga (1992; see Figure 7.9a) in Kuala Lumpur and the National Library in Singapore (2005) have attracted considerable attention. In urban design, a number of scientists, landscape architects, and architects have been exploring mechanisms for reducing the heat-island effect of cities, the way streets can be laid out in relationship to winds to enhance the cleansing effect of breezes, and the way buildings can be used to shadow (or not) their surroundings to produce energy saving effects (Givoni 1998, Hough 2004, Smith 2005, Walker 2006). The research promises much in explaining how buildings function and can function in context (see Chapter 15).

The Nature of Practice and the Nature of Theory Architectural practices, whether global or local, have shown a variety of approaches to design over the past 20 years. We generally look at buildings in terms of their forms but it is the difference in the perception of what the functions being addressed are that really distinguishes between one approach and another. Each building reflects its creator’s assumptions about which of the functions that it could serve are important and which are not. Every building may be unique but theory building involves making generalizations on which architects can draw. Traditionally the theoretical underpinnings of environmental design work consist of either description of the architectural or urban design ideas of

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functionalism revisited

Collection of Jon Lang

Photograph by Peter Kohane

b. Gehry House, Santa Monica, CA, USA (1979 and 1987) in 1988. Photograph by Musa Al Farid

a. Frank Gehry in the 1990s. Courtesy of Shyamika Silva

c. Port Entrance, Barcelona, Spain (1999-2004).

d. The Experience Music Project, Seattle, WA, USA (2000).

e. The Guggenheimm Museum, Bilbao, Spain (1997).

Figure 1.10 A traditional approach to architectural theory—A focus on the creator

the inheritance

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Photograph by Ruth Durack

a. The Art Deco: Eros Cinema, Mumbai, India (1938); Sohrabji K. Bhedwar, architect.

b. The City Beautiful: Ceauseccu’s Bucharest (1977-90); Anca Petrescu, architect.

Collection of Jon Lang

c. Modernist Empiricism: Beth Shalom Synagogue, Elkins Park, PA, USA (1954-9); Frank Lloyd Wright, architect.

e. Architecture as pure fine art, The Hassain Doshi Gufa, Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India (1993); B.V. Doshi, architect.

d. The Rationalist City: Brasília, Brazil (1957); Lúcio Costa, planner, Oscar Niemeyer, architect.

f. Neo-Traditional urban design. The new university city of Louvain-la-Neuve, Belgium (1970s); Michel Woitrin and Raymond Lemaire, urban designers.

Figure 1.11 A traditional approach to architectural theory—A focus on the design paradigm

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functionalism revisited

individual designers (for example, Frank Gehry; see Figure 1.10), or the classification of various design paradigms into groups based on similarities in what they look like (Figure 1.11). The focus on an individual designer and his or her own perception of the problems facing architecture and society is exemplified by the hundreds of monographs, often hagiographical, on the work of individual architects. The second approach to architectural theory is exemplified by this chapter. It has focused on schools of thought— design paradigms. Architects inevitably fall into ideological categories whose members can be identified by a similarity in ways of thinking and/or the patterns they use in their designs. All classification systems have limitations as they are based on similarities; they can blur significant differences in attitudes. The ones used here will no doubt raise the hackles on the necks of many architects. It can, nevertheless, be concluded that the concern of traditional architectural theory has been with architects as creators, their ideas, the design patterns and materials they use and the buildings that reflect their ideas. Theorists have shown little interest in the utility of buildings for the people who inhabit or visit them or on their impact on the surrounding environments. Understanding the traditional domain of architectural theory is crucial for the education of students and to the continuing intellectual growth of professionals. Implicit in the work of all architects and the paradigms they employ is also some theory of the functioning of the built environment. It too needs to be understood.

Major References Ghirardo, Diana Y. 1996. Architecture after Modernism. New York: Thames and Hudson. Gold, John R. 2007. The Practice of Modernism: Modern Architects and Urban Transformations. Abingdon and New York: Routledge, Taylor and Francis Group. Hays, K. Michael, ed. 1998. Architectural Theory Since 1968. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Jencks, Charles and Karl Kropf, eds 2006. Theories and Manifestoes of Contemporary Architecture (second edition). London: Academy Editions. Nesbitt, Kate 1996. Theorizing a New Agenda for Architecture: An Anthology of Architectural Theory, 1965-1995. New York: Princeton University Press.

2

A Framework for Theory in Architecture

The knowledge about the world is only to be acquired in the world, not in the closet. Lord Chesterfield (Philip Dormer Stanhope), English writer and politician

Each of our contemporary approaches to architectural design has its proponents and detractors. It is the architects who are seen as artists and who have global practices— the Tadao Andos, Santiago Calatravas, Norman Foster, Frank Gehrys, Zahah Hadids, Rem Koolhaases, Daniel Libeskinds, and Jean Nouvels—who are of particular interest to the cognoscenti. Their designs, mainly museums, theaters, and other “value-added” places, stand out in the foreground against a background of more mundane buildings. Seen as works of art their designs capture the imagination. Their full impact on their environments, human and artificial, is seldom a major concern to critics. Studies of architects’ theories are seldom clear on what basis designs are created. What are their assumptions about the relationship between people and the environment and between buildings and the environment? Architects’ conjectures are largely implicit in their theories. Where explicit the arguments are largely unintelligible to most people. George Orwell in his essay, “Politics and the English Language” believed that the multiplicity of meanings of the words used by politicians and artists alike has utility. Arguments simply descend to agreements or disagreements about what people like and dislike (Orwell 1961). If, however, one takes seriously the United States Supreme Court declarations that decisions that affect the public realm have to be based on evidence not suppositions (for example, Daubert v Merrell Dow, US Supreme Court, No. 92-102, 1993), then we architects need to rethink the way we present and argue for our designs (Stamps 1994).

Dealing with Diversity Architectural theory deals mainly with architects’ ideas in designing for the elite and often for global commercial corporations. Wealthy individuals and major corporations, public and private, are after all the major clients for design services. The criticism of the results leads to three further observations. The models of people implicit in architectural practice are over-generalized, the design implications of culturally specific activity patterns and aesthetic attitudes are poorly understood, and the full range of the purposes served by the built environment is not included in current models of “function” in architecture. If architecture, as a discipline, recognizes and embraces the diversity of values that exist in the larger population, a need exists to extend and reorganize the body of knowledge that is subsumed under the rubric “theory.”

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functionalism revisited

Organizing our Knowledge Base In 1987, one of the authors of this work, Jon Lang, suggested that the knowledge base that forms the foundation of architecture as a discipline can be considered to consist of our positive architectural theory or theories in contrast to our ideological positions that should be regarded as our normative theories (Lang 1987). The goal of positive theory would be to describe and explain phenomena—how the world functions and the affordances of specific patterns for whom in what circumstances. Normative theories would specify what should be done. Normative theory would thus deal with the ideological stance a designer, or school of design thought, takes in creating buildings and urban designs. These stances are based on views of right and wrong and good and bad. They cover the entire spectrum of political attitudes. The terms themselves have various negative connotations to a number of people so it seems wiser to use Kevin Lynch’s term, functional theory instead of positive theory (Lynch 1984). We can then use architectural theory instead of normative theory. Whether these terms are better or not is open to conjecture but architects appear to be comfortable with them. The foci of attention of the two bodies of theory are compared in Figure 2.1. As the diagram indicates architectural theory (as described in Chapter 1) focuses on architects’ design principles. Functional theory, in contrast, focuses on the principles of environmental experiencing in relationship to the built and natural environments.

a. A conceptual model of the domain of architectural theory.

b. A conceptual model of the domain of functional theory.

Figure 2.1

Architectural theory and functional theory

It is also possible to distinguish between procedural theory or design methodology and substantive theory. The former deals with the processes of designing: the nature of programming (that is, the design of the brief, or program, specifying what should be done), the divergent production of ideas, their synthesis into potential design solutions, their evaluation, and the eventual acceptance of one as the best option followed by its implementation (see Chapter 16). The latter deals with the nature of built forms. It comprises functional theory. Although the focus of this book is on substantive concerns

a framework for theory in architecture

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architectural theory encompasses both architects’ differing attitudes towards both functional and procedural theory as manifested in their work. Given these distinctions, the core of functional theory deals with how people experience the world. Its purpose is to explicitly describe and explain the nature of the built environment and what it offers. This body of knowledge is biased by its creators’ understanding of empirical findings about the nature of built form, people’s use of it and responses to it. What architects do with this knowledge is up to them based on their values, the possibilities open to them, and the constraints imposed on them by the circumstances in which they work. Their architectural theories, their ideological positions, govern what they do. The positions architects espouse and what they actually do—the behavioral correlates of their ideological stances—often differ. The reasons for this discrepancy have to do with the economic and socio-political environment in which they work, the strengths of their convictions, their need for recognition, and/or their need for professional survival. Architects have long done the best they can when working in political contexts with which they strongly disagree.

Behavioral Science Research and Functional Theory Environmental psychology, as a research and theory building discipline, grew out of the necessity to understand the functioning of the natural and built environments better than the Modernists did. It also aimed to get psychologists out of the laboratory to study animal and human behavior in the everyday ecological environment in which it usually occurs. The research field goes under various other names such as ecological psychology (Wicker 1979), person-environment research, and environment and behavioral studies, but the purpose is the same whatever rubric is applied to it. The goal of the environmental psychology is to enhance our understanding of the dimensions of the human experiencing of the built, or artificial, and the natural worlds (Ittelson et al. 1974, Mehrabian and Russell 1974, Proshansky et al. 1976, Porteous 1977, Heimstra and McFarling 1978, Bell 1997, Bechtel et al. 2002). Originally action-oriented, over time it has developed into a field of pure research with less of a concern for the immediate applicability to design of its findings. Architects wonder about its utility. This book sets out to indicate it. Environmental psychologists have been exploring a broad range of ways in which human beings of diverse social and cultural backgrounds use and appreciate different patterns of built form. Many of their findings are important to architects but have not been accessible to them. An organized theory of the functioning of the built environment will help to reduce the gap between research findings and the creation of design principles of utility to architects. It will enable architects to explore their options with greater clarity and to argue for their designs based on knowledge not simply unsubstantiated beliefs and hopes (Jones 1962, Canter 1970). The interrelationship of environmental psychology, functional theory and its relationship to practice is shown in Figure 2.2.

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Figure 2.2

functionalism revisited

Environmental psychology as a basis for design theory and design practice

An endless set of descriptive statements on the relationship between people and their environments is too cumbersome for architects to employ. What is needed is some framework for organizing this knowledge so that it can be brought to bear on design efforts. A number of attempts to do so during the second half of the twentieth century were based on a model of human needs (for example, Alexander 1969) in much the manner that the Bauhaus did in the 1930s (see Wingler 1969). We can learn much from them but we can do better now. Our present concepts of the functions of architecture present a point of departure for understanding how to do so.

Major References Canter, David 1970. The need for a theory of function in building. Architects’ Journal 151 (5): 299-302. Lynch, Kevin 1984. Good City Form. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Scott Brown, Denise 2004. The redefinition of functionalism, in Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown, Architecture as Signs and Systems for a Mannerist Time. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 142-75.

Part II Creating a Theory of Functionalism

Photograph by Tata Soemardi

The Grande Arche at La Défense, Haut-de-Seine, France (1983-9)

Johan Otto Spreckelsen, architect.

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functionalism revisited

Functionalism in architecture, as noted already, has traditionally been concerned with the instrumental or task activities to be housed by a building, the technological mechanisms for holding it up structurally and operating it, and, although not generally admitted, what a functional building looks like. A functional building, in Modernists’ terms, was one that carried out the first two of these purposes with efficiency and the third without decoration (see Behne 1926, Wingler 1969). There are statements that get away from this simple model (see Gropius 1962 for an example and Lefaivre 2003 for an overview) but the architectural discourse returns to it time and again. Under the title Concepts of Function in Architecture, these topics are discussed in the first of the three chapters that constitute this part of the book. The world is experienced in a more complex manner than a simple analysis allows. The way forward is to examine anew the nature of the way we experience the world around us and the way that the world impinges on us. The second of the three chapters here, Experiencing Architecture: The Foundation for a Theory of Functionalism, sets out to address a series of questions. How do we perceive the built environment? How does it afford specific behaviors and meanings? How does it constrain what we can do? What is the nature of the interaction between people and buildings, streets, and other open spaces? These questions have been long asked. There is nothing new about them. What is new is that the research of the past half-century in architecture and in the behavioral sciences and their sub-fields such as environmental psychology has considerably enhanced our knowledge. The ideological stance taken here is that we should use the knowledge now available to us. The question is: “How do we organize it?” The third chapter, Functionalism Updated, makes the argument that Abraham Maslow’s concept of human motivations, as developed by his colleagues (Maslow 1987) and brought up-to-date (Huitt 2004), presents a sound intellectual framework for organizing our present knowledge about the functions served by architecture. The argument builds on previous efforts, but fundamentally, on the Bauhaus view of the 1920s and 1930s. Indeed the approach advocated here is sometimes dismissed as “the last kick of the Bauhaus“. The Bauhaus view was that designing for human needs or, better in our present analysis, human motivations, presents a sound basis for thinking about the functions that buildings do serve, can serve, and should serve. The Bauhaus view was a universalistic one that failed to recognize the social, cultural, and geographic circumstances in which buildings function. A step forward is now possible. It is to broaden the limited definition of function of the Modernists and the Post-Modernists to one that explains what the scope of architecture is. In that sense it re-examines The Scope of Total Architecture as presented by Walter Gropius (1962). This new picture presents architects with a substantive theory of functionalism on which we can build our architectural theories with a clear intellectual logic.

3

Concepts of Function in Architecture

An architect’s primary aim should be to ensure a building functions well and that nothing should interfere with its fitness to fulfil its purpose. “Functionalism” defined (Fleming, Honour, and Pevsner 1999: 210)

The functions that the buildings serve have not changed over time but our models of what the functions are have. The goal of any model is to reduce a complex world to a level that we can manage but still be effective in guiding what we do. All models are abstractions of reality and are thus simplifications. The question is: “Is the model of functions that we use in architecture so reduced in content to be misleading?” Ways of thinking about functionalism can be traced back to Plato and Aristotle. Plato considered function to deal with usage, manufacture, and representation. The first was the most important while the last was not taken seriously (Madanipour 2007). Aristotle tended to emphasize the process of making—of bringing an object into use. The question is: “What does use mean?” Today we tend to refer back to Vitruvius’s views as expressed in De Architectura (c. 35BCE) and rephrased by Sir Henry Wotton (1624): In Architecture as in all other Operative Arts the end must direct the operation The end is to build well Well-building hath three Conditions Commoditie, Firmenes and Delight.

In the writings of the past two centuries, however, only the first two were regarded as functions; the third was a by-product of serving the other two functions well. A brief history shows how this definition evolved. Jean-Louis Cordenoy, a French priest and an advocate of neo-classical architecture, argued in his book, Nouveau traité de toute l’architecture (1706), for an architecture of truth and simplicity and that the purpose of a building be expressed in its form (Rykwert 1980). From the eighteenth to the twentieth century leading architects, such as Carlo Lodoli, Jean-Nicolas-Louis Durand, Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, Otto Wagner, and Aldolf Loos, considered the function of a building to be its utilitarian purpose. Durand advocated a Rationalist, idealized, utilitarian functionalism: “One should not strive to make a building pleasing since if one concerns oneself solely with the fulfillment of practical requirements, it is impossible that it should not be pleasing”. Wagner added “Nothing that is not practical can be beautiful”. Loos railed against any use of decorative features in architecture although in his work he was not quite so strict about it (Loos 1998 originally 1908, Rykwert 1980).

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The operational and stylistic simplicity of many nineteenth-century American products in comparison to the highly ornate work of contemporary Europe impressed many European critics (Giedion 1969; see also Chapter 14). The idea of functionalism is, however, today associated primarily with European Rationalism and particularly with Gottfried Semper (1989 originally 1851) but most clearly articulated in the dictum associated with Louis Sullivan “form follows function”. As Horatio Greenough (1947) had 50 years before him, Sullivan wanted to overcome the prevalent form-driven approach to architectural design. Other architects took Sullivan’s statement to mean that buildings should efficiently house necessary activities and that their structural and construction methods be efficient. As Bruno Taut noted, “If everything is founded on sound efficiency, this efficiency itself, or rather its utility, will form its own aesthetic laws” (cited in Bletter 1996). Function came to mean efficient use-ability and build-ability. The purpose of a building was to facilitate the activities it was supposed to house. It was very much a time-and-motion approach to design (see Figure 3.1b and c). Despite this observation the functionalist buildings designed during the early twentieth century introduced a new aesthetic style (see Figure 3.1a). Functionalism became “vulgarized” to mean a set of stylistic markers: flat roofs, plain unadorned box-like buildings, and lots of glass (Prak 1984). Every architect could do it. It was this view that was caught on the cover of Arkiteketen International (see Figure 3.1d). At the Bauhaus Johannes Itten argued that “all art is composition and necessarily opposed to function—all life is function and therefore inartistic” (Wingler 1969). The wider recognition that the complexity of life cannot be reduced to a few variables led to a “crisis” in CIAM [Congrès International d’Architecture Moderne] when discussing housing functions. At the 1947 congress the concern turned to how buildings could meet the emotional and spiritual needs of people. This new concern was spurred by having to design in other than western European nations (Eleb 2000). No new model of functionalism, however, appeared from the discourse. The much cited observation of Le Corbusier remained the guiding light. All men have the same organism, the same functions. All men have the same needs. The social contract which has evolved through the ages fixes standardized classes, functions, and needs producing standardized products … I propose a single building for all nations and all climates … (Le Corbusier 1923)

Maxwell Fry (1961) added “There is now an approach to architecture that is common to all countries.” The discussion in Chapter 1 belies these two observations. The question is: “How should we build a more powerful model of function than our intellectual ancestors possessed?”

Modeling Functionalism All concepts of function in architecture are based on some worldview. In their work, despite their statements, the Rationalists among Modernists implicitly saw functionalism in artistic and liveability terms. The artistic was evaluated within the precepts of

concepts of function in architecture

Source: Benevolo (1980: 880)

Photograph by Peter Kohane

a. The Bauhaus, Dessau, Germany (1925-6); Walter Gropius, architect. Collection of Jon Lang: drawn by Omar Sherif

35

b. Inefficiency and efficiency in apartment unit design (1928); Alexander Klein, architect.

Collection of Jon Lang

ci. An inefficient kitchen layout.

cii. An efficient kitchen layout.

Figure 3.1

d. Functional architecture as a style.

Traditional concepts of functionalism

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contemporary art criticism and the liveability in terms of architects’ perceptions of what is sensible for people. Thus the concept of functionalism implicit in the early architectural ideas of Le Corbusier have to be perceived within the context of cubism in art and his own upbringing within the parsimonious attitudes of Calvinism (Brooks 1997). To be modern meant to “clean up, re-order, [and] purify” (Pinder 2005). A major concern, especially in mass housing design, was with the way built forms can function to create a healthy environment. The focus was on access to sunshine and its role not only in illuminating and giving warmth to dwellings but also as a sanitizing force. The aesthetic goal was, implicitly, to create simple built forms using materials in an efficient manner based on their nature (see Figures 3.2a to c). The concern with sanitation can be seen in the generic urban designs of Le Corbusier and the Bauhaus educators. Hygiene, as the central issue in design, has fallen by the wayside as living standards have improved. Providing salubrious living and working environments is, nevertheless, still a basic function of architecture. The Empiricists never presented an explicit concept of functionalism. It was implicit in the precedents on which they drew. Ebenezer Howard’s inspiration was the small country town that seemed to offer a high quality of life. Similarly, precedents were drawn on in designing Battery Park City, New York (1979-2003; Figure 3.2e), Poundbury, England (1990 and continuing; Figure 10.8e) and by Charles Moore’s in designing Kresge College (1966-74; Figure 3.2d). The precedents were seen to be lively places meaningful to lay people (see Rapoport 1991, Hardy 2006). The Empiricists did not seek a functional architecture in a Rationalist sense. In the mid-twentieth century, Aldo Van Eyck noted that architectural practice based on a narrowly conceived model of the functions of the built environment had serious consequences. Instead of the inconvenience of filth and confusion, we now have the boredom of hygiene. The material slum has gone—but what has replaced it? Just mile upon mile of unorganised nowhere and nobody feeling he is somewhere. (Cited in Smithson 1968)

Walter Gropius, by then at Harvard University, expressed concern over the meaning assumed by architects in phrases such as “fitness to its purpose”. He noted: “Superior phrases such as functionalism … have deflected the appreciation of the new architecture into purely external channels” (Gropius 1962). He sought a “total architecture” and a more comprehensive model of function than in contemporary use. When James Marston Fitch (1980) observed that many buildings designed by architects were “not functional enough”, he had a model of function very different to that of the Modernists in mind. He was concerned not so much for the efficiency of circulation systems, but for the need for environmental richness. Jean Mukarovsky (1981) and Amos Rapoport (1990b) among others have argued that buildings function as non-verbal communicators of identity and as vehicles for self-expression. Buildings act as billboards (Venturi et al. 1977, Venturi and Scott Brown 2004). In recent years, architects have been distinguishing among function, meaning, and aesthetic expression. The former has to do with the housing of activity systems and any supportive technological equipment, the second with the interpretation of building forms and their elements by different people within different cultures, and the third

concepts of function in architecture

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Courtesy of Dion Neutra, architect © and Richard and Dion Neutra Papers, Department of Special Collections, Charles E. Young Research Library, UCLA

a. “Rush City Reformed”; A proposal for Los Angeles, USA (1928); Richard Neutra, architect. Collection of Jon Lang

b. Alfred E. Smith Houses, New York City, USA (1948); Eggers and Higgins, architects.

d. Kresge College, University of California, Santa Cruz, CA, USA (1966-74); Moore and Turnbull, architects.

Figure 3.2

© Kisho Kurokawa architect and associates

c. Zhengdong new town, Zhengzhou, P.R. China (2004); Kisho Kurokawa and Associates, architects.

e. Battery Park City, New York City, USA (1979-2003); Cooper and Ekstut, urban designers. Buildings designed by various architects.

Architects’ world views and concepts of functionalism

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Table 3.1

functionalism revisited

Building functions and the concerns of architecture Adapted from Lang (1987)

Vitruvius (c.35BCE)

Wotton (1624)

Greenough (1850s)

Utilitas

Commoditie Function

Venustas

Delight

Firmitas

Firmenes

Expression

Steele Gropius Norberg(1973) (Modern Schulz (1965) functionalism) (1920s) Function Building task Task instrumentality Shelter and security Social contact Expression Form Symbolic identification Pleasure Growth Technics Technics

with architects’ own aspirations as idea-forgers, as symbol-mongers. These distinctions are useful in that they focus on three purposes of buildings—three functions—and their interplay. Fred Steele (1973) presented a more elaborate model. There is still a need for an understanding of the functions served by buildings in terms of their interior layout and the activities they house, the appearance they present to the world, as objects of value, and their effects on their contexts. It is also clear that a building functions differently for different people: its users, its sponsors, and its designers. All designing involves making trade-offs between the achievement of one objective rather than another. An architect’s style, or that of a school of architectural thought, reflects the design decisions made about what functions should and should not be fully met in buildings and how they should be met. If we start to understand the full range of functions that a building can serve, discussions about the relative merits of different works can be articulated more clearly. “Form follows function” and “fitness for its purpose” remain sound dictums for design but we need a theory of function that deals with the full range of purposes that buildings can serve. Understanding the nature of environmental experiencing and human motivations provides the basis for such a theory.

Major References Bletter, Rosemarie Haag 1996. Introduction, in Adolfe Behne, The Modern Functional Building (originally 1927). Santa Monica: The Getty Research Institute for the History of Arts and Humanities, 1-83. De Zurko, Edward R. 1957. Origins of Functionalist Theory. New York: Columbia University Press. Greenough, Horatio 1947. Form and Function: Remarks on Art, Design, and Architecture, edited by Harold A. Small. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Ligo, Larry L. 1984. The Concept of Function in Twentieth Century Architectural Criticism. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press.

4

Experiencing Architecture: The Foundation for a Theory of Functionalism

What we see is informed by our theoretical knowledge and our theoretical knowledge by what we see. Anthony King (2004: 205)

Understanding how we experience the environment provides the foundation on which a theory of the functioning of the artificial environment can be built. Our knowledge is far from complete but it has enhanced our understanding of the role of the built environment in the lives of people at different stages in their life cycles living in different cultural and geographic settings. While there are interesting physiological and cultural differences among people, the basic nature of human beings is universal. Source: Lang (1987); drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 4.1

The fundamental processes of human behavior

Fundamental to any understanding of human activities within the built environment and/or feelings about it is an understanding of the processes of perception. What we pay attention to in the environment shapes the way we think about it, behave in it, and the values we have (King 2004). Perception is guided by our motivations and our attitudes which are, in turn, directed by our knowledge of the world and what it affords us (Hochberg 1964, Gibson 1966, Reed 1996, Heft 1997, 2001). We seem to have schemas, mental templates, that  The primary title of this chapter is unashamedly borrowed from Stein Eiler Rasmussen’s classic book, Experiencing Architecture (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1959). Rasmussen’s is one of the few treatises on architecture that explicitly recognizes the multi-modality of perception.

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guide the processes of cognition and behavior that, in turn, modify our schemas (Neisser 1976). Figure 4.1 shows the iterative nature of the processes of human behavior.

Environmental Perception and Cognition Perception is the active process of obtaining information from the environment around us via our perceptual systems. The systems for the searching are shown in Table 4.1 (for a fuller description see Gibson 1966). Visual information travels in straight lines; aural and olfactory bounce and waft around respectively. The movement of an observer is central not only to accurate perception but to the whole process of environmental experiencing. Humans have also invented all kinds of equipment to pick up, modify and transfer information that our basic perceptual systems are unable to detect. Radio and television enable us to pay attention to airwaves that we could otherwise not discern let alone comprehend. Table 4.1

The human perceptual systems Adapted from Gibson (1966) by Jon Lang

Mode of Anatomy of System Attention the System Basic General Vestibular organs Orienting orientation Cochlear organs Auditory Listening with middle ear and auricle Haptic

Touching

Smell and Smelling; Taste Tasting

Visual

Looking

Skin, joints and muscles Nasal cavity (nose); Oral cavity (mouth) Eyes as related to the vestibular organs, the head and the whole body

Stimuli Available Forces of gravity and acceleration

External Information Obtained Direction of gravity and being pushed

Vibrations in the air

Nature and location of vibratory events

Deformation of the tissues, configuration of joint, and stretching of muscles Composition of the medium; Composition of ingested objects

Contact with the earth, the shape and texture of objects, and their solidity or viscosity The nature of volatile substances; The nature of nutritive and bio-chemical values

Sources of radiant light and the structure in ambient light

Everything available in the optic array about objects, materials, animals, motions, events, and places

We use our perceptual systems to actively scan the world to learn more about it and to ascertain what is useful to us (see J. Gibson 1966, 1979, Michaels and Carello 1981, Reed and Jones 1982, Kaminski 1989, Landwehr 1990, Reed 1996, Heft 2001). In addition, some information, especially that deviant from the norm, impinges on us and attracts our attention. As we age and mature our competence in picking up information varies. Throughout our lives we can learn to pay attention to finer and finer details of the world around us and to establish categories that enable us to make a better sense of it as long as our faculties remain intact.

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Humans communicate by creating information for others to heed and in so doing set up behavioral loops and social organizations. We also communicate with each other through writing, drawing, and mathematical equations. Buildings, urban designs, and landscapes too are devices for non-verbal communication among people (Rapoport 1990b, Venturi and Scott Brown 2004). Cognition and Affect We learn to use the world and the instruments it contains for our own advantages. We have feelings about the world; we like and dislike certain people, ideas, and environments. We remember certain things and forget others. Some things are easier to remember than others. Much depends on what is important to us but also on how information is structured. The way in which we pay attention to the world and the way we organize information both aid and distort our actions. We categorize elements of our experiences into groups. We, for instance, develop categories of building types (Franck and Schneekloth 1994), activity cycles, and temporal sequences based on certain commonalities. Categories are central to human existence by forming part of our schemas. A schema provides us with algorithms for paying attention to the world and for storing and using knowledge. The definition of a schema provided by Ulrich Neisser (1976) still serves us well (N. Thomas 2006). The schema accepts information … and is changed by this information; it directs movement and exploratory activities that make information available, by which it is further modified.

Within each schema others are embedded. We are thus able to do many things simultaneously. Any theory of function in architecture must recognize the relativity of experience. Meanings depend on the experiences that we have in everyday life and through the directed (or mediated) vehicle of formal education in schools and other institutions (see Chapter 13). Thus although the basic nature of our perceptual systems may be universal what we pay attention to in the environment around us differs. It is culture and personality-bound and shaped by and shapes our motivations and competencies. Affect  Affect refers to our emotional responses to objects, places, and people. We relate to enormously varied environments in a few basic emotional ways: arousal, pleasure, and dominance (Mehrabian and Russell 1974). Arousal results from the level of stimulation we obtain from the environment, and/or other people and their activities. Pleasure is the measure of satisfaction we feel. Dominance refers to the degree of control that we have over a situation. These emotions regulate our approach and avoidance behavior by modifying our activities. We explore the environment, react to it and the people within it, and perform in it. Meanings  Our activities and our emotions are affected by the meanings of the various elements that constitute our environments and, in turn, the meanings are affected by our activities and emotions. Meanings are obtainable directly from the information available from the environment. One just has to know, to have learned, what to look for. Carl

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Jung argued that there are certain patterns in the environment that evoke meanings and feelings universally based on the historical experience of the human race (Jung 1968). Various attempts have been made by psychologists and designers to categorize levels of meaning. Psychologist James J. Gibson (1966) identified six levels of meaning: the concrete (that is, the affordances of surfaces and materials), use (that is, how materials and objects can be used), the meanings of instruments and machines, values and emotional meanings, and signs and symbols. Signs provide meanings through convention by coding cultural ideas and references while symbols have deep meanings that go beyond representation or convention (Arnheim 1969). We learn to appreciate the world for the meanings it contains. We learn to perceive the utility of different patterns of the environment although we make mistakes by misrecognizing them. We learn from mistakes too. We learn to like and dislike different patterns of behavior and the settings in which they occur. Architects structure the world to communicate meanings among themselves and other designers (Chapter 14) and to give an identity to themselves, their clients, and the general public (see Chapters 10, 11, and 12). The physical elements of our world—streets, buildings and vegetation—all have meanings. The meanings we derive are central to our liking or disliking of what is around us. The process is often immediate and subconscious. The processes that generate feelings of delight depend on one’s attitudes and how these attitudes develop and change (Crane and Prislin 2008). An attitude results from a combination of a belief about an object or a process with a value premise about it. The belief is not so much about a defining characteristic but rather an associative characteristic. A defining characteristic of Gothic architecture may be that windows have pointed arches. This characteristic may also be associated with Christian churches. Associated meanings are derived from the relationship of a pattern or patterns of built form to memories and thus to experience. The symbolic meaning of a particular form depends on one’s mental references. Associated meanings are thus culture-bound and potentially individualistic. Balance Theory and cognitive consistency  How people respond to the environment depends on their values. Values define the attractive and repulsive elements of the environment. A simple, but powerful model of cognitive consistency is that of Balance Theory (Heider 1958, Hummon and Doreian 2003).

a

Figure 4.2

b

c

d

Balance Theory

Balance Theory states that if a person has a positive value to a set of ideas, places or experiences (the referent), then that person’s attitudes towards another such set being viewed (the symbol) will be positive provided the relationship between the referent and the symbol is also positive (see Figure 4.2a). The perception of the relationship between the patterns of the environment and the referent is what establishes an attitude towards

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the pattern being perceived. The values associated with the relationships establish whether it is a positive or negative experience. Other consistent attitudinal relationships are shown in Figures 4.3b and c. The values we hold can change over time as we are exposed to new experiences. We attempt to eliminate incongruities by changing our beliefs or values. Inconsistent attitudes (for example in d) lead to a change in values or a denial that the inconsistency exists. We strive for cognitive consistency (Festinger 1962, Cooper and Fazio 1984). Motivations Human behavior is a goal-directed activity that unifies perception, cognition, and action. Motivations organize these processes to enable a person to get out of an unsatisfying situation. Our motivations arise from our needs. Biological or physiological needs motivate us to seek ways to relieve hunger and thirst, to be able to rest, eliminate waste from our bodies, and engage in activities. Other needs have a biological base with psychological, social, and cultural variations. These needs—such as sex, self-preservation, providing succor, and taking care of our body surface—are affected by social or individual factors. Upper order needs arise solely from psychological and social forces and have no apparent physiological basis although they may have physiological consequences. Fulfilling psychological, social, and cultural needs is often as important as fulfilling physiological needs. The perception of a need can be aroused by internal tensions and/or environmental stimuli. We learn to satisfy our needs using the knowledge we have obtained through our social and individual experiences. Our competencies shape our ability to learn new ways of achieving our goals. The importance of a goal and the perceived probability of success in attaining it affect how we act. Motivations thus shape how we attend to aspects of the world and recognize what they afford us. Modes of attention  The processes of perception and cognition involve paying attention to aspects of the world around us as shaped by our motivations. A number of overlapping modes of paying attention to the built world exist. They can be purposeful, casual, and/ or subconscious. They vary depending on whether we are tourists or habitués, and/or observers or creators. Tourists and newcomers are uncertain about the world and look at it in a sharper manner than those people who know it well. They look at what helps them navigate. Habitués pay attention to only enough information to enable them to fulfill other motivations (Thiel 1997). We can examine the world around us for some instrumental purpose—in order to achieve some end such as finding our way, or carrying out an activity such as shopping. We can also examine the world for the pleasure it bring us, for its aesthetic qualities. We designers, as users of the environment and creators of built forms, pay attention to the world around us differently from those people for whom the built environment is simply the background to their lives. When we design buildings or environments, we focus on the visual images of the world, its appearance, because that is what we simulate, or model, in our drawings, whether hand or computer made. We speculate on what people will do in a building when it is completed, and on what it will feel, smell, and sound like to them. Our understanding is biased by our knowledge and also by how we value aspects of it.

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Spatial Behavior Everyday behavior is comprised of activities, interactions with others, and emotional responses to a situation. Activities consist of actions. They are carried out in specific ways and are associated with behaviors such as dining, shopping or courting that fulfill a purpose. Almost certainly they have habitual, symbolic or ritual aspects to them. Responses are in the form of the thoughts and feelings that constitute the subjective nature of an individual. Everyday behavior has a structure that includes people’s personal perspectives on their environments developed by the interplay between them and their social lives. We routinize the world around us to reduce the number of decisions we have to make. We form habits and typify what others will do. If people’s purposes are thwarted they may well feel stressed. They may cope with such situations or adapt to them by changing their actions. If the situation does not change a stressed person may feel exhausted. That is not a pleasant experience.

Buildings as Objects, Spaces, and Environments There are a number of ways in which architects conceptualize the built world. Traditionally it has been in terms of spaces and objects, but it can also be as environments. Spaces are defined to a greater or lesser extent by surrounding surfaces; objects have continuous surfaces and are viewed from the outside. The former are sometimes thought of as rooms, the latter as sculptures. Environments, however, while they may contain objects, surround a person (see Figure 4.3). We can pay attention to the world as an environment or as an object depending on our motivations. Environments One way of conceptualizing our surroundings is to distinguish among its major components: the terrestrial (or geographic), the animate, the social, and the cultural (Gibson 1966). The distinctions are blurry. A culture develops out of the opportunities and limitations of the terrestrial, animate, and social environments. They shape it and are shaped by it endlessly. For instance, the terrestrial environment, as adapted in the form of buildings and streets by people, is very much part of their cultural world. The terrestrial environment refers to the nature of the earth and its processes—its diurnal and seasonal cycles. It consists of gaseous, solid, and liquid components. Solid surfaces allow us not only to move around but also to re-form them to improve the very nature of the terrestrial world—to enhance our lives. Such changes do not necessarily improve the functioning of the terrestrial world. While the terrestrial environment is unique at any point on earth, for most practical purposes we define broad regions with similar climatic characteristic and/or similar flora and fauna. The distribution and nature of seas, hills, valleys, and trees and other vegetation affords some ways of life better than others. The differences in gravity and in air pressure are largely irrelevant for architectural purposes as is the shape of the earth. Fine buildings were created when it was believed that the world was flat.

experiencing architecture

a. Farm and Wilderness Road, Plymouth, VT, USA; a partially manicured natural environment.

c. City Hall, Pasadena, CA, USA (1927) as a space making object; Blackwell and Brown, architects.

e. The Forum, Leichardt, NSW, Australia as an environment created by furniture and surrounding people.

Figure 4.3

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b. Woden Town Centre, ACT, Australia as seen as an object in a panoramic view from afar.

d. Quincy Market, Boston, USA (renovated 1970s) as an environment of objects, spaces, and people. Benjamin Thompson, architect.

f. An opal mine, Chuncheon, Korea as an environment.

Environment, spaces, objects, and people

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The environment that we humans inhabit contains other humans and other species. Many of the behavioral loops among people occur within specific architectural settings on a repetitive basis that serve both instrumental and symbolic functions. These loops form social systems. A social system consists of a number of individuals, their interaction patterns, and the rules (implicit or explicit) of expected modes of behavior (see Chapter 10). They have long been the basis for architectural design as well as the basic material of novels and films. Social systems evolve continuously as human needs are manifested in new ways. To survive, a social system, such as the architectural profession, needs to recruit and socialize new members to its norms and it has to deal with threats to its existence. The construction industry and the architectural profession are part of a network of clients and professionals. In an era of continuing globalization this network is becoming both more unified at the level of international practice and more diverse and fragmented at local levels. One hopes that George Bernard Shaw is wrong in saying that, “All professions are a conspiracy against the laity” (in The Doctor’s Dilemma, I). The Built Environment When architects talk about the physical environment they are sometimes referring to the built world and at others to the whole terrestrial environment. For conceptual clarity, it is better to think in terms of the built environment as an artificial part of our terrestrial world. It consists of the settlements, buildings, streets, squares, and parks that we have created. It is being constantly changed by human endeavours, positive and negative, and by natural chemical processes, abetted by wind and rain (Mostafavi and Leatherbarrow 1993). The built environment consists of differently textured horizontal, inclined, and vertical surfaces. In everyday conversation we, however, talk of floors and walls, illumination levels, and thus pigmented, or colored, surfaces. These surfaces are composed of different materials that afford different uses and meanings for different people. Our lives are conducted within complex sets of surfaces that afford different behavioral opportunities and aesthetic experiences. Objects and spaces  If environments surround us, we see objects or forms, in contrast, from the outside—as sculptures. Rather than enclosing spaces, they sit in space but they may also enclose part of the surrounding space. They are seen as figures against a ground and, conceptually, at least, can be circumnavigated. It is possible to consider the whole world as consisting of objects in space but that way of viewing it requires remaining aloof from, say a city, and looking at it like a bird from the outside as a panorama (see Figure 4.3b). Certainly a building’s configuration and façades can be looked at as objects, but they also form part of the set of buildings and natural elements that form our surroundings. When we walk (or drive) around buildings we examine them as objects, as sculptures. This mode of examination considers building interiors as spaces to be looked at or photographed more than as settings for life. The view of architecture as a set of spaces was promoted by Sigfried Giedion (1963). It is certainly possible to look at buildings as consisting of uninhabited spaces. The argument is that the activities, housed will change over time, but the layout will remain the same. A colorful expression of this attitude is that of Louis I. Kahn, one of the most revered architects of the twentieth century. He suggested that we think of buildings as potential

experiencing architecture

b. Hagia Sophia, Istanbul Turkey (532-7); seen as an object. Isidorios and Anthemios, architects.

a. Palau de les Artes, Citutat de les Artes y de les Ciències, Valencia, Spain (2004-7) seen as an object. Santiago Calatrava, architect.

d. One Canada Square, Canary Wharf, London, UK (1991) as an object in space and space maker. César Pelli and Associates, architects.

c. Sony Center, Berlin, Germany (1995-2000) as an internal open space. Murphy/Jahn, architects.

Figure 4.4

e. Paternoster Square, London, UK (2000-4); Whitfield Partners, master planners. Buildings as space makers.

Buildings as objects in space and as environment makers

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uninhabited ruins, as something to be contemplated. Graham Greene captures this image in his novel A Burnt-Out Case. His character Quarry, an architect, notes: “I wasn’t concerned with the people who occupied the space—only with the space” (Greene 1961). It is a view that separates buildings and the built environment from life. So how should the interiors of buildings and the way buildings make external spaces be considered? One manner that is close to the ecology of daily life is as behavior settings. Behavior settings  The built environment provides the setting for life; it is comprised of behavior settings (Barker 1968, Bechtel 1977, Wicker 1979, Schoggen 1989). Behavior settings consist of a standing, or recurrent, pattern of behavior or activities, and a particular configuration or pattern of the world, a milieu, that coexist for a time period. The same milieu may be used for very different behaviors at different times. When the activity within it changes the milieu will become a part of a different behavior setting. The more ambiguous, or multivalent, the milieu is, the greater the multiplicity of uses that can occur. At the extreme, however, the milieu affords so much that it affords most activities poorly. Two contrasting types of behavior settings are important to architects: localized settings, places, and the links among them. Often the one exists within the other. Localized behavior settings form parts of larger sets; they are part of an activity system or a behavior circuit. Thus the neighborhood shown in Figure 4.5c consists of many behavior settings as does the park in 4.5e and the building in 4.5f. They consist of many places and links. In building design we tend to think of places as rooms and links as corridors. Such thinking narrows the scope of one’s architectural explorations and hampers creative designing. Designing is done by habit. Buildings consist of nested sets of behavior settings and objects (Gump 1971, Le Compte 1974). The design of the interiors of buildings is usually based on assumptions about the variety of standing patterns of behavior that will take place within them. An architect’s concern is with the arrangement of behavior settings and their geographies; interior designers focus on the latter. The urban environment can be considered similarly as comprised of behavior settings. The goal of design is to create the milieu so that it best accommodates desired activities. Failure to do so can stress people. The milieu  The milieu, as noted above, consists of the surfaces that occlude open, infinite space and of illuminations levels (Barker 1968, Heft 2001). Except in outer space, all human activities are, at least, related to the horizontal surface of floors, natural or artificial. The quality of these surfaces is fundamental to their utility as part of a behavior setting. Illumination is necessary for those of us with eyesight to see and who are not color-blind to see the world as pigmented. Different patterns of surfaces of different materials when configured into the furnished milieu afford different activities with different levels of ease and comfort. The milieu is designed or redesigned in order to bound behavior settings and/or internally differentiate them into zones that serve different purposes (see Figure 4.6d). The boundary elements may be real barriers to the flow of actions and information between standing patterns of behavior, symbolic barriers such as changes in floor materials, or simply the distance settings are apart. Real barriers consist of elements such as walls that prevent the movement of people and/or information; symbolic demarcations can be easily crossed (see Chapter 8).

experiencing architecture

a. A behavior setting: a birthday party.

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b. South Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA.

Courtesy of the MUDD Program, UNSW

d. Bay Street, Double Bay.

c. Double Bay, Sydney, Australia.

e. Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia, PA, USA (1913); Paul Philippe Cret, architect.

Figure 4.5

Behavior settings

f. Queen Victoria Building Sydney, Australia (1893-9); George McRae, architect. Restored (1984-6) by Stephenson and Turner and Rice.

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The elements that can be used to divide areas or to support specific activities can be of fixed-features, semi-fixed features, or movable features particularly furniture, but sometimes even walls. Many behavior settings consist of a mixture of features. Their walls, fixed screens, and built in furniture (varying from laboratory tables to lavatories to kitchen equipment) make fixed-feature space. Semi-fixed features include heavy tables and laden bookcases and other not-easy-to-move features such as “moveable” partitioning between settings. The movable items vary from tables to chairs to lamps to potted plants. Bathrooms, kitchens, and areas housing mechanical equipment tend to be entirely fixed-feature space (Figure 4.6a). The furniture of the office other than the chairs (b), the cafeteria other than the tables and chairs (d), and the park seating (c) is fixed. Its arrangement thus shapes the nature of interactions possible because it dictates seatinglocations. Some items such as the table and benches shown in e are fixed but can be moved with relatively ease. They are regarded as semi-fixed. The layout, apart from the bar, in (f) is moveable; the tables and chairs are removed when the room is used for dancing. It becomes a completely different behavior setting.

People and the Environment It is easy for those of us concerned with the design of the built world to fall into the trap of thinking that its configuration—the milieu—determines our social behavior and aesthetic experiences. This view is attractive because it enhances our self-image as social engineers. What we create is, however, a potential environment for human activity patterns and aesthetic appreciation. The effective environment consists of what people pay attention to and use (Figure 4.7). We scan the world in order to perceive those affordances that will enable us to fulfill our needs. We learn the affordances of environments, objects, and processes in a continuously iterative fashion as shown in Figure 4.1. We also forget some. The Concept of Affordance The term affordance was coined by psychologist James J. Gibson (Gibson 1979, Reed 1996, Heft 2001; see also Lang 1987). It is a crucial one for any theory of the functions of architecture. The affordances of a pattern of surfaces and textures of built form are simply what the pattern makes available for people (or other species) to use or interpret. The term has slipped easily into the vocabulary of many architects today because it clarifies the nature of the relationship among the built environment, human activities, and aesthetic judgments. The term is similar in meaning to Louis Kahn’s concept of availabilities and, going back in history, to landscape architect Lancelot Brown’s capabilities. The built world can best be considered to be the afforder of human activities, shelter and comfort, meanings, and aesthetic experiences. The affordances have to be perceived with reference to individual species and their individual members in terms of their competencies, their capabilities, physical and emotional, their motivations (or needs), and what they perceive to be the consequences of any action. Any pattern of the milieu, affords some patterns of behavior and the meeting of some aesthetic tastes more easily than it affords others. Harry Heft (1988) identifies a partial list of the affordances of environmental qualities for children’s activities.

experiencing architecture

a. A bathroom.

c. Park, Mons, Hainaut, Belgium.

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b. Office, Red Centre, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia (1999); Mitchell Guirgola Thorpe, architects.

d. City Bakery, West 13th Street, New York City, USA in 2009.

Photograph by Vivian Romero

e. Rockdale pedestrian mall, Illinois, USA in 1993.

Figure 4.6

Fixed- and semi-fixed feature milieus

f. The Ballroom, Paragon Café, Katoomba, NSW, Australia in 2006.

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a. A potential behavior setting.

b. A behavior setting.

c. A potential behavior setting.

d. A behavior setting.

e. A potential behavior setting.

f. A behavior setting within a behavior setting.

Figure 4.7

Potential and effective environments

experiencing architecture

Table 4.2

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The affordances of environmental features for children’s activities Adapted from Heft (1988) by Vivian Romero (2010) and Jon Lang

ENVIRONMENTAL FEATURES

AFFORDANCES

Flat, relatively smooth hard surfaces

Walking, running, cycling, skating

Relatively smooth slopes

Coasting, running, and rolling down

Graspable, detachable objects

Throwing, digging, drawing, dueling and building structures

Attached objects

Hanging, jumping-on/over and swinging on

Climbable features

Looking out from and passage to other places

Shelter

Providing privacy and microclimate quality

Moldable materials (e.g., dirt and snow)

Constructing objects and throwing

Water

Swimming and splashing

The types of affordances of a material, an object, or any geometric pattern of the environment represent their potential functions. Earlier in this chapter it was noted that the affordances of built forms range from concrete functions to the, often shifting, symbolic values of materials and patterns. As we learn we are not only able to develop broader classification of the affordances of elements but also able to distinguish between finer and finer differences. Architectural historian John James can distinguish the work of individual masons in the building of Chartres Cathedral (1194-1260+) (James 1982). He has learnt to attend to variables that few others notice although they are available for anybody to discern. Some researchers have devoted their lives to discovering the affordances of new configurations of the environment and the way they might be fabricated. Structural engineer Robert Le Ricolais was wont say that his life’s task was to develop “a beam of infinite length and zero weight”. Built forms afford many things from activities to aesthetic appreciation; they serve many functions simultaneously. What they afford for whom depends on what their configurations and characteristics are. Many people will recognize the affordances of the laundering place (Figure 4.8a) but today nobody takes advantage of them. Split Button (b) can be used in many ways. Knowing something about its sculptor and his intentions would enhance its meaning to observers. Few people think of it as more than a curiosity object that is climbable. Steps everywhere are used as seats (c). The ledge in (e) is studded but the man in the photograph has precariously adapted himself to it. The affordances of the environment change by seasons (d). Adults and children can see the affordance for cooling off in fountains (f) but the latter are less inhibited and take advantage of it. Luckily for architects a pattern of built form can afford many functions and similarly a desired function can be fulfilled by many different patterns. Some patterns, nevertheless, afford specific behaviors better than others. The artist George Braque observed that “this file in my hand can be … a shoehorn or a spoon, according to the way I use it” (Braque 1959). A purpose-made shoehorn is, however, designed to function better than a file in assisting people put on their shoes and a file is hardly a good holder of liquids.

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a. A communal laundering place, Flayosc, Var, Provence, France in 2008.

b. Split Button, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA, USA (1981); Claes Oldenburg, sculptor.

c. The Metropolitan Museum, New York City, USA. Photograph by Alexander Cuthbert

d. Grandview Court, Ithaca, NY in summer (above) and winter (below).

e. A ledge, Hong Kong.

Figure 4.8

The concept of affordance

f. PPG Place, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA.

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Sometimes the information picked up via one perceptual system differs from that by another. For instance, a plastic seat cover is often so effectively made to look like leather that it is difficult to visually discern the difference. Touching it usually enables us to perceive it for what it is. Sometimes we simply do not recognize what a material affords us. We slip on ice because we have not recognized its affordances. We might, unknowingly, eat poisonous berries. We are strongly motivated to learn from such experiences! Human Motivations and Human Needs Much architectural theorizing is based on the proposition that the built environment is created to fulfill human needs. A list of human needs was, for instance, the basis for the housing design principles promoted by Hannes Meyer, director of the Bauhaus from 1928 to 1930 (Wingler 1969). Some critics say that human needs cannot be described and that one person’s needs are simply another person’s desires. These observations are worth heeding but closer scrutiny shows that the critics base their comments on the function of architecture on some model of human needs. All buildings are designed to fulfill certain needs, those of their future users, those of the developer, and those of the architects. Architects have turned to a number of different models of human needs to illuminate their thinking about the functions of architecture (for example, Alexander 1969, Georghiou 2009). Despite its limitations, the one most widely used today is that of Abraham Maslow as developed by his colleagues and others (Maslow 1987, Huitt 2004). Maslow suggested that there are two sets of motivations. They are those to fulfill basic needs, and those that fulfill cognitive and aesthetic needs. The motivation to fulfill basic needs, Maslow suggested, occurs in a hierarchical order from the most pressing, or necessary, to the least pressing. That for survival is the most pressing. Less pressing are those, in declining order, for safety and security, for affiliation, for esteem, and for self-actualization. Self-actualization, important though it may be is a lesser need as it is not basic to life. Recent scholars have added self-transcendence to the hierarchy (Huitt 2004; see Figure 4.9). At each level except self-actualization and self-transcendence there are clear correlations with architectural affordances and thus potential functions. Cognitive and aesthetic needs fall into another category. They are advanced needs and thus fulfilling them constitute the advanced functions of built form. At one level of analysis, cognitive and aesthetic needs are present at every level of human motivation. Learning is fundamental to survival and even the poorest person may contemplate an aspect of the world for the pleasure it brings. Certainly, the aesthetic qualities of the environment have much to do with our self-esteem and as a symbol of the groups to which we belong or hope to belong. They can, however, also be appreciated for their own sake. Maslow’s observation is that people seek to fulfill each level of need to a satisficing level (that is, well-enough) before their motivations shift up to fulfill other needs. As in any theory the order of needs fulfillment is a general statement. There are many examples of people who have given their lives for values in which they believe. More curiously to us today, in bygone years European explorers, in order to maintain their identities and feelings of self-worth, have died of starvation when surrounded by indigenous populations living comfortably off the land. In World War Two, Japanese soldiers often committed suicide rather than suffer the indignity of being captured.

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Adapted from Maslow (1987) and Huitt (2004) by Alix Verge and drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 4.9

The hierarchy of human motivations as seen by Abraham Maslow

The Concept of Competence Our capacity to meet our goals is closely related to our competencies—our abilities. People differ in their physical capabilities for actions, intellectual capacities for learning and thinking, their knowledge and how to use it, their social understandings, and their adaptability to changing circumstances. Many human behaviors and aspirations are constrained by competence levels. When it comes to architecture it is certainly easier to consider competencies in ergonomic terms—in terms of human physiological abilities— than in terms of mental capacities. Human beings come in various levels of strength. The frailer we are the more the patterns of built form limit their affordances for us. The highly physiologically competent can carry out activities and actions that others cannot. As shown in Figure 4.10a, there is a mutual relationship between a person’s capabilities and the difficulty he or she has in using the physical patterns of the world. Certain environments are simply too difficult to use, their press on us is too demanding given our level of competence (Lawton 1977). Other environments are so unchallenging that our competencies might reduce to what is demanded of us (Goffman 1961, Lawton 1977). Our cognitive, or mental, capacities also vary. Sometimes, the variations are based on our genetic make-up but much is based on our education. Certainly few people, including many architects, understand much of the architectural philosophising taking place in academia or understand its correlations in the buildings that result from it. Times exist when everybody’s competencies tend to be low. Infancy and childhood maturation requires time. The aging process takes its toll. In illness, competencies decline. In dangerous situations such as when a building is on fire many people panic.

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Our ability to orientate and to find our way varies considerably from person to person in normal circumstances but in panic situations the variations are even more dramatic (see Chapters 7 and 8). The concept of competence applies to organizations as well as individuals (Geboy and Moore 2005; see Figure 4.10b; see also Florida 2002). Their competence level depends on their formal and communal structures (see Chapters 7 and 10), their activity networks and personnel interrelationships, their knowledge and they way they use it, and the resources at their disposal. The physical facilities an organization is able to inhabit are one aspect of its resources. Adapted from Lawton (1977) and Lang (1987); drawn by Omar Sharif

a. Individual behavior.

Adapted from Ceboy and Moore (2005); drawn by Omar Sharif

b. Organizational behavior.

Figure 4.10 The concepts of competence and environmental press

Companies, like individuals, range in competence from being novices to world-class in what they do. The latter can overcome the lack of fit between their activities and the milieu better than ones that are novices. At low levels of environmental press novices can perform well. If, however, the fit is too poor the environmental press exerted on them will lead to under performance. The design of work settings may not be the central concern in shaping the performance of companies but architecture matters. If the environment is too challenging for it to meet its goals a company, like an individual, will be under stress. The Concept of Costs and Rewards Our perceptions of the costs and rewards of being in specific situations are important to architects. The behavior of people is based on their perceptions of the consequences, positive and negative, of engaging in specific behaviors. They thus evaluate the milieu (and more likely, the whole behavior setting, in which they are engaged) in terms of the costs and rewards of being there (Figure 4.11). We have much higher expectations of those settings that are costly to us, either in monetary or psychological terms, than of those that are less expensive. An ideal world, paraphrasing Le Ricolais, would be one in which the costs are zero and the rewards infinite.

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Adapted from Helmreich (1974) and Lang (1987); drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 4.11 The perception of environmental quality in terms of costs and rewards

Habituation Levels and Design Evaluations Our perceptions of the quality of the environments we inhabit are also very much shaped by the expectations we have of them based of what we are accustomed to or have adapted to—their familiarity to us. The new can be a shock (Hughes 1980). It seems that relatively small changes from the norm can be pleasing but major ones take a period before they are seen for what they really afford us. The history of architecture is replete with buildings that were once regarded as dismal or in poor taste and that have become acceptable or even loved after they have been in existence for a number of years (see Figure 14.20). The reverse is also true; much admired buildings have failed to be intellectually robust enough to retain people’s admiration over time.

Cultural Factors in Environmental Experiencing Clear physiological differences exist among different peoples as a result of adaptations to the geographic environments they have inhabited over the millennia. Such diversity in physiological status is important to recognize in an era in which clothes and furniture are traded around the world. Allied to these differences are substantial differences in the cultural patterns that have also emerged over the centuries. The living culture of a society consists of three interrelated elements: its tangible heritage (sometimes referred as the material culture), its intangible heritage of language and rituals, and abstract elements of behavioral norms and values. Their inter-relationships are shown in Figure 4.12. Our cultural background shapes what we pay attention to in our surroundings. Cultures change over time. Today many people worry that the globalization of the world’s investment policies and ease of communications will shape our behaviors and aesthetic values into a similar pattern. In their work architects thus have to deal with the twin tugs of the development of a world order and the forces that strive against it. Architecture exists within a social, political, and economic order and is shaped by it.

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Adapted from Suswanto (2000); drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 4.12 The elements of a living culture

Environmental Experiencing and Architectural Theory Implicit in all architectural theories is some model of how we experience the environment around us. One can trace the history of architectural ideas during the twentieth century in terms of contemporary attitudes to how the world is experienced and decisions made about what is important and what is not. During the first half of the twentieth century the focus of attention was on the environment salubrious and on buildings as art. Many of the architectural elite turned to the art world and its abstract representation of ideas for inspiration. An exciting new visual language for design was developed particularly at the Bauhaus. It was, however, removed from the everyday ecological world of people. The desire to ally architecture with the art world dates back to the late nineteenth century when architects were trying to establish an identity independent of engineers. Architects saw themselves as people with particular sensitivities—as people possessing the “right stuff” and “good taste” (Wolfe 1981). As it is said, most architectural students do not know about their parents’ lack of taste until they start architectural school. The view of architecture as a fine art is promoted by much architectural theorizing and fits in with a popular view in society of an architect. Few people experience the world as a work of art. It can, however, be looked at as an object in that way (for example, Olsen 1986). It is more generous to think of the world as consisting of a set of potential behavior settings than as spaces. It seems close to the way we actually experience the world in everyday life. The ecological model of environmental experiencing as developed by James Gibson and outlined above is an empirical model based on at least a century of study and will be refined, or even abandoned for better models, as our knowledge develops. Even in its present state it offers a strong foundation for asking questions about the functions of architecture (Kaminski 1989, Heft 2001, Georghiou 2009). During the last two decades of the twentieth century, architectural theoreticians became increasingly interested in how different schools of design and different people interpret

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buildings. Following the philosophies of George-Hans Gadamer (2004) buildings were seen as texts to be read. This focus was very much on buildings as objects to be contemplated as intellectual constructs. The approach has continued into the twenty-first century. Contemporaneously to the interest in deconstruction philosophies in architecture, phenomenologists have focused on studying the way we experience our environments. They rely on the analyses of the subjective, conscious awareness of individuals by having them reflect on what they have observed. Their goal is to understand people’s experiencing of environmental elements and the meanings they derive from them. Of particular interest has been the striving to understand what we mean by the phrase “sense of place” (Norberg-Schulz 1965, 1980, 1988, Hough 1990). No clear model of function has, however, emerged from their studies. The limited understanding of how the built environment is experienced, and what functions it does serve, has resulted in many buildings having opportunity costs; they work well-enough but could have worked better if they had been designed in a different way. Many are thoroughly disliked by their users (Michelson 1968, Weaver 2006). They were based on a lack of understanding of the concept of affordances and a self-referential model of environmental experiencing employed by design professionals. Perhaps more than we architects fully recognize, knowledge of how the layout of the environment reflects cultural and social attitudes has increased. Understanding how we experience the world leads to an understanding of how the patterns of built form both afford various human behaviors, physical and mental, and how to design the program, or brief, for future buildings and urban designs. The way in which we do so depends on our beliefs of what the built environment should afford and how those affordances are designed. Creative design involves uncovering and resolving problems not previously addressed and resolving traditional problems in new ways. In architectural practice the affordances of new materials and construction techniques are being recognized. Similarly, the previously unrecognized affordances of traditional materials—stone, brick, glass, and steel—are constantly being uncovered and, often, rediscovered. New forms emerge as a result. We need to understand how they are capable of functioning in context. We need a new model of functionalism. The Maslow model of human motivations provides us with a mechanism for designing a more encompassing model of the functions of architecture than we possess.

Major References Gibson, James J. 1979. The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Boston MA: Houghton Mifflin. Heft, Harry 2001. Ecological Psychology in Context: James Gibson, Roger Barker, and the Legacy of William James’s Radical Empiricism. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Huitt, William G. 2004. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Educational Psychology Interactive. Valdosta, GA: Valdosta State University at: http://chiron.valdosta.edu/whuitt/col/regsy/maslow.html [accessed April 10, 2006].

