Sometimes You Just Get Lucky

Sometimes you have to plan an architectural pilgrimage well in advance. Like purchasing tickets for a tour of Philip Johnson's Glass House nine-and-a-half months ahead of time. But sometimes it is the unexpected architectural encounters that end up being the most interesting. Sometimes you just get lucky.

Say for instance you are visiting Switzerland on a whim on a free day after some business meetings in Italy, you have enjoyed a couple of hours of James Bond-like driving on narrow, guardrail-less, switchback Alpine roads, and you come around a bend toward Simplon Pass on the way back to your hotel in Italy, and, wham, there it is...

I happened upon the Ganter River Bridge between Brig, Switzerland, and Simplon Pass, which leads back down to Italy. The stunning concrete structure was designed by the Swiss engineer Christian Menn and completed in 1980. At 2,224 feet total length and a main span of 571 feet, it is the longest bridge in Switzerland. A sort of hybrid concrete girder and cable-stayed bridge, Wikipedia says it could be an example of a type of bridge known as an "extradosed bridge."

I do not recall where, but I have actually seen photographs of this bridge in the past. But I definitely never expected to see it on this particular drive! What is not evident in any of the photographs I had seen before but is clearly evident when you drive across the bridge is that it does not span straight across the valley. Instead, the approaches from either side form a kind of S-curve with the main span in the center, making for a more dynamic and delightful drive through the mountains. Unfortunately, the light was fading and it was getting late in the day with a long drive back to my hotel or I would have tried to spend some more time exploring the bridge and its environs. I really wanted to walk across it, but there were no sidewalks or shoulders on it, even though there were places to pull-off at the end of each approach.

There is something amazing to me about the integration of the natural and the man-made, especially in "extreme" environments such as the Swiss Alps. I suppose that there is something romantic about idea of unspoiled nature, but I almost wonder if to see nature is to, by definition, defile it. On the other hand, I have always enjoyed those natural places where man has touched down and shown his hand lightly, respectfully, gently.

This bridge is an example of that gentle hand amidst stunning natural settings or phenomena, but there are many examples in the world, and a few spectacular ones that I have had the privilege of visiting myself: Machu Picchu, impossibly perched atop the Andes in Peru, with its exquisite stone buildings echoing the profiles of the mountains themselves; or the Pantheon in Rome, which turns a beam of light into a real, physical entity as it streams through the mighty oculus to illuminate architectural details almost two millennia old.

I am sure this is the designer speaking in me, but I do believe that architecture and design have an opportunity to frame the natural world in an important way. By doing so, the respectful man-made work acts as a foil by which to reflect on the natural in a new light. After all, saying what something is is only one way of defining it. Another way is to show something in opposition so as to definite it by what it is not, in order to call the defined out as something different, special, set apart.

My First Niemeyer

I never imagined that my first opportunity to see an Oscar Niemeyer building would not be in his native Brazil, but instead about 5000 miles away in Europe. But as many times as I have tried to get there, I have not yet had the opportunity to visit Brazil. However, I was recently on a business trip to Italy and had the chance to visit a Niemeyer project outside Milan.

After two days of meetings near Forte dei Marmi, Italy, a colleague and I drove about two hours north to Milan on our free day. After visiting the Duomo, the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, and the Pirelli Tower downtown, I asked my friend if he would mind taking a small detour to see Niemeyer's Mondadori publishing house headquarters east of the city. After all, I said, "I am a total architecture dork"--and Niemeyer is one of my favorites.

Unfortunately, the building is situated in a sort of suburban highway neverland where it was impossible for us to stop and get out to photograph the building. But we drove around the building twice and tried to look as close as possible. The building, which dates from the early 1970s, seemed to be in pretty good shape from what I could see. The building is notable in part due to its massive concrete arcade which conceals a glass-enclosed office block behind. Adjacent to the office block are the auditorium and support spaces. The entire composition sits on large lake, surrounded by parking and landscape.

Although I was disappointed not to be able to stop and contemplate the building in depth, I was immediately struck by the beauty of the concrete work, even while driving past. The concrete arcades were really impressive, seeming quite light and airy, and the black-glass of the office block did not distract from the composition as I had expected. The massive arcades provided the real poetry to the project, much like Niemeyer's earlier work in Brasilia, such as the Alvorada Palace, Planalto Palace, and Supreme Court buildings. All of these project express a sort of structural heroism and playfulness, but in the vocabulary of Modern architecture, which I love.

