Innocence Lost

 
(Photo credit: VOA, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons)

 
The terrifying familiarity this past week of yet another mass shooting at a school—this time at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas on May 24—shocked the nation. Some believe American society is becoming numb to gun violence, but the outpouring of grief and anger since word came of the twenty-one lives claimed by a homicidal young gunman in Uvalde is real and profound. So is the frustration we all endure in the face of predictable inaction by elected officials and the inevitability of history repeating itself.
 
The fact active shooter drills now figure prominently in virtually every child’s experience, as well as the renewed calls for “hardening” our schools and arming teachers, is nothing less than tragic. The agonizing fallout of mass shooting events most notably includes their pernicious impact upon the mental health of children. Researchers cite increasing evidence that exposure to actual gun violence or its threat leads to chronic trauma (PTSD), increased anxiety and paranoia, and inhibited brain development among some. Unabated, the adverse societal costs will continue to grow incalculably.    
 
The responses to mass shootings in our schools are manifold, including calls to do everything possible to prevent a repeat occurrence. Of course, proactive design measures to enhance school safety are among these responses. Common sense, strategic design principles—such as strictly controlled entrances, hiding spaces, and escape routes in case of an emergency—are already familiar to architects like me who are involved in the design of schools. So too is our charge to implement these solutions in ways that do not result in buildings that resemble fortresses or prisons more than the nurturing places for learning and socialization they should be, first and foremost.    
 
But as Blair Kamin (the former architecture critic for the Chicago Tribune) wrote in 2019 about how the design for a new high school in the small community of Fruitport, Michigan prioritized thwarting active shooters, there’s only so much architecture can do to prevent another Thurston High School, Columbine High School, Sandy Hook Elementary School, Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, or Robb Elementary School tragedy.(1) The bottom line is school design is by no means the real solution to a confoundingly intractable problem.
 
These high-profile events demand that school districts across the country allocate their limited resources toward implementing well-intended security measures, rather than directly investing in teaching and education. Communities across the nation have spent and will continue to spend billions of dollars in efforts to deter murderously deranged shooters, money that otherwise might reward and support the curiosity, intellect, creativity, and brilliance of young minds.
 
AIA EVP/Chief Executive Officer Lakisha Woods issued the following statement on behalf of the American Institute of Architects in response to last Tuesday’s heartrending news:
 
This is a time of reflection. There are no words that can adequately express our compassion or sorrow for the families touched by the unspeakable and senseless tragedy visited on Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas this week. Yet again, we are reminded that life is precious and impermanent, that we must cherish the moments we have with those who we hold most dear, and that we are all connected because we are all human.
 
The outpouring of love, concern, and sorrow following this latest school shooting is a small light in the darkness reminding us of what’s best about humanity—compassion, courage, and understanding. Our collective, and compounding traumas—school shootings, community violence, armed conflicts around the world, a global pandemic and epidemic of mental health issues, and inequity in society make it more important than ever to prioritize kindness, empathy, and grace. That can be hard because this era of trauma can weaken our connections to our best selves, our family, friends, and community.
 
The AIA is speaking out because the built world touches everyone’s life and because our members use the power of design to make a positive difference every day. The AIA is speaking out to put voice to our members’ collective sorrow and steadfast resolve to achieve a positive difference through the power of design.
 
That is why we all must work to advance a vision of society that alienates no one and empowers everyone equitably. We can realize that vision by remembering that of all the titles we may have—spouse, sibling, friend, coworker—the one appellation that matters the most is being human.

As we find ways to cope with this latest trauma, let’s take a few minutes over the long Memorial Day weekend to reflect on how we can work together to create, enhance, promote, and protect a sense of community, connection, and sense of belonging, for everyone, everywhere in our daily lives and through our work in communities . . . “
 
Regrettably, the timid AIA statement offers little more than the empty “thoughts and prayers” so often extended by those who lack the real empathy or political courage to legislate even the most sensible and modest of changes. The scornful dissent from many AIA members was immediate and pointed:

 

As Paul Goldberger says rightfully, AIA National’s position is worse than banal. And as Kriston Capps warns, the Uvalde massacre is an issue for architects because some politicians will parrot Texas Senator Ted Cruz’s call for radical changes to school building standards. I know in the absence of action on other fronts, any such changes will fail to meaningfully reduce or eliminate the reasons why mass killings occur.
 
