Archive for the 'landscape' Category

Notre Dame du Haut – Ronchamp, France

November 30, 2009

For such a vaunted idol of modern architecture, designed by a deity of the architectural designers of the 20th century, visiting the chapel of Notre Dame du Haut in the tiny town of Ronchamp, France was a serene and beautiful experience. Designed by Le Corbusier in 1956, the chapel lies on a picturesque hill high over the quaint town, offering stunning views of the rolling countryside. A small road winds its way through the wooded slopes and deposits you at a somewhat run down visitors center, with the chapel hidden from view by trees and hedges and a short walk further up the hill. As you follow the pathway, glimpses of the whitewashed walles and infamous concrete roof appear between the foliage. You round a bend, the hedges end, and the smaller than expected edifice stands before you, rising out of a pristine grass clearing.

It is difficult to describe the building other than to say it is different, and more magnificent than any of the many photographs and writings about the building we have all seen. The photographs make it look more imposing, lack the scale of the place. Rather it is a modest sized building, quietly resting in it’s perch, gazing out over the landscape. It shows Le Corbusier’s talents and fitting his buildings into the greater landscape, an aspect of his work that is often overlooked. He was a master at manipulating the fluidity of concrete, and the subtleties of natural light. But he also had an instinctive connection between building and nature, one which gets lost when looking at his high rise housing blocks raised over the land on pilotis. This church felt like it belonged to the site, enhancing the surroundings and relating the clouds passing above and rolling hills below.

Slowly walking around the building revealed elements of the design, and details that I had never seen in the extensive coverage of Corbusier’s work in my architectural education. The celebration of rainwater collection on the immense roof, becomes a sculptural water sprout feeding a basin made of sculptural forms rendered in concrete. The light towers, hidden from view in the most common photo of the building, echo each other and frame the secondary, but only open entrance to the interior. External stairs cantilever off the side and animate one of the facades. Tiny dark gashes in the bright white monolith hint at the experience of the dark interior pierced by carefully controlled streams of natural light.

Another Facade, offers a platform protected by the cantilevered roof, containing the facilities to run an outdoor service. The podium for the sermon, the table for the holy relics and place for people to take communion become sculptures carved out of the thick walls or rising out of the concrete floor. Each is a work of art, adding interest to the building until they are called into duty when a summer service is required.

Walking into the interior transports you into a different world. The sunny summer day dims while cool air offers relief from the hot sun. As your eyes adjust you notice the rough textures of the walls as light flows down the curving ceiling of the light wells. The source is hidden from view and only the gentle gradients blesses the quiet rooms for prayers. The main congregation sits on playfully designed benches set along one of the most famous aspects of the building – the immensely thick walls pierced by openings for light. Each opening is set deep into the space and is capped by a stained glass window of varying colors and pattens. The openings fold open as they move into the interior, pouring colored light in different directions. As the sun shifts, and clouds move across the sky outside, the effects through the wall make the interior a dynamic experience, with each moment being a unique temporal existence.

The building is beautiful and a truly marvelous experience to visit. It was a pilgrimage of sorts for me, although a non religious one, unless you consider architecture to be in itself a religion, a view I won’t argue with. The power of this building can be felt physically and emotionally. It engages your senses in a truly spiritual way, seductive textures draw your hands to touch the walls, light moves your gaze to the heavens, the cool air calms your spirit, the scent of burning candles relaxes your mind. It was a building seeping with phenomenology, proving the power of design and the genius of one of the truly great architects.

Click here for a slide show of photographs of the chapel: Notre Dame du Haut – designed by Le Corbusier

After over 50 years the site is currently being redeveloped. To bring new life to the chapel a nunnery, a new gatehouse and visitors center is being added to the site. Designed by world renowned architect, Renzo Piano, each of the new buildings is being integrated into the landscape, partially submerged into the hill side so as to not interfere with views of and from the historic chapel. The new construction was begun this past year and is planned to be completed in 2011. The access roads, parking area, and surrounding landscaping will all be redesigned to enhance the site for visitors as well as to add life and purpose to the spiritual aspect of the building. You can see images and find more information about the design by visiting the Renzo Piano Building Workshop website: http://rpbw.r.ui-pro.com/

Check out these books on The Chapel at Ronchamp and Le Corbusier’s writing and architecture: Le Corbusier: The Chapel at Ronchamp, Towards a New Architecture, Le Corbusier in Detail, and Le Corbusier : Complete Works in Eight Volumes.

