Open Plans, Open Minds

Discussions about architecture often revolve around styles. In Las Vegas, Mediterranean and Tuscan predominate with mid-century modern making a significant comeback. Back east, French country and English colonial still are popular. These styles go in and out of fashion with the times, a phenomenon sometimes called the battle of styles. But it is little noticed that one major battle has been waged and won: the battle of styles on the inside of our buildings. The victor is clear: modern has triumphed over traditional in terms of space planning, room arrangement, and functionality. This event both reflects and affects how we live and work in the buildings we inhabit.

This interior is traditional in style but modern in spatial planning.

Let’s consider the evidence in new homes built today. Forget, for a moment, how they may be furnished or marketed and think about the space. You will find the following:

• Kitchens are open to other rooms, usually divided only by partial walls or work islands.

Modern homes are more transparent
to the out of doors, as in this Lake
Las Vegas residence.

• Homes are “transparent” to the outdoors: patios are extensions of indoor living space, minimally separated from the inside by big windows and sliding glass doors.

• Master bedrooms are more open to master baths then ever before – sometimes divided only by a two-way fireplace or a wide passage with no door.  Typically, the toiket is compartmented for privacy, but the bathing area is open and full of natural light.

Modern bathroom designs are more wide-open than ever before.

• Living rooms are as old fashioned as the Edwardian parlor. They have shrunk or disappeared altogether while wide-open great rooms dominating houses of every description.  

Most people don’t realize that this phenomenon -- the primacy of the open plan over closed rooms – is a victory for modern architecture. Even when furnished with traditional items and cloaked in old-style details and finishes, the open plan is a result of the deliberate efforts by modernists of the early twentieth century to explode space, freeing us from tiny boxes encapsulating our activities as living rooms, dining rooms, bed rooms, breakfast rooms. Today, "rooms" are out and "areas" are in.  Our lives are enjoyed in areas loosely defined by flexible functions and open plans.

The challenge for architects is to design open plans that are not too open. Space needs to be articulated to feel comfortable. We can accomplish this by changes in ceiling height, carefully placed partitions, floor level changes, and other architectural elements. Architecture hasn’t been thrown out the window with the old-fashioned rooms. In fact, sculpting space in a meaningful way is more important that ever if our buildings are to be useful and comfortable. And the need for some areas of privacy in our buildings has never gone away;  we simply provide for them within the larger context of open planning.

Perhaps the triumph of open plans reflects the ascendancy of the middle class. Architecture used to be defined and supported mainly by the wealthy. They relied on servants and a system of clearly defined classes. Those being served required separation from those doing the serving. This effectively separated life from living. Compartmentalized buildings mirrored this fact.

Today, architecture and high design is no longer only for extreme wealth. It is possible for a broader middle class to experience it. Today we all need it. Open plans lend themselves to a comfortable and relaxed lifestyle that can be enjoyed by people on many rungs of the economic ladder. It’s a new freedom from which even the rich are not excluded.

Living area blends with dining area, both of which are
open to the kitchen in this 2000 sq. ft. plan.

With open spaces our minds are open too. Open to the realization that we can live indoors and outdoors as the seasons may allow. Open to the understanding that there aren’t servants hiding behind the dining room door, but that we live (or ought to live) in an egalitarian world. Our minds are open to interior vistas that make small spaces bigger and bigger spaces more interesting.

Finally, we might note that this phenomenon in architectural design is an idea heavily promoted by west coast architects in the mid-twentieth century. It is an idea that slowly spread east, advanced in the 1950s by popular magazines like House Beautiful, Life, and Coronet as the new post-war lifestyle. To this day, the American west is more amenable to this attitude, but it has gradually become an American ideal.  More and more, whether we live in a Mediterranean home or a Tuscan-inspired condo, it is likely that our floor plans are open and our minds are encouraged to expand in the same direction.

Credits:

1.  M. Knorr

2. R. Munger

3. R. Munger

4. R. Munger

You Are Not a Gadget

Jaron Lanier is a musician, computer researcher, and one of the inventors of virtual reality. He also writes a column for Discover magazine.   Google his name and you will find dozens of links to him and his work. Lanier is more than qualified to ruminate on the relationship between the arts and the world wide web as he does in You Are Not a Gadget. (Alfred P. Knoph. New York. 2010.) He is highly critical of the state and direction of “web 2.0” -- his phrase for the current iteration of the Internet and protocols for using it. His book concentrates on composers, artists, and writers. It is interesting, however, to speculate on the connections to architecture.

