Friday, August 17, 2007

Architectural Sustainability

[Image: The Castle House tower by Hamiltons architects; via Inhabitat].

Unless a "green" building actively remediates its local environment – for instance, scrubbing toxins from the air or absorbing carbon dioxide – that building is not "good" for the environment. It's simply not as bad as it could have been.
Buildings aren't (yet) like huge Brita filters that you can install in a city somewhere and thus deliver pure water, cleaner air, better topsoil, or increased biodiversity to the local population.
I hope buildings will do all of that someday – and some architects are already proposing such structures – but, for the most part, today's "green" buildings are simply not as bad as they could have been.
A high-rise that off-sets some of its power use through the installation of rooftop wind turbines is great: it looks cool, magazine readers go crazy for it, and the building's future tenants save loads of money on electricity bills. But once you factor in these savings, something like the new Castle House eco-skyscraper still ends up being a net drain on the system.
It's not good for the environment; it's just not as bad as it could have been.

[Image: The Castle House tower by Hamiltons architects; via Inhabitat].

My larger point, however, is that you can write about a tower that uses less structural steel, and that tower might be better for the environment than, say, a steel-intensive luxury high-rise with three rooftop wind turbines, but your article probably won't get 890 Diggs – and so you write about flashy gizmos with huge downsteam maintenance bills, instead.
To use an inappropriately over-simplified example, imagine two identical 60-story high-rises. The architect of Tower A convenes his engineering team one day and they proceed to rearrange some of the building's internal structural steel; they're thus able to cut out some cantilevers, for instance, and to eliminate excess building material, more generally. This reduces the structure's embodied construction energy, by which I mean transport costs, steel manufacture, etc. A few days later, maybe the architect of Tower A even cuts out 10% of the track-lighting, or he makes the office lobbies a tiny bit smaller and, thus, easier to climate-control.
The architect of Tower B makes no such changes – but he does add a wind turbine to the roof.
Architect A has arguably had a much greater impact on his building's environmental bottom line – but we don't hear about Architect A.
We hear about Architect B, because wind turbines look great, they are easy to explain, and they don't require much journalistic research.
Architect B – who has mastered the art of ornamentalizing sustainability – comes off as a hero; Architect A, despite his accomplishments, is overlooked.
Again, my point is simply that relatively unspectacular design decisions can be made in the process of constructing a building that will help lessen that building's environmental impact – but often these decisions aren't flashy. They don't photograph well, and they don't require cool new pieces of Digg-friendly technology.
And so your building, however not bad it is for the environment, doesn't receive any free publicity on green building blogs. I'm not pointing fingers, either: this diagnosis is at least as true for BLDGBLOG.
A relatively lame example here is Tudor residential architecture: as I mentioned back in November, Tudor-style houses are remarkably energy efficient. "Wind turbines, solar panels and other hi-tech green devices might get the media attention," I quote in that earlier post, "but the smartest way to save energy may be to live in a Tudor house and insulate the attic and repair the windows."

[Image: Little Moreton Hall, "an early model of energy efficiency," according to the Guardian Weekly].

In any case, I just think it's worth pointing out that you can compare a new building to the environmental impact of no building at all – in which case you have quite a high bar to clear before your new building is truly "green" – or you can compare that new building to how bad it might otherwise have been.
If you're only doing the latter, then almost literally any minor design decision – including ornamental wind turbines or a few arbitrary solar panels – will make that building "green." In the process, "green building" slowly loses any rigor or integrity it might previously have had.
Wind turbines, solar panels, rainwater catchment systems, etc., are totally awesome – I unironically endorse their architectural use – but they don't make a building good for the environment. Or at least they don't yet.
They just make that building less bad for the environment than it would have been without them.
Which is still great – but we shouldn't mistake restraint for generosity.
In other words, we shouldn't pretend that a steel-intensive high-rise with a few wind turbines on top is somehow good for us; it's just not as bad as it could have been.
I would hope that at least long-term readers know that this blog is "pro-sustainability" – I'll even sheepishly point out my own interview with Ed Mazria – but I think it's extremely important to realize that you may be building less bad high-rises, but you are still building high-rises. I remain radically unconvinced that a "green" skyscraper is better than no skyscraper at all – and yet green skyscraper enthusiasts are out high-fiving each other as if their own positive energy is enough to counteract carbon emissions from the global steel industry.
This is actually one of the reasons why I like Ed Mazria and his Architecture 2030 organization so much.
In a recent press release, Architecture 2030 pointed out that "the CO2 emissions from only one medium-sized (500 MW) coal-fired power plant" are enough to negate the effects of planting 300,000 trees in only ten days, among other amazing statistics – including the fact that the entire Architecture 2030 effort, as applied to building renovations, would be negated by the "CO2 emissions from just one 750 MW coal-fired power plant each year" from now till 2030.
If we want to be "green," Mazria's press release implies, then a far more effective route toward that goal is to change the coal industry – not to become a luxury high-rise developer in Miami's South Beach (or, worse, in Dubai).