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Kaminski, Gerhard 1989. The relevance of ecological oriented theory building in environment and behavior research, in Advances in Environment, Behavior and Design 2, edited by Ervin H. Zube and Gary T. Moore. New York: Plenum, 3-36. Rasmussen, Stein Eiler 1959. Experiencing Architecture. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Reed, Edward S. 1996. Encountering the World: Toward an Ecological Psychology. New York: Oxford University Press. Seamon, David, ed. 1983. Dwelling, Seeing, and Designing. Toward a Phenomenological Ecology. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Wicker, Allan 1979. An Introduction to Ecological Psychology. Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole.

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Functionalism Updated

… Critical cultural awareness is cultivated mostly in the social sciences, humanities and philosophy, which modern architectural thinkers never take very seriously. Dalibor Vesely (2004: 5)

The research findings of the past 40 years can tell us much about the functioning of the built environment. To be accessible to architects they must be organized within a clear intellectual framework. The Maslow model of human motivations provides such a framework because human behavior is goal directed. A need, a mental force, motivates people to get out of unsatisfying situations. Buildings function to reduce such situations but also to lift one’s spirits. A diagram showing the functions of architecture based on Maslow’s model of human motivations is shown in Figure 5.1. Although a simplification of reality it is still complex because the functions of the built environment are interwoven. With the exception of the bubble referring to the biological environment, all of them refer to Maslow’s model of human motivations. The manifestations of human motivations in buildings, urban designs, and landscapes have to be seen within a social system. Concepts of equality, justice, freedom of action, liberty, and moral order define the framework within which human motivations are met. The model presented here is divided into two parts: the functions that fulfill basic and those that serve advanced motivations. As the same patterns of built form fulfill different functions and the same functions can be met in a variety of ways, the contents of the chapters of this book overlap.

The Basic Functions of Built Forms Maslow identified certain motivations as the most pressing. The way that built forms afford the patterns of behavior and aesthetic values that fulfill these needs are also the basic functions of built forms. At the top of the flow diagram in Figure 5.1 is the need for survival and thus for shelter. Following it in sequence are the needs for safety and security, identity, and self-esteem. Shelter Functions The greatest human motivation is to survive. To do so a person needs life-sustaining inputs of oxygen, food and water, to be able to sleep, and to move around the evironment to obtain the necessities of life. Architecture provides a filter between the natural environment and people. Buildings are organized to accommodate activity patterns, and maintain temperature levels that make life possible in inclement climates (Knevitt 1996, Roaf 2004; see also Chapters 6 and 7). Providing shelter for activities is basic to all building design.

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Adapted from Lewis (1977) and Lang (1994, 2000); drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 5.1

A human motivations-based model of architectural functionalism

People need to be healthy and, ideally, to be comfortable. Comfort and health are psychological as well as physiological states. People often trade off comfort and health for prestige. The settings required for such activities are related to the function of architecture to provide for safe and secure places. In designing the built environment to function well much depends on what people are accustomed to already—their habituation levels (Helson 1964)—and their aspirations.

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Safety and Security Functions All people, except those whom we regard as mentally ill, seek to avoid being harmed even though some may be high-risk takers. The built environment can be designed to provide safe and secure behavior settings in which people can pursue their lives avoiding to the extent they can both physiological and psychological dangers. The goal of the former is to protect people from the potentially damaging impacts of natural events such as earthquakes and human errors that lead to accidents resulting from fires and the structural failure of buildings or their components, and, sadly, the anti-social behavior of people (see Chapter 8). Nowadays the fear of terrorist activity has brought another dimension to the functioning of the built environment. It is to prevent harm from violent political expressions. The function of open spaces, buildings and building interiors psychologically at this level is even more complex. We need to have control over our environment, to know where we are in space and time—to not be socially or spatially lost, and to have privacy for the behavior in which we are engaged. The layout of the environment seldom functions in a deterministic manner in meeting these needs but it certainly makes a noticeable contribution to our well-being particularly in the attainment of privacy. Every behavior has a level of privacy expected for it within a culture. Privacy involves the control of the flow of information—visual, sonic, or olfactory— about what one (or a group) is doing to others not involved and control over the intrusion of information from the outside world into the behavior setting (Altman 1975). The failure of buildings and, particularly, residential apartments to provide desired levels of privacy is a major contribution to the dissatisfaction that people have with the places they inhabit (see Chapter 8). The security functions of built forms overlap affiliation functions because a sense of security is also obtained through being a member of a group and being part of a stable social order. One hypothesis is that when change is occurring rapidly people feel that they lack control over their lives. As a consequence they attempt to hang on to the symbols of the past. Much Revivalist and Neo-Traditional architecture is sought at such times. All buildings, whether they are public or private, large or small, represent financial investments. For most householders buying a residential unit is the biggest investment decision that they ever make. Buildings function to provide a financial return on capital invested. They need to provide their owners with financial security and a profit unless they are purely philanthropic gestures. (see Chapter 9). It must also be recognized that many people over-invest in buildings to fulfill their desire for esteem. They forego financial gain to bolster their egos in other ways. Identity and Affiliation Functions Our affiliation needs are met by knowing that we are members of a group and a social and moral order. The degree to which individuals need to see themselves as part of a group varies considerably from culture to culture and from person to person. One’s own identity is wrapped up in that of the organizations to which one belongs. The groups are diverse and are based on such common characteristics as kinship, locality, and common interests. The cost to a society of these needs not being met is often high because it can

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result in people feeling stressed, isolated, and alienated. They may withdraw from society and/or engage in anti-social behavior in order to meet their need for recognition. The layout of buildings and urban areas, if designed to afford opportunities for people to meet, helps to create bonds among them. The aesthetic qualities of buildings and building interiors can also act as a symbol of group membership. The ability of the built environment to meet affiliation needs should be neither exaggerated nor denigrated. Coupled with the use of the telephone and the automobile, the development of the Internet has reduced the necessity for propinquity as a factor in group formation. The necessity has, however, far from disappeared (see Chapter 10). Esteem Functions Almost all people need to be held in esteem although many people are so absorbed in meeting more basic needs that they worry little about it. There are two concerns that have design implications: the need to hold oneself in high esteem and the need to be held in high esteem by others. The former is achieved through achievements and the latter by other people acknowledging those achievements. The second does not necessarily follow from the first. To obtain a sense of achievement one needs to be able to master tasks, and to be able to manipulate, organize and own objects, ideas, and time. Buildings and urban designs as displays are important in establishing not only where people fit into a society (although some people seek anonymity) but also for esteem. The characteristics of the environment that have positive symbolic meanings and provide for territorial control over space are important (see Chapters 11 and 12). This function of the built world often overwhelms its other functions in people’s expectations. They want to impress.

The Advanced Functions of Built Form The cognitive and aesthetic functions of the built environment parallel the basic functions. The need to be able to learn and the need to positively appreciate one’s surroundings are fundamental to the quality of life. The concern at an advanced level of human motivations is, however, really for opportunities for continued learning and for intellectual aesthetic ends for the intrinsic pleasure they give rather than for the fulfilling of basic instrumental ends or prestige. Cognitive Functions Continuous learning is necessary to live well. Formal institutions such as schools are important but much learning takes place through the experiences of everyday life. There is a whole universe for people to explore and in which to test their skills and develop their knowledge. The world is a storehouse of information awaiting people’s curiosity. Cognitive needs are thus basic to life and to the good life (see Chapter 13). The layout of the built environment functions to give access to behavior settings that provide opportunities to learn about everyday life, about how the world operates, and about one’s self in relation to it. These functions can serve both instrumental and

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self-rewarding ends. Learning for the pleasure of learning occurs at every age from childhood to old age. It is particularly a characteristic of self-actualized people. To be fully self-actualized a person needs to be continuously motivated to understand, to organize, to analyze, to look for relationships and meanings, and to construct a system of values for its own sake. It is not a motivation to bolster one’s self-esteem, or provide opportunities for self-expression. It is not a need to receive external rewards. It is aesthetic. Aesthetic Functions The symbolic aesthetic function of architecture is important in meeting affiliation and esteem needs. The architectural environment also provides something to contemplate for its own sake and it can be a medium for self-expression (see Chapter 14). At every level of needs fulfillment people sometimes stop to contemplate the environment around them and to enjoy it or not as a result of the contemplation. For some people there is the related cognitive need to understand the aesthetic theory of the building’s architect. George Santayana (1896) referred to this activity as the intellectual aesthetic function of works of art. Intellectual aesthetics involves evaluating a building’s characteristics as “moral and aesthetic judgments of the mind”. To architects who think of architecture as a fine art, this function distinguishes works of architecture from simply buildings. Architecture as a vehicle for self-expression provides for the creative acts of its designers. Here one is referring to the need to create for its own sake. The need is manifested more clearly in arts such as poetry, music, painting and sculpture where there is no specific client whose requirements have to be met. Sometimes architecture functions in the same way, but usually architects are striving to fulfill their client’s needs as well as their own basic needs for professional survival and for self-esteem. Self-actualizing and Self-transendence Functions Self-actualized people are those who are at peace with themselves. They are motivated to seek self-fulfillment and realize their full potential. According to Maslow very few people are fully self-actualized (Maslow 1987). Nevertheless, while most of us are more engaged in striving to fulfill our other needs, there are aspects of everybody’s life that involve self-actualization motivations that transcend our concerns for ourselves. The need to succor others may well be associated with the need to belong to a group or to be held in high esteem by others but it also can be self-fulfilling. Self-transendence involves reaching out to others to help them reach their potential. It can be done for the pleasure of doing so. The built environment if it functions well on other dimensions and provides for people’s cognitive and aesthetic needs well will serve self-actualizing and self-transendence functions well.

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Situational and Cultural Variability The hierarchical ordering of the human motivations may well be universal but the relative importance of each level will vary from person to person, from time to time, and from culture to culture. There are variations by gender, by stage-in-life-cycle and by social status (Rapoport 1990b). It is not simply that activity patterns differ cross-culturally but so do concepts of privacy, territoriality and security, aesthetic tastes, and cognitive styles. Acceptable expressive acts and their manifestations in built form vary considerably across the world. Global architecture has been very much dictated by Western European cultural norms; those of other cultures and even sub-cultures other than that of the educated elite have, with some notable exceptions, been largely dismissed by the architectural cognoscenti. Recognized in music and song, such voices have been little heeded by the mainstream of architects and architectural historians (Lokko 2000). In business organizations, families, and in culturally homogenous countries, although there will be differences among sub-groups of people, the basic behavior patterns can be identified and generalizations used as basis for design. In multi-cultural societies, it is possible to tailor make buildings for specific sub-populations. Whether one should do so or not depends on making moral judgments and the constraints imposed by the marketplace. A Note on the “Culture” of Machines The machines, from air-conditioning to cars, that make our lives easier and more congenial have their own requirements to operate well. Often their modes of functioning are more important than those of their operators. People are frequently more adaptable than their machines. Kyoto Izumi drew a diagram (Figure 5.2) that distinguishes among the types of environments where questions of fulfilling human needs may well give way to the necessity of housing machines well (Izumi 1968).

The Functions of Buildings in Context An important concern for architects, particularly in a litigious world, is the impact of buildings on their surroundings. The impacts take several forms. Buildings can function as economic catalysts and spur the development of surrounding areas or they can do the opposite. They can generate traffic that may have either positive or negative effects on their surroundings. In addition, the way buildings meet the street affects the experiences of passers-by. New buildings can help create or destroy a sense of place. In a more mundane way they can create fire hazards and be dangerous because of inadequate construction or the use of poor materials. New buildings and urban areas, inevitably, have an impact on the biological ecology of an area which may subsequently have a positive or a negative effect on people’s lives. Tall buildings can overshadow surroundings areas and overlook them reducing access to sunlight and reducing the privacy of neighbors. They can channel winds to flush pollutants from city streets, create unpleasant wind tunnels for pedestrians, and/or reflect heat and winds on to adjacent buildings. The list can go on and on.

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Adapted from Izumi (1968) and Lang (1987); drawn by Omar Sharif

a. Refinery, Pusan, Korea.

Figure 5.2

b. New York City, USA.

c. Battery Park City, NY, USA.

Environment types and human and machine needs

Architects act on behalf of their fee-paying clients to maximize those clients’ interests. In a globalizing world with cities competing to attract international organizations, there are twin tugs on public officials and thus on architects. On one hand officials need to provide the type of opportunities that international developers and entrepreneurs seek and on the other the increasing recognition that a series of buildings serving the interests of individual clients seldom adds up to a well-functioning urban environment either aesthetically or in terms of the activities of people.

The Functions of Built Form for Architects Most architects are concerned that their designs meet the requirements of their paying clients satisfactorily but architects also have their own motivations. These vary from the very basic need of economic survival to aesthetic and cognitive needs. The survival of an architectural firm depends on it getting work. Some architects may well rather “die“ than solicit or produce work that does not adhere to their own tastes. They see themselves as only beholden to themselves. More mundanely, the survival of an architectural firm depends on having skills and successfully marketing them. Large firms such as that of Foster and Partners (660 employees with 50 partners in 2006) have to have work rolling in continuously to sustain their practices (Linn 2007). The firm shares and competes in a corner of the marketplace for services with those of other “muscular” high profile architects. To survive architects need to have a niche in the world of professional practice. An important function of designed built form is thus to give an identity to its creator, to

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show where an architect fits in as a service provider, and/or as an artist among other architects. A building serves the dual function of giving an identity to its designer as well as to its owner. These two ends are often mutually supportive although there can be a clash between them. Architects, such as fictional Howard Roark, who fight for the right of self-expression (Rand 1943) are often held in high esteem by other architects and the cognoscenti even though their work may be heartily disliked by its users and/or inhabitants. Artisans construct each building generally taking pride in their work. Many architectural innovations have come from builders. While contractors may seem to be only interested in completing a work at a maximum profit, craftspeople get self-esteem from a job well done. Some architects recognize this function of buildings and embrace craftspeople as co-designers but others see them as the enemy standing in the way of their own efforts to “do things right”.

The Functions of Built Form for Sponsors and Property Developers One of the most important functions of buildings is as a capital investment (see Chapter 9). All buildings have somebody or some organization that is footing the bill. “Sponsors”, an ambiguous term, can refer to people who are lending the money to finance a project or the owners or clients who are proposing a project. Although each may be concerned that a building functions well in a multi-dimensional manner for those who use and/or view it they also have their own economic concerns. Public agencies are often in a difficult situation. While they are ostensibly representing the interests of their clients, there is often a social and administrative gap that keeps agencies and their clients apart (Zeisel 1974, 2006). They are placed in the situation of having to represent their clients’ interests while dealing with their own. One of their needs is to survive. Developers of projects are often seen as primarily concerned with the marketability of a project and with maximizing their profits. Their buildings have to be marketable and have to make a profit but the profit motive often gives way to other motivations. Their need for self-esteem often leads developers to forego profit in order to get their own way. While some developers hold the view that “there is a sucker born every minute” and whose rewards come from sharp practices, most are much more self-conscious about the quality of their work given the segment of the population to whom they wish to sell their products. Banks and lending institutions are mainly interested in buildings as investments. They need to feel assured that loans will be paid with interest and on time. To many homeowners and other property owners, the functioning of buildings as investments is high on their list of priorities. They are prepared to forego high quality on a number of dimensions of importance to them in order for their properties to be easily marketable. Certainly, those clients who hire “signature” architects are interested in increasing the market value of their buildings as much as being a patron of the arts. They seek the value-added component of having a building designed by a prestigious architect.

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Functional Theory and Architectural Theory Most architects continue to differentiate between form and function. It makes little sense. Many also argue that buildings should be designed from the inside out. The outside appearance of buildings is, however, important so buildings are often still designed from the outside in. Communication is an important, if not the important function. A number of major architects have recognized this situation. Buildings are signs and should be designed recognizing their communication function (Venturi and Scott Brown 2004). Buildings survive many changes in use as the instrumental purposes and activities they house become obsolete. What does survive change is the presentation of the building to the outside world in its physical and temporal context. As a result buildings ought to be designed as much from the outside in as from the inside out. Venturi asks why cannot the modern building and a billboard be integrated—the sign and building be one thing? The theory of the functions of architecture and their order of importance presented here enables architects to track changes in the societies of which they are a part and enables them to understand the potential contribution to their own work of the ongoing research about the functioning of interiors, buildings, and the public realm of urban precincts. Architectural theory has been much more concerned with the impact of the environment on built form than on the impact of built forms on the environment. The concern for regarding buildings as part of the evolving biogenic environment rather than something responding to the hostility of nature is recent (see Chapter 1). Architectural professionals and academics have lagged behind the landscape architecture profession and the scientists associated with it, in coming to grips with designing with nature in mind (see McHarg 1969, Hough 1990, 2004, Spirn 1989), but we are catching up (see, for example, Lyle 1992, Smith 2005, Bay and Ong 2006, Walker 2006). Although Maslow’s model is highly suggestive about what is important in architecture there is considerable tension among the various functions that buildings and urban designs serve. How does one create a coherent, viable scheme? How does one reconcile the architecture of structural dexterity, the needs of architects to have successful practices, the requirements of property developers to make a profit, and the needs of sponsors and users when one is looking at representations of proposed realities on a computer screen? Architects have to look ahead and create or synthesize a solution to meet disparate requirements. Each new building is a hypothesis about how to do so. That reality involves sticking one’s neck out. Using a knowledge-based approach to design reduces the possibility of having one’s head chopped off.

A Note on the Function of Building Structures From Vitruvius to the present “fitness for their purpose” of building materials, construction systems and structural methods has been a major concern of architects and structural engineers. Knowledge of how these different systems and materials function and the purposes they serve, although outside the central focus of this book, has been and is essential to the making of a sound, functionally appropriate built environment. We do, nevertheless, trade-off the instrumental functionality of materials and of building systems to achieve other ends such as to be in fashion and to be held in high esteem.

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Major References Florida, Richard 2002. Form and function: a closer look, in The Rise of the Creative Class and how it is Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life. New York: Basic Books, 124-7. Gordon, Douglas and Stephanie Stubbs 1991. How Architecture Works. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Harries, Karsten 1997. The Ethical Function of Architecture. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Zimring, Craig and Sheila Bosch 2008. Building the evidence for evidence-based design. Editors’ Introduction. Environment and Behavior, 40(2), 147-50.

Part III The Functions of the Built Environment: Theory and Practice

Tegel Harbor Phase 1 Housing, Berlin, Germany (1988)

Moore Ruble Yudell, architects and planners.

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The model of functionalism presented in Part II of this book is complex. The goal of this part of the book is twofold. Firstly, it is to start looking at the model in greater detail and also to consider how architects are addressing the resulting issues of concern. Picking up on the division of human motivations presented in the previous chapter, Part III is divided into two parts: Basic Functions and Advanced Functions.

Basic Functions The discussion of the basic functions of architecture begins by looking at how the built environment affords activities. Its opening chapter, The Accommodation of Activities: Behavior Settings and Architecture reviews the range of potential behaviors to be housed in buildings and their cultural relativity. The architecture of globalization may be universalizing but many people have lives that are rooted in local mores. The basic function of buildings has long been to shelter activities. Chapter 7: Shelter and Salubrious Environments describes how the artificial environments that we create function both in providing shelter and healthy settings for life. Today air-conditioning and builtin heating systems are ubiquitous in providing for comfort. Can we afford to rely on these mechanical devices in a future era perhaps not so well endowed with fossil fuels? Even if those fuels are available what are the side effects of using them? What should we do? There are alternatives ways of providing for desired comfort levels that are now being explored in building design. We strive to be safe and secure in our lives. Physical security comes from us being safe from physical harm. Psychological security comes from knowing where we are in space and time and having control of our interrelations with the world—terrestrial and animate. The events of September 11, 2001 made us look at security concerns anew. Our increasing knowledge of cultural differences in defining privacy requirements makes us question how our current international design paradigms deal with our psychological needs. Chapter 8: Physical and Psychological Safety and Security gives an overview of these functions of the built environment. Buildings also represent major capital investments and the people who build and/or own them expect some monetary benefits to accrue from their investments. They want to feel financially secure. This function of buildings is covered in Chapter 9: Architecture, Financial Security, and Profit. At the lower end of the socioeconomic scale, tenure of property is important; at the higher levels financial rewards are sought. It must be remembered that many property developers are prima donnas as much as many architects and often getting their own way is the reward they seek as much as, or more so, than financial profit. The buildings and neighborhoods, or precincts, of cities that we inhabit also tell us something about ourselves, our values, and who we are or whom we aspire to be. They contain “to whom it may concern messages” about our own identities and society’s view of us. Chapter 10: Identity and Community covers this concern and warns us architects not to expect too much of the built environment in shaping a sense of community. Chapter 11: Identity, Individualism, and the Unique deals with the flipside of the coin. Not only are we members of a variety of communities but we also have our own individualities. The degree to which individuality is expressed varies from culture to culture. Certainly many, if not most architects seek a sense of individual identity through their work.

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Social status is important and we are often prepared to trade-off all kinds of benefits in order to possess or inhabit high status, fashionable, and even luxurious environments. Wrapped up with their function in meeting “identity”, “community”, and “individuality” needs is the way buildings display the status of their owners, occupiers, and creators. The mechanisms used to display status vary considerably by culture. These differences and the consequent design issues are covered in Chapter 12: Buildings as Signs and Status Symbols. Different theories of architecture reflect different ideological positions on what we should be doing in design.

Advanced Functions The second section of this part of the book considers the advanced functions of architecture. While the cognitive and aesthetic functions of built form are important for everybody, the advanced functions of the built environment deal primarily with the internalized pleasure of learning for its own sake and with the pleasure derived from self-consciously examining the environment. Providing for learning opportunities as a part of everyday life is an important consideration at a planning policy level and subsequently at an urban design level. The issues are complex. Chapter 13: The Cognitive Function of Architecture: The Environment as a Source of Learning reviews our knowledge of the concerns and the design consequences of attempting to design educative environments for young and old. Buildings and the settings they contain can also be regarded as objects whose composition can give us pleasure sub-consciously or through systematic contemplation. This contemplation can be carried out in a number of ways. The first is simply in terms of one’s own needs, experiences, and aesthetic tastes. In addition, understanding the architect’s story, or reasons for making a building the way it is, heightens our intellectual appreciation of it, positive or negative. The aesthetics of experience arises from the everyday pleasures that we obtain from contemplating the environment as part of daily life and not the artistic ideology underlying a self-consciously designed product. The contrast is discussed in Chapter 14: Experiential Aesthetics and Intellectual Aesthetics. Looking at the artificial environment and its functions in the way outlined here heightens our understanding of its potential richness and how it can function to afford the activities and experiences that make for fulfilling lives. It also provides the framework required to appreciate the variety of approaches to architectural design that were discussed in the opening chapter of this book.

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Basic Functions Photograph by Caroline Nute

Trump Tower, New York City, USA (1983)

Der Scutt, design architect; Swanke Hayden Connell, architects.

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6 The Accommodation of Activities: Behavior Settings and Architecture

Our roles change as we go … from one reality … to another reality. From one setting … to another setting. Count Girolamo Marcello, Venetian patrician, cited in Berendt (2004: 1)

A basic reason for creating buildings and urban designs is to provide the affordances for desired and desirable activities to take place. The perception of what is appropriate depends on the moral order of a society and what is regarded as acceptable within it. As Figure 6.1 shows, the fulfilling of almost everything that we are motivated to achieve involves actions. The diagram also shows that designing to accommodate activities to achieve various ends is a recurring theme in this book. The built environment, it was argued in Chapter 2, consists of a nested set of behavior settings. Behavior settings it was said there are of two types: places and links (Figure 6.2). Places are the sites of localized standing patterns of behavior and links are the channels of movement that draw them into a system that serves some purpose or set of purposes. Links often include important places and paths of movement often cross places. Thinking of the environment in this way frees architects up to think creatively. Many court cases, for instance, are resolved in meetings in corridors and a well-designed courthouse caters for such gatherings (Perin 1970).

Activity Systems as the Behavioral Basis for Architectural Design The behavior settings that a building or urban area needs to accommodate are the basis for any design unless it is intended to be primarily a sculpture. In that case the activities it houses have to be adjusted to the affordances of the physical form. Many of our contemporary designs seem to function in this manner. Designing Programs (or Briefs) for Design Providing shelter may be the basic function of built form, but it is shelter for the activities of life. The designing of the brief, or program, for a new building involves deciding on what set of standing patterns of behavior and their interrelationships need to be accommodated. The task also involves deciding on how tight a “fit” is required between the activities and the form of the building. The decision process needs to be an interactive one involving the architect, the client, the sponsor, and other stakeholders. Arguments about possibilities form the core of the discussion.

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© Jon Lang; drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 6.1 Designing for activities and the issues involved   

    

There are two ways of working. One is based on adapting standard solutions that reputedly work well enough to the case at hand. The activity system is implicit in them. The alternative is to design or identify the activity system explicitly before designing a building (Rowe 1983). The Rouse Hill Town Centre (see Figure 6.3) is an adaptation of the first approach. It is a departure from the standard shopping mall design (see Figure 9.10e). Its design is based on the adjustment of different types. The Centre consists of four “big box” stores at the comers of the site with streets and pedestrian ways lined with shops linking them (Figure 6.3b). At the center is a square with a library (c). Apartment buildings provide for potential eyes on the street (c, e). Some parking spaces for cars are on the streets in a traditional manner (e) but a single underground parking lot covers

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Drawing by Omar Sharif

a. A conceptual diagram of links and places in building. b. A link.

c. A place with links.

e. A place for display used as a link.

Figure 6.2

Places and links

d. This footpath, on D. Naroji Road, Mumbai, India is supposed to be link but it is full of places.

f. A Place. Paley Park, New York City, USA (1967) in the 1980s; Zion and Breen, architects.

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the whole site (f). The developer and the design team made assumptions about what customers would do if the affordances existed based on observations of well-functioning shopping areas and traditional city centers. The design of many other building types is based on standard solutions. The clients of a custom-designed building, however, should be in a position to describe the activities they wish to be able to carry out. Many activities are however, conducted in such habitual ways that people are poor at describing them. Architects, nevertheless, have a good record of designing good milieus (or settings) for clearly worked out activity systems when they work hand-in-hand with the users of buildings. The second generation of inhabitants either uses the milieu in the same way or has to adapt to the layout by using its affordances in new ways for them or they have to alter the layout to accommodate their desired activities. A behavior setting approach to program design  The standing, or recurrent, patterns of activities of people can be highly complex. They consist of the anthropological ergonomics of gross motor skills (that is, movement patterns). They often also include the finer skills involved in the manipulation of machines and other objects and mental activities such as problem solving, interpersonal interactions, and emotional responses. The activities that constitute standing patterns of behaviors serve some purpose usually governed by a set of norms, or cultural expectations. These norms may be formal (that is, according to written rules), or informal or communal ones dictated by the norms of expectations within a culture—familial, commercial, or societal (Gottschalk 1975, Florida 2002). As described later in Chapter 10, non-participants (for example, consultants) can only design formal systems; communal ones grow from within. All organizations require formal systems to operate well whether they are the production lines of factories, the retailing of goods, the operation of a lawyer’s office, or even families. Within such a system it is possible to specify the role of individuals, their places within a hierarchy, and the actions expected of them and consequently what is required of the milieu. Games such as bocce, football, or croquet are examples where not only the rules of conduct for the standing patterns of behavior are prescribed but so is the milieu. Most everyday standing patterns of behavior are, however, governed by the norms of behavior within a culture. Communal systems are important because the passing of knowledge and certainly the development of many ideas takes place in casual conversations among different groups within an organization (Perin 1970, Florida 2002). The informal activity systems required to meet the development needs of any social organization vary considerably but culturally specific expectations affect these activities. They cannot be designed but the potential behavioral patterns can be identified and allowed for in a design. A standard functional goal of design is to create building interiors that allow activities to be carried out efficiently and comfortably. Efficiency has generally been defined in terms of minimizing effort both at the gross motor level (see Figure 3.1b and c) and at the micro level. Thus the distances between closely linked behavior settings need to be minimized and micro-activities need to be carried out with the minimum of effort. The rise of the Internet has reduced the necessity for propinquity among many behavior settings but it remains important if organizations are to prosper (Allen 1977, Florida 2002).

the accommodation of activities

Drawing by Omar Sharif

Collection of Jon Lang

b. Conceptual diagram of links and places.

a. Aerial view.

c. The town square. The library is on the right.

e. Residential apartments, shops, and on-street parking.

Figure 6.3

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d. Library interior.

f. The underground parking.

A Neo-Traditional district shopping center—Rouse Hill Town Centre, NSW, Australia (completed 2008)

CPT Group (Rice Daubney, Allen Jack and Cottier and Group GSA), architects in association with Civitas Urban Design and Planning Inc.; Cundall Services ESD Consultants.

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Identifying the spatial boundaries of standing patterns of behavior correctly is fundamental to design. A boundary is simply where the behavior stops. Sometimes the boundary is obvious and sometimes not. The design objective is to prevent one activity from interfering with another but not to separate those that do not require it. Differing ideological positions exist on where and what the boundaries should be. Much depends on culturally determined attitudes towards privacy (see Chapter 8). Almost all interior designs of buildings are based on assumptions about the standing patterns of behavior that are supposed to take place within them. In writing a brief a number of questions arise: Who makes these assumptions? Who designs, or specifies, the standing patterns of behavior that are required to make an organization function well? Who decides what activities take precedence? These questions are important because the brief for any project is based on the answers to them. They are often answered by default. Generic designs are used. Designing a carefully considered program is a value-laden daunting task (Sarason 1972, Moleski 1977, Hershberger 1999, Peña and Marshall 2002). For complex organizations specialist consultants may well identify/design the major components of the activity system that will form the basis for the design of a scheme. It is often argued that an exact specification is unnecessary. Globalization abets this argument by saying that activities are changing so rapidly that all one needs to do is to create a flexible environment. The empirical reality is, however, that people are stressed if the environment provides an uncomfortable fit for what they are doing.

Issues in the Design of Activity Systems Deciding on the activity system to use as a basis for design can be a volatile process. Different stakeholders often have opposing and difficult to reconcile positions on what it should be. Some participants will be knowledgeable and others not. Some will have experience of alternative systems and others not. Some will be willing to gamble on new ways of doing things and others will be more cautious. Property developers and architects will want to do things their own way. A number of issues will inevitably arise in any discussion about what the brief for a building or urban area should contain. These concerns include questions of the appropriate size for institutions, the way one should deal with the requirements of competing activity systems, the appropriate level of integration and segregation between and among behavioral settings, and how one should deal with cultural variability. The degree of fit required between behavior pattern and milieu, how far societies should go in designing barrier-free environments, and the level of comfort the milieu should provide are additional concerns. The list could go on. Organizational Design and Activity Patterns A factor in deciding on the standing patterns of group behavior to use as basis for design is the appropriate number of people required to sustain the activities needed to achieve a specific purpose. In nautical terms, the question is whether the settings are properly “manned” (Barker and Schoggen 1973, Wicker 1979). Too few people means that those

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involved have to work extra hard to sustain the activity; if there are too many people, some become non-participants. They withdraw or get shoved aside. In the design of institutions such as schools and religious facilities or even businesses, large organizations generally offer many different choices, services and specializations; the smaller ones give fewer choices but more opportunities for participatation. The reason is simple. Large and small institutions require almost the same minimum number of settings to make them operational. In a large school the options available to students can be substantial but the principal is unlikely to know all students. In a small school, children are “coerced” to participate in a multitude of activities: the school’s sports teams, debating society, and the school play in order for the school to survive as a lively educational place. Pupils will also be known by all the teachers and thus held more accountable for what they do (Barker and Gump 1973). Institutions have been getting larger to be economically efficient. To reduce the possibility of participants being side-lined large organizations need to be divided into smaller units in which all the participants have a role. In many urban environments with relatively few behavior settings given the size of their populations, many people are anonymous and others are non-participants in civic life (Barker and Schoggen 1978). The danger is that they become alienated. One argument for the continued need for dividing cities into smaller identifiable precincts is to enhance the sense of community and the ease of access to supportive services (Madanipour 2001; see also Chapter 10) Human and Competing Activity Systems We humans use an extraordinary variety of machines in our everyday lives. They range from modes of transportation and communication to computers and household equipment. Kyoto Izumi (see Figure 5.2) distinguished among the types of environments where questions of fulfilling the requirements of human activity patterns may well give way to the demands of machines. Similarly, the lives of elements of the natural world, in particular the activities of animals and insects and what is required to sustain them can conflict with human desires. They require specific ecological niches to survive well. In India and South Africa where the natural habitat of monkeys and baboons respectively has been substantially eroded in urban areas, the animals invade houses in the search of food. They become a nuisance to people. Rats, mosquitoes, and flies carry diseases, moles wreck lawns, monkeys and raccoons steal food, and ibis raid rubbish bins; pigeons create a mess. They are regarded as pests. Rats, pigeons, and urban cows are, however, tolerated and indeed venerated in some places. Monkeys, raccoons, possums, and migrating birds enrich our experiences. Imagine an urban world without songbirds! (Carson 1965) How do we cater for their activity patterns and ours simultaneously? By designing with nature in mind (McHarg 1969, Spirn 1989, Hough 2004). Do we care? The Segregation and Integration of Activities The integration, overlap or segregation of behavior settings will be discussed a number of times in this book because they raise issues of safety, privacy, learning, and social cohesion. There are two inter-related scales of design concern for activity systems per se: the urban precinct level, and the interior architecture level.

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Precinct patterns  At the precinct level the generic design types that address the issue are the superblock, the vertically segregated zone, and the woonerf. In the superblock the vehicular traffic is kept outside a precinct and the interior is pedestrianized. A similar solution is to divide pedestrians and vehicles in vertical rather than horizontal space (see Figure 6.4). The woonerf is different. Pedestrians and vehicles use the same space. There are many superblock designs. The plan for Fort Worth although never implemented, has become a generic solution to the possible conflict between people driving cars and pedestrians in the center of cities (Gruen 1968; see Figure 6.4a). A ring road with parking garages off it provides access to a pedestrian core. Darling Harbour in Sydney is similar (Figure 8.1c). The Radburn plan for a residential area (Stein 1957; see Figure 10.6a) and the pedestrian pocket proposals (Kelbaugh 1989, Calthorpe 1993; see Figure 13.4a to c) have a similar objective. The University of Illinois, Chicago campus (6.4d) and La Défense outside Paris are designs where the movement of cars and pedestrians is segregated vertically. The neighborhood unit concept is based on images of the activities that take place in a residential area (Perry 1929, Madanipour 2001; see Figure 10.5). In its application at Radburn there is a partially segregated circulation system. The woonerf design, in contrast, assumes that playing children and moving vehicles can co-exist. Indeed children playing in the cul-de-sacs of Radburn (because they perceive the affordances of its hard ground surfaces for many games) made them into woonerfs before the term was coined. Radburn has proven to be much loved by its inhabitants. Its patterns afford many activities for young and old and it has the symbolic aesthetic characteristics that enrich lives (Stein 1957, Birch 1980; see Chapter 10). In a number of traditional societies the patterns of circulation for men and women were segregated in time and/or space. In the old city of Ghadāmis, Libya, only women were allowed to use the streets (Figure 6.5d) in the early morning and early evening. For the rest of the day the streets were men’s territory for movement and gathering; women then moved around the town, sometimes somewhat precariously, along the roof tops (6.5e). Interior design  The issues of circulation systems and the adjacencies of behavior settings are common in interior design. A number of building types have dual circulation systems, each being the territory of one set of users. Hotels have one circulation system for those who operate the hotel and another for guests. Houses for the wealthy have their front-stair and their back-stair areas. Theaters (for example, Figure 6.5a) have a clear circulation system in their back stage area and another in the front of stage area. Many offices dealing with the public have their in-front-of-counter and back-of-counter zones (6.5b and c). The degree to which activity patterns should be segregated from each other has long been a design issue. Frank Lloyd Wright used an open plan in the design of the Larkin Administration building (see Figure 6.9a and b). Le Corbusier was a strong advocate for the free plan (Figure 6.6a). In the landscape, or open, plan for offices or schools, behavior settings are divided by low partitions up to chest height (b and c) not walls. They have differing links for visual contact and for movement. The design type was promoted to ease communication between behavior settings and is still widely used. The flow of sound has long been a concern (Blake 1977). In some places the type has been a success (d).

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Source for a and b: Gruen; © 1964, 1992. With permission of Simon and Schuster, Inc.

a. The Fort Worth plan, Texas, USA (1968); Victor Gruen and Associates, architects.

b. Fort Worth plan, ground floor view. Collection of Jon Lang

c. An underpass, Boulder, Colorado.

d. The University of Illinois at Chicago Circle (1963+); Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, architects.

e. Internal mall, Minneapolis, MN, USA; a skyway link to a facing building is in the rear.

Figure 6.4

f. Concourse level, Rockefeller Center, New York, USA, an underground circulation system.

Designing for the efficient (and safe) movement of pedestrians and motorists

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© Barton Myers Associate, Inc.

b. The Housing Development Board offices, Tampines, Singapore (1994); HDB, architects.

a. The Center for the Performing Arts, Cerritos, CA, USA (1993); Barton Myers Associates, Inc., architects.

c. The Caixa Forum lobby, Madrid, Spain (2009); Herzog and de Meuron, Architekten, architects.

d. A street, Ghadāmis, Libya.

Figure 6.5

Dual circulation systems

e. Roof top circulation “paths”, Ghadāmis, Libya.

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In others it does not matter (for example, in e). Today with many workers coming and going in a more casual manner, they have hot seats (f) and no specific offices (see also Chapter 8 on privacy). Many social organizations are undergoing change. Roman Catholic churches have traditionally consisted of a number of basic behavior settings: gathering places, links for processions and for worshipers moving about the church, congregational places, choir stalls, altar-table activities, and baptismal rituals. Basilica type churches afford preaching very well but since the changes instigated by Vatican Council II, group liturgical worship demands a different configuration. Designing a good setting for both preaching and for group participation is not easy (Hackett in progress). Congregations adapt. Changing a Catholic cathedral into a mosque requires even more adaptations (see Figure 10.13c and d). Stage in life cycle and the segregation and integration of activities  Over the past 50 years a number of changes in the social and economic organization of societies—the increased length of childhood, the desire of adults to lead individualistic lives of high mobility— have led to an increasing segregation of activity patterns and a decreasing amount of social interaction among people at different stages in their life cycle. Special facilities are designed to cater to each stage. The elderly (actually only a tiny percentage) move to retirement communities, the young have specific places of entertainment, and so on. In houses, children may have their own areas. Since the 1960s a number of observers (for example, Parr 1969) including psychologists (for example, Sarason 1972) have wondered if the segregation of activities by age group lies behind many social ills particularly juvenile delinquency. The correlation between such segregation and social ills certainly exists but a causal linkage between the two has not been established. Indeed the degree of segregation of people of various ages may have decreased in countries such as the United States over the past two decades. Cultural Variability The way business is conducted and how daily activities are carried out are all culture dependent (Altman and Chemers 1980, Cole and Lord 2003, Rapoport 1969, 2004). It is the residential environments in which the differences matter most but business organizations have their own cultures embedded within the broader norms of a society. House form and culture  In a pioneering series of studies Amos Rapoport identified six major aspects of culture that are reflected in the interior layout of dwellings (Rapoport 1969, 1990a, 2004). They are the way basic day-to-day activities that sustain a household are carried out, the structure of the family (whether extended or not), gender roles, the processes of social intercourse, attitudes towards privacy, and in parallel, attitudes towards social status. Today the degree of home centeredness of work and the nature of new household types are additional concerns. Of particular importance in all societies is the privacy accorded various activities and, in some cultures, the spiritual significance associated with them. These themes are developed in later chapters of this book. It will have to suffice to say here that the roles of women and men, and the image of what a child is, have considerable impact on activity patterns and thus the layout of houses.

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© ERG, Philadelphia

Photograph by Djana Alic

a. Interior, Villa Savoye, Poissy, France (1927); Le Corbusier, architect.

Collection of Jon Lang

c. Modular open-plan office layouts dominate the scene in the United States.

b. Proposed interior for ARCO, Philadelphia, PA, USA; Interspace, Inc, interior designers, ERG programming consultants. Photograph by Walter Moleski

d. The National Humanities Center, North Carolina, USA (1973); Hartman-Cox, architects, ERG programming consultants.

Photograph by and courtesy of Robyn Twomy

e. Terminal 4, Heathrow Airport, London in 2006.

Figure 6.6

f. “Hot desk” accommodates the coming and going of workers.

Interior landscape, free-plan, campus-plan, or open-plan design

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Gender roles are constrained to some degree in all societies. In traditional Indian houses of both Hindus and Muslims, separate entrances to houses were provided for men and women. The internal courtyard ameliorated climatic conditions through the creation of venturi effects, but also served as an outdoor space for women (P. Thomas 1975). The activities of men and women and senior and junior members of the household dictated who was allowed to use what space. The fulcrum of the house was the dining area. Here, in the past men would have eaten first followed by women and children. Today families tend to eat together (Rapoport and Watson 1972, Lang et al. 2009). The unfurnished room may be the same as in the past, but it is furnished and used differently now. Five twentieth-century house plans in India are shown in Figure 6.7. Three (a, c, and f) were designed within the social framework of Hinduism. They are houses of the wealthy; another (e) is for lower income families. The first (a) has a segregation of people by gender and role; those in (c) and (f) show that these differences have largely disappeared for the middle class. In these homes there is also no separate entrance for dalits—“untouchables”—to enter and clean the lavatories. In (e) the bathroom and lavatory are poorly located for Hindus but at least they are separated from the kitchen. The rooms including the entrance hall can be used in a number of ways. The British colonial official’s bungalow (b) was very different but was a fine fit for the highly socially constrained status-based behavioral patterns of its occupants (King 1995, Lang et al. 2009; see also Chapter 12). In some societies, individual rooms in a housing unit are allocated to specific activities but in many countries rooms other than those with fixed features (that is, bathrooms and kitchens) serve a multiplicity of purposes over the course of a day, a week, and a season. One room may serve as a daytime living area and then be a sleeping area at night. For the poor one room dwellings are the norm. Life spills out into the external spaces such as the street. One defining cultural difference is whether activities are organized around people sitting on the floor or at tables (see Figure 6.11c). In one culture business activities may take place at desks with people seated on chairs; in others, people may be seated on the floor with desks with no legs in front of them. In traditional homes in places such as India and Korea many activities take place with people seated on the floor. In the latter country where winters are cold, artificial heating warms the floor. When activities take place seated on the floor, windows sills need to be low to enable people to see out. The attitude towards the appropriate reception of guests is manifested in the way houses relate to streets and where entertaining takes place in the house. How far can guests and other visitors penetrate into the housing unit? Threshold locations vary by culture (see Figure 6.8a). In unit design, much depends on where cooking takes place in relationship to guests and what rooms are regarded as private to the family (b). In middle class homes, is it appropriate for people to enter directly into a living room from the outside or should there be a welcoming vestibule? Much depends on cultural attitudes (c). Some locations in a home have culturally based significances (Zeisel 1974). As a result the ergonomically most sensible way to carry out an activity is often not the way that serves householders well. In traditional homes in Europe and North America families

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Collection of Jon Lang

Source: Bhatia (1994: 37)

b. British officer’s bungalow, New Delhi (c. 1920). a. A traditional haveli plan. Source: Bhatia (1994: 47)

d. Sarabhai House: a view from the swimming pool (above).

c. Sarabhai House, Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India (1957); Le Corbusier, architect.

e. Social housing, New Delhi (1950s).

Figure 6.7

House form and culture: India

f. A modern house, Chennai (2000).

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entertain friends in the living room while the wife may be working in the kitchen. An apartment layout for this organization is shown in Figure 6.8b(i). Where men are doing some of the cooking and women are also part of the social activity the absence of a wall between the living room, dining room and kitchen works well (see 6.8b(ii)). For families where entertaining takes places in the kitchen and where the living room is a revered place for the display of family icons and off-limits to visitors, a better layout would be that shown in 6.8b(iii). Architects often find themselves confronted with ways of life that differ significantly from their own and may seem stupid to them. Social reformers and architects thought that the seldom used parlor of low-income British families to be a waste of space (Darley 1978). While they have an obligation to bring their clients’ attention to new ways of carrying out activities, the most efficient way is not necessarily the one most desired. It does not fit in with preferred ways of life. In many countries family organizations are undergoing significant change (Franck and Ahrentzen 1989). There are now many more single-person households than before in countries such as the United Kingdom and the United States. In many economically developing countries the nuclear family is replacing the extended as the norm. Catering for the frail elderly then becomes a societal not solely a family concern and housing for the elderly becomes a new building type. At the same time the search for community has resulted in various co-housing movements (McCamant and Durett 1988; P. Williams 2005). Groups such as single-person households and cooperative and communal housing groups have activity patterns that fit neither conventional paradigms of behavior nor unit types. In practice architects have produced many thoughtful schemes for these groups provided they have direct contact with them in the programming phase of design. The Hubertus House in Amsterdam (1973-8) designed by Aldo Van Eyck for single parents (that is, mothers) and their children is a well-known example (Hertzberger 1982). Not only families but businesses have been going through substantial changes in the way they are organized and work is done. These changes have major interior architecture implications. Organizational cultures and floor plans  Commercial organizations have a variety of cultures (Steele 1973, Moleski 1986, Abel 2000, Florida 2002). The interaction patterns in some organizations are highly autocratic and formal, while others are more democratic and less formal. The interior architecture and room geography of an organization depend on how it operates and how it presents itself to itself and to the outside world. The autocratic are seen to be more efficient because they possess a clear hierarchy of authority. Decisions are made at the top and carried on down the hierarchy in a series of formal steps. Each person in such a system has a clear set of obligations and thus both space requirements and the architectural symbols denoting status. The formal hierarchy of the personnel in the organizations shown in Figure 6.9a, b, and d is clear. The situation is more ambiguous in (e), a legal firm. This last layout was a deliberate response to its management wanting people visiting it not to know the level in the hierarchy of the firm of the lawyer they were meeting. The layout shown in (f) is also different. It is for a community of scholars with “cells” for individual research and communal spaces for discussion and socializing (see also Figure 10.3a). Today, in many

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Adapted from Rapoport (1977) by Omar Sharif

a. Approximate threshold location of single family homes in three different cultures.

Adapted from Zeisel (1974) by Jon Lang; drawing by Omar Sharif

(i)

(iii)

(ii)

b. Zones of penetration and apartment layout.

Adapted from Brolin (1976) by Omar Sharif

(i) Danish home.

(ii) Anglo-American home.

c. House entrances in two different middle-class cultures.

Figure 6.8

Zones of penetration and residential unit design

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offices flexible hours signal an abandonment of the “command and control management mode” (Alistair Gordon cited in Florida 2002). The layouts of the internal spaces of firms become more fluid (Florida 2002, Becker 2004; see Figure 6.6f). Room geography and culture  Room geography deals with the nature and layout of furniture—the internal organization of a behavior setting (see also Chapter 8). The placement of doors, windows, built-in furniture and the overall proportions of a room— the fixed features—constrain the organization of the furniture in a room and thus the way people can relate to each other in it. Humphrey Osmond distinguished between furniture arrangements where eye contact is easy to establish and those where it is not (Osmond 1966). He labeled them sociopetal and sociofugal spaces (see Figure 6.10). Sociopetal layouts are those in which face-to-face contact is easy to maintain and seating arrangements are at a socio-consultive distance (see Figure 8.11). Sociofugal layouts are those in which such contacts are easy to avoid. Back-to-back seating arrangements are an example. Each is appropriate in specific circumstances (Osmond 1966). The serpentine pattern of the seating in Barcelona’s Parc Güell designed by Antoni Gaudí i Cornet provides park-goers with a choice. The concave arrangement of the bench affords easy communication among up to six or so people; the convex ones afford privacy (see Figure 6.10f). The placement of windows and doors in a room very much affects the furniture arrangements possible. Windows are a source of illumination; doors serve as threshold, provide a sense of arrival, and control. For meeting rooms the ideal layout is with the table perpendicular to the source of light. The light illuminates the faces of people sitting around the table. The person chairing the meeting can choose whether to have his or her face exposed to the light or shadowed by it; the latter is the more socially powerful position. There are many cultural variants. Business conversations between two people, for instance, in some cultures may take place across desks and in others side-by-side (Joiner 1971). Much the same observations apply to plazas and squares for they are really outdoor rooms. The location and nature of the seating, the direction of and nature of illumination and breezes all afford specific experiences and opportunities for interaction and aesthetic appreciation (Whyte 1980, Cooper Marcus and Francis 1990, Carr 1992). Gender, personality, and cultural differences shape the choices people make as to where to sit. Precinct level design and culture  Implicit in any precinct design are assumptions about the expected activities of its inhabitants. Current debates focus on such cultural issues as which groups of people are of central concern and the nature of activities expected to be carried out at different stages in people’s life cycle by men, women, adolescents, and children. The diversity of activity options that should be provided, and, more generally, on what uses and building types the precinct should contain are common issues. In residential area design the particular focus is often on the activities that afford the development of a sense of community (see Chapter 10). The neighborhood unit idea for residential areas has already been mentioned. It was based on perceptions of nuclear family life for the “motor-age” in the United States but has been widely applied across the world sometimes adjusted for the norms of behavior within a society and sometimes not. Similarly, models for the design of

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Collection of Jon Lang

Collection of Jon Lang

a. Larkin Administration Building, Buffalo, NY, USA (1903-5); Frank Lloyd Wright, architect; plan above. © ERG, Philadelphia

c. Proposed interior layout for an oil company, Philadelphia, PA, USA (1980). Typical floor Plan; Interspace, Inc. Interior designers.

b. Larkin Administration Building, interior.

© Foster and Partners

© Hartman-Cox, architects

d. Hearst Tower, New York, NY, USA (completed in 2005); Foster and Partners architects. © Hartman-Cox, architects

f. The National Humanities Center, Research Triangle Park, North Carolina, USA (1978); Hartman-Cox, architects, ERG programming consultants.

e. Proposed law office building, Washington, DC, USA; Hartman-Cox, architects. ERG programming consultants.

Figure 6.9

Management organization, activities, and floor plans

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Collection of Jon Lang

Collection of Jon Lang

b. A sociopetal table arrangement. a. A sociopetal seating arrangement.

c. Sociofugal space: waiting area, Heathrow Airport, London, UK.

d. Sociopetal space: 3/1c Christie Street, Wollstonecraft, NSW, Australia.

e. Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia, PA, USA (1913); Paul Philippe Cret, architect.

f. Serpentine seating, Parc Güell, Barcelona, Spain (1900-12); Antoni Gaudí i Cornet, architect.

Figure 6.10 Room geography, sociopetal, and sociofugal settings

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commercial areas have to be adjusted to the modes of transportation that form the basis of a society. The increasing use of cars as the fundamental mode of individual mobility is a universalizing tendency. Compact cities, such as those of Europe and the traditional cities of Asia, provide for many different activities at an easily walkable distance. In such places access to mass transit systems is financially easier for governments to provide. While much loved by some people they are also the types of environments many others wish to escape. In Sydney Australia only 30 percent of the population seeks such environments. The remainder seeks free-standing houses on individual plots. Increasing development costs are leading to increasingly cramped building sites, but the demand remains. The freedom of movement afforded by the automobile is hugely popular. People want to drive to the destinations of their individual choice when they so desire. Designers have yet to fully come to grips with the car. Populist politicians have been closer to understanding people’s desires. They press for more roads and high-speed highways. Yet the heavy reliance on the car in many suburban developments makes for traffic jams and the provision of services very difficult. Cultural variability, globalization, and activity patterns  When observers refer to the westernization of cultures, they are primarily referring to the modernization of activities. There has indeed been a general change in activity systems from those that require the exertion of effort towards modes that are easier. Cars replace the motorcycles that replace bicycles that replace shank’s mare. Patterns of behavior and aesthetic tastes are influenced by the international media. Films, television, and the Internet make people aware of how others live. Magazines specify what are fashionably acceptable activities and the fashionable settings for them. In an age of globalization there are also global people although the degree to which they are “globalized” should not be exaggerated. There are, nevertheless, a noticeable number of generally wealthy people who are international and expect their environments to be international (Olds 2001). They want to feel at home everywhere not through having learnt different behavioral patterns for different circumstances but because they want the standing patterns of behavior and the milieu to be the same everywhere. Colonists started the process centuries ago. A hotel chain boasts that there are no surprises in their hotels; they are the same whether in New York, Dubai, or Lagos. Lobbies, bedrooms, bathrooms and coffee shops are the same. Local, vernacular items of furniture or wall decorations may locate the hotel in its geographic setting. The same observation can be made for residential environments and shopping centers. Often the universal is accepted as being of high social status (see Chapter 12). Many societies wish to be both modern and traditional at the same time (Abel 2000, Lim 2001). There has been considerable interest, for instance, in the resuscitation of traditional theater and music but in modern air-conditioned settings. In contrast there is also the desire for such activity patterns to be housed in traditional settings. The Kalakshestra Theatre in Chennai, India is an example (see Figure 7.5d). It was also, in opposition to globalizing forces, designed with the Tamil Nadu climate in mind.

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The Degree of Fit between Patterns of Behavior and Patterns of the Milieu Roger Barker wrote about the “synomorphy” between a standing pattern of behavior and its milieu (Barker 1968). In the design fields we talk about the degree of “fit” that is required between an activity and the built form designed to house it. How tight should the fit be? How “barrier-free” should the environment be? How comfortable should the behavior setting be? A basic question is: How multi-purpose should a design be? Should a baseball stadium be able to accommodate football as well? Should a high school hall be a gymnasium as well as a theater? It is after all more efficient in terms of the frequency of use of a space and as a financial investment for them to be so. Yet often the multipurpose facility, although it affords a variety of activity patterns, accommodates none well. There is now a tendency, as begun at Oriole Park at Camden Yards in Baltimore, Maryland (1989-92), to design more tailored-made facilities. The stadium, designed by HOK Sport for watching baseball games well, was greeted with “euphoria” (Amy Jinkner-Lloyd cited in Shore 1996: 108). Some activities require tight fits—built forms and materials being precisely designed to house specific activities—and others less so. The more precise the activity the tighter the fit generally required between it and its milieu. Form, in this context, usually applies to equipment and furniture rather than room dimensions. The cockpits of racing cars may be designed to the specifications of individual drivers, but in the environmental design fields such a tight fit is seldom required. We often need to design to accommodate all and sundry (Kroemer 2005). Loose fits accommodate change but how loose should loose fits be? Ergonomics and Anthropometrics Anthropometrics and ergonomics are the fields of study that deal with human physiological capabilities and activities, and the requirements of the milieu and of the furnishings and equipment it contains. Anthropometrics, the study of the dimensions and capabilities of the human body and ergonomics, the study of work places to minimize worker fatigue, have provided many data about the relationship of built forms and human capabilities (Granjean 1973, 1983, Kantowitz and Sorkin 1983, Tillman and Tillman 1991, Henry Dreyfus Associates 2002, Kroemer 2005). The data include the specific actions, body postures, and movement patterns of an individual or people involved in an activity, the levels of illumination needed to see properly and the comfort levels required for efficient work (see Figures 6.11 and 6.12). Some of the sources of information on the topic are specific to building and room types (for example, Alexander Kira on the bathroom, 1976); others are more general. The studies also bring attention to the wide array of people for whom one has to design: “small and big persons, disabled and the elderly, expectant mothers and children” (Kroemer 2005) in various cultures (see Figures 6.11c and d). Some measurements such as the space required for parking cars are almost universal (e). Ideal designs from an ergonomic viewpoint (for example g) may not be successful in the market place while some that are not ideal are widely praised (f). Psychological needs such as that for privacy are often as important as physiological needs in determining subjective feelings of comfort. It is easy to underestimate the amount and nature of space required to carry out behaviors comfortably.

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. An example of the anthropometric data available to designers. Source: Rapoport and Watson (1972); courtesy of Amos Rapoprt

Drawing by Omar Sharif

b. A workstation layout. Source: Rapoport and Watson (1972); courtesy of Amos Rapoport

d. Standard European table requirements.

c. Traditional Indian eating patterns.

Collection of Jon Lang

e. A parking lot, almost anywhere but this one is in Tripoli, Libya in 2009. Adapted from Kira (1976)

f. A clash between ergonomic requirements and fashion.

Figure 6.11 Anthropometrics and ergonomics

g. A squat water closet based on ergonomic requirements.

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Activities and illumination level  For people who are not blind the patterning of light and lighting serves both physiological and psychological functions (Gropius 1962, Hayward 1974). The illumination requirement in the design of behavior settings is to be able to see what one does with clarity. Light is needed to see the layout of the environment, the details of other people’s faces, books and signs at various distances, and colors (or, if one is color blind, shades). The need is to have enough light to see the environment and objects within it without ambiguity and without strain. The finer the work we engage in the higher the level of illumination required but dazzle has to be avoided. Dazzle arises when the contrast levels of adjacent surfaces or the absolute levels of light are too high and the reflectance off surfaces is severe. Looking at a person or object against a bright light, a highly illuminated wall near a dark floor, a dark object on a light background or highly polished machine parts can subject a person to dazzle (Kroemer and Grandjean 1997). For a behavior setting to be comfortable light contrasts need to be low. At the same time we can use difference in levels of light to act as boundaries of behavior settings. In shops, for instance, light is often used to differentiate among displays, and channels of movement. Illumination can come from both natural and artificial sources. The degree and distance that natural light penetrates the interior of rooms depends on the location of the sun in the sky (which depends on the latitude of a locale, the season, the weather, and time of day), the location and nature of skylights and windows, and the patterns of their reveals. Exterior illumination is much brighter nearer the equator than towards the poles and the greater the distance from the equator so the greater the variability between the daily amount of sunlight in summer and winter. The quality of light from the north differs substantially from the south even in the tropics. The illumination in Figures 6.12a and c is fine for the activities taking place but is not sufficient for diamond cutting (b). Small windows provide fine illumination to interiors in hot-arid climates (d). In Ghadāmis, Libya the shaded parts of the street can be as much as 20°C cooler than in the sun (e). In addition, the nature, color, and intensity of light, makes important contributions to the aesthetic effect of a building’s interior (h). The key edifice of the Rockefeller Center complex in New York, the RCA Building, was shaped by the assessment that all rentable space in the building had to be within 30 feet (9 meters) of windows (Balfour 1978; see Figure 6.12g). Designing for natural light remains a major architectural consideration. Nowadays, however, buildings rely more on artificial sources of illumination than in the past. Floor plans of commercial buildings thus tend to be much larger than that of the RCA Building. There is often a clash between providing sufficient light and the impact of glazed areas on metabolic comfort levels. Large glass windows can act as radiant heaters in summer and radiant cooling devices in winter. They can also have a number of unanticipated effects on their surroundings. Curtain wall and reflective glass buildings, for instance, reflect light and can cause glare. This phenomenon becomes a design issue when the glare is cast into automobile drivers’ eyes or when it increases the heat loading on adjacent buildings. The proposed angle of the Gateway Building in Sydney, Australia had to be changed to avoid anticipated rogue glares from the sun getting into the eyes of drivers on the adjacent expressway. Although not an issue of rogue glares from glass surfaces, in 2005 the Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles ran into similar problems (see Chapter 15).

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. The Australian Center for the Moving Image, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia.

c. Night scene, Suwon, Korea.

b. Lighting for the precision work of diamond cutting.

d. Udaipur, Rajasthan, India.

e. A street, Ghadāmis, Libya.

Drawing by Thanong Poonteerakul

f. The Ahmedabad Management Association Building, Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India (1990s); HCP architects.

g. RCA Building, Rockefeller Center, New York, (1934); Raymond Hood and others, architects.

Figure 6.12 Activities and illumination levels

h. Lighting and ambience. The Contemporary Arts Center, Cincinnati, OH, USA. Zaha Hadid, design architect.

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a. People handicapped by stairs.

b. A sign showing that the wheelchair entrance is at the back of the building.

Collection of Jon Lang

d. A ramp added on to a building to provide wheelchair access.

c. Space requirements for the maneuvering of wheelchairs.

e. A good environment for people in wheelchairs tends to be a good environment for all.

Figure 6.13 Barrier-free environments

f. Curbs as a cue for the sightimpaired.

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Barrier-free design  Barrier-free environments are those that allow the handicapped the same accessibility to places and facilities as the able-bodied (Robinette 1985, Goldsmith 2000, Imrie and Hall 2001, Kroemer 2005, Skinner 2008; see Figure 6.13). The position generally advocated is that all public environments should be accessible, with dignity, to people in wheel chairs and those with other special needs. The particular needs of fragile people, the blind, and to a lesser extent the deaf need to be addressed (Brody 1969, Regnier 2002). We have the knowledge of how to design for a variety of human conditions. How far should we go in making the whole environment barrier-free? (Skinner 2008). Often there is clash, sometimes resolvable and sometimes not, between the needs of people with different impairments (Bates 2008). Sidewalk curbs are useful indicators of the change in behavior settings for the blind (see Figure 6.13f) but are well nigh impossible to negotiate for people in wheelchairs (and create difficulty for people wheeling baby carriages). What groups should get precedence in design? Any answer to this question is politically charged. The comfortableness of behavior settings  Physical comfort is the feeling of well-being the occupants of a behavior setting have when the ambient condition is agreeable to them and they have the ability to carry out their activities without hindrance. People’s comfort levels result from fulfilling both their psychological and physiological needs. Feelings of comfort are dynamic and subjective depending on a person’s expectations, past experiences, the activities being pursued, and his or her tolerance level for discomfort. Should buildings be challenging to their occupants or should an architect strive to achieve maximum comfort for them? Familiar settings tend to contribute to psychological comfort. Settings, activities, and contexts that are unfamiliar may be experienced as threats to some people while others may seek out novel settings for the stimulation they offer. Is it within the architect’s purview to decide whether a building should encourage people to use stairs rather than an elevator by making the former more accessible? Should the inhabitants of a house be exposed to the vagaries of the weather? A puritanical view often taken by Modernist among architects would say “Yes!” Tadao Ando (Pritzger Prize winner in 1995) has done so in the design of residences.