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Eric Sanderson pictures New York – before the City

November 9, 2009

Since being introduced to the concept of Landscape Ecology by Profesor Brook Muller at the University of Oregon, I have been fascinated by the blending of architecture and the environment. This fascinating talk takes a step back in time to visualize what life on Manhattan was like before the Europeans arrived. Using this knowledge as a base we can better design site specific architecture that is in complete harmony with the ecosystem around it. Think about what New York City would be in 100 years if nature was reintroduced as an integral infrastructure for the city – there are some visualizations of this concept at the end of the presentation. From Ted.com:

400 years after Hudson found New York harbor, Eric Sanderson shares how he made a 3D map of Mannahatta’s fascinating pre-city ecology of hills, rivers, wildlife — accurate down to the block — when Times Square was a wetland and you couldn’t get delivery.

If you found this talk interesting check out this book: Mannahatta: A Natural History of New York City

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The High Line: and the Spectacular Rebirth of Public Space in New York

July 4, 2009

by Uriel Ortega

The ironic dilemma with New York City is that, even as it boasts one of the densest metropolitan populations in America, ideal public space is virtually non-existent. No grand pedestrian boulevards dissect the Cartesian grid. Only a few remarkable plazas dot the island. It’s as if the city assumed that the transplantation of a Central Park into Manhattan would provide enough public space to last the rest of the city’s history. As Manhattan has seen glamorous and self-indulgent architectural marvels rise against its fantastic horizon in recent years, the darkness these buildings cast upon the pedestrian streets seemed to signal the very disappearance of designed public space. The lack of great public space in New York appeared endemic. But then came the High Line. One of the most ambitious public projects in the modern history of New York, the High Line is a bold testament that, given the opportunity, Manhattan has the potential to create fantastic and poetic public spaces.

A horizontal beacon of life in a vertical landscape of desperation and anxiety, the High line is a spectacle for the senses. As it meanders through the urban fabric, it superimposes the existing static infrastructure with dynamic spaces for leisure. Conceived as an elevated park and designed by James Corner Field Operations with Diller Scofidio + Renfro, the High Line takes as its nucleus the abandoned elevated tracks that run from the Meatpacking District thru Chelsea and into Clinton Hill. The tracks were built in the 1930s as a means to remove dangerous freight traffic from the pedestrian level. As part of the West Side Improvement project, the tracks stood lifeless since 1980. Often, the tracks acted like portals into the spectacle of the Chelsea gallery walks. The project will be completed in phases, with the next and last section to open in 2010. The idealized flow has the user exploring from South to North. At a conceptual level, this becomes a precious necklace dotted with extravagant gems, a clearly executed architectural promenade, degenerating and reintegrating along its journey and ours.

And so the journey into this densely stratified urban experience begins. Ascending into the park from the southernmost point of the project is the first of many poetic moments. The sky, along with the new Standard Hotel, is framed by the stair opening and flanked by panels of glass that retain swatches of green. A beautiful moment occurs at a certain point in the ascent, as the visitor’s eyes meet the level of the park floor, perpetually calling attention to the plantings peering through the pavers. At the top of the stairs, the visitor is released back into that city – immediately we are reminded that this project, first and foremost, is a park in a city.

Throughout the park, a vast array of green hues subtle colors emerge from the railroad tracks. Grasses. Shrubs. Plants. Flowers. By design, the transplantations appear as if they have been growing naturally for decades; in fact, plants had already rooted themselves above the abandoned tracks and this was the source of inspiration for this landscape design. Though these new greens seem wild, upon closer inspection one notices that they are carefully curated in clusters. An orchestrated opera of textures and colors that rise above the intelligently designed pavers. Made of concrete, these pavers are wonderfully sculpted to maintain the scheme of a ribbon weaving its way through the landscape. Though the majority of the pavers are simply elongated rectangles, there are those that dive back into the tracks, bulging then tapering, easing the boundaries between walkway and plant way. Sometimes they rise and transform into playful, cascading water fountains. Other times, they emerge from the floor, mate with wood and morph into benches. These seating elements both invite and repel. They invite repose, offering a static immersion with the surroundings. Sensational views. Random aromas. Eccentric textures. In their fluid manifestations, they also repel as they promote movement, progression – becoming directive markers on a path to urban salvation, micro-beacons across the sea of concrete and grasses.