[Image: The Lighthouse, in Dubai; via Treehugger].

Being not as bad as you could have been is not a viable future goal for sustainable architecture.
Build something that genuinely improves the environment – build something that has a measurably negative carbon footprint, for instance, from the manufacture of its steel to the billing of its electricity – and then I'll be as excited as you are about how "green" the project really is.
Until then, people who are only guilty of screwing the environment over partially win huge accolades: thank you, we say, for only mugging two people last night – I thought you were going to mug three...
Which is positive reinforcement, sure – but it's not necessarily good for the state of architectural sustainability.

(I apprehensively want to make clear that this post may have been motivated by a post at Inhabitat, but it is in no way meant as an attack on that site; I've linked to, hosted an event with, and even written several posts for Inhabitat. I also want to make clear that I am 100% behind so-called green building practices; I just don't think a "green" building should be mistaken for an environmental improvement; otherwise it's like mistaking fat-free pound cake for health food: deluded by the packaging, you eat tons of the stuff and you end up like Dom DeLuise).

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Musique concrète

[Images: Rosslyn Chapel, container of symphonies].

I meant to post this ages ago – at the beginning of the summer – but it slipped right by... So this isn't exactly news, but I still love it: Scotland's Rosslyn Chapel, world famous for its appearance in Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code, has apparently been hiding a fascinating secret, after all.
It turns out that "[a] father and son who became fascinated by symbols carved into the chapel’s arches say they have deciphered a musical score encrypted in them."

[Image: The intricate ceilingry of Rosslyn Chapel, photographed by Benjamin Lee; via Sacred Destinations].

From the website of Thomas J. Mitchell, who "decrypted" the music: "Rosslyn Chapel holds a musical mystery in its architecture and design. At one end of the chapel, on the ceiling are 4 cross-sections of arches containing elaborate symbolic designs on each array of cubes (in actual fact they are rectangles mostly). The 'cubes' are attached to the arches in a musically sequential way."
In the over-ambitious application of a cryogenics metaphor, Mitchell says that the music has now "thawed out" to be understood – and heard – by people today. Being a composer, he also seems to have released the music on CD.

[Image: The Rosslyn Chapel doorway, photographed by seth + lara m.; via Sacred Destinations].

Whether or not there really is music encoded in the arches of Rosslyn, the implications of this are exciting.
Will someone detect, for instance, a thousand years from now, a symphony encoded in the runways at Heathrow? Or will the New York City subway system be reunderstood as a series of sub-terrestrial folk songs, themed around a chorus of transportation?
Or perhaps the International Space Station will be revealed after all as an étude of pressurized air tanks, awaiting its musical decryption; it is three-dimensional music, hovering in space.

(Thanks, Christopher! And happy birthday!)

Oceanic

[Image: A spectator gazes out at the wave that will destroy him; via LiveScience].

This picture has been haunting me ever since I first saw it back in June: a man, presumably, stands on the coast of Hawaii in 1946, watching a tsunami rush to shore, bringing a wall of debris down upon him – a literal and terrifying experience of the oceanic.
Caused by a massive earthquake – or catastrophic landslide – off the coast of the Aleutian Islands, the tsunami made it all the way to Hawaii, and beyond. I say earthquake or landslide because there is still some controversy over what exactly caused the wave in the first place.
The Pacific Tsunami Museum, meanwhile, with an oddly titled series called the "Tsunami Survivor Video of the Month," has more general information about tidal waves in the Pacific.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Waterville

[Image: Center for Biodiversity by Tecla, part of the Waterpower project; via Domus].

There was an interesting, though brief, article posted on Domus last month about Italy's Valle dei Mulini, which Domus describes as "a fascinating microcosm of industrial history, dotted by abandoned paper mills."
In order "to prevent this heritage from disappearing," a local planning and design group, calling itself Waterpower, "asked a series of Italian and foreign designers to make projects for the renewal of the deserted water and paper mills. There was one condition: that they take the 'power of water' as the poetic metaphor and technological guideline of their projects, turning the valley into an eco-sustainable environment."

[Image: A parking garage and "river remodelling" structure by Labics, part of the Waterpower project; via Domus].

The resulting proposals look at programmatically different reuses of the old mills, including purposes as diverse as a youth hostel (complete with water from the Canneto River flowing through part of the building), a Center for Biodiversity –

[Image: The Center for Biodiversity by Tecla, via the Waterpower project].

– newly cultivated "lemon terraces," a spa, a kind of outdoor historical walkway, a "Waterfall Home" deeply fixed into the bedrock, complete with some kind of Slow Food studio/kitchen –

[Images: The Waterfall Home by Nemesi, via the Waterpower project].

– and a hydraulics museum.

[Image: A "Hydraulics Museum & Panoramic Bar" by Sudarch, part of the Waterpower project; via Domus].

The Waterpower website has a lot more information about the various projects, including a short history of the Valle dei Mulini itself.