One Year Later

One year ago today, inspired by a trip to Italy and a visit to the Pantheon, I wrote my first post on Through the Oculus. If you have been following my architectural musings all along, thank you for your diligence and your readership. If you are visiting for the first time, I hope you will continue to follow along. Either way, please do not be shy to leave me your thoughts or comments.

Trash Day

Catharsis

Kim and I have been "nesting" at home over the past few weeks as we prepare to adopt four children from Brazil. (Read about that adventure here.)  We have been painting, rearranging furniture, getting rid of things we do not need, and acquiring things we do need (apparently you need a lot of beds when you have four children).  We made a "Blitz List" last month of all the things we wanted to accomplish in May to prepare our house to be a proper home for our kids.

Last week, we started cleaning, organizing, and purging the basement, and last night as we continued to work, we came to the corner of the basement with two huge boxes of architectural models from school:  seven years of models, from both Georgia Tech and Yale.  Every time we have moved since coming to New Haven, I have thrown away a couple of architectural models--but we have lived in our house for four-and-a-half years now, and so they have been relatively safe for a time.

If there is anything that the prospect of adopting four kids does, it puts into perspective the things in life that really matter:  my faith and my family.  Kim and I have a hard time with "stuff" in general, and we do actually purge our house from time to time of extraneous items--it is a spiritual exercise as well as a practical one.  But our house has also conveniently afforded us the luxury of storage space over the past few years, though I expect this commodity will be in severe shortage by the end of the summer.

Even so, through moves and "purging," there was always something about my architectural models that kept them hanging around.  Perhaps it was all the care, work, hours, and debt that went into their creation.

One of the definitions that Merriam-Webster gives for "catharsis" is "a purification or purgation that brings about spiritual renewal or release from tension."  It was a challenge to throw the models away, but I have a feeling it will end up being cathartic.  (To be honest with you, I saved a couple of models:  my first model from Georgia Tech and my last model from Yale.  Call them "bookends" to my academic career if you will.)  They are just things, stuff, objects--and as Kim's Mom frequently reminds us, "people are more important than things."

I suppose it will come as no great surprise, but the kids have been causing me to be distracted lately.  I have been daydreaming a lot and I frequently picture playing with my kids, watching them grow, teaching them, learning from them, piling together in one bed on Saturday mornings with them--and loving them above all else.  In each and every one of these daydreams, however, my architectural models are nowhere to be found...

Ahh Yes, the Letter I've Been Waiting For

What's That Thing Up on Stilts? A Tea House!?

"Terunobu Fujimori has thrown a punch of a kind no one has ever seen before at 'modernism.'" (Kengo Kuma)

He spent most of his life as an architectural historian.  He did not design his first building until the age of 45. He uses traditional charred wood siding and plants pine trees and other odd vegetation on the roofs of his buildings.  His friends help him do things that no contractor would touch.  He has built a tea house situated precariously atop two rough-hewn stilt made of tree trunks and a study room, accessible only by ladder, cantilevered daringly off the peak of a small, rustic house.  He loves nature and traditional construction techniques and he constantly tries to straddle the line between the natural and the man-made.  He is funny and self-deprecating.  He has a pronounced respect for Le Corbusier's ideas.  He speaks English only through an interpreter.

Who is this guy!?

Last night, Kim and I went to a lecture at the Yale School of Architecture.  Though we had dinner plans at Ibiza to celebrate our 7th anniversary (a bit early) and the news that our petition to adopt four siblings from Brazil is most likely going to be approved (check out Perfect Provision for this story), we were able to catch most of Dr. Terunobu Fujimori's lecture.  

Though not well-known in the United States, Dr. Fujimori is apparently quite popular and well-known in Japan.  As an effort to remedy this disparity, perhaps, Dwell magazine actually just published a nice article about Dr. Fujimori in their May 2009 issue.

An eclectic mix of forms and materials, Dr. Fujimori's architecture is quite interesting to me on a number of levels:

1. It tries to strike a balance between the Modern and the traditional.
2. It is well-crafted, with a focused use of interesting, yet innovative, materials and forms.
3. It attempts to respond to the genius loci, or "spirit of the place" by using traditional materials or techniques in new and innovative ways.
4. It does not seem to take itself too seriously.  It is not overly self-conscious.  It is playful.

Like Dr. Fujimori's architecture, his lecture, too, was interesting and lively.  Dr. Fujimori himself was quite funny--even through his interpreter!  Regarding one of his buildings, a museum, he related that, "when I thought about how one would want to view the paintings, I felt that to be naked would be the best way.  But if everyone was naked, people would not necessarily be looking at the paintings, so people just take off their shoes."  (General laughter.)

