Virus Practicum

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Unsplash

Each academic quarter, Robertson/Sherwood/Architects (my firm) provides one student from the University of Oregon’s School of Architecture & Environment with an opportunity for a practicum experience. During a practicum, the student’s primary task is to learn from watching our staff. While the student does participate in the work in a limited way under our supervision, the practicum is first and foremost an observational learning experience. Concurrent with the practicum experience, the student enrolls in the practicum course, which outlines goals and expectations and confers academic credit. Our participation in this program stretches back decades, an almost unbroken string of students passing through our office since then.(1)

Fast forward to Spring 2020. The COVID-19 health crisis has profoundly impacted universities and colleges around the globe. Most are attempting to provide instruction remotely to comply with physical distancing orders. The University of Oregon is no exception.

Otto Poticha, FAIA

Otto Poticha, FAIA, has helmed the School of Architecture & Environment’s ARCH 409/609 practicum class for many years, but offering it this spring posed an entirely unique challenge for him. Like his fellow faculty members, Otto has reinvented the course, by necessity turning to video teleconferencing as the means to provide students live interactions with local practitioners. During this time of shelter-in-place and physical distancing, no practical alternative exists—especially since everyone among the participating firms is working from their homes.

As occurs with a conventional practicum experience, Otto’s goal for his students is for them to understand the scope and range of typical tasks a professional architectural practice routinely undertakes. Toward this objective, he arranged four virtual office visits via Zoom, one each with four Eugene-based firms: 1) GMA Architects; 2) Robertson/Sherwood/Architects; 3) PIVOT Architecture; and 4) TBG Architects + Planners. The visits are spread through the Spring quarter; RSA’s turn is this coming Thursday, April 30; as one of our firm's principals, I will serve as the host.

My task will be to present Robertson/Sherwood/Architects and the work we do. I’ll recount our firm’s history and our general approach to running our practice. I’ll describe the skill sets we look for when we need to add staff. I’ll touch upon how we secure new projects, and then the process of designing and developing appropriate solutions to a wide range of design problems. Additionally, I’ll discuss how we administer our internal fee/budget structure and also help manage our clients’ budgets.

Per Otto’s directions, my presentation will be limited to one hour, to be followed by a half-hour student question period. Otto asked his students to visit our website prior to the scheduled virtual visit and presentation. They are supposed to then prepare and submit prior to our Zoom session a set of three questions based on what they have learned about us; these will be the questions Otto will ask me to address during the visit. Afterwards, the students’ assignment is to prepare a report that summarizes their understanding of our firm and the methods we use in our everyday work

As out-of-the-ordinary as it may be, I am looking forward to hosting the “virus practicum” visit. My office has always regarded the practicum program as an important option for students who otherwise may have no exposure before they leave school to the genuine workings of an architectural practice. My own practicum experience in the Vancouver, B.C. office of Arthur Erickson Architects in 1978 was eye-opening and informative, one I am truly fortunate to have enjoyed.

Big props to Otto for maintaining the practicum program, albeit in abridged form, during this difficult time.

(1)    In fact, one of RSA’s senior partners—Carl Sherwood, AIA—was a practicum student with our predecessor firm, Lutes/Sanetel/Architects. Don Lutes and Ron Sanetel were so smitten with Carl they offered him a permanent position upon his graduation. He has not left the firm since.

Earth Day 2020

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

This Wednesday, April 22 is Earth Day. It happens to be the fiftieth Earth Day and thus deserving some retrospection. How much progress toward protecting our one and only home planet have we made during the past half-century? The answer to this question is both a lot and that we have much to do. As an architect, I wonder whether my profession is doing enough—quickly enough—to help make a difference. 

Plenty of evidence suggests we have already crossed the critical threshold toward large-scale climate change. This threshold is the tipping point past which the Earth’s temperatures will continue to rise regardless of anything we do. The changes caused by the exponential acceleration of global warming will be immense and rapid, so much so they will quickly dwarf all other concerns. The upshot is the world as we know it will soon no longer exist. 

Appropriately, action on climate change is the topic for Earth Day’s 50th anniversary. It is the biggest challenge to the future of our species and the life-support systems that make our world habitable. 

We have seen encouraging changes in attitudes and policies, with significant progress on many fronts since the first Earth Day in 1970. Awareness about how human activities have adversely impacted our complex ecosystems is now widespread. Today, most people understand the importance of protecting the environment. The problem is the accelerating urgency of the issue and the growing magnitude of a necessary response to minimize the calamitous degradation of natural systems. The rollback of numerous protections by the Trump administration is damaging and plainly adding fuel to the fire. Less egregious but nonetheless unhelpful is the tone-deaf promotion by Architectural Record of lavish homes in pristine settings for the one-percenters in its annual Record Houses issue; the magazine’s editors fiddle as Rome burns. 

