Corporeal poetry

"I call architecture frozen music"
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German poet, novelist, philosopher

This is not, however, what the German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel would call architecture. Instead, Hegel believed in a hierarchy of the fine arts where architecture and music were on near opposite ends of the spectrum. He considered architecture to be the lowest of the fine arts while poetry held the highest position in his order (music was second only to poetry).

But what was the basis for Hegel's classification? Potential.

Poetry, in Hegel's opinion, has the greatest chance of transcending the limits of material and representation to express the essence of art. Architecture, on the other hand, is dependent upon tools, tradesmen, materials, construction and clients before the nature of its expression can be recognized. The pure art of the mind seemingly eclipses the art of stone.

This assessment supposes that the conventions of architecture are inherently detrimental to its effectiveness in the expression of art. Without even considering the content or the representation of symbolism, it seems that Hegel stacked the odds of aesthetics against architecture. Goethe on the other hand, seems to suggest that there is less of a hierarchy that defines fine art. Architecture as frozen music makes music a fluid architecture and suggests that the differences between the arts is nothing more than the sturdiness of a building and the ephemera of a song. Thus the medium of expression is irrelevant while the quality of expression defines the art.

To my knowledge, Goethe never tried to challenge Hegel on his philosophy of aesthetics, but I suppose that I may. A hierarchy of the fine arts accepts certain presuppositions that I cannot agree with. It is trying to objectively describe and define a quality of human existence that is marked by its open subjectivity. To generalize the arts in relation to each other is impossible and selfish because it discards the opinions of all in favor of the opinion of an individual. The subjectivity of art is then removed and the objectivity of a science replaces it.

Perhaps Hegel did not observe the death of art; perhaps he killed it with reason.

So, in order to close my opinion on the topic, I will take Goethe's quote one step farther and proclaim that Architecture is corporeal poetry. This loops Hegel's hierarchy and suggests that the fine arts exist on the same plane and can only be qualified on content and context that every individual perceives separately.

Learning from Los Angeles 2019...

Or Learning from Las Vegas II
Or In Defense of Post-Modernism in the Dystopian Future



If one were to begin analyzing the architecture and the urban conditions in Ridley Scott's 1982 film Blade Runner, there would probably be a stunning similarity between the interpretations of Venturi, Scott Brown, and Izenour's Learning from Las Vegas: the Forgotten Symbolism of Architectural Form and the set/environment design of the landmark cyberpunk film.

Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown are probably best known for being supportive of the reintroduction of symbolism into constructed works of architecture. From where I come, that means post-modernism and architectural post-modernism is a very big, bad thing. The reason for this comes from when people started to become disaffected with the modern movement and felt that it did not relate or express their current standing in place or history. Someone, somewhere identified lost values and a lost symbolism so ultimately a movement formed to reclaim representations of nationalistic and societal strength and stability. In many cases, visions of modern architecture did not adequately represent the nostalgia that so many people craved so architects were forced to go back to ancient/historical architectural elements that evoked these subconscious symbolic relationships.

At this point, things started to go wrong for architectural post-modernism. Society could not give up the conveniences that modern architectural technology had developed. Instead of building modern, steel skyscrapers that looked like modern, steel skyscrapers, we ended up building modern, steel skyscrapers that had classical elements appliqued to the surfaces. Classical pediments framed the public entrances to skyscrapers and Renaissance-inspired colonades flanked office buildings.

A great visual of this phenomena comes from the 1949 film The Fountainhead. After having designed an office tower, the architect (Howard Roark) has clients marvelling at an inovative structure and the arrangement of the building's layout. They do, however, have a small issue with the design. In front of the architect, they proceed to describe that they might like the building to look more traditional and add elements to the model to illustrate their point. In essence, they take a fairly simple International Style tower and turn it into something that resembles the Grand Central/Met Life debacle.

In essence, these are the accepted characteristics of architectural post-modernism, and thus, the stigma of Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown. A stigma that is undeserved because it is based on the assumption of that Venturi and Scott Brown are compliant in this expression of symbolism in architecture. Through their writings, especially Learning from Las Vegas, they distance themselves from the architectural post-modernism but align themselves with a larger, more global definition of post-modernism.

