Architecture is Awesome: #32 Every Building is a Prototype

 

Using a scale model, a form of prototyping, to test design concepts (my photo)

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

While iterative prototyping is a vital tool for design and innovation in many industries, the use of prototypes is severely limited in the production of architecture. Each new building stands alone as a culmination of ideas, adaptation, and continuous improvement at the time of its design. Effectively, every building is its own prototype, a unique example of its kind.
 
Full-sized, operational prototypes offer a range of benefits that virtual representations alone cannot fully replicate. These benefits are particularly significant for the automotive, aerospace, or consumer electronics industries, where physical prototypes play a crucial role in design and testing. Full-sized, operational prototyping holds immense value when amortized over the entire production run of manufactured products. While the upfront costs of creating these prototypes can be substantial, the long-term benefits they provide throughout the production lifecycle far outweigh the initial investment. Prototyping reduces the likelihood of costly changes once mass production begins, helps validate assumptions regarding the user experience, and can identify inefficiencies in production processes.
 

Prototypes in flight: The YF-16 and YF-17 aircraft, competitors in the U.S. Air Force’s Lightweight Fighter technology evaluation program of the early 1970s (photo by Air Force Camera Operator: R.L. HOUSE, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons).

 
On the other hand, full-sized, operational prototypes are impractical for one-off and program-specific architectural projects due to the unique challenges posed by the complexity, scale, and price tag associated with buildings. Buildings vary widely in scope, design, and context. Each project responds to a distinctive set of user requirements and the peculiarities of its site. The customization inherent in architecture makes it challenging to develop a one-size-fits-all prototype that can accommodate diverse project needs. In theory, architects could benefit from creating prototypes to identify flaws, make improvements, and arrive at a final design that is both functional and economical. Prototyping is a fundamental tool for innovation in many industries, but the world of architecture operates under an entirely different paradigm, one in which time, finance, and sustainability are hefty considerations.   
 
Instead of prototyping, architects rely on alternative methods—including computer-generated simulations, augmented reality, scale models, and other design visualization tools—to test and refine their ideas before construction begins. Stand-alone mockups of building components are likewise valuable tools for focused testing of ideas and assessing performance of specific systems in a far more cost-effective and practical manner than complete building prototypes.
 

Reviewing a full-sized, stand-alone mockup of the integrated, exterior wall assembly for the Lane Community College Health Professions Building, currently under construction (my photo).

 
Several well-known architects developed their design theories and visions over the course of multiple projects, using each as a steppingstone or prototype to refine and evolve their ideas. Notable examples include Le Corbusier, who expounded on his “Five Points of Architecture” through a series of projects that effectively served as prototypes for his design philosophy. Likewise, Louis Kahn progressively refined his notions on monumentality and light with projects like the Salk Institute, Kimbell Art Museum, and the National Assembly Building of Bangladesh. Both Corb and Kahn used successive projects as testing grounds for new ideas, materials, and concepts.    

So, every building is a prototype, not for its own sake but rather for that of the projects that follow it. Completed projects provide architects with an AWESOME opportunity for continuous improvement. They serve as valuable sources of knowledge to be drawn upon to help refine design strategies and improve the probability of better outcomes in future projects of similar types. This knowledge is often the result of feedback from users and other project stakeholders. All the lessons learned help architects anticipate and mitigate risks associated with design decisions, construction methods, and unforeseen challenges.

Next Architecture is Awesome: #33 Happy Clients

Eugene/Architecture/Alphabet: N

Ninkasi Brewing's Administration Building, 155 Blair Boulevard (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 entry’s selection begins with the letter N, for which my choice is Ninkasi Brewing.

Ninkasi Brewing's Administration Building, 155 Blair Boulevard (photo from Albrecht Architecture's website)

Ninkasi Brewing

The craft beer movement swelled during the early years of this century, with Oregon reigning supreme as a locus for some of most flavorful and decorated craft brews to be found anywhere. Jamie Floyd and Nikos Ridge founded Eugene’s Ninkasi Brewing Company in 2006, riding the crest of that wave. The two moved their burgeoning operation to its current location in the Whiteaker neighborhood in 2007, which they believed was the ideal site to realize their vision of a business focused on community and culture. Today, the company’s production and lab facilities, marketing and administrative offices, and its Better Living Room restaurant and gathering space occupy three buildings.
 