The following is an excerpt from an article written in 2008 by David Fahrenthold for the Washington Post: 

“. . . But even with "green" becoming nearly as common as "lite" on supermarket labels, some environmental historians say they wonder what it is all adding up to. They worry that the activity will give the illusion that major environmental problems are being solved when, in fact, many remain intractable. 

"Earth Day today is really much more like Mother's Day, or maybe Martin Luther King Day," said Adam Rome, a professor of history at Penn State University. "It's a once-a-year day to think about some things or maybe do a little something," he said, not the call for major life change and political action that it was in 1970.” 

To emphasize, Fahrenthold (whose focus today for the Post is covering the Trump family and its business interests) wrote and quoted these words 12 years ago—twelve years that have gone by much too quickly. Anticipating how impactful the changes to our lives need to be and the level of necessary political action is imperative. 

Various outlets have characterized the COVID-19 crisis as a dress rehearsal for the climate emergency. The pandemic has dramatically and suddenly confronted everyone with a common, immediate threat. We’ve all been affected. Some believe the world’s response to containing the virus has revealed a silver lining: a promising resilience and potentially an openness to a complete and drastic change in the way we lead our lives. Perhaps people everywhere are ready for a transition toward truly sustainable societal systems and economic models. At our core, we humans are adaptable survivors, though inclined to stasis until existentially threatened. 

This brings me back to the question of whether architects like myself are in fact working toward scalable solutions capable of mitigating the worst effects of climate change. To my profession’s credit, we have been at the forefront of numerous initiatives that have led to legislated protections for the environment. We have also spurred the introduction of green rating systems and sustainability-focused building technologies, which have forever changed the construction industry. Additionally, many architects and firms have committed to designing with carbon-neutrality in mind. The AIA and other organizations staunchly support the 2030 Challenge and the incorporation of technical solutions to achieve carbon-neutral goals. 

The problem is the current trajectory of planetary climate change cannot be reversed. The bottom line is our lives and our civilization will be impacted in unimagined ways. A thin application of “green” paint may make us feel better about ourselves but will not make the problem disappear. At best, we may be able to forestall the most ruinous outcomes by a few years. The challenge goes far beyond simply achieving carbon-neutrality in our buildings. Architects must envision a future world in which our lives will be dramatically and irrevocably transformed by the effects of climate change. 

That future, climactically unstable world is imminent. We’re already experiencing an increasing number of extreme weather events. Oceans are becoming hotter and more acidic, devastating marine life. Droughts are ravaging agriculture around the globe; conversely, rising sea levels will soon make many coastal communities unlivable. Temperate forests are vulnerable to damaging infestations and fires. Human life and prosperity will increasingly suffer; resource scarcity will spur massive migrations of climate refugees, in turn threatening regional stability and inciting virulent xenophobia. We’re witnessing the dystopian future envisioned by some science fiction writers become our reality. 

The climate crisis demands systemic changes to how we all live our lives: how we work, how we engage in trade, how we feed ourselves, and how and what we build. The building part is the arena within which architects will contribute toward solutions to complex, unfolding changes we can hardly comprehend. The profession needs to do its best to anticipate what those systemic changes are and what they mean for the future of architecture. 

We can adapt to change—we’re doing it now in the face of an unprecedented threat. It’s a matter of will, leadership, and ingenuity. Utopia may not await us if we’re “successful,” but we will not have presided over the demise of civilization either. 

As Earth Day’s organizers have proclaimed, the enormous challenges—but also the vast opportunities—of action on climate change have distinguished the issue as the most pressing topic for the 50th anniversary. If we’re seriously paying attention, climate change and its consequences should preoccupy our concerns on every day of the calendar.

Architectural Easter Eggs

Photo by Bee Felton-Leidel

https://unsplash.com/photos/htk_qXcZpww

It’s Easter Sunday, a day for Christians to celebrate the rising of Christ and for others to likewise celebrate renewal as spring reaches full bloom. One of the symbols we traditionally associate with the holiday is the Easter egg.

According to Wikipedia, the Christian custom of Easter eggs started among the early Christians of Mesopotamia, who stained eggs with red coloring “in memory of the blood of Christ, shed at His crucifixion.” A further association between eggs and Easter arose during the Middle Ages as a result of the fact Catholics were prohibited from eating eggs during Lent but were allowed to eat them when Easter arrived. Today, people joyfully color and decorate Easter eggs to mark the holiday, albeit often absent much of their religious association.