As the High Line subtly transforms as it unfolds, so do the surroundings. Historic warehouses. Glass and steel towers. Brick boxes. Extravagant perspectives. Parking lots. A river. Office windows. A hodge-podge of decent and bland architecture, the surroundings mostly sit static at the sidelines, often they recede in the distance and select few collaborate in this metropolitan experience. Indeed, the collection of buildings that line the High Line are of peculiar interest. There is Gehry and Ban and Nouvel to name a few of the most recognizable. Planned in tandem with the High line, the Standard Hotel provides the first moment of compression. Walking through this urban tunnel is sensational as these moments of imagined enclosure accentuate the experience of the promenade.

One of the most playful spaces in the project is a linear area of wooden daybeds that face toward the Hudson River. They create a space that, although in the middle of a bustling metropolis, is also calm and serene. New Yorkers have already declared this a space for reading, gawking and napping. Immediately following this space of repose is another urban tunnel. With a few tables and chairs scattered about, and a mosaic of blue and green-hued glass panels to one side, it is a strangely romantic place. With allusions to theater and ritual, it’s a modern day interpretation of a classical Gothic place, stained glass window included. Further along, the visitor finds another space dedicated to the ritual of spectacle. A series of benches descend below the tracks, culminating in the spectacle on view- the street! Framed in glass, strokes of yellow cabs that disappear into the distant street were on view during one visit. At the end of the project is a set of stairs that ascend and cross over the the original railroad track edge, creating a bridge, a ceremonial platform that allows one to gaze back at this unique experience of urbanity before being released back into the street level below.

Looking back one wonders what New York would be without this vital transformation. One is reminded of the tale by Borges as told by Jean Baudrillard, of the myth where a map of the city is drawn so detailed that when it is laid on top of the actual city, it covers exactly the same area. Over time, the map withers, and the remaining pieces merge with the real. There no longer is any distinction between the map and the real and the High Line has this sort of metaphysical beauty. The distinction between what was existing and what was actually designed is indiscernible. The project seems to have grown naturally out of its own abandonment. And that vision is what makes this project so poetic. A ribbon that weaves through the urban fabric, its threads often disintegrating with actualities and its strands rethreading with illusions. The High Line is one of the most poetic and beautiful public spaces in the city’s modern history. It has given back to New York THE grand stage where New Yorkers can be…well, New Yorkers. Give us space and we will use it. Exponentially.

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Landscape Informing Design: the Architecture of Antoine Predock

January 11, 2009

by Lucas Gray

“The concept of architecture as analogous to landscape is something that has interested me for a long time.”
– Antoine Predock

Historically speaking the land has had a predominant influence over the architecture of a given culture. Availability of building materials as well as climate dictated designs. Landforms and other natural elements often influenced designs because of the advantages they gave for defending land, cultivating land, as well as often having religious connotations. However, because of technological advances we don’t have to worry about many of these issues in the developed world. Defense and agriculture aren’t major issues influencing the design of our buildings anymore, and even fundamental problems such as weather and climate aren’t addressed today as they were in the past because of technological advances in air conditioning, heating and other forms of climate control. Still, contemporary architects need to draw on something as inspiration for their designs and often they turn back to the landscape.

Contemporary materials and technology do play a major part in the design process but ultimately architecture remains influenced by the same forces as it has for thousands of years. The mountains and deserts of the southwestern United States as well as other major geographic elements like the Pacific Ocean, the sky, local waterways, local wildlife, and the desert play a significant role in the development of Antoine Predock’s buildings

Before beginning his designs, Predock constructs large collages that conjure up images relating to the site and explore connections to local history and geography. Often his designs take on forms that are clearly inspired by features of the surrounding landscape – such as mountain ranges in the distance, the Pacific Ocean, forests, streams, the desert or other natural phenomena that surround his sites. For Predock, landscape is not something just to gaze upon. It is a great deal more than simply a collection of views. His collages consist of photographs, postcards, rocks, plants, animal skeletons – anything found on or around the site that conjures the spirit of the place. He believes that each site is timeless. Everything from the past and present, from folklore to contemporary technology is included as possible influences on the forms his designs may take.

Four projects demonstrate how Antoine Predock has taken different approaches as he works in varying Landscapes. The American Heritage Center in Laramie, Wyoming responds to the large flat valleys and distant mountains. The Ventana Vista Elementary School in Tucson, Arizona demonstrates Predock’s response to the American dessert. The Turtle Creek House outside of Dallas, Texas shows his response to the deep south and how he incorporates his buildings into woodlands and streams. And finally the Venice House outside of Los Angeles, California demonstrates the relationship between his building, the nearby ocean and the surrounding urban context. These four projects all have vastly different climates and terrains. Antoine Predock successfully drew from the surroundings to create responsive designs to all four unique landscapes.