At the same time that one might characterize Dr. Fujimori's architecture as playful, it is clear that he is trying to push the boundaries of architecture while remaining relevant within an overall architectural discourse.  I though it was interesting that his work seemed to straddle the line between architecture and nature, architecture and play, architecture and...and...I don't even know!  While showing one project in which he had planted both the walls and the roof with vegetation, he said, “you have to be very careful of that delicate line. If you go beyond that line, regular people like your buildings but architects just make fun of you.”  (More laughter.)  I just love his distinction between "regular people" and "architects" in that one!

But I feel his sentiment.  It is true that architects can be the harshest critics--quick to dismiss something that they do not understand.  And architects are sometimes especially quick to criticize something that "non-architects" might quickly embrace for one reason or another--as if "we" know better and "they" do not.

After seeing his lecture, it is clear that Dr. Fujimori is a different kind of architect.  Humble, funny, interesting, un-famous...

Who wants to be a starchitect anyway!?

Score!

I passed “Construction Documents & Services”!

I received the score report in the mail today with a nice “PASS” on the top. This leaves only one unknown score for my seventh exam, “Programming, Planning & Practice,” which I took back on March 23rd. NCARB seem to be getting quicker with their score processing, so I hope to see this report within the next couple of weeks.

Now that I have pushed through and completed all of my exams (pending that last “PASS” of course), I am trying desperately to finish my last IDP hours in a timely manner. One of the benefits of requesting licensing in Massachusetts is that they allowed me to take my AREs while still completing my IDP—but now I am in this funny situation where I have finished my exams but not my IDP!

At my performance review last summer I challenged myself to complete all of the licensing requirements by this year’s performance review mid-summer. I called it “the year of professional development.” This was a tough goal to begin with and it has taken some work and perseverance to complete so quickly (I became a LEED AP last fall and started my AREs in October), but I think the goal is still tenable.

It would also be nice to have completed all this stuff before travelling to Brazil, which could be as early as this summer. Ah, but that is another story! For that, please visit Kim’s and my adoption blog, Perfect Provision.

Seven Down, Zero to Go

Today I took my seventh (and last!) ARE: Programming, Planning & Practice.  I felt pretty comfortable with the material covered so I hope I did well on the exam.  As always, though, I just have to wait for the score.

And speaking of scores, when I got home from the testing center, I was happy to see a letter from NCARB informing me I had passed my fifth exam (Building Systems), which I took back in mid-February!  This leaves only my score for the final two exams up in the air.

Pending a passing score for these last two exams, I expect to be able to finish all of my IDP requirements in the next month or two, at which point I will be able to apply for my license!  It definitely feels good to be in the home stretch for this particular step in my professional development.  After all, I have only been studying and practicing architecture for the past 11 years of my life!

Light in Islamic Architecture

Light is an important element in all architecture. Le Corbusier said, “Architecture is the learned game, correct and magnificent, of forms assembled in the light.” Louis Kahn said, “I sense Light as the giver of all presences, and material as spent light. What Light makes casts a shadow and the shadow belongs to Light.” Without light, we cannot see form, color, or texture. Light—natural light—is what gives character to architecture.

In Islam, light symbolizes God. The Qur’an states, “God is the light of the heavens and the earth.” Light in Islamic architecture, then, is used to symbolically represent God’s presence in a space while emphasizing the color and texture of decorative elements, materials, and architectural articulation.

One particularly intriguing mediator of light and space in Islamic architecture is the screen. The screen in traditional Islamic architecture is used to filter harsh sunlight, and it was developed out of necessity in the hot, harsh-sun climates of the Middle East and Asia. Thought sometimes they are made of wood, many times these intricately patterned screens are carved out of stone. Some of the most beautiful examples of the type of Islamic stone screen can be found at Fetehpur Sikri in Agra, India.

In architecture, screens tend to blur the distinction between interior and exterior space. In Islamic architecture, they are used to mediate the direct sunlight by casting intricate shadow patterns in the interior space. These patterns, which I will talk about in my next post, are very important in the art and architecture of Islam.

The use of screens in Islamic architecture is not confined to the past. Architects have continued to reinterpret the concept of “screen” in new and innovative ways through the 20th century and even today. For example, Jean Nouvel’s Arab World Institute (1987) in Paris uses an operable screen of camera-type apertures to control sunlight. Other interesting recent examples of Islamic screens can be seen on the National Mosque (1965) in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and the Museum of Islamic Art (2008) in Doha, Qatar.