Sunday, August 29, 2021

Streateries & Food Cart Pods

Claim 52 has extra outdoor seating thanks to the City of Eugene's streatery program (photo from the City of Eugene's Streatery Program web page)

The recent, unfortunate upsurge in COVID-19 cases here in Lane County once again threatens the viability of the local food services industry. Many restaurants and bars fell in the wake of 2020’s initial lockdowns. Others survived but have struggled to adapt under shifting public health guidelines and mandates. 

To its credit, the City of Eugene enacted (and recently extended) a temporary “Streatery” permit program at the outset of the pandemic, which allows café seating in the public right-of-way. With a permit, restaurants can expand their serving areas onto sidewalks and on-street parking spaces, facilitating social distancing in open-air settings. City planners have likewise supported growth of the local food cart scene, thereby providing foodies with a wider selection of COVID-friendly dining options. Both initiatives belie a level of flexibility we don’t normally associate with rule-happy city regulators. 

Streateries in Eugene include one located on Broadway between Olive and Willamette, and another on Fifth Avenue between High and Pearl streets. Both involve the complete closure of those sections of roadway to vehicular traffic. The outdoor seating opportunities provided by the participating restaurants and bars have proven popular, being well-used when the weather cooperates. The extra room compensates for the mandated indoor seating reductions. Masks are currently required in the streateries, but may be removed while seated at your table, as you eat or drink. 

Looking ahead, it’s easy to imagine streateries becoming permanent fixtures in our cities. Like “parklets,” streateries reflect a growing appreciation for the social benefits of recasting our streets as pedestrian-first environments, which include the opportunity to see and be seen, play a role in the urban theater, and simply live la dolce vita

The explosive growth of food cart pods in Portland in recent decades has been a phenomenon, contributing in no small part to the Rose City’s reputation as a woke, hipster haven. Portland is home to many hundreds of food carts, mostly clustered into pods scattered about the city. Eugene has followed suit, with several small food cart pods springing up in recent years, bringing added vibrancy and color to our increasingly distinctive neighborhoods. Characterized by their diversity and artisanal sophistication, Eugene’s street food entrepreneurs add considerable flavor to the public realm, both literally and figuratively. 

Friendly Garden food cart pod (my photo)

Food cart pods in Eugene are located at the Beergarden, by Oakshire Brewing, and at 3rd and Van Buren in the Whiteaker neighborhood. You’ll find the Graffiti Alley Food Truck Pod on River Road, and the Friendly Garden is a popular attraction on Friendly Street near W. 28th Avenue. Downtown Eugene is home to the Kesey Square Food Truck Pod, another pod at 8th & Olive, and of course food carts have been a decades-long fixture at the Saturday Market

While some may disagree, I find considerable aesthetic appeal in the ad-hoc, favela chic of typical food cart pods. They may appear improvisational and shabby, but their vitality is undeniable. Each cluster is refreshingly unique; there’s nothing about them one can possibly associate with placeless and polished brick & mortar restaurant chains. Invariably, food cart pods are a treat for the senses—colorful, aromatic, and vibrant—a far sight better than the enervating blight of surface parking lots they often stake claim to. 

3rd & Van Buren food cart pod (my photo)

The long-term, post-COVID socio-environmental and urban design implications of streateries and food cart pods merit study. There is increasing evidence pandemic-resilient urban strategies will permanently reshape our cities. Among these strategies, maximizing the potential of the public realm to be multifunctional, flexible, and adaptive is key. COVID-19 has spurred increased programming and repurposing of streets as streateries and parking lots as food cart pods, with results that demonstrate resilience and the ability to improvise during an emergency. Time will tell whether the pandemic will also bequeath a legacy dedicated to prioritizing the urban realm for pedestrians rather than vehicles. 

Every dark cloud has a silver lining. The availability of streateries and the proliferation of food cart pods as dining options during these uncertain times are consequences I think we can all relish.

Sunday, August 22, 2021

Architecture is Awesome #22: The Symbolism of Shelter

Japanese vernacular houses (minka) in the snow. Photo by Dennis Agusdianto on Unsplash

This is another in my series of posts inspired by 1000 Awesome Thingsthe Webby Award winning blog written by Neil PasrichaThe series is my meditation on the awesome reasons why I was and continue to be attracted to the art of architecture. 

