I did some writing for studio the other day, not to fulfill a prescribed exercise but as a means of disengaging from the design process for a little while. I needed to clear my head of the building. Instead, I chose to address my weaknesses as a student of architecture - namely, understanding the building as a result of ideas and a basic conceptual ethos that is personal to each individual. The following writings and quotes, I feel, begin to offer support in terms of my own fundamental attitudes towards architecture that sometimes get lost in the process of creating technically-proficient buildings.
I am undertaking this process of exploration to better understand the ways in which architecture is generated. To this point, a narrow focus on program efficiency has constricted, rather than liberated, the effort to create architecture that is both functional and beautiful and which fully represents my aspirations as a student of design. Unfortunately, the circularity of a repetitive and continuous reworking of program, with no comprehensive formal result, has unearthed a deep, inner frustration that I am now seeking to purge through transcribed self-reflection. To state the matter simply, I need to breathe. I need to let the design breathe. The building needs space, time, light, and air, just as I do at this moment.
To engage this process, I must first accept that my aspirations are not wholly encompassed in the project’s final physical manifestation, and that there are ways to integrate these as-of-yet peripheral interests into my current project. I have, for example, a strong interest in the social qualities of contemporary architecture that begin to shape communities – specifically, those in and around American cities. To me, buildings establish, in any particular environment, a definitive visual character. To that end, they are real, tangible elements of place that evoke a sense of spatial identity. This character can be expressed through material, structure, color, shape, profile, type, use, or scale; it can consciously and conspicuously break away from the existing context to challenge long-held and/or misguided preconceptions, traditions, or habits, or it can blend in to maintain a successful, functioning status quo. It can be figural, interpretive or abstract. It can explore new technologies, improve on time-honored methods or defer to economy. There is an almost unlimited and ever-changing variety of choices that affect visual character.
The only consistent underlying element of this character, however, is the collection of people who absorb it. I do not mean consistent in terms of ethnicity, class, gender, age, etc., but rather in the faculties of perception and experience, and the possession of basic values. The users, who, in the case of our project, are indeed inclusive of every realm and strata of society, from the students to the teachers to the general public, define why the building exists. The why, in essence, precedes the how. As a result, it is critical to formulate a consistent conceptual framework that explains a project’s reasons for being in relation to the ways in which people will interact with it. Only with this guide can one begin to understand how the complex dynamic relationship between the building [the architecture] and the community, and to ensure that this relationship is symbiotic and self-perpetuating. I know, unfortunately, that this guide has been missing from my work up to this point, at least in a form that is cohesive and useful; I guess I have to ask, is it beneficial to reevaluate and even reform the conceptual basis for any of the decisions I have made thus far?
I believe so. My attitude has revolved almost exclusively around the idea of making a building. Make a good building, that is all the matters. But it’s about making a place, isn’t it? And if I’m not making a good place, I’m not making a good building. Bob Harris said – “If the rooms aren’t any good, then to hell with it.” I don’t think he was referring to the shape of the room, the placement, etc., but to its character. Does it serve the people well? Does it contribute to a sense of community? It’s clear to me that this attitude needs to change to accommodate the aspiration of community- and place-making I’ve outlined above.
TYPES OF GENERATORS
Having read through a number of various monographs and texts, each reflecting the process of an established designer or design firm, I have consolidated the most fundamental principles of their strategies into the following six categories. These principles are not isolated as polemical rhetoric, but directly encourage the changes in attitude I hope to undertake in my own design process.