Activity Systems and Development Functions The way the built environment affords opportunities for people to fulfill their cognitive needs is primarily a social issue but then an urban as well as a building design concern (see Chapter 13). The design requirement is to provide the affordances for the activities that increase one’s knowledge of and competence in dealing with the world as part of day-today life and not simply as part of formal instruction. Designing for the development (and maintenance) of abilities is a minor but a typical secondary issue facing policy makers and architects. Self-testing is part of growing up and continuing to grow intellectually and physically (Bronfenbrenner 1979, Brooks-Gunn et al. 1993, Evans 2006; Figure 6.14). Playgrounds have long provided challenges to children. The older the child the more testing the equipment needs to be. The fear of litigation has resulted in many playgrounds being

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a. Centennial Park, Sydney, Australia.

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b. Battery Park City, New York City, USA. Courtesy of Clare Cooper Marcus

d. Pulleys, sand and trapdoors. c. Meyer Hall, Philadelphia, PA, USA.

e. Easter Sunday, Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia, PA, USA in 1987.

f. Fountain, Rittenhouse Square.

Figure 6.14 Playgrounds as challenging environments for children

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designed so that if children fall they will incur no injury. Thus once a child is older than five, there is no challenge in using the equipment (6.14a). Attitudes are changing and more challenging playgrounds do exist (6.14b, c and d and 13.3b). Children perceive the affordances for play and self-testing everywhere. Rittenhouse Square makes a fine playground although it has no play equipment (see Figure 6.14 e and f). At the other end of one’s stage in life cycle similar questions arise. Here, however, one is concerned with the maintenance of competencies. Although the concern has been raised primarily in dealing with institutionalized people, it is a broader societal issue (Goffman 1961, Brawley 1977, Lawton 1977, Chaudry 2008). As discussed in Chapter 4 competencies can decline to the level demanded of them. Many physiological and mental capacities decline with age. Does designing for highly comfortable environments lead to a further decline? It seems so. One simple design response has been to design highly comfortable environments as part of everyday life and leave the challenging ones to the wider city and the gymnasium. People can then choose to participate in challenges or not. In building design the answer is not as easy. Many simple mechanisms have been developed to support the activities required for independent living as one ages and becomes more fragile (Regnier 2002). They vary from notches on handrails to signify that one is coming to the end of a passage, to placing ovens at waist height, to handrails that make getting into and out of a bath easier. They enable less agile people to function adequately. Legislation now often requires it.

Activity Patterns and Architectural Theory Designing to accommodate human activities and actions has long been a central factor in designing building plans and spatial sequences. There appear to be two positions that architects take in designing buildings. They can start with a model of the activity system to be housed, or with a form and then shape/shoehorn the activity system to fit the form. Horatio Greenough clearly supported the former position. “Instead of forcing the functions of every sort of building into one general form, without reference to inner distributions, let us begin from the heart as nucleus and work outward” (Greenough c. 1850s cited in Loran 1947). In the discussions about architecture today the way buildings function as signs may well be regarded as the basic function they serve. Housing activities, nevertheless, remains fundamental to most practice. In devising activity programs the Rationalists based their work on what they perceived to be ideal standing patterns of behavior. They sought efficient circulation systems. The Empiricists relied more on the observation of what people actually do. People, however, do not necessarily know what they would do given new opportunities. An expectation of architects is that they bring new possibilities to their clients’ attentions. Much of the confusion in architectural criticism arises because what is perceived to be an issue with the form of a building is really a result of a programming deficiency. The character of the activity patterns to be housed was neither correctly identified nor was a proper differentiation made among types and how to deal with them. Louis I. Kahn differentiated between master and servant spaces (often for mechanical equipment) (Ronner and Jhaveri 1987). His work combined an aesthetic response with

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Figure 6.15 The Richards Memorial Laboratories, University of Pennsylvania (1957)

Louis I. Kahn, architect.

the necessity to differentiate between the affordances of two types of settings. In the Richards Memorial Laboratories at the University of Pennsylvania, for instance, the vertical emphasis of the servant spaces and the horizontal of the master spaces are clear from the formal geometry of the building (see Figure 6.15). It is also clear in photographs of the building that many of the windows have been partially covered with aluminium foil to protect work from unwanted light. It is open to conjecture whether this accretion results from the failure of the client to articulate the light requirements for research or the architect’s failure to understand the nature of the activities that take place in laboratories (Gutman and Westergaard 1974). Human Physiology and Architectural Theory All architectural theories, explicitly or implicitly, accept some model of the human physique as the basis for design. Some of the models while intellectually elegant deviate considerable from human norms. Le Corbusier’s Modulor proportional schema based on a six-foot (1.828-meter) tall man is an example (Le Corbusier 1968 originally 1951; see Figure 6.16). Its application gives visual order to the world around us (see Chapter 14), but it is not ideal from an anthropometric or ergonomic viewpoint. The designing of barrier-free environments is likely to become even more important in designing buildings and open spaces than it is now. There have been some notable examples of buildings (both private houses and institutions) designed specifically for blind people and there has been much retooling of buildings in countries such as the United States to make them barrier-free, but the mainstream of architecture and architectural theory does little to advance such designing. Some architects see barrierfree design requirements as a barrier to their creative efforts.

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© FLC/ADAG, Paris and DACS, London 2010

Architects have long been fascinated by mathematics and, in particular, by the Fibonacci series and by the proportions of the Golden Section (approximately 1:1.618) or .618 to 1) that are pleasing to the eye (Tyng 1975). Le Corbusier (1951) sought a numerical system for dividing buildings into components based on these numbers. He started with the male body assuming that the ideal height of a man is 182.8cm (6 feet in the imperial system, and the height of good looking men in British detective novels). He divided the human body, with an extended arm into two parts centered on the navel. The numbers 432, 698, 1130 form a Fibonacci series. He argued that designing buildings and their interiors based on this idealized figure would result in a well functioning environment, both in terms of the activities that would take place in it and aesthetically.

Figure 6.16 Le Corbusier’s Modulor based on an image of the human body

Built Form Geometries, Structure, and Activity Systems Architects and engineers are constantly exploring new building geometries. New structural systems have been developed to span large distances and enclose space. The use of some has become standard operating procedures in building design; others are now forgotten (see Dahinden 1972, Sky and Stone 1976, Mansfield 1990). The assumption behind many proposals is that activity patterns will follow patterns of built form. It only does so if there is a predisposition on the part of people to develop new patterns of behavior. Architectural ideas for restructuring the urban environment abound. In 1941, Louis Kahn, proposed the complete demolition of central Philadelphia and a new approach to traffic circulation. His demolition patterns would have destroyed the affordances for the patterns of life that he himself enjoyed. As was his wont he used an analogy that captured designers’ attentions to describe vehicular activity flows. Expressways are like Rivers. These Rivers frame the area to be served. Rivers have Harbors. Harbors are like municipal parking towers; from Harbors branch Canals that serve the interior; the Canals are the go Streets; from the Canals branch cul-de-sac Docks; the Docks serve as entrance halls to buildings. (Louis I. Kahn 1952; cited in Gosling and Maitland 1984)

In the proposal, Kahn separated vehicular and pedestrian movement in horizontal space to increase the mobility for both. From the 1950s onwards a number of architects developed proposals for vertically segregating movement patterns. Among them were designs for the central areas of cities such as Berlin (1953), Tokyo Bay (1960) and Amsterdam, (1965; see Figure 8.1b). The

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Tokyo Bay scheme proposed by Kenzo Tange consisted of a hierarchy of high-speed roads connected by a ringroad with areas of high-rise buildings at strategic locations. It was built on piles over the water. Its potential impact on the ecology of the bay was largely ignored. Recent examples of the vertical segregation of movement systems include La Défense (1958-90 but continuing) across the Seine from Paris and its descendent Canary Wharf (1984-98 but continuing) in London (Lang 2005). They have been built and what they do and do not afford people can be observed. These two schemes paid much more attention to the pedestrian than many revolutionary urban proposals. Despite this concern the large windswept deck of La Défense is not particularly hospitable for people. Way-finding is not very easy either as the buildings do not generally have a clear street address. The Modernists’ design goal was to provide efficient circulation systems in cities and in buildings. Are, however, efficient environments efficient in a multi-variate manner? Environments messy in terms of overlapping behavior settings may well provide benefits in the development of the communal activities without which no organization can work or develop new ideas (Florida 2002).

Conclusion Analyzing and designing buildings and urban designs as a set of behavior settings helps bring clarity to designing for the activity systems that usually form the basis of a design. It also makes the act of designing more complex because it raises many highly emotional questions. Architects and their clients recognize that the world is changing and the nature of the behavior settings required to achieve a household’s, a commercial organization’s, or a communal organization’s goals change. It becomes important to understand the permanence and ephemerality of behavior setting types and the qualities of robust environments—ones that survive under change or ones that are highly flexible or adaptable under changing requirements. To deal with the complexity of developing programs for buildings, new design-related professions that establish the design requirements for proposed buildings have arrived on the scene. Architects are turning to them with greater frequency. Doing so also avoids having to do what is a demanding task to do well. As Le Corbusier recognized, it is in the programming phase of architectural design that true creativity occurs.

Major References Gump, Paul V. 1971. The behavior setting; a promising unit for environmental design. Landscape Architecture, 61 (January): 130-4. Imrie, Robert and Peter Hall 2001. Inclusive Design: Designing and Developing Accessible Environments. London: Spon Press. Kroemer, K.H.E. 2005. Extra-ordinary Ergonomics: How to Accommodate Small and Big Persons, Disabled, and the Elderly, Expectant Mothers and Children. Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press.

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Le Compte, William F. 1974. Behavior settings as data-generating units for the environmental planner and architect in Designing for Human Behavior: Architecture and the Behavioral Sciences edited by Jon Lang, Charles Burnette, Walter Moleski, and David Vachon, Stroudsburg, PA: Dowden, Hutchinson and Ross, 183-93. Rapoport, Amos 1990a. Systems of activities and systems of settings, in Domestic Architecture and the Use of Space, edited by S. Kent. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 9-20. Schoggen, Phil 1989. Behavior Settings: A Revision and Extension of Roger Barker’s Ecological Psychology. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

7

Shelter and Salubrious Environments

Shelter is of supreme importance to man. It is the prime factor in his constant struggle for survival. Eugene Viollet-le-Duc, French theorist, restorer and architect (1876)

Providing shelter and acceptable comfort levels is a fundamental function of buildings (Greer 1988, Knevitt 1996). Even the simplest of structures is designed to provide them (Figure 7.1a and b). We demand higher levels of comfort now (c and d). The costs of not dealing with the climate well can be high. Hunstanton School (e) was hailed as avantgarde architecture but the poor interior environmental condition made it notorious. Many building patterns work counter-intuitively. The courtyards at the State University of New York, Albany (f) were designed to provide protection during the harsh upstate New York winters but the tall buildings channel freezing wind down into them. Nowadays, architects are concerned with not only shelter but also with the comfort of people, the needs of the fauna and flora of the world, and the needs of machines. The focus in this chapter is on the first. The second needs a story of its own. Dealing with the third is a major concern in at least three ways: meeting the ambient operating requirements of machines such as computers, the needs of heating, cooling and ventilating equipment to operate well, and the requirements for using and housing automobiles and other modes of transportation. The attention here is directed towards to the human being.

Human Physiological Needs and Buildings’ Functions In much of the modern world the architectural concern is with creating healthy environments that are comfortable. In less fortunate regions, particularly in harsh climates, survival needs remain paramount. In some places people have had little need for shelter to survive and have consequently built only minimal structures. As, however, they have perceived opportunities for greater levels of comfort than exposed situations offer, they have, as Maslow’s model predicts, sought more comfortable habitations. The sheltering functions required of the built environment vary depending on what people are accustomed to (their habituation levels), their competence levels, and their resources. What people are prepared to accept depends on their perceptions of the costs and rewards of being in a particular situation. Expectations thus vary by situation, socioeconomic status, and by culture. The range of concerns in designing to shelter people and their possessions vary from protecting them from the extremes of climatic conditions to sheltering people from the view of others by providing appropriate levels of privacy, to defending them from attack from outsiders, and to safeguarding their self-images—their sense of self-worth.

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a. A wayside fast-food restaurant, Salt Lake City, Kolkata, India.

c. State of Illinois Center (now J.R. Thompson Center), Chicago, IL, USA (1979-83); Murphy Jahn, architects.

b. A temporary home and bookstore, Stuyvesant Square, New York City, USA in 2009.

d. Union Station, Washington, DC, USA (1901-8); Daniel Burnham with Pierce Anderson, architects; renovated (1988-92); Benjamin Thompson and others, developers and architects.

Collection of Jon Lang Collection of Jon Lang

e. Hunstanton School, Norfolk, UK (1954); Alison and Peter Smithson, architects.

Figure 7.1

Designing for shelter (and comfort)

f. The State University of New York at Albany, NY, USA (1960+); Edward Durrell Stone, architect.

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If one extends the meaning of shelter a little further four interrelated additional concerns can be identified. Buildings need to be designed so that they do not kill or maim their occupants through failures due to structural and constructional inadequacies. Secondly, they have to maintain the ambient temperature levels of interior and exterior settings so that their inhabitants feel at ease. They also, thirdly, need to provide a salubrious environment without, fourthly, impacting negatively on their surroundings. The first deals with the soundness of materials and constructional and structural quality. The second deals with how buildings function internally. The third—the design of healthy environments—has long been a concern for social reformers, health administrators and architects in both urban designs and buildings (see, for instance, Rey et al. 1928). The impact of buildings on their surroundings is being given greater consideration than in the past as the result of legal actions being instigated against building owners because of the heat shedding and/or wind turbulence side effects of their buildings (see Chapter 15).

Structural Soundness and Survival Vitruvius’s firmitas function of built forms is central to architectural design. We have even had to take heed of problems such as the decayed portions of a building’s decorations falling off them. In Venice the concern has been with “falling angels”—sculptures falling off churches (Berendt 2004). We seek soundness in the structural and constructional methods used in the creation of shelter in the face of the day-to-day effects of weathering but also in response to fire spreading through houses and neighborhoods, cataclysmic natural events such as earthquakes and cyclones, and the hostile efforts of people in the form of crime and terrorism. We, however, tend to gamble on natural disasters not occurring (Ripley 2006). Earthquakes continue to wreak havoc on urban areas across the world. Mesoscale winds (thunderstorms, tornados, and hurricanes) cause considerable damage. Much can be done to ameliorate their impact. Yet, year after year, segments of cities around the world are destroyed by hurricanes resulting in considerable loss of life. Tornados and tidal waves are well-nigh impossible problems to consider architecturally. City planners and urban designers have been concerned about where human settlements are located but the motivation for progress and the wish to build on economically desirable sites has often resulted in poor locational decisions. In the 1960s Ian McHarg chastised society for not making such decisions “with nature in mind” (McHarg 1969). Major destruction of the built environment through natural events is something that occurs somewhere every year (for example, Figure 7.2a and b). Construction techniques can provide some defence against earthquakes provided they are actually used. The mosque with its minaret (a) and some surrounding buildings survived. Others did not. Civil unrest can result in severe damage (d). Although buildings and urban designs can be created to reduce the impact of riots, the solutions to social problems have to be social. More mundane problems have less spectacular losses of life. People need to be protected from the dangers of faulty wiring, pealing lead-based paints, and from such things as clashes between pedestrian and automobile movements. How far should we go in designing to create environments that enable people to survive at all costs in all

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Collection of Jon Lang

Photograph by Kathy A. Kolnick

a. Golcuk, Turkey after the 1999 earthquake. b. New Orleans, Louisiana, USA, after Katrina, 2005. Collection of Jon Lang

c. The Bad Reichenhall Skating Rink, Germany, January 2006.

d. Manchester Avenue, Los Angeles, CA, USA after the 1992 riots.

e. A collapsed stairway (now repaired), Istanbul, Turkey in 2008.

f. Concrete cancer almost anywhere but particularly in humid climates.

Figure 7.2

The destructive power of nature and people

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situations? We often give up on designing to prevent accidents in order to satisfy other human needs. When one puts into the design equation purposeful human actions that create disasters the question becomes even more slippery. The shelter function of buildings has been abrogated by building collapses due to poor design of structural systems, faulty materials, and poor construction and/or construction supervision. Sadly, many such failures around the world occur as the result of corruption in the building industry as much as design failures. Such problems are endemic in the hands of builder/contractors in many developing countries but major architects have also run into problems. The 1968 collapse of a portion of Ronan Towers designed by the Newham Council architects in London after a minor gas explosion in one corner of the building had a major impact on subsequent building design. A two square meter panel that fell, fortunately, onto empty seats closed the Teatro degli Arcimboldi (1998-2000) in Milan, Italy designed by Vittorio Gregotti in order for all the 120 such panels to be tested (Graves 2002). Equally fortunately the collapse of Hartford’s civic arena’s roof under a snow load early in 1978 resulted in no casualties (Feld and Carper 1997). It occurred only shortly after an ice hockey game had been played and the crowd dissipated. A similar collapse in Bad Reichenhall, Germany in 2006 had, however, fatal consequences (see Figure 7.2c). Concrete cancer continues to be a problem in many places (f).

Designing Healthy Environments Modernist architects were concerned with the penetration of sunlight into habitable spaces, providing more open space among buildings, the provision of adequate ventilation, and providing shelter from disease-bearing insects and bacteria (see Sert and CIAM 1944, Banham 1967, Benevolo 1980, Broadbent 1990). The focus on health issues during the first half of the twentieth century may seem overzealous now, but such diseases as tuberculosis and rickets were highly prevalent then. The successful lobbying by various model housing movements resulted in legislation to ensure that all habitable rooms receive adequate ventilation and sunlight (Mumford 1961, Gallion and Eisner 1986). Despite this progress “housing for health” programs are still required in many parts of the world to improve the living environments of the poor who live in squalid slums. Today there is an increasing interest in urban and building configurations that assist breezes flush pollutants from cities. The topography of some cities (for example, Los Angeles) makes it difficult to harness breezes effectively. Air sheds created by prevailing winds and mountain barriers trap the pollutants generated, particularly, by the heavy reliance on the automobile as the basic mode of transportation. In such areas there are considerably more than usual respiratory ailments. Areas of low population densities where the automobile rules are, however, attractive to many people but they make it impossible to create economically feasible alternative transportation modes in cities.

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A Note on the Sick Building Syndrome During the last decades of the twentieth century, it was noticed that there is a correlation between the use of particular materials and the absentee rate of workers complaining of headaches and nausea. The illnesses stem from the toxic gasses emitted by certain materials, particularly plastics and from buildings having poor ventilation due to the internal circulation of air in air-conditioning systems. The phenomenon has been called the sick building syndrome (de Dear 1998, Straus 2004, Clements-Groome 2006). It has become an issue not only because it affects the health of workers but also business profits. Modern businesses rely on the cost-effectiveness of their operations to make profits. They desire to eliminate absenteeism among workers. If for no other reason, architects may need to specify materials that may be functionally inefficient in catering for wear and tear in order to avoid the toxins that emanate from more hard-wearing materials. The same concerns apply to houses.

Comfort Functions Comfort is a complex variable as described in Chapter 6. At a minimal level it implies a freedom from pain on all the dimensions of environmental experience. It is a physiological state that has psychological characteristics and is always related to the nature of the activity taking place. The variables that affect comfort levels include the ambient and radiant temperature, the air moisture level, the movement of air, and the absence of glare. The psychological factors are related to privacy so are dealt with later in this book (see Chapter 8). A brief comment here will have to suffice. The factors include shelter from unwanted visual exposure, unwanted sounds, and unwanted odors. There are considerable individual differences in subjective assessments of comfort. Much depends on the habituation levels of the people involved, their aspirations, and their perceptions of the costs and rewards for being in a place. It is difficult to accept lower standards of comfort than one is used to having. Thus in many buildings designed to consume less energy than fully artificially heated and cooled buildings, the inhabitants complain because the levels of comfort they have to accept are lower than they are used to having. As expectations for living standards rise there has been an increasing demand for thermal comfort in houses, work places, and recreational facilities throughout the world. Enclosed shopping malls, air-conditioned in summer and heated in winter, are now the norm in continental and temperate climates everywhere (see Figure 7.1c and d). In tropical environments such places only need to be cooled. Singapore and Las Vegas among many other cities were made possible as we know them today by air-conditioning. Indeed, Lee Kuan Yew, Singapore’s first Prime Minister after Independence, stated that air-conditioning was “the best invention of the twentieth century” (Lefaivre 2003). The high ambient quality of the indoor environment of buildings has led to changes in the nature of “public” spaces in buildings and cities. Many large interior settings in building complexes are privately owned but are quasi-public behavior settings (for example, see Figures 7.4b and d and 9.6e). Rights of admission are restricted. Porches

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and verandas, semi-private spaces, were used in pre air-conditioning days for sitting and relaxing during the summer because they were cooler and caught the breezes more than the interiors of houses. Such places still have many functions but they are less used now because the interiors of houses are air-conditioned. Design guidelines stipulate that each house in Seaside, Florida should have a porch facing the street. Many have insect screens to avoid the potential discomforts caused by insects (Katz 1994; see Figure 1.8biii). Residents, however, seldom sit out on the porches so the social function for which they were designed (that is, to keep eyes on the street and as a place from which to greet passers-by) has not really been realized. Climate, Shelter, and Comfort The way sunlight penetrates windows through the day and during seasons is a major factor in providing light to the interiors of buildings. It also shapes our psychological reactions and moods. Its sanitizing power is a significant factor in creating salubrious environments. In many Asian cities sun angles are the major legislated factor in determining the spacing of buildings in the urban environment. The spacing is based on sunlight reaching habitable rooms during specific hours of the day. It does not mean that all buildings have to line up east-west up facing the sun as often assumed (see Figure 1.2b, d, and e among others in the book). Much information exists on comfort levels in relation to city forms, the orientation and skins of buildings, and interior architecture. Closely packed houses with interior courts that act as mechanisms for drawing air through rooms are characteristic of low energy consumption dwellings in hot arid climates. Flat roofs provide outdoor living space in the evenings. The tight shaded streets of Udaipur (Figure 7.3a) provide shelter from the heat of the sun in a hot, arid climate. Small windows help to keep the interiors of the houses cool. In an equally hot, but humid climate, the vernacular response is different (b). The goal is to catch the breezes so that they can waft through neighborhoods and buildings. The roofs are high pitched to shed the monsoon rains. Similar roofs help to shed the rain and snow in a more continental climate (c) but can be lower pitched in dryer climates (d). Interiors can be opened up to the help the breeze move through buildings in hot climates (e). The flat roof of the building is not, however, ideal for a monsoon climate nor is it used for outdoor living. It is its architect’s and/or the client’s aesthetic idea. The client in this case was Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore. The information on how to design for climatic zones from the humid tropics to winter cities where temperatures remain below zero for several months is readily available (for example, Yeang 1996, Powell 1998, and Bay and Ong 2006 on the tropics, and Gappert 1987, and Mänty and Pressman 1998 on winter cities; see also Givoni 1998, Lefaivre 2003, Roaf 2004, Smith 2005). It is not always used. In the search for grandeur, the design requirements appropriate for specific climates are neglected. Although Chandigarh in India has cool winters, the summer temperatures soar well into the forties (Celsius) for considerable lengths of time. The spacious design of the capital complex (see Figure 7.3f) may be appropriate symbolically but the equally spacious City Center complex used on a daily basis by many people is hardly the place to be on a summer or monsoon day (see Figure 12.3c). The cognoscenti, nevertheless, hold both spaces in high esteem because of the aesthetic ideas on which they are based (see Chapter 14).

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a. Udaipur, Rajasthan, India.

d. Salernes, Var, Provence, France.

c. Kyoto, Japan.

e. Konaraka, Santiniketan, West Bengal, India (c.1919); Suridranath Kar, architect. Source: Powell (1996)

g. Chinatown, Singapore (1867-1920).

Figure 7.3

b. Khotachi Wadi, Mumbai, India.

Climate and urban and building form

f. The capital complex Chandigarh, India (1953-62); Le Corbusier, architect. Source: Powell (1996)

h. Goodwood Hill, Singapore (1920s).

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There are many reasons climatically inappropriate design patterns have been used. They are, for instance, taken from one place to another by emigrants. Singapore’s Chinatown built in the late nineteenth century pays little attention to its tropical environment. It is the architecture that Chinese immigrants brought with them from the southern provinces of China. The British colonial powers took “home” with them to Singapore and their other colonies. In this case the pattern based on the colonial Indian experience works well in the tropics. The impact of the two architectures on the settlement patterns of Singapore is easily distinguishable today (Figure 7.3g and h; see Powell 1996). Metabolic Comfort The metabolic comfort of people depends on what they are doing, the air temperature, the radiant temperature from surrounding surfaces, humidity, air movement, and on what they are wearing (Granjean 1973, 1983, Kantowitz and Sorkin 1983, Givoni 1998). The degree of control the occupiers have over the ambient qualities of a behavior setting is an intervening variable in their subjective assessment of comfort (Wyon 2006). Thermostats give them control over the degree of coolness or warmth they feel in artificially controlled environments but not usually much over ventilation or moisture levels. It is impossible to open windows in many buildings being constructed today. A variety of design mechanisms are available to ameliorate climatic conditions outdoors. Cloisters and enclosed plazas have the effect of transporting a place 500 kilometers or so closer to the equator by protecting the open space from winds (Figure 7.4a). Deciduous trees provide shade in summer and when their leaves have fallen in the winter they allow the sun to penetrate (Figure 14.4c). Colonnades and canopies shelter pedestrians from the sun, rain, and/or snow (Figure 7.4c). Umbrellas are used universally as protection from the sun and/or rain (c and e). The humidity level of the air affects the perceived comfort of temperature levels. Dry heat is more tolerable than humid. At 40 percent humidity few Americans and Europeans find temperatures over 28°C (82°F) comfortable. People find relative humidity levels of 40 to 50 percent comfortable in both cool and heated environments (Grandjean 1983, Wyon 2006). In artificially heated buildings the humidity can fall way below this level necessitating the artificial humidifying of the air. Fountains, trees, and other vegetation have long been used with success to increase humidity levels to what is comfortable in courtyards and other outdoor spaces in hot, arid climates. Much Moorish architecture in Spain was designed to enhance comfort by increasing the moisture level and speeding the movement of air (Figure 7.5a and b). To protect its art works, the Arizona State University Museum (c) is air-conditioned. The plants outside have been chosen to avoid raising the humidity of the environment, but the parking lot is blistering hot on a summer day. In the hot, humid climate of Chennai, open slats allow the movement of air through buildings (d). The mechanism functions better during the hot summer months than during the monsoon season. People, nowadays, have often over-used water as a cooling device inadvertently raising the humidity above comfort levels. Some cities in hot-arid locations such as Phoenix in Arizona now insist that indigenous plants and not those exotic to the area be used in people’s gardens. The increase in exotic plant usage was partly due to retirees from the northeastern cities of America trying to feel at home by recreating the summer (certainly

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy.

b. The Winter Garden, World Finance Center, New York City, USA (1980s); César Pelli, architect.

c. A colonnade and parasols; Circular Quay, Sydney, Australia. d. Shopping Mall, Columbia, Maryland, USA.

e. Beijing, P.R. China.

Figure 7.4

f. Kyoto, Japan.

Mechanisms for ameliorating climatic conditions

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. Alcázares Reales, Seville, Spain (mainly after 1248). b. The Alhambra, Cordoba, Spain (1338-90). Photograph by John Ballinger

c. Arizona State University Museum of Art, Tempe, AZ, USA (1989); Antoine Predock, architect.

Figure 7.5

Humidity levels and architecture

d. Kalakshetra Theatre, Chennai, India (1980-2), C.N. Raghavendran of C.R. Narayan Rao, architect.

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not the winter) environments with which they were familiar. The plants of home exude much moisture necessitating heavy watering which further raises humidity levels. Like humidity, air movement affects the perceived comfort level of temperatures. Prevailing and local winds have considerable effect on comfort levels in the outdoor environment. Abrupt changes in the height levels of buildings at the edge of cities increase the speed of wind passing the buildings leeward of them (Chandler 1976, Hough 2004). Buildings can also cause downdrafts that affect life on the street. Much can be done to harness the positive effects of such impacts and ameliorate the negative (see Chapter 15). Few cities have planning policies to take advantage of breezes. Capturing breezes to help cool buildings has long been a concern especially in the hot, arid zones of the world. In Iran the use of wind-scoops to capture breezes and then passing the moving air over dampened cloths was a traditional cooling device (Givoni 1998). The use of such devices has given way to mechanical air-conditioning units that achieve a higher degree of comfort. The sonic environment and comfort  An often-overlooked concern in design is the shelteringfrom-noise function of buildings and interiors. Sheltering people from unwanted sounds is a major contributor to the quality of life. The sounds emitted by buildings and the penetration of noise from one behavior setting into another are the design concerns. The effect of the sounds made by a building per se on its surroundings is sometimes a problem. It has proven to be contentious when it is. Sonic comfort depends not only on the decibel level of sound, but on its pitch, the nature of its source and the degree of control people perceive that they and others have over its origin. People adapt to very high levels of noise (that is, negative sounds) but from the 1960s people have been complaining about the noise generated by airplanes and automobile traffic affecting the activities of everyday life (Grandjean 1973). The same observations have been made about the noise of air-conditioning equipment. When these levels of noise inhibit easy conversation people tune out aspects of the environment— positive as well as the negative—around them. Thus how buildings are insulated against outside noise is important. The same observation can be made about the internal insulation between units and between rooms. Quite conversation is impossible to sustain in many fashionable restaurants located in high-ceilinged, cavernous milieus with timber floors, metallic tables, and much glazing. Sounds bounce around the surfaces so people speak loudly to be heard across a table. If the restaurant has an open plan with its bar and kitchens open to view the ambient sound level is very high. Loud music increases it further. Many diners clearly perceive these sound levels to be exciting; others do not. Maybe it is the quality of food that attracts. Olfactory comfort  Odors can be the source of both pleasant and unpleasant experiences. The everyday environment of cities is full of both. The same odor may be pleasant in one circumstance and offensive in another. The smell of food may whet the appetite but may be annoying when one is trying to sleep. People do adapt to pervasive negative odors to a great extent. They live without apparent discomfort in areas with strong sulphureous odors whether natural (for example, from the thermal springs in Rotarua, New Zealand) or as a by-product of a manufacturing process (for example, from the cellulose factory in Sunila, Finland).

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Attitudes towards odors vary culturally and, consequently, the desirable organization of the interiors of apartments and houses to inhibit their flow. Defecation odors are universally regarded as unpleasant and thus need to be secluded from the remainder of buildings. Whether or not pungent cooking odors need to be segregated from the remainder of a house is a strongly culture- and personality-bound issue (Zeisel 1974). North Americans and many Europeans have the reputation of seeking a largely odorless environment. This stereotypical observation needs to be taken with extreme caution.

Designing for Shelter and Architectural Theory The whole history of the first half of twentieth-century architecture and urban design, particularly mass housing, was based on designing to meet the need for many units of shelter in healthy environments. The early models of Rationalist architects such as Le Corbusier and Ludwig Hilbersheimer and groups such as CIAM [Congrès International d’Architecture Moderne], and the Bauhaus masters all strove to provide exposure of building interiors to sunlight and fresh air in their designs. Le Corbusier, for instance, set his design for the Radiant City in a park with buildings widely spaced to ensure that each dwelling unit had access to sunlight, air, and greenery (Le Corbusier 1934, Sert and CIAM 1944, Sharp 1978, Benevelo 1980). The housing model was even clearer in Le Corbusier’s design for a city made up of his Unités d’ Habitation (Le Corbusier 1953; see Figure 10.3b). The concept was picked up in much mass housing design during the twentieth century and now in the twenty-first. The housing proposals of the Neo-Rationalists such as the architects of the Tendenzia group in Italy during the second half of the twentieth century focused on the creation of healthy environments despite their simultaneous preoccupation with the aesthetics of platonic forms. Their designs emphasized access to sunshine and through ventilation for all heavily used rooms. The Gallaratese housing development (1967-70; see Figure 7.6) in Milan, Italy with blocks designed by Carlo Aymonino and one by Aldo Rossi reflects this need. The design is regarded as an exemplar of the Tendenzia group’s aspirations (Broadbent 1990).

Source: Broadbent (1990); courtesy of Geoffrey Broadbent; cross-section sketched by Jon Lang

Figure 7.6

The Gallaretese Housing, Milan, Italy (1967-70)

Aldo Rossi, architect.

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Access to large open space and sunlight was the design criterion for many of Le Corbusier’s followers (Figure 7.7a). It is still the major criterion for the spacing of housing blocks in many parts of the world (7.7aii; see Miao 2003 on Shanghai). The design principles if applied in Barcelona (Figure 7.7aiii) would have completely changed the character of a much-loved city in the name of efficiency and environmental health. The proposals of the Empiricists were also shaped by the desire to create salubrious environments. The goal guided the Garden City movement. Its designs, like those of the Rationalists, contained much open park-like space. The spacing of buildings was, however, based on a different socio-political agenda—one of providing for private property ownership. The advertisement for Welwyn Garden City (Figure 7.7bi) clearly shows the intention of the Garden City movement. Radburn, New Jersey with its single family detached housing (bii) is an early American example of a residential area designed along these lines as were Bruno Taut’s residential designs in Germany. More recently the design of Seaside (biii) and many other New Urbanist developments follow suit. Architectural theories have taken two diametrically opposite positions on designing for comfort levels as exemplified by debates about how to design in the frigid climates of northern European countries such as Sweden and Finland and in Northern America where indoor living can extend to 70 percent of the year. One position is that people should not be protected much above minimal survival levels and should embrace the frigid environment; the other is that the world should be kept at 21°C (70°F). Most competent people can cope (if they are tolerant enough) with the pressures of difficult climates. The frail, especially the frail elderly, need a more supportive and less pressing environment. Structural Technology and Shelter The search for structural designs that provide shelter over large spaces free of columns housing many behavior settings has been a characteristic of many architectural explorations (for example, Figures 7.8a). Spanning large spaces made possible the covering of railway stations (b) and the production of vast galleries for the display of equipment at international fairs such as the Galerie Internationale at the 1866 Paris Exhibition. Structural explorations have taken many forms: reinforced concrete (c), parabolic structures (d), folded surfaces (e), and so on. Buckminster Fuller’s proposed two-mile diameter glass roof to shelter Manhattan was to be heated by resistance wires (f). It was also designed to collect rainwater. At the time of its construction, the Millennium Dome (g) was the largest free spanning room in the world. Space-frames—three-dimensional trusses for bridging space—enabled large areas of column free floor space to be covered. These frames come in a variety of forms: pyramidal, hexagonal, and so on. Not only did the explorations deal with sheltering large areas but also smaller ones efficiently in terms of the weight of structures and the use of materials. Buckminster Fuller designed the Dymaxion House (1927) and geodesic domes in order to maximize performance per gross energy input. Arguably the most innovative engineers have been Robert Maillart, Pierre Luigi Nervi, and Peter Rice. Santiago Calatrava follows in this tradition. Nervi designed stadiums with massive cantilevered structures and a series of exhibition halls sheltering vast interior spaces. Peter Rice is best known for designing the bioclimatic façades for the National Museum of Science, Technology, and Industry at La Villette in Paris (1985).

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Source: Mansfield (1990); originally Punch Summer Number, 1920

ai. Highpoint, London (1933-5); Berthold Lubetkin and Tecton, architects. Photograph by Kathy A. Kolnick

bi. An advertisement for Welwyn Garden City (1920).

aii. Xianhua Bei, Shenzhen, P.R. China (1990s).

Adapted from Sert and CIAM (1944)

bii. Radburn, New Jersey, USA (1928) in 1993; Clarence Stein, Planner, Henry Wright, architect. Collection of Jon Lang

aiii. Barcelona as replanned (1933-5) by José Luis Sert and J. Torres, architects.

Figure 7.7

biii. Seaside, Florida, USA (1981 to the present); Duany Plater-Zyberk and Co. urban designers.

The Rationalists (a), Empiricists (b), and salubrious environments

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. The Crystal Palace, the Great Exhibition of 1851, Hyde Park, London, UK; Joseph Paxton, designer.

b. Estación de Madrid Atoche, Spain (1890); Alberto de Palacio Elissagne with Gustav Eiffel and Henry St. John James, designers. Collection of Jon Lang

d. Catalano House, Raleigh, North Carolina, USA (1958); Eduard Catalano, architect. Collection of Jon Lang

c. Museu de les Ciències Principe Felipe, Valencia, Spain (2000); Santiago Calatrava, architect.

e. Palazzetto dello Sport, Rome, Italy (1955-8); Pier Luigi Nervi, engineer/architect.

Courtesy of the estate of R. Buckminster Fuller

f. Proposed dome over Manhattan, New York, USA (c. 1960); Buckminster Fuller, designer.

Figure 7.8

g. Millennium Dome, Greenwich, London, UK (1998-2000); Richard Rogers Partnership, architects.

Shelter and the architecture of structural dexterity

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Shell structures are thin, self-supporting membranes based on the principle of an eggshell. The science was developed by Maillart, Nervi, and Eduardo Torroja y Miret. Sometimes, however, the ability to translate sketches into built forms has proven illusory. The vaults of the Sydney Opera House (see Figure 1.3b) were perceived to be buildable as concrete shells but the capability to actually construct them in that manner simply was not available in the late 1960s. From time immemorial membrane structures have been used to create shelter. Natural skins and cloth (see Figure 7.1a) have given way to tensioned fabrics as primary materials. Frei Otto from the late 1950s onwards was the pioneer (Otto 2005). To be strictly functional such structures follow the minimal surface principle as displayed in hyperbolic parabaloids. The modeling processes necessary to aid design are still being developed. Our present limitations were shown in the building of the Millennium dome in London. Millions of pounds had to be spent on correcting structural problems. Ever larger ground coverage can be spanned today. Beijing airport designed by Norman Foster and Partners will be (for a time anyway) the largest covered structure ever built although it is not nearly as large as Buckminster Fuller’s proposed transparent dome over Manhattan. Such spaces are easy to climate control in the search for metabolic comfort. Are they the future? Emerging Theories and Comfort The architecture of globalization depends almost entirely on air-conditioning and artificial heating systems to provide comfortable living and working environments. One current theoretical position is that less reliance should be placed on such systems. Projecting surfaces, screens, vegetation, and other low technology means of maintaining comfort levels in hot areas or at hot times of the year can be incorporated in designs. Similarly, it is felt that more attention can be paid to the orientation of buildings and open spaces. Designing with climate in mind is also regarded by many critics as one of the mechanisms for creating an architecture of locality. Ken Yeang is one architect who is seeking to do so for the hot humid tropics (Yeang 1996, 2002). The recent concern for reducing the environmental impact of buildings is widespread and has produced a remarkable range of buildings in which a design goal has been to reduce energy consumption (see also Chapters 1 and 15). The buildings shown in Figure 7.9 are examples. Demands change. The India International Center (e) was carefully designed to deal with the heat of New Delhi. Comfortable enough at the time of its construction, the level attained is not what international visitors expect today so the screens along the access corridors were enclosed and the building air-conditioned. More recently, the proponents of Neo-Traditional architecture have been particularly keen on examining how the vernacular has responded to climatic conditions in a low energy manner. The problem with vernacular patterns is twofold. While good in providing for survival, they were not all that good in providing high levels of comfort. Ways of life have also evolved and in many circumstances building complexes now have to be accessible by cars thus changing the spatial arrangement of buildings in relationship to each other and the sun. Much can, nevertheless, be learned from the unselfconscious designs that evolved over time to deal with local circumstances (Rudofksy 1964, Alexander et al. 1977, Oliver 1969, 1980).

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Photograph by and used courtesy of Glenn Murcutt

b. Magney House, Bingie Point, Moruya, New South Wales, Australia (1982-4); Glenn Murcutt, architect.

a. Menara Mesiniaga, Subang Jaya, Selangor, Malaysia (1995); T.R. Hamzah and Yeang, architects.

Courtesy of Shirish Beri

c. Newington (formerly, Olympic Games 2000 Village), New South Wales, Australia in 2005.

d. Hirvai, Nadawade, Maharashtra, India (1980-3); Shirish Beri, architect.

Figure 7.9

e. The India International Center, New Delhi (1959-62); Joseph Allen Stein, architect.

Energy conserving, comfortable buildings in a variety of climatic zones

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People, as Maslow would have observed, do not concentrate on demanding higher and higher levels of shelter until their needs are totally satiated before they are motivated to consider the other functions that built forms can fulfill for them. They turn their attention to meeting other needs. Meeting everybody’s comfort needs perfectly is a conceptually impossible task anyway.

Major References Givoni, Baruch 1998. Climate Considerations in Building and Urban Design. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Greer, Norma Richter 1988. The Creation of Shelter. Washington, DC: American Institute of Architects. Knevitt, Charles 1996. Shelter: Human Habitats from around the World. San Francisco: Pomegranate Artbooks. Levy, Mattys and Mario Salvadori 2002. Why Buildings Fall Down: How Structures Fail. New York: W.W. Norton. Mänty, Jorma and Norman Pressman, eds 1998. Cities Designed for Winter. Helsinki: Building Book. Rudofsky, Bernard 1964. Architecture without Architects: an Introduction to Non-Pedigreed Architecture. New York: Museum of Modern Art. Yeomans, David 2009. How Structures Work. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell.

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8

Physical and Psychological Safety and Security

Safety doesn’t happen by accident. Author unknown

Many sources of insecurity have little to do with how the built world functions. Fear of losing one’s job, of nuclear disasters or fears for one’s children’s futures have little direct effect on architecture. Security, or perceived security, of land tenure affects the investment decisions that people make in their built environment (see Chapter 9). Security against harmful bacteria has led to vast improvements in sanitation changing the location, fenestration patterns, and the interior layout of buildings. Designing to deal with natural forces, such as earthquakes, has an effect on building design but is seldom a criterion against which the quality of a building is measured until a disaster actually occurs. For architectural design purposes it is possible to distinguish between physiological, and psychological security. The distinction is often blurred. Spiritual security is a third category that is important to many people but it is not as universal a need as are the other two although its manifestation in building design can be as strong.

Physiological Security All people, with only highly deviant exceptions, have a need to feel secure from bodily harm. Many of the design issues are those associated with the provision of shelter, as argued in Chapter 7, because shelter and survival go hand-in-hand. There are, nevertheless, a number of specific topics of concern which have to do with people’s motivations to feel and be safe and secure. They include the soundness of structural and constructional systems and materials, safety from the clash of movement systems, particularly pedestrian and vehicular, ease of egress from buildings under lifethreatening conditions, and protection from terrorism and crime. The first of these concerns was considered in the previous chapter so will only be mentioned in passing here to place it in a different context. Other concerns were introduced in Chapter 6 and will be developed here. Structural and Constructional Systems The structural and constructional patterns and materials of the built environment that function to make the milieu safe are well known (Levy and Salvadori 2002, Yeomans 2009). To summarize the discussion in the previous chapters the concern is twofold: for elements of the built environment to be structurally sound and for the layout of buildings to afford desired standing patterns of behavior safely. The former is a concern for survival but the latter is really a concern for safety although survival may sometimes be the issue. (Many

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household fatalities result from slipping in bathrooms.) Fire prevention has long been a design concern. Legislation exists that prohibits combustible sheathing in buildings and requires that sprinklers and smoke detectors be installed. Other concerns are more recent. As a result of the collapse of the World Trade Center towers in New York it is now suggested that fire- and crush-proof safe havens be provided in tall buildings and that buildings should be designed to implode rather than explode when subject to the impacts of both natural disasters and terrorist attacks. Many design principles are available to guide us. Do we want to be guided? Everywhere? Building codes in some cities have been recently revised to require the hardening and widening of stairways in tall buildings and structural systems that are designed to prevent buildings collapsing. The open-webbed trusses (more correctly, joists) used in the World Trade Center towers’ design are also now prohibited in a number of places. Movement Systems While there are many issues of concern in designing for the movement of people, two seem fundamental in providing for safety. The first is egress from buildings in emergencies, and the second the segregation of potentially conflicting movement systems. Egress from buildings under threatening conditions is a universal design concern. Movement systems take place in channels of various types: railway lines, corridors of buildings, and so on. Each has its own requirements to be safe. Egress from buildings  Building codes almost everywhere specify the construction and material requirements for safety from fire. These codes specify the nature of corridor widths and the signage required to point people to exits. They also specify the nature, location, and frequency of exits themselves. Despite these requirements there have been disasters. In a number of incidences, particularly in theaters and nightclubs where there have been major losses of life; exit doors were locked to prevent gatecrashers from entering. In factories it has been done to stop workers from having a break. Fire sprinkler systems were not functioning in some cases and in others prohibited inflammable materials were used in construction. The most notorious example of the blocking and poor marking of routes to exits was the Cocoanut Grove Supper Club, Boston fire in 1942 where 492 people died. A recent example of the use of easily ignitable building materials (accompanied by a pyrotechnic display) was the Station Nightclub fire in West Warwick, Rhode Island where 100 people died and many were injured in 2003. Over 60 people died in similar occurrences in Bangkok, Thailand on the first day of 2009 and others died in Russia towards the end of the year. The segregation of conflicting movement systems  Movement systems are segregated for many reasons: efficiency, safety, and security as well as for privacy and territorial control (see Chapter 6). The segregation has taken place in either the vertical or horizontal plane. In horizontal space the standard way has been to design streets with raised sidewalks for people and the roadbed for cars (see Figure 8.1a), while the superblock is a model that has been widely used in the design of precincts of cities such as residential neighborhoods (for example, the Radburn plan, Figure 10.6a), universities, and proposals for town centers

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Source: Benevolo (1980)

a. Street scene, San Francisco, USA.

b. The Amsterdam East proposal (1965); Bakema and van den Broek, architects.

Drawing by Thanong Ponteerakul

c. Darling Harbour, Sydney, Australia in 2004.

d. Street scene with sky bridge, Portland, Oregon, USA.

Figure 8.1

e. A sky bridge, Minneapolis, MN, USA.

The segregation of movement systems for safety, efficiency, and comfort

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(see the Fort Worth plan; Figure 6.4a). In vertical space there have been the skyway systems of cities such as Minneapolis (Figure 8.1e), and the underground network of pedestrian paths as in Rochester, Minnesota and in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. The examples in Figure 8.1b, d, and e are of separation in vertical space. Darling Harbour is a superblock with separation in both horizontal and vertical space (c). The woonerf stands in contrast to these examples. It is a residential street type in which pedestrians, children playing, and cars mingle; each expects the other to be there and thus drivers, pedestrians, and children act with caution. Many cul-de-sacs function in the same manner. People strive for safety but also for interesting paths along which to travel, especially when they are on foot. For this reason they often eschew the safe and efficient route for the bustle of a city’s sidewalks as they have done in the Charles Center in Baltimore (Lang 2005) or they choose the most direct route (see 8.2f). Safe streets  The level of safety required for the diverse users of streets varies considerably by their situation and purpose. In many cities children’s journeys on foot or by bicycle to school, to local institutions such as libraries, and to places of recreation is increasingly difficult (Kyttä 2004; see also Chapter 13). Channels of movement need to be organized in a hierarchy of levels from footpaths to bicycle ways to expressways each dimensionally and materially appropriate for its purpose. The tendency has been to think of each level in terms of a single purpose. Neighborhood streets serve a multiplicity of functions and need to be designed as a set of behavior settings. They are both links and places. Streets are channels for vehicular and pedestrian movement, the places from which the world around us is seen and appreciated, the seams for community life, and, often, closeto-home playgrounds for children. They need to be designed for the safety of drivers and safety from drivers and their vehicles for pedestrians. Different activities need to have their own territories although in streets with low traffic volumes, such as many cul-desacs and certainly woonerfs, they can overlap and be nested within each other. War, Terrorism, and Crime In the mid-twentieth century, E.B. White, with the memory of Hiroshima and Nagasaki still fresh in mind, noted that New York could be devastated in a single nuclear attack carried out by one aircraft (White 1949). Do architects have to worry about such concerns? Historically architects designed fortifications for cities (see Figure 8.2a). The boulevards of Paris (Figure 12.3a) were designed, in part, to aid the suppression of civil unrest (Sutcliffe 1970, Benevolo 1980, Jordan 1995). Buildings can be designed to be fortresses by presenting solid walls to the exterior (8.2b). Many places around the world have gated communities where guards control who enter (g). They are, however, created as much for prestige as for security (Blakely and Snyder 1997, Low 2003). Walls serve to add safety (or the perception of safety) from the intrusion of outsiders to the people who live or work behind them (8.2c). The Berlin wall (d), in contrast, was built to prevent insiders from leaving. How far should one go in making a building secure? The United States Embassy in Berlin (Figure 8.2e) is said to send out the wrong message about the country to the world (Campbell 2008). Housing is often designed less obviously to turn its back to the street by opening up to the interior (g). Such designs also provide for defense from visual intrusion.

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Collection of Jon Lang

b. St. Martin’s Garrison Church, Delhi, India (1928-31); Arthur Shoosmith, architect. a. Plan for Palmanova, Italy (1593); possibly designed by Vincenzo Scamozzi, architect.

d. The wall dividing East and West Berlin in 1989. Collection of Jon Lang

c. The British Consulate-General, Istanbul in 2008.

f. A gated residential precinct, San Juan Capistrano, California, USA.

Figure 8.2

Designing for defence—walls and gates

e. The Embassy of the United States, Berlin, Germany (completed 2008); Moore Ruble Yudell, architects.

g. Houses, Abu Dhabi, UAE.

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Until recently designing buildings to withstand terrorist attacks was not an issue. The conflicts in the Levant, the Irish Republican Army bombing campaign of the 1980s and 1990s, the Madrid attacks in 2004, and the July 2005 explosions on the London underground made Europeans increasing aware of the potential destructive impacts of terrorist activities. In the US, the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in 1995, the attack on the World Trade Center in New York in 1993, and its destruction in 2001 (Figure 8.3a) had a similar impact. The immediate response to the 1993 attack on the World Trade Center, in particular, was the ad hoc incorporation of obstacles in front of buildings to prevent bombers reaching targets. They include raised concrete planter-boxes, street lamps in potential paths of movement, benches, and reinforced concrete drinking fountains. Buildings that have significant political associations appear to be particularly vulnerable to terrorist attacks. The US Bank Tower in Los Angeles, which at 1,017 feet (about 310 meters) in height is the tallest building on the west coast of the United States is perceived by some to be a potential target. In early 2002, barriers to reduce the affordances for such an attack were installed to surround it (see Figure 8.3c). There are many such examples (for example, 8.3d). Ha-has are subtler (b) but difficult to incorporate in urban areas. It is now suggested that buildings have different configurations based on evidence of the effects of bomb blasts (e and f; FEMA 2004; see also Atlas 2008). In Washington, DC, it is proposed that important buildings have special entrance lobbies to enable people to be screened before they are admitted (Flint 2005). The American Planning Association gave its Current Topics 2004 award to the National Capital Urban Design and Security Plan. The plan proposed that traditional furnishings of the public realm such as benches, light poles, plinth walls, and “decorative fences” be used to provide security. Artificial devices are being used to reduce opportunities for criminal activities. They include higher levels of street illumination, the use of guards along with gated communities, and the use of surveillance cameras to scan the public realm of cities. Civil libertarians worry about the intrusion on public life of the surveillance cameras widely used on transit systems, freeways, and in city squares and streets. The devices have not been very successful in preventing incidents but they do help document attacks so that they can be more thoroughly investigated. Cameras are also being used to monitor behavior in the interior of buildings ranging from the corridors of apartment buildings to the behavior of employees in commercial facilities, docks, and airports None of these approaches get at the heart of the factors that lead to terrorist or criminal activity. Architecture can only attempt to treat the symptoms. Buildings can be designed to be fortresses. Ground floors can be designed to have no windows and minimal entrances providing largely blank walls (boring for pedestrians) to the streets. The American Embassy in Pariser Platz in Berlin is set back from the property line for defensive reasons. It would be a pity if in order for buildings to be easily defended against terrorism and crime they were made into fortresses. It can be argued that fortress buildings can be aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps Arthur Shoosmith succeeded in achieving this end in his design of St Martin’s Garrison Church (Figure 8.2b) in the cantonment of New Delhi. Its openings were, however, designed primarily to cope with Delhi’s stifling summer heat.

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Source: Wikimedia Commons

© http;//www.wtc-terrorattack.com/CBS-News/cbs000.jpg

a. The crash of Flight 1754 into the South Tower of the World Trade Center, New York, USA.

b. A ha-ha—an unobtrusive barrier.

c. US Bank Tower, Los Angeles, California, USA.

d. SwissRe Building, London, UK.

Adapted from Federal Emergency Management Association [FEMA] (2004) by Omar Sharif

e. Critical distances and bomb blast damage.

Figure 8.3

f. Shapes that concentrate bomb blasts (above) and shapes that dissipate air blasts (below).

Designing to counteract terrorism and its effects

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Buildings can certainly be designed to mitigate the effects of exploding vehicles (see Figure 8.3e and f). The setbacks of at least 50 feet and sometime considerably more tend to reduce adjacent pedestrian activity. Retail shops, underground parking garages, and buildings with numerous entrances are now discouraged near important buildings. These elements are, however, also what make for lively, walkable environments. The advocates of such measures are thus suggesting that quality of life be traded for the more basic need for safety. In some cases, such as the Empire State Plaza in Albany, New York and the capitol complex in Chandigarh, India, pedestrian traffic is simply not allowed. Some corporations are using the security-scare simply to keep people out of their buildings. It makes life easier for them (Flint 2005). How far should security measures be taken? The American Embassy in Berlin (opened July 4, 2008) designed by Moore Ruble Yudell in 1995 went through so many design changes that it has ended up being “a lonely fortress withdrawn from the city behind wide swaths of what I can only call no-man’s-land … filled at times with a hideous forest of black bollards, at other times, it’s hidden behind a fence of tall steel palings” (Campbell 2008). No effort to deal with crime through physical design can treat the underlying social malaise. Design efforts in changing patterns of the physical environment to reduce opportunities for criminal behavior are important but if unaccompanied by social programs they will achieve little (Judd and Samuels 2005). Crime and the built environment: The nature of defensible space  Crime levels in countries as diverse as South Africa, the People’s Republic of China, and Venezuela have turned many middle-class precincts of cities into veritable fortresses of gated precincts; the poor have to live with crime. A plethora of books on the topic demonstrates the depth of concern about crime and design (for example, Stollard 1991, Zelinka and Brenner 2001, Colquhoun 2004, Nadel 2004). Based on his research Oscar Newman developed the concept of defensible space (Newman 1972). The efficacy of its design principles has been questioned (see Hillier 1973, Cozens et al. 2001, Katyal 2002) but the concept has endured. A defensible space is one that is easily controlled by the people who live or work there. It is one in which there is a clear hierarchy of territories from public to semi-public to semi-private to private. It affords ease of surveillance of what is going on in a building or its exterior because doors and windows are positioned to provide the casual watching opportunities that occur as part of daily life (Figure 8.4e). In addition a building’s forms and materials—their symbolic meanings—do not suggest that its inhabitants are vulnerable (Newman 1972). A fourth criterion may seem tautological. If buildings are located in low crime areas they are unlikely to be targets of criminal activity. A territory is a space that is bounded and controlled by an individual or a group. In many cases it is also personalized by markings and possessions belonging to the people exerting control over it. In the United States, at least, territories occur in a four level hierarchy relating to the levels of control people have over a space. Public territories are those to which all people have the right of admission. Semi-public are those which outsiders can enter but are perceived to be under the observation and control of a local group. Whether an area is perceived to be semi-public depends on the amount of traffic on a street as well as the building-street relationship (f). If there is heavy traffic, the claim over the exterior space is substantially reduced (see Newman 1975 and Appleyard and Lintell 1981 on the United States and Mahdjoubi 2009 on Britain). Semi-private are those

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Source: Newman (1975); courtesy of Kopper Newman

a. A typical territorial hierarchy in a single family detached house. Source: Newman (1975); courtesy of Kopper Newman

c A. typical territorial hierarchy in a Modernist apartment building complex.

Source: Newman (1975); courtesy of Kopper Newman

b. Typical territorial control in a row house neighborhood. Source: Newman (1975); courtesy of Kopper Newman

d. A typical territorial hierarchy in a suburban walk up apartment building. Adapted from Appleyard and Lintell (1981) by Jon Lang

e. Natural surveillance and territorial control; eyes on the cameraman from house and sidewalk.

Figure 8.4

Building types and territorial hierarchies

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f. Traffic volumes and territorial hierarchies on neighborhood streets.

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into which outsiders may be able to see and hear what is going on but they have no right of admission, while private territories are those under the total day-to-day control of the people who inhabit or use them. Oscar Newman suggested that territories, clearly defined by either symbolic or real barriers, be organized into this hierarchy of behavior settings (Newman 1972, 1975). It is relatively easy to achieve such a clear territorial hierarchy from public to private space in suburban areas of single-family detached homes (Figure 8.4a) and row house neighborhoods (b). In multi-unit housing a clear gradation of territories is more difficult to achieve while in areas of standard apartment buildings it is seldom achieved (c). It can be! The goal is for individuals and groups to take control over their settings because they have a “claim” over them. This process is further supported when people can see into the settings as part of their daily activities. Architects, landscape architects, and the lay public within many but not all cultures have generally believed that any open space around buildings is automatically good. Such spaces, however, are frequently no-person’s territory and open to abuse. It is not the open space per se but how it is designed (or, rather, not designed) that can be the problem. Newman advocated that all open space associated with buildings be allocated to specific uses and thus claimed by specific groups of people; they need to be thought of as behavior settings and “owned” by those involved (see Figure 8.5d). An early example of the application of Newman’s ideas was at Clason Point Gardens in the Bronx, New York (1980) where a standard low rise public housing development was substantially upgraded by clearly defining territories and enhancing its imagery through simple devices such as allocating symbolically marked, open spaces to units, improving the lighting, changing the gable ends of roofs to hipped ends and differentiating between one unit and another by façade treatments (Cherulnik 1993; see Figure 8.6e, f, and g). More recently (1997+), the Diggs area of Norfolk, Virginia was treated in the same manner with considerable enhancement of the residents’ involvement in the life of community (Bothwell et al. 1998). The Richard Allen houses in Philadelphia have gone through a similar transformation (h). The superblock was turned into a standard grid iron street pattern. Sometimes the issue is simpler. A maze of dark corners, obscuring walls and vegetation, and deteriorating building quality afford opportunities for anti-social behavior to take place with impunity. Lawrence Halprin’s design for Freeway Park over route I-5 in Seattle is an urban oasis (see Figure 8.6). It is a delight as a garden but it also makes criminal activity difficult to detect. Sadly, the number of people who have availed themselves of the affordances for anti-social behavior earned the park a notorious reputation (Mudede 2002). The problem is a social one but the design gets implicated. In terms of safety from crime, streets need to be designed with high levels of illumination and few obscure paths for criminals to use to perpetrate anti-social behavior, or to escape afterwards. Windows of actively used spaces should face the street in order for it to be under the casual surveillance of the people inside (J. Jacobs 1961, Newman 1972). The application of these principles also has negative effects. High levels of illumination consume more energy than low and eyes-on-the-street can intrude on privacy requirements. Short cuts are useful for pedestrians in moving around neighborhoods. Obscure paths and places to hide make fine playgrounds for children. The alternative is to place streets under artificial surveillance. It is, after all, easy and cost-effective to do but what are the consequences?

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Source: Newman (1972); courtesy of Kopper Newman

Source: Newman (1972); courtesy of Kopper Newman

a. The required territorial hierarchy on the horizontal plane.

b. The required territorial hierarchy in high-rise buildings.

Source: Newman (1972); courtesy of Kopper Newman

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Source: Newman (1975); courtesy of Kopper Newman

c. Natural surveillance requirements.

Photograph by Paul D. Cherulnik

d. Retrofitting high-rise housing: an illustration. Photograph by Paul D. Cherulnik

e. Clason Point Gardens, New York, before rehabilitation.

f. Clason Point Gardens after rehabilitation.