Ninkasi's Tasting Room at 272 Van Buren Street (photo from Albrecht Architecture's website)

Ninkasi was the Mesopotamian goddess of beer and brewing. Befitting the worship of the mistress of beer, architects Chuck Bailey and Kurt Albrecht designed Ninkasi’s collection of facilities in a manner intended to both venerate the production and consumption of ales, IPAs, pilsners, porters, and stouts, and add to the Whit’s vibrancy. Toward this end, they succeeded in spades. The Ninkasi buildings sit within the neighborhood rather than apart from it. Each is architecturally distinctive, while at the same time unified by a palette of common colors, eclectic forms, and quirky details. They mirror the neighborhood’s spunk, texture, and eccentricity. The buildings are very contextual—they simply would look out of place anywhere else in Eugene.
 

Ninkasi's brewery facility at 220 Blair Boulevard (my photo)

You can see the workings of the brewery as you walk, cycle, or drive by the facilities. A bridge conveying batches of the company’s liquid gold crosses over Blair Boulevard. Decorative metalwork pieces, such as at gates and fences, reinforce the company’s branding. Ninkasi’s signature teal color carries from the exterior into the buildings, appearing consistently throughout: in the furnishings, accents, and the like. The overarching mise-en-scène is that of a raw, industrial stage set, utilizing exposed steel trusses and railings, snaking ductwork and piping, and suspended lighting to deliberate effect.

 

The Better Living Room (my photo)

Located inside the administrative building, the Better Living Room is a singularly impressive indoor place. It is the community hub Jamie Floyd and Nikos Ridge imagined when they first staked their claim in the Whiteaker neighborhood. The soaring space is at once awesome and welcoming, a comfortable hangout within which to enjoy good company, good beer, and mouthwatering comfort food. Portland-based creative agency Murmur developed the vintage living room aesthetic that plays well against the brewery’s industrial character.     
 

Expressive structural detailing (my photo)

I’m not a craft brew aficionado, but I do appreciate the earnest efforts of Ninkasi Brewing to position their business and utilize idiosyncratic architecture in a way that is of its place. Bolstering the Whit’s distinctiveness through design—not to mention unique craft beers—has created the sense of community Ninkasi’s founders sought, in the process helping people connect with their neighbors, genuine experiences, and shared identity.

Steampunk

 

Cornu's Helipack (2012, by Joseph Mross), on display in the lobby of the Miner Building.

This week’s edition of Eugene Weekly includes a feature article about the new Museum of Techno Art (MTA), which will open this coming October in the Miner Building. The Miner Building just happens to be where my firm’s office is located. In recent weeks, the building’s lobby has successively displayed pieces by Steampunk artists Steve LaRiccia and Joseph Mross. Until reading the article in the Weekly, I was unaware of the plans to open the MTA in the Miner Building, so I figured the contraptions were simply part of a rotating art program for the lobby. It all makes sense now. 

I am by no means a Steampunk enthusiast. That said, I do find the steampunk premise and subculture fascinating, mostly for aesthetic reasons.
 
Like me, many people have at least a passing familiarity with Steampunk. The genre enjoys a significant following and has influenced various forms of media and culture, including literature, film, fashion, and even some aspects of technology design. It offers a nostalgic yet imaginative view of the past and a creative exploration of how the present and future might have been shaped by the technologies and sensibilities of a bygone era. Steampunk does this by featuring anachronistic and retro-futuristic technologies (such as steam-powered machinery, clockwork devices, and elaborate gadgets) to create a unique blend of the futuristic and the antiquated. Steampunk contraptions are characterized by ornate details, brass, copper, and other materials associated with the Victorian era. Likewise, Steampunk settings are often urban landscapes filled with factories, cogs, pipes, and gears, reflecting the industrialization of the 19th century. Steampunk fashion incorporates Victorian clothing styles, such as waistcoats, top hats, corsets, and petticoats, often adorned with gears, goggles, and other industrial elements.
 