Tellingly, AIA’s Committee on Architecture for Education Twitter account was locked after taking a much less equivocal stance than the parent organization about gun violence:

 

 

I find the divisiveness of the current discourse on school security and the reticence of some to assume a moral stance in response to mass shootings dismaying. That such a discussion is even necessary and at the forefront of our thinking when we design schools is perhaps most disheartening.
 
I’m saddened not only by the fact a gunman armed to the teeth took the lives of nineteen young third & fourth graders and two educators, and the fact mass shootings are a reality we must confront, but also by the collateral damage these horrific events inflict. Despair and fear of being shot should not be a constant for students and teachers, nor should parents have to worry unceasingly for the safety of their children, and yet here we stand. My memories of school are filled with joy, optimism, and innocence. Today’s youngsters live with the pall of guns in schools hanging over them. Count me among those demanding real change and the limitation of unfettered access to semi-automatic weapons and high-capacity magazines.
 
 
(1)    The litany of school shootings is somber evidence of an almost uniquely American malignancy.  
 

Eugene/Architecture/Alphabet: I

Ida H. and Frank L. Chambers House (my photo)

This is the next in my Eugene/Architecture/Alphabet series of blog posts, the focus of each being a landmark building here in Eugene. Many of these will be familiar to most who live here but there are likely to be a few buildings that are less so. My selection criteria for each will be threefold: 

1. The building must be of architectural interest, local importance, or historically significant.
2. The building must be extant so you or I can visit it in person.
3. Each building’s name will begin with a particular letter of the alphabet, and I must select one (and only one) for each of the twenty-six letters. This is easier said than done for some letters, whereas for other characters there is a surfeit of worthy candidates (so I’ll be discriminating and explain my choice in those instances).

This selection is supposed to begin with the letter “I;” however, given a dearth of appropriately named properties, I must resort to an admittedly liberal interpretation of my criteria. So, this entry’s guileful choice is the Ida H. (and Frank L.) Chambers House, AKA the Frank L. and Ida H. Chambers House.(1)

Presently located at the southwest corner of the intersection of West 10^th Avenue and Taylor Street, the Ida Chambers House is a rare and remarkably intact local example of the Eastlake movement(2) within the broader Queen Anne style of architecture, most popular in the United States during the period spanning roughly 1880 to 1910. The house features many of the hallmarks of the style, including lathe-shaped and jigsaw-cut wooden forms, steeply pitched hip roofs intersected with cross gables and a turret, roof cresting, pendants, finials, spindles along the porch frieze, scroll brackets, and wall surface decoration. The spindlework is particularly noteworthy, being locally produced by the Midgley Planing Mill, as opposed to being ordered from a catalog, which was a widespread practice at the time.

Ida Hendricks married Frank Chambers on July 29, 1891. They moved into their new home that same day. The house was originally sited at the northwest corner of the intersection of 9th Avenue and Lincoln Street, the lot a wedding gift from Ida’s father. Reportedly, the builder was William Alexander, who constructed the house for $2,300; Alexander later became the City of Eugene Building Inspector. At the time of its building, the house was situated at the western edge of the city.

The original exterior paint colors were an off-white for the body of the house and dark green for the trim. Today, the colors are light gray for the siding, with darker grays and blue for most of the trim, and flourishes of taupe. The current color scheme, in concert with the building’s elaborate roof profile, reads well against Eugene’s often dreary sky. Additionally, the rich detailing and textures are visually inviting, rewarding one’s eyes as they scan the well-proportioned, asymmetrically composed assemblage.

