The hackneyed McMansion

Caught this story last week regarding Michigan’s sluggish housing market. I thought the in-process home shown in the accompanying photo (shown below) was telling. Its overly complicated floor plan, which indicates a poorly considered design, unnecessarily leads to an increase in construction costs and the resulting increase in sales price.

In contrast, when the layout of the various rooms are considered by a capable designer, the floor plan may be simplified, leading to a corresponding cost savings without an apparent loss of space or privacy.

Additionally, the size of the pictured home, conservatively calculated at 1700 square feet on a single floor, suggests that this will be a very large home. The “design” of the neighboring home suggests the considerable likelihood that the home will occupy two stories. In which case, this house could cost as much as $500,000.

Is it inappropriate to suggest that the slump in housing sales is driven by the building, rather than the banks?

The Slash

Here's a picture of the latest development at the new museum:


I was racking my brain trying to remember where I'd seen that form before. And then it struck me:

Which might explain the long queue of people along Grand River last Friday morning.

Architecture is not an adjective

I found this photo in a collection of purportedly “gorgeous, architecture [sic] inspired rings.”

As a piece of sculpture, I admit that the ring is pleasant enough. But how would it feel to wear a square ring?

Since the collection seems to justify its edgy discomfort on the word “architecture,” it got me wondering how architecture came to mean "deliberately odd or uncomfortable." I suspect the answer to that question can be found in modern architecture itself, since I frequently hear people justify such bad design by claiming - much like the ring - that it is sculptural. Setting aside that I often disagree with that notion, “sculptural” does not always translate as comfortably scaled or well composed, which are essential qualities of good architecture. While I admire Calder’s La Grande Vitesse, I certainly would not want to live or work in it.

Of course, when discussing his chair designs, Wright is to have said, “I have been black and blue in some spot, somewhere, almost all my life from too intimate contacts with my own furniture.” I imagine I’d remember a ring that gave me calluses. More examples can be found here, if you care.

Historic District Standards

A colleague recently sent me an article regarding the Secretary of the Interior’s Standards. The article addresses the common belief that, when modifying a historic building, a clear division between new and old must be established. Typically, this “solution” results in the introduction of a deliberately contrasting element that lacks existing context. However, do to add a like-scaled addition that employs similar materials would introduce a false sense of history.

The article’s author expresses his objections to requiring this bright line between new and old. However, this line of thinking is exactly in keeping with the Standards. At the latest meeting of our Historic District Commission, this very issue was raised regarding a window replacement. The Owner had proposed replacing a picture window on her 1870’s home with an identical unit. It was suggested that such a window would never have been used on the house when it was originally built, since glass panes of the proposed size were difficult if not impossible to obtain. Therefore, another option was proposed: introducing an entirely different arrangement, using a pair of grouped window units.

Some members of the Commission took exception to this, as it violates the following Standards:

3. Each property will be recognized as a physical record of its time, place, and use. Changes that create a false sense of historical development, such as adding conjectural features…will not be undertaken.

4. Changes to a property that have acquired historic significance in their own right will be retained and preserved.

Thus, the modified proposal lacks justification under the Standards. Lacking documentary evidence, a change that purports to introduce (or re-introduce) a speculative detail would be conjecture.

I believe this is ill-advised. In general, I would rule on the side of restoration, rather than preservation, even if specific, direct evidence is not available. As a student of history and a design professional, I believe there is room for other options. We know enough about precedent that we can make reasonable assumptions about “what might have been.” And when other options are not only more historically appropriate, but look decidedly better, we must support them.

More Mordernism

My colleagues are understandably thrilled about the latest (and likely protracted) cause célèbre in preservation: Mid-century Modernism and its Michigan origins. In embracing this distinctive postwar style, I sense they are trying to challenge the misguided presumption that preservationists only appreciate architecture of the early 20th century. The early focus on this era and its representative style allows preservationists to spearhead the effort to highlight the significance of these buildings. Though I am sympathetic to their cause and wholly support broadcasting the Midwestern origins of this movement, I cannot admire Modernism’s merits without noting its corresponding shortcomings.

I recently attended a presentation featuring a house designed in the 1950’s by Herman Miller’s George Nelson. Following the practice of the time, Nelson deliberately detailed the home with minimal trim. Tolerances were deliberately tight; some materials had to be scribed to fit exactly with an irregular, adjacent material. Now, with the passage of time and regular use, the home’s tight finish tolerances have failed. Without constant attention, the inevitable flaws and cracks have become increasingly apparent. Formerly minor imperfections have grown obvious.

By its nature, trim work is intended to cover joints or corners where dissimilar materials meet. Neither criminal nor superfluous, its use is essential to good design. Lacking this simple, commonsense detail, my primary impression of Nelson’s house is how dated it looked. Rather than enjoying a gentle, venerated patina, it is a tired building whose actual habitation and eventual aging were apparently never given consideration. The once “smooth and precious surfaces” that supplied the International Style its charm have been irretrievably lost to time and the elements.

New Construction

Lately, I’ve witnessed repeated resistance by residential builders to the continued use of existing homes. Construction professionals face unprecedented challenges lately and I can fully appreciate the need to market both their business and new product. However, many of the arguments offered in support of new construction are specious. One builders’ representative has tautologically suggested “smaller, distinct rooms make it difficult to entertain guests in one large space.” “Likewise the lack of a swimming pool makes it tricky to invite friends over for a quick dip. And, people living in an urban apartment might find difficulty hosting a cookout,” he did not add.

