If she sold them at an affordable rate (hello, 20×200?), I would totally buy. They’re so beautiful and interesting and compelling (I wonder if any of my photos are those myriad layers?). They look like paintings and photos at the same time. I don’t know what else to say, except: love.

I’ll leave you to the Kelly Minner’s write-up for a discription of the campus. It’s a pretty great set of buildings, inside and out. Have a look at this curved, tubular glazing. Cool, huh?

]]> http://catasterist.com/2010/11/this-just-in-from-awhile-back/feed/ 0 http://catasterist.com/2009/12/ten/ http://catasterist.com/2009/12/ten/#comments Sat, 26 Dec 2009 03:03:28 +0000 Kirsten http://catasterist.com/?p=681 This year I’m kinda mentally skipping straight to 2010. I hope everyone is having a lovely Christmas today, but I’m not really in the mood for traditions and trimmings right now—I need some future in my life.

So in that spirit, here’s a list. Not a list of the best (or worst) of the past as is fashionable at times like this, but ten things I’d like to visit in the next ten years. Architecture (and landscape architecture, urban design, etc.) is tricky because in general it won’t come to you—you have to go to it. (One notable exception—which I worked on a bit—was Shigeru Ban’s Nomadic Museum. I remember in particular drawing those damn Jersey barriers.) Lazy, broke, and busy, us architecturalists sometimes rely too much on the glossy spreads in books and magazines to satisfy the architecture jones. But a thousand pictures (and even a thousand words) won’t convey the actual experience of being there.

When I was in Barcelona I made a pilgrimage to see the reconstruction (we can talk about issues of authenticity some other time) of Mies’ Barcelona Pavilion (which of course has a different name there—the German Pavilion), which I’d seen a million times in photos, in drawings, in diagrams. When I finally made my way to it via subway, funicular (have I mentioned that’s just about my favorite way to travel?), and a long hike through the brush, I just broke out laughing. It’s so disconcerting and, well, amusing to see something that real, something you can touch, something people are crawling all over, something with a context, when you’d just seen it as a kind of imaginary vision, always cropped, always well lit, always the same angle. It’s kind of like when you get the two different pictures in the View-Master to line up correctly and suddenly there’s depth there. Weird!

And so, ten things I’d like to see, hear, touch, smell—maybe not taste—in no particular order:

1. Lafayette Park
Detroit, Michigan (Mies van der Rohe)
I’ve always loved Mies, though I think I’ve only seen 2 buildings of his in person. This is an entire neighborhood of housing, including townhouses and high-rises. Mies can be a bit much sometimes—too severe, too dogmatic—but his geometries are entrancing.

2. Samuel Mockbee/Rural Studio projects
Hale County, Alabama
I’d like to see as many projects of theirs as I can. The chapel, the baseball field, the student dorms—any and everything. (I know many of the projects are private homes, so even if I could just see the public buildings that would be fantastic.) I wouldn’t be an architect today if it weren’t for the inspiration of Rural Studio.

3. Eames House
Pacific Palisades, California
I have had a crush on the Eameses for a long time. What a cool couple. And their house—designed for the Case Study project—is fascinating. Pre-fab, colorful, and so Californian.

4. Falling Water
Mill Run, Pennsylvania
Frank Lloyd Wright was quite a character. I’m pretty sure I would have hated him if I’d met him in person, but I admire his flowing, organic style. No question—I have to see this house.

5. The Glass House
Paris, France
No, not that Glass House—I saw that one! And not that other one either (Mies already got a slot above). No, this one’s in Paris, and is more properly known as the Maison de Verre (designed by Pierre Chareau with Bernard Bijvoet). I fell in love with this house when I came across a tiny French book (no English in it as I recall) about it in school. So beautiful.

