In memory of musician Prince, who died suddenly last week, LACMA has used purple lighting to turn the popular Rain Room installation into a tribute based on one of the musician’s most famous tracks. (more…)
From the architect. Stanford University has just completed a transformational campus-wide energy system— replacing a 100% fossil-fuel-based combined heat and power plant with grid-sourced electricity and a first-of-its-kind heat recovery system. Positioning Stanford as a national leader in energy efficiency and carbon reduction, the results are impressive: greenhouse gas emissions are slashed by 68%; fossil fuel use by 65%; and campus-wide water use by 15%. This comprehensive Stanford Energy System Innovation (SESI) initiative will eliminate 150,000 tons of carbon dioxide emissions annually, the equivalent of removing 32,000 cars from the road every year. Expected energy savings to Stanford over 35 years is $425 million.
SESI combines an o site, dedicated solar farm producing 68 megawatts of clean renewable electricity via 150,000 high-eficiency photovoltaic panels; conversion of the heat supply of all buildings from steam to hot water; and an innovative heat recovery loop that captures nearly two-thirds of waste heat generated by the campus cooling system to produce hot water for the heating system. At its heart is a new Central Energy Facility that embodies the latest technological advances in heat recovery. Heated and chilled water is stored in three massive water tanks totaling 12 million gallons. A patented technology developed by Stanford continuously monitors the plant’s equipment, predicts campus energy loads, grid prices and weather, steering the system to optimal efficiency. The automated software also reviews its own performance.
The 125,614 SF Central Energy Facility is located on the west side of the central campus, just outside the campus core. Its siting respects Olmstead’s original axial campus plan and functions to align the University’s founding and future quads. The energy complex is comprised of ve distinct components: an Entry Court and Administrative/Teaching Facility, which serves as the knuckle between two major plant buildings; the Heat Recovery Chiller (HRC) Plant with its two large cold water storage tanks; the California State O ce of Health Planning and Development (OSHPD) Plant; a service yard; and a new campus- wide, main electrical substation. The massing and arrangement of the various components minimize the overall facility’s impact, with additional visual shielding provided by elegant metal screens. The main entry is on the prominent eastern edge, facing the central campus, while the electrical substation is located on the western edge to minimize its visual presence.
The overall architectural expression is one of lightness, transparency and sustainability to express the facility’s purpose. The Central Energy Facility’s materiality takes its cues from Stanford’s rich collection of historical and contemporary buildings. Stanford’s classic limestone buildings are represented by integrally-colored, board-formed concrete, while weathered CorTen steel accents suggest the terra-cotta tile roofs. Extensive glazing, dark steel columns and polished aluminum establish a contemporary vernacular, while reclaimed wood so fits in the arcades add warmth.
Anders Berensson Architects has unveiled conceptual plans for Stockholm’s tallest building – a 133-metre wooden skyscraper that would be erected on top of a 1960s car park in the city centre. (more…)
Milan 2016: this eyewear collection by Crafting Plastics was created from test samples of new biodegradable plastics (+ slideshow). (more…)
Jean-Paul Viguier et Associés, in partnership with Eiffage and Woodeum, have won the competition for a 57 meter timber tower in the Saint-Jean Belcier district of Bordeaux, France. A tower and two shorter buildings, the 17,000 square meter mixed-use project contains housing, offices, and retail space, and is part of a larger master plan intent on spurring development in the vicinity of the Bordeaux-Saint-Jean railway station. The project name “Hyperion” is a reference to the world’s tallest living tree (a Sequoia sempervirens in Northern California) and emphasizes the proposal’s vanguard use of timber materials.
The project’s tower element utilizes laminated veneer lumber (LVL) and glulam for a post and beam substructure, it employs cross-laminated timber (CLT) for flooring, and lumber is essential to the facade framework that is also accented with wood. A series of cantilevered balconies shade the main tower from direct sun while simultaneously preserving views. Balcony gardens and green roofs on the adjacent lower structures mitigate light and regulate the project’s climate. The steel and glass elements of the facade embrace thermal glazing for solar protection and insulation.