Inside, the house initially had six rooms, full bath facilities, electric lights, and the first telephone in Eugene (it had a private connection with the Chambers Hardware store). The second floor remained an unfinished attic during the time the Chambers lived in the house.

Ida developed tuberculosis and passed away on April 9, 1901, at only 31 years of age. Frank Chambers subsequently sold their home in 1903 for $5,000 to Dr. O.E. Smith. It was Smith who in 1921 moved the house to its present location at 1006 Taylor Street, converting it to use as a sanitarium for the treatment of tuberculosis, liver, kidney, and bladder troubles in partnership with Dr. V.L. Ruiter. According to Neal A. Vogel—who in 1987 successfully nominated the Chambers House for the National Register of Historic Places and to whom I must give credit for much of the information in this post—several theories exist as to why Dr. Smith relocated the house. One researcher surmises he did this to place it in a “healthier” setting, away from the rapidly encroaching downtown. Importantly, the house’s orientation is the same as it was on its original site, and consequently the manipulation of light—so important to the Victorians—is essentially the same.

Today, the listed owner of the property is the Barbara H. Beck Living Trust. Outwardly, the current caretakers have fully restored the house and maintained it in excellent condition. The property’s landscaping is likewise outstanding (see my photo above).

Interestingly, many of the Eastlake style’s best examples are in California and Oregon. I suspect this in part attributable to the ready availability of wood and skilled woodworkers in the region at the time of their construction. Moreover, improved transportation and mass production of decorative elements contributed to the style’s proliferation during the late 19th century. Its proponents considered wood a truly suitable building medium as opposed to being a poor substitute for stone or brick.

The extensive ornamentation and picturesque profiles of the Eastlake style eventually fell out of fashion, making way for newer styles reflecting evolving patterns of living and taste, and regionally responsive forms (such as the California bungalow), but also a revival of a variety of historicizing period styles (i.e., Colonial, English Cottage, and Georgian). Nevertheless, thanks to designs eminently suited to local conditions and tastes at the time of their construction, Queen Anne/Eastlake style homes like the Ida H. and Frank L. Chambers House remain appealing today, more than a century after their heyday.

(1)    As I state about my third selection criterion, selecting a noteworthy building in Eugene to represent each letter of the alphabet will not always be easy. Such was the case for the letter “I.” I expect other letters (I’m looking at you “X”) to likewise be challenging.

(2)  According to Wikipedia, the style is named after British architect and furniture designer Charles Locke Eastlake, who was a principal exponent of the revived Early English or Modern Gothic style during the 19^th century. His book Hintson Household Taste was a best seller on this side of the pond, greatly influencing American taste. Ironically, he did not find the “Eastlake” style homes in the U.S. to be consistent with his message, instead regretting the association of his name with architecture he regarded as “extravagant and bizarre.”  

  

Stay ON the Grass

 
Stay ON the Grass prototype installation, August 2021

The 2020 outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic struck suddenly, disrupting the routine and normalcy of everyday life. Social isolation and trepidation, job losses, the closure of businesses and schools, and unremitting news of mounting deaths exacted a costly toll on the mental health of many. As is true with far too many indicators, those hardest hit by the pandemic were and continue to be the undeserved in our society. This demographic suffers from higher rates of COVID-19 infection and mortality, and lower rates of subjective well-being. Notably, researchers at the National Institutes of Health found those with the least access to nature—predominantly those living in lower-income, non-white neighborhoods—experience higher rates of infection. While the material deprivation and economic anxiety wrought by the pandemic plays a role in the mental well-being of low-income households, the stark inequity in the amount of available green space relative to that which affluent, predominantly white populations enjoy underscores the NIH findings.
 