Architecture stems in large part from the relationship between humans and the natural environment, in particular the need for protection from the elements. Constructing shelters in response to that need (as opposed to seeking naturally formed refuges, such as caves) prompts symbolic associations between the function of shelter and its most archetypal forms. Even with all the technology at our disposal to keep a hostile environment at bay, these archetypes retain their pancultural symbolic power today. We instinctively attribute meaning to specific building geometries and are especially responsive to those we readily associate with shelter.

The 18th century French architectural theorist Marc-Antoine Laugier explored the origins of architecture in his Essai sur l’architecture, seeking to distill its most fundamental bases. This he expressed through the concept of The Primitive Hut, utilizing naturally derived forms to outline his general principles of architecture. For Laugier, the hypothetical Primitive Hut provided a universal model for architecture and a reminder of the essential meaning of all building. While he sought to promote principles founded upon the simplicity of rustic structures, his belief in the conceptual hut as a mediator between man and nature—the beginnings of shelter as architecture—underscored his entire thesis. 

The Primitive Hut, engraving by Charles Dominique Joseph Eisen

The roof of a building typically provides the most visible measure of psychological shelter. As Christopher Alexander and his colleagues noted in Pattern No. 117 of their seminal work A Pattern Language, the most primitive of buildings are often little more than a roof. They assert that if a roof is hidden, if its presence cannot be felt around the building, or if it cannot be used, then people will lack a fundamental sense of shelter.

The geometries of steeply pitched or sloped roofs most effectively symbolize shelter. In regions subject to heavy precipitation or harsh winters, the warmth and embrace of sheltering roofs is literally protective. The power of sloping roof forms to imply shelter seems innate, so much so that young children invariably draw houses with sloped roofs, regardless of where they live. Conversely, people typically read flat roofs as indifferent to the environment; the exception to this interpretation being when they occur in a hospitable clime, in which case the flat roofs are ideally inhabited, either literally or figuratively (such as the roof terraces of Greek island villages or the roofscapes of Le Corbusier’s Unités d’Habitation, respectively).  

Santorini, Greece (photo by Jennvmy_ on Unsplash

Writers have effectively used the notion of shelter as a literary stand-in for themes associated with wellbeing, security, or civilization. In William Golding’s novel Lord of the Flies, the goal of building shelters represents an imperative for order and security, while in John Updike’s short story A Sense of Shelter, the “shelter” is the comfortable high school environment the story’s protagonist had grown very accustomed to but was about to leave. Symbolically, shelter represents our comfort-zone, a place in which we are covered, protected, and at ease.

Other aspects of shelter include its correlation with the primordial symbolism of the mother’s womb, certainly an enclosed and protected space, the first we all experience. Additionally, shelter is associated with habitation, in its most granular form a family’s house. As Gaston Bachelard wrote in The Poetics of Space, “the house shelters daydreaming, the house protects the dreamer, the house allows one to dream in peace.” So, a house is more than shelter. The built form of housing invariably is endowed with meaning beyond that of shelter alone to include symbols of family life, indicators of social organization, and status.

Profoundly, the production of shelter is a means to differentiate a place from the surrounding world, to establish with greater specificity our dwelling within the universal. Shelter sets up a relationship between us, the landscape outside, and the skies above. In a way, whether consciously or not, we regard our shelters to be a symbolic miniaturization of the universe itself.

The origins of meaning in architecture have always fascinated me. The symbolism of shelter is rooted in prehistory, dating to when the very nature of who we are as a species was taking form. The need for shelter is both primeval and eternal. Today, when it is all too easy to become distracted by the exigencies of construction, program, and budget, let’s not risk forgetting architecture’s AWSOME capacity to communicate through the meaningful use of symbolic forms.