The American Heritage Center, Laramie, Wyoming

This design is viewed by Predock as an “archival mountain with a village at its foot.” The building’s axis lines up with the two highest visible mountain peaks – Medicine Bow Peak, in the Snowy range, and Pilot’s Knob, part of the Laramie range. This axis marks an historical rendezvous point for Native Americans as well as a for French trappers and early American settlers. Now it has become a place of intellectual and social rendezvous. Whenever Predock designs, he addresses the larger natural and mythic context and content of a site and program.

A web of site-specific alignments anchors the building into the campus and the immediate landscape. The complex consists of a main building in the shape of a large cone with block like surrounding buildings. This become an abstract representation of a mountain with a small village at its base. The buildings at the base are long terraced flat roof buildings. These structures are meant to recall the architecture of the pueblo Indians. The cone is a mountain, standing alone in a sweeping vista framed in the distance by two mountain ranges. Like ancient temples this structure contains a symbolic significance in its form and orientation.

Predock always weds the symbolic forms of his buildings with the practical and useable aspect of design. This site is in the center of a wide valley between two mountain ranges that channels wind. To protects his building from these wind forces he designed the block buildings as long and low structures that are protected by the cone and a wall of trees. The cone itself is detailed like an airplane wing to be aerodynamic. Openings in the cone are kept as small, deep and limited. The top of the cone is an observation deck and a chimney – releasing smoke from the giant hearth that makes up the central shaft of the cone. From a distance the place looks like a strange volcano spewing smoke into the night sky.

Ventana Vista Elementary School, Tucson, Arizona:

Located near the Catalina Mountains and the Sonoran desert, the School consists of small courts and pathways that are arranged around the two-story library building. The skyline of this school is designed to have a clear reference to that of the mountain range behind it. This “city for children” suggests ageless ruins, thought of by Predock as a direct confrontation with the inhospitable environment of the southwest desert.

Although the architecture is sometimes criticized as stark, Predock argues that the desert is about power and loneliness and thus the building should not be cute. The entire complex is designed at a scale designed specifically for the ages of children occupying it. Predock designed the school to be built on many different levels that corresponded to the topography of the site. Each level became a “neighborhood that was part of the overall city for children”

There is a tent-like white canvas structure that makes reference to the nomadic occupation of the desert. A “Solstice Wall” contains openings of various angles and shapes allowing sunlight to penetrate it on specific days – such as Cinco de Mayo or the Winter Solstice. As light pours through, it highlights plaques embedded in the ground that make reference to historical events. This feature of the architecture allows students to be constantly aware of the passing of time and the sun becomes a teaching tool. These features are a direct result of the influence on the social history of the site as well as the specific environmental conditions. The apertures also frame specific views of the landscape making the wall both an observatory and a beacon.

The actual classrooms and activity rooms are all separate buildings. Each building has its own function. There is a structure for each grade level and two large buildings which house the library – in the center of the site – and the Activities center – with the canvas tent covering it. The courts and paths created by the voids between these structures become one of the most significant parts of this design. Each open space focuses on a different form of discovery. They each focus on important learning activities such as vegetable gardens or places for animals. Unique and fun design features are introduced – spy holes into classrooms, the Solstice Wall – and create distinct geographic identities for these open spaces. They also allow the desert landscape to be incorporated into the complex.

In one of the highest classrooms there is a mirror against the top of a wall oriented at a 45-degree angle that acts as a periscope and reveals a panoramic view of the nearby mountain peaks. Another feature that connects the building and the landscape is the walls of the fourth and fifth grade classrooms. These walls are made up of large glass garage doors that can be rolled up and allow the courtyard and the classrooms to become one large interior/exterior social/teaching space. Here the concepts of indoors and outdoors, building and landscape are blurred to the point that the landscape and architecture become one and the same.

The second and third grade courtyard revolves around the “Sorcerer’s Terrace,” which covers a space for reading. This space is referred to as the desert Kaleidoscope. Covering the area is a shallow dome with desert specific cultural artifacts cast inside a series of acrylic skylights. By gazing through these from below or walking over them from above the young students encounter a spectrum of desert images.