What effect have computers and the Internet had on architecture? The impact of computer aided drafting (CAD) is obvious, but does it go beyond the mechanics of drafting? Has the age of computers changed architecture itself?  If it has, is it for better or worse? Before exploring those questions, a brief summary of Lanier’s thesis:

It has to be pointed out, as Lanier does frequently, that the author is not anti-computers. He is not a Luddite of modern times. Quite the opposite. He is emphatically pro computers and is a practicing technologist. In fact, he believes computers could be much better  than they are. His big concern is that protocols developed in the infancy of computers (sometime in the olden 1980s) have become frozen.  As a result, computers are somewhat stupid.  Even worse: instead of computers adapting to humans, the opposite is happening. We have dumbed down to accommodate the shortcomings of our machines. We are in danger of becoming mere gadgets (the nickname for the links and conveniences that appear in the sidebar of this and other blogs) in web 2.0.

Facebook

Lanier's writing is difficult to follow. (He bears the burden of knowing too much about too many subjects.) However, an easy-to-understand example of his thesis is how Facebook homogenizes our thinking about personality and identity. “I know quite a few people,” he writes, “ mostly young adults but not all, who are proud to say that they have accumulated thousands of friends on Facebook. Obviously, this statement can only be true if the idea of friendship is reduced.”    To be more explicit, he writes, "A new generation has come of age with a reduced expectation of what a person could be, and of who each person might become." 

He goes on to make an interesting connection between Facebook culture and the economic debacle on Wall Street. “A hedge fund manager might make money by using the computational power of the cloud to calculate fantastical financial instruments that make bets on derivatives in such a way as to invent out of thin air the phony virtual collateral for stupendous risks. This is a subtle form of counterfeiting, and is precisely the same maneuver a socially competitive teenager makes in accumulating fantastical numbers of ‘friends’ on a service like Facebook.”  In other words, we have become enchanted by our own fantasies, whether of artificial friendships or mathematical formulas we don't understand. 

Lanier addresses other Internet effects. In the area of music he is highly critical of the limitations of MIDI files, the code that allows music to be transcribed digitally. It was invented as a simple way to describe music in a way computers can understand. Unfortunately the digital format mutes the subtleties of a real auditory experience. Instead of searching for newer, better ways to transcribe music for computers (now that we have better, faster technology) MIDI has become frozen as the standard.  The effect is music has dumbed down to accommodate it. He goes further, contending that little new music actually gets composed these days. Instead, what passes for music is a “mash-up” of sound bites stolen from existing music and reconstituted as a substitution for creativity. In the visual arts the same thing is happening. You Tube is a collection of bits and pieces from old TV and trivial homemade video moments. Stolen sound tracks from other sources are wrapped around the video snippets and mask as creativity.  There's nothing wrong with this as casual amusement.  The negative effect is the resultant dismissal of professional creativity on a high level.  Serious artists and musicians are gradually put out of business by open source software and pirated files.  The Internet has just sort of worked out that way.

Levittown, PA.

Does any of this apply to architecture? It is difficult to devalue architecture on the Internet in the same way as music, art, or friendship.  We can’t file share free architecture over the web (yet), so it isn't decimated by the current web culture of free stuff.  To be clear:  we certainly can and do share electronic files of drawings; but we cannot file share the actual built environment.

Architects have come cheap enough for decades anyway. Architecture long ago was devalued by other non-computer-related influences. Mass-produced housing post World War II did more to lower our expectations for good architecture than the Internet has done so far.

The aforementioned CAD is an undeniable force in the business of architecture.  No architectural drawings are produced today without computers, but this has had no negative effect on design. In fact, one could easily argue the opposite. Computer workhorses have allowed more complex shapes in the hands of architects like Frank Gehry and Daniel Liebskind.