Architects have long been fascinated by the perfect form of eggs. Perhaps it’s the extremely complicated mathematical calculation used to describe their shapes that captivates us. Or maybe it’s the egg’s mystical power as a symbol of fertility, resurrection, the Earth, good luck, and wealth.

Regardless of why we find avian ova so interesting, the following assortment of eggs-cellent links to web pages celebrating ties between architecture and Easter eggs is sure to please:

Easter Eggs for Architects and Architecture Lovers

For several years in a row, the ArchDaily website invited architects and designers to submit the wittiest, most creative, and inspired Easter egg designs. The most recent set I could find dates from 2017, so I’m not sure if their Easter Eggs for Architects and Architecture Lovers remains a regular fixture when the holiday rolls around each year. Nevertheless, the collection from 2017 is truly amazing. Check it out:

https://www.archdaily.com/869135/easter-eggs-for-architects-and-architecture-lovers

Five Architectural Easter Eggs Hiding on Gothic Cathedrals

Aside from the specially decorated examples we’re all familiar with, Easter eggs have another connotation: as messages, images, or features hidden within a video game, movie, or another medium—such as architecture—waiting to be discovered. The sculpted figures adorning the great gothic cathedrals were most often of an ecclesiastic nature. Sometimes though, they were playful and capricious, as the examples you’ll see in the Atlas Obscura article below certainly are:

https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/five-architectural-easter-eggs-hiding-on-gothic-cathedrals

8 Eggs-travagantly Egg-Shaped Buildings for Easter

A number of contemporary architects have seemingly just discovered the potential of the egg-shape, as the examples collected by Inhabitat would seem to attest:

https://inhabitat.com/8-eggs-travagantly-egg-shaped-buildings-for-easter/

How Architects Cracked the Egg: Ovoid Buildings Through the Ages

Finally, here’s a link to a piece by Jonathan Foyle for the Financial Times describing how eggs represent nature’s most resolved work of architecture and how the symbolism for birth and rebirth they embody has inspired architects through the centuries:

https://www.ft.com/content/eef23476-193a-11e7-9c35-0dd2cb31823a

Mandalas

Working from home ensures the majority of my shelter-in-place days are full and reasonably distracting. Boredom hasn’t settled in yet. On the other hand, my wife Lynne has sought new ways to pass her time during the current pandemic lock-down. As writer Jessica Stillman says in her recent article for Inc.com, there may be silver lining to the secession of normal life as we know it. The sluggish boredom isn’t smothering good ideas; instead, it’s sparking a flowering of creativity. Boredom is your brain’s incubator for good ideas. In Lynne’s case, she discovered a new outlet for her creative urges: MandalaGaba.

MandalaGaba is an ad-free online website containing a suite of tools for generating mandalas, tessellations, and recursive drawings. While I’ve yet to give it a try, Lynne has played with it for several days now. So far, she’s created and saved dozens of simple mandalas, including the examples I’ve included with this post. She’ll undoubtedly soon generate examples of increased complexity, as many others have. The results remind me of the patterns I generated using the Spirograph kit I owned as a youngster.

Most people have a general understanding of what a mandala is. For those who may be unclear about what they are and their origins, the Invaluable.com blog contains a particularly good summary about their symbolism and salient characteristics:

“In their most basic form, mandalas are circles contained within a square and arranged into sections that are all organized around a single, central point. They’re typically produced on paper or cloth, drawn on a surface with threads, fashioned in bronze, or built in stone. While extraordinary as a standalone work of art, mandalas hold symbolic and meditative meaning beyond their vibrant appearance.

“A mandala is a spiritual and ritual symbol in Asian cultures. It can be understood in two different ways: externally as a visual representation of the universe or internally as a guide for several practices that take place in many Asian traditions, including meditation. In Hinduism and Buddhism, the belief is that by entering the mandala and proceeding towards its center, you are guided through the cosmic process of transforming the universe from one of suffering into one of joy and happiness.

“. . . Within their intricate circular patterns, you can find common symbols throughout mandalas. Traditionally, they include the presence of Buddha’s mind in an abstract form, most commonly represented as a wheel, tree, flower, or jewel. The center is a dot, which is a symbol considered free of dimensions. It is interpreted as the starting point, the beginning of contemplation, and devotion to the divine. From there, the dot is surrounded by lines and geometrical patterns that symbolize the universe, encompassed by the outer circle which represents the cyclical nature of life.”