Turtle Creek House, Dallas Texas:

This House – a “theater of the trees” – was a response to the client’s passion for bird watching. The site is at the convergence of two major continental bird flyways. Two distinct facades relate the house to the surrounding landscape in contrasting ways. The first facade confronts the main approach to the house. It consists of large planted limestone block terraces that ground the structure into the landscape. The ledges suggest geologic parallels to the Austin Chalk Formation that runs north south through Dallas. Thus the view from the street is a solid mass of concrete stucco and these terraces. The cave-like entranceway cuts through the terraces to the main house. The ledges are filled with local vegetation that attract birds to the site. When arriving at the site the birds are there, waiting to greet the visitor. The second facade is more open to the surrounding woodlands and overlooks Turtle Creek. It is made up of huge glass windows that allow the surrounding landscape become a part of the interior. Viewed from the outdoors the highly reflecting glass and steel brings the landscape onto the exterior of the house. A giant mirrored steel plate on the front elevation is angled perfectly so that a nearby tree becomes part of the main façade.

The interior consists of open, sharply angled, bright spaces with huge glass walls overlooking Turtle Creek. Thin metal columns with glass spanning between them, hold the solid walls 6 inches off the floor to create the appearance they are floating. This makes the house seem light and airy. The entranceway that cuts through the limestone terraces opens into a large room that separates the house into two wings. From this room there are ramps, stairs and bridges that cause a processional movement into the rest of the house. A central “sky ramp” projects out of the entry room into the surrounding canopy of trees. This bridge gently slopes upwards toward the sky. It touches the ground lightly with a steel support system, allowing the terrain to naturally flow beneath it. This ramp is meant to act a physical and spiritual link to the bird’s natural habitat. It leads the viewer into the foliage at the treetops where many birds build their nests. Joining the habitat of local animals with that of humans brings together the natural landscape and the built one.

The site contains three strong natural formations that influenced the design. The landscape here is a place where woodlands, prairie and stream overlap. Also the location is a unique place where eastern and western bird habitats converge, and it is located along the north south migratory paths. This site is an ideal place for observation and participation in this ritualistic procession of birds. The rooftop is covered with broad walkways and open terraces that provide ideal and picturesque views of the surrounding woodlands and the stream that flows near the house. Predock also incorporated a circular rooftop “arena” built as an interior room that becomes an observation area for the exterior world.

House in Venice:

This house examines the relationship between land and water. It focuses the inhabitants on the ocean by setting up a series of vantage points that varying glimpses of the sea. The site is very long and narrow, 30 ft by 90 ft and was a strong contrast to the nearby ocean, which is a vast open space with dramatic horizon line. Predock dealt with this contrast by creating a plan with a diverging perspective fostering a condition that brings the ocean closer. This view is capped by a massive 9’ x 14’ window, framed in red, which is mounted on a giant pivot. When this pivoting window is open sea breezes permeate the house with the smells and feel of the salty ocean air. Immediately adjacent to the red-framed window is a small triangular area with thick concrete walls where one can stand and gaze through a three quarter by twelve-inch deep fragment of glass cast into the concrete. Through this sliver of glass a kaleidoscopic view of the ocean, the sky, and the sand is revealed.

Predock’s idea was to encounter the sea from an “alleyway.” The long site between other houses evoked the feeling of an urban alley. The use of concrete as the main material for the house further enhances this architectural analogy. The rear facade is on a small street consisting mainly of opaque glass with two small terraces that overlooking the street. The garage door is made of a reflective material, which mimics the life of the street. The front façade opens onto a boardwalk that separates the house from the beach. A polished granite wall covered with a film of water at the front of the house creates a symbolic bridge to the nearby ocean. It is a constant fascination for the people passing by on the boardwalk who are able to walk up and touch the smooth waterfall. This wall is the first contact you have with this house. Its material is a recollection of the natural bedrock of the Los Angeles basin and the water brings a physical interaction between the architecture, the people and the vast ocean.

Bibliography:
Allen, Isabel. Structure As Design. Rockport Publishers. Gloucester, Massachusetts. 2000 – pg 24-29
Collins, B. and Zimmerman, E. Antoine Predock Architect 2. Rizzoli, New York, New York. 1998. – pg 136-151
Frampton, Kenneth. Technology Place & Architecture. Rizzoli, New York, New York. 1998 – pg 224-227
Jodidio, Philip. Contemporary American Architects Vol. II. Taschen. New York, New York. 1996 – pg 128-141

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