The unspoken implication is that a Great Room is the only option for a party. The builder continues, “While you are in the kitchen preparing dinner, you can still interact with guests enjoying conversation in the family room without feeling closed off.” For many hosts, a large room works just fine and, unchallenged, one might think it is the only acceptable solution. Of course, it is not the only option and it may not be the best option. Very large rooms deny the opportunity for quieter conversations, as every square foot of available space is exactly the same as the next. There are no quiet corners, nor a mix of light and dark, just identical, featureless space, and lots of it.

We recently threw a party on a pleasant summer day. Many guests sat on the sunny grass in lawn chairs, while others hung about the grill, offering advice to the cook. Some ducked into the garage to escape the sun, while still others retreated into the cool comfort of the house. Even inside, some preferred the din in the Family Room, while others chose the busy Kitchen or the relative quiet of the Living Room. A choice was avalable and people sought the place they preferred.

The builder implies that it is always better to start from scratch to get what you want, rather than making modifications to an existing structure. Builders were recently joined in this error by an ostensible economist, who noted that new homes are “laid out better” and “have better kitchens,” suggesting that, once the house was complete, no changes could be made. It is as if these individuals, in the aim of advancing their world view, have forgotten that existing homes can be remodeled to accommodate modern preferences, at a cost less than that of a new home.

Thelma Joyce Osteen Comfort Station

The National Trust for Historic Places (NTHP) has selected the Michigan Historic Preservation Network as one of the organizations to compete in the 2011 This Place Matters Community Challenge. The contest is intended to start a national conversation about the places that matter in our communities.

The Network has selected the Thelma Joyce Osteen Comfort Station in Old Town, Lansing Michigan as its project. The comfort station, built in the 1920s is a long-vacant historic commercial building in Lansing, Michigan. The building was originally affiliated with an interurban rail system and most recently used as a community gathering place. MHPN has decided to purchase and rehabilitate this unique vacant building for use as its own headquarters and tenant space. This will build MHPN's capacity for future rehabilitation projects.

Michigan Modern

I recently attended the annual conference of the MHPN in Saugatuck. One talk regarding Mid-Century Modern (preservationists’ latest cause célèbre) included several homes of my former professors whose work is increasingly eligible for listing on the National Register. Seeing the familiar names associated with these homes, I recalled a lecture by one professor, where he described his repeated attempts to detail a brick garden wall without a top cap, presumably because the typical limestone used for such caps was guilty of the "crime" of ornamentation. After several attempts, which failed when water infiltrated, then froze and damaged the wall, he acquiesced and added a stone cap.

With the benefit of hindsight – not to mention centuries of experience – we know that omitting the cap was a questionable idea. If this building been located in a historic district, and the later addition of the cap had been presented to a historic commission, could the change be justified under Secretary of the Interior’s Standards? In particular, Standard #3 states:

Each property shall be recognized as a physical record of its time, place, and use. Changes that create a false sense of historical development, such as adding conjectural features or architectural elements from other buildings, shall not be undertaken.

The initial choice to omit the wall cap was deliberate, a Modernist's attempt to express the pure language of brick. Therefore, it would probably be defined as a character-defining feature of the building. With the growing acceptance of Mid-century Modern buildings as cultural resources, historic district commissions will need to address these buildings’ built-in shortcomings and consider whether to perpetuate bad design in the name of architectural character.

Abram C. Fisk House

Work has begun in earnest on this beautiful 1840’s brick Italianate building in Coldwater, Michigan. The home was built by Abram C. Fisk and the new owner is developing plans for a mixed-use commercial building.

Unlike my past visits, I expect to eventually visit the site when the weather is a bit less dreary. Until then, have a look at the history of this great home, in a video produced by the owner: www.bluehat.tv/ (The video is near the bottom of the page.)

Broad Museum

With the return of the fair weather, I’m able to take more frequent walks to the storefront shops along Grand River Avenue. Some new businesses have moved in during the winter months, and I enjoy seeing the activity that sunny days bring. This spring, however, a disturbing new building has finally taken outward form in East Lansing. Like with the newly budding trees, the Broad Art Museum developed through the winter and now is firmly rooted on the north edge of the campus.

I can appreciate and support any new construction and the uplifting appearance it gives. Since my family’s return to Michigan in 2007, the construction industry has endured a prolonged downturn. While I support the patrons’ strong vision and their desire place a landmark building on campus, few would be surprised to know that I do not like this building.

The building lacks Context of Place and of Purpose, exhibiting neither the character of Mid-Michigan nor the university museum – even one that is intended to house Modern art. I could charitably suggest that it does exhibit a Context of Period, but only insofar as architectural intellectuals believe that an out-of-balance, deliberately uncomfortable building symbolizes “the university’s trajectory into the future.”

Naturally, the building has its supporters; most have limited their praise to the hackneyed claim that, “It looks like sculpture.” On the contrary, it looks like a mishap. In fact, the strongest compliment I’ve heard is that it is much better than the other entries. Given the appearance of the winner, this does not exactly fill me with confidence.