It is against this factual backdrop that Ryan Al-Schamma, Assoc. AIA (along with Erika Beehler, Sang Pham, and Anna Petrick) developed a prototype architectural installation called Stay ON the Grass (SOTG). The non-profit project aims to create a recreational social distancing pod for those in dense urban areas with little access to usable green space. Ryan envisioned SOTG as a commentary upon the racially biased state of urban design today, one that disproportionately provides and maintains desirable green space for more affluent populations while affording less access to nature for the underserved. For Ryan, the SOTG project Ryan is also an exercise in guerilla urbanism, a means to democratize green space for all.  
 
In simple terms, Stay ON the Grass is a “recreational social distancing pod.” The concept and form of the pod is derived from the chalk bubbles that cities like New York and San Francisco outlined on some of their grassy parks to enforce social distancing while allowing people to enjoy fresh air and greenery during the height of the pandemic. While these bubbles became a symbol of resilience in the face of a life-threatening virus, they were only accessible to some—the few and the privileged. This fact compelled Ryan and his fellow team members to develop the Stay ON the Grass project, to complete a prototype in 2021 (as seen in the photo above), and now pursue further development of an optimized design as proofs of concept, suitable for street installation and testing.
 
Each SOTG pod is a dish of grass and wood that rocks and sways when used due to its concave form. That concave form matches the curvature of the human anatomy when reclined—in effect, a living, urban hammock. The kinetic nature of the installation relaxes users while creating visual interest for passersby.
 
Padding the inside of the dish with live grass creates a more comfortable surface for users to occupy while quite literally putting them in touch with nature. The physical connection to nature soothes users directly and passersby indirectly by injecting greenery into otherwise austere cityscapes. Health professionals know access to nature is an important antidote to anxiety, depression, stress, loneliness, poor sleep, mood disorders, drug use, schizophrenia, and other health issues.
 
Deployed in areas otherwise devoid of nature, the SOTG team envisions its pods providing green, universally accessible, COVID-free parklets. They imagine them retrofitting impoverished paved spaces to create softer, more desirable landscapes.
 
Though Ryan’s ambition is to see widespread deployment of SOTG pods wherever they are needed, a worthy goal of the SOTG project is to symbolically, if not altogether practically, address the inequity inherent between city environs devoid of nature and wealthier neighborhoods blessed with an abundance of parks.

Redesigned Stay ON the Grass prototype.

 
SOTG is looking for material and financial support for the construction of its new, optimized design, which features improved constructability, uses half the amount of material as the prototype design, drains better, and requires less maintenance. The immediate goal is to construct three SOTG pods for display here in Eugene this summer, as well as three additional pods to be installed separately in Portland. After this round of installations is complete, SOTG proposes to open source the design, so cities elsewhere can replicate the concept.
 
Below is SOTG’s materials list and estimated prices per unit:

Ryan and the rest of the SOTG team are presently seeking financial support from building and design-related businesses to make this summer’s installations a reality. If you’re interested in helping directly or have any leads for potential sponsors, reach out to Ryan by email at ryan.alschamma@gmail.com. SOTG will recognize all contributors wherever they install the pods, as well as in all written publications regarding the project.

Corvallis Museum In-Person Tour

 

After two years absent of the opportunity to visit noteworthy local building projects, AIA Oregon and/or the Willamette Valley Chapter of the Construction Specifications Institute have offered several tours this year in rapid succession. The most recent was this past Wednesday’s tour of the new Corvallis Museum. Located at 411 SW 2nd Street in downtown Corvallis, the museum adds a considerable cultural amenity and draw to Benton County’s principal urban center. It significantly complements the BCHS’s other extensive assets, which are primarily located in nearby Philomath and include the historic Philomath Museum and the Peter & Rosalie Johnson Collections Center.
 
I’ve written three previous entries about the Corvallis Museum, dating back a dozen years. My fascination with the project stems from my admiration for the work of the building’s author—Allied Works Architecture—and the fact my office also pursued the commission. My familiarity with the project’s goals, the nature of the museum’s collections and mission, and its location in downtown Corvallis drove my continued interest throughout its protracted development.
 