And this is why the surface of buildings by Venturi Scott Brown and Associates is so interesting. They recognized the duality between modern construction and postmodern appliqué but did not discredit the layering; they rejected the inappropriate use of symbolism. From the point of this observation, VSBA have been working on a body of work that may be described as a dictionary of [post]modern architectural grammar. And although many of their ideas get lost behind the super-graphics, patterns, and colors, there exists a deep and rigorous experimentation of what can be, or is, architecture.

In the current world of sound-bite information, it may not be possible for many young architects or architecture students to see the work of VSBA for anything more than Guild House or the Vanna Venturi House, but there have been others that radically pushed the boundaries of architecture and design. One such project was the competition entry for the National College Football Hall of Fame. Before the current flashing displays of Times Square, before LED technology, and even before the creation of computers capable of film editing, sequencing and projection, Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown proposed a giant electronic billboard in lieu of facade for the Hall of Fame project.



Instead of a mini-replica stadium (which is what was actually built), the building would be a constant highlight reel. Promoting the actual players and game, not the nostalgic feeling of entering a post-WWII memorial football field. And although Denise Scott Brown's billboard was later realized by VSBA at New York's Whitehall Ferry Terminal, the electronic billboard became one of the most iconic scenes of science fiction as commercial blazed twenty-four hours a day in a Los Angeles of 2019.

Bright Lights, Lost City

Like a derelict beauty queen, Coney Island sits at the edge of Brooklyn, still wearing her sparkling tiara of lights and rides, waiting for someone to remember how pretty she once was. A remnant of a lost New York, one where family vacations existed just at the end of the subway line, Coney Island persists, with each summer threatening to be its last. Its roller coasters, hot dogs, and boardwalk carry on, joyously welcoming summer each year with blithe disregard for the dire forecast.

This year I joined the throng flocking to Coney Island to welcome the first day of summer, packed into blissfully air-conditioned subway cars, and rode to the end of the line. For many New Yorkers, myself included, life revolves around Manhattan and its nearest surrounding neighborhoods in the boroughs. A trip to Coney Island may as well be a trip to the end of the universe. It is definitely a trip to a different New York. One of quaint street names, of neighborhood feeling and of nostalgia. One that has been erased layer by layer in my New York. And perhaps that is the pull of Coney Island. It is the New York of the American experience, the one that exists in our collective memory but nowhere else. At Coney Island, you can grasp it, if only for a minute, for the cost of famous Nathan's hot dogs.

With a corn-dog and chili-dog in hand, I watched the annual Mermaid Parade. Born in the 1980's, the parade brings the crowds out in an attempt to honor the glory days gone by. Hundreds march by in everything from 1940's pin-up ensembles to anime creature costumes, and for a moment, if you squint your eye's just right, you can see it. The sequins and glitter and crowds coming in from Manhattan to trade the oppressive heat of the asphalt for the cool ocean breeze. But the moment passes as the "Don't Develop Coney Island" mermaids walk past, trying to preserve what has already slipped away.

Walking down Surf Ave., contemplating what may have been the penultimate hot dog experience of my life, I realize I love New York. I love the constant change and reinvention. That new layers of the city rest comfortably on the old, juxtaposing its history with its present. That it is never the same as when you last left it, and never the same as you imagine it.

Stone Barns, or the Child of a Revolution

A confession: I spite of my insistance that I am a city girl through and through, I like sunshine and fresh air. I like the opportunity to frolic on grassy hillsides and sink my fingers into cool damp earth. To feel connected to the cycle of life, to nourish plants that will nourish me. The chance to be a steward to the earth, as annoying as that sounds. This sense of connectivity is the essence of Blue Hill at Stone Barns.


Photographs courtesy of Meg @ "Luke & Meg"

Blue Hill itself is a restaurant founded on the concept of slow food, a movement to resume caring about food, whre it comes from and how it is made. It is also in Manhattan, the center of one of the largest metropolitan areas on Earth. Not to be daunted by this challenge, chef/restauranteur Dan Barber decided to open a second location, a short drive from Manhattan, in Westchester county, which would enable him to better embody his food ideology. The result was Stone Barns Center for Food and Agriculture, a farm covering a number of acres, that produces every bite of food served at the on-site restaurant and its adjacent cafe.