Hyperion will adhere to Association for Low Carbon Buildings (BBCA) standards enacted by France in December of last year. The firm hopes that this project will grant more visibility to low carbon, timber building and the practical time-saving measures enabled by these methods. Construction of the project will begin next year and completion is expected in 2019.
From the architect. Inaugurated on 25 April 2016, the new Salerno Maritime Terminal by Zaha Hadid Architects is integral to the city’s urban plan. Begun by Mayor Vincenzo De Luca, now Governor of the Campania Region, and continued under the city’s current Mayor Vincenzo Napoli, the 1993 plan for Salerno targeted the development of essential projects and programs for the social, economic and environmental regeneration of the city. As part of the 1993 plan, Zaha Hadid Architects won the international competition in 2000 to design the new terminal.
Located on the public quay that extends into Salerno’s working harbor and marina, the new maritime terminal continues the city’s relationship with the sea and establishes new links; connecting Salerno’s rich maritime traditions with its historic urban fabric and beyond to the hills that frame the city.
Like an oyster, the terminal’s hard, asymmetric shell protects the softer elements within; sheltering passengers from the intense Mediterranean sun during the popular tourist season.
The new maritime terminal is composed of three primary interlocking components: administration offices for national border controls and shipping lines; the terminal for international ferries and cruise ships from around the world; and the terminal for the local and regional ferries.
The quayside gently rises as passengers approach the terminal from the city, indicating the gradually sloping path of ramps within the building which raise passengers to the embarking level of large ships and ferries. The terminal’s interior arrangement orientates and leads passengers through a sequence of interior spaces that flow into each other and are organized around focal points such as the restaurant and the waiting lounge.
Local and regional ferry commuters move through the terminal quickly, arriving on ground level and ascending via ramps to reach the upper and vessel entrance. Passengers travelling on international ferries and cruise ships are guided seamlessly through check-in, passport, security and customs controls to their ship. Arriving passengers follow a similar progression through the terminal with the inclusion of the luggage reclaim area.
At night, the glow of the terminal near the harbour entrance will act as a lighthouse to the port, welcoming visitors to the city.
The new terminal operates, both functionally and visually, as a smooth transition between land and sea; a coastal land formation that mediates between solid and liquid.
From its terraces and windows, the terminal offers spectacular views of the Amalfi Coast, the Gulf of Salerno and the Cilento. Positano, Capri, Paestum and Pompei are also nearby. The new terminal will greatly improve the accessibility and experience for visitors to the region’s renowned cultural attractions, coastline and countryside.
The new Salerno Maritime Terminal will enable the port of Salerno to increase arrivals of ferry and cruise ships by 500,000 additional passengers each year, which would create up to 2,000 new jobs in the city’s hospitality, services and retail sectors.
As a Japanese immigrant who has spent much of her life in the United States, the architecture of Toshiko Mori occupies an interesting space: on one hand, the material and tectonic culture of Japan is, as she puts it, her “DNA.” On the other hand, her work clearly draws inspiration from the Modernists of 20th century America, and most notably from Mies van der Rohe. In this interview from his “City of Ideas” series, Vladimir Belogolovsky speaks with Mori (his former architecture professor) about materials, details, and the inspiration behind her work.
Vladimir Belogolovsky: You came to the US as a teenager with your parents from Japan in the 1960s. Were you interested in art early on back in Japan or was it something that you discovered already here?
Toshiko Mori: I was already interested in art as a child, always drawing, painting, making sculptures and models. I continued doing that here.
VB: Was this interest in art unrelated to architecture?
TM: Well, thinking back I was also paying attention to traditional buildings, especially to shrines and temples, and gardens in Kyoto where I visited with my aunt and grandmother often. The first time I visited a modern building was when my father took our family from Kobe, where we were living, to see the Hiroshima Peace Center by Kenzo Tange, shortly after it opened. It was very tough to go through the exhibit, but also I remember the impact that the building itself made on me – very simple, but dignifying.