6. Thermal Baths
Vals, Switzerland
Peter Zumthor’s works look magical on paper, but I’ve never seen any of them in person. I studied the thermal baths quite a lot in school (especially after my trip to Istanbul when I became fascinated by the design of public baths). The careful manipulation of texture and light seems amazing. How much more amazing it must be in person to experience the flow of spaces and their changing temperature and tactility.

7. Lucy the Elephant
Margate, New Jersey
Why haven’t I seen this yet? It’s just down the Jersey coast a spell. I love humor in architecture—a good antidote to the obsessions and maniacal control that can sometimes get a girl down.

8. Dominus Winery
Napa Valley, California
Herzog and De Meuron are masters of material manipulation (an afterthought for too many architects), and also of connecting ideas to materials. I love the use of gabions (wire cages full of rocks more regularly seen in embankments preventing erosion) and the way they let dappled light through. Though I’ve heard the snakes are fond of them, too.

9. Levittown
Nassau County, New York
One of the two kinds of architecture I’m most interested in is home (the other is great-good places.) Part of the story of American homes is the story of suburbia, and one of the places that story starts is in Levittown on Long Island, one of the first suburbs. I’d like to see these houses, miniscule by today’s suburban standards, both to try and imagine what they looked like to their first owners, and also to see how they’ve been adapted and adjusted to the needs of today.

10. Tie: Spiral Jetty and The Lightning Field
Robert Smithson/Great Salt Lake, Utah
Walter De Maria/New Mexico
Yes, I know—technically speaking, neither of these is architecture. But my landscape architectural leanings are in the direction of land art, and I’d love to see one or both of these masterpieces.

So there you go— the tip of the iceberg. 10 things I’m aiming to see (I’m sure I could list 100 without too much effort) before the impending decade is done.

I know I owe y’all the harrowing tales of the LEED GA exam and of the second round of the New New York Photo Corps. Sometimes, though:

Once I get my head on straight I’ll come back at you with the LEED exam info (which a lot of people have been asking for to help them survive the ordeal) and about a million other things I’ve mentally written in my head over the last couple of months. Here and now, though, I’ll at least catch you up on the NNYPC story.

Let me begin by backing up and ‘splaining you something I don’t think I have ‘splained: why I bothered taking on this volunteer project when I had so little free time to begin with. My love of photography began during architecture school—architects have to take a lot of photos (no time for sketching in these fast-paced times), since we sometimes get only a single visit to a site to understand and internalize all the design issues present. So photos, along with Google Earth and Google Maps Street View (oh man have those come in handy so many times), are scrutinized and studied throughout the design process for clues to the nature of the place.

I managed to get a decent point-and-shoot digital camera one summer by including its cost in a grant I wrote that enabled me to spend a couple of weeks in Barcelona studying the nature of the public/private and slow/fast borders there (yet another topic I should write about here, if I don’t write a whole book on it). That was an AMAZING trip. But I was by myself in a country I’d never been to. I can speak Spanish a bit, and I had crammed as much Catalán into my head as I could, but I was alone, a stranger in a strange land.

I had a great time, though, because I had a job to do—take pictures. I got up early every morning and went to all kinds of neighborhoods to take hundreds of pictures (if it were today it would be more like thousands—I was not yet quite as prolific a photographer as now). The neighborhoods were sometimes touristy, sometimes working class, sometimes fancy, sometimes historic. The pictures I made weren’t works of art, but they enabled me to see the city in a new way. I was able to indulge my love of details, my love of public space, and my curiosity about the world in an entirely new way. I took pictures of curb cuts and bollards and planters and doorways. I studied benches and trees and mailboxes and alleys. Barcelona is a city rich with details, with history, and with a lively streetlife at times bordering on total chaos. But it never quite crosses the line, and the cars and pedestrians share plazas and streets in an entirely different way than I had ever seen before. So cool.