Not content with being just another pretty face with great food, the Stone Barns Center has a greater goal; to pass on its love of local sustainable food. And if eating their sublime food isn't enough, perhaps frolicking through their pastures and meeting the plants and animals will be. The farm is open to the public every day that the restaurant is open, and guests are encouraged to walk around and get to know it. On my recent trip out, we wanderedall over, meeting chefs and farmers alike, out in the field taking care of the plants and selecting what would be served for dinner. Volunteers were out and about collecting eggs and hosing off pigs. Classes about the local ingredients and how to use them at home were going on every where. It was enough to make this city girl's inner hippie jump for sustainable joy.

Blue Hills at Stone Barns
630 Bedford Rd.
Pocantico Hills, NY 10591

Grounds are open Wednesday through Sunday

A Letter to Juhani Pallasmaa

I have often said and always meant it when I have said that one of the most influential moments in my education was an afternoon spent with architect, professor and author Juhani Pallasmaa. And without a doubt, I owe him a great deal of respect and gratitude.

While pursuing my undergraduate degree, I had the opportunity to spend a year abroad and as part of the study abroad architecture program, we were exposed to occasional guest lecturers and design seminars. One late winter/early spring day, my fellow expatriates and I were treated to an impromptu discussion with Mr. Pallasmaa before his scheduled lecture at L'Ecole d'Architecture de Versailles. As with many events in life, especially those that occur before one establishes an educated/experienced perspective, I don't think I understood the opportunity that presented itself to our class that day.

First of all, I do not think that any of us had read anything written by Mr. Pallasmaa, nor had we been exposed to perception, phenomenology, or philosophy to a degree that would have aided in our comprehension of the subtler aspects of the architectural discourse. This was a man whose presentation of Bachelard went over our heads and questioned the ethical grounds of the architecture of Rem Koolhaas. I knew then that he was coming to us from a realm of architecture to which I had never been formally exposed.

Many of the ideas and themes that Mr. Pallasmaa presented took awhile to work themselves into my understanding of design, architecture, and urban planning. Phenomenology and the study of human perception and experience in architecture were concepts that were easy to comprehend on the surface but impossible to grasp in whole. At the time, I had not consciously observed the role of perception or studied its many facets, but eventually, after a self imposed introduction to Hegel, Heidegger, Bachelard and Merleau-Ponty, the study of the phenomenology of perception became the foundation of my understanding of Architecture; probably marking the moment that I identified one of the most profound differences between architecture and Architecture.

So, as a mark of gratitude, I have written a brief letter to Mr. Pallasmaa:


Dear Mr. Juhani Pallasmaa:

To begin, I feel that I must first begin with an apology. I am sorry for taking such diligent notes during your talk at Versailles in the spring of 2005. You had asked us not to so that we may be at ease to listen and discuss; but I took notes anyways and I am glad that I did. To this day, I go back to my old sketchbook and read the notes. "Stop planning your life" and "read passionately" are highlights of the the first passage, but the rest of the notes outline an ambitious reading list, an introduction to phenomenology, a concise but personal definition of architecture, and a lifetime's worth of advice. And for all of these things, I thank you. Without them, I do not know where I would be, but now that I have them, I'll take them everywhere.

Sincerely,
BL

Slow food >> Slow design

Without admitting that I have a problem, I will say that I was watching back episodes of Charlie Rose again. I can admit; however, that I find the occasional confluence of events to be very interesting. Today's coincidence comes to us by way of Charlie Rose's interview with Paola Antonelli, design curator of the Design and the Elastic Mind exhibition at MOMA, and Kathryn's recent trip to Blue Hill at Stone Barns. The former being what I was re-watching as Kathryn called to tell me about the latter.


Slow prototyping: Honeycomb vase by Tomas Gabzdil Libertiny

Now, the correlation between these two events may seem quite disparate from outside of the situation; the topics of international, contemporary/future design and local, organic farming & food seem to exist in realms that do not overlap. In many respects they do not overlap and relate to each other, but there are a few themes that seem to have deeper correlations.