VB: You studied at Cooper Union here in New York at the Art School first and transferred to architecture after meeting Dean John Hejduk. What was it that made you switch?
TM: I was working on a kind of “transformation” project with two other art students. We set out to paint a corridor at the Architecture School, all in white; this was still in the old building with gray walls and all kinds of hodgepodge. The assignment was to transform a space by using a color. Then John Hejduk came while we were on the ladders, busy painting everything in white – the walls, the ceiling… It was spatial and atmospheric. He looked at it; mind you, we didn’t have permission for any of that and he started to laugh. He liked it. That’s how I met him, and then I started looking at the work the architecture students were doing and liked it. So I went to see Hejduk to show him my portfolio. He said, “Oh, now here is someone who can really draw!” [Laughs.] Then I transferred.
VB: You were my very first architecture professor at Cooper Union in the early 1990s and curiously, you introduced me to the Russian Constructivists. However, your own work has very different origins. Could you talk about where you derive your inspiration?
TM: Architecture is multidisciplinary and therefore there are many sources of inspiration. I never dream up in a vacuum. There are so many conditions and constraints. There is a client, site, program, and so on. But aesthetically, my inspiration goes back to Japanese traditional architecture, which has a sense of clarity and tectonics. That’s my DNA.
VB: In one of your interviews, you named architects who influenced you most. One was Togo Murano [1891-1984]. What was it that attracted you to his work, since his architecture did not have a particular distinctive character, right?
TM: Well, that’s exactly right and that’s what is so interesting about him. He was responsive to the context in a very specific way. His architecture is traditional, but he would always transform it in some interesting ways to make the work his own and contemporary. He walked right on the edge between a fantasy and reality. His work is vernacular and contemporary at the same time; he conceptualized his ways to put old right against new in a very subtle and fresh manner.
He has done large projects: a train station, department stores, theaters, and hotels all over Japan, and particularly a well-known Miyako Hotel in Kyoto. I learned about him through my studies as an architect, but I remember going to his buildings as a child.
VB: I recently saw you at the opening of MoMA’s A Japanese Constellation exhibition with projects by Toyo Ito, Kazuyo Sejima, Ryue Nishizawa, Sou Fujimoto, Akihisa Hirata, and Junya Ishigami, and it occurred to me that your work is quite different from their projects. Your architecture seems to be more rooted in American Modernism. Would you agree and how conscious is this for you?
TM: I spent my adolescent and student years here, so I think it is only natural to relate to the background in which you grow up. My background and the background of most of my professors was American and European Modernism. My references are John Hejduk who graduated from Harvard and as an extension: Walter Gropius, Marcel Breuer, Paul Rudolph, Mies van der Rohe, Frank Lloyd Wright, and of course, Edward Larrabee Barnes for whom I worked right after my graduation from Cooper from 1976 to 1981, when I started my practice. But I like the work of contemporary Japanese architects and subconsciously I am probably influenced, let’s say, atmospherically and in terms of materiality, maybe. I am sympathetic to their work, but I don’t think what I do can be characterized as Japanese architecture. It doesn’t quite fit.
VB: What are the intentions of your work?
TM: My work is all about the context. Relating the project to the specific site, whether urban or rural, and resolving the materiality of the project is very important to me. I change all the time and I don’t repeat the same style. Every new building is an invention. Every project starts from zero. We never impose any particular style. But I think there is definitely a common thread in our work, even if a project such as our cultural center for Sinthian in Senegal looks completely different from our house in Ghent, New York. They are very different but if you x-ray them, there are commonalities in our approach.
VB: What words and phrases would you choose to describe your work?
TM: Clarity for sure. Clarity of expression. Clarity of a concept. The intention is to make something very simple, which is very difficult to achieve. I like to tackle complex issues by coming up with simple solutions.