Frank Gehry's Guggenheim Museum

What about the future? Will architecture be cheapened in the same way Wikipedia has diminished our expectations for knowledge and research? My guess is: not in the foreseeable future. There is much talk about virtual spaces and the holographic projection of architecture. These may become useful presentation tools to explain architecture to clients.  They could be great learning tools for historic buildings. But we are a long way from such projections providing actual shelter. Nor can holograms simulate the smells and textures of the real thing. Architecture is not solely a visual art. It requires movement and participation. It is more interactive than any other art.  It is a thing to be in over time; temporary simulations just don't suffice.

Human and robot circa 1932.

Of course there is the possibility that humans will evolve into digital-only creatures (a hypothesis espoused by Ray Kurzwil in The Age of Spiritual Machines: When Computers Exceed Human Intelligence) in which case digital-only architecture may be good enough. The experience of architecture may, indeed, get pretty dumb in that event. But that is not where we are right now.

Architecture is not yet a gadget.  However, Jaron  Lanier is a canary in the coal mine for contemporary culture and it would be beneficial to pay attention to his ideas as we move deeper into web 2.0. 

Credits:
Jacket design: Jason Booher
Facebook: Maxo.
Levittown: Public domain.
Guggenheim:  R. Munger
Robot:  German Federal Archives.

Details

 Architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe (1886-1969) once proclaimed, “God is in the details.” Mies’s international style of architecture was clean and simple. He virtually invented the sleek glass-and-steel buildings that define mid-twentieth century modern architecture. His structures epitomized minimalism before it became a cliché. At first glance, these buildings appear stark and unadorned, but Mies’s work is distinguished from lesser imitations by his insistence on refined details and perfect implementation. To appreciate a building by Mies van der Rohe one needs to look at the details. His buildings come alive in the elegant manner in which the pieces of a window mullion are assembled, in the grace with which a stairway effortlessly unites different levels, in the perfect resolution of structural connections. The Farnsworth house (Plano, Illinois 1951) is one of the best examples of his work.

Perception of objects in the real world progresses from the general to the particular. We see the color of objects before we get a clear understanding of shape or form. Then, once the form comes into focus, we begin to notice texture, line, and structural organization. This is the level of perception where details become important.

Why do architects get so concerned about details? Why did Mies insist “God is in the details”? Because he knew that details separate the sophisticated from the amateur and the real from the fake. We live in buildings on the level of the things that we see, touch, and use; that is: the details. The purpose of a building is established by its overall shape, but details add dimension and richness.

Even the most ordinary of spaces are lifted to a higher plane by good details. For example, a simple patio changes character depending on the fine points of design. Is it made of concrete, gray and unadorned? That would be ordinary and not worth noticing. Imagine how much richer the experience would be if the concrete is textured or colored. Attention to detail changes the quality of architectural spaces, just as spices and herbs enhance the flavor of food.

Take this a step further. Imagine that patio with sun-dappled bricks, a bubbling fountain, and a vine-covered colonnade surrounding it. The experience of that patio grows into something completely different. Details imbue it with charm and it becomes a delight for the senses. Attention to detail is essential for a complete architectural experience.

Unfortunately, most buildings ignore the importance of details. In spite of this, people search for places that more completely satisfy the need for beauty. That is one reason we travel. We crave the richness lacking in everyday life. We travel in search of adventure, history, and -- not least -- architecture. We appreciate buildings with tiled courtyards and crenellated towers. We love to stumble across modest cafes with charming architecture, artisanship, and interesting materials. Such places make us feel good. This feeling -- a sense of rightness about a place and our enjoyment of being in it -- owes much to detail.

Sometimes richness of detail accrues over time: things come together gradually to imbue a place with charm and grace. But it doesn’t have to happen by chance, nor is the patina of age a prerequisite. Good architecture can intentionally integrate details that are right with each other and an appropriate part of the whole. That is what architecture is really all about: the purposeful creation of places that make us feel good. Places that give us the feeling of belonging to something beneficent. In architecture, the details bestow this feeling.

Credits:

Farnsworth House exterior and stairs: Jack E. Boucher.

Barcelona Pavilion interior: vicens.

Palladio Garden, Rovigo, Italy: Marcock.

Balboa Park arcade, San Diego, California: M. Knorr.

Baroque column capital: Michail Jungierek.

Market Oriented Architecture (First Impressions)

There is a saying that you have only one chance to make a good first impression. That may be true in personal relationships, but in architecture, you have three chances to make a good first impression: the streetscape, the front door, and, finally, the first glimpse of interior space. All are equally important whether in speculative building, custom homes, commercial development, or pure architecture (whatever that is).