One such correlation is time and emotion; how we measure and perceive them and what they effect and change. Despite their inherit divergences, Design for the Elastic Mind and Blue Hill at Stone Barns share similar concepts of time and emotion; especially as each accepts the concept of slowness. To be quite heavy handed, Blue Hill at Stone Barns is one of the world's greatest examples of slow food and perhaps the Elastic Mind exhibition was America's introduction to slow design.

During the interview with Charlie Rose, Ms. Antonelli describes the benefit of a slow design process. Recognizing the many qualities of the slow food movement and recent advancements/acknowledgements of slow tourism (or eco-tourism) and slow medicine, it is only logical that healthful, sustainable design is not something that may be developed by way of the design processes that we have accepted. While a large portion of the world is now living and working according to the accepted processes, a growing world trend recognizes and strives to accomplish the opposite; slowness.

Ms. Antonelli describes slowness as "taking it easy" or "remembrance" while only hinting at the true nature of the slowness movement which is the evocation of pleasant emotions. There may be many benefits outside of the emotional response, but it is the quality that remains intact throughout all strains of the slowness movement. These emotions may be called out by the simplicity/complexity of the products, their adherence to a natural order or even one's own memories. Whatever the source of these emotions, the goals of slow food and slow design intersect at your happiness. A happiness that cannot deny fresh, organic produce nor perception of a perfect design.

Welcoming Summer With Open Doors

Here in New York City, spring is a time when a young girl's fancy turns to thoughts of outdoor dining. As those first hot humid days of the summer to come lay like a pall over the city, cafes, coffee shops and restaurants throw open their doors to welcome in febrile city dwellers and summer. In fact, it often seems that as soon as the temperature spikes, NYC's official past time is eating outside. Awnings stretch out like cats in the sun, shade umbrellas mushroom on every available sidewalk from the UES to Brooklyn, tables and waiters overflow from open french doors to feed the masses, al fresco.

With the largess of options available, it seems as if joyous summer dining must exist on every block, but to my mind, not all out of doors eating is the same. According to my scientifically deduced hierarchy there are three categories of outdoor dining to be considered; the first is sidewalk dining, followed by the open front restaurant, and ending with the private patio.

1. Sidewalk dining
The most blatant option, with tables and chairs pressed in the space between pedestrians and the wall of the restaurant. When choosing this sort of out door eating one must carefully consider the location. Too much foot traffic and you feel as if at any moment someones giant purse is going to take out your drink, too much car traffic and you might end up preferring to be inside. Sidewalk dining was made for people watching, so it is best undertaken in neighborhoods where people are fun to watch and at times when you won't mind the near constant distraction of all the passers-by. It is also ideal for entertaining out-of-town guests who really want to feel like they're in New York. Small groups are best accommodated on the narrow sidewalks,so if you've got a crowd, you may want to have a plan B.

Great spots for sidewalk dining:
Bar Pitti; Delicious, easy Italian with divine people watching in Greenwich Village. 268 Ave. of the Americas.
Morandi; An excellent spot with spacious sidewalks made for an afternoon of sipping rose in the sun. 211 Waverly Pl.
Moutarde; Unfussy but delightful French food in a bustling neighborhood setting. 5th Ave. at Garfield, Park Slope, Brooklyn.

2. Open-Front Restaurants
This is a hybrid sort of dining, where fresh air is all around, but there is still the protective restaurant setting with no pedestrian bumping your table, guaranteed shade and, odds on, A/C. This is particularly great if you know you can get a spot right at the open french doors, thus most closely approximating "outside." Unlike sidewalk dining, you can usually get a seat without waiting for a coveted "outdoor" spot and with any size group. Open front restaurants were made for hedging your dining bets, for days when it looks as if it may rain or it is so ungodly hot that you need to be sure to be out of direct sunlight.

Great spots for open-front restaurant dining:
Central Park Boat House; Yes, there are a lot of tourists, but the amazing view and location, plus an updated menu are worth it. Park Drive North at 17th.
Belleville; This charming French bistro opens two of it's walls completely, giving you the best of both worlds. 5th Ave. at 4th, Park Slope, Brooklyn.
River Cafe; Seafood with a view to die for. 1 Water St. Brooklyn.