Next Architecture is Awesome: #23 Walls

Sunday, August 15, 2021

So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright


So long, Frank Lloyd Wright

I can't believe your song is gone so soon
I barely learned the tune
So soon, so soon

I'll remember Frank Lloyd Wright

All of the nights we'd harmonize 'til dawn
I never laughed so long
So long, so long

Architects may come, and architects may go

And never change your point of view
When I run dry
I'll stop awhile and think of you

Architects may come and architects may go

And never change your point of view

So long, Frank Lloyd Wright

All of the nights we'd harmonize 'til dawn
I never laughed so long
So long, so long

So long, so long

So long, so long

So long

(So long already, Artie!)

So long

So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright is a song written by Paul Simon and released on Simon & Garfunkel’s landmark 1970 album Bridge over Troubled Water. I just happened to rediscover the track while passing time and listening to an assortment of folk-rock pieces from that era. A deceptively simple composition, the bossa nova-inspired tune incorporates varied rhythms and syncopations. Simon’s choice of a Brazilian musical styling may seem incongruent with Wright’s architecture, but its measured tempo and instrumental layering sets a melancholic vibe perfectly in keeping with Art Garfunkel’s ethereal vocal delivery. 

Garfunkel did major in architecture at Columbia University in New York City, a fact I did know. Some accounts say he asked Simon to write the song as a tribute to Wright, who died in 1959. This corresponds to when Garfunkel was most likely attending Columbia, so the great architect’s passing was undoubtedly impactful upon an impressionable young student of architecture. Upon initial reading, it is easy to interpret Simon’s lyrics as a genuinely sweet ode to a personal hero, as Artie may have wished they would be. 

It turns out the song really isn’t about Frank Lloyd Wright; instead, Simon wrote it as a cryptic farewell to Garfunkel. The duo split shortly after the release of Bridge over Troubled Water, citing personal differences and a divergence in career interests, particularly Artie’s pursuit of an acting career. It turns out several of the songs on the album—for which Simon as the songwriter composed all the lyrics—foreshadowed their breakup. Garfunkel unwittingly sang So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright, not realizing it was a sly and embittered dig at him by his musical partner. Garfunkel reportedly said he was deeply hurt upon later learning of the song’s true meaning. 

Near the end of the song, it is the album’s producer, Roy Halee, who shouts “so long already, Artie,” a portentous, albeit unintended, adieu. 

I can’t claim to ever have been a huge Simon & Garfunkel fan. If anything, I consider Paul Simon’s later solo work more appealing. Regardless, I find the backstory associated with Bridge over Troubled Water and particularly the track So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright revealing, and more than a bit sad. 

There’s no disputing Simon & Garfunkel’s impact upon the music industry and their part in helping to define the cultural spirit and mood of the tumultuous 1960s. The legacy of their final studio album may be its marking the end of an era and the demise of an unparalleled musical collaboration. So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright does stand out to me for its musical merit and the allusiveness of its lyrics, no matter its subtext.    

Sunday, August 8, 2021

Blood, Sweat, and Tears: The Birch Fircrest House

The Birch Fircrest House

I had the good fortune this weekend to enjoy a tour of a remarkable work of architecture currently under construction: the Birch Fircrest House designed by Speranza Architecture + Urban Design. Philip Speranza, AIA offered the personal tour, describing the design in detail for me. The then-unbuilt project was a winner of an AIA Southwestern Oregon Design Merit Award in 2018.  

Philip is not only the founder and principal of his eponymously named firm but also a tenured professor in the School of Architecture & Environment at the University of Oregon’s College of Design. He teaches design studios in architecture and urban design, media courses in computation and data visualization, and directs the Barcelona Urban Design Summer program. According to his College of Design biography, Philip’s research “. . . explore[s] the use of new geospatial design methods to understand small-scale social and environmental phenomena in urban design. Speranza has published widely on this subject through diverse lenses including geospatial information and parametric design, [and] on-site and off-site data acquisition . . .” 

Consistent with Philip’s research, real-world data, applied across all scales, is what drives his firm’s work. For his Birch Fircrest House, this entailed a deep analysis of both the challenging site and the highly specific conditions associated with the microclimates of its wooded hillside setting. The project is effectively a proof of concept demonstrating the applicability of fine-grained environmental data to generate bespoke designs precisely tailored to the specifics of any site and program. 