Examples of the use of the geometric precepts and symbolism of mandalas in architecture abound. They’re evident in the design of many Buddhist and Hindu temples. They’re recognizable in historical Western examples as well, such as rotundas and baptisteries. Stonehenge is an especially ancient prototype. However, it was the builders of the layered, radial symmetry of some Buddhist structures who expressly applied the cosmologic symbolism of the mandala to architecture. The mandala generally consists of a sacred circle within which key deities reside in specific configurations in a multi-level square palace. The geometric diagram of the mandala opens in the four cardinal directions and is surrounded by concentric realms through which visitors pass or ascend toward enlightenment.

Borobudur temple, Central Java, Indonesia (photo by Gunawan Kartapranata / CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0))

I’m interested in architectural symbolism and the meanings inherent in buildings. Intentional or otherwise, our buildings encode symbolism. Their forms can represent an aspect of a culture’s particular worldview. They can evoke desirable associations, values, and meanings, both spiritual and secular. Buildings modeled after mandalas just happen to be particularly overt illustrations of symbolism shaping architecture. Many cultures use mandalas to symbolize the universe, whether it is the universe within each of us or that of the infinite beyond.     

Retreat, Withdrawal, the Intensified Inside

Photo by Jane Palash on Unsplash

Given our current shelter-in-place, COVID-19-plagued world, my immediate reaction upon rediscovering the following excerpt from the late Bill Kleinsasser’s self-published textbook SYNTHESIS was an overwhelming sense of forlorn poignancy. He certainly never imagined coping with the necessary isolation and stress associated with physical distancing mandates. When he wrote about retreat, withdrawal, and the necessity of time alone, it was in response to our default condition—a “normal” existence during which such occasions are too often rare or absent. Today, the circumstances require an unprecedented degree of withdrawal many people are struggling with. As social beings we like to connect and touch and be close to others, opportunities denied to us by the pandemic. We’re compensating by focusing on reaching out and checking on the well-being of others. We’re learning how to carry on.

Notwithstanding the current state of affairs, Bill’s observations about our psyches’ innate need for time away from it all—for time to individually ponder one’s place in the world from a location that is undeniably safe, comforting, and personal—are on point.

The Need to Retreat

People frequently need to be alone. In what is often a complex, relentless, or hostile world, one’s sense of balance, security, and self-respect cannot be maintained without this opportunity. People must have time and place to pause, to assimilate, to reflect, to wonder, to daydream, to remember. Daily life can become unbearable without these recuperative opportunities.

Sometimes the need to retreat is very great. Automobiles provide a widely used form of retreat. We can retreat into ourselves. It is possible to retreat even when surrounded by people and noise—if we have sufficient focus to withdraw.

People “retreat” in many ways. We often form cocoons around ourselves. We dream and fantasize. We can retreat by means of concentration (even when surrounded by activity). We retreat in groups. We go away (physically).

Built places can provide opportunities for retreat if they are made right. Usually the most successful places for retreat are those we just discover—not the ones with “retreat place” painted on them, but those private hideaways or secrete places we have found that are just the way they need to be, just where they are needed. People need to have lots these places around and they must be made just right.

The idea of aediculation is very important in regard to retreat and withdrawal. Aediculation is a very old idea meaning the act of making super-secure (usually miniature) places inside other places; making them in a way that the juxtaposition of smaller and larger places is dramatized or intensified.

Some examples of aediculated places:

• A small place on the edge of a cliff
• The open cockpit of a plane or car
• A treehouse
• A playhouse (of any kind)
• An eave in an attic
• A bay window (especially if it really overlooks a bay)
• A balcony
• The space under a table that a child chooses to play in

Some of the characteristics that successful place for retreat apparently must embody are:

• Identity as places
• A seemed defensability
• Super security—and enclosure
• Appropriate scale—the presence of the rightsized space for the occasion and circumstance
• Intensity—strongly felt contrast between place and setting
• Controlled connectedness—filters, switches, layers, etc. that give an individual the opportunity to modulate his[her] exposure by establishing different places to be.
• Overlook on activity
• Dead-ended-ness
• Personal meaning—magic of some kind, a memorable, special quality
• Personal meaning by means of the softness of the place—its imprintability, its capacity for being changed by those who occupy it
• A capacity for presenting something different (or apparently different) each time one goes there
• Material, textural, or symbolic richness—a capacity for stimulating the sense
• Effective surprise—a capacity to alert one to unexpected patterns

Retreat can happen by projecting oneself into something: an aediculation, especially a symbolic one, or into an order or a narrative presented, and become part of it for a while.

It would be helpful if the built environment contained many places that provide privacy, security, and solitude. It would be helpful if such places could occur in all parts of the built environment: in homes, in working places, in public spaces, outside as well as inside, etc.