Photograph by Paul D. Cherulnik

g. The new playground at Clason Point.

Figure 8.5

Designing for defensible space

h. Richard Allen Homes, Philadelphia after rehabilitation in 1998-2002; Wallace Roberts and Todd, architects, Walter Moleski, consultant.

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Photograph by Joel Mabel; Source: Wikimedia Commons

Figure 8.6

Freeway Park, Seattle, Washington, USA (1976)

Lawrence Halprin, landscape architect; Angela Danadjieva, project architect.

The research on defensible space continues. Physical design can only provide the affordances for people to take responsibility over their neighborhoods by giving them the symbols of ownership and authority over space. It cannot solve social problems. The concerns now are with giving potential criminals opportunities to engage in life. The economics of commerce and globalization forces, however, result in larger agglomerations of services out of reach of many. Adolescents in particular may turn to anti-social behavior in their search for something to do (Ladd 1978).

Psychological Security Psychological security is complex. Having a control over one’s surroundings, physical and social, and knowing where one fits happily into a society gives an individual a sense of security. Such control is also related to a sense of self-worth and esteem (see Chapter 12). Many people around the world, however, feel that they are living in increasingly anonymous societies where one’s life is directed by forces beyond one’s control. The way one designs only has a small effect on reducing such anxieties. There are two major factors associated with the psychological security that can have design implications. They are having a sense of where one is in space—a sense of orientation and the ability to negotiate the built world successfully—control over the information given out to others about the behavior in which one or one’s group is engaged, and/or control over unwanted intrusion of information into the behavior setting from outside of it. Orientation in Space The way cities, neighborhoods, and buildings are structured very much affects the ease with which people find their way around them. Many people have a “sense of anxiety and even terror when they are lost” (Lynch 1960: 4; see also D. Gibson 2009). Labyrinths are designed for pleasure but labyrinthine designs that make it difficult to find one’s way around cities and buildings is seldom a design goal. In the past, however, intricate mazelike urban patterns may have been used to deter intrusion by outsiders (for example, Venice, Italy).

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. A maze, Budapest, Hungary.

Figure 8.7

b. Central Venice.

Layouts that make way-finding difficult

In some buildings, particularly those that have grown piece-by-piece over time, wayfinding is notoriously difficult (Pocock and Hudson 1978, Passini 1984, Arthur and Passini 1990). Hospitals seem to be particularly susceptible to this phenomenon. Architect Rem Koolhaas has coined the term junk space for places where paths do not form part of a comprehensible pattern that promotes orientation (Koolhaas 2002). People who work in maze-like buildings or live in such environments, nevertheless, soon work out how to find their way around however contorted the layouts are. For visitors it is different (Thiel 1961, 1997). People vary considerably in their tolerance for difficulties in finding their way around buildings. Much depends on what they are doing and their motivations. Tourists armed with maps may find it enjoyable to learn their way around the maze of streets that constitute central London or the pathways of Venice. In emergencies such as when there is a fire, however, finding one’s way rapidly and easily to safety can be a matter of survival. Spatial imageability and legibility and environmental design  The most widely known study of the imageability (the ease of forming a cognitive map) and legibility (the ease of finding one’s way) of the environment was conducted by Kevin Lynch at the city and neighborhood level (Lynch 1960). Cognitive mapping is the process whereby people acquire, code, store, and recall information about the layout of the environment (Downs and Stea 1973). The ability of people to develop cognitive maps is a prerequisite for human survival but today it is more a security or intellectual development concern except in emergencies when it really can make the difference between life and death. Lynch’s findings are transferable to building interiors (Passini 1984, Arthur and Passini 1990; see Figure 8.8). The research has shown that signs to aid way-finding are often essential (D. Gibson 2009), but a number of characteristics enhance the imageability and legibility of building interiors. Clarity in the way the paths, corridors, are laid out and come together at well-defined nodes, clear sub-areas (the districts within a building), and the location of significant objects, landmarks, give people a clue as to where they are. Lynch also identified edges or defining boundaries as elements of people’s cognitive maps but they seem to be less important except when they are exceptionally bold (Pocock and Hudson 1978).

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URBAN FORM

BUILDING FORM

Paths

Edges

Landmarks

Districts

Nodes

Figure 8.8

The elements of cognitive maps in urban areas and in buildings

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Architects have become more concerned about way-finding issues as buildings, particularly public buildings that are heavily used by strangers, become more complex. For instance, in a design competition for the extensions to the Brooklyn Museum in New York City, way-finding was a criterion used in evaluating the submissions. The winning scheme was deemed to make way finding easy while simultaneously making the circulation path through the museum interesting. Certain buildings in the urban environment act as landmarks because they have a form easily distinguishable from others (Appleyard 1969). The pyramid-shaped TransAmerica building in San Francisco is one such example. Many cities have towers or strategically located buildings that serve in much the same way. The Eiffel Tower in Paris and Canada Place at Canary Wharf, London are examples. In Battery Park City the World Finance Center designed by César Pelli clearly stands out as a landmark against a backdrop of other buildings unified through the application of strong design controls (Barnett 1987, Gordon 1997, Lang 2005). These buildings act as figures standing out against a background of other buildings. Today with each new building seeking to make its presence felt, all buildings, however startling their geometries, merge into a background. Competence level and way finding  Not everybody finds way-finding easy. Young children do not have particularly realistic images of their surroundings in their heads nor do people whose lives are circumscribed, or those with intellectual impairments. Newcomers to cities and/or buildings tend see them in terms of paths. As they become more experienced they develop more spatial cognitive maps (G. Moore 1976). For people with dementia the legibility of their homes and of local areas is of importance in helping them to locate themselves in space and to identify which way to go (Passini et al. 1998, Mitchell et al. 2004, Chaudry 2008, Karpf 2008). These concerns are seldom addressed except in the design of institutions specifically for people suffering from dementia (Brawley 1997). The variables of importance in enabling people with dementia to function well in buildings and their local worlds are essentially the same in character as for people with unimpaired faculties. The features do, however, need to be more pronounced. For interior layouts a number of design patterns seem to be of particular importance (see Passini et al. 1998, Mitchell et al. 2004, and more generally, Karpf 2008). Buildings with simple layouts of short, straight corridors with no dead-ends; corridors of different architectural character (for example, each with its own door style and color), and landmarks such as potted plants and clocks at decision points in the corridors all help. In terms of neighborhood design, Lynne Mitchell and her colleagues have found a number of design features to be particularly helpful (see Mitchell et al. 2004). They are short-blocks (giving many corners), and narrow and gently winding streets rather than long, wide ones, a clear hierarchy of streets with T-junctions and/or forks, and perimeter block patterns with a variety of building forms, and mixed land uses. Landmarks, not only ones of distinctive physical features but places of activity such as squares and playgrounds, places of personal significance, and useful features such as benches, a bus shelter, and a post-box help. A variety of natural elements such as trees and flowers, and distinctive, minimal-content signs placed strategically so they are easy to see and read are added features that assist way-finding. Such design principles are seldom applied because society regards them as unimportant and because they are superseded by other design considerations.

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Privacy, Personal Space, and Territorial Control Every behavior in which we engage has a level of privacy appropriate for it. This level is obtained when the information flow out of and into a behavior setting is satisfactory to the people within and outside it. Defining the privacy required of a behavior setting is not as straightforward as it might seem. To be productive people require some awareness of what is happening beyond the behavior setting in which they are engaged. Too much privacy can result in the social isolation; it may lead to the sensory deprivation that hinders development (Vesely 2004). Too little privacy results in feeling crowded (Altman 1975: see Figure 8.9). Defining crowding by a lack of a sense of privacy and by the overmannedness of behavior settings is a more powerful way than any statistic of number of people per unit of occupied area. Adapted from Altman (1975) by Jon Lang; drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 8.9

A dynamic model of privacy

The desired level of privacy for a behavior setting can be attained in a number of ways. Some of the mechanisms are behavioral but others have to do with how a behavior setting is bounded. Behavioral mechanisms include reserve (that is, not engaging with others) and turning one’s back to avoid giving out information about what is going on, or having outside information intrude on what one is doing. Architectural mechanisms include distancing one setting from others or, more typically, the use of physical elements— floors, ceilings, walls, screens—to control information flows. Distancing may provide sonic privacy and make it difficult to see details but people can see a long way. We rely on barriers. The physical elements bounding a setting may be opaque, translucent, or transparent. As noted in Chapter 7 they can be symbolic or real. The former does not prevent intrusion physically but simply marks the boundaries while the latter physically prevents intrusion. Symbolic boundaries may be as simple as changes in levels of illumination or in the level, color, and/or texture of materials of a floor, and/or low boundary walls with open entrances. Such boundaries function well in polite societies where people recognize the role of the markers and obey them; they are less successful in societies that are culturally diverse and characterized by assertive, if not aggressive, behavior.

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Real boundaries involve the use of solid features that bar entry such as walls, doors or gates, and/or having guards at the entrances. Insulating uses (for example, placing commercial activities between retail and residential in a three-story building) is another technique. The way the boundaries are used depends on their purpose. In open-plan, or landscape-plan, spaces, the boundaries restrict movement between settings to specific paths (see Figure 6.6c). They also strive, not always successfully, to exclude the penetration of extraneous sounds above a certain decibel level while allowing visual contact between people in different settings. Attitudes towards the privacy levels associated with different activities change over time. In Bali, Indonesia, for instance, the traditional massive walls around houses that entirely screen off the outside world are giving way to modified transparent screens providing overlapping views between indoor and outdoor spaces (Dewi-Jayanti 2003). This change also reflects the change in the social structure and the role of display in showing social status within Balinese society. Personal space, Proxemic Theory, and room geography  Personal space can be regarded as a portable territory. It refers to the bubble around oneself defining the distance that one keeps other people (Sommer 1969, 1974a). It extends farther in front of a person than behind because the details of the face are important aspects of one’s being. Its dimensions, within a culture, are important to understand because they tell us something about room geographies—the layout and design of different patterns of furniture. An understanding of personal space led to the creation of Proxemic Theory by Edward. T. Hall (1969). Hall’s anthropology of manners forms the basis for relating the desired qualities of interactions to the distance people keep apart from each other. The distance depends on the nature of the relationship between them and the nature of the activity that is taking place (Figure 8.10). Hall identified a number of distances for Anglo-American people. Intimate space is the distance where people are either physically touching or within touching distance. Personal space is the distance that people keep themselves apart in friendly conversation. Social space is the distance at which more formal interactions take place, and Public space is the distance at which people keep themselves from others when addressing them or performing in public. As the distance between people increases so the amount of visual information that they impart to each other decreases but voices have to rise to maintain contact. Oral communication becomes more public. The concepts of sociopetal and sociofugal space have already been introduced (see Figure 6.10). Furniture is arranged based on behavioral expectations (Figure 8.11b). The expectations vary by culture because the degree of eye contact and the loudness of voices desired and/or tolerated vary considerably. We structure space with barriers of various types to control the flow of information we give out about what we are doing and to inhibit unwanted information from penetrating to where we are. Performance zones (8.11f) tend to be at a distance from an audience. The information given out is more public than at more private levels of interaction. Structuring the built environment can help or hinder such communication. How one organizes furniture layouts is culture bound.

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Figure 8.10 The interplay of distance and the formality of the behavioral loop between people according to Hall’s Proxemic Theory (Hall 1969)

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b. The lobby, Ramada Hotel, Suwon, Korea. Collection of Walter Moleski

a. Spacing and the intimacy of relationships.

d. Personal distance.

c. Intimate distance.

e. Social (socio-consultative) distance.

f. Public distance, Jay Pritzker Pavilion, Chicago.

Figure 8.11 Proxemic Theory and room geography

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The invasion of privacy  The privacy of the people in a behavior setting is violated by their belief that too much information about the pattern of behavior is extending beyond the boundaries of the setting or, alternatively, too much information from the outside is penetrating the setting. The violation can be on any dimension of human perception from visual to olfactory. Two visual invasions occur in urban areas with some frequency. The first is where activities are overlooked from adjacent points, and the second is where the adjacency of people within and outside a behavior setting is too close or the screening between them is insufficient. The first tends to occur where flats are built adjacent to single-family homes or when people can see from second story windows into adjacent backyards (see Figure 8.12). This problem becomes acute in places where much of life spills out onto the roofs of dwellings as in hot, arid areas of the world and family activities can be watched from nearby taller buildings (Negarestan 1996).

a. Overlooking, Seoul, Korea. Photograph by Socrates Cappas

b. Overlooking, San Francisco, CA, USA.

c. Overlooked, Randwick, Australia.

Figure 8.12 The visual invasion of privacy

As noted in Chapter 7, sonic invasions occur when unwanted sounds penetrate from one space into adjacent ones. The problem often exists in apartment buildings where the footsteps of people living above can be heard on the floor below and/or where sounds, particularly bathroom sounds, such as the flushing of toilets can be heard in adjacent rooms and apartments. Sonic problems also result from the noise of passing vehicular and airplane traffic and from equipment such as air conditioners and household appliances. Some of these problems can be avoided through care in designing the plans of units and the use of high levels of insulations between settings. Having to close windows to insulate outside noise reduces ventilation. In some cities noisy events such as frequently held religious celebrations cause problems. In New Delhi, the number of such events generated by specific temples is restricted. The voices of imams calling worshippers to prayer and or church bells can be intrusive. They tend to be tolerated but not always.

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Invasions of privacy can have unpleasant effects. Too much noise leads to people tuning-out the environment around them so important information as well as the unwanted gets lost. People may also withdraw into themselves and/or simply disregard their neighbors leading to a loss of concern for each other and, often, the loss of a sense of community. The side-effects can be as severe as the inhibition of learning by children and lack of caring for their surroundings by their elders. The invasion of odors/smells can be a problem in much the same way. Unwanted smells from the outside world and from internal sources such as lavatories and kitchens can cause considerable stress. Pungent cooking smells can be particularly intrusive (Zeisel 1974). Encroachment on one’s privacy results in a feeling of insecurity. These feelings get more and more aroused and intense as unwanted penetration into intimate levels of personal space occurs. The feeling of insecurity may result in aggressive behavior, verbal or physical, towards the intruder. Even if there is no observable stress, invasion heightens skin conductance levels. Designing for privacy helps to avoid such stresses.

Sacred Geometries and Design Principles Two interrelated areas of concern in using sacred geometries in design are of importance to functional theory. One is where spiritual needs are reflected in the geometry of the built environment, particularly in religious and sacred buildings such as churches and mosques. The other, while couched in spiritual terms is, arguably, concerned with health requirements. Both rely on canonical texts specifying how buildings should be laid out. Canonical Texts and Design A number of societies possess canonical texts prescribing the layout of the built environment that is required to bring prosperity and good health to its inhabitants while keeping them from harm. To many people in those societies, failure to comply with the canons places them in a stressful position. Other people may not regard the same canons as factual but wish to inhabit buildings that comply with them because the patterns give them a sense of identity in a globalizing world. The rules are ours. Yet other people, including many architects, dismiss the canons as historic superstitions but wish to have their buildings comply with the rules “just in case.” There are a variety of canonical texts. Indians have the Shilpa Shastras and many other texts; Feng Shui is important to many ethnic Chinese throughout the world. Many of these texts have a religious basis (see Bramble 2003 amongst a plethora of books on Feng Shui). The mythological origins of the strictures in India’s Shilpa Shastras, for instance, lie in the Vastu-Purusha mandala (see Figure 8.13a). The square, representing the absolute, is the mandala’s unequivocal geometric form. Its orientation to the cardinal points relates it to cosmic space. The square can be subdivided in a number of ways. One method is to divide it into nine sub-squares with the central one reserved for the god Brahma. The spirit of the site is said to be pressed prone to the ground with its limbs indicating where different parts of a building should be located.

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. The Vastu-Purusha mandala.

Courtesy of the architect

b. The Vidhan Bhavan, Bhopal, India (1993); Charles Correa Associates, architects. Courtesy of the architect

c. The Vidhan Bhavan. Courtesy of the architect

Courtesy of the architect

d. Methodist Center, Mumbai, India, plan and view; Darshan Bubbar, architect.

Figure 8.13 Sacred geometries and architectural design

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The Shilpa Shastras consist of 64 treatises specifying the layout for different types of cities, villages, houses, and palaces. They specify the requirements for 48 building types and the details of column widths, doors, windows, and other building details. There are edicts for the allocation of activities to specific parts of the site: kitchens should be on the eastern side, dining areas in the east or southeast, and sleeping areas in the southwest or west. According to one text, failure to meet these requirements will result in election defeats, the failure of couples to have sons, electrocution or death by fire, and other negative consequences (Reddy 1994). At the same time there are a number of highly detailed texts that argue logically that the canons have a strong empirical basis and demonstrate how to apply their design principles (Bubbar 2005). The application of the Vastu-Purusha mandala and canonical texts in India takes many forms and serves many functions. Some designs (for example, Figure 8.13d) are purer than others (for example, b). Charles Correa took considerable poetic license in applying the mandala in the Vidhan Bhavan. Instead of an open space at the center there is a hall (Correa 1996). Security stemming from knowing that the principles have been incorporated in a design is, nevertheless, a major reason for applying the design canons. Feng Shui with its strong spiritual base also has proponents who argue that it is empirically founded. Buildings following the principles reflect the activities they house, ritual meanings, and cosmic values. They are protective. For many people buildings function deterministically in shaping life for good if the principles of Feng Shui are followed and for the bad if they are not. The design edicts survive in a modern world because many people believe in them.

Security Functions and Architectural Theory Designing for security has been addressed in architecture and urban design since the first buildings were erected. Providing for privacy has also been a central concern in architectural practice. Neither has been a major topic of interest in architectural theory. There are exceptions. Tony Garnier’s Une Cité Industrielle assumed that the design of ideal physical systems predicated on ideal social systems would eliminate worries about such anti-social behaviors as crime (Garnier 1917). Such explorations are an important part of architectural theory because they open up new avenues for thought. At the same time, empirical reality intrudes when one tries to apply those ideas in societies different to that envisaged by Garnier. Most architects think of privacy in terms of seclusion not in terms of the transferance of multi-modal information about a standing patterns of behavior from inside a setting to the outside and vice versa. When the writings of Edward T. Hall (1969) and Robert Sommer (1969, 1974a) were first published architects were intrigued. It was not, however, until the development of the concept of defensible space by Oscar Newman that the concept of territorial behavior and its implications became part of a number of architects’ explicit knowledge base. The response to the need for security has often been to create gated and guarded compounds of buildings (Blakely and Snyder 1997, Low 2003). This response is evident in many countries. Not only is there an obvious physical barrier separating people but also a third party, a gatekeeper, is used to control admission. The gated housing area has become the standard unit for middle-income people in the People’s Republic of China and India today. It is used in many other countries such as the United States to attain a sense of

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security. In South Africa many formerly open neighborhoods have been walled and gated as a deterrent to criminal activity within them. Is the gated community an ideal? The concern for way finding and built form mechanisms to aid it became part of the knowledge base of architects soon after the release of Lynch’s book in 1960. Its popularity continues because the research findings are easily translatable into design principles in much the same manner that Newman’s studies of defensible space have proven to be. Architects’ attitudes towards easy way finding differ. Some have sought to establish a sense of unease. They have achieved this end by distorting perspective and/or by creating labyrinths. In the design of the Cemetery of San Cataldo in Modena (1971), Italy, Aldo Rossi deliberately took this tactic to represent, symbolically, a timeless journey (Broadbent 1990). He reduced the ease of way finding to give people a sense of insecurity. Much the same end is achieved in the Jewish Museum in Berlin (1999) designed by Daniel Libeskind (see Figure 14.17). The canonical treatises on the other hand seek to have sthaptis (mason/contractors) design in specific ways in order to allay householders’ insecurity and provide them with peace of mind. The canonical treatises by Chinese and Indian scholars are the architectural theory texts of traditional builders in those countries. In an age when international architects are working in China and to a lesser extent in India, it behooves them to be cognizant of these texts if for no other reason than applying the principles advocated gives a sense of both security to people who believe in them and a sense of locality to the buildings so designed. Societies change. Perhaps one day police forces will not be necessary; citizens will all be law abiding as Garnier fantasized. This end will not, however, be attained simply through good urban design and architecture although they may help. In the meantime, providing for safety and security continues to be a central function of the built environment that designers have to consider (Nadel 2004).

Major References Altman, Irwin 1975. Environment and Social Behavior: Privacy, Personal Space, Territory, Crowding. Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole. Arthur, Paul and Romedi Passini 1990. Wayfinding: People, Signs, and Architecture. New York: McGraw Hill. Committee for the Oversight and Assessment of Blast Effects and Related Research, National Research Council 2001. Protecting People and Buildings from Terrorism: Technology Transfer for Blast-Effects Mitigation. Washington, DC: The National Academies Press. Lynch, Kevin 1960. The Image of the City. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Nadel, Barbara, ed. 2004. Building Security: Handbook for Architectural Planning and Design. New York: McGraw-Hill. Newman, Oscar 1972. Defensible Space: Crime Prevention through Urban Design. New York: Macmillan, www.defensiblespace.com.

9

Architecture, Financial Security, and Profit

Remind people that profit is the difference between revenue and expense. This make you look smart. Scott Adams, cartoonist

“Form follows finance” declares Carol Willis (1998). The design of any building is shaped by the cost of its site, its own cost, and the cost of the money required to build it (Clarke 2004). Often, the basic function of a building is to create an investment yielding profit to its developers, those who are funding it, and its architects. To gain a profit all these players may be prepared to forgo design quality on some aspect of the building they are proposing. The cost of a building is generally seen as a constraint on how much space can be provided, and on the quality of built-in furnishings and the materials used. The limitation of funds to pay capital costs is often also a limitation on achieving long term benefits. Any city for (example, New York in Figure 9.1a) consists of a mixture of conservative and speculative investments by property developers. The types and character of the developments depends on what is regarded as a safe investment in an era. The commercial building in (b), the offices and apartments in (d), and the houses in (c) reflect what the contemporary market was demanding. Centre Point in London (see Figure 1.4a) and Muang Thong Thani (9.1e) were un- or under-occupied for over a decade after they were erected. Centre Point has proven to have been a safe investment in the long run and Muang Thong Thani may be too, but we shall have to wait to see.

Capital, Maintenance, and Operating Costs For any building development, three basic financial concerns almost inevitably shape its design: capital costs, maintenance costs, and operating costs. Capital costs refer to the sum of money required to design and construct a building and maintenance costs to keeping it in a satisfactory enough condition for it be inhabited. Operating costs are those expended for heating, cooling, and other running expenses. The capital investments costs required are often the critical factor in making a decision of whether to build or not. To reduce capital costs in order to make short-term profits, long-term maintenance costs are often ignored. When a property developer hands over a building to an owner on its completion, the maintenance and operating costs are passed on too. As a result there is little pressure on developers or architects to worry about them. Over the lifetime of a building those costs can be extraordinarily high. Many buildings and public places such as city squares and memorials that were outstanding works when constructed are now in an advanced state of disrepair because maintenance costs have proven to be prohibitive.

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Photograph by Alix Verge

a. New York City, USA.

b. The architecture of commercial pragmatism. Pacific Bell Company, San Diego, CA, USA.

c. Newbury Estate, NSW, Australia.

d. Multi-use building, North Sydney, NSW, Australia (2007).

Figure 9.1

e. Muang Thong Thani, Bangkok, Thailand (1992+); Nation Fender, architects.

Developers and the financial security of their investments

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Designing to minimize maintenance and operating costs is particularly important in those countries in which high quality maintenance is not part of the cultural ethos. In such countries the rapid deterioration of the newly built environment is often accepted as the norm, a fact of life, until something serious such as a building collapse happens. In countries where corruption in the building industry and local governments is endemic, shortcuts may well be taken in the specification of materials and the way structural systems are implemented. The consequence can be dire not only when natural catastrophes such as earthquakes occur but in the day-to-day operational life of a building. Most property developers are under pressure to build at as low a cost as they can and, naturally, for what they perceive the market place will accept. The result is that minimum legal standards for such building characteristics as ceiling heights become the norm, while what architectural purists would regard as frippery (for example, fountains in the lobby) that connotes high-status in many nouveau-riche minds are incorporated in designs. The result of such impacts is a continuation of the architectures of commercial pragmatism and flamboyant Post-Modernism. With the recognition of the impact of investment processes on the demand for high quality environments has come the recognition that such environments have to be maintained well (Petrovic-Lazarevic 2000). The earth’s resources are finite and new ways of operating buildings that are energy efficient need to be discovered and implemented. The initial capital cost of constructing such buildings is often higher than for “ordinary” buildings but the operating costs are lower and their impact on the environment is less. As energy costs rise so does the demand for a reduction in the cost of operating buildings. All five of the buildings shown in Figure 9.2 attempt to do that. The comfort level obtained is not always what users expect and the goal to attain a LEED [Leader in Energy and Environmental Design] silver rating is not always matched by performance (for example, in c; Mulady 2005). In countries where financial resources are limited operating cost reduction is crucial. The advocacies of Ken Yeang and their application in design (for example, b) are well known. The designs in (d) and (e) are in the India but in different climatic zones. They use different climatically sensitive design patterns to reduce cooling costs.

Key Investors and their Attitudes Architects and developers working together is an essential part of the construction industry. It is easy to think of developers as the only people who have a financial stake in buildings but the picture is more complex. The set of people who have an investment interest in a building is much larger than standard images suggest. The stereotypes held of the values that different people have in the investments they make are also often simplistic. The major players involved in the design of a building include its owners, property developers, sponsors who provide the financing, architects and other designers, and the public interest. Each has its own set of concerns. What they have in common is a desire for financial security in what they do and almost always a pride in the results of their work.

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© T.R. Hamzah and Yeang Sdn. Bhd

a. The Red Centre, University of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia (1999); MGT, architects.

b. Elephant and Castle, London proposal (2000); T.R. Hamzah and Yeang, architects.

Collection of Jon Lang

c. Seattle City Hall, Seattle, Washington, USA (2002); BCJ in association with Bassetti, architects. Courtesy of the architect

e. The Torrent Research Centre, Ahmedabad, India (1997-2000); Abhikram, architects with Brian Ford Associates, consultants.

d. Club house, Le Olive, Mysore, India (1999); B.S. Bhoosan, architect.

Figure 9.2

Operating costs and ecological design

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Owners In capitalist societies real estate prices tend to have a firm place in the back of people’s minds. Investors generally want to be sure that their money yields financial and emotional profits. Owners come in a variety of forms: private individuals, private corporations, and public bodies. They have much in common although public organizations can, ostensibly, take greater risks because financial losses can be recuperated through future tax income provided a country or a municipality is economically viable. The financial resources of potential owners of buildings and their degree of optimism about the future affect their investment decisions. Deciding to build depends on some confidence that the future is financially sound. Often it is assumed that demands for land and buildings will continue. In areas of the world where property prices have risen significantly over the past 30, 20, or even 10 years, people talk in self-congratulatory tones about the rise in the value of their properties. They talk about their houses as investments not homes. Such thinking makes considerations of environmental quality and what might be in the public interest difficult to raise. When prices fall, the economic and emotional consequences can be shattering. Stress levels soar. The public sector has sources of finance that are unavailable to the private sector. As a result projects that are deemed to be in the public interest but financially not viable (or risky) in the private market place can be undertaken by governments acting as property developers. However extensive the resources of the public sector might be (and often they are limited) a desire exists to minimize the costs of development. Greenway, a public housing development with glorious views (Figure 9.3a) has considerably less invested in it than the Sydney Opera House (b) either in thought or deed. It serves a different client group, public interest, and purpose.

a. Greenway Flats, Kirribilli, Australia (1948-53); Morrow and Gordon, architects.

Figure 9.3

b. Sydney Opera House, Sydney, Australia (195773); Jørn Utzon, architect. Completed by Peter Hall, architect.

The public sector as property developer

Outside academia, few architectural decisions are made assuming there is an infinitely elastic money supply although another lottery was held for the Sydney Opera House whenever more money was needed for construction. Costs burgeoned out from a

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predicted ten million to a hundred and ten million Australian dollars. The government was the developer and was fulfilling a perceived public interest goal. As a community asset it has proven to be financially worth it, indirectly if not directly (Murray 2004). Much of the world is not as well off as middle-class America or Europe. Security of tenure of a site is important in slum upgrading as a comparison between two such areas in Hyderabad, India shows (see Figure 9.4). The inhabitants of the two have similar incomes and similar caste backgrounds but the investment each has made in its buildings is vastly different. In Nirankainagar people believe they have tenure (although they do not legally) while in Indiranagar, they know they do not (Rao 2000, Lang 2002).

a. Nirankainagar, Hyderabad, India in 2000.

Figure 9.4

b. Indiranagar, Hyderabad, India in 2000.

Security of tenure and investment decisions

Property Developers The term property developer covers a variety of types of people and organizations. Some may be individuals or private sector companies while others are agencies of public bodies. They vary from get-rich-quickly entrepreneurs who build what novelist Salman Rushdie calls “cash-on-deliveri towers” (Rushdie 1996), to highly conservative property trusts. Some developers are individuals, some are private syndicates and small companies, and others are multi-national corporations. In only rare instances for other than their own homes are they architects. The return sought on financial investments has generally been higher for private than public developers. In cities such as Bilbao, Spain and Glendale, California, USA public investment was the catalyst for private development (Vidarte 2002, Lang 2005). At the beginning of the second half of the twentieth century, government bodies were the developers of new towns, urban renewal schemes, and mass housing projects in many countries. Their goal, particularly in the supply of mass housing was to provide a large number of units at a minimal cost. The results show it. The use of public sector investments as a catalyst to create a secure financial environment for private investors has a long history (Attoe and Logan 1985). The investment in the building of the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao (Figure 9.5a) by the

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Basque administration has not only yielded tourist revenue but has been the basis for the development of adjacent Abandoibarra (b and c). The plan and other government investments have encouraged further private development such as the Sheraton Hotel (d) in the area. The public investment in the Guggenheim and other projects (for example, e and f) created a sense of security for private investors to develop property in the city. The role of public developers in large-scale urban design projects has now often been taken over by private companies. For instance, in Germany, after the reunification of East and West Berlin, private investors such as Sony and Daimler Benz AG hired architects to play what is generally regarded as a public sector role in designing plans for the Potsdamer Platz precinct of Berlin. What has been built (Figure 9.6d) meets the needs of financial security for the developers better than the designs originally envisaged probably would have (a and b). The reasons for private companies taking on traditional public sector roles are diverse but have to do primarily with attracting other private investors to participate in large developments. Investors have to feel secure in their investments. A well-planned development relying on what sells easily creates a sense of confidence that financial returns will make any investor’s contribution worthwhile. The types of environment sought owe either a considerable debt to Modernist architectural theory where each building is seen as an object in space with its own identity, or follow New Urbanist design principles, or some combination of the two. In the first case the quality of the street has little to do with how a project functions for pedestrians and much to do with what it looks like in the foreground of a photograph. The efficiency of vehicular traffic flow is the urban design goal and a flamboyant architecture is often the building design goal. The second approach is more recent and the architecture generally appears anonymous. Two opposing forces that affect architectural practice appear to be working in the development market today. One is pushing developers to minimal standards in building and the other, in contrast, is for them to seek high quality buildings designed by major architects. In the first case, as mentioned above, there is a push to erect buildings of minimum standards with the addition of what are regarded as prestige items. The purpose is simply to sell a building or a unit within it as a product. In the second, associating a famous name with a design is a selling-point. A note on the globalized investment industry  The growth of foreign direct investment flows in an era of globalization and the types of divisions of labor that now exist in the world of commerce have led to a concentration of service/commercial buildings in what are perceived to be the world cities: London, Tokyo, Hong Kong, New York, and Frankfurt and, increasingly, the rising Asian cities (Olds 2001, Marshall 2003). It has led to a further heightening of demand for certain building and aesthetic types—commercial, industrial, and housing—that appeal to global decision makers. Investments involve risk. Property developers focus on segments of the market that are likely to prove safe and they stick to building types and styles with which they are familiar. They are risk averse. They seek secure investments and safe havens for their money. Many invest internationally. Their architects work internationally too. Many developments in Vancouver (for example, Figure 9.7a) are financed by Hong Kong interests and the building forms are derived from the Hong Kong experience. The housing in San Diego shown in (d) was developed by Canadian interests.

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Photograph by Musa Al Farid

Drawing by Munir Vahanvati corrected by César Pelli Associates

a. The Guggenheim Museum, (1997); Frank O. Gehry and Associates, LLP, architects.

b. The proposed Plaza Euskadi, Abandoibarra, featuring the Government of Viscaya Building (2004+); César Pelli and Associates, architects.

c. Development in progress, Abandoibarra, Spain in 2006.

d. Sheraton Hotel, Abandoibarra (2004); Legorreta and Legorreta, architects.

© Arcspace: Courtesy of Kirsten Kiser

e. Sondika Airport (2000); Santiago Calatrava Valls, architect.

Figure 9.5

f. Metro entrance; Foster and Partners architects.

Public investment as a basis for creating a sense of financial security for private investors—the case of Bilbao, Spain

architecture, financial security, and profit

Drawing adapted from various sources by Thanong Poonterakul

Drawing adapted from various sources by Thanong Poonterakul

b. The Hilmer and Sattler competition winning scheme (1991).

a. The Richard Rogers Partnership competition winning scheme (1990).

Drawing by Thanong Poonteerakul

c. The Sony Center (2000); Murphy/Jahn, architects.

d. The Potsdamer Platz precinct as built (2002).

Figure 9.6

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e. The Sony Center atrium.

Potsdamer Platz, Berlin, Germany—property developers and urban design

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Photograph by George Turnbull

a. Mixed use, predominantly housing, False Creek, Vancouver, Canada in 2004. b. Commercial buildings, Lujiazui, Pudong, Shanghai, People’s Republic of China in 2004.

c. DZ Bank Headquarters, Frankfurt am Main, Germany (1997); Kohn Pedersen Fox, architects.

Figure 9.7

d. Housing, San Diego, California, USA in 2002.

The architecture of the international money markets

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Public buildings when provided by private operators are shaped by the obligations they have to their shareholders as well as to the people who use their services. It might be thought that it is only when a private operator of a public service seeks a building that return on investment is a critical factor but governments too are increasingly looking at their investments in the same way. In addition, competition between architects for work means that they are cutting their fees and thus putting less thought and effort into the design of new buildings. They end up being copyists. Standard plans are used for new buildings but the wrapping is designed to bring attention. The buildings serve as signs and as advertisements. Developers and signature buildings  Conscious of the financial benefits that can be reaped by high-style design, developers and home owners have long hired renowned architects to design buildings and/or their interiors. The Tiene brothers in the sixteenth century hired Palladio to design prestigious palaces that were a “calculated investment in the family’s future”. The desire may even be stronger today (Postrel 2003, Clarke 2004, Madanipour 2005, Lislieri 2009). The architects involved are called, sometimes pejoratively, starchitects and the buildings signature buildings. The Prada Store in New York (2002) owned by Miuccia Prada and designed by Rem Koolhaas, is an object of conspicuous consumption and display. Another New York shop is the La Maison Unique Longchamp designed by Thomas Heatherwick. Having a design created by a world-renowned architect ensures that it is in the public eye and that it increases the value of an organization’s assets and by so doing safeguards them. Businesses (Figure 9.8a, b, c, and d), institutions (e) and universities have found that enhancing their prestige through prestigious designs is a worthwhile investment. Superior quality enables developers and realtors to produce buildings for which purchasers or renters are prepared to pay a higher than standard price. The same observation applies to showcase building such as museums. They attract more visitors if they are highly publicized buildings in their own right. Well-known examples are the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, Spain and the Jewish Museum in Berlin. Developers, public or private, also get “symbolic capital” through their association with famous architects. A small group of architects considered by their peers and critics to be the elite of the profession design much of the work that attracts attention. A much larger group produces the everyday commercial architecture required by clients, public and private. The work of the former constitutes the foreground buildings of cities while the latter provides the background. The elite architectural firms can be divided into two groups (Olds 2001). One consists of those who operate on the world scene—the major architectural firms— and the other those of the individual superstars. The two often overlap. The first group consists primarily of the largely faceless firms such as Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, Kohn Pedersen Fox, and RTKL Associates. At the beginning of the twenty-first century the second consists of architectural luminaries such as Frank Gehry, Zaha Hadid, Jean Nouvel, Richard Rogers, and Santiago Calatrava. What differentiates architects such as B.V. Doshi and Charles Correa working in India from those architects operating at the international level is that they are very much concerned with context, working within local symbolic norms, and often within tight budgets.

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Photograph by Tom Lee

b. Torre Agbar, Barcelona, Spain (2005); Ateliers Jean Nouvel, architects.

a. The SwissRe Building, London, UK (2003); Foster and Partners, architects.

c. Lloyds Building, London, UK (1979-84); Richard Rogers Partnership, architects. Photograph by Kathy A. Kolnick

d. The World Financial Center, Battery Park City, New York, USA (1992); César Pelli and Associates, architects.

Figure 9.8

Signature buildings

e. The Walt Disney Concert Hall, Los Angeles, CA, USA (2003); Frank O. Gehry and Associates, architects.

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The more commercial firms produce the types of buildings that are seldom regarded by the cognoscenti as works of art. The firms pride themselves in producing competent work that may not raise the spirits of the architectural fraternity, but it generally provides comfortable working and/or living environments on budget and on time. Architects as developers  Other than for their own homes, few architects are developers of the buildings they design. While designing for themselves gives architects an opportunity to express their own ideas, their homes also serve as advertisements for their work. A number of individual architects make their living buying properties, renovating them and then selling them at profit but few are developers at a larger scale. John C. Portman III is an exception. Portman is chairman of Portman Holdings and chief executive officer for John Portman and Associates, architects. Portman, as property developer and architect, pioneered the design of hotels with atrium interiors (Figure 9.9a and b). He has been the developer/ architect of major building complexes such as Renaissance Center in Detroit and a variety of Hyatt hotels. His corporations have developed a wide range of buildings that have responded to the needs of the market place well. Being a developer has shaped his buildings. The time spent on their design is kept to a minimum (see Portman 1976, 2003). Arcosanti (e), in contrast, proceeds to be built on a shoestring. It is not driven by market forces but by Paolo Soleri’s dreams and his desire to turn a concept into a reality. Sponsors Sponsors are the ones who hold the purse strings. Sometimes they are the individuals who are building for themselves and have the cash on hand to do so. More often they are banks and other lending institutions in the private sector and governments in the public sector. Private sector lending institutions tend to be conservative in nature. In boom times they seem to be lavish with their loan policies but at other times they are very cautious. Borrowing money costs money in the form of the interest paid on capital. In the course of paying off a 30-year mortgage the total interest paid is considerable. The rise and fall of interest rates thus very much affects the willingness of developers to borrow money and sponsors to loan it. Public agencies often have a dual role as the sponsors of projects. They provide the funding for buildings and they act as a surrogate for their future users. In the first capacity they have generally tended to be frugal in the demands they place on building quality except when they are sponsoring major government buildings. The low quality of much public housing around the world and the lack of attention to the quality of the space between buildings show that the concern has focused on the number of units built rather than their quality. This attitude is changing as the cost of demolishing cheaply built projects and building anew in their stead becomes public knowledge. In their second role the agencies are specifying what the users’ needs are that have to be met within the budget available. They tend to see users in organismic terms and the built environment as a provider of shelter. Provision is made only for a minimal range of activity patterns. This attitude shows in the design program that agencies hand architects and consequently in the buildings erected (Zeisel 1974, 2006).

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Photograph by Charles Rice

Photograph by Charles Rice

b. Hyatt Regency, interior.

a. Hyatt Regency (1967), Atlanta, Georgia, USA in 2009; John Portman and Associates, architects.

d. Renaissance Center, interior.

c. Renaissance Center, Detroit, Michigan, USA (1973-7); John Portman and Associates, architects.

Figure 9.9

The architect as developer

e. Arcosanti, Arizona, USA (1969-2030); Paolo Soleri, architect.

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Architects One of the functions of architectural practice is to provide a living for architects. All architectural firms are businesses that have to meet a payroll on a regular basis. The majority of architectural practices are small. It is not the most lucrative of professions except for those architects who run large firms with substantial fees coming in on a regular basis. Small or large, architectural firms have to meet budgets and deadlines (Linn 2007). The design of any building is an open-ended process and there is no stopping rule for telling an architect when to cease trying to create something better. It is a deadline that brings the search for the ideal to an end. Architects may regard themselves as highly creative people, but the opportunities of departing from standard norms are hampered by financial constraints. The architects of the globalized world, being astute business people, maintain contacts with the power elite. They keep a high profile within the industry by speaking at conferences and teaching at prestigious universities (often at low rates of pay) in order to bolster their reputations. They create images for themselves. Le Corbusier was a master of this aspect of life (Turner 1977, Brooks 1997). Architects seek publicity and rewards for their work. The stars amongst them participate in competitions as entrants (often by invitation) or as jurors. They remain in the spotlight by attracting attention through creating designs that startle. Behind the star is a veritable host of supportive players, many of whom are demanding greater recognition for the ideas they produce. Historically architects’ fees for a project have been based on a percentage of the total cost of a building. Expensive high quality buildings yield greater profits. With costs and return on investment being more and more a major factor in the development of new buildings, the irony is that the harder architects work to bring down costs, the lower the fees they get. The way of charging fees has thus been changing during the past 20 years. They are increasingly the subject of negotiation and competitive bidding amongst architectural firms. The outcome is that much designing and specifying is done in a hurry with architects relying on precedents and generic forms as the basis for their design explorations (see Rapoport 1991 and Veseley 2004). They hope those designs will function at least well enough for people to adapt to them. The Public Interest The public interest is represented by zoning ordinances, legal codes, and building bylaws. Their function is to ensure that designs function well enough at a minimal level. There is general agreement that the laws should ensure public health and safety and certainly that they should deal with survival issues. Beyond this level of public interest concern architects argue about what the laws should cover. Laws affect design costs to the extent that they shape the bulk of buildings, building setbacks, requirements for safety from fire, and, increasingly, from earthquake damage. They also often specify parking requirements. Meeting all these requirements does increase the cost of buildings but these costs are usually passed on to the consumer. Without legal constraints developers and their architects would be tempted to cut many safety corners.

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The field of urban design has developed over the past 50 years as architects and the public recognize that individual buildings however well-designed do not necessarily constitute a fine urban environment. Design guidelines for precincts of cities are developed to ensure that the public realm of new developments functions well (Barnett 1982, 1987, Lang 1994, 2005). Architects of individual buildings in such precincts often feel that the guidelines limit their creativity. Investors worry about profits. Debates about the utility of guidelines continue but their imposition has resulted in some fine new precincts of cities.

Finances and Architectural Theory The relationship between developers and architects is central to design. Without a profit motive there would be little building. Yet the financing of projects and how it shapes buildings has fallen outside the domain of architectural theory. The cost of buildings and the impact of cost on design has not been a major topic of discussion in the architectural literature. It is only from the last decade of the twentieth century that there have been important awards of architectural prizes for design excellence with building costs in mind. Architectural theory has been primarily concerned with dealing with works that are clearly expensive or mass housing. This situation is unfortunate because the function of buildings as investments shapes them in many ways. The study of building types clearly illustrates this point. Many, if not most, building designs are based on standard types, or generic solutions to recurring requirements. Their layouts are efficient and meet the needs of the market place well. The generic hotel type in Figure 9.10a is reflected in the hotel in (b). Many office buildings have the plan shown in (c) and neighborhood supermarkets have layouts as shown in (d). Changes occur. Malls such as that in (e) are giving way to types such as in (f) and the commercial building layout in (c) is giving way to the cores being attached on the outside. Many hotels are certainly significantly departures from the standard type (Watson 2005). Very little attention has been paid to commercial architecture by architectural theorists. Yet, it is the mundane everyday architecture that gives cities their character however many buildings seen as works of art they contain. Low building budget design requires considerable skill and improvisation. Many low cost materials have a stigma attached to them. Doing simple things like using low cost materials (for example, concrete blocks) in new ways (such as block on end) changes the usual associations one has with low budget buildings. On the periphery of architectural theory has been a concern for vernacular architecture in which the developer, architect, and builder is the same person (Rudofsky 1964, Oliver 1969). The reason is that there is ironically a strong admiration for what can be achieved with a minimum of resources. This observation is particularly true for those architectures whose forms show the plasticity of materials favored by the architectural cognoscenti.

architecture, financial security, and profit

Drawings by Omar Sharif

a. A generic city hotel layout.

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© Erhard Pfeiffer 2010

b. The Westin Charlotte (2003), Charlotte, North Carolina, USA; John Portman and Associates, architects. Collection of Jon Lang

c. A generic office building floor plan. Collection of Jon Lang

e. Typical shopping mall, New jersey, USA (c. 1970).

Figure 9.10 Generic building forms

d. A generic neighborhood supermarket site plan. Collection of Jon Lang

f. Rouse Hill Town Centre, NSW, Australia (2008).

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Major References Clarke, Paul Walter 2004. The economic currency of architectural aesthetics, in Designing Cities: Critical Readings in Urban Design, edited by Alexander Cuthbert. Oxford: Blackwell, 28-45. Madanipour, Ali 2005. Value of Place, in Physical Capital: How Great Places Boost Public Value, edited by The Commission for Architecture and the Built Environment. London: The editor, 48-71. Olds, Kris 2001. Globalization and Urban Change: Capital, Culture and Pacific Rim Projects. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Portman, John 1976. The Architect as Developer. New York: McGraw Hill. Willis, Carol 1998. Form Follows Finance. Skyscrapers in New York and Chicago. New York: Princeton University Press.

10

Identity and Community

The American city should be a collection of communities where every member has a right to belong … it should be a place where each one of us can find the satisfaction and warmth which comes from being a member of the community of man. Lyndon B. Johnson, 36th President of the United States of America

Identity is a multi-valent word. It deals with the distinguishing characteristics of an individual, a group, or a community to which a person belongs. It is this last topic that is of interest in this chapter. It is closely related to the issues of territorial control covered in earlier chapters and the status of groups and individuals within a society considered in the next two chapters. Implicit in much architectural theory is that designing to develop a sense of identity is a function of architecture. Architects have long been fascinated by the role that buildings and precinct design plays in promoting a sense of community. The design goal has been to provide people with a sense of belonging to a society located in a geographical context, a culture, and/ or an era. Much of the rhetoric of the modern movements assumed that the layouts of precincts and buildings and their aesthetic qualities are the important variables in creating a sense of community. We are much more cautious about making any such claim today. The role that building and neighborhood layouts can play in affording the development of a sense of community or identity should be neither exaggerated nor lightly dismissed (Langdon 1997, Madanipour 2001).

Sociological and Psychological Communities Sociological communities are those based on interaction patterns among their members, and psychological with a sense that people have something in common with each other. For functional theory the concern is for understanding the role in community formation of the affordances of different patterns of behavior settings, their aesthetic characteristics, and the qualities of the milieu. The activity patterns of a population (whether it be the members of a commercial organization or a residential area) and the aesthetic values they hold or may come to hold, are key variables in designing for the development of a sense of identity with a community. The difficulty is that activity patterns can only be designed for formal organizations not communal ones (Gottschalk 1975). Communal ones can, however, be identified. Formal and Communal Organizations The members of formal organization are held together by contract. The contract may extend to covering dress codes and uniforms that act as signs to distinguish between

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those who belong to an organization and those who do not. Communal organizations are held together by sets of generally understood obligations based on behavioral norms within a culture or sub-culture. These norms cover both interaction patterns and elements of an organization’s material culture including its architecture.

Table 10.1 Formal and communal organizations Adapted from Gottschalk (1975) by Jon Lang, courtesy of Joe Schenkman

Some Similarities between Formal and Communal Organizations 1. Both are solidarity interactional systems 2. Both are relatively highly institutionalized in that they possess a developed normative structure, a high level of consensus, and patterned reciprocal expectations 3. Both may include sub-systems of their own as well as of the opposite type 4. Sentimental collectivity orientations (loyalty, commitment) are a variable Differences between Formal and Communal Organizations Each of the dimensions may be considered to be representing a continuum Formal Organizations

Communal Organizations

1. Oriented towards a specific defining goal Not oriented towards such a goal 2. Functional collectivity orientation No functional collectivity organization 3. Linked by contract Linked by generalized cooperation 4. Mechanistic interaction Structured freewheeling 5. A formal hierarchy of roles A variety of roles but no formal hierarchy 6. Normative, utilitarian, and coercive forms Only normative power is legitimate of power are legitimate 7. Can be created externally or by its elements Can only be created by its elements 8. The inclusive system defines the roles of The inclusive system is defined by its the subsystems subsystems

The behavioral norms of both formal and communal organizations specify the roles and activities of individuals that are necessary for an organization to function, the nature of privacy associated with their activities, and their status within the organization. More broadly, a society may explicitly (that is, formally) or implicitly (that is, communally) specify the roles of men and women, the elderly and children, and full members and hangers-on. It will also specify the degree of tolerance that it has for its members’ departures from accepted norms of behavior. Most commercial firms and institutions have formal structures dictating interaction patterns but even within highly organized systems of management it is often the informal networks that keep the organization alive (Gottschalk 1979, Florida 2002). The systems of management themselves vary considerably. Some are dominated by formal organizations; others allow the communal to dictate much. The same observation can also be made about families and kinship systems. Designing well-fitting environments for formal organizations (even though they may be continually evolving) is easier than for communal ones.

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Spatial and Aspatial Communities People are members of common interest and kinship communities that are not necessarily locally based (that is, at the building or neighborhood level). There are many formal organizations (clubs, professional societies, trade unions, charities, and so on) whose members may live at a considerable distance from each other. Similarly, the relatives, friends, and work colleagues of those people whose lives are socially and spatially mobile may well be widespread. Contact and communications are maintained by letter, telephone and, since 1994, with the introduction of the Internet, e-mail. Many people are members of global communities whose members may seldom or never meet faceto-face. In commercial, educational, and other formal organizations, the interactions among their members take place within a designated set of behavior settings. Even here the organization itself, as well as its members, will be part of communities outside the walls of a building or boundaries of a neighborhood. The architectural concern, nevertheless, remains with the identification and design of the behavior settings required to maintain the functioning of the formal organization and, with greater difficulty, the communal organizations within it that grease its wheels. It is, however, foolish to think that one can design complete—“compleat” in Marcia Pelly Effrat’s terms (1974)—territorial communities.

Table 10.2 Spatial and aspatial communities Adapted from the studies of Suttles (1972) and Effrat (1974) by Jon Lang

Territorial Grounding

Necessary

Number of Functions Provided by a Community Many

Few

Complete territorial communities

Communities of limited liability

Historically villages, small towns, even cities

Small neighborhoods and neighboring Urban precincts Social areas

Community as society

Personal communities

Minority groups (ethnic, deviant, Unnecessary sexual) Common interest groups (occupational, professional, lifestyle)

Communal institutions Voluntary organization, membership Social networks

A complete territorial community is one in which almost all the activities of a group occur within a specific bounded and defended area (see Table 10.2). Few such communities exist today. Those that do are located in extremely remote areas. Some current neighborhoods may approach being complete territorial communities. The pols of Ahmedabad (Figure 10.1a and b) have clan and caste groups linked by both formal and communal norms of behavior in gated territories. Ethnically homogenous, territorially defined face-block neighborhoods (for example, c) have a high degree of social cohesion. People living in kibbutzim in Israel and co-housing developments (for example, d) share many

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a. A traditional neighborhood, or pol, in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India in 1984.

b. Interior view of a pol.

Source: McCamant and Durrett (1988); courtesy of Kathryn McCamant and Charles Durett

c. South Philadelphia, PA, USA in 1993.

d. Trudeslund, Denmark (1978-81); Vankustein, architects. Courtesy of David Bray

Collection of Jon Lang

e. Gang turfs, Mantua, Philadelphia in 1970.

f. Wenxinyuan, Baibuting, Hankou, People’s Republic of China.

Figure 10.1 Complete territorial communities—do they exist?

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common bonds. Gang turfs (for example, e) apply only to teenage youths. The gated xiaoqu (for example, f) is a common walled unit of residential development in China today. The formal (governance) organization exists first at the xiaoqu level and then within it at the block and then at the building level. The result is considerable social cohesion (Bray 2006). None of these examples is however, a complete territorial community. Generally, people today can be said to live in neighborhoods of “limited liability” (Suttles 1972, Effrat 1973). They have a few but, possibly, major commitments to their neighbors. The nature of socio-physical communities  The complete territorial neighborhood is one type of socio-physical community. There are others. Shimon Gottschalk (1975) identifies four of them based on the links a precinct has with the world outside it, the links between sub-components of the unit, and the nature of the relationship, formal or communal, among its members (see Table 10.3)

Table 10.3 A classification of community types Adapted from Gottschalk (1975) by Jon Lang, courtesy of Joe Schenkman

Link Type

Level II high

Level II low

Communities Planned communities Historical communities Intentional Communities Administered Communities Level I low Level I high Level II high Level II high Level III low Level III high With level I and II in partnership With level I and III in partnership (e.g., Oneida, Shakers) (e.g., the company town) Cresive communities Designed communities Level I low Level I high Level II low Level II low Level III high Level III low With all three levels in partnership (e.g., the folk village) (e.g., Levittown, Reston)

Key: Level I = external level; Level II = community level; Level III = family level; High = formal organization; Low = communal organization.

Within this framework the cresive community is essentially a complete territorial unit that has developed over time in an unselfconscious manner. In it all three types of links are communal ones. The pol, particularly as it existed in the past, and the folk communities are the best examples. Their populations share a common heritage. The unity of built form of their neighborhoods is maintained by unwritten rules about what people can and cannot do. As they become modernized and social bonds weaken so the understandings are turned into encoded legal regulations. Jaisalmer is one such community, Mykonos another (see Figure 10.2). The administered community may have communal organizations at the family level but the other two links are formal ones. The company town is an example. There are many such towns around the world (Bucci 1998). The designed community is one in which families have a high goal orientation and the links to the outside are formal but the local relationships are communal. They are communities of limited liability. Many suburban developments are of this type. The intentional community has low links to the

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a. Jaisalmer, Rajasthan, India in 1985.

b. Mykonos, Greece in 1963.

Figure 10.2 Cresive communities

outside world but formal ones at the local and family levels. Historically, religion-based settlements such as the Shaker and Oneida villages were of this type. Israeli kibbutzim fall into this category as do, perhaps, more loosely, present day co-housing settlements (for example, Trudeslund, see Figure 10.1d; McCamant and Durett 1988, Lang 2005, J. Williams 2005). Gottschalk also identifies four anti-community types (such as George Orwell’s 1984) but they fall outside the scope of concern here.

The Function of the Built Environment in Community Creation and Maintenance Buildings through their interior architecture can contribute to people’s sense of membership in a formal organization. The management style and the nature of the rewards, financial and psychological, that one receives for being a participant are, however, usually more important than the architecture. The layout of working and living environments can, nevertheless, increase the opportunities for interactions and give people a feeling of pride in being a member of an organization. Building Layout and Interaction Patterns To forge a sense of community at the building level it is necessary to create settings where the standing patterns of behavior of the formal organization can take place easily, but also incidental settings such as nodes where corridors/paths cross so that accidental meetings can occur. Incidental settings often require a catalyst (such as a vending machine) to spark conversation. Plan layouts with these characteristics afford the development of a sense of a community but they do not cause it to happen. Where the above criteria have been applied there is evidence of success but only when the people involved are predisposed to be part of a community. The National Humanities Center (see Figure 10.3a) was designed to be a refuge for academics to carry out research

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independently but also to be a place for them to exchange ideas with scholars in other disciplines. The physical design supports the intention. The “cells” provide individual study areas. Setbacks in corridors, lounges that serve as places for seminars and sherry hours in the evening, and the dining area all provide places for scholars to converse. One of the formal rules in the dining area is that individuals cannot sit at an empty table if a seat is available at a partially occupied table. All kinds of institutions follow a similar line of thinking. Examples are university dormitories, psychiatric hospitals, homes for the frail elderly and juvenile detention centers. In recent years, a community-oriented approach has been used in their designs. Facilities are smaller in size than in the past so that they are not over-manned and have been designed to be as home-like as possible. A living room with the attributes of home is often the core communal area/node of such facilities. The residential clusters are also broken down into small units to establish a community of only a few members. It is this identification of the activities and spaces that can bring people together that is common to all efforts to design for a sense of community but it is shared interests that can make it happen. In the Unité d’Habitation in Marseilles Le Corbusier sought to develop a residential neighborhood and community within a single building (see Figure 10.3b; Le Corbusier 1953, Jencks 1993). The Unité was proposed to have both formal and communal organizations. It has a formal organization in its residents’ committee. The building has shops (now largely closed due to the lack of clientele) and facilities that afford opportunities for its residents’ paths to cross while conducting day-to-day activities. In Marseilles, the residents of the Unité have at least partially availed themselves of the affordances provided. Its residents constitute a community of limited liability. Such a sense of community has not been characteristic of the other buildings based on the Unité’s design but they have been only pale copies of Le Corbusier’s communal design principles (Marmot 1982). That in Berlin also designed by Le Corbusier is simply a freestanding apartment building with only a post office as a communal facility. The search for community in a building continues with buildings such as the Mirador in which subareas are shown on the façade and a communal plaza exits in the sky but there are few other attributes that would contribute to community formation (Figure 10.3c). In Singapore, the ground floor of apartment blocks—the undercroft—is left open for communal events to be held in the shade or out of the rain. A semi-private corridor space for six to eight units acts as a courtyard in the sky. There is a strong preference among householders for such space (Yuen 1995). Ethnic minority Indian and Malaysian populations use the undercrofts more than the ethnic Chinese who prefer hotels and restaurants for celebrations. A recent example in Singapore is Bedok Court (see Figure 10.4; Bay 2000; Bay and Ong 2006). Its architect, Cheng Jian Fenn, recognized that privacy and community go hand in hand (see also Chermayeff and Alexander 1966). The principles of traditional Malaysian kampongs translated into a multi-floor building and Jane Jacobs’s observations about street life and territorial control (J. Jacobs 1961) guided the design. In Bedok Court the paths of movement cross and it is possible to see into the open spaces associated with other units. The residents feel that they have a high degree of security, a sense of belonging, and ownership. There is a loss of privacy because of the high degree of natural surveillance.

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Courtesy of Hartman Cox Architects

ai. Ground floor plan.

Source: J. Richards (1962). © Yale University Press

bi. Cross-section.

Photograph by Walter Moleski

aii. View of the dining area.

bii. Exterior view in 1961.

Photograph by Walter Moleski Photograph by Bu Jinbo

aiii. A corridor with recessed entrances to offices and a lounge below.

c. Mirador, Sanchinarro, Madrid, Spain (2005), a neighborhood in a building.

The National Humanities Center, North Carolina (1976-8); Hartman Cox Architects, ERG programming consultants (a), The Unité d’Habitation (1947-52); Le Corbusier, architect (b), and the Mirador designed by Blanca Lleó, architect (c).

Figure 10.3 Building design and community formation

identity and community

Collection of Jon Lang

Photograph by Victor Lee

Photograph by Victor Lee

b. Typical “streets” of open terraces or courtyards with low fences.

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a. Bedok Court, view.

Photograph by Victor Lee

c. Typical sky veranda and outdoor living area.

d. Overviewing of activities.

Photograph by Victor Lee Photograph by Victor Lee

e. Views down to balconies.

f. A garden in the sky.

Figure 10.4 Designing for a sense of community—the case of Bedok Court, Singapore (1985)

Cheng Jiang Fenn of Architects Associated Group, architect.