In the realm of residential design, marketing directors and real estate gurus refer to first impressions as “curb appeal.” This phrase has become trite through repetition. However, an architectural principle co-opted as a marketing truism is no less valid. In fact, good architecture often translates into good marketing and, sometimes, vice versa. Purists might want to see a conflict here. But if architecture is good it should appeal to people and if it appeals to people why wouldn’t this be a good marketing strategy?

Streetscape

All buildings exist within a streetscape. A streetscape is simply the first impression a building makes at a distance. While the design of individual buildings is important, so is their relationship to each other, to the community, and to the surrounding environment.

All community elements, such as water features, guardhouses, recreational facilities, gazebos, clubhouses, mail kiosks, and signage are opportunities to provide interesting architecture that establishes the first impression on a streetscape level.

The marketing advantages of considering every detail of the streetscape are clear: these elements have the potential to capture people’s interest and contribute to the overall impression of value.

Front Door

Your second chance to make a good first impression is at the front door of the building. The front door (this includes all major elements on the front elevation) is where a more personal first impression is introduced. Here we establish the mood, style, and quality of the architecture. Some call this curb appeal. It is where we literally have the opportunity to touch the architecture and have it touch us. The first impression made at the front door is the total effect of all visible design elements: materials, details, lighting, stylistic cues.

At this point, the architecture must fulfill the buyer’s (or client’s or renter’s – there really is no difference) vision of what that building should be. These visions are seldom articulated but underlay every decision the buyer makes.

The front door is a prelude to all that follows and must be exactly right for the target market. It must fulfill the market’s hopes, dreams, and architectural preferences. Sometimes assumptions about popular taste prejudice the designing process.  Jettison unfounded assumptions in favor of legitimate market research specific to your area. Market preferences are not interchangeable from one market to another. And old market preferences may no longer be true in the current market situation. That which may be desirable in one neighborhood can have the opposite connotation in another.

Of course, no two people respond in the same way to architecture. Yet the effects of architecture are certainly not at the mercy of whim and caprice. Does the buyer want a grand entrance? That is simply a matter of scale and we can design the building to satisfy that need. Does the buyer want a feeling of security and privacy? We might introduce courtyard walls with decorative iron gates. Does the buyer want a feeling of shelter and protection? Deep porches and broad overhangs may accomplish this goal. The design possibilities for front elevations in response to market research are endless.

Interior Vistas

The interior vista is the final opportunity to make a good first impression.

A dream house is fifty percent dream and fifty percent house. The house part consists of practical, left-brain requirements: shelter, safety, investment opportunity, and things like the right number of bedrooms. The dream part fulfills the need for emotional, right-brain desires like drama, excitement, warmth, and esthetic appeal. When a person enters a house – or any building -- you want to engage feelings, not invite analysis.

To achieve positive emotional responses, immediately reveal interior architectural effects that have known appeal. Show off major amenities. If a fireplace is offered, let people see how great your design is. If a beautiful patio is available, emphasize it. If overhead volume is part of the plan, let it impress the viewer upon opening the front door. While a sense of mystery and playfulness can be useful, such architectural strategies should never leave the buyer frustrated or unsatisfied. Like a story unfolding on a movie screen, the plot must be engaging from the start and hold viewers attention to the end.

Builders should know that solid design principles are at work here. The purpose of architecture is to make space interesting as well as functional. Great first impressions are made with a glance, but they are the result of carefully crafted design decisions. It is the first impressions of streetscape, front door, and interior vista that get people emotionally on your side and ready to do business.

Credits:
Gatehouse architecture by Michael Knorr & Assoicates, illustration by Susan Johnk
Rancho Santa Fe exteriors by Michael Knorr & Associates
Las Vegas interior by Michael Knorr & Associates

Style...

...is a word tossed around with little understanding of the definition of various styles and little agreement on the meaning of style itself. One person may describe a building as traditional. Another person will look at the same building and describe it as Tudor. A third may call it French country. What is going on here? Are we not seeing the same thing when we look at an object?