The Birch Fircrest House is perched above Judkins Point along the ridgeline defining the eastern boundary of Eugene’s Fairmount neighborhood. Pre’s Rock is mere steps away on nearby Skyline Boulevard. Operating at the edges of what is possible, Philip purchased the property fully aware of its considerable challenges and tantalizing potential. Emboldened by that potential and at a pivot point in his life and career, he pursued what has become an all-consuming undertaking.  

The shadow of a tree dances on the south wall.

The realization of the project is drenched with Philip’s blood, sweat, and tears. He would not only serve as its designer but its general contractor as well. He performed much of the construction labor himself, from clearing the site, to pouring the foundations, hoisting 500-pound beams into place, and tilting up 15’ tall wall sections (don't worry, he called on friends and utilized wall jacks to help with the really heavy lifting). Keep in mind this isn’t his “day job;” his position as a tenured professor conducting important research is. Moreover, he finds time to maintain his professional practice. I find his level of commitment and energy nothing less than astonishing.  

Philip Speranza, AIA

Tilting one of the exterior walls into place.

Equally astounding is the depth of analysis and design effort Philip and his team lavished on the modest project. The commitment of time was much greater than most architects can afford on jobs many times its size.  

Philip’s program for the house was threefold: 1) provide a comfortable 3-bedroom home for himself; 2) include a possible Airbnb suite; and 3) accommodate an office for his architectural practice. Philip arrayed this program across four floors within a compact, vertically oriented, metal-clad tower.  

Plans

Section

The house responds to the challenges and opportunities presented by the site:

  • The minimal footprint maximizes usable outdoor area while acknowledging rather than fighting the daunting topography.
  • The attenuated volume is selectively cleaved away to generate a sculpturally interesting polyhedron that has yielded to external imperatives (such as the creation of useful outdoor spaces whose microclimate is predictable).
  • The spare openings selectively and strategically exploit the variability of natural light throughout the day and the seasons as well as the availability of views, whether immediate and intimate or distant and vast.
  • The irregularity of the climatic condition of the steeply sloped, east-facing site also informed the placement of the operable windows to optimize passive ventilation strategies (which include inducing a stack effect for cooling during the hottest months of the year). The double-glazed, tilt + turn, high-performance windows are manufactured by Innotech.

Taken together, these responses have ensured a customized fit, rather than a loose “off-the-rack” solution shaped by generic rules-of-thumb.  

Motorized clerestory windows will facilitate stack-effect cooling.

As part of the design effort, Philip and his team collected and visualized environmental data in detail, such as the irregular climactic conditions across the property and at different elevations above it. They took full advantage of available software tools, including Ladybug, which combines geometry in Rhino and the parametric interface of Grasshopper with open-source weather data from EnergyPlus to create climate analysis graphics and diagrams. Additionally, they conducted analyses utilizing in-situ Arduino sensors to measure temperature, humidity, light, and noise values across the lot during different seasons and times of day.  


Further availing themselves of technology, the team relied upon a laser-scanned, georeferenced point cloud to describe the site’s dramatic topography, converting the dataset to a precise Rhino/Revit file, in turn utilizing that file and computer numerical control (CNC) machining to fabricate the base for a wooden study model.  

Study model

These tools contributed toward a unique solution that accounts for small-scale environmental differences, to a level of detail that architects previously may only have intuited (with little or no empirical data or analysis to support design decisions). Once he occupies the residence and office, Philip intends to measure the success of his design by monitoring its performance and ability to adjust to environmental conditions as they change.  

The four stories of wood-framed construction demanded application of the Oregon Structural Specialty Code, rather than the Oregon Residential Code. The design’s deceptively simple form disguises heroic structural measures necessary to counter significant overturning moment forces, which are transferred directly to the basalt bedrock that underlies the site.(1)  

Construction progress photo. Note the basalt outcropping, which has been left in place as a feature within the house.

An in-floor radiant system will provide heat for the house. Interestingly, Philip explained the radiant piping will not be embedded within a concrete topping over the wooden subfloor; it turns out the rapidity of diurnal temperature swings typical here in Eugene exceed the capacity of thermal mass to absorb and release heat most effectively. Instead, the tubing will be integrated with the subflooring material. The finish flooring will be milled from the mature fir trees removed to make room for the new house.  