About twenty AIA Oregon members were on hand for the in-person tour, ably led by Jessica Hougen (Executive Director, Benton County Historical Society), Michael Schweizer (former member of the BCHS Board of Trustees and current advisor to the board), and Chelsea Grassinger (design principal with Allied Works Architecture).
 
My account of last fall’s virtual tour of the then recently completed museum—also hosted by Jessica, Michael, and Chelsea—covered a lot of the territory I might otherwise repeat here. What I can say unequivocally is the opportunity to experience the building with all my senses was necessary to fully appreciate the genius of a deceptively simple and elegant design.
 

Exterior view from SW 2nd Street (all photos by me)

I do find some Allied Works Architecture projects to be mysterious, and the motivations behind the genesis and execution of their designs indecipherable (particularly when attempting to grasp them solely from drawings or photographs). Though it brought the firm a substantial measure of notoriety and attention, Witold Rybczynski characterized Allied Works’ design for the Museum of Arts and Design in New York as “fashionably inscrutable and mildly intimidating.”(1) That’s most certainly not the case with the Corvallis Museum.
 
That I do not find the museum either inscrutable or intimidating is in large part attributable to its modest scale, the luminous, hand-raked Japanese tile cladding, and refreshing transparency along both the SW 2nd Street and Adams Street frontages. The museum is physically welcoming, differentiated from its neighbors while at once complementing their massing, material, and detail. Though it glows, the Corvallis Museum is not an alien presence.

Lobby

 
Inside, the lobby, exhibit spaces, museum store, and classroom/event room feature a consistent palette of neutral, walls and ceilings (variously white-painted drywall or wood), wood floors (slate at the ground-level lobby), and elegantly detailed and minimalistic guardrails, handrails, display vitrines, and casework. The oak-clad grand stair draws visitors upstairs, while framing the majesty that is Bruce the Moose, the museum’s de facto mascot.

Bruce

The origami-like folding of the ceilings, walls, and clerestory windows of the second-floor galleries carefully frames views to the exterior and controls the entrance of natural light. The geometry is necessarily complex but does not detract from the exhibits on display or an overall impression of calm and order.
 
The quirkiness of the eclectic exhibits currently on display deservedly draw the focus of visitors to the museum. The Corvallis Museum features selections from the Benton County Historical Society’s massive collection of over 120,000 artifacts. The charming collection includes photographs, historical documents, textiles, clothing, domestic arts, farm implements, scientific instruments, and personal possessions. The juxtaposition of wildly disparate items—vintage hats & chairs, an old mainframe computer with its innards exposed, lumberjack saws, taxidermy, a ship’s helm, roller blades, and more—hardly seems curated, but purposely celebrates the one-of-a-kind past and present of Benton County.(2)   

 

If I must identify one quibble with the design, it is how acoustically lively the central lobby/atrium is. The reverberance appears compounded by the geometry of the reflective ceiling planes ringing the opening to the mezzanine exhibit space above. I didn’t ask whether this was by design (given that an acoustical consultant—Jaffe Holden—was part of the design team, and how thoroughly considered every other aspect of the interiors appears to have been) or a matter of budget limitations. By contrast, the gallery spaces control noise much more effectively.
 
My photographs fall woefully short of capturing the essence of an in-person visit to the museum. Jeremy Bitterman’s beautifully radiant images on the Allied Works website warrant your admiration, but they too cannot reveal the experiential qualities of walking around and through the building.
 
Overall, I’m a big fan of the Corvallis Museum. Kudos to the Benton County Historical Society and its many supporters for making its long-held vision for the museum a reality. The building is a significant architectural accomplishment and an amazing cultural asset for downtown Corvallis.
 
 
(1)    Ironically, as I detailed in my Virtual Tour post, it was the Museum of Arts and Design that brought Allied Works and the firm’s founder, Brad Cloepfil, to the attention of Irene Zenev, who was the Benton County Historical Society’s executive director during the design and construction of the Corvallis Museums.
 
(2)    Renate provided exhibit design services.