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A small percentage welcome it and the majority do not mind. The high visibility of the activities taking place in the courtyards creates many affordances for residents to become familiar with what is going on and thus with the other people living in the complex. The children act as a catalyst for contacts among adults as they are the major users of the communal swimming pool (Bay 2000). In such buildings, as in modern neighborhoods, the residents have limited obligations to each other and have limited amounts of intense interaction. The affordances exist. No more can really be expected of a design. It must be remembered that, as in the Unité, its residents have chosen to live there. Although deemed a success by its residents, designs such as Bedok Court are no longer possible in Singapore; they contravene too many building safety codes (Bay 2000, Bay and Ong 2006). Urban Design and Community At the urban level, the concern among architects has been with enhancing the identification its residents have with its districts (Lynch 1960). These precincts vary from central business districts [CBDs], to sub-centers, to residential neighborhoods. During the second half of the twentieth century a standard paradigm for the design of new towns and the retooling of cities was strongly advocated by city planners. A city should be subdivided into districts, often miscalled communities, which were in turn subdivided into smaller areas called neighborhoods. Each would have a central node. In an era dominated by automobile transport and now by the ease of communication across space any striving to create such locally based communities may seem unnecessary. The design model has, however, remained extraordinarily resilient (Madanipour 2001). It is the basis for much New Urbanist thinking (see Katz 1994, Kelbaugh 1997, Jivén and Larkham 2005). Imageable precincts have four characteristics a strong core, or nodal area (in Gertrude Stein’s terms, “a there there”), a clear boundary (natural or artificial), an architectural unity, and a name (see Lynch 1960). Often there is a fifth unifying characteristic: the same type of activities and the same or dominant building use type (for example, a garment or a theater district). The neighborhood unit model has these characteristics. Whether they are communities depends on the homogeneity of the interests of the people living in or using them and/or whether they are unified by a common cause. The concept has proven to be enduring because it provides a simple but powerful generic solution for designers to follow (see Figure 10.5a; Perry 1929). The unit as envisaged by Clarence Perry, a sociologist, consists of an area bounded by major streets that give a sense of enclosure. It has strong core, or heart, of communal facilities located within a 400 meter (1/4 mile) radius from all the homes. The streets internal to the neighborhood are supposed to be as narrow as possible. In the original concept the shops and apartments were to be located at the outside corners linking one unit to others. Three such units would provide for a high school where they overlap. An updated version (b), recognizing streets are the seams for community life, has the common facilities located along an internal main street. The unit concept is a two-dimensional idea. What needs to be considered in urban design is always the third dimension. The most influential instance of a residential area design based on the neighborhood unit is Radburn, New Jersey, USA (Stein 1957; see Figure 10.6a). Although not fully completed because of the Depression of the 1930s, the inhabitants of Radburn have a strong sense of community. The plan (ai) has a set of communal facilities within easy

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Source: Perry (1929)

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Drawing adapted from various sources by Omar Sharif

The neighborhood unit of Clarence Perry (1929) (a) and the neighborhood unit of Duany PlaterZyberk (1994) (b).

Figure 10.5 The neighborhood unit concept

walking distance of the homes (that is, less than 400 meters). The success of Radburn is, however, based on its three-dimensional qualities. The cul-de-sac (aii) shows how natural surveillance of shared spaces can aid the development of a sense of belonging. The cul-de-sac is where people come and go; it is also a natural playground for children. It is the basic face-block neighborhood. Underpasses make the neighborhood safe for the independent movement of young children to school. Developers, urban designers, and architects continue to devise residential “communities.” The developers of Millennium Village in Greenwich, London say it is to be “a secure, high quality modern community with the traditional values of village life” (cited in Madanipour 2001; see Figure 10.6b). Such wording can be seen in almost any newspaper advertising new residential areas throughout the English-speaking world. Millennium Village is presented as a development for the working and residing “lifestyles” of the twenty-first century. (Radburn was “for the motor age”; Stein 1957, Birch 1980). The village consists of residential areas “grouped in communities around a large village green” (10.6bi). The patterns afford the development of a sense of community but whether a sense of community develops will depend on the predispositions of the people living there. The design will not cause it to happen. Many designs based on similar principles actually predate the neighborhood unit formulation. Idealistic, communal, social experiments, often associated with religious organizations and zeal, have their physical expression in the design of settlements. Many were built during the nineteenth century (Hayden 1976). One of the major successes of such zeal is, however, a product of the first half of the twentieth century in what is now Israel. The kibbutzim were self-contained and self-supporting, primarily agriculturalbased, collective settlements that Jewish settlers built in Palestine from 1909 onwards. Their Zionist creators, conservative in many ways, nevertheless, sought a modern architecture for their settlements because it was seen as a neutral unifying mechanism for drawing people from different backgrounds together.

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Adapted from Romero (2010) and Stein (1957)

ai. The plan.

Courtesy of Erskine and Tovatt, architects and planners

bi. Site plan for the Greenwich peninsula. Courtesy of Erskine and Tovatt, architects and planners

aii. A cul-de-sac in 1994. bii. Conceptual design for a superblock.

aiii. The central park looking towards the school.

biii. Faraday Lodge from across the adjacent wetlands.

Radburn, Fairlawn, New Jersey, USA (1929); Clarence Stein, planner, Henry Wright architect; Marjorie Sewell Cautley, landscape architect (a) and Greenwich Millennium Village, London, UK (1990+); Erskine and Tovatt, architects and planners (b).

Figure 10.6 Neighborhoods and communities

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The Nahlal settlement (1921) designed by a German architect, Richard Kauffmann, was built in the western Jezreel Valley. Forced by necessity into a cooperative communal life, the Kibbutzim were based on both socialist and Zionist principles. As designed by Kauffmann, the public buildings of Nahlal are at the center of a concentric circle. The homesteads are in the inner circle, the farm buildings in the next circle and the gardens and fields beyond. It is governed by a well-developed set of formal organizations. It is an intentional community but for a number of its members who live their lives within its confines, it is a complete territorial community. The creation of social and physical communities, particularly at the child-rearing stage of life, continues with the co-housing settlements (J. Williams 2005). Mainly Scandinavian in origin, they exist in a number of countries. They have been designed specifically to afford the activity patterns associated with, at least, a partial communal life. They are based on formal organizations with rules for sharing obligations. There is usually a shared kitchen/dining room and childcare facilities. In addition, other requirements such as laundry facilities are in central block and each set of residential units has a playground. These common facilities are the catalyst for people getting together informally and forming communal ties. (For an example see Trudeslund in McCamant and Durrett (1988) or Lang (2005); see also Figure 10.1d.) From the success and failures of Modernist designs we have learnt that streets are the seams for neighborhood life. During the early twentieth century Raymond Unwin introduced the cul-de-sac as a mechanism that would promote neighborliness. The goal was to develop a sense of a local street block community. Cul-de-sacs have been widely used in North America, Australia, and in the United Kingdom. The pattern is, however, now often dismissed by architects as “old-fashioned”. Service personnel and police do not like them. The evidence on the functioning of cul-de-sacs in the development of a sense of community is mixed. They are certainly much loved by many residents (Thompson 2006) and function well on many dimensions of human life in Radburn and elsewhere. Most residential areas being built today are culturally diverse. People tend to be linked by a similarity in income level. Battery Park City in New York, a new-town-in-town in 1970s terms, is clearly a district and its residents certainly identify with the area as a whole but many overlapping communities exist within the bounded area of the precinct. It also houses communities consisting of people who are not resident in the area but work there. It is a social community for only a few. The true neighborhoodites  Much of the research on neighboring behavior has focused on adults and found them increasingly metropolitan rather than parochial people. It is those who have restricted mobility for whom the local area is important. They are the poor, children and their mothers, and the frail elderly. Fear of traffic and of “stranger dangers” has made many neighborhoods less congenial for children, in particular, than in the past. Suburban environments with their low traffic volumes enable children to have considerable freedom to roam on bicycles. Sadly many lack the variety of features that make for truly educational environments (see Chapter 13). For many women they are a trap (Popenoe 1977, P. Williams 2009) although the development of “edge cities” and the opportunities they afford has made them less so than in the past.

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Aesthetic Qualities and Group Identity Clothes serve many purposes. They protect people from the weather, and from the gaze of others. They also identify people as members of a group and often their social status. The same holds true for buildings. Issues of status are addressed in Chapter 12. The concern here is with the achievement of a sense of belonging through a unity in design. Aesthetic Unity, Identity, and Precinct Design Visually unified precincts of cities suggest that their residents share common values. In them the buildings are uniform in massing, materials, style, and color. Five of the six examples shown in Figure 10.7 are predominantly housing districts but contain a variety of uses. The sixth is a business district. They possess a cohesive street pattern and building massing and style. The buildings of the Back Bay Reclamation area of Mumbai are of uniform height and Art Deco in character. The area is clearly bounded by the Arabian Sea on the west and by open space on the north and east and by high-rise buildings on the south. It says little about its location in India other than that the Art Deco captured the hearts of many British colonial and Indian architects working in the city during the 1930s (Lang et al. 1997, Lang 2002). New Urbanist schemes from Battery Park City (see Figure 10.8a and b) to Seaside (c and d) to those currently being designed follow the fundamental design principles of the neighborhood unit. The buildings tend to follow some standard pattern. In three of the cases (a, c, and e) past local building patterns have been followed. Cambridge Housing (f) is different. It does not follow the Philadelphia row-house tradition but rather an image of an architecturally unified suburb. It is much loved by its low-income residents. It achieves a unity through similarity in design but the houses are also seen as a higher status type than row-housing even though Philadelphia has high-income row-house neighborhoods. The case of Battery Park City in New York is instructive. Its urban design and architectural goal was to create a precinct with a foreground core that was international and the other components “New York” in character so that it would be seen as belonging to the city (Barnett 1987, Gordon 1997). Its core, the World Finance Center, is an international signature building designed by César Pelli. The background buildings have an aesthetic character modeled on the buildings of the residential areas of the city much loved by New Yorkers such as Gramercy Park and Morningside Heights. The architectural variables of concern—the way the buildings meet the street line, their massing, the nature of the bases and cornices, the material used on the façades, the location of string courses, and the ratio of solid to window space on the façades—are similar to the buildings in those areas (Barnett 1987, Lang 2005). Whether the model chosen is truly New York is debateable because there are many New Yorks. The essential variables to consider if this approach is chosen to locate buildings in a particular geographical niche are, nevertheless, the above variables plus the traditional use of decoration. Ethnicity and urban design in multi-cultural countries  Ethnic neighborhoods in cities take on the patina of their residents over time. They can often by distinguished by the changes people have made piece-by-piece to standard building types. The changes

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a. Backbay Reclamation, Mumbai, Maharashtra, India (c. 1920s to 1970s). The erstwhile Bombay Municipal Corporation, planners.

b. Poundbury, Dorchester, Dorset, UK (1990s); Leon Krier, urban designer.

d. Bahçeşehir, Turkey in 2008.

Figure 10.7 Districts

c. Mass housing, Bilbao, Spain (1970s).

e. Proposed Beijing CBD, P.R. China in 2002.

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Source: Barnett (1987)

a. Battery Park City, New York City, USA (1979-2000).

b. Battery Park City housing.

Drawing adapted from a number of sources by Alix Verge

c. Seaside, Florida, USA, Plan (1981+); Duany Plater-Zyberk and Company, urban designers.

e. Poundbury, Dorset, UK (1993+); Leon Krier, urban designer.

Photograph by Ruth Durack

d. Seaside: a view from the northeast looking west.

f. Cambridge Housing, Philadelphia, PA USA (1999-2001); WRT, architects.

Figure 10.8 The aesthetics of community and the New Urbanism

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to the public façades of buildings address the nature of entrance steps, cornice lines, and window types, and what is displayed in the windows for passers-by to see. Irish and Italian communities have, for instance, very differently personalized Philadelphia rowhouses (Figure 10.9a and b). In the Irish neighborhoods each house tends to have been personalized in the same manner while in the Italian ones, although each householder is using essentially the same kit of parts (front steps oriented to the side, bay or bow windows replacing standard ones, awnings over south-facing windows, and emboldened cornice lines), each has been personalized in a unique manner. With some notable exceptions (for example, in Singapore; see Figure 10.9e) Chinatowns across the world have been developed in existing city precincts. These precincts vary considerably in building forms but they are easy to recognize as Chinatowns by the personalization of building details (see Figure 10.9c). Some migrants want to fit into their new surroundings and adopt the house styles that they believe are local types. Their perception of what constitutes a local type may well deviate from those that locals perceive to be typical. Thus a migrant to Australia may build a classical revival house in the belief that it is what is Australian rather than a Federation style house that might be regarded as more typical. Building appearances and identity  In heterogeneous cities, people may continue to use the elements of traditional houses when building new ones, even though the elements are no longer used for activities. The patterns act as a sign of identity. For example Hindu houses in Srinagar’s Muslim areas retain traditional verandas and in Bali, Hindu houses may keep the traditional courtyard complex even if all modern activities take place under one roof (Dewi-Jayanti 2003). Much the same can be said for the porches in Seaside, Florida. They are relics of the past that belong to a specific region. A continuity of style is chosen to give identity to it. Also associated with particular communities are places where historical events occurred. In the latter case the nature of the architecture is incidental to the meanings embedded in a building. Some critics feel that using past forms anew fails to locate a building in an era so argue for the application of abstractions of those forms in new buildings but will anybody who has not been instructed recognize the abstractions or if they do not recognize them will they subconsciously feel a sense of the pattern being part of their cultures? The research indicates not (Groat and Canter 1979). The approach is something for the appreciation of the cognoscenti. Neo-vernacularism does more. It draws on historical spatial patterns but is rooted in designing for today. It falls between the abstract symbolism of Venturi and the literal localism of historical revivalism (Perera 2005; see also Figure 1.8). Much such work is, however, simply a collage of spatial types and images. Revivalism takes two forms. The first is the direct copying of past forms, and the second the direct use of past design principles especially those embodied in religious or quasi-religious texts such as Feng Shui and the Shilpa Shastras. As discussed in Chapter 8 the canonical texts have usually been used literally in a revivalist manner. The principles can, however, be followed in a modern manner to give a building’s inhabitants, it is claimed, a sense of who they are not through the appearance of a building or neighborhood but because of the magnetic forces of their spatial qualities (Bubbar 2005; see Figure 8.13). One feels their qualities, it is said, subconsciously. Some architects take liberties with many of the canons. For instance, in his use of the nine

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a. Southwest Center City, Philadelphia in 1993.

b. Pemberton Street, Bella Vista, Philadelphia in 1993.

c. Chinatown, Chicago in 1993.

d. Entrance to Little Village, an Hispanic area in Chicago in 1993.

e. Shophouses, Singapore.

Figure 10.9 Neighborhood personalization and ethnic identity

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square mandala in the plan of the Jawahar Kala Kendra (1986-92) in Jaipur, India, and in the design of the Vidhan Bhavan (1980-2000) in Bhopal, Charles Correa departed from the pure mandala form. In the former case, following the precedent set in the plan of Jaipur itself, one square is dislocated from the others. In the latter case, the mandala has been turned into a circle and the center square instead of being open to the sky is the central hall of the assembly building (Lang 2002; see Figure 8.13b and c). Less of a departure is the Mahindra United World College in Pune, India designed by Christopher Benninger (Figure 10.14d). Public Art and Community Identity Sculptures and murals are often used simply to enliven a dull space. Over time they may become associated with a community, a source of pride, and serve as territorial markers (Hall and Robertson 2001; see Figure 10.10). There is no mistaking the ethnic identity of the area of the mural shown in (a). The meaning of the statues in (b), (c), (d), and (e) requires some special knowledge. The Picasso work shown in (b) is now very much symbolically identified with Chicago. Portlandia (e) could do the same for Portland but Michael Graves, its designer and copyright holder, fears it would become a symbol on tacky trinkets. City administrations use modern art objects (as well as prestigious buildings) to boost their city’s status in the eyes of the outside world and, in some cases, to change its identity in the world’s eye from being “gritty cities” to places of culture. Pittsburgh in the USA, Bilbao in Spain, and Bristol in the United Kingdom have done so. Many of the Ruhr Valley cities are attempting to do so now (Hough 2004). Such a process is often called “re-branding” (Van Gelder and Allan 2006). In contrast, public art can be used to reflect local histories and so enhance people’s esteem and sense of who they are especially if they are of minority or under-privileged populations (Hayden 1989). Avant-garde art is more successful in supporting the establishment of cultural enclaves in cities. Memorials are reminders of past events and people of significance. Memorials can give a sense of identity and pride to a people. There are many memorial arches around the world (for example, Figure 10.11a and b). The design of memorials can be controversial. The Vietnam War memorials in Washington, DC give a sense of a common bond to the American troops involved in the Vietnam War (or American War to the Vietnamese). The first memorial (c and d) was not aimed at arousing the self-esteem of the people involved. It reminds the viewer of the supreme sacrifice that individuals made. People familiar with the list of names on European memorials to the World War One and Two dead were not surprised by the emotional impact of the design. The second memorial (e) created because the first was perceived to be too abstract, draws less attention despite it being a literal representation of American service personnel.

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a. A San Francisco neighborhood.

b. Unnamed sculpture, Daley Plaza, Chicago, Illinois, USA (1965); Pablo Picasso, sculptor.

c. Sproule Plaza, University of California at Berkeley.

d. Monument to Miguel de Cervantes, Madrid, Spain (1925-30, 1956-7); Lorenzo Coullaut Vallera, sculptor.

Figure 10.10 Public art and identity

e. Portlandia, Portland, Oregon, USA (1980); Michael Graves, architect.

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a. The Arch of Septimus Severus, Leptis Magna, Libya (c. 200). b. Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Memorial Arch, Grand Army Plaza, Brooklyn, NY, USA (1870 and 1892); Frederick Law Olmsted and Charles Vaux, architects.

c. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Washington, DC, USA (1982); Maya Ying Lin, architect.

d. A close-up view of the wall with the names of the American war dead.

e. The Three Servicemen Memorial, Washington, DC (1984); Frederick Hart, sculptor.

Figure 10.11 Memorials, shared histories, and a sense of community

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Dealing with Cultural Diversity The perception of shared values is a prerequisite for the formation of a sense of community. The people living in Radburn, in the Unité d’Habitation, and Bedok Court chose to live there based on such a perception. Dealing with cultural diversity is difficult. The social policy to mix diverse populations to create, perhaps, a melting pot of values has a long history. It was the goal of social reformers in the nineteenth century in Europe and North America and of many of the new towns of Europe and countries of immigrants such as Israel in the twentieth (Talen 2006). The desire was to break down social barriers among groups of differing origins and/or status through building a diversity of residential unit types, unit sizes, and activity and streets types in a locale. The diversity of types does afford the possibility for people at various stages in life cycle and cultural backgrounds to live in close proximity; it does not cause it to happen. How does one really successfully integrate a diversity of people, buildings and uses into a unit with an identity? Herbert Gans (1972) suggested that building types should be grouped into homogenous units on the micro scale adding up to an integrated area at a macro scale. The individual components should have easy access to the integrating elements (such as a school and shops). The neighborhoods in the new town of Qiryat Gat in Israel (1990+) were designed in this way. The neighborhoods were divided into sub-neighborhoods each with about 200 families. The populations of the sub-neighborhoods were designed to be ethnically homogeneous based on immigrant background. The whole neighborhood of about a thousand families would thus be of six major cultural backgrounds. The data on the functioning of such neighborhoods are contradictory and long term outcomes difficult to assess. Symbolic Aesthetics and Cultural Diversity Many cities are inhabited by diverse groups of people. Each group wants to be acknowledged—some more so than others. While architectural symbols may be low on the totem pole of mechanisms that give an identity to a people they are, nevertheless, potent carriers of messages. The design goal has been to have squares, buildings, and memorials that carry meaning for each group without being seen as an insult to others. There are two basic ways of achieving this end. One is by having individual buildings and other design features that independently represent each group. The other is by incorporating symbols of each group in buildings of significance to the whole. Whichever route is chosen, architects may have to rely on narratives that explain to people what the patterns of a building represent. The alternative is to rely on international Modernism to provide a neutral aesthetic as was done in the design of Nahlal Kibuttzim and in Brasília. Attempting to integrate the symbols of different groups into a single composition is difficult. Colonial authorities often attempted to do so. Indo-Saracenic architecture is such a type (Figure 10.12a and b). It was contemporary British with predominantly Islamic details. After independence, the Gandhi Memorial (c) encompasses Hindu, Muslim, and Christian symbols to reflect Gandhi’s vision of a unified India. The Alliance Francaise building (d) attempts to reflect France and India. Those not aware of the sign system have to be told about it before recognizing it. The same would have been true of Parliament

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Photograph by Gryffindor; Source Wikimedia Commons

b. Kuala Lumpur Railway Station, Malaysia (1910); Arthur Benison Hubback, architect.

a. The Senate House, University of Madras, Chennai, India (1879); Robert Fellows Chisholm, architect. A 1936 addition is in the background.

c. Gandhi Memorial, Barrackpur, West Bengal, India (1948); Habib Rahman, architect.

Source: Grabrijan and Neidhardt (1957); courtesy of Dijana Alic

e. The proposed Parliament House, Sarajevo, Yugoslavia (now in Bosnia and Herzegovina) (1955); Juraj Neidhardt, architect.

Figure 10.12 Symbolism and cultural diversity

d. Alliance Francaise de Delhi, New Delhi, India (2007); Stephanie Paumier and ABRD Architects.

Source: Grabrijan and Neidhardt (1957); courtesy of Dijana Alic

f. The components of the proposed building.

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House, Sarejevo (10.12e). Here the Tower (Sahat Kula) was to represent Christianity, the Ljuske (shell) a mosque and the Doksa (bay-window) and Trijem (verandah) the Islamic domestic architecture of Sarajevo (f) (Grabrijan and Niedhart 1957, Alic 2010). It is not easy to maintain an alliance between culturally heterogeneous people as the disintegration of countries such as Yugoslavia attests. Belgium has been divided into two. India has seen states sub-divided and re-sub-divided on cultural and/or linguistic lines. Such geographic divisions make the celebration of group identities in a bounded locale easier. The danger is that the overall sense of union gets minimized.

Destroying Identities The potency of buildings as symbols of identity can be seen in places where the populations of areas of a city have changed from one ethnic and/or religious group to another. Existing buildings can be adopted by the new group as their own by adding or deleting components. They can also be destroyed as a means of obliterating the memory of a previous population. Much depends on the relationship between the old and new groups. Many Indo-Saracenic buildings in countries such as India, Pakistan, and Malaysia have simply become part of the new urban scene in the post colonial era and probably only the cognoscenti recognize them as buildings designed by British architects. Hagia Sofia, a Byzantine basilica, had minarets added to it to Islamicize it (see Figure 4.4b). The same solution was applied to the Gothic cathedral, St Nicholas in Famagusta, Cyprus after the partitioning of the island into Turkish and Greek zones in 1974. Symbols were added to Tripoli’s Catholic cathedral to turn it into a mosque (Figure 10.13c). Worshipers now face towards Mecca as the lines of the carpet indicate and not down the nave (d). The mihrab is on the western wall and not where the altar was. The headquarters of the Japanese government in Korea, a fine neo-classical building (10.13a) destroyed Korean geomancy rules. After much debate it was demolished in 1995 and the Gyeongbok Palace rebuilt (b) (Chung 1998). The situation becomes more complex when one ethnic group totally replaces another as in areas of New York such as the Bronx where Jewish immigrant groups have long since given way others. What happens to the old synagogues? In Cochin, Kolkata, and Pune in India the synagogues stand as unscathed, if aging, architectural memories to minority populations that have moved on. In the same country during the 1990s, however, Hindu fundamentalists tore down the Babri Masjid in Ayodyha that had been built on the site of a Hindu temple by Islamic invaders/settlers during the Mughal era centuries ago. Central Johannesburg has been largely destroyed in the post-apartheid era. Sadly such events have occurred regularly in history. A number of infamous events took place during the twentieth century. In November 1938 Reichskristallnacht saw the state-sanctioned destruction of Jewish properties in Germany. Sri Lanka had its own such night during the 1980s when Buddhist priests ransacked Tamil owned properties. In Bosnia the situation was similar between 1992 and 1996. The destruction of Islamic buildings by the Serb-Christian population was intentional and systematic and part of the process of ethnic cleansing (Alic 2004). Over 90 percent of the mosques were heavily damaged or destroyed (Riedelmayer 2002). In Sarajevo, the Islamicized Town Hall stood as a symbol of unity although the city had a

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. The Japanese General Administration Building, Seoul, Korea (1926, demolished 1995); George de Lande, architect.

b. Gyeongbok Palace, Seoul (reconstructed late 1990s).

d. Interior; Majeed Jamal Abdul Nassar.

c. The Catholic Cathedral, Tripoli Libya (1928); now the Majeed Jamal Abdul Nassar (1970-2003).

Photograph by Dijana Alic

Courtesy of Dijana Alic

e. Sarajevo City Hall, Bosnia and Herzegovina (1894) in 1912; Alexander Wittek and Ćiril Metod Iveković, architects.

f. The City Hall after the shelling in 1993.

Figure 10.13 Changing/destroying the identity of a building and a place

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60 percent Christian population. It stood as a symbol of the unity of the town’s diversity. Serbian forces shelled it heavily in 1992 (Figure 10.13e). Sculptures also stand as powerful symbols of identity. The leader of the Taliban in Afghanistan, Mullah Muhammad Omar, ordered the destruction of 1,500-year old figures of Buddha in the name of God and the Koran. The names of Moses, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, and the myriad Hindu gods have all been evoked to justify such destructive acts.

Identity and Architectural Theory Architects have long recognized that both the layouts of the environments they design and the symbols that they use are powerful communicators of identity. Architectural theory has been concerned with how architecture can elevate the spirit, with issues of national and regional identity, and with how architects might be grouped into schools of common identity. What this chapter has shown is that one of the central functions of architecture is, indeed, its communication and symbolic function. The mid-twentieth-century Rationalists who addressed issues of community included people such as José Sert and organizations such as MARS [Modern Architectural Research Society] in London. The Empiricists included Clarence Stein and Henry Wright as well as Frank Lloyd Wright. It is the latter group that has persisted with the search for an understanding of community formation. Today it is the New Urbanists exemplified by Francis Duany and Elizabeth Platter-Zyberk and by Peter Calthorpe who continue the search for community through design (Katz 1994, Kelbaugh 1997). Many unsung firms also grapple with the same issues. One of the key Rationalist aspirations was to create housing designs, particularly mass housing designs, that obliterated both class and individual distinctions. A good example of this desire is the mass housing in Brasília (Figures 1.11d and 11.2g). Another is the 23 de enero housing in Caracas. In contrast, the individual custom house design gave an identity to its owners as part of the intellectual avant-garde. The Villa Savoye (1929-31; see Figure 11.2a) clearly identified its owners as part of the aesthetic elite (Eaton 1969). This attitude is even clearer in the houses architects design for themselves. Empiricists have relied more heavily on the associative meanings carried by precedents. Like the Rationalists they have recognized the important function of symbols in denoting both class and individual identity. Both Rationalists and Empiricists over-emphasize the power of the built environment to shape the nature of organizations. They have probably been closer to the mark in recognizing the importance of the symbolic functioning of architecture in giving an identity to groups of people. At the dawn of the twenty-first century there seem to be five architectural approaches being used by designers in their efforts to establish a sense of belonging to a place. As introduced in Chapter 1 they are the International Modernist, a Neo-Modernist approach that includes a focus on the local context (see Figure 10.14e and f), a Post-Modernism (in a variety of mixed forms ranging from buildings as sculpture and high art to a type of Las Vegas Modern), Revivalism, and fifthly Neo-Vernacularism and New Urbanism. The first three are being used to show that one is looking ahead and that one identifies with the community of international architectural ideas. The fourth is used to establish a sense of locality and a way of life while the fifth is used to say “this is who we are”.

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Drawing by Munir Vahanvati

a. The 23 de enero (originally 2 de diciembre) housing, Caracas, Venezuela; Carlos Raúl Villanueva, architect.

Photograph by Mark L. Brack

c. The “glass house”, New Canaan, Connecticut, USA; Philip Johnson, architect.

Collection of Jon Lang

e. Plan, Quinta da Malagueria housing, Évora, Portugal (1977-92); Álvaro Siza Vieira, architect.

b. A view of a housing block, 23 de enero housing.

Courtesy of the architect

d. Mahindra United World College, Pune, India (1995-8); Christopher Benninger, architect.

Collection of Jon Lang

f. View, housing, Quinta da Malagueria (see also Figure 1.6e).

Figure 10.14 Modernist and Neo-Modernist approaches to the creation of a sense of place

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In countries such as the United States and those of Western Europe, the Neo-Modernist and Neo-Vernacularist attitudes are most prominent but in many Asian countries all five attitudes can be seen displayed in recent designs. The mass housing projects of the Modernists sought an international identity. Attitudes now vary from the international as an individual expression (10.14c) to a conscious concern with designing for locality (d). Some Neo-Modernists have explicitly striven for an identification with a local place in their work rather than being international (for example, e and f). Many city administrations are striving to make their cities part of the modern international community of world cities. They desire to compete effectively in attracting international corporations to locate in them. The exhibition of this type of “modern” follows one of two patterns that go under the rubric of Post-Modernism. The first approach is for buildings to be fabricated with shiny materials—marble, steel, and glass—with a variety of novel geometric forms. The second is to use elements of classical architecture— pediments and columns of various types mixed with local referents (see Figure 1.6cii). It must be recognized that the architects working in these modes and their clients seek to belong, not to a local community but an international community of business executives. The results fit the desire well. The search for visual novelty has bored a number of property developers and architects, major and minor. Some have been reviving sacred geometries in new architectures, and yet others have abstracted what they perceive to be the essence of past traditions. Drawing on traditional patterns is one way of establishing a sense of a building belonging to a people. Sometimes it is part of an overall form that is used (for example, the roof form in Figure 10.15f) and at others it is a whole style. The buildings, particularly mosques, designed by Abdel Wahed El-Wakil follow traditional patterns (Holod 1983, Al-Asad 1992). Many Christian churches are also in traditional if not revivalist forms. The Vidhana Soudah (1952-7; Figure 10.15a) in Bengaluru (formerly Bangalore), the capital building of the Indian state of Karnataka, is essentially a British building (its chief architect was educated at the Architectural Association in London). Being built shortly after independence it is clothed in Dravadian garb as the chief minister of the state decreed. Prior to its erection a Russian delegation had asked him why there were no Indian buildings in the city (Lang, Desai, and Desai 1997, Lang 2002). The Vidhana Soudah was his response. Many such examples can be identified (Figure 10.15). The split gate, candi bentar, traditionally demarcating the entrances to temples but also common buildings in Bali, Indonesia is now employed in a variety of contexts to show tourists that they are on the island. It has also been widely used elsewhere in the archipelago to represent the uniqueness of Indonesia. It, for example, flanks the entrance to the Jakarta International Airport. In using the gates in this way the religious and social meanings are lost as they are in the Dravidian symbolism of the Vidhana Soudah. A Comment on Designing for Sense of Place All places have a “sense of place”. Architectural critics have looked at vernacular housing for inspiration in creating a sense of place but learning from the everyday modern world seems to have been neglected. The strip shopping area, as an example, is clearly a phenomenon of the second half of the twentieth century (see Figure 10.16). Architects and landscape architects generally neither like them nor the architecture of

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a. The Vidhana Soudha, Bengaluru, India (1956); Mysore (now Karnataka) Public Works Department, architects.

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b. M.S. Ramaiah Institute, Bengaluru, India (1996+).

d. Breakwater Theater, Abu Dhabi (2005), UAE; AREX, architects. c. Riverside, Richmond upon Thames, England (1984-7); Quinlan Terry, architect.

e. The Court House, Ajman, United Arab Emirates (2006).

f. Shenzhen, People’s Republic of China (2002).

Figure 10.15 Revivalism as a technique for establishing a sense of regional identity

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Figure 10.16 Route 7 in Rutland, Vermont and Harrisburg Pike in Carlisle, Pennsylvania

their individual buildings. They are said to be “placeless” (Hough 1990). What is meant by this observation is that they are not localized into a particular geographical context. They can, however, be identified with a time in history—the automobile era—and the USA in particular. When phenomenologists talk about a sense of place they usually mean the relationship of a building or urban design to its immediate geographical locale (Norberg-Schulz 1965, 1980, 1988, Hough 1990, Jivén and Larkham 2003). A sense of place, given this meaning, emerges from the topography and climate of a place and the responses to them. Adding to these factors are the people, the way they display themselves through the clothes they wear and their activities. A sense of place thus depends on the qualities of the behavior settings that exist in a locale, and the way the milieu is constructed in response to local conditions and traditions. The associations that a pattern of the milieu has with people, events and myths are less tangible and less immediately obvious to the uninformed. Creating a new architecture that represents the sense of a place is fraught with difficulties. An “invented traditionalism” has been one approach. Perhaps, Frank Gehry succeeded in his early work through using cheap materials—exposed plywood, corrugated metals, and chain link fences—in his own house (1977-8; see Figure 1.10b) in Santa Monica and others in the vicinity. “The unfinished look of the style seemed right for Los Angeles—a sort of critical regionalism as advocated by Kenneth Frampton” (Foster 2001). It is a highly intellectual approach and few lay people would say the Gehry House is particularly representative of its era in Los Angeles. The effort to invent a new architectural type that locates itself securely in the modern world is exemplified in the high-rise buildings designed and proposed by Ken Yeang in Malaysia. His designs strive to deal with the climatic conditions of the tropics, the need for ventilation through the creation of voids and terraces, and the use of abundant vegetation to provide cooling and to reduce heat island effects. He employs what might be called Neo-Modernist formal patterns (Yeang 1996; see Figures 1.9d and 9.2b). When one is thinking of building in context and the relationship of new buildings to the existing, one is inevitably concerned with the public policy aspects of architecture. Historically, as noted earlier in this chapter, in tight-knit communities, such as in the Aegean Islands, the North-African Islamic city, or the pols and mohallas of northern India cities, there were sets of understood rules about what could be built where and how. Deviation from the rules let to the ostracism of the people involved (Hakim 1986). One clearly gets a sense of a locale in such places.

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Conclusion We understand much about the nature of communities and about how architecture can to some extent provide people with a sense of whom they are and might be if their aspirations are met. Opposing Revivalist and Modernist ideas about how to achieve a sense of place were boldly stated during the last quarter of the twentieth century. In some situations Modernist ideas have been abandoned in favor of Revivalist but often it has been the other way around. People have wanted to appear up-to-date. The proponents of both ways of thinking about appropriate architectures have considered themselves to be solving contemporary problems. Being identified with the up-to-date and international world rather than local is important to many individuals and corporations. Often the architectural choices they make may not seem sensible. Reinforced concrete was seen as the up-to-date material in the 1930s and was used even when it was not the best choice structurally. Metal fabrics, desirable or not, have now become a symbol of up-to-dateness and can be seen in a number of recent buildings—for instance, in the Sony Center in Berlin designed by Helmut Jahn. The American Folk Museum (completed 2001) in New York designed by Tod Williams and Billie Tsien is another building where the metal cladding of tombasil (an alloy of copper, zinc, manganese, and nickel used for boat propellers) spells up-todateness. Internally the building is a more a Modernist design of interpenetrating spaces. Herzog and de Muron used Corten (pre-rusted steel) in the Caixa Forum in Madrid (completed 2009; see Figure 15.3f) and Frank Gehry uses titanium and stainless steel cladding. They are materials that one associates with the early twenty-first century! More sensibly, perhaps, reduced energy consumption buildings are being identified with the up-to-date world particularly in European countries such as Germany and Switzerland where operable windows and cross ventilation is required by building regulations. Architects have pushed the boundaries of our present knowledge of how to design such buildings and have developed some startlingly new building forms. New building forms shock! Many new forms that were a shock when they were first introduced are often later taken up and embraced. The Gramercy Park area of New York was a departure from the norm when it was built. It is now a model for a number of the Neo-Traditional buildings in New York. Le Corbusier’s architecture was a shock to India but has been taken up in Chandigarh even by low-income groups and is known as Chandigarh Architecture. Not noticed buildings can later become classic. The best know of such buildings is arguably Mies van der Rohe’s German Pavilion for the Barcelona Exhibition (1928; rebuilt 1992; Figure 10.17). A small building originally regarded as unremarkable, it has with its own plan and precious materials become a revered landmark in the history of modern architecture.

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Photograph by Tom Lee

Figure 10.17 The German Pavilion (1928), Barcelona, Spain

Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, architect; “Morning” by George Kolbe.

Major References Abel, Chris 2000. Architecture and Identity: Response to Cultural and Technological Change. 2nd edition. Oxford: Architectural Press. Bentley, Ian and Georgia Butina-Watson 2003. Identity by Design. London: Architectural Press. Jivén, Gunila and Peter J. Larkham 2003. Sense of place, authenticity and character: a commentary. Journal of Urban Design, 8 (1): 67-81. Lefaivre, Liane and Alexander Tzonis 2003. Critical Regionalism: Architecture and Identity in a Globalized World. Munich: Prestel. Norberg-Shulz, Christian 1980. Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture. New York: Rizzoli. Rapoport, Amos 1982. Identity and environment: a cross-cultural perspective, in Housing and Identity: Cross-Cultural Perspectives edited by James S. Duncan. New York: Holmes and Meier, 6-35.

11

Identity, Individualism, and the Unique

It’s pretty damned hard to bring your uniqueness into actual being if you’re always doing the same things as other people. Brendan Francis, author

Accompanying the motivation to belong to a group is the need to have an individual identity (Mathews 2000). The early twenty-first century, it seems, is a period when the individual is the focus of attention. Consequently the desire for unique expressions whether in clothing, tattoos, or buildings is an important current cultural phenomenon in many places. Each building or interior that is self-consciously designed exhibits the values of its owners and designers (Figure 11.1). All the buildings shown in Figure 11.2 carry the signature of their developers and/or designers. They are also representations in built form of their owners’ values (Cooper 1974).

Figure 11.1 Environments as expressions of self

Clients, Architects, and Individual Expressions Some people are highly extravert and seek individual displays; others are introvert and seek anonymity. They wish to merge into the background. Individual bespoken houses (Figure 11.2a, b, and c), and institutions (e) reflect the identity sought by their clients. The Universidad Central de Venezuela and/or its architect wanted it to be seen as an avantgarde seat of culture and learning linked to French Rationalism. Property developers often have a fine sense of the images of life people imagine for themselves and create what they think will sell easily (d and f). Brasília (g) was different; its meanings were imposed by its creators (Holston 1989, del Rio and Gallo 2000). The sponsor, the Brazilian government, acceded to it. The housing was designed in order to blur individual differences but the

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Photograph by Dijana Alic

a. Villa Savoye, Poissy, France (1929); Le Corbusier and Jeanneret, architects. b. Peter A. Beachy House, Oak Park, Illinois, USA (1906); Frank Lloyd Wright, architect.

c. The Sadruddin Daya House, Versova, Mumbai, India (c. 1990); Nari Gandhi, architect.

d. Springfield, Queensland, Australia.

e. Universidad Central de Venezuela (1954); Carlos Raúl Villanueva, architect. Mural by Fernand Léger.

Courtesy of Silvio Macedo

Courtesy of the architect

f. Villa design for a luxurious community, People’s Republic of China (2003); Lei Gangrong, architect.

Figure 11.2 Buildings as images of self

g. The residential superquadras, Brasília (1954); Oscar Niemeyer, architect.

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city is unique and a memorial to its client, President Juscelino Kubitschek, its planner, Luis Costa, and its architect, Oscar Niemeyer. Almost all architects work within an identifiable style. Each focuses on certain functions of buildings more than others. Each bases his or her work on the repetitive use of certain materials and geometric patterns. Clients select architects because of the kind of work they produce and the assumption that their values are congruent. The clients of the Jay Pritzker Pavilion in Chicago wanted a Gehry product. They got it. While unique it is clearly part of Gehry’s oeuvre and identified with him. Clients have been important in shaping the careers and supporting the work of architects. Those for the early work of modern architecture on the European continent (for example, the Art Nouveau designs of Henry Van de Velde) were the educated aristocratic elite. The patrons for Le Corbusier’s houses (for example, the Villa Savoye, a country weekend home for a mother and her adult son) were “mostly eccentrics, art collectors, and various other kinds of avant-gardists” (Eaton 1969). What they expected of a house differed considerably from the clients of Frank Lloyd Wright. Few of Wright’s clients had inherited wealth. (The Beachy family was one that may have had. See Figure 11.2b for the Beachy House.) They were almost entirely self-made people. The clients of social housing are different. In much mass housing the user clients are faceless. They are represented by agencies. Both the social and administrative gap between the users and architects can be vast (Zeisel 1974). The architects are thus left to deal with the agency and its needs. They base their designs on a model of the human being that is often removed from reality. In the Pessac housing, however, Le Corbusier’s design principles, worked well in low-rise buildings for families. The buildings stand on pilotis—reinforced concrete stilts—with free not structural façades. The windows were originally in strips and/or large enough to allow for views. The floor plans were open, not divided into rooms, and the houses had roof terraces. These patterns allowed for much adaptation of the units and they were considerably personalized by their inhabitants in different ways as an expression, conscious or not, of their own needs and individuality (Boudon 1972). The buildings have been restored to Le Corbusier’s original design. They are now regarded as works of art—museum pieces not “lived-in architecture”. The clients of much of the modern international corporate world also seek an individual identity. They want their buildings to stand out against a background of others. In the new mega-projects of the Pacific Rim such as Lujiazui in Shanghai, while the buildings are visually unique, the individual statement made by each gets lost except when it is considered in isolation (see Figure 9.7b).

Architects and their own Individual Identities The work of individual architects is recognizable by their repetitive use of a specific set of geometrical patterns, spatial sequences, materials, and structural systems. The work is in its architect’s style. Architectural practices seek a niche in the market place for services. This search can be lengthy as an architect strives to convince potential clients and public authorities of the utility of his or her ideas.

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Le Corbusier’s work was for a long time guided by the principles that formed the basis for the Pessac housing; Frank Lloyd Wright’s Prairie Architecture followed a specific set of recognizable patterns, while Nari Gandhi (a disciple of Wright) followed a specific design method working hand-in-hand with his craftsmen (Lang 2002). Carlos Raúl Villanueva’s design for the Universidad Central de Venezuela is a highly personal statement yet he in the 23 de enero housing (Villanueva 2000; see Figure 10.14a and b), and Oscar Niemeyer, in Brasília (Figure 11.2g) were seduced by the Modernist mass housing paradigm shared by many architects around the world. Some architects establish an identity through the use of specific materials and the structural techniques. A number have explored the plasticity of concrete. Ulrich Franzen used brick in highly creative ways in almost all his works. Louis Kahn too had a predilection for brickwork. Domique Perrault, winner of the competition to design the Bibliothéque Nationale (1989) in Paris, has since developed the use of woven stainless steel as a façade material. Metals are the material of choice of a number of leading architects in the early twenty-first century. The buildings designed by our contemporary architects of international renown all have the stamp of their author’s work. Each of the buildings portrayed in Figure 11.3 attracts attention because it has a unique form (or, at least, it did have when it was created). Each building is memorable. All five designs are indentified with their creators and give each of the architectural firms an identity in both the market place and among their peers. One recognizes each architect’s typical way of handling building forms, materials, and interior spaces. Over the course of their careers architects develop new ways of handling specific design problems. They also change their attitudes towards what the most important functions of built form and the way to fulfill them are, so the design patterns they use evolve. The career of Frank Gehry can already, like many before him, be divided into a number of phases (see Figure 1.10). The observations here have focused on major architects; they apply to minor architects and architectural firms as well. Folk Architects There are a surprising number of unique projects carried out around the world by individuals seeking their own ends through creative acts. Their work functions as a vehicle for their own expressions. Four are illustrated in Figure 11.4. Originally dismissed as peculiar junkyards, three of them (a, b, and c) are now tourist attractions and are featured in publicity brochures. Their designs have several features in common. Each is an individual act of love and perseverance and made out of salvaged junk. The Watts Towers in Los Angeles (a), the Rock Garden in Chandigarh (b) and Bottle Village in Simi Valley (c) were built by their creators piece-by-piece over a long period of time. The work (d) of Isiah Zaqar is in a somewhat different class. The façades of buildings in South Philadelphia are his canvas. It is difficult to specify what motivated individuals such as these four other than a desire for self-expression. Their work certainly establishes a clear individual identity of who they were or are in people’s minds and, presumably, in their own. Much the same motivation must be driving Paolo Soleri in designing and then building Arcosanti (Figure 9.9e). The difference between Soleri and Chand, Rhoda, and Prisbrey is that at the outset he had a final design in his mind, although it has changed along the way. He is an architect.

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b. The de Young Museum [Nancy B. and Jake L. Hamon Education Tower], Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, CA, USA (2005); Herzog and de Meuron Architekten, architects. a. Jay Pritzker Pavilion, Chicago, Illinois, USA; Gehry and Partners, LLP, architects.

c. Puerta de Europa, Madrid, Spain (1996); Pedro Seneteri, Johnson/Burgee, architects.

d. The SwissRe Building, London, UK (2003); Foster and Partners, architects.

Figure 11.3 Uniqueness in design

e. Lois and Richard Rosenthal Center for the Arts, Cincinnati, OH, USA (2001-3); Zaha Hadid, design architect.

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Photograph by Kathy Kolnick

b. Rock Garden, Chandigarh, India (1958-65+); Nek Chand Saini, creator.

a. Nuestro Pueblo (Watts Towers), Los Angeles, CA, USA (1921-54); Sabato (Simon) Rodia, creator.

c. Bottle Village, Simi Valley, California, USA (1956-72); Tressa “Grandma” Prisbrey, creator.

d. Community Center, South Street, Philadelphia, PA, USA (2006); Isaiah Zagar, artist.

Figure 11.4 Naïve works of architecture and display?

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Conclusion Buildings clearly can portray the individual identity of a person, family, or corporation as well as their membership in a group of like-minded people. Architects are often hired to create a unique image for buildings as well as to have them function well on the other dimensions of performance. Individual architects and architectural firms also have their own identities that are clearly revealed in the buildings they design. Their work functions as a billboard advertising their skill. Indeed the function of architecture as a sign is an important one often overriding other considerations.

Major References Cooper (Marcus) Clare 1974. House as symbol of self, in Designing for Human Behavior: Architecture and the Behavioral Sciences, edited by Jon Lang, Charles Burnette, Walter Moleski, and David Vachon. Stroudsburg, PA: Dowden, Hutchinson and Ross, 130-46. Eaton, Leonard K. 1969. Two Chicago Architects and their Clients. Frank Lloyd Wright and Howard Van Doren Shaw. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Mathews, Gordon 2000. Global Culture/Individual Identity: Searching for a Home in the Cultural Supermarket. London: Routledge. Olds, Kris 2001. Globalization and Urban Change: Capital, Culture and the Pacific Rim Mega-Projects. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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12

Buildings as Signs and Status Symbols

The kind of life is most happy which affords us most opportunities of gaining our own self-esteem. Samuel Johnson, English author

Almost all people have a need for self-respect, or self-esteem. The need is to hold oneself in high esteem and secondly to be held in high esteem by others. The former has to do with self-perceptions and the latter with external rewards—the receiving of praise or prizes. Both involve having control over one’s own life. Control is related to dignity and hopes. Dignity has to do with being able to function well in one’s own terms and in the view of others. The desire for esteem motivates us in a number of ways. Most have little to do with architecture. The buildings and cities that we inhabit, nevertheless, act as signs of social status in much the same way that they are an indicator of the groups of which we are a member or to whose membership we aspire. Displays of status take on very different forms depending on one’s culture, one’s stage in life cycle, one’s personality, and one’s own needs. Some people have a high need for recognition and others not. Much the same is true of societies. Newly politically or economically independent societies often wish to demonstrate their new status through architectural bombast. Much of the design commissioned by the nouveau riche is similar. Within all cultures the status of people is related to their possessions. It is not necessarily the amount but the type and the manner in which the possessions are displayed that is important. Advertisers play on this reality, create it, and reinforce it. Specific brands of cars, for instance, have almost universal high status connotations; buildings vary more. The perceived relationship between buildings and the status of their occupiers is based on the association between types of people and types of environments. We develop these associations through the prejudices picked up during our everyday experience and by what we are exposed to in the media. People predict the status and personalities of those who own and/or inhabit buildings based on these linkages with some consistency within a culture. In a controlled study conducted during the 1980s, Jack Nasar showed that people make “affective judgments … and infer social meanings … from building styles” (Nasar 1988a; see Figure 12.1). Shared meanings were widely held. Nasar found that the general public in the United States associate the farmhouse type in his study with friendly people. The relationship was as in (a). The lay public associated the contemporary type, that is, the symbol in (b) with less friendly people (the referent) and they had a negative attitude towards the type (or vice versa). Nasar’s study also showed that there was a major gap between the public’s tastes and architects’ tastes when it comes to house design. Architects preferred the contemporary house type while the public preferred the Tudor. The gap in tastes still exists. One must be cautious of over-generalizing these results but, sadly for those of us wanting to be widely loved and who live in contemporary dwellings, the attitudes seem to be broadly held. We are judged as people by our tastes.

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Diagrams drawn by Omar Sharif

Adapted from Nasar (1988a) by Jon Lang

Figure 12.1 The taste cultures of architects and of lay people

Competence and Self-esteem To be able to function well in the everyday environment is important for everybody. It is important, for instance, for children with disabilities to be able play alongside those who are more physically competent. Their self-esteem is boosted when they are participants in everyday life. It is easy to encode messages in design that people are held in low esteem through the implicit display in built form of the low expectations that others have of them. While individuals may get a sense of self-esteem in overcoming obstacles, if the obstacles are imposed by other people they will read a message into the environment that those others do not care about them. Do tastes function in the same manner?

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“Good taste” and self-esteem  What one regards as being in good taste is bound up with one’s self-esteem. The cognoscenti of high art have a sense of higher competence when compared with those who prefer popular art forms. This sense of superiority is closely linked to a sense of one’s status in society (Gans 1975, Mann 1979, Bourdier 1984, Gadamer 2004). Buildings that are perceived to be prestigious by lay people and by the noveau riche may seem to be in poor taste to the architectural cognoscenti. The cognoscenti may get a sense of superiority by distancing themselves from the enjoyment that many people get from the florid architecture being built today. Hans-Georg Gadamer (2004) notes: “Valuative (moral or artistic) judgments are quite properly ‘prejudices’”. Our tastes help to define our perceptions of who we are. “Taste classifies and it classifies the classifier” (Bourdier 1984). Herbert Gans, a sociologist, postulated that, in the United States, at least, people could be divided into five overlapping groups based on shared attitudes that reflect their preferences and the types of products they purchase (Gans 1975). He identifies a high taste culture whose concerns are intellectual, academic and avant-garde, an upper-middle taste culture whose concerns are self-conscious about current fashions, a lower-middle taste culture whose concerns are eclectic, democratic, and popular and tend towards the traditional, a lower taste culture, whose concerns are largely unselfconscious and anonymous, and quasi-folk taste cultures whose concerns are communal and ad hoc. Each group tends to hold itself in high-esteem and be dismissive of the others. Dennis Mann (1979) took Gans’s model and considered its architectural implications as shown in Table 12.1. We have added the terms “academic, self-conscious, popularist, and unselfconscious” to Mann’s table. The academics are the cognoscenti. They tend to seek thought provoking buildings that are unique rather than in a particular style. The group that Gans labeled “low taste culture” at the other end of the taste spectrum are unselfconscious in their choices. They like what they like. The architectural style chosen by people depends on what they see as appropriate for their aspirations and what they believe represents those aspirations. Norman Van Doren Shaw’s clients, drawn from the social elite, preferred the traditional. They differed from those of Frank Lloyd Wright. Each set of clients’ tastes showed in their choices (see Figure 12.2a and b). The former had inherited money; the latter were self made people (Eaton 1969). The Mullick family aspired to demonstrate that they were part of the modern Indian elite during the colonial era (c). To the cognoscenti their mansion’s eclecticism is in poor taste. The Riggs Bank, a classical design (d), has had a mixed reception among the cognoscenti. The Grande Arche (e) is seen as avant-garde architecture by many people as are the buildings in Lujiazui, Shanghai (f) which are closer to popular tastes than the tastes of the cognoscenti. People readily understand the styles of buildings that are prestigious and which ones are not within their own cultural frames.

The Built Environment Variables of Concern Architects have long attempted to uplift people’s spirits by designing high-status buildings for individuals and organizations. The issues are similar whether one is concerned with urban design (particularly street design) or building design. The variables that carry meaning seem to be relatively constant over time; their specific natures and what they signify may vary considerably as time passes.

High

Upper Middle

Lower Middle

Low

Academic

Self-Conscious

Popularist

Unselfconscious

Folk

Taste Publics (Gans, 1975)

Focus

anonymous unselfcoscious communal adhocist

traditional

eclectic democratic popular

avant-garde self-conscious current fashionable

intellectual and academic

Aesthetic Standards

Architecture Content

Composition

Adapted from Mann (1979) by Jon Lang

concrete logical direct

pragmatic

austere explicit picturesque

ordinary

open-ended chaotic

repetitive

obscure background quaint

uniform

Contextural Relationship Heroic, abstract and idealistic implicit and symbolic canonic and coherent original, and monumental theoretical unified unique sophisticated classical refined foreground conceptual cosmopolitan associative ambiguous pretentious manneristic homogeneous contradictory stylistic informal additive eccentric and complex referential: and arbitrary ubiquitous tudor. Californian, etc. Form

Table 12.1 Taste cultures, aesthetic standards, and architectural patterns

buildings as signs and status symbols

a. Frank E. Ross House, Oak Park, Illinois (1909); Norman Van Doren Shaw, architect.

b. Frank W. Thomas House, Oak Park, Illinois (1901); Frank Lloyd Wright, architect. Courtesy of the architect

c. Mullick House, “Marble Palace”, Kolkata, India (1835); built for Raja Rajendra Mullick Bahadur.

Photograph by Tata Soemardi

e. The Grande Arche, La Défense, Haut-de- Seine, France (1983-9); Johan Otto von Spreckelsen, architect.

Figure 12.2 Taste cultures

d. Riggs Bank, Washington, DC, USA (c. 1985); John Blatteau Associates, architects.

f. Lujiazui, Pudong, Shanghai, P.R. China in 2004.

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Urban Designs and Prestige Most cities have areas of prestigious residential neighborhoods, business districts, and/or street addresses. Rents vary by it. For directors of companies seeking to be leaders being located in a prestigious precinct is important. The use of widely spaced monumental buildings perched on hills with sweeping vistas signifies the power and importance of cities and of institutions (Rapoport 1993, Laswell 1979, Dovey 1999). In consciously planned capital cities this pattern has often been prevalent. Washington, in the United States, New Delhi and Chandigarh in India, and Abuja in Nigeria are examples. Paris as designed by Baron Georges-Eugène Haussmann and constructed between the 1850s and 1870s is the exemplar of a prestigious urban environment. It has been emulated in other cities whose administrators were striving for prestige. Paris has long, straight, and grand boulevards meeting at rond-points (see Figure 12.3a). The goal was to establish vistas towards prestigious monuments such as the Arc de Triomphe and buildings such as the Opéra as well as to meet the more basic functions of a design such as improved sanitation and efficient links between railway stations (Benevolo 1980, Jordan 1995). The striving for status through the consumption of space and the construction of boulevards with long vistas can be seen in a variety of plans from that of the 1893 World’s Columbian Exhibition in Chicago to the City Beautiful plans for that city’s core, in many colonial city plans such as that for New Delhi (1913) and those for Chinese cities under the Japanese in the 1930s (Rowe and Kuan 2002). It also appears in the desires of dictators to have prestigious cities. Berlin under Hitler as proposed by Albert Speer, the design of central Pyongyang for Kim-Il Sung, and for Bucharest under President Nicolai Ceausescu are three examples. In Bucharest, the Avenue of the Victory of Socialism (1977-89; see Figure 12.3b) is a monumental boulevard terminated by the mammoth Casa Republicii. The avenue at 3.5 kilometers is purposefully longer than Paris’s Champs Elysees and is lined with monumental buildings. The objective was to obtain “something grand, something very grand” (Ceausescu cited in Cavalcanti 1997). It is grand but lifeless. Detailing of the environment is also important. The public realm of Battery Park City (d) was purposefully designed to set a high standard for the developers and architects of building to follow. Striving for prestige can conflict with designing for comfort (c). Summers in Chandigarh are hot. Equally important has been the effort by cities to obtain prestigious buildings designed by renowned architects. During the late twentieth century Paris was also a trend-setter. The Grands Travaux (great works) program under President François Mitterrand although primarily concerned with the preservation of monuments also helped finance such major new works as the Cité des Sciences, the La Défense Arche, and a number of institutional buildings. It is almost de rigeur today for a major city to have a television tower and skyscrapers, a museum of modern art, a science museum, and other major institutions such as internationally known universities. In many places now the placing of governmental buildings and the lack of care with which they are designed signifies changing attitudes towards governmental institutions. The Nelson A. Rockefeller Empire State Plaza in Albany, the capital of the State of New York (see Figure 14.5a), clearly signifies the importance and power of the state government but in municipality after municipality, government buildings are being built in a Utilitarian Modernist manner. Cities are instead obtaining their prestige through having many tall

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Photograph by Mahmoodreza Vahidi

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Photograph by Ruth Durack

b. Avenue of the Victory of Socialism. Bucharest, Romania (1977-89+); Anca Petrescu, architect.

a. Ave de la Grande Armée; Haussmann’s Paris (1860s) viewed from the Arc d’Triomphe. La Défense is in the background.

c. The City Center, Chandigarh, India (1955); Le Corbusier, architect.

Figure 12.3 Prestigious urban landscapes

d. The Esplanade, Battery Park City, New York, USA (1980+); Hanna/Olin, Ltd., landscape architects.

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commercial buildings. Lujiazui in Pudong, Shanghai is the present day model although it had La Défense on the outskirts of Paris, that city’s new central business district, as a precedent. Ho Chi Minh City follows. Many public officials and citizens of cities regard bold, tall buildings silhouetted against the sky as seen in panoramic views as prestigious. They aspire to have tall buildings and a skyline that much surpasses that of Manhattan, New York (Figure 12.4a). Frankfurt has a distinctive skyline (b). Such skylines are a mark of the economic value of land but also a symbol of being modern. Lujiazui has already acquired a bold new skyline that is the pride of Shanghai’s citizens (c). Sydney (d) lags. Skylines do not have to consist of skyscrapers to be distinctive (e) but many city governments think so (f). Panoramic views from balconies, terraces, and/or windows are prestigious objects to own. They inflate the price of properties. In cities such as Sydney, Hong Kong, and San Francisco, a view of the harbor is an important selling point for offices and residential units. In Switzerland it is the Alps; in Boulder, Colorado it is the Rockies. Views of cities from buildings located on hillsides are equally prestigious. In many places seascapes, particularly if there are also foreground elements, make the sites from which they can be viewed expensive. The Wall Street area (Figure 12.4a) is a highly prestigious location for major businesses. Cities, such as Shanghai seek to be “Manhattanized”. Now other cities are striving to be Shanghaied. It is an “international power style” (Laswell 1979, Dovey 1999). Shanghai’s government is still pressing for tall buildings and a bolder skyline. In Philadelphia there was a general understanding that no building would be taller than the eye-level of the statue of William Penn atop City Hall (that is, 150 meters; 491 feet). The “gentlemen’s agreement” was abandoned in 1984. The substantially taller new buildings in the city’s core have boosted the city’s self-image and do enable the central business district to be seen from afar. Many such tall building environments, however, end up “great from afar, but far from great” because the street level environment is unpleasant for pedestrians (Ghirado 1989). Somewhat perversely, but recognizing this by-product of building tall, some cities seek prestige by not having tall buildings. The term Manhattanization is now often used derogatively. Paris has dismissed tall buildings to its periphery. La Défense lies outside Paris proper. Paris’s administration is, however, now wondering if the city is being left behind in a world where glossy high-rise buildings are prestigious. The quality of streets  The nature of their streets differentiates one city from another, one neighborhood from another, and the prestige of one from another (A. Jacobs 1993). The qualities of streets depend on their cross sections including the buildings or trees that line them, the ground floor uses adjacent to them, the nature of their sidewalks/ footpaths, the number of moving traffic lanes and the speed of traffic, whether there is curbside parking or not, and the surface materials used for automobile traffic lanes and sidewalks. High quality street furnishings—lamp posts, benches, rubbish bins, manhole covers, and kiosks—add to the level of prestige. The sequential experience of spaces is fundamental to the aesthetic appreciation of cities (Lukashok and Lynch 1956, Halprin 1963, Appleyard and Lintell 1981, A. Jacobs 1993, S. Marshall 2005, Burton 2006; see Chapter 14). The character of what one sees as one drives along the streets of precincts affects their market value. In much of the world, tree-lined streets flanked by unified buildings built to the property line have high value.

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a. Lower Manhattan skyline, New York, USA in 2001.

b. Frankfurt, Germany in 2002.

c. Lujiazui, Pudong, Shanghai, P.R. China in 2004. Photograph by Aykut Karaman

d. Sydney, Australia in 2009. Collection of Jon Lang

e. Galata, Istanbul, Turkey in 2007.

Figure 12.4 Skylines and prestige

f. The proposed Dubai skyline.

