You employ stone, wood, concrete, and with these materials you build houses and palaces. That is construction. Ingenuity is at work.
But suddenly you touch my heart, you do me good, I am happy and I say: "This is beautiful." That is Architecture. Art enters in.

-Le Corbusier Vers une architecture (1923)


05 November 2010

Container of Light

The Mt. Angel library designed by Alvar Aalto in the 1960's is the kind of building you could bump into before you know it is architecture. Situated on the quadrangle of a Benedictine monastery, it presents a one-story, almost non-descript facade, perhaps out of deference to landscape and the scenography of the other campus buildings. 


From the moment you enter the library, however, you can start to understand how the Finnish master has worked to ease you into not just a functional space, but an environment sensitively conceived for quiet study. It starts with a 'handshake'. The custom door pulls designed by Aalto are easily grasped and a welcome encounter. 



Once inside, a generous lobby functions as a sound lock separating the outside world from the reading area, as well as a means to access different functional areas of the building. A curvilinear slatted structure forms a coat rack while screening the entrances to the restrooms. I imagine snowy boots, scarves, umbrellas all finding a place there. 

Passing from the lobby into the reading area, the circulation desk occupies a central location. From this hub, the stacks and ancillary rooms are fanned out radially. You can see almost everything at a glance. It is such a great pleasure to find one's way intuitively through a building on a first visit. No signage, no questions - just pure unmediated experience.


Beyond function, the most striking aspect is the light quality inside. This is achieved through various means. First, the fan shape of the building allows a reach toward the light of the northern sky through high windows. Very little direct sun can enter with this configuration due to its orientation. Individual windows and smaller walls of glass bring light in laterally and allow views out. 



But the 'piece de resistance' is the curved clerestory scooped out of the ceiling. The light hits the plaster soffits at millions of angles of incidence, bouncing about, softening, and almost descending perfectly to land on the page you are reading. Light handled in this manner is almost a transcendent thing. There is just no struggle to focus the eyes or discern shapes; your awareness is heightened and can then be shifted to the task at hand - studying. What better accomplishment for a library?


01 October 2010

Little House, Major Site

photo: Erling Mandelmann


Around 1924, Le Corbusier designed a tiny (690 s.f.) house for his parents on the shore of Lake Geneva, Villa le Lac.

With just 40' between the lake and the highway, the house is only 13' wide. The architectural drama here is all about how the huge shift in scale between a modest dwelling and a vast landscape is mediated. Notice the relationship of windows to the horizon in his sketches. A zen view in the garden correlates to the rugged section of the mountain range, while the 36' long window corresponds to the broad sweep of lake and mountain.

courtesy of: Fondation Le Corbusier
The house is 'moored' to one end of the site in order to maximize the garden terrace to the east. The interior has an analogous circuit, creating a wide variety of experiences of the place using modest means. 

photo: Fondation Le Corbusier

photo: Fondation Le Corbusier


photo: Simon Glynn 2002

The window sill height is calibrated so you don't see the ground, only water.

photo: Fondation Le Corbusier

Le Corbusier's mother lived here 35 years until her death at age 101. Though it is modest in size, I can't imagine it ever becoming confining.


27 September 2010

Place for a Cup

Cindy and I were just enjoying a great cup of coffee this afternoon at one of Austin's best trailers, Patika. Today being the best weather we've had in months, the whole sensory experience of breeze, light, and textures reminded me how profound a sense of place can be. From the tent-like solar shade canopy above to the surprising soft feel of the perforated metal tables to the texture and colors of the fortuitously messaged walldog, the result is a place where you just want to BE. And it is specifically, indelibly Austin...oh, did I mention the macchiato? (they're sourcing beans from Cuvee)


Anyway, it got me thinking and I remembered Kenneth Frampton long ago outlined 'Attitudes of Critical Regionalism' in Modern Architecture: A Critical History, which could apply well as basic criteria for how Austin architecture should maintain its unique sense of place. Here are my favorites:


- Favors the small rather than the big plan
- Architecture as tectonic rather than scenographic
- Treats openings as delicate transitional zones of response to site, climate, light
- Emphasizes tactile over visual
- Cultivates a contemporary place-oriented culture


I like the emphasis on making and the handmade instead of an image-based graphic approach.