[Images: A topographical view of the Valle dei Mulini, via the Waterpower project].

We read, for instance, that the project "aims to recover a landscape and a system of pre-industrial water mills (mulini) currently in danger of collapse beyond repair."
    As described with a wealth of illustrations in Diderot and D'Alembert's Encyclopedie, from the early 13th century the paper mills, iron mills, and later hydro-electric power stations exploited water power through ingenious systems of channels, tanks, level drops, funnels and water wheels to produce energy to make things. The mills were carefully distanced one from the next to exploit the height differential and hence the water power. From the port of Amalfi the network of mills rises 3km inland and 350m in height.
It's the river valley as landscape-machine.
In any case, I think it's a cool project. Read more at the official website.

Golf Stars

I went out to meet the folks behind Planetizen last night at a rooftop party near Wilshire and Western, in L.A.'s Koreatown, to celebrate the recent publication of their new book, Contemporary Debates in Urban Planning. The book has contributions from the usual suspects in today's city planning debates, such as Joel Kotkin and Andrés Duany, and it includes a variety of short essays by other writers, critics, and practitioners, from Alex Garvin and Robert Olshansky to James Howard Kunstler, Harriet Tregoning, and Constance Beaumont.

What made the night particularly memorable, however, was that I had to park several blocks away – and so, to get back to my car in the darkness, the sun having set on Los Angeles, I found myself walking past the Aroma, a multi-level indoor golf driving range, well-lit and thriving there on a Tuesday at 9pm.
I looked up at the glowing structures of netting that surround the place, a soft-focus rectangle of light, nearly the size of a city block, only to see little white flashes like meteors – falling stars – streaking across the sky in front of me. Everything else was silent.
Then another flash – and another – as the nets at the end of the driving range rippled with the impacts.
Then more flashes.
And that artificial astronomy of tiny white spheres crossing space went on and on as I walked away.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

A Convergence at the Hammer

I'm excited to announce that I'll be doing a "Conversation" at the Hammer Museum here in Los Angeles on the evening of October 10, with National Book Critics Circle Award-winning, Pulitzer Prize-nominated writer Lawrence Weschler – of whom I'm a huge and long-time fan (he even spoke at Postopolis! – in fact, it was Weschler who introduced me to Walter Murch).

So we'll be talking, I assume, about things like cities and writing and architecture, but also about war and music and climate change, by way of science, Athanasius Kircher, contemporary politics, and – of course – Weschler's brand-new-in-paperback book Everything That Rises: A Book of Convergences. You can check out the online companion to that book over at McSweeney's.
I can't wait! So if you happen to be a reader of BLDGBLOG or a fan of Lawrence Weschler, please be sure to come by – it should be a fun conversation, and who know where we'll end up.
Meanwhile, I can't recommend Weschler's earlier book, Mr. Wilson's Cabinet of Wonder, highly enough (although, for the most part, it falls outside the purview of this blog); and his Vermeer in Bosnia is a great collection of essays, about everything from independence movements in Eastern Europe and Balkan genocide to furniture design, the light in Los Angeles, and the musicological history of Weschler's own family.
Hopefully I'll see some of you there.

Event Details: 7pm on October 10 at the Hammer Museum, 10899 Wilshire Blvd, Los Angeles, CA; free and open to the public.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Planet of Sound

BLDGBLOG's radio collaboration with DJ /rupture continues...

We're still (always!) looking for extra room fantasies – but now we're looking for field recordings, as well... field recordings by phone.
So if you're anywhere that seems sonically interesting over the next few weeks – a waterfall, a migratory bird preserve, a shuddering freight elevator, the Cornish coast, a screeching Red Line train, the International Space Station, a secret meeting between Bush and Ahmadinejad – feel free to give us a ring: +1 (206) 337-1474.
You'll be connected to a voicemail account where you can simply hold your phone up high – and proud – and record whatever it is that you're listening to.
Meanwhile, feel free either to leave a brief explanation of what it is we're hearing, or even call back and explain what sounds you've left for us to sort through.
And then the best of the best will be played live on the radio in New York City – and podcast round the world – via DJ /rupture's weekly radio show on the incomparable WFMU, 91.1 FM.

The basic idea, if you're curious, is to open up the artistic possibilities of field recordings to anyone with a telephone – whether that's a mobile phone, a public phone, or even a phone attached to the wall in your kitchen.
The results should prove that you can acoustically experience a landscape through the telephone. Tele-scapes. As it is, mobile phones in particular present us with an untapped microphonic resource; these roving recorders encounter different environmental soundscapes everyday – the insides of lobbies and elevators, cars stuck in traffic, windy beaches – yet we're so busy using them for conversation that we overlook (overhear?) their true sonic possibilities.
The telephonic future of environmental sound art is thus all but limitless – and putting some of that on the radio is just fun.
In any case, we'll be posting many more calls for sounds soon...

(For a tiny bit more info, click here).