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Paris is often the model. Wide boulevards, as in Paris, are seen as highly prestigious in the central areas of cities and for streets along waterfronts. Streets that are tree-lined and without overhead wires are considered to be more prestigious than those that are treeless and contain a profusion of wires. Many cities in hot-arid areas seek treed avenues because they are prestigious rather than more climatically appropriate designs. City governments have become increasingly self-conscious about the appearances of sidewalks and street furniture. They are now upgrading the quality of their city’s streets. The character of streets contributes to the perception of the quality of a locale in much the same way that the nature of rooms contributes to perceptions of the quality of a building. Buildings Consciously displaying one’s prestige in built form has a long history. The Thiene family in Vicenza, Italy sought a palace in which the “main function … was to impress”. Palladio delivered the Palazzo Thiene (1546) to them. The major prestige-related variables of buildings seem to be their overall configuration, the degree of structural dexterity they display, the materials of their fabrication, the way they are decorated, their colors, the way they are illuminated by day and by night, and the location of buildings on their sites. The uniqueness of a design pattern can make it prestigious. Other variables are the nature and size of the signs, their style of type face and their color. Many highly prestigious buildings have discrete nametags. They are more likely to belong to corporations of long standing than younger ones seeking attention. Cities around the world (particularly in Asia) vie to have the tallest building although after September 11, 2001 the idea of reaching up one hundred stories into the sky lost some appeal. Indeed, the very concept of “ego buildings” is being rethought. Striving to build the tallest building in the world, nevertheless, continues. The Woolworth (1911-3), Chrysler (1928-30), the Empire State Building (1936), Sears Tower (1974-6), Petronas Towers (1998), Taipei 101 Tower (2003), and the Shanghai World Financial Center (2004) have been surpassed. The Burj Khalifa (2010), originally known as Burj Dubai, is another step along the way. A kilometer tall building will top it. And then? In the Americas, Europe, Japan, and in many colonized nations, the European Classical style was used well into the second half of twentieth century for banks, universities, museums, and many other institutions to indicate their solidity and importance. The domes of the proposed Germania (1940s) and of the Basilica of Our Lady of Peace (purposefully larger than St. Peter’s Rome) were designed to add to the prestige of dictators and their countries (see Figures 12.5a and b). During the 1930s in Mysore, India, Otto Köenigsberger, fresh from dealing with the Modernism of the Bauhaus, found that local elites saw domes on buildings as a hallmark of status and Modernism. To them it was an indicator of cosmopolitanism, which, in turn, was associated with India’s cultural elite. Today geometries deviant from the orthogonal bring much attention to specific buildings. Buildings with curved roofs, which architect Bruce Judd calls “armadillo buildings,” seem to be prestigious. They stick out from their surroundings and are seen as works of art. In Australia, the Sydney Opera House has been a significant prestigious building because of its type, its sculptural qualities, and the association with its architect. In response Sydney’s rival Melbourne recently acquired Federation Square (see Figure 14.1) as its prestigious, aesthetically up-to-date building complex.

buildings as signs and status symbols

Collection of Jon Lang

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. Germania proposal for Berlin, Germany (1940); Albert Speer, architect. b. The Basilica of Notre Dame del la Paix, Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast (1985-9); Pierre Fakhoury, architect.

c. The Empire State Building, New York, USA (1930-1); Gregory Johnson of Shreve, Lamb and Johnson, architect.

Photograph by Tsai Chi-Cheng

d. Taipei 101 Tower, Taipei, ROC (2003); C.Y. Lee and Partners, architects.

Figure 12.5 Building size, height, and prestige

e. The Petronas Towers, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia (1998); César Pelli and Associates, architects.

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In traditional societies architectural features may well be correlated with status according to accepted prescriptions. In Bali with its Hindu background, caste establishes status. Gates for houses of Sudras, priests, and noblemen differ. As life becomes modernized, a person’s income becomes more important than caste in establishing social status. Interpretations change. Ornamentation on the façade of buildings was once only allowed for higher castes. Now, very often the intelligentsia on the Island prefer something simple; ornamentation is a characteristic of the homes of lower castes who see it as prestigious (Dewi-Jayanti 2003). The sheer size of buildings can be a source of pride—national and individual. King Leopold II attempted to show Belgium’s new-found economic status (based on the cruel exploitation of the Congo Basin) through the erection of large buildings. Antwerp’s cyclopean Palace of Justice (1880s) designed by Joseph Poelaert and Brussel-Centraal (1900), designed by Louis Delacenserie exemplify the attitude. Nikolai Ceausescu certainly thought that large buildings were prestigious in his brief for the Casa Republicii in Bucharest (Figure 12.3b; Cavalcanti 1997). Earlier, Hitler sought edifices of a megalomaniac scale in his unrealized plans for Berlin (Broadbent 1990). Félix Houphouët-Boigny, first president of the Ivory Coast after independence, sought prestige through bombast. Although the dome of the basilica (without its cross) in Yamoussoukro is slightly lower than that of St. Peter’s in Rome, it is a larger building. Not only were all these buildings large but they were composed of expensive materials. What are regarded as modern, prestigious materials change with the vagaries of fashion but also availability. Materials that are rare are held in prestige. The use of marble and other expensive materials has long signified the importance of buildings and the people who inhabit them. Large expanses of plate glass are now often associated with high status. These materials may well be chosen for their technical attributes, but the way they function to denote status often overwhelms the more appropriate qualities of common place materials. In many cases natural materials are held in higher esteem than artificial. As a result many artificial materials are made to look natural. Colors serve many functions from raising the reflected light level in rooms to hiding dirt to changing the apparent size of rooms, to indicating status. In some cultures, such as in India and China, buildings were historically color coded for status. Nowadays, the colors that are considered to be in good taste and denote high status vary. At times pastel colors may be associated with high status while at others it may be bright colors. Tastes also vary with cultures. Often it seems that it is not the color itself that carries meaning but the way in which it deviates from habituation levels. To be in fashion means to lead trends. Throughout the world, where one lives and the type of residence one has is an indicator of who one is and one’s status in society. In Bali the courtyard house was once the norm but because of the space it requires it is now the symbol of status—the larger the courtyard the higher the status (Dewi-Jayanti 2003). The degree of control of space and its size through territorial marking is positively correlated with status in many suburban residential areas in Britain and the USA. Although seldom used for activities front yards remain important to many people in the United States and in some places enclosing fences are important. Many of the variables denoting status seem to be universal as a study in Jordan shows (AlHomoud and Al-Oun 2002). Outsiders to India would have little difficulty in identifying the status of the inhabitants of the four places shown in Figure 12.6.

buildings as signs and status symbols

b. Artistes Village, Navi Mumbai (1986); Charles Correa, architect.

a. Three-storey walk-up units, Hyderabad (2000).

c. Greater Kailash, Delhi in 1990.

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d. Kothari House, Ahmedabad (1985-6); Kulbushan and Minakshi Jain, architects.

Figure 12.6 House form and social status in India

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The relative status of people working inside a building is often legible on its façade. In commenting on Le Corbusier’s Secretariat building in Chandigarh one of his colleagues, Maxwell Fry (1961), noted: One can see the preferential treatment given to the higher ranks of government breaking into the regular façade by way of [the] recessed balcony and larger windows.

That the building was designed by Le Corbusier gives them added prestige. Signature buildings and the architecture of status  Some building types are more prestigious than others. It is clear that heroic projects with a “wow” factor carry greater prestige than other types. Commercial buildings, as a type (Figure 12.7a), impressive though individual examples may be, are seldom held in as high an esteem as museums (b, d, and e), capital buildings (c), and other high value-added buildings. During the last decade of the twentieth century, with cities vying for a place in the international spotlight, museums and cultural centers became important statements of the importance of a place. With its Ciutat de les Arts i les Ciències (2000-7), Valencia in Spain has both high-value-added and signature buildings. They were designed primarily by Santiago Calatrava but also by Felix Candela. In the first decade of the twenty-first century, cities in the United Arab Emirates erected major museums designed by internationally renowned architects such as I.M. Pei and Zhaha Hadid. An advertisement for the Hesperia Tower Hotel in Barcelona notes: “designed by the prestigious architects Richard Rogers and Alonso-Bulgier” before describing any attributes of the hotel (Voyager, July 2006). Civic leaders around the world are aware of the impact of the Guggenheim Museum on the redevelopment and rebranding of Bilbao, Spain and they also recognize that the museum’s radical architecture immediately placed the city in the international spotlight as did the Opera house for Sydney in the 1970s. In the twentieth century Le Corbusier was hired to design Chandigarh (1950s) and Louis I. Kahn to design the Indian Institute of Management in Ahmedabad (1960s) to give immediate status to a place. Not many people outside India have heard of Bhubaneswar, a new state capital contemporaneous to Chandigarh, designed by Otto Koenigsberger with buildings by Mumbai architect, Julius Vaz (Kalia 1994, Lang et al. 1997, Lang 2002). Reputedly, it is a more liveable city but that does not give its inhabitants the international status that Chandigarh gives its citizens. Buildings highly rational in nature but also full of symbolism, have earned Sir Norman Foster an international reputation and a knighthood (1990). Foster’s designs of office buildings have been innovative. The Willis-Faber-Dumas building (1970-5) in Ipswich, England, the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank headquarters (1970-86), the Commerzbank (1994-7) in Frankfurt am Main, the SwissRe building, London (2004), and the Deutsche Bank Building in Sydney (2005) all bring added prestige to their owners and to the cities in which they are located.

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b. Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA, USA (1916-28); Horace Trumbauer and Zantzinger, Borie and Medary, architects.

a. Park Avenue South, New York City, USA in 2009.

c. New Parliament House, Canberra, Australia (1981-8); Mitchell, Guirgola and Thorp, architects.

d. Leeum Samsung Museum. Seoul, Korea (2005). Buildings by Ateliers Jean Nouvel, Rem Koolhaaas and the OMA, and Mario Botta.

e. Interior, Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, USA (1960-3); Marcel Breuer, architect.

f. Burke brise-soleil and Quadracci Pavilion, Milwaukee Museum of Art, Milwaukee, WI, USA (2001); Santiago Calatrava, architect.

Figure 12.7 Prestigious building types

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Building Interiors Interiors, like buildings, are often designed to be prestigious as the design of many avantgarde shops selling highly fashionable products attest. The exemplar, as introduced in Chapter 9, may be the interior of Prada (2001) designed by Rem Koolhaas in New York. The central feature is a giant slope where a zebrawood floor reaches down to the basement in a series of steps. Looking back, it houses a stage. A series of eye-catching exhibits—stairs morphing into shelves and, at one time, mannequins standing in a platoon—captured attention (Bernstein 2002). With its magic mirrors, plasma displays and computer controlled change-rooms, the shop cost US$76 million. The architecture is an advertisement for the shop and for the architect. Typical shopping malls (Figure 12.8a) and the Country Road Store (b) seek prestige at a lesser level. What is seen as prestigious depends on tastes (c, d, and e). The opulent interior (c) differs considerably from that in (d) which has been almost universally the taste of young architects for over 50 years. The nature and sequence of spaces when a person moves through a building have status connotations. The sheer number of spaces and the movement from small to large spaces, and the visual unfolding of rooms indicate prestige. The Château de Versailles (1661-82+) may be the referent. A grand entrance hall with large staircases leading to upper floors is an indication of the high status of a building’s inhabitants. Many building types follow this pattern: opera houses, opulent hotels, and the private homes of the wealthy. The zones of penetration by people of different status into a building are often correlated with its layout. In the British colonial bungalow in India (see Figure 6.7b) there were a whole set of behavioral expectations related to status. Higher status visitors were, for instance, accompanied by their hosts to their vehicles on their departure; servants saw out the low. Houses had separate entrances and circulation routes for the family and servants (King 1995, Bhatia 1994, Lang et al. 2009). There was no mistaking the qualities of one for the other. What constitutes a high status interior varies depending on what is fashionable in the market place at a time. Large spaces as a mark of status have had a continuous place in the marking of prestige. The new entrance to the Morgan Library and Museum in New York is an example (see Figure 12.8e). Sumptuous, highly visible entrances to buildings signify prestige (for an example see Figure 12.11f). Within buildings people of higher status inhabit larger physical settings and are afforded a high degree of privacy. In looking at the plans of the large commercial firms shown in Figure 6.9 the location of the high status people is clear. The differentiation is not so obvious in 6.9e because the managers of the firm deliberately sought to obscure the status level of its employees within the organization. The indicators of high status in interior design are often the provision of settings larger in size than that required for the activities taking place in them and views out of the windows that are either panoramas or of natural vegetation. The illumination level and the types of light fittings used in a room are correlated with status. Less expensive restaurants and cafeterias with a continuous turnover of clientele, for instance, may have high levels of illumination from overhead fluorescent lighting while the more exclusive tend to have much lower levels of illumination from incandescent light fittings on tables and/or walls. Candles may add to the allure.

buildings as signs and status symbols

a. Shopping mall, Columbia, MD, USA (1970s). Collection of Jon Lang

b. Country Road Store, Queen Victoria Building, Sydney, NSW, Australia.

c. The opulent style attributed to political dictators.

d. Apartment interior, Madrid, Spain in 2009; Ignacio Bistal and Elisa Pérez, architects.

e. Pierpont Morgan Library and Museum, New York City, USA (2000-04); Renzo Piano Building Workshop, architects.

Figure 12.8 Interior architecture, symbolism, and status

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a. A courtroom, Marin County Civic Center, CA, USA (1958); Frank Lloyd Wright, architect.

b. Kandalama Hotel, Sigiriya, Sri Lanka (1991); Geoffrey Bawa, architect.

d. Lobby, Caixa Forum, Madrid, Spain (2009); Herzog and de Meuron, architects.

c. QueenVictoria Building, Sydney, NSW, Australia; Restored (1984-6); Stephenson, Turner and Rice.

e. Concourse, Canary Wharf, London, UK (1999); Foster and Partners, architects.

f. Metzker House, Philadelphia, PA, USA (2004); Walter Moleski, architect. Furnishing by the client.

Figure 12.9 Taste cultures and interior architecture

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High prestige office interiors today seem to come in two forms: traditional or even neo-classical such as in Figures 12.2d or even 12.9c or in a highly glossy form. It is an interior architecture of lavishness. Marble and gold leaf clad decorations in reception areas are adorned with silver writing on signs. A “factory chic” type of interior design was fashionable during the first decade of the twenty-first century. It was full of hard materials and angular forms (Figure 12.9d and e). In the USA, at least, two types of furniture and furnishings are used to create a sense of luxury. One consists of fashionable and up-to-date highly sought after “designer” artifacts and contemporary art works. The other, in contrast, has antique furniture and paintings by the classical masters. The belief is that new money goes for the former and old for the latter but this assertion has never been carefully demonstrated. A sense of luxury is created in a number of other ways. Having plush surroundings is one of them. Plush means behavior settings with furniture and furnishing of expensive materials with a deep pile, a decadent atmosphere, and with elaborately designed furnishing that gives the air of great comfort. They all contribute to provide a sense of importance and high esteem to those in the setting. Figure 12.8c shows the style attributed to political dictators in the public’s eye. A reaction to the lavishness of interiors has led to a simultaneous demand for “no-frills” designs that reduce the cost of buildings from hotels (Watson 2005) to, despite the Prada store in Manhattan, shoe shops. Their interiors are frugal but well executed in detail. The entrance hall to the Morgan Museum is an example. Its Neo-Modernist austerity represents a restrained taste culture. Many commercial firms clearly show the status of their employees through the furniture they have. Innovative office systems, in which the rectangular work stations have given way to walls set at various angles, substitute for those of the past. With the computer age has come demands for new office furniture as designs have to afford new and varied activities and actions. Work is now displayed vertically not horizontally and desks are smaller. Such items as the size and materials of desks, nevertheless, still carry messages; the higher up in the hierarchy of an employee in an organization, the larger the desks and the more natural the materials employed. The new angular styles that are prestigious today may seem to be a radical departure from the past but conceptually they are not. Office furniture has long been a high art form, often exhibited in museums of modern art. Mies van de Rohe’s Barcelona chairs (in the foreground in Figure 10.17) and the Eames’ chairs, symbols of high status, were exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art in New York in the 1960s. They were a radical departure from the norm. It is the departure from the norm that attracts. Comfort often gives way to fashion (see Figure 6.11f). Doors and windows  Doors are more than means of ingress to and egress from enclosed spaces; windows function in more ways than to control levels of illumination and to open interiors to views and/or being viewed. They also have referential meanings. They act as signs of tastes and status. The variables of importance in shaping our interpretations of the prestige levels of doors are their size, the materials of which they are made, the way their architraves, rails and stiles are handled, and the nature of their panelling. Thus one’s attitudes towards doors depend on the associated meanings that one has with the patterns in view (see Figure 12.10). The buildings in Figure 12.11e exist in the same geographical location and are commercial buildings. They also serve as a sign of the status of the firms within them and as sign of their era of construction.

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Adapted from Hershberger (1970) and Lang (1987); drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 12.10 A mediational theory of environmental meanings applied to doors

The size of door openings may be related to the size of the elements that enter them (for example, those for elephants are larger than those required for people) but often they are oversized to signify the high status of people within and/or passing through them. In retail stores, hotels and factories, the entrances for workers are often substantially less grand than for clients. The program for the proposed new orchestra hall for Philadelphia prepared by the Environmental Research Group during the 1980s noted that the musicians desired to have the entrance to the back-stage area be as substantial as those for the concertgoers. They felt that the back-door appearance of musicians’ entrances in most concert halls suggested that musicians were low in social status. Specific door and window designs also acquire prestige through their association with significant architects. Sometimes they are named after the architect who exploited them. A door type that swivels on pins a quarter of the door’s width from its jamb is often known as a Le Corbusier door (Figure 12.12). It is the association with Le Corbusier that gives such doors as a type their prestige provided one knows of the association. Windows also carry meanings. The way the reveals are handled and the nature of the glazing very much shapes the filtering of light. In many prestigious settings, light coming through openings is employed symbolically as a compositional element. The general principle is reflected in Walter Gropius’s comment: Imagine the surprise and animation experienced when a sunbeam shining through the stained glass window in a cathedral wanders slowly through the twilight of a nave and suddenly hits the altar piece. (Gropius 1962)

Many buildings held in high esteem by architects are known for the subtlety with which light enters them. Among twentieth-century Modernists Louis Kahn and Le Corbusier accrued prestige through their use of natural light as an aesthetic device (see Figure 1.3d(iii)) for an internal view of the Notre Dame du Haut). The Landscape Artificial landscapes can be classified in many ways. The artificial refers to the self-conscious designs of farmers, landscape architects, and gardeners that shape the natural world into agricultural land, gardens, and cityscapes that serve various functions. The two major landscape architecture design paradigms have been the classical and the picturesque. The first is associated with continental Europe and in a somewhat different vein the Mughal

buildings as signs and status symbols

a. Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain (1920s); Antoni Gaudí and others, architects.

b. British Council Building, New Delhi, India (1987-92); Charles Correa Associates, architects.

c. Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao Spain (1997); Gehry Partners LLP, architects.

e. Commercial buildings, Park Avenue New York, USA.

Figure 12.11 Doors and windows

d. The entrance, Caixa Forum, Madrid, Spain (2009); Herzog and de Meuron Architekten, architects.

f. Private home, New York City, USA.

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Photograph by John Gamble

a. Entrance, Fundación Metropóli, Alcobendas, Spain (2004); Ángel de Diego, architect.

c. The entrance, Assembly Hall, Chandigarh, India (1953-4). Le Corbusier, architect.

b. The main door, Notre Dame du Haut, Ronchamp, France (1950-5); Le Corbusier, architect.

Figure 12.12 Le Corbusier doors

Empire in which Cartesian geometrical patterns rule. In the picturesque the rural aspects of nature are romantically replicated. The classical garden is exemplified by the gardens of Versailles and the picturesque by any number of English landscape designs associated with country houses in Britain and in parks around the world. Allied with the latter and, possibly its antecedents are the Chinese and Japanese gardens that are designed to be settings to contemplate. Today, there are also the landscape designs of abstract art forms associated with people such as Martha Schwartz, and the landscape architecture of sustainable environments. The hallmarks of the status of the owners of gardens vary. Those who seek art forms see themselves as part of the intellectual art world and those people who seek sustainable environments see themselves as husbanders of the land. Each has its own followers who see themselves superior intellectually and, possibly, morally to the other.

Maintenance Levels and Status The use of greenery and large open spaces in urban developments is seen as prestigious but such spaces do require much maintenance (Figure 12.13a). As we move through urban areas, squares, gardens, and through buildings, the quality of maintenance conveys towhom-it-may concern messages about the attitudes of those in control towards life and towards people. Well-kept areas (b, c, and d) are associated with high status. Poorly maintained areas (except wild landscapes) seldom convey a sense of prestige (e). Derelict areas are worse (f). Areas of cities require constant maintenance due to the effects of the weather and wear and tear. The quality of maintenance of owner-occupied spaces reflects their owners’ attitudes but of rented spaces generally, but by no means always, the values of the landlords. Well-maintained areas demonstrate that people care about their surroundings enough to do something about them. In Brasília the residential supercuadras that were all the same in appearance when built now reflect status differences based on the degree of care taken in maintaining them.

buildings as signs and status symbols

a. Bahçeşhur, Istanbul, Turkey.

b. Alcázar, Seville, Spain.

c. Eleven East 86th Street, New York City, USA.

e. Avenue A, New York City, USA.

d. Lambert St. Louis International Airport.

f. An inner city neighborhood, Chicago Illinois, USA in 1995.

Figure 12.13 Design characteristics, maintenance levels, and the perceptions of status

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The status of residential neighborhoods in any city is read as much by the level of maintenance accorded them as the nature of their streets and adjacent buildings. Capitol complexes of countries are especially well looked after. In Singapore the public agencies responsible for developing the city-state—the Urban Redevelopment Authority and the Housing Development Board—pay special attention to the maintenance of the public realm. The maintenance levels are extraordinarily high by almost any standard. Singapore markets itself as “a tropical city of excellence”. Many cities around the world, in contrast, are good at building prestigious facilities but in a few years they look derelict. The Broken Window Hypothesis It is believed that well maintained areas (that is, ones without graffiti and litter, or ones where broken windows and acts of vandalism get immediately repaired), lead to people caring about their surroundings (Kelling and Coles 1997, Yong 2008; see also Chapter 8). The hypothesis is that broken windows left unrepaired lead to more broken windows; littered areas attract more litter. The belief is that rapidly removing graffiti leads to less graffiti in the long run. The argument is also that such maintenance leads to less crime. Certainly, well cared for areas reflect public attitudes and the demands of people living in particular precincts. Whether or not high levels of maintenance have further consequences is open to considerable debate.

Participation and a Sense of Esteem Various levels of participation in the design process can be identified. They vary from clients and users being told what is going to be designed to a genuine sharing of ideas (Healy 1997). The evocation of the “art defence”, that buildings are the vehicles for their creators’ self-expression, has often created tensions between designers and clients. Although architects tend to be hired by their clients because of shared values, problems arise when there is both a social and an administrative gap between professionals and users (Zeisel 1974). Participation in the programming, design, and evaluation of design proposals as they are being developed gives a feeling of importance to those participating in the process as well as providing valuable information for designers to use. It gives the people who are going to be affected by a design a sense that their voices are important. Listening to potential users of buildings occurs easily when architects are designing bespoke houses for individual clients. In public housing the public is often seen as a hindrance to the work of public agencies and designers, not an asset. The self-esteem of architects is often challenged when their clients and/or the public question their views. If, however, designers do not heed the opinions of their clients, particularly community groups, the designs they create may generate a level of animosity that can lead to the vandalizing of buildings in retaliation. The groups do not feel a pride in possessing the designs but rather that the designs are imposed on them.

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Status Considerations in Architectural Theory All architectural theories of the twentieth century addressed issues of status. For much of the century the generic design proposals, particularly the mass housing designs, of the leading architects, especially those of the Rationalist school of Modernists sought to obscure status differences. Little in the design of the residential areas or commercial precincts in the proposals of Tony Garnier (Une Cité Industrielle), Richard Neutra (Rush City) or Le Corbusier (La Ville Radieuse) differentiates people by social status. The same is true of Brasília designed by Oscar Niemeyer and Lucio Costa. The design of the residential superquadras was the same for all socio-economic groups. The really high status areas, however, consisted of single-family homes across the lake from the totally designed city (Evenson 1973, Holston 1989). Chandigarh was based on a different view (Nilsson 1973, Kalia 1987). A clear social differentiation by status of housing exists in the design of the different sectors of Chandigarh. The city design (although Le Corbusier may not have liked it) recognized the cultural realties of India. Distance from the capital complex, the size of housing and the space allocated to people are immediate cues of the status of the residents of different sectors. The transference of Rationalist design principles from Europe to the United States in the 1960s resulted in a situation where patterns of built form that denoted high status for office complexes denoted low for housing estates. In much Post-Modernist design in the United States, in Europe, and in the cities of modernizing Asia, the concern has been with fulfilling the esteem needs and rising expectations of the middle class and corporations. Les Echelles du Baroque (1979-85; Figure 12.14), a housing project in Montparnasse in the heart of Paris and Les Arcades du Lac (1972-5) in St. Quentin en Yvelines, both designed by Ricardo Bofill and the Taller, incorporate classical orders and large scale elements of built form to establish a greater sense of prestige than Modernist social housing managed to offer. The complexes are seen as more prestigious because they are monumental and because they are the work of an internationally important architect. Corporations seek a different aesthetic. Being modern (up-to-date) has been closely associated with status. The Modernists promoted themselves successfully and claimed a high intellectual and moral status for themselves. They won the 1930s and 1940s battle among architects for stylistic hegemony (Larsen 1993). Being modern has, however, had a variety of images depending on when and where one is. In Shanghai today it is an architecture that breaks from rectilinear shapes that is seen as prestigious. Architectural theoreticians have had great difficulty in coming to terms with the consumer economy of the late twentieth and the early twenty-first centuries. They have largely failed to meet the challenges of what economists call “positional goods”—those that give a corporation, an institution, or an individual, a sense of being held in high esteem (Baudrillard 1998). This observation is particularly true when it comes to houses for other than the elite. Architects design comparatively few of the total production of houses and have yet to deal effectively with the status culture of the mass consumer market. While the design of large commercial and institutional buildings certainly does fall within the purview of professional work, the architectural principles of popular taste have largely fallen outside the domain of interest of theoreticians.

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Photograph by Mark L. Brack

Figure 12.14 Les Echelles du Baroque, Montparnasse, Paris (1979-85)

Ricardo Bofill, architect.

Today most articulated architectural theories advocate prestigious modern up-to-date environments whose location in place and time can be identified (Hays 1998, Jencks and Kropf 2006). The architecture of international capitalism is, however, bold and brash. In contrast, some critics call for a more discrete architecture as in Barcelona, Spain in the immediate years following the demise of General Claudio Franco’s dictatorship in 1975 but it has been little heeded. A Note on Discrete Architecture Discrete architecture is remarkable because it is not immediately remarkable. It does not consist of buildings endeavoring to catch the eye. On closer examination the buildings have often been extremely well executed in providing for the basic functions of life, in their use of materials and in their detailing. To those who really understand buildings they often carry very high status connotations. They, however, fail to attract attention of the uneducated eye. In Spain, many of the buildings designed by Jaime Bach and Gabriel Mora, Esteve Bonell Costa, and Antonio Cruz and Antonio Ortiz are discrete (Hays 1998). In many ways, the work reflects a more widespread concern about the character of cities. In the United States the concern for regionalism and the concern for architecture that fits into its background is reflected, as has already been noted in Battery Park City, in Mission Bay, San Francisco, and in much of the work of the New Urbanists. While practicing architects have led such ideological thrusts (see de Solà Morales 1989, Buchanan 1990, Katz 1994), it has been primarily those architects concerned with quality of urban precincts and with challenging the long-held anti-urbanism implicit and often explicit in architectural writings and ideology (see White and White 1964) that have led the way.

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Architects, Architecture, and Status within the Profession The arrogance, socio-political aspirations and the employment of the “Art” defence by its leaders to argue for their ideas brought the profession of Architecture into some disrepute during the 1970s and 1980s (Gold 2007, Dalrymple 2009). Led by its superstars the situation has changed (Hare 2009). We live in a different era. The Modernists developed their ideas in an era of radical technological and social change beset by two world wars and the depression. We live in a consumer, business-friendly society not one of austerity although this may change as the result of the global financial crisis. One of the functions of buildings is to give recognition to their architect’s. Receiving accolades from one’s peers has had an important role in shaping architects’ careers, reputations, and the types of buildings they are selected to design. Critical and sometimes damning post-occupancy evaluations conducted by social scientists are generally held in low esteem and dismissed as irrelevant by the elite of the architectural world (Vesely 2004). This attitude prevails because of the differences in foci of concern of social scientists and designers. Social scientists consider a wide array of built environment variables in their studies while the architectural cognoscenti focus primarily on the visual character of the architectural object, the spaces it contains, and the architectural ideas behind them (Belgasem 1987, Johnson 1994, Rowshan-Bahsh 1998). The most prestigious architects among architects tend to be those aligning themselves with the artistic tradition of self-expression. This tradition goes back to Michelangelo Buonarotti and Antoni Gaudí y Cornet among many others. Michelangelo’s work was classical; Gaudí’s was eccentric. Gaudi’s buildings such as the Temple de la Segrada Familia (begun 1883 but still under construction), nevertheless, have a sense of mastery and dignity. Frank Gehry, Zaha Hadid, and Daniel Libeskind follow in this great tradition and are equally esteemed for it. Other architects who are held in high esteem are those whose work shows considerable structural dexterity and innovation. The sculpturally molded concrete construction work of Santiago Calatrava established his international reputation. This reputation led to Calatrava being selected by the Port Authority of New York in 2004 to design the PATH terminal at the World Trade Center site development. The proposed design consisted of soaring wings and a cathedral like space representing both architecture as high art and the architecture of structural dexterity. Those architects deemed to have high status when identified by architectural theoreticians may differ from those identified by the business community and from those seen by architectural students in one architectural school versus another. His professional peers never held Robin Seifert, the most prolific architect in central London during the 1960s and 1970s, in high esteem (Pawley 2001). He clearly had a following among business people. In addition, some architects seek recognition while others shy away from anything more than that necessary to maintain a practice. The former submit their work for the winning of awards; the latter are less likely to do so. The architects of note are those who set the pace, who write about themselves and their work or have critics write about it. Receiving a Pritzker Prize, an Aga Khan award, a gold medal offered by an Institute of Architects, and winning an architectural competition all add to an architect’s status. Some architects have a high international profile because of their work’s radical appearance.

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A number of the winners of the Pritzker Prize, such as Zaha Hadid fall into this category. Glen Murcutt is a very different winner of the award. His small-scale buildings advocate the adaptation of the Australian vernacular to modern conditions. The Aga Kahn awards have been won by high style architects on one hand and to those concerned with selfhelp housing schemes on the other. Professional bodies may, in contrast, be concerned more with the architects who have made a substantive and lengthy contribution to the promotion of the practice of architecture and to the profession. It is clear that heroic projects with a “wow” factor carry greater prestige than many other types. Being selected to design a museum or a concert hall is regarded as a sign of success among architects. Sadly, attempting to come to grips with the everyday environment of cities does not attract the same attention. It is, nevertheless, the type of urban design, architecture, and landscape architecture that changes the world on a large scale. The Architectural Counterculture A number of architects and critics might be regarded as belonging to a counterculture. They are advocates for various ends: for sustainable environments, for environments that enhance the opportunities for children’s explorations on a day-to-day basis, for pedestrians, or for people such as those suffering from dementia. While they may know of each other and hold each other in high esteem, they are not generally highly regarded in the mainstream of architectural opinion. They are seldom working on an international scale, their investigations are at a small scale, and many have not produced much work.

Major References Dovey, Kim 1999. Framing Places: Mediating Power in Built Form. London: Routledge. Gans, Herbert J. 1975. Popular Culture and High Culture: An Analysis and Evaluation of the Culture of Taste. New York: Basic Books. Lasswell, Harold D. 1979. The Signature of Power: Buildings, Communications and Policy. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Mann, Dennis Alan 1979. Architecture, aesthetics and pluralism. Theories of taste as a determinant of architectural standards. Studies in Art Education, 20(3): 701-19.

Advanced Functions



Museu de les Ciències Príncipe Felipe, Valencia, Spain (2000)

Santiago Calatrava, architect.

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13

The Cognitive Function of Architecture: The Environment as a Source of Learning

The only kind of learning which significantly influences behavior is self-discovered or selfappropriated learning—truth that has been assimilated in experiences. Carl Rogers, clinical and educational psychologist

People have four interrelated sets of cognitive needs: those necessary for acquiring knowledge about the functioning of the world around them, those necessary for achieving instrumental ends (for example, doing a job), those concerned with learning for its own sake, and those involving expressive actions. This chapter focuses on how the everyday environment rather than the formal environment of schools and other institutional settings provides opportunities for continual learning. The concern is with learning for the pleasure of learning and for opportunities to express what is learnt. Within many cultural contexts, the freedom of inquiry and freedom of expression are prerequisites for people to live fulfilling lives. Learning about the world and what it does and does not afford us is part of the process that shapes our motivations that, in turn, shape what we pay attention to and what we do. Learning is necessary for survival but it is also necessary to satisfy our curiosity. The level of curiosity about the world that people possess varies from culture to culture, stage in life cycle, and by individual personality. Although it is said that curiosity killed the cat, few children believe it. For them the world is full of wonder (Santrock 1989). In early childhood the world of children is restricted to the ambit of the home and its immediate surroundings and, depending on their parents’ mobility, some outlying areas. In middle childhood (Shakespeare’s second age of man in As you Like It, II, ii), a child is competent enough to move around and explore a wider world. This exploration, in turn, increases the child’s competence and knowledge. All environments afford learning experiences for adults and children alike but some offer more than others. There tends to be a significant difference in attitudes towards the allowable mobility of children in different societies and for boys and girls everywhere (Bronfenbrenner 1979). The Modernist housing environments of the second half of the twentieth century and that are still being built today provide children and adolescents with few opportunities for exploration and few opportunities for legitimate adventure. More important than the character of buildings and their settings, however, is a person’s social environment. In childhood parents and other adults are important but later in life it is the peer group that becomes important in the day-to-day interactions that are a major source of learning. At the same time all behavior does occur in a milieu and the milieu itself and the relationship of one behavior setting to another affords opportunities for learning about the functioning of the world around us. Some of these settings occur as the result of the affordances of the natural world. Others have been self-consciously designed to enhance learning through vicarious experiences.

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Through participation in the various settings we inhabit, as much as through formal education, we develop our competencies—physiological and mental. The former involves the development of motor skills, strength and endurance. The latter deals with the acquisition of knowledge, the divergent and convergent production of ideas (the bases for creative thought), and the recall and use of knowledge in order to seize opportunities and resolve problems.

Formal and Informal Learning Learning takes place in many settings. Some are organized specifically for being taught (for example, Figure 13.1a); others simply provide opportunities for learning. Formal learning and formal testing take place through direct instruction in classrooms or, if the subject is something like rock-climbing, on location. Learning can be mediated through radio, television, or the Internet or it can be self-instructional. The point is that formal educational processes like formal organizations can be designed and the appropriate settings in which they can best take place can also be designed. It must be remembered that in formal settings such as schools learning also occurs in the communal settings of corridors and playgrounds. Much learning takes place in semi-formal settings. Places such as libraries, museums (Figure 13.1b), and the Internet have a potential educational mission but do not usually instruct people directly. Libraries provide resources for entertainment, education, and the exploration of ideas in general. What people glean is up to them. In the past, such institutions provided education by looking and pondering, but more and more it is education through doing and indirectly through entertainment that is important. Theater and film offer learning through the vicarious participation in the lives of others in situations in which the audience is not directly involved. We learn from seeing what other people are doing within the household and in the outside world. Seeing the passing world, shopping, and simply playing develop both knowledge and skills. The types of environment that best meet cognitive needs are the participatory environments of everyday life (for example, 13.1c and d). Participatory settings “invite” us into them to explore and to act. They do not, however, coerce us to get involved. Much learning also takes place while playing games (e). How do policy makers and designers create the affordances for rich learning experiences as part of dayto-day life without the world becoming chaotic?

The Built World as a Learning Environment Cities and their precincts vary in the richness of affordances they possess for incidental learning in participatory settings (Figure 13.2a, b, c, and d). In their search for high status design, many urban design projects at the beginning of the twenty-first century omit such places. They may have museums that offer semi-formal learning opportunities (for example, e). Signs such as that in (f) can enrich a citizen’s knowledge. They do require being read!

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Photograph by Bruce Judd

a. A classroom.

b. Museum of Modern Art, New York, USA; renovated in 2004, Yoshio Tunuguchi, architect.

c. The Town Centre, Runcorn, UK in 2004.

d. 41st Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA.

e. Netball, Heffron Park, Sydney, NSW, Australia.

Figure 13.1 Formal, semi-formal, and informal opportunities for learning

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a. Chinatown, San Francisco in the early 1990s.

b. Autumn leaves. Photograph by Steve King

d. Wollman Rink, Central Park, New York City, USA.

c. Ira C. Keller Fountain, Portland, Oregon, USA (1970); Lawrence Halprin, landscape architect.

e. USS Constellation (1854), Baltimore Inner Harbor, Maryland, USA.

Figure 13.2 Educative urban environments

f. Historic site marker, Detroit, Michigan, USA.

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Many observers decry the increasing homogenization of new urban designs due to the reliance on the automobile as the primary mode of transport, changes in the economic scale of activities such as retailing, but also as a result of segregationist zoning ordinances. The decline over the course of the twentieth century in the ease with which ten-year-old children can negotiate their way independently to school, to play outside their houses, to go shopping, and to entertainment facilities has been widely noted (Parr 1969, Ladd 1978, Brookes-Gunn et al. 1993). The reasons are diverse: vehicular traffic volumes have made bicycling unsafe and perceptions of dangers from strangers have made parents afraid to allow children to roam. Nowadays, the image of good middle-class parents is often one of people whose obligation it is to chauffer their children around the city to engage in various organized activities. Children certainly enjoy the security and comfort of being driven (Romero 2010). Increasingly education takes place in formal environments and play takes place indoors as computer games and mediated learning through the Internet hold sway. Children, nevertheless, also play everywhere with what is at hand (Figure 13.3a and d). Playgrounds offer children the opportunity to test their skills (b) ideally in safety (see also Figure 6.14). The observation that children like to play in dirt and rubble resulted in the development of the adventure playground in post-World War Two Europe. In adventure playgrounds children manipulate junk materials, build structures, make fires, and play games under the supervision of adults (Allen 1968). Similarly, standard playgrounds can be designed to present children with challenges and yet be robust enough to survive with little maintenance (Dattner 1969, Rouard and Simon 1977, Cohen et al. 1978, Eriksen 1985, Cooper Marcus and Francis 1990). The fear of litigation is, however, making municipal authorities and schools install play equipment that is unchallenging. Safety is the prime consideration. Incidental play areas such as building sites and fountains (for example, Figures 4.8f, 6.14f and 13.3d) and sculptures (Figure 6.14e) afford many opportunities for self-testing as part of the playing that enriches a child’s experiences. The city itself is less of a playground than in the past. Opportunities for children to explore their worlds independently tend to be more easily found in the countryside and small towns than in large cities (Cooper Marcus 1978). Many older cities do possess a fine-grained texture of behavior settings and thus experiences that provide a rich set of opportunities for children to explore. Robert Roberts (1971) describes the richness of settings at the disposal of an active and intelligent young boy in the slums of Salford near Manchester in England during the early years of the twentieth century. Girls were seldom allowed to participate fully in such settings at least not independently (Ward 1990). In socially degraded environments children soon learn much about drug dealing, prostitution, and how to live on the street. For many it is a harbinger of their future lives. In today’s residential suburbs a diversity of places is often only accessible to children via adults. The use of the automobile for transportation means that the distances between suburban amenities have increased. The opportunities to reach desired destinations by bicycle exist but are severely limited except in those places, such as The Netherlands, where bicycle transportation is specifically catered for. A whole new world of vicarious learning has indeed opened up via the Internet but the hypothesis is that if the world outside the home was more hospitable to children they would be outside exploring it independently much more than they do today (Brooks-Gunn et al. 1993).

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a. A kitchen as a playground.

b. A spider web rope climber, Coogee, New South Wales, Australia.

c. The Adventure Playground, Berkeley Marina, Berkeley, California, USA.

d. Philadelphia Museum of Art.

e. A spider web rope climber, the Adventure Playground, Berkeley.

Figure 13.3 Playgrounds as formal settings for informal learning

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Many, if not most, of the places that afford a rich set of experiences have changed as the result of market forces acting on the world of adults. Many older houses and neighborhoods are full of nooks and crannies available for imaginative play. Neighborhoods containing shops and places where children are exposed to the adult world certainly exist. Today they tend to be under the jurisdiction of strangers. Unmanicured places rich in behavioral opportunities have been neatened in the search for prestigious environments (R. Moore 1991). House designs are more functional only in terms of providing a sense of prestige in efficient spaces not in terms of providing corners for play. Adolescents How can the built environment function to meet the cognitive needs of adolescents? This concern is relatively new because until the 1920s most children entered the work force at adolescence. In many places the poor still do. Adolescence today is a difficult period in many people’s lives. While the home environment is still important, the influence of peer-groups becomes significant. For a minority of teenagers the home environment is so destructive that they set out on their own to face uncertain futures. Some places because of their natural settings (for example, having local surf-beaches) afford much for adolescents. The social and physical environments of many new urban and suburban areas, however, afford few amenities for informal learning or learning through entertainment. For those without access to transportation (their own cars or public transport), the opportunities to engage in a variety of everyday educative environments outside school are few. Suburban attractions for teenagers, such as shopping malls, are widely dispersed. In addition, the managers of shopping malls dislike the hanging-out behavior of teenagers even though adolescents often have significant purchasing power. This situation does not prevail universally. More and more teenagers work during out-of-school hours. What were once deemed to be luxury goods are now regarded as a necessity. In some countries, such as Korea and Japan, middle class children are under enormous pressure to study hard and spend much of their “spare” time taking curriculum reinforcing studies. Teenagers are pulled in many directions by their peer group, by parents and by marketers. Those adolescents whose lives are school-centered do not feel deprived of places to engage in life (Popenoe 1977). Unfortunately some schools have large enrolments without a commensurate number of behavior settings per capita (Barker and Schoggen 1973, Bechtel 1977). The settings become overcrowded and many students become nonparticipants in the life that a school can offer. It is easy to see a correlation between this non-participation and anti-social behavior but drawing conclusions from correlations is dangerous. The situation is abetted by the often increasing segregation of the population by stage in life cycle, and consequently the decrease in active participation of generations in each other’s lives (Sarason 1972). Many adults and adolescents seem to desire it that way. High-density environments rich in behavior settings that afford opportunities to participate in life still seem to offer the most for adolescents. Town centers tend to be the most accessible place by public transportation for children and adolescents. In many cities the central areas are, however, in semi-decay because of population shifts, competition from cheaper far-flung locations, and the lack of insight and foresight on the part of

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local governments. Cities, such as Vancouver and many in Europe still have vibrant city centers. To be attractive such centers need to have mixed uses, to be safe and appear to be safe, to be clean and well-maintained, to have water features (also particularly attractive to young children), to have good places to sit and hang-out, to have scheduled events—particularly free ones—catering to both the general public and adolescents, and to have clean, easy-to-access toilets (Woolley et al. 1999). Town centers and other nodal points that possess these properties would be attractive to all ages. What, however, are the types of informal settings that would provide teenagers with opportunities to self-test themselves without harming others? The characteristics of good environments described by Jane Jacobs almost 50 years ago would, if used as a basis for design, help fulfill many teenagers’ cognitive needs (J. Jacobs 1961). Good schools with a range of uncrowded behavior settings would too! Educative Environments and Urban Design Drawing these strands of thought and research together, an educative environment that affords a variety of behavioral opportunities, the vicarious participation in the lives of others, and the opportunity for expressive acts would have a number of characteristics. Such areas would have a variety of housing types to meet the housing needs of populations at all stages of life, perhaps clustered into small homogenous groups to avoid potential conflicts among different groups (Gans 1972, Alexander et al. 1977, Ritzdorf 1987). They would consist of a variety of building types of mixed uses in close juxtaposition with each other (J. Jacobs 1961, Parr 1969, Alexander et al. 1977). The street blocks would be short. The traffic circulation patterns would have to make walking to shops and schools safe (Kyttä 2004, McMillan 2005). There would be a richness of formal institutions—schools, libraries, museums—accessible to children independently (Evans 2006) and such areas would contain accessible unmanicured open space, both within built up environments and in adjacent natural areas (Hart 1979, Olwig 1986, Nohl 1991). The sidewalks would be broad and streets largely untrafficked so that children could play games in them (for example, the European woonerf) (J. Jacobs 1961, Ward 1990). There would also be formal places for playing games that provide self-testing opportunities (for example, playgrounds including adventure playgrounds) (Allen 1968, Dattner 1969, Wilkinson 1980, Cooper Marcus and Francis 1990). A wide variety of sensory experiences, positive and negative, natural (for example, the scents of blossoms) and artificial (the smell of freshly-baked bread) would be enriching. Deciduous trees in temperate climates would illustrate the changing seasons. There would be places to watch neighborhood activities in safety (Cranz 1987). Posters and plaques would explain sites of important events and buildings from the past (Hayden 1989) and the area would have sites for occasional events such as fairs. Existing areas should have buildings of different eras that both give a sense of history and illustrate the variety of ways of achieving architectural ends. These generic characteristics must be seen within specific geographical and cultural locales. Some places are fortunate in having broken terrains, access to water bodies, and a variety of vegetation that afford many experiences. Other places are flat and featureless. There is much to learn there too but in them designers require considerable creative thought to achieve truly educative environments.

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The Environment and Adulthood A good world for children is a good world for all (Lynch 1984). The same attributes of a good environment for children and adolescents apply to adults. Most adults have the advantage of being mobile and so can seek out opportunities for informal learning and recreation throughout the urban fabric. They are not neighborhood-bound unless by poverty and/or frailty. Many people seek to lead routine lives without being challenged. They are content and interested primarily in maintaining their own security—their own place in society. Other people choose places to live that are diverse and abound in opportunities for vicarious learning. Even so, the need for doing so in safety and with a sense of security is paramount. Thus the migrations of the middle class in the United States from the inner city to suburbs and back into the city have been responses to the need to feel safe. Any consideration for the socio-physical design of educative environments must therefore go hand-in-hand with ensuring that the mechanisms that create secure environments are also in place. As life expectancies and accompanying health levels increase so many elderly seek new experiences. They wish to be exposed to diverse settings but not necessarily to be active participants in them (Cranz 1987). Many of the elderly avoid having to deal with young children although they may enjoy watching them. They also need to be challenged if they are to maintain their competencies (Goffman 1961, Lawton 1977). It is difficult to argue for designing challenging everyday environments except when dealing with institutionalized populations. How easy or pleasant should the environment be? Stress is motivating! Opportunities for Expression People express themselves in many ways: verbally, through drawings, and through physical actions including body language. Some actions, such as the drawing of graffiti on a wall, may serve territorial and self-esteem functions as well as being expressive acts. Some blank walls afford graffiti writing very well as evidenced in many cities around the world and the graffiti can be attractive and add interest to a blank wall if artistic. Much is not. Graffiti writing/drawing, however, is not generally regarded as socially acceptable by society although it might be by the perpetrator’s peers and some social critics. Drawing a picture or making a sandcastle on a beach only for it to be washed away by the incoming tide is a true expressive act that harms no one and might give pleasure to passers-by. Much art work and dance, or even running for the joy of it, are acts of expression. It is difficult to design for such acts; they can be carried out anywhere. Kicking fallen leaves to see them fly or hear them crunch underfoot is an act of expression that requires autumn leaves (see Figure 13.2b). Highly manicured easy-to-maintain environments tend to deny opportunities for many simple expressive acts. Adventure playgrounds and sandpits, especially those with water, give children opportunities for expressive acts in a socially acceptable manner. Such places do, however, need to be well maintained to be acceptable to the broader community.

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Cognitive Functions and Architectural Theory The architects and urbanists concerned with consciously designing for the cognitive needs of people are primarily those who have specifically been advocates for children’s needs (de Monchaux 1981, R. Moore 1991, Woolley et al. 1999, Romero 2010). They are conscious of the potential impact of different patterns of the built environment on the lives of children. Mainstream architectural theories, in contrast, have focused on creating forms that fulfill the intellectual aesthetics needs of the architectural cognoscenti (see Chapter 14). The safety and pleasantness of the walk to school and access to open park space have been a significant concern in the urban design models produced by the architects of the Empiricist school. The neighborhood unit concept as implemented at Radburn provided a safe walk to school using a superblock design and underpasses to cross the more heavily trafficked streets. Such schemes give parents an ease of mind in allowing young children to travel on their own (Romero 2010). They encourage independence but segregate children from many aspects of everyday life. During the last 30 years, the desire to design more “responsive environments” has been displayed primarily by the Neo-Empiricists. Building on many of the observations of Jane Jacobs (1961) they advocate, small scale, intricate environments of walkable distances (Alexander at el. 1977, Bentley et. al. 1985). The designs of places such as Seaside and Poundbury display these characteristics although in highly manicured environments. Paralleling these efforts has been the development of generic designs, such as the pedestrian pocket, that afford easy mobility for pedestrians (Calthorpe 1993, Kelbaugh 1989, 1997; see Figure 13.4a, b, and c). Much is learnt from observing the activities of people in existing public places (e and f). Rationalist urban design theories have focused on providing environments that promote physical health. Proposals in the 1920s such as Le Corbusier’s City for Three Million through its provision of active recreational facilities were concerned with the development of the human body and so providing opportunities for self-testing that are fundamental to cognitive development. Yet the nature of educative environments is not a topic that Rationalists have addressed.

Conclusion The design professions have focused on the creation of ordered worlds. This goal is worthwhile where there is a need for the display of organizational and civic status. Museums, plazas, and well-ordered streets are essential parts of cities but so are unkempt spaces. Places are also required for expressive acts where “children and adults can leave their marks without guilt” (Nohl 1988). Designing for undesigned places is difficult! In striving to create educative environments, we have to avoid being trapped by nostalgia for the past and what we perceive to have been better worlds—the Empiricist pitfall. The opportunities afforded by the use of cars, refrigeration, and the Internet in enhancing lives are vast. Their use, however, also affords the segregation of people’s living environments into homogeneous units. This segregation has been embraced by many people; they like it. It simplifies life and reduces its challenges. Educative environments,

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Plan by Peter Calthorpe; source: Kelbaugh (1989)

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Drawing by Mark Mack; source: Kelbaugh (1989)

b. Pedestrian Pocket; a bird’s eye view. Drawing by Mark Mack; source: Kelbaugh (1989)

c. Pedestrian pocket; a ground level view.

a. A pedestrian pocket plan (1990); Peter Calthorpe, architect. e. Faneuil Hall Market Place, Boston, Mass., USA. Collection of Jon Lang

d. A lane, Poundbury, Dorset, UK (1985); Leon Krier, urban designer.

f. Nelson A. Rockfeller Park, Battery Park City, New York City, USA (late 1990s).

Figure 13.4 Architectural theory and the cognitive functions of the built environment at the beginning of the twenty-first century

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in contrast, can be stressful. They require a tolerance for the quirks of people. Most people in the western world prefer to live in low- to medium-density environments with a homogeneous character in people and building types. Such environments are psychologically safer, less challenging, and less stressful than diverse ones. The task today is to consider ways in which such worlds can be made to provide more experiential learning opportunities.

Major References Bronfenbrenner, Urie 1979. The Ecology of Human Development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. de Monchaux, Suzanne 1981. Planning with children in mind: A notebook for local planners and policy makers on children in the city environment. Sydney: New South Wales Department of Environment and Planning. Hart, Roger A. 1979. Children’s Experience of Place: a Development Study. New York: Irvington. Kolb, David A. 1984. Experiential Learning: Experience as a Source of Learning and Development. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Moore, Robin 1991. Childhood’s Domain: Play and Place in Child Development. Berkeley, CA: MIG Communications. Santrock, John W. 1989. Life Span Development (3rd edition). Dubuque, IA: Wm. C. Brown. Ward, Colin 1990. The Child in the City (revised edition). London: Bedford Square. Woolley, Helen, Christopher Spencer, Jessica Dunn, and Gwyn Rowley 1999. The child as citizen: experiences of British town and city centres. Journal of Urban Design, 4(3): 255-82.

14

Experiential Aesthetics and Intellectual Aesthetics

It is the province of aesthetics to tell you (if you did not know already) that the taste and color of a peach are pleasant; and to ascertain (if it is ascertainable, and you have the curiosity to know) why they are so.

John Ruskin, architectural critic and essayist

The nature of aesthetics and aesthetic experiences often seem clouded in mystery. Insisting that it remain so enhances the self-image of people who see themselves as possessing the “the right stuff”—intuitive abilities and innate good taste (Orwell 1961, Wolfe 1981). Despite much that awaits understanding our present knowledge of the aesthetic experience can enhance the quality of functional theory in architecture. One of the potential functions of the geometry of the built environment is to arouse interest; another is to give pleasure subconsciously or as an intellectual exercise. Harking back to Chapter 5 it is important to recognize three modes of paying attention to the world around us: the experiencing of the everyday world as an environment, examining the milieu as an object, and thirdly, as an object carrying an architect’s ideas. Designs can be seen as objects or environments. For instance, Federation Square can be seen as an object from above (Figure 14.1a) or from a station point at the ground level (b), or as an environment of behavior settings (c and d). Interiors too can also be examined as objects but, more typically, they are perceived as part of a behavior setting (e and f). As an object or as part of a behavior setting, the milieu can be the source of pleasure per se and/or when examined self-consciously in terms of an architect’s intentions. The latter is an intellectual endeavor. The way we examine and respond to built forms is very much in terms of our taste cultures. People can examine cityscapes, building, and interiors, as if they were outside them but their liking or disliking of places tends to be as participants in behavior settings. Their aesthetic experience of a place thus depends on their attitudes towards the people there and their activities, as well as the qualities of the milieu. This chapter is about the qualities of the milieu that may give us pleasure.

Aesthetic Theory Two bodies of theory describing and explaining our appreciation of the appearance of the milieu are important for designers: experiential aesthetics and intellectual aesthetics. Dealing with our every day subconscious appreciation of the milieu is the subject of experiential aesthetics; dealing with conscious associational meanings and with design ideas expressed in built form is the subject of intellectual aesthetics. The intellectual

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Collection of Jon Lang

a. Aerial sketch of Federation square as an object. © David B. Simmonds/theurbanimage.com

c. The square as a set of behavior settings.

b. Federation square seen as an object in space.

d. The square as a different set of behavior settings. Photograph by Caroline Nute

e. Interior view as an object or a behavior setting.

f. Interior view of the Australian Center for the Moving Image as a set of behavior settings.

Figure 14.1 Federation Square, Melbourne observed as an object, set of objects, and as a set of behavior settings

Lab Architecture Studio with Bates Smart Architecture, architects.

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Figure 14.2 Aesthetic theory and the domains of functional and architectural theory

aesthetic function of buildings deals with the stories that an architect wants to express in built form. Buildings function in this manner primarily for the intellectual interpretation by other architects and for the elite of the art world (Johnson 1994). Such experiences result in “the activation of rewarding centers in the brain” (Leder et al. 2004). Many people will recognize the cathedral in Figure 14.3 as a Neo-Gothic building. The church is a major tourist destination for people living in the Mysore region of India. To low-income Indian tourists it is probably simply a grand building. Intellectually their response will depend on the associations they have with Christianity, colonialism, the Neo-Gothic, and to other linked variables. Whether they are Christians (a tiny minority in India) or not will shape their views. They are extremely unlikely to know of the architect or his intentions.

Figure 14.3 The Cathedral of St Joseph and St Philomena, Mysore, India

(1931-1933; consecrated in 1959); Reverend Rene Feuge, architect.

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The appreciation of buildings and, more generally, the built environment as a set of objects is important because it helps to fulfill the cognitive and aesthetic needs of many people. They get pleasure from contemplating and understanding it for its own sake and not simply to enhance their social status.

Experiential Aesthetics and Functional Theory Our present understanding of the aesthetic experience comes from philosophical speculations (Eagleton 1990) and from systematic psychological research (for example, Berlyne 1974, Weber 1995, Leder et al. 2004). Drawing on the two strands enables us to draw a reasonable picture of how we examine the world in both a subconscious manner as part of everyday life and in a self-conscious manner as an analyst of its beauty. As beauty is a difficult concept to grasp, we talk instead about what gives us pleasure. Over a hundred years ago George Santayana (1896), borrowing from the contemporary psychological research of Hugo Munsterberg and William James at Harvard (Senkevitch 1974, Heft 2001) and his own introspective analyses, suggested that there are three aspects to the immediate aesthetic experience. For buildings, the responses to the sensations evoked by the environment (sensory aesthetics), the experiencing of the geometry of buildings (formal aesthetics), and responses to associated meanings (symbolic aesthetics) are the key dimensions. His categorization has stood up to scrutiny over time even though the model of perception on which it was based has been found wanting. His sensationbased Empiricist theory gave way to those that explain more: Gestalt theory during the 1930s and 1940s (Arnheim 1977) and to information based theories during the second half of the twentieth century (Gibson 1979, Reed 1996, Heft 2001). Sensory Aesthetics Sensory experiences arise from the arousal of any of our perceptual systems: visual, auditory, olfactory, or haptic (Pallasmaa 2005). Whether in the countryside (Figure 14.4a) or city (b, c, and d) we are bombarded by the colors, sounds, smells, humidity, and warmth of the world around us. We respond, positively or negatively to the sensations that impinge on us. Consider the pleasure derived from the thermal and illumination transitions between light and shade as one moves under trees on a hot summer day (c) (provided the sequence is not so fast to cause a flicker effect that makes us feel nauseous) or the feelings aroused by the moisture in the air and the sound of nearby water (a, d, and f). We can stop and pay attention to the sensations that we experience as an intellectual exercise but usually we just respond to the experience. We can also see designs in terms of their architect’s oeuvre (e, f) and the range of sensory experiences they evoke. It is difficult to pay attention to buildings as patches of color and light or to contemplate sounds without thinking about their sources. It is, perhaps, easier to pay attention to haptic experiences—the sensations of the wind on our faces and arms, or the tensions in our muscles as we walk across surfaces of different textures.

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a. Sabratha, Libya.

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b. West 14th Street, New York City, USA.

Courtesy of Ford, Powell and Carson, architects

c. Pioneer Square area, Seattle, Washington, USA.

e. Detail, Notre Dame du Haut, Ronchamp, France (1950-4); Le Corbusier, architect.

Figure 14.4 Sensory aesthetics

d. Riverwalk, San Antonio, Texas, USA (1929present); Robert Hugman, architect, initiator.

f. Falling Water (Edward J. Kaufmann Residence), Mill Run, Pennsylvania, USA (1934, 1938, 1948) Frank Lloyd Wright, architect.

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As I walk down the streets of St. Petersburg I feel a cold northern breeze play on my cheeks which braces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? (Mary Shelley in a letter to Mrs. Seville (17- -). (Shelley 2002, originally 1818)

We, however, seldom pay attention to such experiences unless they make us feel uncomfortable or challenge our abilities. We pay attention to the nature of odors but we think as much about their sources. Generally we only become aware of sensations when they deviate from the norm (Helson 1964, Goto et al. 2006). Consciously or subconsciously, some of these deviations are pleasant and some unpleasant. Formal Aesthetics Although we obtain information about the environment via all our perceptual systems, the visual is arguably the most important. For the blind the world is different (Brody 1969, Southworth 1969, Bates 2008). Perhaps we architects should be concerned more about the organization of sonic, tactile, and olfactory experiences but the visual experience seems so dominant that the focus on the visual is understandable. Formal aesthetics deals with the immediate pleasure derived from experiencing the geometric qualities of the milieu. One can look at a building complex (for example Figure 14.5a), a single building (b or d), building plan (c), or building interior (e) as an object in order to examine and contemplate it as a set of geometries/shapes/forms. It is possible to examine them in terms of the designer’s ideas and/or following one’s own geometric analysis. Such analyses are self-conscious and intellectual. Do the shapes also strike an immediate aesthetic cord with us without such an analysis because of their characteristics per se? Or do our responses depend on learnt associations? Historically, it was assumed that certain compositional patterns were more pleasurable than others. It was, however, an academic, intellectual exercise (for example, H. Robertson 1924, Iengar 1996). Some canons were regarded as better than others. Today, the way it is assumed that we appreciate the geometry of built form is much influenced by the beliefs of the Bauhaus masters, Wassily Kandinsky, Johannes Itten, and Paul Klee during the 1920s and 1930s and the parallel research in Germany of the Gestalt psychologists, Max Wertheimer, Wolfgang Köhler, and Kurt Koffka. The psychologists identified a set of laws of visual organization that provided the theoretical basis for the Basic Design course (see Figure 14.6; Wingler 1969). Our understanding has been advanced by the studies of experimental psychologists Rudolph Arnheim, Daniel Berlyne, and Helmut Leder among others who seek a neurological basis for aesthetic responses. At the Bauhaus the basic element of composition was a dot that when linked together with other dots formed lines that, when grouped, formed planes that can be organized to form volumes (Kepes 1944, de Sausmarez 1964, Itten 1965). Certainly a drawing consists of these elements. They are used to represent the three-dimensional world. The Gestalt theory laws of visual organization were used to suggest what forms in two-dimensional representations (that is, drawings) are most easily seen as figures against a background (Hochberg 1964). There is considerable empirical evidence to support the observation that simple regular forms are the easiest to see. A number of architects have turned this descriptive statement into a normative one: good architecture is one of simple forms. This statement is, however, ideological not empirical. Robert Venturi in his book Complexity and Contradiction in Modern Architecture (1966) rebelled against this dictum. He suggested

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a. Nelson A. Rockefeller Empire State Plaza, Albany, New York, USA (1969) in 1993; Harrison and Abramowitz, architects. Drawn by Omar Sharif from various sources

b. Villa Rotunda, Vicenza, Italy (1566-71) in 1961; Andrea Palladio, architect. Completed by Vincenzo Scamozzi.

c. Villa Rotunda, plan. Photograph by Peter Kohane

d. Ray and Maria Stata Center, MIT, Cambridge, MA (2004); Gehry Partners LLP, architects.