The following quote from the first printing of the now defunct SteamPunk Magazine brilliantly summarizes what modern Steampunk is about:
 
“First and foremost, Steampunk is a non-Luddite critique of technology. It rejects the ultra-hip dystopia of the cyberpunks—black rain and nihilistic posturing—while simultaneously forfeiting the “noble savage” fantasy of the pre-technological era. It revels in the concrete reality of technology instead of the overanalytical abstractness of cybernetics . . . Authentic Steampunk is not an artistic movement but an aesthetic technological movement. The machine must be liberated from efficiency and designed by desire and dreams. The sleekness of optimal engineering is to be replaced with the necessary ornamentation of true function. Imperfection, chaos, chance, and obsolescence are not to be seen as faults, but as ways of allowing spontaneous liberation from the predictability of perfection.”
 
The examples of Steve LaRiccia’s and Joseph Mross’ Steampunk art I have seen so far certainly fit the bill.  

Wozniak's Conundrum (2011, Steve LaRiccia).
 

Steampunk is far from the mainstream of architectural design thinking, but its principles and aesthetics resonate with architects and designers who seek to explore alternative approaches to design, sustainability, and the relationship between technology and architecture.
 
For example, some architects find inspiration in Steampunk's emphasis on intricate detailing and the use of materials like brass, copper, and wood. Buildings that respond to environmental factors or user interactions could incorporate Steampunk-inspired mechanisms. Tom Kundig is a modern-day architect whose work is well-known for including mechanical or kinetic elements, such as large mechanically operated doors, shutters, or windows that allow users to interact with and adapt spaces to their needs. His architectural style is not directly aligned with Steampunk, but he shares with Steampunk its defining affinity for mechanical contraptions.
 

Pivoting window and manual hand-cranking mechanism, Chicken Point Cabin, Tom Kundig, architect (photo from Olson Kundig website).

Other architects might be inspired by Steampunk’s approach to transforming old and discarded materials into functional and aesthetic architectural components. Such repurposing and upcycling aligns with contemporary concerns about sustainability.
 
The characteristic intricacy and playfulness of Steampunk designs holds lessons for architecture as well. Steampunk is a philosophy that finds parallels with the Victorian-era Arts and Crafts Movement, which was largely a backlash against the Industrial Revolution. The Arts and Crafts ethos promoted the skilled work of human hands over mass-produced and commercially made products. We can see in Steampunk an inherent critique of design-thinking that fails to connect people with the making of their useful objects and places. The absence of intensely human qualities is what we too often miss in today’s architecture but find in the Steampunk aesthetic.  

While not a mainstream architectural movement, Steampunk's influence on architecture underscores the genre's ability to spark creativity and dialogue about the intersection of history, technology, and design. As architects face the challenges of creating adaptable and aesthetically engaging spaces, they can find inspiration in the principles and aesthetics of Steampunk to explore new possibilities and push the boundaries of architectural design.

Paris metro station "Arts et Métiers", designed in 1994 to honor the works of Jules Verne (photo by Cramos, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

For the most part, real-world instances of Steampunk architecture are limited to themed exhibits or environments their designers simply intended to evoke the Steampunk aesthetic. Consequently, a certain authenticity is absent. Just as the Steampunk we’re most familiar with is associated with cosplay, we recognize that the contemporary architecture we might label as Steampunk is likewise play-acting rather than entirely genuine. Exceptions to this perception are most often projects that involve the repurposing of older buildings. I can imagine the proposed adaptive reuse of the EWEB Steam Plant as ripe with possibilities, leveraging the building’s historic features (including the boiler equipment) to aesthetic effect. The Spokane SteamPlant renovation is a completed example that does this. Ironically perhaps, what moves us away from regarding such projects as consistent with Steampunk philosophy is that the historical equipment they contain are artifacts past their useful life as opposed to living, functioning elements. 

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As the name Museum of Techno Art implies, the MTA will encompass a wider range of creative expressions than Steampunk alone and embrace a variety of other technological and digital mediums. I suspect these other artforms might include digital painting, generative art, virtual reality experiences, and more, expanding beyond the boundaries of historical aesthetics like Steampunk. I’m looking forward to exploring the museum when it opens in October. That said, the museum is currently available by appointment for tours. You can arrange a tour by contacting Steve LaRiccia at SteamWorksLabs@centurylink.net or Glenn Smith at GlennWSmith@gmail.com.