Philp eschewed adding projecting decks or balconies to avoid detracting from the building’s severe, faceted geometry. Instead, he made room for the at-grade spaces outside and included a large, south-facing Juliet window as an amenity for the 4th floor office.  

The Juliet window on the south wall of the 4th floor office.

I initially wondered if Philip’s reliance upon an intensely data-driven process betrayed the approach of a narrowly focused technician, rather than that of a well-rounded and holistically minded polymath. My initial interpretation of that methodology assumed a slavish dependence upon data-driven computer algorithms and the forms they generate.  

Despite the sophistication of today’s parametric tools, the level of analysis enabled by computer technology does not yet approach that which the human mind is instinctively capable of processing, nor can a limited set of relatively primitive algorithms fully account for the profundity of our interactions with the places in which we dwell. True architecture is necessarily more than the sum of discrete, albeit meticulous responses to environmental and programmatic priorities.  

The fact is Philip’s design of the Birch Fircrest House is very much comprised of gestural moves that express ideas and educe a desirably intense awareness of place and being. The house is his essential meditation on the nature of building, dwelling, and place—meaningfully deepened because Philip is both its designer and builder. Once occupied, it will transcend the methodology that contributed to the shaping of its form. It will become Philip’s home and a place for him to work. The parametric tools his team leaned on merely optimized what will fundamentally be a phenomenological work of architecture.  

*    *    *    *    *    *

With respect to architecture, Philip and I are kindred spirits. I look forward to future discussions with him about the nature of the work we do as architects and its importance, and our duty to create meaningful, useful, and enduring places.

(1)    The structural engineer for the house was Jok Ang, PE, SE of MAE Engineering.

Sunday, August 1, 2021

The Multiple Whole

 

Campbell Memorial Courtyard, Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art (my photo)

The breadth of knowledge architects must command seemingly grows exponentially with each passing year. Regrettably, the overwhelming magnitude prompts a Faustian bargain: In exchange for a commanding grasp of, say, green building principles, what does the earnest architect sacrifice? If that architect is at all like me, something must give. Certainly, an aspect of architecture I am not willing to surrender is the discipline’s soul: its fundamental duty to help realize places that are generously accommodating, lastingly useful, gracious, stimulating, connected, and if we’re fortunate, poetic. Architecture at its most compelling is a comprehensive pursuit, rather than a narrowly focused one.   

This is a reason why I frequently find myself returning to Bill Kleinsasser’s self-published textbook SYNTHESIS. For me, SYNTHESIS serves as a touchstone by which to measure my commitment to the principles that first attracted me to a life in architecture. Through its various iterations, Bill consistently addressed the broad set of essential considerations that make architecture, architecture. In the following, succinct passage, he discusses the “multiple whole,” a concept I consider central to our perception of a purposeful, multivalent, and eloquent design.       

The Multiple Whole

It is possible and desirable to make systems of spatial organization that allow and evoke multi-use (and multi-meaning) both at any moment and over time. 

Generally supportive places are those which, because they must support many users over their many years of existence, must provide many opportunities for use, for change, and for involvement for those users. This depends upon not only the richness and diversity of their parts, but also their overall organization. 

A “generally supportive” place must give the people who come to it the immediate and lasting impression of goodness and suitability of fit. This depends upon the arrangement of parts as well as the development of parts. The parts must obviously exist and be developed well, but they must also be integrated into a whole. 

But the idea of the whole carries the implication of precision. It does not mean any grouping or bunching of parts. It means the development of minimally dependent, clearly interrelated parts and the development of an organization of parts that can be read many ways. 

The multiple whole depends upon:

  • Variety of developed sub-parts and sub-spaces.
  • The possibility of understanding (and continuing to understand) the whole, which may depend upon some or all of the following:
    • The way parts are joined.
    • Having a dominant space (or clear hierarchy).
    • Seeing the whole space.
    • Pervasive response to place.
    • Metaphoric (image) control.
    • Traditional shapes and symbols.
    • Geometry.
    • System of construction.
    • Pervasive materials, textures, colors.
    • Point of view.

 WK/1981