Figure 14.5 Formal aesthetics

e. Cemetery of San Cataldo, Modena, Italy (1971-85); Aldo Rossi, architect.

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Adapted from Hochberg (1964) and Lang (1987); drawn by Omar Sharif

A form is that which stands out against a ground. Gestalt psychologists compiled a list of principles that shape the seeing of forms. They are the laws of proximity, similarity, closure, good continuance, and closedness, area, and symmetry. Proximity is the simplest. Elements that are close to each other are seen as a unit more readily than those that are farther apart. In a(i) neither the rows nor columns predominate, but in a(ii) one sees the pattern to be consisting of three rows. Proximity yields to other factors of organization. Elements that have similar qualities—size, texture, color, and so on— tend to be seen as single units as in b(i) rather than b(ii). In c a conflict arises. Architects say there is tension between competing organizational principles. The law of closure states that optical units tend to be shaped into closed wholes. Thus d(i) is seen as a circle and d(ii) as a triangle. The openings are seen as insignificant or highly significant depending on one’s focus of attention. The law of good continuance states that continuous elements are seen as units. In e(i) we see two lines crossing rather than four lines meeting at a point. We perceive a sine wave in (ii) and in (iii) we see the two dimensional representation of a surface extending behind two others. The law of area says that the smaller the area the more it is seen as a unit; symmetrical areas tend to be seen as units. The law of closedness states that shapes with closed contours are seen as units rather than the gaps between them. Thus in f(i) we tend to see the closed areas as units while we see (ii) as a frame and in (iii) as a window. These laws are explained in terms of isomorphism—a parallelism between neurological processes and the form of perceptual experience, and field forces. Field forces are said to have an area of application, direction, and magnitude. These forces are governed by the principle of pragnanz— we see the most stable pattern in the circumstances.

Figure 14.6 The Gestalt theory of perception’s laws of visual organization

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that “less is a bore.” Psychological research shows that complex forms do indeed arouse greater interest than simple ones (Berlyne 1971). Interestingness and liking are closely related. They are also closely related to the interpretation of particular compositions as static and others as dynamic. Despite George Orwell (1961) stating that the word is meaningless because it is used in so many different ways, “dynamic” here refers to the perception of apparent instability in a visual composition. Architectural compositions can be regarded as static or dynamic based on the Gestalt theory of field forces. These forces are analogous to concepts of equilibrium in mechanics. The more static compositions are simpler; the more dynamic are more complex and are said to arouse greater interest in the observer than static forms. Here again it is difficult to claim that the perception is via our natural inheritance or via a learnt language. Expression or association?  One of the debates among perception psychologists concerns the relationship between patterns of form and emotional responses. According to Gestalt theory there is a direct emotional response to forms such as those shown in Figures 14.7 and 14.8 (Isaac 1971) because they resonate with patterns in the brain. The alternative explanation is that people associate patterns with feelings based on what they have learned. The pattern in Figure 14.7a1 is said to be seen as a happy scene, a2 is said to be full of tension, the pattern in a3(a) to be associated with femininity, a3(b) with activity, a3(c) with confusion, a3(d) with effort and optimism, a3(e) with danger and doubt, 3(f) with directness and uncompromisingness, a(3g) with definiteness, a3(h) with roughness, and a(3i) with flamboyance. Do responses to such two-dimensional patterns apply to three- or four-dimensional forms? Is our response to geometrical patterns of the buildings in (b) innate or learnt? The answers are open to debate. For functional theory in architecture the debate may seem irrelevant. What is important is only that line and form do communicate (Kepes 1944, Levi 1974, Arnhem 1977). The idea of line and form expressing meaning does, however, need to be taken with caution. The Gestalt idea of isomorphism, the analogy between brain forces and field forces in the environment dictating meaning, is challengeable. We seem to be dealing with learnt associations obtained either through formal education (such as being taught the Bauhaus Basic Design system), or through the every day linking of forms with feelings. Gravity is, however, universally experienced. The horizontal plane acts as the basis for the vertical axis. A symmetrical scheme is seen as a static one. Other compositions are seen to be of increasing dynamic quality the more they depart from the basic static pattern (see Figure 14.8; Bachelard 1969). The tie between the degree of departure from the static and the aesthetic appreciation by whom of a pattern has yet to be determined. Order and complexity  Concepts of order and of complexity shape the compositional design of buildings in plan and in three dimensions. Order is often taken to mean simplicity but any level of complexity can have an order to it. A complex (rather than a chaotic) form is one in which many ordering principles are used simultaneously. The best known of the organizing systems has historically been based on proportional schema (Padovan 1999; see Figure 14.9). Proportional systems are used to give some visual order to the façades and interiors of buildings.

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Adapted from Isaac (1971: 67)

a. The emotional response to line and form?

b. Building form and emotional response?

Figure 14.7 Expression through line and form

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Adapted from Kepes (1944) and Lang (1987)

Mechanical equilibrium

Figure 14.8 The dynamics of visual form

The two-dimensional field

The three-dimensional field

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Adapted from de Sausmarez (1964), Issac (1971), and Lang (1987)

Figure 14.9 Proportional systems

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Unit fractions are the basis for the proportional systems that relate parts of compositions to wholes. The relationship of parts of the body to the whole is the basis of the imperial (inch-foot-yard) measuring system and also the modular system that Le Corbusier applied to some of his buildings (Le Corbusier 1968; see Figures 6.16 and 14.9). His basic unit is based on an ideal. The division of the height into subsections is based on the Golden Section ratio (a system that approximates the relationship between parts of the human anatomy). The Golden Section, in which the “ratio between the bigger and smaller quantities is equal to the ratio between the sum of the two and the bigger one,” was an established canon of nineteenth-century architectural theory (de Sausmarez 1964, Isaac 1971). There is considerable empirical support for the observation. In Europe, at least, buildings (and bulls, for that matter) whose proportions are based on the Golden Section are said to be regarded as more visually pleasing than those that are not. The preferred proportional systems at different times in history are said to reflect the values of the contemporary culture (for example, England in Figure 14.10a). The use of common proportions for the buildings in a district can also give it a unified character despite the buildings being in different styles (b). The argument that this perception of order is an innate process rather than a learnt one is difficult to substantiate or disprove as the widespread use of ordering systems suggests that we feel psychologically comfortable with the familiar (Helson 1964). We can certainly analyze buildings in terms of their proportional systems. There have been many such dissections (for example, see Rowe 1982 on Andrea Palladio). Some compositions are simple, others are complex. Complexity has many meanings: the number of elements in a system, their novelty, the variety of their texture patterns, and the nature of their illumination. Complex forms are held by people to be more interesting. Interestingness is positively correlated with pleasure except at high levels of complexity. At high levels the patterns are seen as chaotic. If there is a perceived order to high levels of complexity, the pattern may be perceived to be pleasing by the cognoscenti (Berlyne 1970, 1974; see also Weber 1995). The evidence appears to show that people, and societies, like simple well-ordered patterns until they get bored with them and seek more complex ones. They then get bored with those and seek yet more complex until they approach chaos. Preferences then revert back to simple forms in an endless cycle (Tyng 1975; see Figure 14.11c). The values of individuals and the societies of which they are a part are not necessarily the same. In some places in the world, the appearance of new buildings and precincts is approaching the chaotic (14.11diii). When ordering systems do not exist or are unintelligible buildings are seen as ugly. Although Melbournians are proud of Federation Square, the complex is reputedly regarded as ugly by many. Perhaps this is why postmodern, neo-classical buildings have appeal in many countries. They have some order to them; they have bases, tops, and in-betweens! Complexity and simplicity in sequential experiencing  The research conclusions described above are almost entirely based on responses to two-dimensional patterns on paper. The slightest movement of the head, however, transforms the optic array. As a person moves through the built environment what was occluded comes into view and what was previously open to view becomes occluded. A number of architects have been interested

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Source: Fletcher (1953; 377)

a. An analysis of proportional system employed in English religious buildings in comparison to the Italian.

Source: Oxford Historic and Architectural Preservation Guidelines (undated)

b. An analysis of the Kyger building, Oxford, England.

Figure 14.10 Proportional systems and building design

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a. The relationships among environmental complexity, interestingness and pleasantness.

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b. The relationships among personality, levels of environmental stimulation and pleasantness.

Adapted from Tyng (1975); drawn by Omar Sharif

c. The changing relationship between complexity and pleasingness over time.

(i) A simple form.

(ii) A complex form.

(iii) Too complex? Chaotic? Ugly?

d. Complexity in three and four-dimensional forms?

Figure 14.11 The relationships between visual complexity and pleasure

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in the role in environmental aesthetics of people’s movement around objects and through spatial sequences. At the beginning of the twentieth century it was Camillo Sitte (1889; see Hegemann and Peets 1922); at mid-century it was Philip Thiel (1961, 1997), Gordon Cullen (1961) and Lawrence Halprin (1965) among others. The support for their work can be found in the research of perception psychologists dealing with the four-dimensional, ecological world (Gibson 1979, Reed 1996, Heft 2001). With the development of animated computer graphics the four-dimensional qualities of the environment have proven easier to model than when using past graphic techniques. Gordon Cullen (1961), using sketches, explored the aesthetic qualities of sequential experience in places as diverse as village England, medieval Europe, and the ceremonial axis in New Delhi. He argued for the centrality of motion in understanding the aesthetic qualities of the world around us. He differentiated between the visual transformations that result from movement through a sequence of spaces as in Figure 14.12 and that which occurs as one moves around a building. In the former case the built world is seen as a set of environments and in the second as an object. In some cases the transformation is minimal and results in the perception that the visual world is dull. If, however, the connections between vistas become too rapid—too complex—the resulting profusion of transformations of the optic array becomes confusing. The speed of movement and thus the rapidity with which the optic array changes affects perceptions of what is complex. It is considerably more rapid for a driver than for a pedestrian. Some of the greatest urban experiences are those obtained through the window of a car while driving. In a city new vistas unfold when elevated freeways are constructed. Vast panoramic views never open to view before are made available to drivers and passengers (Appleyard, Lynch, and Myer 1964). The focus on the sequential experience of pedestrians is associated with the townscape school of urban design. An example is the university city of Louvain-la- Neuve (1970s+; see Figure 14.13). Both tourists and habitués can enjoy a variety of experiences walking from one part of the university to another along the main spine. The vistas change as the spine narrows, opens up, and turns. Those cognoscenti who know the idea behind the plan of Louvain-la-Neuve can also appreciate the design as an intellectual aesthetic gesture of its designers. Interiors of buildings too can provide a sequence of vistas. Doors mark transitions, volumes of rooms change, and windows give distance glimpses as well as panoramic views that one sees from a sequence of station points as one moves. Frank Lloyd Wright understood this factor in his design for the Guggenheim Museum in New York. While the building is certainly perceived to be a sculptural object from the outside, the interior with its spiral ramp provides visitors with ever changing vistas as they ascend or descend it. A series of intervening variables may affect the appreciation of such sequences. The sonic and olfactory qualities of the environment can change the pleasure obtained from the visual sequence (Southworth 1969). If one considers the elements of the sequence as behavior settings then the nature of the behaviors taking place in each setting may intervene in our subjective evaluations of the milieu. The motion of objects in the visual field  The world is full of moving objects—the coming and going of people, birds flying, the movement of cars and other vehicles, flashing lights, and the fluttering of flags. They all contribute to the aesthetic effect of a setting.

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Source: Cullen (1961: 17)

Figure 14.12 Serial vision/sequential experience as analyzed by Gordon Cullen

Whether one is within or outside buildings, the movement of elements in our field of view can positively add to the scene and the attractiveness of a place, or it can simply make it chaotic. At night the effect of stroboscopic and advertising lights can add to the excitement of an urban scene or, if piled one on top of the other, detract from it. Individual responses will vary depending on what a person is doing and his or her enjoyment or tolerance of complexity. As important as the visual experience of such moving elements is the sound they make and, often, the odors they emit and/or trail.

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Source: Lang (1994)

b. A model of the town. The university buildings are shown in a dark shade. a. The plan of Louvain-la-Neuve, Belgium (1970s+) showing the major pedestrian route through the city.

c. A view along the spine.

d. The pedestrian spine through the city.

e. The western termination of the spine at the university library.

Figure 14.13 Sequential experience in the design of the university city of Louvain-la-Neuve, Belgium (1972+)

Michel Woitrin and Raymond Lemaire, urban designers.

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Individual and cultural variability in the desire for simplicity and complexity  The research during the twentieth century seems to indicate that delight in complexity varies from society to society. For a time the contradictions in responses to complex patterns found in experimental research conducted at different periods during the century seemed to be a function of experimental errors. Anne Tyng’s alternative hypothesis has been mentioned already (Tyng 1975). Tastes change. Introverted personalities apparently prefer simple forms to more complex ones while extroverts prefer the opposite—the complex (Eysenck 1973). Such observations while they have an empirical basis are still highly speculative. Many findings are controversial. For instance, contented and dependable people are said to prefer round shapes; ovals are preferred by the creative and organized and squares by the clear headed. The accuracy and, if accurate, the universality of these observations and their cultural transferability are open to question. The consistent finding is that people seem to prefer deviations from the norm provided the deviations are not too large (Helson 1964, Leder 2001). Thus people’s perceptions are very much affected by the environments they use or in which they currently live—the familiar. Presumably people who live in complex environments prefer simpler ones in order to get a sense of relief and vice versa. Mood differences seem to intrude on the research findings. When people are contented they look at the environment holistically; when they are not, they are more analytical (Forgas 1995). Sometimes individuals seek comfortable environments and sometimes more challenging depending on their knowledge and their competence in dealing with the everyday world. Hard and fast principles for meeting design ends are impossible to draw from the research. It does, however, provide the basis for discussions of the issues. A Summary  An observer’s appreciation of the geometric structure of the surfaces of the milieu seems to arise in four ways. The first is intellectually through the recognition that its structure is in accordance with some canon or the principles of an architect’s design as discussed below. The second arises from the perception that the structure fulfils specific basic functions well (that is, the aesthetics of use). The third is that the level of complexity or simplicity is congruent with the habituation level of the viewers or is one to which they can adapt. The fourth is that patterns that maintain a viewer’s attention are seen as pleasurable; they tend to be those that deviate from the norm. What is important is that the aesthetic nature of the geometry of the built world depends on its four dimensional qualities and on its associational meanings—its symbolism. Symbolic Aesthetics Buildings, as described in Chapters 10, 11, and 12, function as signs and symbols. Symbolic aesthetics in architecture is concerned with the pleasure derived from the meanings one attaches to or associates with patterns of the built environment. The patterns of buildings—the heights, ratio of windows to wall, materials, string courses, materials, and colors—all potentially carry meanings depending on the associations that they evoke in the eye of the beholder. The signifier (that is, the building) is seen in positive, neutral, or negative light depending on whether the attitude (belief plus value) to the associated item is positive or negative. The association is often not intellectual but intuitive and even

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subconscious. The thoughts about Hagia Sophia in Istanbul (see Figure 4.6) of the hero in Graham Greene’s Travels with My Aunt were expressed in the following words: We stood dutifully in the center of Santa Sophia—it looked like a huge drab waiting-hall of a railway station out of peak hours … I’d forgotten how hideous it was. (Greene 1969)

Many historians and certainly many Turks regard Hagia Sophia as the greatest of Byzantine churches (see Figure 4.4b). They do not associate the interior with a waiting room at a station but with its place in history. Similarly, observers’ attitudes towards the World Trade Center towers as objects (Figure 14.14a) depended on their attitudes towards specific characteristics of the buildings. These attributes could be their geometry, certainly, but also the values attributed to the various associations that a person had with the buildings. It may have been positive in terms of the towers’ heights, geometric simplicity (14.14bi) or their structural system but negative in terms of their meanings as symbols of capitalism (bii). Most people in the United States saw the towers’ destruction as an attack on American values that they hold in high esteem; for a minority it was a matter for rejoicing. Their response was to the buildings’ representation of values it despised. Religious buildings can be full of often highly emotional associational meanings. The interpretation depends on one’s understanding of the symbolism. Christ, bloodied and hanging on a crucifix, is deeply spiritual to many Christians but must appear to be a gory sight to the uninitiated. The two groups use different associational constructs in looking at the crucifix. Knowing the history of Hagia Sophia in context can provide an understanding of its architecture and thus the intellectual basis for an aesthetic appreciation of it. Collection of Jon Lang

a. The World Trade Center, New York City, USA (1966-77, destroyed 2001); Minoru Yamaski, with Emery Roth and Sons, architects.

Drawn by Omar Sharif

b. Two possible attitudes towards the towers.

Figure 14.14 Attitudes towards the destruction of the World Trade Center towers as explained by Balance Theory

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Intellectual Aesthetics and Functional Theory Extrapolating from the research of Gordon Allport (1954), two groups of architectural cognoscenti can be distinguished by the nature of their commitment to architecture as an intellectual art form. The extrinsic are concerned with architects’ ideas for the sake of developing their own careers or the need to be seen with the “right” people; it is the social norm that is of concern to them. The intrinsic cognoscenti have, in contrast, a commitment to promote the field rather than themselves. They are more concerned about the pleasure they get from understanding a building than the status that any such understanding gives them. In the intellectual analysis of the work of architects and particularly their individual buildings, the focus is on the geometric structure and its meanings. The vehicle for studying the geometric structure is often the parti. A parti consists of the central organizing patterns of an architectural composition—its fundamental design principles that give the composition its structure. These principles display the logic of the scheme and its functions (Johnson 1994). Buildings thus function as objects for the contemplative analysis of observers. The study (Figure 14.15) by Patel Bhrugesh of the Bianchi House on Luganer Lake, Riva San Vitale Ticino, Switzerland designed by Mario Botta divides the building into parti, structure, services and open-enclosed spaces. Intellectual Aesthetics and Architects’ Stories None of the form generating ideas behind the buildings in Figure 14.16 is obvious. One has to be told about them. The Vana Venturi house (a) is both a duck and a decorated shed (see below and Figure 14.18). Understanding what is meant by a duck and by a decorated shed enriches an observer’s contemplation of the house. Understanding the location of the Gehry House in Frank Gehry’s career enhances one’s understanding of his goals. The layout of the Mahindra World College (c) may be obvious from the air and anybody understanding the nature of the mandala in Indian spiritual circles can understand it. From the ground level it is not as obvious. One might see the Imax in Valencia as a blinking eye (d). Federation Square is open to a variety of interpretations (e). In the Hollywood and Highland Redevelopment, Babylon Court (f) with its kneeling elephants, trunks aloft, atop columns, refers to scenes in D.W. Griffith’s 1912 film Intolerance. Very few visitors indeed will know of the movie or have even heard of Griffith but they probably recognize the film-set fantasy image. The meaning is explained to them inscribed on plaques in the courtyard if they have the patience to read the history. If they do they will understand the architects’ intentions. The stories explaining architectural designs are often stated in metaphorical terms. A building might represent, for instance the struggle between life and death or a lotus flower signifying the opening up of life as in Delhi’s Baha’i House of Worship (Figure 1.5bi); the grid of a city might express egalitarian democracy. Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling is reputedly full of hidden subversive messages undetected by a long sequence of popes (Blech and Doliner 2008). Le Corbusier’s interior design of the chapel at Ronchamp reflects, as a Calvinist, his ambiguous feelings about Catholicism and sexuality (Samuel 1999). In discussing his own designs Mario Botta notes:

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Analysis by Patel Bhrugesh; drawn by Omar Sharif

Parti diagram

Structure

Services

Open-enclosed spaces

a. Analysis.

Wikimedia Commons

b. Photograph.

Model by Patel Bhrugesh

c. Model.

Figure 14.15 A contemplative analysis of the Bianchi House, Riva San Vitale, Switzerland (1971-3) Mario Botta, architect.

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Photograph by Peter Kohane

a. Vana Venturi House, Chestnut Hill, PA, USA (1962); Robert Venturi, architect.

b. Gehry House Los Angeles, CA, USA (1972); Frank Gehry, architect.

Courtesy of Christopher Benninger

c. Mahindra United World College, Pune, India (1997); Christopher Benninger, architect.

e. Federation Square, Melbourne, Australia (1997-2004); Lab Architecture Studio with Bates Smart Architecture, architects.

d. L’hermisfèric, Imax Theatre, Valencia, Spain (2004-6); Santiago Calatrava, architect.

f. The Hollywood and Hyland redevelopment, Los Angeles, CA, USA (2202); Ehrenkrantz Ekstut Kahn, architects.

Figure 14.16 The architectural idea and aesthetic appreciation

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I frequently use cylindrical forms that are like a defense mechanism against the forces of nature. Obliquely sliced, fragile glass roofs of these cylindrical extensions reaching out to the sky symbolically join earth and heaven. Solid, symmetrical blocks and striation add harmony … sometimes the building itself, like MOMA in San Francisco [see Figure 1.5ai] glowing in the dark symbolizes the city. (Botta cited in Gani 2008)

The Jewish Museum (see opposite) is full of allegories. We may get captured by their astuteness if they are consistent and perceived to be valid. For observers who understand the system it adds to the intellectual richness of their lives.

Intellectual Aesthetics and Architectural Theory In studying aesthetics, many people differentiate between those buildings that are simply buildings and those that are works of architecture, of art. To many architects and architectural philosophers, the intellectual aesthetic function of buildings is the major, if not the only function that falls within the domain of architectural theory. It is “architalk” (Johnson 1994). Early in the twentieth century a number of architectural ideas were allied with cubism in the art world. An understanding of cubism is necessary to understand them. Later came attempts to represent in built forms a variety of other ideas about how best to express contemporary and, often competing, views of the nature of life. They include International Modernism—an effort to create a global architecture, a variety of PostModernist theories including Deconstruction and in opposition to it, Discrete Architecture as noted in Chapter 1. Sometimes, the architect’s stated intentions and the experience that other people have of a building are similar. Daniel Libeskind set out to create a disturbing experience for the visitors to the Jewish Museum in Berlin (see Figure 14.17). The powerfulness and disorienting nature of the building—way finding is not easy—is experienced by most visitors. Libeskind’s discourse on the design is, however, highly intellectual; the experience of most visitors is immediate and subconscious. Libeskind called his original design for the museum design “Between the Lines”. The proposed main body of the museum comprised two broad sloping walls broken to represent a piece of the Star of David. It was not obvious to critics that they did so. The patterns did not follow the Gestalt laws of order so viewers did not subconsciously organize the parts of the design into a whole composition. Its sloping walls meant that the building could not serve as a museum so Libeskind created the zigzag form we now see. Where a straight corridor cuts through the zigzag it forms six inaccessible spaces or “voids”. Libeskind created a seventh void that he says represents Berlin’s loss of its Jewish heritage. A labyrinthine corridor in the basement connects the museum to the fragmented volumes of another exhibition space, the Holocaust Tower and the Garden of Exile and Remembrance. The latter is named after the poet E.T.A. Hoffman. Libeskind’s design is full of allusions to Walter Benjamin, Arnold Schoenberg, and to Hoffman (Edelmann 2001). Only the intellectual elite can understand this discourse. In a very different cultural context, a similar observation can be made about the Oberoi Hotel in Bhubaneswar, Orissa in India designed by Satish Grover. Grover replicated in the abstract the movement pattern from the mandapa to the garbha griha that

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Collection of Jon Lang

b. Exterior view from the street. Photograph by John Gamble

a. Aerial view. Photograph by John Gamble

c. Exterior view.

d. Exterior view. Photograph by John Gamble

e. Interior view.

Figure 14.17 The Jewish Museum, Berlin (1999)

Daniel Libeskind, architect.

Photograph by John Gamble

f. Interior view.

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structures the organization of the Hindu temple. In the hotel the sequence culminates in a large courtyard facing the guest rooms. A Buddhist vihara is the precedent. The logic is again highly intellectual. The visitor experiences an interesting sequence of spaces. The sequence may resonate subconsciously with Hindus because of their own religious experiences (Lang 2002). Ducks and Decorated Sheds Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown (2004, 1977 with Steven Izenour) argue that the function of architecture is as much about communication as about space. In Learning from Las Vegas, they identified two contrasting types of buildings in terms of the way they communicate meaning: ducks and decorated sheds. The form of ducks portends the activity taking place within them. Decorated sheds, in contrast, consist of generic building forms where the façade is visually enriched to communicate a meaning. The shopping mall in Figure 14.8aii is really a large shed but has a decorated appearance. The same comment can be made less obviously about the office towers in (ai). They are obviously office buildings with decorated façades. On the other hand the Pritzker Pavilion (bi) and the Minakshi Temple (bii) are ducks. The Paris hotel (ci) is ambiguous while in the Barcelona Port entrance (cii) the office building is a decorated shed and the fish a duck! Venturi and Scott Brown now argue that architects should recognize that we live in mannerist times. Mannerism refers to a mode of communication in which motifs are used in opposition to their original meaning or context. They argue that “architecture for [today] should recognize that we have gone from a time of static tesserae to changing pixels for a complex multicultural age that engages both vulgar communication and vital mannerisms” (Venturi and Scott Brown 2004). If one understands Venturi’s argument one understands the communication function of his architecture provided one examines it in his way. Whether one appreciates it or not depends on one’s attitude towards the argument. Much of the architecture of globalism can be said to consist of decorated sheds although it is not simply the exterior façade that carries messages but the entrance lobbies. Frank Gehry, in his design for the Barcelona Port Entrance, conspicuously brought ducks and decorated sheds together. In contrast, his design for the Guggenheim Museum (see Figure 9.5a) privileges shape and skin over plan; it is clearly a duck. The Las Vegas of the 1960s that Venturi, Scott Brown, and Izenour (1977) described no longer exists according to Paul Goldberger (2000). It was replete with decorated sheds but with the increase in the size of the hotels and casinos, the buildings are now largely ducks. Maybe that is true of many office buildings. They no longer hide behind signs; they are signs. Composition and Abstract Expression in Architecture Until the development of the Basic Design course at the Bauhaus, architectural theory focused on different methods of composing parts into wholes consisting of proportionally related units (H. Robertson 1924; see also Padovan 1999). Today meaning and order are often sought through abstract forms and associational meanings. The ideas of the Bauhaus masters are increasingly seen as an ingenious invention of a way to look at, or read, the world provided you have learnt the language. It is an

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ai. Lujiazui, Pudong, Shanghai, P.R. China.

bi. Jay Pritzker Pavilion, Chicago, USA (19992004); Frank Gehry, architect. Photograph by Abdelaziz Kraba

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aii. Shopping Mall, Dubai, UAE.

bii. Minakshi Temple, Bengaluru, India (1993); Stapathi Perumal, designer. Photograph by Musa Al Farid

ci. Paris Hotel, Las Vegas, Nevada, USA (1999); Leidenfrost/Horowitz and others, architects.

cii. Port entrance, Barcelona, Spain (1992); Frank Gehry, architect.

Figure 14.18 Decorated sheds (a), ducks (b), and a duck in the foreground and a decorated shed in the background (c)?

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intellectual aesthetic system. With the formalization of architectural education in the early twentieth century and the flight of many Bauhaus intellectuals from Germany with the coming of Nazism, the Basic Design course replaced existing compositional paradigms in the architectural schools of many countries whose intellectual traditions are very different from that of 1930s Germany (Wingler 1969). A number of architects resent what they see as the victory of basic design and the debasing of traditional design principles that form good architecture (for example, Iengar 1996 on architecture in India). Such protests have been dismissed as retrogressive thinking. Perhaps, however, it is now time to come back to thinking of the two systems as two ways of looking at the world, each having utility in certain circumstances for certain people. Some architects have experimented with both composition and expression in design. Le Corbusier used his proportional modular system to give a visual order to buildings such as Unité d’Habitation at Marseilles (Figure 10.3bii) and the Dominican Friary at la Tourette near Lyons (Figure 14.19a). His design for the pilgrimage chapel in Ronchamp is a more free-flowing expressive work (14.19b). Understanding his intentions in each case forms the basis of any intellectual aesthetic appreciation of each building and his career.

a. The Monastery of Sainte-Marie de la Tourette, Eveux-sur-l’Abresle, France (1953).

b. The chapel of Notre Dame Du Haut at Ronchamp, France (1950-4).

Figure 14.19 Compositional and abstract design as mechanisms for visual expression in the work of Le Corbusier

Intellectual Aesthetics and Technological Innovation The development of new architectural forms has often resulted from technological innovations in structural systems and materials. An understanding of the functioning of structural systems enhances one’s experiencing of architecture. Knowing the constructional nature of Gothic arches and the structural understanding required to conceive them elevates one’s appreciation of the Gothic cathedrals of Europe. Engineers explore new structural forms not only in order to discover innovative ways of solving problems but for the pleasure it gives them. In collaboration with architects they have sought new aesthetic configurations that amaze; they have the “wow” factor. They are seen as works of fine arts as much as engineering. Many of the structures completed for the Beijing Olympics are eye-stopping in this way.

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Structural purity and intellectual aesthetics  Structures are often the decorative elements of designs and/or the vehicle for carrying metaphoric associations. The Spartan nature, simplicity and visual elegance of furniture designed by such groups as the Shakers in the United States has had a profound effect on thinking about functionalism and structural design since the middle of the nineteenth century (Giedion 1969, Semper 1989). The Shakers believed that embellishment was a distraction. Simplicity they believed is the embodiment of purity and unity; beauty rests in the utility of an object (Becksvoort 2000). The view reflects that of the Bauhaus masters. During the first half of the twentieth century Walter Gropius and Le Corbusier both argued for a built environment based on the functional purity of engineering products such as airplanes, ships, and grain silos. They sought a machine aesthetic. In a different vein, honesty in structural expression led to the New Brutalist Movement in the United Kingdom. Pipes were left exposed; formwork was shown on concrete walls, beams, and columns. Structural purity (or honesty) and visual elegance do not always go hand-inhand. Much honest design can be chunky in appearance especially if ease of construction is a concern. Not all structural design is visually honest. Hollow steel pipes used for the cantilevered roofs of sports stadia, for instance, are filled with concrete to inhibit the uplift effect of winds. It is a clever device. The use of pre-fabricated iron components used for the Crystal Palace in London is still much admired. The architects and engineers of the twentieth century who explored the nature of structures have played an important role in shaping the work of other architects and engineers. In the 1960s Robert Maillart, Pier Luigi Nervi, and Felix Candella were an inspiration to architects across the world and popularized the articulation of forces as an integral part of intellectual aesthetic analyses. Santiago Calatrava Valls continues in this tradition. His railroad stations at Lucerne (1989), Zürich (1990) and Lyons-Satolas (1994) and his Museu de les Ciències in Valencia (1999-2001; see Figure 1.5bii and p. 241) are sculpturally molded concrete constructions. Frei Otto pioneered and is still exploring the use of tensile structures (Otto 2005). Knowledge of the theory of structures affects one’s intellectual appreciation of the forms. Understanding virtuoso technical displays can be rewarding. Attitudinal Variability and the Intellectual Aesthetic Content of Buildings Balance Theory explains much. A person’s attitude towards a specific intellectual aesthetic message carried by a building as espoused by its creator depends on one’s attitudes towards its creator. Alternatively, one’s attitude towards the intellectual message will shape one’s attitude towards the creator. In one of his James Bond books novelist Ian Fleming named his villain, Goldfinger, after architect Ernö Goldfinger whose house— now a museum—in Hampstead, London he thoroughly disliked. If one does not know the intellectual aesthetic argument for a building, one interprets its message in one’s own way. This observation can hold true even if one does understand the argument. Although many architectural critics knew Libeskind’s story they saw the zigzags of the Jewish Museum in Berlin as the image of a bolt of lightning rather than a Star of David. They saw the lightning as representing the history of Jews (Edelmann 2001). Whether one relates the shafts of light that penetrate the museum from the slits of windows to the work of Le Corbusier in the pilgrimage chapel of Notre Dame du Haut at

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Ronchamp (see Figure 1.3diii) depends on one’s architectural knowledge. Certainly one interprets buildings in terms of one’s own history. Frank Gehry who lost 37 relatives in the Holocaust finds spiritual sustenance in the Jewish Museum. Most buildings are open to a variety of interpretations. Jörn Utzon’s source of inspiration for the Sydney Opera House was an image of waves. For lay people (and many architects) the forms reflect the sails of boats that abound in the harbor around it. To the less awestruck and more bawdy it is said to resemble turtles copulating! Much is interpreted based on one’s preconceptions about what a building should be—what a house should look like, for instance—or what being modern means. These preconceptions are based on what is familiar to one. Leading architects strive to create new expressions, new forms and new interpretations in their work. The new can shock (Hughes 1980, Larsen 1993). Sometimes the new gets absorbed into our cultural frames, and at other times not. Many once heavily criticized buildings such as the McGraw Hill Building (1931) and the Chrysler Building (1928-30) and even Centre Point (1967) in London are now admired. The world is also full of examples of buildings that were never intellectually absorbed into either professional or lay cultures. Will the SwissRe Building in London (completed in 2003) now seen by some as an “erotic gherkin” and as an unbridled search for the exotic be seen in the future as a major intellectual breakthrough? Will the Bibliotheca Alexandrina (1989-2002) in Alexandria (see Figure 14.20c and page 321) be seen as an arrogant architectural intrusion into a unified Moderne cityscape or as masterpiece of design? Time will tell. Many buildings that have won architectural awards are now regarded as functioning poorly (Blake 1977). This change reflects critics’ changing concepts of the function of buildings as much as anything else (Belgasem 1989, Rowshan Bakhsh 1998, Weaver 2006). Cultural differences  Cultures establish the rules, implicit or explicit, of how we examine the world. Our personal histories and the geographic environments in which we establish a sense of who we are affect the way we examine the environment. Thus, for example, examining the built forms around one in terms of the strictures of Feng Shui or the Shilpa Shastras or in terms of the Bauhaus basic design course principles will result in very different interpretations of the same building. The contemplative attitude of Japanese and many other East Asian peoples in examining the world differs from how many Europeans are educated to contemplate the world around them. In must be admitted that when one looks at buildings being designed around the world today, the differences seem to be not in terms of styles of contemplation but simply in levels of tolerances for deviations from the norm and clutter. The intellectual gulf between the traditional Japanese garden as an art form and the environment in Shibuya in Tokyo is enormous (see Figure 14.21). The two worlds function well for the activities that take place in each. Buildings as Works of Art While all objects carry meanings those that are purposefully designed to function as communicators of aesthetic ideas and raise emotions can be said to be works of art. They can provide pleasure as objects to be contemplated. Since the 1880s many architects have

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b. McGraw Hill building, New York, USA (1931); Raymond Hood, Godley, and Fouilhoux, architects. Photograph by Alix Verge

a. Chrysler Building, New York, USA (1928-32); William Van Alen, architect.

c. Bibliotheca Alexandrina, Alexandria, Egypt (1989-2002); Snøhetta Hamza Consortium, architects.

Figure 14.20 Habituation level and aesthetic preferences

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Photograph by Realrich Sjarief

a. Imperial Palace Gardens, Tokyo.

b. Shibuya, Tokyo.

Figure 14.21 The traditional Japanese garden and Shibuya—aesthetic expressions in two very different behavior settings

regarded themselves as artists and buildings, particularly high value-added buildings, as works of art. Many clients have encouraged this self-image. They have seen themselves as and have been patrons. What, however, about objects not purposefully designed to be art objects and never considered by their creators to be such? Some objects (for example, utilitarian vernacular chairs) acquire the role of art objects in connoisseurs’ eyes even though they were never designed as items for contemplation. Many of what were perceived to be purely utilitarian structures such as factories that were regarded during their working lives simply as buildings accommodating dirty activities are now raised to the level of objects of art. The reason is that perceptions of the message communicated have changed and/or the values associated with message have changed. People read unintended messages into the object or they look at it in a new way. To many architects and the cognoscenti seeing buildings as works of art is enormously important. The intellectual aesthetic function of buildings is certainly important but not to many people. The vast majority regard intellectual aesthetic concerns as irrelevant. They focus more on a building’s functions at a more basic level. They are concerned with how buildings provide them with shelter and security and give them a sense of pride. As long as intellectual aesthetic ideas do not detract significantly from the fulfillment of these more basic human needs, they enrich human experiences. The tricky word in the prior sentence is significantly. Its interpretation is open to debate. That is why architectural design and interpreting architectural works will always be argumentative processes.

Major References Arnheim, Rudolf 1977. The Dynamics of Architectural Form. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Cullen, Gordon 1961. Townscape. London: Architectural Press. Kepes, Gyorgy 1944. The Language of Vision. Chicago: Paul Theobold.

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Leder, Helmut, Benno Belke, Andries Oeberst, and Dorothee Augustin 2004. A model of aesthetic appreciation and aesthetic judgments. British Journal of Psychology, 95, 489-508. Santayana, George 1896. The Sense of Beauty. Reprinted in 1955. New York: Dover. Thiel, Philip 1997. People, Paths, and Purposes: Notation for a Participatory Envirotecture. Seattle and London: University of Washington Press. Weber, Ralf 1995. On the Aesthetics of Architecture: a Psychological Approach to the Structure and Order of Perceived Spaces and Forms. Aldershot: Avebury.

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Part IV Externalities: Buildings in Context

Grand Avenue, Los Angeles, CA, USA in 2006 with the Walt Disney Concert Hall (1987; opened 2003) Frank O. Gehry and Partners, architects.

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Buildings exist in a cultural and geographical setting. They can be designed to merge into their contexts, purposefully change their surroundings, or disregard them. Whatever a building is and however, as architect Glen Murcett advocates, lightly it touches the earth, a new building inevitably changes its economic, social, and geographic environment. A proposed building affects its surroundings from the moment its conception is known. Real estate speculators will consider its likely impact on adjacent property values. Developers will scan its neighborhood for the investment opportunities it may open up. Neighbors are likely to protest; they will fear that anything new will change their lives negatively (although once the building is erected they may well be proud of it). Transportation planners will be worrying about the building’s impact on the speed of traffic flows. Politicians will wet their fingers to see which way the winds of public opinion are blowing and, in some societies, whether there is a possibility of a financial gain in it for them. When it is completed it will have many consequences. Chapter 15: The Function of the New as a Shaper of its Environment, the sole one in this section of the book, focuses on buildings as economic catalysts, the way they shape the micro-climate of their contexts, their potential physical impacts, and their aesthetic effect with reference to a “sense of place”. Architects worry about the effect of its surroundings on the building being developed and designed. They, however, seldom worry about the impact that their building will have on its surroundings. Those impacts are seen as public interest concerns that are safeguarded by zoning ordinances and building codes and beyond the further concerns of architects and their clients. Many architects enjoy working in those countries where the environmental protection laws are lax. It gives them the freedom to create a building that they could not in Europe, North America, or Australia. Municipal governments in those places are often preoccupied with striving for prestige and an increase in their city’s tax base that a new structure will bring them rather than its broader impact on the ecology of the natural environment and the quality of life of people living or working in its surroundings. Apart from the creation of a sense of place, these topics seldom arouse the interest of architectural theoreticians. They are not considered to be functions of a building. Architectural journals reluctantly show a building photographed in its context. It is only when architects work as urban designers that they deal with issues of how buildings affect their surroundings with any seriousness. Life is, however, changing. The fear of litigation is making property developers and their architects increasingly concerned about the impacts of a new building on what is adjacent to them.

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Change is not made without inconvenience. Samuel Johnson, English lexicographer

Architects act to maximize their fee-paying clients’ interests and to enhance their own careers. A variety of public agencies are charged with protecting the public interest but in a globalizing world twin tugs pull on public officials controlling the development process. They need to provide the type of opportunities that international developers and entrepreneurs seek but they are also learning from the experience of the last two decades that a series of new buildings serving the interests of individual clients fails to add up to a well-functioning urban environment, either aesthetically or in terms of the activities of people. An increasingly important concern in a litigious world is the impact of buildings on their surroundings—on their multiplier and side effects. Multiplier effects generally refer to the positive impacts of new buildings on their surroundings; side effects generally refer to the negative. Our understanding of how buildings function in context is largely anecdotal but our empirical knowledge is increasing. It suffices as the basis for understanding the issues of concern. The discussion of these concerns is divided into six parts in this chapter: the catalytic economic effect of buildings, their social impact, their climatic impact, their impact on safety, the aesthetic effect of the new in shaping a sense of place, and the way buildings affect the health of the biogenic environment. The concerns are neither mutually exclusive nor independent.

The Catalytic Economic Effect of New Buildings on their Surroundings A reason for many public policy decisions in urban design has been to enhance the quality of the environment by changing property developers’ investment decisions (Attoe and Logan 1989). While private investors are generally concerned with the profitability of their own investments, sometimes both public and private interests are served by private clients. John D. Rockefeller’s plans for Radio City (now part of Rockefeller Center) in 1930 were based on his desire to upgrade the neighborhood around his own home (Balfour 1978). That was a private investment decision. Most conscious decisions about the catalytic effect of buildings have, however, been public policy ones. Museums, libraries, schools, parking garages, and new well-located retail space can all spur urban development. Robert Moses, head of New York’s City Planning Commission promoted the development of Lincoln Center (Figure 15.1a) during the 1950s in order to

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eliminate the slums north of Columbus Circle. Moses’s goal was to build a “glittering new cultural center” to change the character of the whole west side of New York (Caro 1974). The development displaced 7,000 people who had to make new lives for themselves, supposedly in the broader public interest, without much assistance. The building of the World Trade Center (1970-4) in Lower Manhattan had similar ends (Ruchelman 1977). The Grands Travaux of French president, François Mitterand and the Chinese government’s investment in urban renewal (particularly in Beijing for the development of the 2008 Olympic Games) served the same purposes. The Los Angeles administration hopes that the Walt Disney Concert Hall (completed in 2003) will have a positive impact on Grand Avenue in that city in the same way that Frank Gehry’s design for the Guggenheim Museum (Figure 15.1c; completed in 1997) in Bilbao has had on the Abandoibarra district adjacent to it (d) and on the whole city. Early in this century the International Convention Centre (1991) is acting as a catalyst for development in Birmingham, England. The Guggenheim Museum drew 4.5 million visitors between 1997 and 2001. They spent money on accommodation and meals that, in turn, has had a multiplier impact on the city’s whole commercial sector. It is estimated that the museum has added an additional €660 million to the city’s gross domestic product and €117 million to the city’s tax base. Over 4,000 jobs have been directly attributed to the development of the museum (Vidarte 2002). Analyses of the catalytic effect of the museum should be taken with caution because a whole series of other such investments in the city have combined with it to have an economic impact and what is attributable to what is open to question (see Figure 9.5). Not all such public investment decisions have been as successful. The financing of the landscape design of public squares and the pedestrianization of streets has had mixed results. However thoughtful their designs might have been, they have not always had the intended impact on their environments. The Plaza d’Italia (1979) in New Orleans designed by Charles Moore with the Urban Innovations Group and the Water Garden (1974; Figure 15.1e) in Fort Worth have had little positive effect on their neighborhoods. Any number of street closures accompanied by fine new landscape designs (for example, Oak Park Center Mall in Illinois; Figure 15.1f) had disappointing positive effects on the economic viability of their surroundings and were reconverted to vehicular traffic (Lang 2005). We have learnt much from such cases. New buildings seldom have only positive impacts on their surroundings. Horton Plaza in San Diego and One Liberty Place in Philadelphia, financially successful in themselves, put many adjacent shops and restaurants into bankruptcy. Do the positive impacts of private interests outweigh the negative in terms of the various publics’ interests? This question is politically charged but will be one that developers and architects will have to face, directly or indirectly, as cities worry about their competitive edge in a world economy. Gentrification Gentrification is a process sparked by investments that result in the substantial upgrading of a precinct of a city, particularly one that has seen abandonment and disinvestment. Sometimes the process is purposefully instigated by public investments in infrastructure or the erection of a key new building. At other times a number of pioneering middle-

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a. Lincoln Center, New York, USA (1960s); Wallace K. Harrison, master planner. b. Society Hill, Philadelphia, PA, USA. Photograph by Musa Al Farid

c. Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao, Spain (1997); Gehry Partners LLP, architects.

d. The Abandoibarra district, Bilbao, Spain (2006); César Pelli and Associates, master planners.

Photograph by Alix Verge

e. The Water Garden Fort Worth. Texas, USA (1975); Philip Johnson, architect.

f. Oak Park Center Mall, Illinois, USA (1967+); Joe Karr and Associates, landscape architects. Returned to vehicular traffic in 1989.

Figure 15.1 Investment decisions and their catalytic effect

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class families move into a deteriorated district because property prices are low. They then substantially upgrade the quality of their houses and generate a demand for local improvements and services. Other families follow. Many cities have areas that have been gentrified: Society Hill in Philadelphia (Figure 15.1b), the Meatpackers’ District in New York, Camden Town, Islington, and, more recently, Shoreditch in London, Moseley in Birmingham, Paddington and Balmain in Sydney, and Venice Beach in Los Angeles. Harlem in New York is seeing the process happening now. The gentrification of all these places has resulted in what are generally regarded as attractive areas. Property prices and rents have soared as areas become revitalized. The tax increment to municipal coffers has been substantial. It is deemed that they are worth whatever negative social impacts, such as the displacement of low income families, that they may have (Ley 1994).

Social Impacts New developments change the patterns of life around them. They often create air and noise pollution from increased traffic volumes and from other machines. In addition, there are the impacts of specific architectural patterns such as blank ground floor façades and tall buildings that intrude on their surroundings. Some new uses are regarded as noxious. Traffic Generation New buildings change traffic flows. These flows can enhance, or disrupt the functioning of surrounding areas. In some circumstances they can lead to the mal-functioning of a precinct. Much depends on the type of buildings—the larger a building the more people that are likely to be working there. Workers and visitors generate pedestrian and vehicular traffic. Buildings housing equipment rather than people may, reduce the amount of traffic. Shopping malls and hospitals generate more vehicular traffic movements than residential buildings. Problems arise when the new is out-of-scale in terms of traffic generation with its surroundings. Adapted from Newman (1975) courtesy of Kopper Newman and Skogan (1990); drawn by Omar Sharif

a. The impact of out-of-scale buildings phenomenon.

b. The neighborhood deterioration phenomenon.

Figure 15.2 The potential effect of out-of-scale developments on neighborhood space

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When a building type that generates much vehicular traffic is placed in a precinct with relatively low traffic volumes, the increased traffic can lead to streets becoming channels for vehicular movement rather than seams of urban life. This situation can be exacerbated when streets are changed to one-way channels of high-speed traffic movement. When that happens control over a street by locals becomes lost (see Figure 8.4f). The chain of consequences that ensues may lead to disinvestments in surrounding areas. Oscar Newman (1975) suggests that it can, in some circumstances, lead to a rise in crime rates (see Figure 15.2; Skogan 1990). In high density areas such as the traditional centers of cities, much parking is placed in the basements of buildings. It eliminates the need for a sea of surface parking. The entrances to underground parking garages, however, often disrupt the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalks. The placement of entrances also has the consequence of slowing down passing traffic by requiring oncoming cars to switch lanes. Changing pedestrian traffic patterns and breaking the ground floor continuity of retail outlets can, however, lead to disinvestments in retail shops. It can be argued that such interruptions are simply a part of urban life but the careful location of entrances to parking garages can mitigate the problem. Noise Pollution Noise pollution is a problem in many cities. It results from the engine and tire noise of automobiles and trucks, loud radios, and machinery of various types. Exhaust fans and air-conditioning units are an increasing presence in cities. Increasing traffic flows as a result of new developments in an area can be the sources of major sonic annoyances, particularly in residential areas. Buildings themselves can generate noise especially louvered buildings during high winds. An unusual problem arose during the early 1990s with the Cityspire Center in New York (1987). Its owners were faced with daily fines because the wind through louvres on the dome of the 220 meters tall building created a high-pitched whistle that annoyed neighbors. Design changes ensued; every second louvre was removed widening the channels through which wind blew in order to eliminate the whistling. Noxious Facilities Many cities have legislation that addresses the negative effects of noxious facilities. The primary concern is for the health of people but other worries are economic and aesthetic. Often historic images of noxiousness stay in the public mind long after the nature of a facility has changed. Once unpleasant factories are now often highly hygienic but still regarded as polluting. They still carry the image of the sooty, “coke towns” of the nineteenth century (Mumford 1961, Benevolo 1980). Some industries are still like that but today many generate little in the way of pollution. Yet the attitude towards them is still much like that portrayed in the advertisements for Welwyn Garden City (see Figure 7.7bi). The definition of noxious facilities varies from country to country and even city to city. Butchers’ shops are regarded as noxious facilities in Kolkata, India but form (or used to form) part of many high streets in the United Kingdom. Sewage treatment plants, however odourless, clean and brightly painted and well maintained, are not regarded as ideal neighbors. Their symbolic qualities are unacceptable.

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Blank Façades The public realm of cities is seen primarily from a human-eye level above the ground. The activities and/or machines that a building houses often require buildings with windowless façades. Blank walls at the ground level have primarily an aesthetic effect but they can have an economic impact if they deter the flow of pedestrians. They do not enrich the experience of either pedestrians or drivers moving down the street; they are boring (see Figure 15.3a and b; note also the effort to stop people sitting on the ledge in b). Blank walls also function well as potential surfaces for graffiti so much so that they can be said to “invite” it (c). Graffiti has its staunch defenders as an exhibition of individual artistic expressions. In some cases it clearly is. Most graffiti is seen as an invasion and a disfigurement of the environment. As such it leads to perceptions that neighborhoods are undesirable, poorly maintained, and inhabited by potentially hostile people (see Figure 12.13e). The economic effects can be severe. In some cities legislation disallows blank walls at the ground level. Bellevue in the state of Washington requires blank walls to have murals or relief sculptures to give interest to them. In other places showcase windows serve the same purpose. The goal is to provide pedestrians with a continuously interesting façade to look at as they pass by. A number of buildings around the world are blank above the ground floor, either literally or they function as such because they have mirror glass façades (Figure 15.4). In either case they show no signs of life within them. In 15.3e the whole windowless building is one large trompe d’oiel; in (d) it is the blank façade of a library. The “green” wall in (f), while an increasingly frequent solution, is still unusual. Glass façades reflect surrounding buildings and/or the sky (Figure 14.5). The life inside the building is invisible. Often the reflections amuse but they can cause confusion when it is not clear what is the mirror view and what not (for example in (c)). Mirror glass façades were fashionable in the 1970s and were regarded as creative designs. They are still being built although they are now banned in many cities not so much because they are lifeless but because their reflectance causes problems in their surroundings. Overlooking High-rise buildings let people look down on adjacent open areas, streets, and the roofs of lower buildings. For the viewer this surveillance simultaneously affords enjoyment of the passing scene, vicarious pleasure in the lives of others, and looking out for and, possibly, deterring anti-social behaviors. It also creates a loss of privacy for the people over-looked (see Figure 8.12). The first enriches the lives of the viewers. The second is a requirement for defensible space (Newman 1972, 1980, 1996, Colquhoun 2004). Jane Jacobs (1961) pointed out that the loss of a degree of privacy is the price we have to pay as part of retaining some strands of a communal public life. The loss of privacy is, however, an acute problem in hot-arid areas where the roofs of buildings are flat and used as living space especially during the evening. A level of privacy is indeed obtained through the distance between viewers and the observed. This mechanism may suffice but overlooking can be a serious problem in countries where privacy is highly valued. Prohibition of overlooking was an unwritten code in the design of residential areas in the Arabic Islamic cities of North Africa (Hakim 1986).

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a. A blank façade, Philadelphia, PA, USA.

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b. A blank façade, London, UK.

d. Mural, Stanton Library wall, North Sydney, NSW, Australia.

c. Plaza de Armas, Seville, Spain.

e. A totally blank-walled warehouse, Chicago, IL, USA.

Figure 15.3 Dealing with blank façades

f. Muro vegetal de Caixa Forum, Paseo del Prado, Madrid, Spain (2009); Patrick Blanc, botanist. The Caixa Forum designed by Herzog and de Meuron Architekten is in the background.

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b. Caixa Forum, Madrid, Spain (2009); Herzog and de Meuron Architekten, architects. Photograph by Caroline Nute

a. Pittsburgh Plate Glass Building, Pittsburgh, PA, USA (1984); Johnson and Burgee, architects.

c. Restaurant interior 3rd Avenue at 13th Street, New York City, USA.

d. Buildings reflecting buildings and the sky.

e. Self-portrait, Jon Lang, London, 2006.

Figure 15.4 Reflections and glass façaded buildings

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Where overlooking occurs from new high-rise buildings built adjacent to low-rise buildings, the status of the low-rise areas becomes tainted (Negarestan 1996). Anecdotal evidence suggests that this tainting has a negative effect on property values but this claim has yet to be clearly demonstrated because the low-rise areas often become potential development sites as a result of the adjacent investments.

The Impact of Buildings on the Biogenic Environment The biogenic environment is an ever-evolving system. It consists of two interrelated components: the edaphic environment and the biotic environment. The former is concerned with the geology, topography, and climate of a place; the latter with its fauna and flora. A well-functioning biogenic environment is self-correcting, self-sustaining, unpolluted, and unpolluting. All new urban designs and buildings change landforms, the hydrology of places, and its flora and fauna. They change the runoff of rain patterns and, if as in a number of cities (for example, Jakarta, Indonesia), they draw their water supply from the ground, they change the nature of aquifers. Simultaneously, hard surfaces reduce the replenishment of underground water supplies. These changes affect the niches inhabited by different species. New species replace old and others are driven out of cities. Pigeons and crows replace songbirds. Squirrels may thrive but monkeys are displaced. Historically, people had to be cognizant of the natural processes of the world because they had little control over them (Rudofsky 1964). Changes in the biogenic environment were largely due to natural processes. Nowadays, the situation is different. Considerably more people inhabit the earth and we desire high levels of comfort, labor saving devices, and other consumer products. Their impact has been substantial. Buildings and Microclimates Buildings have many effects on the micro-climatic conditions around them. The term “micro-climate” is used here to describe the immediate surroundings of a building. Highrise buildings in particular alter the movement of air and cast shadows on streets, squares, and parks. They can be the source of glare and may shed heat onto their surroundings. As a group they can create heat islands and turmoil in the air moving over them. The cumulative effects of these impacts can be substantial. Air movement through cities ventilates them, lowers temperatures, and flushes out pollutants (Hough 2004). Handling the effect of winds on the sway and/or rotation of tall buildings and the impact of winds driving rain are major considerations in structural and façade engineering. The way buildings distort the flow of air is a recent concern. Litigation has drawn attention to the issue. In the mid-1980s the owners of 22 Cortland Street in Lower Manhattan, New York filed a lawsuit against the owners of the World Trade Center towers on the grounds that the winds created by the twin towers caused their building to move in an “abnormal rotating fashion.” The configuration of buildings and open spaces can cause three-quarters of the wind striking a building to pour down its façade where it creates a rolling motion and causes high local winds. This effect arises from the air pressure differences between

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the windward and the leeward sides of buildings (Figure 15.5a and b). In addition, tall buildings around the edges of urban development increase wind speeds in the open areas windward of them. They prevent the flushing out of pollutants. We also understand much about the mechanisms that can ameliorate the negative effects of winds on the comfort of pedestrians walking or sitting at the street level (c). Collection of Jon Lang Collection of Jon Lang

a. Pressure connections.

b. Vortex effects.

c. Wind mitigating elements in a public plaza.

Figure 15.5 Building design and wind movement

The problems can be addressed by creating height zone transitions in the centers of blocks rather than on streets used by pedestrians. Buildings need to be spaced far enough apart for sunlight to reach the ground and yet close enough to avoid downwash effects (Tong 1990). These ends are not necessarily easy to achieve. The taller the building and the higher the speed of prevailing winds the greater the impact on wind patterns at its base. Pedestrians are particularly affected by wind speeds. Breezes can be pleasant but when the movement of air rises above 5 meters per second pedestrians complain; if it is above 3.5 meters per second seated people feel uncomfortable (Durgin 1989). Wind speeds of 23 meters per second (50 miles per hour) can bowl a person over. All urbanites are aware of wind corridors in their cities and which buildings channel breezes down on to the street. In cities such as Tokyo ropes acting as handrails have to be strung across certain streets to prevent people being blown off their feet once wind speeds rise. Amusing for some people, it can be frightening, for many. Buildings under six stories in height cause fewer negative wind effects but land prices in economically viable cities make such an empirical observation largely impossible to translate into practice. Urban development creates heat islands and turbulence in air movements (Chandler 1976, Hough 1984; see also Jenner 2003). Cities consist of hard surfaces that absorb and reflect heat and raise temperatures substantially (that is, as much as 10°C higher than in adjacent rural areas; see Figure 15.6a and c). The effect can be reduced by placing parks adjacent to highly developed, high density areas and planting trees to provide a canopy (f). An aerodynamically rough urban surface can be created by varying building heights and masses. Other mechanism include having street patterns that channel prevailing

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Sources: Chandler (1970 and Hough (1984); courtesy of the World Meteorological Association

b. The urban heat island. Sources: Chandler (1976) and Hough (1984)

a. Heat exchange in rural and urban areas.

c. Typical wind profiles over built up and urban fringe areas.

Photograph by Aykut Karaman

d. Meydan Retail complex, Ümraniye, Turkey (2008); FOA [Foreign Office Architects], architects. e. Roofs, Potsdamer Platz district, Berlin, Germany in 2002. Photograph by Alix Verge

f. A canopy of trees, Central Park, New York City, USA in 1985.

Figure 15.6 Urban patterns and climate impacts

g. Copacabana beach front, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil in 1989; promenade design (1970) by Roberto Burle Marx.

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winds as in Stuttgart, Germany, building with materials that have a high albedo, low thermal capacity and low thermal conductivity, and by planting roofs with vegetation (d and e). In coastal areas high buildings along beachfronts should be avoided to allow breezes to flow inland (for example, in Haifa, Israel). High buildings on the waterfront in Rio de Janeiro (g) affect the flow of winds into the interior of the city. None have been added to the two shown in the photograph. Similar measures help to avoid wind turbulence over cities (b). Such turbulence often has the negative effect of returning pollutants from the downwind side of cities back over them (Jenner 2003). Overshadowing  Buildings cast shadows. Tall buildings cast long ones especially in winter at the higher latitudes where the sun is very low in the sky. Overshadowing may be desirable in the tropics and in hot arid areas but undesirable in temperate climates and in any climatic zone when it impedes the growth of vegetation. Maybe the lack of penetration of sunlight into the service alleys of cities (Figure 15.7a) does not matter very much but it does for the places people inhabit (b and c). Zoning laws can be used to shape buildings to ensure sunlight reaches streets and plazas at important times of the day (d and e). The objective is then to maintain a pleasant environment for pedestrians. Yet often, as in New York’s Theater District, incentives that increase allowable building heights are granted to entrepreneurs in order to get them to include low- or non-profitable facilities—in this case theaters—in new developments (Barnett 1982). Such trade-offs between desired facilities and ambient street level qualities are deemed to be in the public interest. The shadowing of rooftops by taller buildings eliminating the possibility of harnessing solar energy for heating and cooling in adjacent areas is a recent issue. Reflections onto adjacent buildings  The impacts of reflections from the glossy surfaces of a building were mentioned earlier in the book so they will only be mentioned in passing here to place them in context. Reflections from buildings can raise heat levels on those adjacent, cause rogue glares in the eyes of pedestrians and motorists, and can disorientate people. As mentioned above, they can also make a building seem “dead”; no glimpses of life can be seen in it. The reflections from a number of important buildings have caused increased glare and heat loads on adjacent buildings. The metal skin of the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles, for instance, had to be dulled to reduce both the glare and the increased heat it loaded on to adjacent buildings due to the sunlight reflected from it.

Safety Impacts Safety impacts can refer to many effects. Here the concern is simply with the structural and constructional nature of buildings and what happens to their neighbors when buildings fail. Buildings can be fire hazards or not structurally safe; pieces can fall off them due to constructional deterioration or the impact of earthquakes and other such natural events (as described in Chapters 6 and 8). Legislation on behalf of the public good through zoning ordinances and building codes addresses many problems associated with the impact of buildings on the safety of people in their surroundings. A possible safety concern arises from the failure to predict the simple consequences of a design

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Photograph by Jusuck Koh

a. A service alley, Philadelphia, PA, USA.

b. Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia, PA, USA (1913); Paul Philippe Cret, architect.

c. De Resident, The Hague, The Netherlands (19982002); Rob Krier and Christopher Kohl, urban designers.

