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.

Teaching the Guild

The following is a rough transcript of a talk presented to the Okemos Chapter of Business Networking International. As typical, I began with a story (lifted from This Old House).

In 1939, Herbert "Hib" Johnson threw a housewarming party at Wingspread, his new 14,000-square-foot residence designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. As dinner was being served in the great hall, a thunderstorm erupted, and water began dripping steadily into the room. Johnson, CEO of the S.C. Johnson Wax Company, phoned Wright in a rage. "I'm sitting here with some friends and distinguished guests," he fumed, "and the roof is leaking right on top of my head!"

"Well Hib " Wright replied, "why don't you move your chair?"

Unfortunately, this is not an unusual impression of architects. As a profession, we are often seen as aloof or egomaniacal. Many people are reluctant to engage an architect, due to this perceived arrogance. In contrast, my practice is to apply my knowledge and experience to develop a creative solution that incorporates the owner’s wants and desires, while incorporating my own input as well as the needs of the community.

The house on the right stands as an example of a design composed without regard to community. It provides no sense of place and is unnecessarily complicated. In contrast, the house on the left addresses both the interior uses and the public’s needs. The substantial front porch is traditionally considered the owner’s gift to the neighborhood. The front elevation – and all elevations for that matter – are carefully considered and thoughtfully composed.

Before returning to Michigan in 2007, I worked as the Manager of Architecture and Design at a Traditional Neighborhood Development. One of my responsibilities was to teach traditional detailing and construction to a group of established residential contractors. All were successful businessmen, but most were more accustomed to with building homes like those on the right in the drawing above. Such homes are anonymous, bloated and entirely lacking charm. The elevations are poorly composed, with the sides entirely lacking any detail. They exhibit tremendous size, but no charm.

In contrast, the traditional design that I was to teach has its own lexicon of terms. Authentic building requires a particular set of skills; while there is no one right solution, there are plenty of wrong ones. It became job to teach these experienced builders to appreciate the distinctions of the house on the left: unique, small-scale detail with strong contextual influences. The home possesses a smaller area, but is designed with very little wasted space.

Knowing that this would be a challenge, we devised a creative way to get these contractors to learn these established patterns of building. We organized a day long field trip where this Builders’ Guild toured authentically detailed buildings, both old and new. There, we conducted a scavenger hunt, providing the builders with a list of twenty details to find, a digital camera, and several detail cards like the following:

The details on these cards can be located above in the illustration of the two houses.

Many of the terms and elements were obscure, but it was crucial that the contractors identify the various details, by name and their proper place on the building. By the end of the day, the Guild was speaking the language, trading picture cards and identifying previously unknown details.

Our task was accomplished with creativity and engagement. We persuaded the Guild to consider, if not adopt, a different mindset: Building is not necessarily about expensive massing and conspicuous complexity. The simple elegance and authentic detailing of the traditional house could build communities that people cared about – not as an investment, but as a place to dwell.

Traditional Planning

Many of the projects we pursue involve historic buildings. 'east arbor' has a demonstrated capacity with older styles, particularly when tasked to combine new material with the older, existing building fabric. We enjoy working with existing structures and welcome the unknown challenges that inevitably come from the projects. While we focus primarily on buildings, we are equally interested in the history of city planning and design issues that are not limited to individual structures.

As the early use of automobiles became widespread, homes were located further from the core cities. The segregation of residential, commercial and industrial uses into separate zones was more easily accommodated and seemingly reasonable. After all, very few would seek to locate a noxious chemical plant near an elementary school. However, when this ostensibly good idea is carried to its extreme, it can have negative effects. If commercial enterprises are banned from residential zones, the convenient corner store is often moved to a distant strip mall. Vehicular transportation is required to travel between each individual zone.

In contrast, traditional neighborhoods, and newer, traditionally-planned communities allow and encourage walking. By providing for mixed-use development, municipalities can increase the opportunities for simple human interaction. Houses can be smaller, because the amenities we all desire are available elsewhere. The basement bar is replaced by the corner pub. The home entertainment room gives way to the local cinema. A simple walk in the neighborhood could take the place of the home gym.

With the building trade’s recent focus on “Green Building,” we imagine that increased attention will be directed toward good planning practices, their effects on making homes reasonably sized and – as a result – more affordable. Given that traditional planning promotes walking, it is decidedly environmentally friendly and healthy as well. The increased activity on the street supports stronger neighborhoods. Once again, time-tested practices prove their value as they are woven into Modern life.