In the afternoons I did the standard—but also amazing—architourist thing, eschewing the tour buses and taxi cabs for the subways and city buses to take in every architectural marvel the city had to offer. Somehow in the midst of all that I had time to shop at the Boqería and all kinds of other small food shops and eat at a lot of fantastic restaurants. But without the photography I wouldn’t have gotten to know the city nearly as well, I wouldn’t have had the energy to see so much of it (the daily siestas helped with that, too), and I wouldn’t in fact have had the excuse to go in the first place.

The whole Barcelona adventure was key, but I would not love architecture as much as I do if it weren’t for the digital revolution. I never loved film photography, and while I totally respect people who do, I would never have fallen in love with making photos if I had to deal with chemicals and dark rooms or even hand my film over to a processor and wait for its return. Digital, however, feels natural. I’ve been using Photoshop since the good old days when it only had one level of undo (ah, halcyon days of youth), and the whole process of digital photography is just a joy to me. Oh, it’s often a ton of work, but fun.

Add all that to the advent of Flickr, where I could share photos, see other people’s photos, and most importantly learn about what equipment/settings they had used, and I was hooked. Have I mentioned how much I love Flickr? A simple comment on Flickr makes me feel connected to the world. With Flickr I can show my pictures without a gallery, without an agent, without a book deal. So my photos don’t just pile up in shoeboxes in the corner of a closet. They go out in the world. And I’m sure they get reused, repurposed, and stolen (and I wish they wouldn’t), but for now I’m just happy they get out in the world a bit. One day I hope to have more control over at least some of them, but right now that gives me the focus and motivation to keep taking pictures and keep getting better (and no, Flickr is not paying me to say any of that).

Speaking of hopes, I do one day hope to be my own architect, working for myself. But I know that my angle of interest does not fall 100% inside of architecture (and my idea of architecture does not match up 100% with everyone else’s) and photography is one of the things I want to incorporate into my practice. Photos for architecture, photos of architecture, photos of architectural details, photos of life in the city, photos of design of all kinds. I’m still developing my photographic voice, but that’s the plan.

…OK, that’s already longer that I planned, so I’ll save the actual NNYPC bits for the next post, OK? See you then. In the mean time you can see some of my photos from the NNYPC parts one and two on Flickr if you like.

A question: why are the fire hydrants so small?  
How do they find them in the snow?

The sewer covers are lovely spider-web like plates, with fish added in the park to remind you that whatever washes down there will soon be swimming with the fishes.

Chicago has TONS of great signage. Neon, neon, neon!

It’s just everywhere. And a lot of great non-neon signs, like the giant anthropomorphic hot dogs on top of Superdawg.

Chicago is also full of two other things I love: delicious food and architecture.
Marina City downtown:


Despite a sincere attempt to see all the architecture and eat all the food, we came no where near accomplishing either task.  Though I did also manage to track down the uber famous (among architects) Carson, Pirie, Scott & Co. building (no longer a department store) by Louis Sullivan. Sadly the base (one of the main points of the building) was covered with scaffolding. Oh well—the upper stories were still an impressive site, and I’ll just have to add it to the list for next time!

The rest of the trip, including a brief jaunt up to Milwaukee (Frozen custard! Pastrami! Mini-bowling!), and a stop to see Frank Lloyd Wright’s Johnson Wax Building (notable for it’s ultra-cool glass tube windows, among other things) is visible in full color over at Flickr.

(or you can see pictures with captions or see them as a slideshow)

Food:

 

Friends:

 

Fun:

 

Even architecture:

 

What else could you ask for from a city?

(Further words to follow as time permits.)

Back to Pittsburgh. As I said last time, our trip to PGH the weekend before last was great. We saw that, like any good city, Pittsburgh has some very strong, lively neighborhoods (which always makes me happy). But like any rustbelt town, it has its share of problems, too. One afternoon we ventured just outside town to a place called Braddock, which you may have read about (as we did) in the New York Times under the headline ‘Rock Bottom for Decades, but Showing Signs of Life,’ as much a profile of the inimitable mayor as the town itself. We didn’t see the controversial mayor, but we did see the still-working steel mill, as well as signs of life (including a bio-fuel conversion workshop and a recently re-painted sign on the side of a building). The most beautiful thing about Braddock, though, is the presence of architectural eddies: buildnigs left untouched, unmodernized, unpainted. Like an antique more valuable for having escaped refinishing, the stagnancy of the town has left some beautiful views of urban decay. But people live here—people who need good jobs, places to shop, a more sustainable community. It’s hard to see the peeling paint without seeing that, too.