Style is a fluid concept. A thing (a house, a mass- produced product, or any object of design) may be created in the manner of a particular epoch or person. We, as a civilization, have decided to label these various styles as Tudor, French-country, modern, craftsman, classical, Wrightian, etc. The problem is that the icons of these styles and the materials, shapes, and details used in these styles overlap.  Does a dormer belong to the Tudor style? Or to French-country? Obviously, it belongs to either or neither. A dormer is just an element of structure.

How a dormer is treated may push it into one style or another, but it belongs essentially to no style. Is stucco indigenous to any particular style? Of course not; it is a material that can be used in almost any vernacular. Nevertheless, in our minds we tend to link materials and elements of structure with the style to which we think it most belongs. Decorative elements often derive from a specific style but end up applied to other, quite different, styles. Many styles also enjoy revivals and revisionist interpretations. They are reinvented in novel form and given — sometimes — new names. Who can make sense of all this? If we have not been educated in the nuances of historical styles, it is hit or miss on getting it right. Even the experts disagree on taxonomy. Among architects who deal with the concept of style every day, there is confusion, disagreement, and misunderstandings about particular categories of style. What, exactly, does a given style mean in your mind?

We also use the word style itself with different meanings. We may talk about particular styles, as above, but we also use the word in the sense of a person or thing possessing style: as being “in style” or “stylish”.  Perhaps, in architectural design, it is time to stop worrying about what historical theme a building might possess, and start being concerned that it simply has good basic design qualities. That it has style.

But architecture is not like fashion design, where styles go in and out with the seasons. Works of architecture — from the homes in which we live to the buildings in which we work to the monuments that represent our society — have a less frivolous purpose and more enduring message. Perhaps it is more important that a house (or any building) have architecture that is internally consistent, that flows, that hangs together as a work of art. Let’s call this a non-denominational approach to design. What kind of crazy concept is this? Buildings without a style? Yes: buildings without a style that still possess style.

It would mean that issues like human scale, comfort, proportion, and balance are paramount, rather than how many or what kind of dormers or turrets or gables or Doric columns a building may have. It would mean that we consider, instead, concepts in architecture like rhythm, texture, volume, and emotional resonance. It would mean that distinctions like “traditional” and “contemporary” are largely irrelevant.

In the world of architecture, we seem to have lost our way. We have capitulated to a mind-set that looks at architecture as a recipe book of various styles. Style has shriveled to superficial treatments that, in the end, have no style at all. Like beauty in humans, architectural style ought to be seen as more than skin deep. Perhaps architects should introduce deeper values to the built environment, giving us neighborhoods and cities where architecture is a delight for the senses and a joy to inhabit. That would be great style.

Credits:
Dormers: Friderick Koch, Pearson Scott Foresman, Pearson Scott Foresman
Style Examples: Rama, Waugsberg, Didier B.
Exteriors: Architecture by Knorr, photo R. Munger
Interiors: Architecture by Knorr, photo R. Munger

Giving Architectural Credit Where Due

One of my pet peeves is seeing mention of a work of architecture without acknowledging the architect. To me, that is like a book review without credit to the author. It would never happen with books, but it happens all the time with architecture. To my chagrin, it happened with one of my own architectural reviews.

On April 15, 2009 I blogged about the beautiful Holy Family Shrine in Gretna, Nebraska: A Religious Experince on I-80. I had found a reference in the visitor center to Fay Jones and credited him as the architect. Fay Jones consistently produced wonderful work during his career, including several ecclesiastical buildings in a similar vein.

Last month I received several comments from readers, including Ellen Compton, archivist for the Fay Jones Collection at the University of Arkansas. Apparently, the Holy Family Shrine is not the work of Fay Jones. In fact, the web site for architects Beringer Ciaccio Dennell Mabrey in Omaha prominently displays the chapel as an example of their work. What was going on here? Was I hallucinating that I had seen Jones mentioned in the visitor center? How could I have been that far off base? I decided to write the builiding’s overseer, Father Matthew Gutowski of the Omaha Archdiocese, with my questions. Father Gutowski was kind enough to respond immediately, clearing up the mystery and adding insight to the evolution of Holy Family Shrine. I would like to set the record straight by reprinting his letter:

Hi, Michael,

Thank you for your compliments about the Holy Family Shrine.