Design Matters

When confronted with the challenge of modifying historic buildings, particularly when constructing new additions, Historic District Commissions regularly reference the Secretary of the Interior’s Standards to help delineate the new and the existing. Specifically, Standard #9 reads: “…The new work shall be differentiated from the old and will be compatible with the historic materials, features, size, scale and proportion, and massing to protect the integrity of the property and its environment.”

Clearly, a masonry building and a glass addition are easily distinguished. However, a more nuanced approach promotes additions that resemble the original but can still be differentiated. Admittedly, more careful judgment is required. Minor offsets in the wall plane, slight changes of finish materials, or even construction techniques – which are eventually concealed – can be discerned by a trained practitioner, though they may remain hidden to the inexperienced. Preservation experts can identify a building’s history and growth using clues not obvious to the untrained.

However, preservationists are not designers - a fact demonstrated recently when two capable preservation colleagues provided design advice to a building’s owner. Following past examples, they recommended design solutions that had been successfully employed on other buildings. Unfortunately, these solutions were simplistic and not appropriate for the subject building. These ideas were, in turn, communicated to the architect, and the resulting design was clumsy and inelegant.

Construction managers are similarly presumptuous when they engage in the inaptly named ‘value engineering.’ Design modifications that are driven by cost-savings often disregard the value inherent in good design and may jeopardize the impact of the design. The architect, in the role of designer, is in a unique position to determine the most appropriate changes, balancing the decision’s impact on the design and the budget. Inexperienced consultants simply cannot comprehend the overall impact of their design decisions, particularly when other factors, such as historic purity or cost savings, are the driving influence.

In my experience, individuals without design training generally offer one of two design ‘solutions’: either conceal the new work by locating it at the rear of the building, or make it so glaringly different that new work and existing work are unrelated. In the former case, good design is sacrificed for something safe but inoffensive. In the latter, the resolution is offensive and incongruous. For my own work, I see it as my responsibility to assimilate the owners’ desires and the neighborhood context into a workable solution. This is not always an easy task, but my training and experience as an architect are essential in exploring the many avenues before determining the best course.

Wish for 'Extreme Makeover: Historic Home Edition'

The following was a Guest Editorial written for the Lansing State Journal. It appeared in the October 10, 2008 edition of the paper:

Now that the exciting week surrounding "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" has ended, perhaps we can comment on the project's broader implications. Clearly, the publicity and the goodwill generated by the project were beneficial.

The Nickless family received a well-deserved vacation and, following a generous outpouring of community effort, they are now in possession of a new house. The Lansing area and the local construction "partners" in particular, will benefit from the increased awareness and publicity this project provided.

However, I believe that an opportunity was missed. Prior to the arrival of the exuberant Extreme Team, a 140-year-old brick Italianate farmhouse stood on the project site.

According to the press, the old home was a dream for the owners, and they had intended to restore it. That being the case, would it not have been more appropriate to save the home, possibly constructing appropriate additions to provide the necessary modern amenities?

As a restoration architect, I fully appreciate the difficulties associated with historic buildings. Plaster walls and finished floors complicate the necessary access to electrical lines, plumbing pipes and mechanical runs. Unseen conditions, which always seem to accompany restoration projects, are difficult to predict and can be exceedingly expensive. Simply put, historic homes, especially those as old as this one - constructed before the Civil War - come with issues.

However, we cannot accept the supposition that since "the wiring was bad" and "the basement flooded," the entire home had to be scuttled.

In truth, "Extreme Makeover" probably would not have selected the Holt project if the house had to be retained. The constraints related to existing buildings cannot be forced into the artificial parameters of a television show. A restoration project probably could not have been completed in the allotted time. It would not provide the "big reveal" required for the show.

And so, in exchange for the novelty of building an entire house in one week, the old house was destroyed and carted off to a dump.

As a community, we not only allowed this, we encouraged it. Apparently placing so little value on our heritage and unique architectural character, we supported the exchange of a grand old home for an oversized, ubiquitous building.

Associates of mine attended the final reveal and witnessed a grateful family, thankful for their gains while mourning their recent loss.

I certainly wish them well there. I only wish we could have done more for them and for the community. For all that was gained, a grand opportunity was lost.