3. Private Patio
This option is, in my opinion, the ne plus ultra of outdoor dining. The private patio affords you all the space you need, all the joys of escaping from the city streets, all while being completely outside.The continually surprising back patios that dot the city are quiet, transporting, and secluded from the perpetual city. An hour's vacation, right in the city. Which for a lot of us, is the only vacation we're going to get.

Great patio dining spots:
Le Jardin Bistro; Good wine list, good food, stellar surroundings. 25 Cleveland Pl.
Gowanus Yacht Club; Big picnic tables and cheesy decor take you straight to summer camp, in a good way. 323 Smith St.
Gavroche; A little piece of romantic France on a dodgy bit of 14th St. 212 W. 14th St.
Aurora; Rustic Italian with a garden most often described as "magical." 70 Grand St. Brooklyn. 

Andy Warhol = Rem Koolhaas

Where I started going in my last post, but never reached, was my idea for a new architectural publication. Based upon Andy Warhol's Interview magazine, there should be an "Interview for Architects." So instead of interviews of celebrities and the glorification of their lives, we would interview architects and illuminate their offices and work.

The first half of magazine would be having architects interview other architects. One month Bernard Tschumi could interview Jun Aoki and then, the following month, Mr. Aoki could interview David Adjaye. And this cycle could continue, switching in and out of different architectural circles, geographical locations and allowing the evolving discussion to fluctuate depending upon the interests of interviewer and subject.

The second half of the magazine would be the general graphic design and layout. With the interviewer acting as a guest designer, each interview would be accompanied by a curated layout. So we would get Jun Aoki through the eyes of Bernard Tschumi; with the interviewer having a reasonable control over what we see and hear from the subject.

I hope that this format would lead to deeper analysis/criticism than is expected out of most architectural periodicals. With architects looking to outdo one another or pin their competitors, the possibilities for actual architectural discussion without the drivel about practice/sustainability/or other Arch. Record favorites could be avoided. Freeing architects to talk about architecture without being burdened by building.

But if this magazine were truly based upon Andy Warhol's model, there will need to be five pages of ads for every page of content. In that regard, maybe the project is better undertaken by Rem Koolhaas rather than myself.

Stop, Collaborate, and Listen

Learning from Vanilla Ice and Charlie Rose

Although I have not watched the full episode of Charlie Rose from last week, where a panel of Pritzker Prize-winning architects discussed architecture, I did watch enough of it for it to be floating in and out of my thoughts for the past week. A particular exchange between Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid stuck me as particularly awkward, and the more I thought about, the more I thought that it should have been one of the great moments of post-modern architecture.



During a segment on competition and routinely competing against each other, Jean Nouvel pointed out that Frank Gehry and Zaha Hadid do not want to work together. Mr. Gehry claims that they had tried once and Ms. Hadid's response was nothing more than an articulated roll of the eyes. Without ever having been in their offices, I have heard about certain megalomaniacal traits that each of these popular and powerful architects possess, so it is easy to understand why a working relationship between these two giants is not possible.

While I understand this reality, I don't want to accept it. In my opinion, there is not enough collaboration in contemporary architecture at the world scale. Sure, it exists in offices and between design architects, clients, artists, and consultants, but I don't think we will ever see a serious project designed or built by Gehry/Hadid Architects. Well, maybe in Dubai.

At first, it seems like novelty to bring two notably renowned architects into a collaboration and I don't mean to suggest that every major project be undertaken by an architectural dream team, but I think some very interesting projects could be developed through a collaboration like this. Just think back to the Rogers/Piano team and the creation of the Centre Pomipdou. Granted this pairing occurred two decades before the Pritzker Prizes came calling, but the collaboration resulted in what may be the greatest postwar urban improvement of Paris.

So perhaps it is time to start playing musical chairs with our architects. Monica Ponce de Leon & Nader Terani can trade-off with Lise Anne Couture & Hani Rashid for awhile or Herzog can go hang out with Steven Holl while de Meuron hosts an exchange with Kengo Kuma and Associates. I would like to think that the overlapping visions and philosophies would lend a more complex interpretation of what contemporary architecture is or what it could be if the thought and practice was invested.*

*Note: I hope that this line of thought would lead to something more than an architectural "exquisite corpse," like that damned Hotel Puerta America.