No, you are not hallucinating. There is a reference to Faye Jones on the story boards in the visitor center. Anne Louise Miceck, one of the persons involved in developing the Shrine, had seen his Cooper Memorial Chapel in Arkansas and desired to build something like it. And Jim Dennel, one of the partners of BCDM Architects, who is the architect for the Shrine, is an admirer of the Jones’ chapels so he was pleased to be one of the persons who was involved in the developing of the Shrine by designing it and managing its construction. And before I went to the seminary to study to be a priest, I was studying architecture at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, and also admired Jones’s chapels. So, the three of us were the original trio that the Lord brought together as the founders of the Shrine, who unbeknownst, until we met at Christ the King Parish in Omaha when I was assigned there in the early 1990s, had all individually had some type of admiration for Jones’ work and the desire to build a chapel.

Hope that answers your question. Let me know if you have any more. I looked at your website and blog: very nice!

God bless,

Father Gutowski

Archdiocese of Omaha

I reread my entry from April and stand by my opinion: the Holy Family Shrine is a great experience in light, sound, touch, and a sense of spiritual engagement. It sure looks like a Jones building, but I am pleased to acknowledge BCDM Architects and give them credit for beautiful results.

Photos:
Michael Knorr

Articulation

Articulation in speech means speaking clearly in order to be understood and convey meaning. In architecture, articulation means to delineate spaces so different functions are clear and architecture is meaningful.

In the first half of the twentieth century there was a revolution in architecture: modernists versus traditionalists. For the most part, the modernists won. We are accustomed to radical new forms in architecture. Much of this was driven by new construction techniques, such as steel framing and reinforced concrete. Metals and glass could be mass-produced and made cheap. New theories in the visual arts, literature, and music supported modern architectural ideas. The biggest legacy of the modern revolution is the concept of open planning. Almost every home, office, or public building uses open planning in the arrangement of space. An everyday example is the way kitchens blend into family rooms in most new homes. We do not divide the spaces with walls. Inside our homes, shops, and offices the victory of modern architecture is undisputed. Interior spaces are more open than ever. If traditional styles are used at all, they are limited to exterior shells and decoration.

Before the modern revolution, interior spaces were a series of boxed-off rooms, each function neatly wrapped in its own cocoon. That does not suit today’s lifestyles. We are more casual and demand more flexibility in the use of space. In a sense, we are all modernists whether we admit it or not.

Open plans offer greater freedom for architects. However, with freedom comes responsibility and sometimes it is shirked. Designers and architects seem at a loss, at times, making wide open spaces warm, inviting, and - perhaps most important - meaningful. Freedom in space planning has yielded plans that seem, ironically, unplanned. We all have experienced these types of spaces but usually walk through them without analyzing them. That is one thing about architecture: we rarely know why a space feels wrong. Perhaps we experience a sense of unease or discomfort. Things are not right, but we do not quite know why. Often this feeling comes from the space itself. (Sometimes we just have indigestion.)

When a space lacks articulation, it can be uncomfortable or even chaotic. When one space blends indiscriminately into another, when you don’t know where one function ends and another begins, the plan lacks articulation. Even the furniture can look out of place when there are no architectural clues to guide us in the use of space. Notice how, in the illustration below, one area sloshes into another. You don’t know where the living area stops and the dining area starts. The foyer falls gracelessly into a corner without much thought. The entire space is unarticulated.

On the other hand, articulation avoids ambiguity. It simultaneously makes spaces more interesting and more functional. Architectural elements can establish articulation without making a plan confining. Columns or piers between living and dining areas, for example, can preserve openness while subtly defining functions. Overhead ledges, level changes, a jog in the plan, columns or arcades are a few of the many features that can be used to articulate space. The illustration below shows the same areas as above with exactly the same square footage. Now the space is alive with meaning while still flowing effortlessly, one function to another. It is articulated.

Think of architectural elements – columns, piers, arches, ledges, level changes -- like punctuation marks between words. Just as commas, periods, and exclamation points help articulate the meaning of written words, architectural features can articulate the functions of spaces and make them more meaningful.

Even traditional-appearing spaces can be quite modern in spatial planning. When areas flow without doors or walls, that is a modern concept. Details may be old- world, but if the plan is open it is a modern space. How well it looks and functions is often a matter of how skillfully areas within that space are articulated.

Credits:

All examples by Michael Knorr & Assoicates