Navigating Change with a Dash of Nostalgia and a Whole Lot of Hope

Those of you who know me understand how much I enjoy being a fan of the University of Oregon football team. Friday’s news that the Ducks and the University of Washington Huskies will leave the PAC-12 conference in 2024 for greener pastures as members of the Big Ten, as well as the defections of Arizona, Arizona State, and Utah (and before them, Colorado) to the BIG 12, is huge. The PAC-12 is imploding before our eyes, and with it the rich history of the “Conference of Champions.” My feelings about what is happening are mixed, but I know one thing: the lifeblood of college football has always been its storied traditions and regional rivalries. Oregon’s move to the Big Ten comes at the expense of much of what first attracted me to the game. 

As an architect, I cannot help but see parallels between the changes roiling college football and the constantly evolving architectural narrative. As with college football, considerations regarding tradition, regional character, and an unpredictable future profoundly impact architecture. Financial exigencies too often lead to the erosion of regional identity and the abandonment of contextually appropriate design considerations. Both college football and architecture grapple with preserving heritage or a recognized sense of place while accommodating modern demands. 

Though change is inevitable and money rules, I am saddened that conference realignment brings with it collateral damage. The Oregon State Beavers (along with Stanford, Cal, and Washington State) are left behind among the ruins of the erstwhile PAC-12. Their inevitable relegation to second-tier status underscores the broader implications of conference realignment: the unintended costs paid for the pursuit of a new era.(1) 

The futures of both college athletics and architecture are complex and uncertain, but several trends and considerations help us speculate on potential outcomes: 

Loss of Identity and Tradition

Conference realignment will be responsible for the loss of historic rivalries in college athletics. Similarly, the allure of the new in buildings has too often led to erosion of regional identity and the abandonment of traditional design elements and construction techniques in buildings. In the years to come, both college football and architecture will work toward reconciling modern demands with the values and traditions that have defined them. 

Commercialization and Authenticity

Big money is compromising the authenticity of college athletics. Likewise, financial considerations too often result in architectural designs that prioritize profit over the cultural and historical significance of a place, undermining the authenticity of the built environment. 

Impacts on Community

Changes in both college athletics and architecture impact local communities. A disregard for tradition and regional identity diminishes the connection between people and their environment, adversely impacting the sense of place and community pride. 

Navigating Change

Just as both college athletics and architecture must absorb the impacts of forces external to their fundamental purposes, they also must find ways to prioritize the well-being and identity of those they serve—student-athletes and communities, respectively. 

The Big Ten Conference in 2024.

The prospects for college athletics and architecture lie in finding a balance between financial interests, modernization, a regard for the past, and the well-being of individuals and communities. The outcomes in these domains will depend on the decisions made by stakeholders, the priorities set by institutions, and the broader societal values that guide their evolution. The stewards of college football and the guardians of well-considered architecture alike bear this responsibility. The preservation of tradition, whether it has to do with cherished rivalries or treasured places, requires advocacy and vigilance. 

Furthermore, the parallels between college football and architecture highlight the universal challenge of change. The shifting landscapes they occupy offer us an opportunity to reflect on the essence of identity, tradition, and progress. Whether it is college football interests working to retain storied rivalries or architects striving to preserve a place’s identity, the core theme remains—the protection of what defines the game or place amidst transformation. 

For now, I expect to remain a dedicated supporter of my alma mater’s team. Likewise, as an architect, I will continue to apply commonsense design principles to the projects I’m involved with. I’ll figure out how to steer through the latest developments while staying true to both my fandom and the solid base of established architectural knowledge I’ve acquired throughout my education and career. It’s about finding that sweet spot, where tradition and innovation do a dance, and where players and fans, much like a city and its inhabitants, thrive together. In a world of unknowns, I think that’s a solid game plan. So, here’s to my beloved Ducks, to weaving stories into our built environment, and to all of us, navigating change with a dash of nostalgia and a whole lot of hope.  

(1)  The travel demands the University of Oregon will be forced to contend with as a member of Big Ten will not be inconsiderable. Besides the greater expense for everyone in the University of Oregon’s Department of Athletics, the increased travel may hinder the recruitment and development of athletes in the non-revenue sports and limit their exposure to competitive opportunities and potential scholarship offers. Balancing the financial benefits of conference realignment and student-athlete welfare will be essential.