And before I end, we return to Charlie Rose because I always find myself noting Mr. Rose's axiom, "I believe there is a place in the spectrum of television for really good conversation, if it is informed, spirited, soulful." And this is probably why his talk show remains a classic, both for its consistency and for its diverse range of topics and guests. It is also why I generally get very excited when architects and artists are scheduled to appear on his show. And most of this post relates to the fact that I think there is a need in architecture for really good conversation. Thank you Charlie for fulfilling this need occasionally between world political, economic and cultural leaders.

Barack Obama's Presidential Library

Architecture

As an introduction to my participation in this blog, I must first say that I have not had the existential struggle of discovering what profession/purpose that I am to fill in life. I did not need to find it because architecture found me. I feel very fortunate that had happened at an early age and it has thus allowed me to contemplate what my role in the world of architecture may be in the future.

Although I do not know how I will fulfill that role in the ever-changing environment of architectural design, or even what architecture may entail at the end of the next decade, I will begin by starting to present a series of ideas. Some will reflect on the strengths of architecture and the design of our environment; while others will begin to critique and evaluate post-modern architectural culture (yes, post-modernism is more than Philip Johnson and Aldo Rossi). Eventually, I hope that these observations and essays will help lead me to the formation of my definition or conception of architecture.

Food and Architecture

Despite the semblance of little or no relation between Kathryn's and my topics of interest, we have found that there are a number of correlations between the two that do not exist between other staples of human civilization.

First and foremost, food and architecture are necessary.

Civilizations may be able to sustain themselves by feeding on mediocre cuisine and living in shelters; however, great food and spectacular architectures are the hallmarks of history's greatest civilizations. Perhaps food and architecture are the standards by which cultures are measured, even before the other arts and sciences .

I want to design Barack Obama's Presidential Library

In closing, I will begin. Begin by thinking about what may be one of the future great cultural institutions of this country, the Presidential Library of Barack Obama. If "hope" and "change" win this November and the following eight years become a glorious rejuvenation of the United States, how can that process and presidency be commemorated architecturally? Maybe it shouldn't and instead the library will instead speak to the future that follows Obama.

Either way, a spirit must inhabit the design. And perhaps that is what architecture needs now and what I have been looking for in architecture today.

Hello, World

A dramatic difference. A vacuous line from a TV ad campaign. And while I recognize that they use the phrase like a platitude, a "deep thought" to sell TV shows, it nonetheless resonates with me. I want to make a dramatic difference. I want to actively make the world a better place. It sounds just as hollow when I say it, because no one knows exactly how to do it.

How, then, do you change the world? Join the Peace Corps? Give money? Work in Washington trying to legislate a better world in the face of indifference and corruption? The only way that makes sense to me is by sharing it with people. By seeing the world, its hardship, its wonder, the good, the bad, and making sure everyone knows. Don't stand for indifference. Don't enable people to pretend that they aren't part of it all.

For a time, I tried living that way, ignoring the world, not engaging. I was suffering not indifference but overwhelment. I struggled to cope with the scope of of horror in the world and my impotence in the face of insurmountable problems. So I retreated. I stopped reading the news, stopped worrying about the big picture, stopped trying to find a way to act. But I can't do that anymore either. I reject isolationism, hoping that because it isn't happening to me, it's not my problem. I want to do more.

Still, the nagging question, cycling through my thoughts, day and night: How? My solution is both straight forward and complicated. I need to find a career that facilitates or enables my philanthropic need. A great idea, but difficult to achieve. The career I've chosen is to be a writer. Specifically, a travel food journalist, which would allow me to pursue my personal interests, while allowing a forum to share with the world. It would enable me to see the world, including places that need aid and give me a chance to provide it.

So, that is my mission. This is my forum. A place to practice, to learn, to share, in hopes that it will prepare me for my grand plan, which is undoubtedly a long road stretching out before me. Wish me luck.