Drawing by Omar Sharif

d. Solar cut-off angles in dense environments.

Figure 15.7 Overshadowing

Drawing by Omar Sharif

e. Solar Fans.

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pattern. For instance, the curving roof of the Peter B. Lewis building at Case Western University (1999-2000) designed by Frank Gehry, reputedly, sheds snow and ice on to passers-by during the winter (CNN.com./U.S. 2003). Fire Hazards The destruction or damage to existing buildings, streets and other open spaces by fire spreading from building to building through a precinct can be substantial. Fire has long been a concern with large segments of London (1666) and Chicago (1871) among many others being destroyed by conflagrations. Since the mid-nineteenth century the public policy concern has been for the reduction of the risk of fire moving from one building to another and, more recently, stopping the spread of fire when catastrophic events such as earthquakes occur. The destruction of San Francisco (1906) by fire occurred as the result of ruptures in gas lines following a massive earthquake. Today low-income areas and squatter settlements—bustees, flavellas, barrios—around the world remain potential disaster areas. The potential is, sadly, too often realized. In Jakarta they are attributed to electric short circuits but cynics wonder whether property developers are involved. Inadequate Structural and Constructional Design Shoddy construction is responsible for many deaths around the world each year. Recently erected buildings or parts of them have collapsed and/or pieces have fallen off them for a variety of reasons (see Chapter 7). During the construction of the John Hancock Tower in Boston (1970s; designed by I.M. Pei and Partners) the double-layer mirror glass windows prescribed for insulation purposes kept on popping out of their aluminum frames and so had to be replaced by single-layer glass. The building, nevertheless, proved to be energy efficient in the long run winning a United States Environmental Protection Agency star rating in 2006. Under specific weather conditions problems often arise. Cyclones, for instance, cause substantial damage not only from structural failure but through flying debris generated from parts of buildings breaking loose. Failure to consider such natural occurrences is based on either a lack of knowledge or the perception that they are inevitable (Ripley 2006). The serious concern for what happens to the surroundings of buildings when they are swept by high winds or subjected to other natural events is comparatively recent.

The Function of the New in Creating a Sense of Place As noted a number of times already, all designs have a sense of place whether they are reinforcing existing patterns (Figure 15.8a, b, and c) or being departures from the norm. Lujiazui (d), as a precinct, is clearly developing a new image for Shanghai. Recent housing developments are creating a new image for Korean cities (e). Is a new work to reinforce the local character, sense of place, or break away from it or destroy it? Le Corbusier successfully argued that the Carpenter Center as a school of fine arts should depart from the geometric, stylistic, and siting norms of the architecture

the function of the new as a shaper of its environment

Source: Barnett (1987)

b. Rector Place, Battery Park City, New York, USA.

a. Battery Park City, New York, USA. Cooper and Ekstut, urban designers.

c. Santa Barbara, CA, USA.

d. Lujiazui, Shanghai, People’s Republic of China.

Figure 15.8 New buildings and a sense of place

e. Housing, Suwon, Korea.

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of Harvard Yard (Figure 15.9a and b). As new buildings get added to Harvard with each seeking to be an architectural statement so the Carpenter Center becomes part of a new norm. The Guggenheim Museum (c) is a foreground building against a backdrop of build-to-the-property-line buildings. The apartment building in (d) is likewise deviant from its surroundings. Should it be? Much urban and building design represents an effort to deliberately break away from what are seen to be “the shackles of the past” to create a new identity. Internationally renowned architects are hired to achieve this end. It was Le Corbusier’s role in Chandigarh and Ahmedabad in India in the 1950s and 1960s. Louis Kahn had a similar role in Bangladesh a decade later. The works of Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid around the world are current examples. At present, many, if not all, architects and developers of large buildings think their work should be in the foreground. New buildings thus vie for attention. One way of maintaining a sense of locale is by designing with the climate in mind, and using native rather than exotic species of plants or no plants in desert areas. It is also possible to follow Kevin Lynch’s design principles to achieve a sense of place in new precincts by providing them with a central node with identifying landmarks such as statues and/or memorials, distinct boundaries and buildings that have a similar texture to each other in massing, height, and pattern of street frontages. The character of buildings should also be similar. Creating building design guidelines and having them accepted in legislation may result in new buildings functioning as part of a system of foreground and background elements and built-on and open space as in New York’s Battery Park City or Canary Wharf, London (Lang 2005). Both developments have a clear identity. Controlling what developers and architects do, however, is controversial. It is seen as an infringement of their rights.

Externalities and Architectural Theory Architectural theoreticians have shown more interest in the impact of a building’s surroundings on it rather than the other way around. In considering the external effects of buildings, theorists in the design fields have, nevertheless, been concerned with how to design for a sense of place, and, more recently, how to deal with the impact of buildings on the biogenic environment. Architectural Theory and a Sense of Place The localization of architecture—the consideration, as Christian Norberg Schulz (1980) referred to it, of the “genius loci”—was mentioned in Chapter 10 and above. Although practicing architects seldom clearly articulate their ideological positions on the relationship of their buildings to their surroundings, there appear to be three such views. The first is that new buildings should respect what is around them. The second is that new buildings should deviate from their surroundings in order to be up-to-date and meet the aspirations of their clients, and the third is that new buildings should create a new sense of place appropriate for the future.

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a. Harvard Yard, Cambridge, MA, USA.

b. Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, Harvard University (1963); Le Corbusier, architect.

c. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York City, USA (1959); Frank Lloyd Wright, architect.

d. Back Street, Boston, Massachusetts, USA in 2009.

Figure 15.9 New buildings and their contexts

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By “respect” is meant that the buildings have the same visual texture—overall height, floor heights, window-to-surface ratio, color, and relationship to the street—as surrounding buildings. It involves designing with a sense of decorum (Kohane and Hill 2001). Gaudí’s dramatic designs in Barcelona nevertheless comply with the guidelines of Ildefonso Cerdá’s master plan. Recent developments such as Seaside in Florida, Battery Park City in New York City (Figure 15.8a and b), and Poundbury in Dorset, England have picked up on local building patterns: Seaside the rural housing types of the American south, Battery Park City areas much-loved by New Yorkers and Poundbury on the village patterns of Dorset. The second and third positions represent the purposeful creation of differences on key variables. The governments of the United Arab Emirates, the People’s Republic of China, and Korea have generally rejected designs based on local building types and have set out to create modern identities (Figure 15.8d and e). Ajman has sought a local character for its public buildings (Figure 10.15e). The focus in all these places has been on what the building looks like not on the character of local behavior settings. Battery Park City in appearance may be like traditional New York but it does not afford the activities that make New York street life New York. Historically, in tight-knit communities, such as in the Aegean Islands, the North African Islamic cities (Hakim 1986), or the pols and mohallas of northern India cities, there were sets of understood rules about what could be built where and how. Deviation from the rules let to the ostracism of the people involved. Grecian islands such as Mykonos (see Figure 10.2b) attract large numbers of tourists and Modernist architects of the early twentieth century admired such environments for their simplicity and unity of character. They have what architects generally regard as an appropriate sense of geographic and cultural place. The Biogenic Environment Landscape architecture underwent a major paradigmatic shift during the second half of the twentieth century. The shift was from an anthropocentric view of human dominance over nature to a form of “ecological integration between human systems and environment” (Corner 1991). Only recently have architects seen buildings as having a significant impact on the biogenic world. There is now a greater architectural concern for reducing the impact of buildings on the biogenic world through the creation of “sustainable” buildings. It seems likely that architectural theory and practice during the first half of the twenty-first century will make an even greater shift in this direction. There are strong advocates for them doing so (Walker 2006). Fitting buildings to their context—organic architecture  The whole concern with organic architecture, the architecture of natural forms, has been with visually fitting a building into its surroundings. It has been primarily an intellectual aesthetic concern. Frank Lloyd Wright’s posthumously completed design of the Marin County Civic Center (see Figure 15.10) north of San Francisco exemplifies his desire to reduce the impacts of urbanization by integrating the landscape of cities and buildings into a unified whole. He treated three hillocks as architectural features. The building was designed to flow between and act as a link between the rises. Foliage and fountain pools were used to further integrate nature and the building. The complex is, however, surrounded by a

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large, hard surface, parking lot. Examples of such an architectural attitude abound. It is particularly deeply embedded in the Anglo-American culture. The locational decision does minimize the impact of the building on the land but its design was dictated primarily by an aesthetic position.

Figure 15.10 Marin County Civic Center, California, USA (1958-72)

Frank Lloyd Wright, architect.

It is at this level that architectural theory has traditionally been involved with organic, ecological design. Many examples of buildings that are based on a concern for the biogenic world also exist but the number is miniscule in comparison to the total production of buildings. In self-conscious design the assumptions on which a design is based and the ideological attitude behind it are still on the periphery of architectural theory. Sustainable buildings  As indicated in Chapter 1, a number of architects have broadened their concerns beyond fitting buildings to the landscape to encompass the impact of buildings on the biogenic world. It is in the low building density environment that architects have been most successful in developing ideas about integrating buildings and natural settings into sustainable systems. Cities have proven to be more difficult although designs such as Hammarby Sjörstad in Stockholm lead the way. The recent ecologically sensitive house designs (for example, Hervai; Figure 15.11d) have a set of characteristics in common. They are built of local materials and are surrounded by the vegetation of the region in which they are located. Sometimes the grounds of the building have orchards and vegetable gardens that provide food for the residents. Animal and human waste may be digested in a biogas plant to provide gas for cooking; effluent is used as a fertilizer. The architecture itself is climatically appropriate. In some climatic zones the roof may simply be covered with vegetation or be used as a garden to reduce the heat generating effect of the building and in doing so it helps to prevent a settlement creating a heat island. Theorizing and designing sustainable buildings on a substantial basis has focused on reducing the embodied energy in building materials and the energy consumed in operating buildings (Smith 2005). A number of architects have been interested in recycling materials in order to reduce, or even eliminate, the energy consumed in producing them.

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Achieving a sense of a regional place is a by-product. In India, B.S. Bhoosan pioneered the use of discarded wood from fallen coconut trees as well as salvaged materials in building construction. Scavenging trees, once a free activity, has become an industry as entrepreneurs have recognized its potential profitability. Bhoosan’s major concern has not, however, been with profitability but rather with reducing the embodied energy in building materials and designing with climate in mind. A growing number of architects are concerned with climate conscious design whether in a low-technology (Figure 15.11) or high technology manner as in much of the work of Ken Yeang (Figures 1.9d and 9.2b). The Olympic Games development for Sydney 2000 and the Torrent Research Centre outside Ahmedabad in India (Figure 9.2e) are other high-technology examples of attempts to reduce the impact of a large development on the environment. Although the Torrent Research Centre has central air-conditioning for laboratories, towering ventilation shafts enable a downdraft evaporation system to be used for cooling the rest of the building. Simple devices such as cavity walls and the lack of openings on the east and west façades enhance the ambient temperature quality within the building. At the same time between six and nine air changes per hour are obtained. In terms of embodied energy, the attempt was made to use both local and natural materials rather than synthetics, and local construction methods rather than high technology ones (Patel 2000). The Surry Hills Community Centre in Sydney uses down drafts filtered by vegetation to ventilate the building (15.11c). The concern in designs for an ecologically appropriate architecture has generally been with the location of building cores, the orientation of the main façades and windows, the ratio of solid wall to glazing on the façades, the selection of materials and energy sources, and the management of wastes (Church and Gale 2000). The same concerns shaped a number of buildings created during the first decade of the twenty-first century. The Pearl River Tower in Guangzhou (2005-10) and the design for Gazprom in St. Petersburg (2007) are among those for which major claims are being made. The true innovation of the 2000 Olympic Games in Sydney was in turning environmental concerns into action. The concern reflects a broader interest in Australia about the country’s fragile environment. The Olympic site was a gray field one—one heavily contaminated by industrial wastes—so remedial action had to be taken before construction could commence. This necessity set the tone for subsequent design efforts. The focus of environmental concern was on three matters: reducing waste, conserving water, and saving energy. Recycled materials were heavily used to reduce the embodied energy consumed, and great attention was paid to the orientation of buildings. Solar powered lighting and water heating was used throughout the site. Sunshades, light colored exterior finishes, cross-ventilators all helped and still help to reduce energy costs. The solar panels on the Superdome (the large indoor arena) supply surplus power to Sydney’s grid. The former Olympic Village uses 75 percent less grid electricity than a comparable standard Australian suburb. The retention of storm water and the recycling of wastewater meet water needs (other than drinking) on the site. It demonstrated that contemporary knowledge can be applied with success.

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Photograph by and used courtesy of Glenn Murcutt

b. Marika-Alderton House, Yirrkala Community, Australia (1991-94); Glen Murcutt, architect.

a. Dar Ghadames Hotel, Ghadāmis, Libya (2005); Libyan Car Club, developer.

Courtesy of Shirish Beri

c. Vegetated ventilation chimney, Surry Hills Community Centre, NSW, Australia, FJMT architects. Courtesy of the Estate of Malcolm Wells

d. The architect’s “farm house,” Hirvai, Nadawade, India (1980-3); Shirish Beri, architect.

Figure 15.11 Low environmental impact buildings

e. Cape Cod house, Massachusetts, USA; Malcolm Wells, architect.

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Conclusion Buildings function in a geographic, social, and political setting. It is clear that the political economy shapes cities and the buildings they contain (Clarke 2004). Buildings also have impacts on their contexts. These impacts are becoming a major concern in creating the urban development and design policies that will have an impact on the design of buildings. The functioning of buildings in context involves a two-way interaction. The concern for these issues has arisen from the growing world-wide concern for the ecology of the environment and also fear of litigation. It is certainly shaping the nature of architecture. More and more young architects are aware of the measures required to achieve a more ecologically sound built environment, but the dictates of the economy and currently fashionable architectural ideologies seldom allow them to explore the issues in design. As the superstars of the architecture firmament become concerned so the lesser luminaries will follow, or will it be vice versa?

Major References Givoni, Baruch 1998. Climate Considerations in Building and Urban Design. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Hough, Michael 2004. Cities and Natural Processes: A Basis for Sustainability. Oxford: Routledge. Jenner, Lynn, ed. 2003. Are cities changing local and global climates? http://www.nasa.gov/ centers/goddard/news/topstory/2003/1211urban.html [accessed: July 23, 2008]. McHarg, Ian 1969. Design with Nature. Garden City, NY: Natural History Press. Norberg Schulz, Christian 1980. Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture. New York: Rizzoli. Smith, Peter F. 2005. Architecture in a Climate of Change: A Guide to Sustainable Design. Oxford: Elsevier/Architectural Press.

Part V Conclusion





Moscone Convention Center, San Francisco, California, USA (1981) Hellmuth, Obata and Kassabaum [now HOK], architects.

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Two distinct, although interrelated, bodies of architectural knowledge exist. In addition to the traditional concern of architectural theory with describing and explaining architects’ ideological positions and their design consequences there is a body of knowledge about the functioning of the built, or artificial, environment. It is available for architects to use as they desire to achieve their own and their clients’ goals without being detrimental to the broader needs of the social and biological environments. This book has been about this body of knowledge as it now exists. It has been presented here as a framework for programming in practice and as a foundation for further research. The objective of this last chapter is to put this updated functional theory into perspective. Although it has been outside the scope of this book, an allied body of knowledge is available to architects. It consists of our current understanding of the designing process. It goes under the rubric of design methodology—the study of the structure of how we design buildings and the various methods and techniques we use. It is being developed within the academic discipline of cognitive psychology and a number of applied problem solving fields. Very little research has actually been done on architectural designing, but there is little about the process that is unique. It is, after all, one of a large number of similar decision-making processes. Functional theory feeds into the designing process and learns from its results. Rather than making the designing process easier the advances in structural and constructional technology are making it more complex. The reason is that they open up a great range of design options available to the architect. The same problems can be addressed in many ways. What is important is that the significant issues be clearly identified. That is where functional theory comes in. It potentially makes designing more difficult too because it illuminates the variety of issues with which architects have to contend simultaneously. It would be easier not to know about them. Designs would function well enough. People are after all highly adaptable, but the designs would continue to incur opportunity costs. An explicit theory of functions enables architects to ask good questions about the tasks they face by informing them of the range of functions the built environment can and cannot serve. The world is too complex and the time available too short for an architect to deal with every variable that might possibly be of concern. It has always been this way and always will be. Moreover, designs are for the future and the future is unknown although short term futures are predictable with some degree of accuracy. Luckily, the world is changing considerably less rapidly than our contemporary conceit admits. Dramatic changes may, however, be in the offing. They will raise new questions and require new architectural responses.

16

Architectural Theory, Functional Theory, and Design Methodology

It may be that we have become so feckless as a people that we no longer care how things do work, but only what kind of quick, easy outer impression they give … But I do not think this is so. Jane Jacobs, urbanist, author, social critic in Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961)

Architectural theory describes and explains an individual architect’s or a school of architectural thought’s intentions—their goals and objectives, the design principles they use, and the designs that result. Architectural theory is thus fundamentally and openly ideological. The architectural literature abounds with monographs describing the work of individual architects. Certain giants of twentieth-century intellectual leadership in the profession stand out because they were highly articulate about their beliefs about what the concerns of architecture should be. Frank Lloyd Wright, Walter Gropius, Le Corbusier, Robert Venturi, and Coop Hemelb(l)au, among others have stirred opinions. A number of architects have emerged as leaders in the field in the early twenty-first century: Norman Foster, Frank Gehry, and Zaha Hadid among others. The results of their explorations have taught us much about how buildings function. So has the systematic research on the functioning of the built environment. The goal of this book has been to structure and synthesize past research so that we can have an updated model of the functions of built form. It is biased by the view that we should be explicit about what we know and that designs should be based on evidence rather than what we believe or hope to be true. Understanding both functional theory and its underlying biases shapes an architect’s own ideology. An architect’s ideological position—architectural theory—is based on a view of what the domain of architecture is and what the obligations of architects are.

Functional Theory, Design Methodology, and Professional Practice Functional Theory as it has been revisited in this book is the positive basis for architectural design in the sense that it consists of empirical assertions, or hypotheses, about reality. As the current research around the world on the affordances of architectural patterns continues, so functional theory will be enriched and will explain more. Much today remains based on anecdotal evidence and introspective analysis rather than on scientific or, at least quasi-scientific, empirical research. The development of functional theory, even if not recognized as such, since the 1960s has been in response to the perceived gap between what architects say they are trying to achieve and the performance of the environments they create (see Gold 2007, for example, on the gap). Intuitive thinking is powerful but what is intuitively obvious and just common

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sense is often simply incorrect. It is based on one’s own experiences and hopes. To the extent that the worlds of architects and their clients—sponsors and users of building—are the same, few problems arise. Frequently there is a social, economic, cultural, and an administrative gap between users and architects. As a result, architects need to be able to ask important questions about the tasks they face instead of designing by habit using the same patterns in their repertoire time and again. Functional theory brings attention to the range of potential purposes a proposed building or urban design might serve. The structure and content of functional theory are not static. An improved model of human motivations will offer a better structure. Professional experience and applied research will enhance the content. New technologies and new fashions will emerge and hold the attention of the avant-garde for a while at least. Architects will invent new patterns of form to meet new needs or discover new ways of addressing current problems. Some ways will evolve into traditions; others will fail to capture the imagination of other architects, their clients, the cognoscenti and/or the lay public and be forgotten until, possibly, being resurrected as times change. Understanding what works and what does not is important so functional theory cannot be frozen in time. A few architects may take the view, more often than not implicitly rather than explicitly expressed these days, that a well-developed body of functional theory gets in the way of their creative efforts. They want to rely on their own experiences and beliefs. The development of functional theory is of little interest to them. The irony is that functional theory should be able to assist them to ask questions about their work in a way that will help them achieve their own goals without being detrimental to the goals of society. Functional Theory and Design Methodology Design methodology represents of our understanding of the nature of designing. The goal is to understand the impact on buildings and urban designs of conducting the process in one manner rather than another. It is also concerned with questions of morality and ethics (Harries 1997). Design methodology is procedural architectural theory as explained in Chapter 2. The design processes used by architects share much in common with decision-making in other fields particularly engineering. This commonality extends to fields such as business and medicine that may seem remote from architecture. Indeed, our understanding of the nature of creative thinking borrows heavily from theories of method in other disciplines and from the theories developed in cognitive psychology (Lawson 2006). The decision making process begins by asking (or, rather, designing) what the problem is that needs to be addressed. It then goes on to the generation of possible solutions, predicting how each would work if implemented, evaluating them, implementing one (if any are worthy) and then evaluating the solution when it is in place. It can be described in a number of steps: intelligence, design, choice, implementation, operation, and post-implementation evaluation. Architectural designing follows the same steps: program (or brief) design, sketch designs, the prediction of how possible designs will work if built, the evaluation of the possibilities, the selection of one, the implementation of the design, and finally, ideally, the systematic evaluation of the completed design in operation. The last step should evaluate not only how the design functions but how its environment functions with the new development in place.

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Adapted from Lang (1987, 1994); drawn by Omar Sharif

Figure 16.1 Functional theory, procedural theory, and the design process

Design methodology is concerned with understanding the processes that are used repetitively throughout the design process. They include the techniques of analysis, divergent and convergent thinking—the heart of creative thinking—and the various processes of prediction, and evaluation. Basic to creative thinking is also an understanding of what various patterns of the environment might afford, how they function, and might be constructed. It also involves being able to reflect on and learn from what one has done (Schön 1984). The invention of new patterns that solve problems well is a hallmark of creative thought. So is the perception and recognition of problems anew and new problems and opportunities as they arise. This description of the designing process may suggest that it takes place in a step-bystep linear manner. If the people involved had a comprehensive and completely accurate functional theory as the basis for their work and were completely rational in their thinking it could be so. Alas, or, perhaps, thank goodness, we have limited understanding (but considerably more than we are wont to use) and the value-laden nature of decision making is hardly rational. There is thus considerable feedback and feeding forward during the designing process and much debate over ends and means. The whole process is an argumentative one (Bazjanac 1974, Zeisel 2006). There are internal arguments in the architect’s head and external ones among members of the design team, clients, sponsors, and, ideally, potential users of the final products. The whole design process is one of repeatedly establishing ends and then designing the means to achieve them. Means become ends in an iterative process of analysis, synthesis, prediction, and evaluation in which decisions have to be made under uncertainty. Creative designing is a process of opening up and narrowing down the search for solutions and ultimately deciding on a single design to implement. Designing by habit involves copying earlier designs or using previous employed patterns largely uncritically. One of the major changes in professional practice over the past 40 years has been the rigorousness with which the intelligence phase—the programming process—is being carried out. The failures in design are seen, quite accurately, as failures to understand the issues and problems at hand rather than in the ability of architects to generate forms

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to solve those problems. The failures can thus be attributed to the limitations in the functional theory that an architect employs and the way the environment is examined. In much programming these days, a model of the functions of architecture similar to the one described in this book, is used for asking questions about the necessary and desired performance characteristics of a future building. In everyday professional practice much is, nevertheless, still based more on the study and adjustment of building types that act as generic solutions rather than working from an analysis of functional requirements as presented here. Architects work under constraints of time. It is easier and quicker to work from known types rather than to look at the situation being addressed afresh. Working from types and precedents is fine provided the ways they function in context are understood (Hamilton and Watkins 2009; see also Rapoport 1991). In an era of globalization of the economy and architecture many types are transferred from one climatic zone and a culture to others where they do not serve their intended purposes well. It could be argued that being in fashion is the most important function that major buildings serve today so that malfunctions on other dimensions of a building’s performance do not matter. It is possible, however, to be in fashion and to simultaneously resolve other problems well. The Role of Functional Theory in Architectural Practice During the twentieth century as the knowledge base required for successful practice expanded the architectural discipline spun off new fields of professional endeavor such as construction management, landscape architecture, and city planning and now, it seems, urban design. The profession itself has developed specialities within practice. Some architects focus on specific building types—schools, custom designed houses, factories, and so on; others focus on specific phases of the designing process—programming, designing, detailing, the production of working drawings, specification writing, or site supervision. Architects in small firms may do everything or farm out parts of the work to other practices that are better equipped to deal with them. How does functional theory fit in? Throughout the design process architects are predicting how patterns of built form, as modeled in drawings, will work in the “real” world for those who finance, use, and/ or observe their creations. A model of the functioning of buildings guides architects’ thinking. It is especially important to have a clear model of the functions of architecture in mind when deciding on what the various purposes a building being designed is to serve and their relative importance. Some architectural firms feel that it is outside their domain of competence (or interest) to deal with the programming task. The more complex a potential building the more likely it is to be that specialists carry out the work. Complexity arises from having to deal with poorly understood activity patterns and the conflicting demands of a multiplicity of stakeholders. Dealing with complexity requires an explicit model of the range of potential functions that can be served by buildings and/or their components. Without such a model, discussions about goals and means are likely to be superficial at best and totally confused at worst with those participating believing they understand each other but not doing so (see Orwell 1961).

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Those professionals engaged in creating building programs have become increasingly systematic about the way they ask questions about the activity and aesthetic functions a building is to serve. Almost always the implications of conflicting design ends only become apparent while actually designing. Various desired activities may not be compatible with design requirements needed for safety and security purposes. The financial functioning of proposed buildings always seems to conflict with other functional necessities. Should one be designing explicitly for the first set of occupants’ needs without recognizing that future users’ activities and tastes may be different? How tight should the fit be between present needs and built form? How robust should a design be, how adaptable? There is nothing new in these observations and questions. Palladio had to resolve the clash between striving for symmetry in building form and meeting design concerns such as avoiding the spontaneous combustion of stored hay. Much was shoehorned into the symmetrical shapes he created. The role of functional theory in practice becomes clear. Architects cannot know all the details of the requirements that different users have of buildings. Functional theory enables them to ask questions about those requirements and seek more detailed information as the necessity arises. The stronger the functional theory the more apt the questions and answers are likely to be. How architects use the answers depends on their attitudes towards their own work, towards the culture in which their work is embedded and towards technological progress. Their values show up in the functions that they emphasize in their designs. Some emphasize buildings as aesthetic objects that challenge people intellectually; others support a more discreet architecture. Much depends on the client’s values and resources. It does seem sensible that all buildings be designed to be robust unless they are temporary in nature and designed with demolition in mind.

Conclusion A number of architects and architectural educators dismiss the way theory is considered in this book as “pedantic nonsense”. Their argument is that it is impossible to disentangle an architect’s knowledge about the built environment and how it functions from the design actions that he or she takes and thus from his or her ideological position. This argument is surprising because the most common criticism of the work in the behavioral sciences is that its findings do not inform practice directly and immediately enough. They do not tell practitioners what to do. It is said to leave everything up to the architect to determine what to use and what not to use. The role of functional theory, its purpose, is to inform—to act as a knowledge base for design—not to dictate designs. Functional theory also provides environmental psychologists and others conducting research with a framework for asking questions about what lines of investigation are worthwhile pursuing. Functional theory will be enhanced by the experiments that architects make and by the research carried out by independent scholars. Its state at any time and how it might be employed in practice will be the subject of ongoing debates. The model presented here can stand until a better one is presented—one that describes and explains more and is more helpful to architects in their work and researchers in theirs.

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Index

Kresge College, University of California at Santa Cruz (1970s)

William Turnbull and Charles Moore architects.

346

functionalism revisited

Aalto, Alvar, 6 Abu Dhabi, UAE Breakwater Theater, 201 Abuja, Nigeria, 218 activities, accommodation of, 79-110 activity systems, 40, 79-84 and architectural theory, 106-9 and development functions, 104 human and competing, 85 segregation and integration of, 85-8 adolescents, 249-50 aesthetics, 255-90 and identity, 186-203 and sequential experiencing, 267-71 ethnic neighborhoods, 186 experiential, 255-90 factory chic, 231 formal, 258, 260-73 intellectual, 255, 275-86 order and complexity, 263-73 proportional systems, 263-7 sequential experience, 267-71 sensory, 258-260 symbolic, 194-6, 213-40, 273-4 ducks and decorated sheds, 280 expression or association, 263-7 theory, 255-8 affect, 41 affective judgments, 213 affordance, 12, 50, 53-4 Aga Khan award, 239-40 Ahmedabad, India, 306 AMA Building, 102 Hassain Doshi Gufa, 25 IIM, 226 pols, 175-6 Sarabhai House, 92 Torrent Research Centre, 158, 310 air movement, see winds and breezes Ajman, UAE Court House, 201 Albany, New York, USA Empire State Plaza, 218, 261 State University, 111 Alexander, Christopher, 8 Alexandria, Egypt Alexandrina Library, 284-5, 321 Alfeld and der Leine, Germany Fagus Shoe-last Factory, 5 Allport, Gordon, 275 Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Amsterdam East proposal, 133 Hubertus House, 93 Ando, Tadao, 27 anthropometrics and ergonomics, 99, 100, 107-8 Antwerp, Belgium Palace of Justice, 224 architecture Art Deco, 25, 186 Art Nouveau, 207 Corporate, 8, 11, 14 counterculture, 240 Deconstruction, 13, 18 discrete, 14, 278 Ecological, 20, 308-11 Empiricist, see Empiricism Expressionism, 4 Indo-Saracenic, 196 Modernist, 2-26, 199, 203 Neo-Modern, 13-14, 198-200, 203 Neo-Traditional, 13, 20, 21, 127 New Brutalist, 283 New Urbanism, 186, 188 Organic, see ecological Post-Modern, 13, 16, 18, 237 flamboyant, 18, 157, 161, 198 Prairie, 208 Rationalist, see Rationalism Revivalist, 20, 21, 198-201 structural dexterity, 14-15 sustainable, see Ecological vernacular, 170, 198, 170 Arcosanti, Arizona, USA, 167-8, 208 AREX architects, 201 Aristotle, Aristotelian, 3, 33 Arnheim, Rudolf, 260 Arnhem-Noord, Netherlands Monnikenhuizen, 22 art, public, 191-3 Ashton Raggat McDougall, 18 Athens Charter, 3 Atlanta, Georgia, USA Hyatt Regency, 168 attention, modes of, 43 Aymonino, Carlo, 123 Bad Reichenhall, Germany skating rink, 114 Bahçeşehir, Turkey, 187, 235 Balance Theory, 42-3, 274 Bali, Indonesia, 189, 200, 224 Baltimore. Maryland, USA

index

Charles Center, 134 Oriole Park, 99 Bangkok, Thailand Muang Thong Thani, 155 Barcelona, Spain German Pavilion, 203-4 Modernist plan, 125 Parc Güell, 97 Port Entrance, 24, 280-1 Sagrada Familia, 232 Barker, Roger, 99 see also behavior settings Barrackpur, Bengal, India Gandhi Memorial, 194-5 barrier free design, 103-4 Barton Meyers Associates, 88 Bauhaus, 4, 32, 36, 319 Basic Design course, 260-7, 280, 282, 284 Bawa, Geoffrey, 230 behavior, human processes of, 39-40 spatial, 44 behavior settings, 48-50, 79-109, 255 and privacy, 146 comfort and challenge, 105 master and servant, 106-7 places and links, 81 sociopetal and sociofugal, 97 Beijing, P.R. China, 292 Airport, 127 Artistic Mansion, 21 CBD, proposed, 187 Dongchangan Jie, 11 Bengaluru, Karnataka, India Minakshi Temple, 281 M.S. Ramaiah Institute, 201 Vidhana Soudha, 200-1 Benninger, Christopher, 191, 199 Beri, Shirish, 128, 311 Berkeley, California, USA adventure playground, 248 Sproule Plaza, 192 Berlin, Germany Berlin Wall, 134-5 Germania, 222-3 Jewish Museum, 16, 18, 19, 278-9, 283-4 Potsdamer Platz, 161, 163, 301 Sony Center, 163, 203 Unitè d’Habitation, 179 US Embassy, 134-6, 138 Berlyne, Daniel, 260

347

Bhatti, Gautam, 18 Bhedawar, Sohrabji K., 25 Bhopal, India Vidhan Bhavan, 191 Bhubaneswar, India, 226 Oberoi Hotel, 278 Bilbao, Spain, 160, 187 Abandoibarra, 161-2, 292-3 Guggenheim Museum, 40, 160, 162, 233, 280 Metro, 162 Sheraton Hotel, 161-2 Sondika Airport, 162 Birmingham, UK Convention Centre, 292 Blatteau, John, 20, 217 Bofill, Ricardo, 18, 237-8 Boston, MA, USA Quincy Market, 45 Botta, Mario, 4, 15, 227, 275 branding, urban, 191 Braque, George, 53 Brasília, Brazil, 25, 194, 198, 205-6, 237 Breuer, Marcel, 227 brief design, see programs Brown, Lancelot, 50 Brussels, Belgium Brussel-Centraal, 224 Bucharest, Rumania Avenue of the Victory of Socialism, 25, 218-9 Budapest, Hungary Europa Center, 21 Buffalo, New York, USA Larkin Building, 96 buildings as works of art, 284-6 catalytic effect of, 291-4 external effects of, 289-312 blank walls, 296-7 climate, 299-302 mirror glass façades, 296 overlooking, 296 overshadowing, 302-3 reflections from, 101, 302 traffic generation, 294-5 financing of, 170 generic forms, 170-1 signature, 226-7 skyscrapers, see skylines Buonarotti, Michelangelo, 239 Burle Marx, Roberto, 301

348

functionalism revisited

Calatrava Valls, Santiago, 14, 15, 27, 47, 124, 126, 226-7, 241, 277, 283 Calvanism, 5, 35, 275 Cambridge, MA, USA Harvard, 305-7 Carpenter Center, 304, 307 MIT, Stata Center, 261 Canberra, ACT, Australia National Museum, 18, 19 Parliament House, 227 Woden Town Centre, 45 Candala, Felix, 226, 283 canonical texts, 20, 151-4, 284 see also sacred geometries Caracas, Venezuela 23 de enero housing, 199 Univesidad Central, 205-6 Casablanca, Morocco Ėglise du Sacrè Couer, 17 Catalano, Eduard, 126 Cautley, Majorie Sewell, 184 Ceausecu, Nikolai, 218, 224 Cerda, Ildefonso, 308 Cerritos, California, USA Center for the Performing Arts, 88 Chand Saini, Nek, 210 Chandigarh, India, 203, 218, 226, 237, 307 Assembly Hall, 234 City Center, 117-8, 219 Rock Gardens, 208, 210 Secretariat, 226 Chartres Cathedral, 53 Cheng Jian Feng, 179, 181 Chennai, India Senate House, 195 Chicago, Illinois, USA Chinatown, 190 Columbian Exhibition, 218 Crown Hall, 6 DaleyPlaza, 192 Little Village, 190 Pritzker Pavilion, 207, 209 Trump International Hotel, 11 University of Illinois, 86-87 children, 12, 104-7, 185, 240, 243-53 Chisholm, Robert Fellows, 195 Chuncheon, Korea opal mine, 45 churches, 89 CIAM (Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture Modern), 3, 34, 123

Cincinnati, Ohio, USA Contemporary Arts Center, 102, 209 Cité Industrielle, Une, 237 climate and shelter, 117-9 and building form, 118, 299 cognition, cognitive and affect, 41 and architectural theory, 252 cognitive consistency, 42 cognitive mapping, 143-4 and competence, 145 learning, see learning co-housing, 93, 176 Trudesland, Denmark, 176 colors, 224 Columbus, Ohio, USA Wexner Center, 18, 19 comfort, designing for, 116-223 metabolic, 119-20 olfactory, 122 sonic, 122 communities gated, 135, 153 religion-based, 178 social and psychological, 173-8 types, 177-8 competence, 111 and self-esteem, 214-5 concept of, 56-7 Coop Himmeb(l)au, 18, 19, 319 Cooper and Ekstut, 21, 37, 305 Cordenoy, Jean-Louis, 33 Correa, Charles, 191, 233 Costa, Lúcio, 25, 237 Costs, capital, maintenance and operating, 155-7 costs and rewards, 57 CPT Group, 83 Cret, Paul Philippe, 97, 303 Critical Regionalism, 20 cul-de-sacs, 185 Cullen, Gordon, 8, 270-1 culture and cultural differences, 58, 89-98, 94 diversity and design, 194-8 organizational, 93-96 taste cultures, 213-6 see also house form and culture C.Y. Lee and Partners, 223

index

Daubert v Merrill Dow, 27 Davis, California, USA Village Homes, 22 defensible space, 138-42 Delacenserie, Luis, 224 Delhi, see New Delhi design methodology, 315-9 Detroit, Michigan, USA Renaissance Center, 168 districts, 143, 182-9 doors and windows, 85, 231-3 Doshi, B.V., 25 Dresden, Germany UFA Cinema Center, 18, 19 Duany, Plater-Zyberk, 21, 125, 198 Dubai, UAE, 6 , 14 Burj al ‘Arab Hotel, 1 Burj Khalifa, 212 Jumeirah Madinat, 1 Durand, Jean-Nicolas-Louis, 33 earthquakes, 113 efficiency, 34-5, 82, 87 Effrat, Marcia Pelly, 175 Eggers and Smith, 37 Ehrenkrantz, Eckstut and Kuhn, 17, 277 Eisenman, Peter, 18 El-Wakil, Abdel Wahed, 200 Emory Roth and Son, 8, 11, 274 Empiricism, Empiricists, 3-6, 8, 13 and architecture, 3-6, 8, 13, 25 environments biogenic, 299-302 built, 46 educative, 250 nature of, 44-60 potential and effective, 52 ERG/Environmental Research Group, xvi-ii, 90, 96, 180, 232 ergonomics, see anthropometrics Erskine and Tovatt, 184 Eveux, France Monastery de la Tourette, 282 Evora, Portugal Quinta da Malagueria, 17, 199 experiencing, experiential aesthetics, see aesthetics environmental, 39-60 and architectural theory, 59 and cultural factors, 58 Eyck, Aldo van, 36, 93

349

Fakhoury, Pierre, 223 Feng Shui, see sacredgeometries financial security, 155-62 Fisher, David, 14 Fitch James Marston, xviii, 36 FJMT, architects, 311 Fort Worth Texas, USA plan, 86-7, 134 Water Garden, 293 Foster, Norman, Foster and Partners, 8, 27, 96, 127, 209, 226, 230 Frampton, Kenneth, Fry, Maxwell, 34, 226 Fuller, Buckminster, 124 Manhatten proposal, 124, 126 Frankfurt am Main, Germany Commerzbank, 226 DZ Bank building, 164 skyline, 221 Franzen, Ulrich, 208 function, functionalism, 33-9 and architectural theory, 71 concepts of, 32, 33-48 of architecture aesthetic, 55, 676 affiliation and identity, 55, 65 basic and advanced, 63-8, 74-75 cognitive, 55, 66 comfort, 116-23 esteem, 55, 66, 213-40 financial security, 155-64 for architects, 69, 169 for sponsors, 70 identity and community, 173-204 of the new, 291-312 safety and security, 55, 65, 131-54 self actualization, 55, 67 shelter and survival, 55, 63-4, 111-298 status, 213-40 theory of, 39-61 Gadamer, Hans-George, 215 Gandhi, Nari, 206, 208 Gans, Herbert, 194, 215-6 garden cities, 8, 123 Garnier, Tony, 5, 6, 237 Gaudí y Cornet, Antoni, 97, 233, 239, 308 Gehry, Frank, Gehry Partners, 24, 27, 202, 208-9, 233, 239, 261, 275, 277, 280-1, 284 gender and design, 12, 91, generic buildings, 171

350

functionalism revisited

gentrification, 292-4 Gestalt theory, 260-7 Ghadāmis, Libya, 86-8, 101 Dar Ghadames Hotel, 311 Giedion, Sigfried, 46 Gibson, James J., 42, 50 Glendale, CA, USA, 160 globalization, 98, 127 Goldfinger, Ernö, 283 graffiti, 236, 251, 297-8 Grands Travaux, 218, 292 Graves, Michael, 16, 17, 191 Green, Graham, 48, 274 Greenberg, Allan, 20 Greenough, Horatio, 34, 38, 106 Gregoti, Vittorio, 115 Grimshaw Architects, 15 Gropius, Walter, 5, 6, 32, 35-6, 38, 232, 283 Grover, Satish, 278 Gruen, Victor, 87 Guadalajara, Mexico JVC Cultural Center, 18 Guangzhou, P.R. China Pearl River Tower, 310 habituation level theory, 58 and aesthetics, 273 Hadid, Zaha, 27, 209, 226, 239, 306 Hague, The Netherlands De Resident, 303 Hall, Edward T., 147-8, 153 Halprin, Lawrence, 246 , 270 Hanna/Olin, 219 Harrison, Wallace K., 293 and Abramowitz, 261 Hart, Frederick, 193 Hartford, Connecticut, USA Civic Arena, 115 Haussmann, Baron Georges Eugène, 218 HCP architects, 102 heat island effect, 23, 300-1 Heft, Harry, 50 Herzog and de Meuron, 88, 203, 209, 230, 233 Hilbersheimer, Ludwig, 6, 123 Hitler, Adolf, 224 HOK, architects, 99, 313 Hood, Raymond, 102 Horace Trumbauer and Zantzinger, 227 Houn, Libya Administrative Complex, 15 Houphouët-Boigny, Félix, 224

house form and culture, 89 India, 102 Howard, Ebenezer, 4 Hubback, Arthur Benison, 195 Hunstanton, School, 111-2 Hyderabad, India, 225 Indiranagar and Nirankainagar, 159 TRS Towers, 17 identity and architectural theory, 198-203 and community, 173-203 and culture, 194-200 and individualism, 205-11 destruction of, 196-8 illumination, 101 Ilsan new town Korea, 7 institutional design, 84, 179 interior design, 96-98, 228-31 open plan offices, 90 investors, 157-70 Ipswich, Suffolk, UK Willis-Faber-Dumas, 226 Islamic, North African cities, 296, 308 Isozaki, Arata, 18 Istanbul, Turkey British Consulate, 135 Galata, 221 Haghia Sophia, 47, 196, 274 see also Ümranye Itten, Johannes, 34, 260 Iveković, Ćiril Metod, 197 Jacobs, Jane, xvii, 4, 8, 179, 252, 296, 315 Jahn, Helmut, see Murphy/Jahn James, John, 53 James, William, 258 Jeanneret, Pierre, 7 Johnson, Philip, 199, 293 Johnson/Burgee, 209 Kahn, Louis I., 8, 46, 50, 106-7, 208, 226, 232, 306 Kandinsky, Wassily, 260 Kar, Surindranah, 118 Karr, Joe and Associates, 293 Katomba, NSW, Australia Paragon Café, 51 Kauffmann, Richard, 185 kibbutzim, 183-4, 194 Kim, Il-Sung, 218 King, Anthony, 39

index

Kisho Kurokawa and associates, 37 Klee, Paul, 260 Klein, Alexander, 35 Koenigsberger, Otto, 222, 226 Koffka, Kurt, 260 Köhler, Wolfgang, 260 Kohn, Pedersen and Fox, 8 Kolbe, George, 204 Kolkata, Bengal, India Mullick House, 217 Koolhaas, Rem, 27, 143, 227-8 Krier, Leon, 8, 188 Krier, Rob, 20, 303 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia Petronas, towers, 222-3 railway station, 195 Kubitschek Juscelino, 207 Lab Architectural Studio, 256 Las Vegas, Nevada, USA, 280 Dolphin Hotel, 6 Paris Hotel, 281 learning formal and informal, 244 and the Internet, 244, 252 Le Corbusier (Charles-Édouard Jeanneret-Gris), 4, 5, 10, 34-5, 90, 107-8, 123-4, 179-80, 203, 207-8, 219, 226, 231, 234, 237, 252, 259, 275, 282-3, 306, 315 Leder, Helmut, 260 Leger, Fernand, 206 Leidenfrost/Horowitz, 281 Lemaire, Raymond, 25 Leptus Magna, Libya Septimus Severus arch, 193 Le Ricolais, Robert, 53, 57 Liebeskind, Daniel, 16, 18, 27, 239 life cycle, 89 Lin, Maya Ying, 193 Lodoli, Carlo, 33 London Canary Wharf, 47, 109, 145, 230, 306 Centre Point, 11, 155 Crystal Palace, 126, 283 Elephant and Castle, 23, 158 Heathrow Airport, 90, 97 Highpoint, 125 Lloyds Building, 166 Millennium Village, 183-4 Paternoster Square, 47 Riverside, Richmond, 201

351

Roehampton Housing, 7 Ronan Towers, 115 SwissRe Building, 137, 166, 209, 226 Loos, Adolf, 33 Los Angeles, California, USA, 115 Disney Concert Hall, 101, 166, 289, 292, 302 Gehry House, 24, 274, 277 Hollywood and Hyland, 17, 275, 277 Rush City, 37 US Bank Tower, 137 Watts Towers, 208, 210 Westin Bonaventure Hotel, 11 Louisville, Kentucky, USA Humana Tower, 16 Louvain-le-Neuve, Belgium, 25, 270, 272 Lubbers Buro, 22 Lubetkin, Berthold, 125 Lynch, Kevin, 28, 143 Lyon, France Musée des Confluences, 18 McHarg, Ian, 113 machines and machine needs, 69 Madinapour, Ali, xviii Madrid, Spain Cervantes monument, 1, 92 Ciaxa Forum, 88, 203, 230, 233, 297-8 Estación de Atoche, 126 Fundación Metrópoli, 234 muro vegetal, 297 Museo del Arte, 15 Puerta de Europa, 209 Maillart, Robert, 124, 127, 283 maintenance, 234-6 Manhattanization, 220 Mann, Dennis, 215-6 Marin County, CA, USA Civic Center, 230, 308-9 MARS (Modern Architectural Research Society), 198 Marseilles, France Unitè d’Habitation, 179-82 Martin, Albert F., 8 Maslow, Abraham, xvi, 32, 55, 67, 111 meaning, 41 levels of, 42 Melbourne, Victoria, Australia Federation Square, 256, 275, 277 Southern Cross Station, 15 memorials and identity, 191, 193

352

functionalism revisited

Mexico, City, Mexico Universidad Autónima, 9 Meyer, Adolf, 5, 6 Meyer and Van Schooten, 22 Milan, Italy Gallaretese, Housing, 123 Teatro degli Arcimboldi, 115 Mill Run, Pennsylvania, USA Falling Water, 259 Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA Museum of Art, 227 Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA skyway system, 87, 133 Mitchell, Giurgola and Thorp, 158, 227 see also FJMT Mitterrand, François, 218 Models of the design process, 315-20 of functionalism, 33-8, 63-82 of people, 12 Modena, Itlay Cemetery of San Cataldo, 153-4, 261 Moleski, Walter, 141, 230 Moore, Charles, Moore and Turnbull, 36, 37, 292, 345 Moore Ruble Yudell, 138 Moneo, Rafael, 15 Moruya, NSW. Australia Magney House, 128 motivations, 43 and needs, 55 see also functions movement systems, 142-6 segregation, 142-6 Mukarovsky, Jean, 36 Mumbai, India Back Bay Reclamation, 186-7 D. Naroji Road, 81 Eros Cinema, 25 Methodist Center, 152 Sadruddin Daya House, 206 Mumford, Lewis, 16 Munich, Germany BMW Welt, 18 Munsterberg, Hugo, 258 Murcutt, Glenn, 128, 239, 310 Murphy/Jahn, 47, 16, 203 Mysore, India Cathedral, 257 Le Olive, 158

Nadawade, India Hirvai, 128, 311 Naipaul, V.S., 18 Nasar, Jack, 213-4 Navi Mumbai, India Artistes Village, 225 Income Tax Colony, 20, 21 needs, human, see motivations Neidhardt, Juraj, 195 neighborhoods and children, 247-8, 252-3 and ethnic identity, 186-90 Chinatowns, 189 design, 145, 82-98 unit concept, 182-5 Nervi, Pierre Luigi, 124, 126-7, 127, 283 Neutra, Richard, 37, 237 New Canaan, CN, USA glass house, the, 199 New Delhi, India, 218 Alliance Francaise, 194-5 Baha’i House of Worship, 15 British Council Building, 233 India International Centre, 6, 127 Saint Martin’s Church, 135 New Orleans, Louisiana, USA after Katrina, 115 Plaza d’Italia, 292 New York, NY, USA 22 Cortland Street, 299 565 Fifth Avenue, 11 Alfred E. Smith Houses, 37 American Folk Museum, 203 Battery Park City, 20, 21, 36-7, 145, 186, 305 Esplanade, 219 World Finance Center, 166, 186 Brooklyn Museum, 145 Central Park, 301 Chrysler Building, 284-5 Cityspire center, 295 Clason Point Gardens, 140-1 Guggenheim Museum, 270, 306-7 Hearst Tower, 96 Lincoln Center, 291-3 McGraw Hill Building, 284 Memorial Arch, Brooklyn, 193 Morgan Museum, 228-9 Museum of Modern Art, 231, 245 Paley Park, 81 Prada Store, 228, 231

index

Rockefeller Center, 87, 101-2, 291 Theater District, 302 Trump Tower, 77 TWA Flight Center, 9 Whitney Museum, 227 World Trade Center, 136, 274, 292 Newman, Oscar, 138, 140 Niemeyer, Oscar, 25, 206-8, 237 Norburg-Schulz, Christian, 38, 306 Norfolk, Virginia, USA Diggs, 140 Nouvel, Jean, 27, 227 noxious facilities, 295 Oak Park, Illinois, USA Beachy House, 206-7 Oak Park Center Mall, 292-3 Ross House, 217 Thomas House, 217 objects, nature of, 46 Oklahoma City, USA Murrah building, 136 Oldenberg, Claus, 54 Olmsted, Frederick Law, 195 Olumuyiwa, Oluwole, 16 organizations, organisational design, 84-5 formal and communal, 57, 82, 173-4 spatial and aspatial, 175-7 orientation, 142-3 Orlando, Florida, USA Swan Hotel, 16 Orwell, George, 27, 178, 263 Oteniemi, Finland Technical University, 6 Palladio, Andrea, 222, 261, 319 Palmanova, Italy, 135 Paris, France Arc de Triomphe, 218 Ave de la Grande Armée, 219 Bibliothéque Nationale, 208 Champs Elysees, 218 Cité des Sciences, 218 Eiffel Tower, 145 Galerie Internionale, 124 Grande Arche, 31, 215, 217-8 La Défense, 86, 109, 219 Les Echelles du Baroque, 18, 237-8 Maison Suisse, 5 Opéra, 218 Parc de la Villette, 18, 19, 124

353

participation and esteem, 236 Pasadena, California, USA City Hall, 45 Paumier, Stephanie, 195 pedestrian pockets, 253 Pei, Ieoh Ming, 226 Pelli, César, Pelli and Associates, 8, 47, 186, 223 perception theory, 40 Gestalt theory, 260-7 perceptual systems, 40-41 Perrault, Dominique, 208 Perry, Clarence, 182-3 person-environment relationship, 13 see also affordances Pessac, France, housing, 207 Petrescu, Anca, 25, 219 Phenomenology, 8, 60, 202 Philadelphia, PA., USA, Cambridge Housing, 188 City Hall, 220 Irish and Italian neighborhoods, 189-90 McNeill Center, 21 Metzker House, 230 Museum of Art, 227, 248 One Liberty Place, 292 Richard Allen Homes, 140-1 Richards Mem. Labs, 107 Rittenhouse Square, 97, 105-6, 303 Society Hill, 293-4 Van Venturi House, 277 Piano, Renzo, 229 Picasso, Pablo, 192 Pittsburgh, PA, USA PPG building, 54, 298 Plato, Platonic, 33 philosophy, 3 playgrounds, 104-7, 247-8 Poelaert, Joseph, 224 Poissy, France Villa Savoye, 90, 198, 206 pollution, noise, 295 Porphyrios, Demetri, 20 Portland, Oregon, USA Ira Keller Fountain, 246 Portlandia, 191-2 Public Services Building, 16 Skyway system, 133 Portman, John C. III, 11, 167-8, 171 Poundbury, Dorset, UK, 36, 187, 253, 308

354

functionalism revisited

practice, professional nature of, 23, 29-30 precinct design, 86, 93 see also neighborhoods and districts Predock, Antione, 121 Prisbrey, Tressa ‘Grandma’, 208-10 Pritzker Prize, 239 privacy, 65, 146 hierarchy, see territories invasion of, 150-1 mechanisms, 146 nature of, 146 procedural theory, see design methodology programs, programming, 79-109 property developers, 70, 157, 205 architects as, 167-8 globalized, 161 private sector, 161 public sector, 159, 161, 167 Proxemic Theory, 147 psychology ecological, 29 environmental, 29-30 public interest, 169 Pune, India Mahindra College, 191, 199, 275, 277 Pyongyang, North Korea, 218 Radburn, New Jersey, USA design, 86, 124-5, 182-4 Rahman, Habib, 195 Raleigh, North Carolina, USA Catalano House, 126 Rapoport, Amos, 36, 89 Rasmussen, Stein Eiler, 39 Rationalism, Rationalists, 3 architecture, 3-6, 123, 198 Neo-Rationalists, 123 Research Triangle, NC, USA National Humanities Center, 96, 178, 180 Rewal, Raj, 8, 20, 21 Rice, Peter, 124 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil Copacabana Beach front, 301 Rockdale, Illinois, USA pedestrian mall, 52 Rodia, Sabato (Simon), 208, 210 Rogers, Richard, 163, 226 Rohe, Mies van der, 6, 203-4, 231 Rome, Italy Palazzetto dello Sport, 126

St. Peter’s, 224 Sistine Chapel, 275 Ronchamp, France Notre Dame du Haut, 9, 232, 234, 259, 275, 282-3 room geography, 95, 97, 147, 149 Rossi, Aldo, 123 Runcorn, UK Town Centre, 245 Ruskin, John, 255 Saarinen, Eero, 5, 9 sacred geometries and design, 151-4, 189-91 Sahba, Fariborz, 15 Saini, see Chand St Louis, Missouri, USA Airport, 235 St Petersberg, Russia Gazprom, 310 St Quentin en Yvelines, France, Les Arcades du Lac, 237 San Antonio, Texas, USA Riverwalk, 259 San Diego, CA, USA Horton Plaza, 292 San Francisco, CA, USA Chinatown, 246 Convention Center, 313 de Yong Museum, 209 Museum of Modern Art, 15 Santa Cruz, California, USA Kresge College, 37, 345 Santa Monica, California, USA Gehry House, 24, 202 Santayana, George, 67, 258 Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina City Hall, 196-7 Parliament House, 195 Scamozzi, Vincenzo, 135, 261 Schwartz, Martha, 234 Scutt, Der, 77 SEARCH Architects, 17 Seaside, Florida, USA, 21, 125, 188, 308 Seattle, Washington, USA City Hall, 158 Experience Music Project, 24 Freeway Park, 142 Pioneer Square, 259 security financial, 74 physiological, 74, 131-42 psychological, 74, 142-54

index

Seifert, Robin (Richard), 8, 11, 239 Semper, Gottfried, 34 Seneteri, Pedro, 209 sense of place, 200-2, 306-8 Seoul, Korea Gyeongbok Palace, 196-7 Japanese General Administration Building, 196-7 Leeum Samsung Museum, 227 Sert, José Luis, 125, 198 Seville, Spain Alcázares Reales, 235 Plaza de Armas, 297 Shanghai, P.R. China, 220 Lujiazui, 164, 207, 215, 217, 220, 281, 305 World Financial Center, 222 Shantiniketan, Bengal, India Konaraka, 118 Shenzhen, P.R. China Lianhua Bai, 7 Xianhua Bei, 125 Shilpa Shatsras, see sacred geometries Shoosmith, Arthur, 135 Shreve, Lamb and Johnson, 223 sick building syndrome, 116 Sigirya, Sri Lanka Kandalama Hotel, 230 signification, 3, 14, 17 signs and symbols, 213-40 Silva, Minette de, 16 Simi Valley, California, USA Bottle Village, 208, 210 Singapore, 179 Bedok Court, 179, 181-2, 194 HDB offices, 88 neighborhood form and culture, 118-9 shophouses, 190 Sitte, Camillo, 8, 270 Siza, Alvaro Viera, 17, 199 skyscrapers, skylines, 220-3 skyway systems, 87, 142-3 Snøhetta Hamza, 321 social systems, 46 Soleri, Paolo, 167-8, 208 SOM (Skidmore, Owings and Merrill), 8, 11, 87 Sommer, Robert, 153 spaces nature of, 46, 50-1 spatial imageability, 143-5 Speer, Albert, 218, 223 Sprecklesen, Johan Otto von, 31, 217

Steele, Fred, 38 Steil, Lucien, 20 Stein, Clarence, 184, 198 Stein, Joseph Allen, 6, 128 Stephenson, Turner and Rice, 230 Stern, Robert, 8, 20, 21 Stockholm, Sweden Hammarby Sjörstad, 309 streets, 185, 220-2 stress, 44, 48, 57, 66, 84, 159 structures, structural systems, 71 and safety, 113-5, 131-2, 304 shell, 127 Subang Jaya, Malaysia Menara Mesiniaga, 128 Sullivan, Louis, 34 Suwon, Korea housing, 305 Sydney, NSW, Australia Darling Harbour, 133 Deutsche Bank, 226 Gateway Building, 101 Greenway Flats, 159 Newington, 22, 128 Olympic Games, 2000, site, 310, Village, see Newington Opera House, 5, 127, 159, 226, 284 Queen Victoria Building, 229-30 Red Centre, UNSW, 51-2, 158 Rouse Hill Town Centre, 83, 171 skyline, 221 Surry Hills Community Centre, 310 Tagore. Rabindranath, 117 Taipei, Taiwan, ROC Taipei, 101, 222 Tange, Kenso, 109 tastes, see culture Taut, Bruno, 124 Tempe, Arizona, USA Museum of Art, 121 Tendenzia Group, 123 Territorial hierarchy, 138-41, 147 Terry, Quinlan, 201 theory architectural and functional, 27-30 nature of, 21-6, 27-30 procedural and substantive, 28 see also design methodology Thiel, Philip, 270 Thompson, Benjamin, 45

355

356

functionalism revisited

Ticino, Switzerland Bianchi House, 275-6 Tokyo, Japan Imperial Palace Gardens, 285-6 Shibuya, 286 Tokyo Bay scheme, 109 Torroja y Miret, Eduardo, 127 Tournon, Paul, 17 Tripoli, Libya Catholic Cathedral (now Majeed Jama Abdul Nassar), 196-7 Tshumi, Bernard, 18 Tunuguchi, Yoshio, 245 Tyng, Anne, 273 Ümraniye, Turkey Meydan Retail complex, 301 universal design, see barrier free design Unwin, Raymond, 185 urban design, 170 and community, 182-6 and educative environments, 250 City Beautiful, 25, 218 Neo-Traditional, 21, 25 prestigious, 218-20 Utzon, Jørn, 5, 284 Valencia, Spain, 226 L’hermisfèric, 277 Museu de les Ciènces, 14-5, 126, 241, 283 Palau de les Artes, 47 Van Alen, William, 284 Van Doren Shaw, Norman, 215 Vancouver, BC, Canada, 161 False Creek, 164 Vaux, Charles, 195 Vaz, Julius, 226 Velde, Henry van der, 207 Venice, Italy, 142 Venturi, Robert, Venturi and Rauch, Venturi and Scott Brown, 17, 260, 277, 280-1, 319 Vesely, Dalibor, 63 Vicenza, Italy

Palazzo Thiene, 222 Vinci Leonardo de, 3 Villanueva, Carlos Raúl, 199, 206 Ville Radius, Le, 237 Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène, 33, 111 Vitruvius, 33, 38, 71, 113 Wagner, Otto, 33 Wallace, Roberts and Todd (WRT), 141, 188 War, terrorism and crime, 134-42 Washington, DC, USA, 218 Riggs Bank, 215 Vietnam War memorials, 191, 193 way finding, see cognitive mapping Weil un Rein, Germany Vitra Fire Station, 18 Wells, Malcolm, 310 Welwyn Garden City, UK, 124-5, 295 Wertheimer, Max, 260 White, E.B., 134 Willis, Carol, 155 windows, see doors and windows broken window hypothesis, 236 winds and breezes, 113, 122, 300-1 Stuttgart, Germany, policy, 302 Wittek, Alexander, 197 Woitrin, Michel, 25 Wotton, Sir Henry, 33, 38 Wright, Frank Lloyd, 6, 8, 25, 86, 96, 198, 206-7, 215-7, 230, 259, 309, 315 Wright, Henry, 184, 198 Yamaski, Minoru, 274 Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast Basilica of Notre Dame, 225-6 Yeang, Ken, 22, 128, 157, 310 Yirrkala Community, Australia Marika-Alderton House, 311 Zagar, Isiah, 208, 210 Zhengzhou, P.R. China Zhengdong new town, 37 Zion and Breen, 81