Pittsburgh proper has held on to a lot of it urban character, too, including some really great signs. And if you want to know more about Pittsburgh’s signs, you have to visit pittsburghsigns.org and take a look at the book. Two of the books four editors—Jennifer and Greg—gave us an insider’s tour of some great neighborhoods one afternoon.

Did I mention the incline yet? Our first day in PGH, after a bite at the Gab & Eat, we rode the Duquesne Incline, a funicular of ancient origin, and one of two surviving from the hayday of inclines, when 19 inclines served weary Pittsburgh citizens, hauling them alternately up and down the very, very steep hills. People talk about how hilly San Franscisco is, but man, I would NOT want to drive around Pittsburgh on an icy day, and biking is not for the faint of heart, or lungs.

The incline was pretty spectacular. The car is flat, on a steep triangular base, and gets hauled up the hill while the sister car is lowered down (the two cars always move opposite each other, meeting in the middle) on stout ropes controlled by spinning gears and, at the top, a single engineer. The interior of the cars is detailed in wood.  The views from the top, even on a steel grey day, are stunning. This city—with its tortured topography and rivers and bridges—is really something to behold.

What did we eat, you ask? Well, we didn’t make it to the famous french-fry sandwhich place, but we did eat a pancake sandwhich (that’s a fried egg or two in the middle), dogs and fries at the O, a fantastic Lenten fish sandwhich at a local VFW hall (fish sandwiches were EVERYWHERE. Seriously.), and a bunch of other good stuff. we also hit up the Andy Warhol Museum, the Heinz Center, and the National Aviary (why it’s national rather than local, we didn’t quite figure out, though they did have a desultory pair of bald eagles), and the lovely Frick Art & Historical Center. 

Architecturally, the city fabric includes a lot of sweet little brick arts-and-craftish houses, as well as factories and such. We didn’t spend a lot of time downtown, but there are some remants of the Gilded Age there, as well as a Philip Johnson cathedral of glass, a solid H.H. Richardson jail or courthouse, depending on the period you’re looking at, factories, shops, and some mighty lovely churches. Mostly we drove around, poked around, and stopped periodically for ridiculously cheap beers at bars like Sarney’s (which is on the right of the above church pic), where the bartender was sure I was related to a good friend of hers (maybe she’s a very distant cousin?) Oh, and I almost forgot, almost all the many, many bridges of Pittsburgh (446 according to Wiki) are painted this very particular buttery yellow color. Hmm.

So that’s my Pittsburgh. So far, anyway—I’m sure I’ll be back.

Between the two brief jettings stretched four whole days (with a bit of travel-time selvage) chock full of urban explorations. I will have to return after more sleep to give a complete accounting of our adventures, but you can see all the pictures on Flickr, and I will book-end it for you by saying we started at the Andy, ended up at the Aviary (followed by Max’s), and there were many bridges, tunnels, and funiculars in between. (Well, OK, only the one funicular actually.) Also that a pair of expert Pittsburghians (check out their website) showed us all over town one afternoon, which was a real treat.

Pittsburgh is the real deal, man.

[Details to follow...]

PS:  In case you were wondering where we stayed:

Duh!

It’s just a long weekend, but a full one with plans including eating here, riding this, looking for these, and seeing this. I just finished The Mysteries of Pittsburgh by Michael Chabon (I didn’t realize there’s a film of it), so I’m getting in a Pittsburgh mood. I’ve never been, can you believe it? Anyway, if anyone has other suggestions of adventures in Steel City, please do share.