VB: Talking about details in architecture you said, “Details is where architecture intersects with reality.” For many architects details are much less important, while forms and ideas are paramount. Could you talk about details in your work?
TM: Details is something where concept, program, technology, engineering, tectonic, materiality, all fuse together. In different projects, we focus on different details. Sometimes a project can be obsessively detailed; sometimes it can be detailed very loosely and informally. There are different ways in how we approach details. The ideas are in the details. Form is a form; it comes and goes, but for me, it is the details that carry ideas and intentions.
VB: So it goes without saying that you never recycle your details from project to project.
TM: Not really. For example, I try to use small steel members spaced at short distances to make an impression as if the building is made of wood. The intention is to make steel buildings appear to be much more delicate than one would expect them to be. I always play with different ideas and how they can affect appearances and perceptions. For example, it may not be apparent, what is structural and what is not. I would call it tectonic interplay.
VB: You are playing with different ways of how to hold the building.
TM: Right. As architects, we always fight against gravity. To pretend that gravity doesn’t exist is not really honest. But we can play with this fundamental fact by creating an illusion of winning over it in various ways.
VB: In other words, your primary question is – how to work against gravity?
TM: Sure, rather than working with forms, we work with forces. And we work collaboratively with engineers from the very beginning. The house in Ghent, which is broken down into several pavilions, presented many such challenges. Not only that we had to resolve each volume structurally and spatially but also how to pin these pavilions to the rocks where they are sited, and make them appear to be floating by hiding the structure underneath. But not directly below, so you can’t see the structure.
The cultural center in Senegal is very different. It is designed parametrically because we tried to come up with the most effective use of structure and local materials, such as bamboo, mud brick, and thatch. Also the idea was to have a building that would have a roof with maximum surface to provide deep shade and collect maximum amount of rainwater. We also needed to catch as much wind as possible to have a constant breeze under the roof. And we wanted to work with what they had and to employ local laborers, not simply bring something already prebuilt. So the building’s form was the result of all these factors, not the other way around. Also the design was influenced by vernacular cylindrical houses they have in the area. You can say that in this project elements of observation were stronger than elements of pure imagination. The main goal was – the residents had to accept this building as their own, and not as a foreign object.
VB: You worked on a number of additions to Modernist houses by Frank Lloyd Wright, Paul Rudolph, and Marcel Breuer. What did you learn from these projects and do you have a particular philosophy about how to engage them?
TM: One idea is that I never imitate anything. It is always a conversation, a dialogue. I try to imagine how these architects would have done their projects if they had the materials and techniques available to us today. But in any case, I usually work in contrast to their work. If the original is solid, my addition might be transparent. If it is dark, mine would be light. And to contrast something that’s grounded, I might elevate my project next to it. So there is always a dialectic relationship and juxtaposition of contrasting ideas. But I will never imitate anything or make something overwhelming. Being an academic, I always try to gather many clues first and I am always very careful with my decisions.
VB: At Harvard, you experimented with students by developing new materials and exploring tactility and fabrication process. Could you talk about that experience?
TM: When I arrived at Harvard in 1995, there was no real culture in terms of materiality in their curriculum. So in early 2000s I introduced a course that was based on such sources as the architectonic course at Cooper Union, teachings by Mies at the IIT, the Bauhaus exercises, and my own interest in textile tectonics. It was a series of lectures and hands-on workshops. I’m first of all a maker, so I like experimenting with materials. We worked on inventing new materials that we called ultramaterials, based on cutting, casting, molding, extruding, weaving, and so on.
In my own work, I recently used membrane materials that were developed specifically for one of my projects, a portable concert hall. New materials can be very empowering. For example, we used membranes that completely absorb the drumming sound of rainwater. Or there are textiles that reflect and distribute sound so well that by utilizing a particular geometry for a performance space it is possible not to use speakers at all because sound can travel well without any amplification. And in our new laboratory building for Novartis in Cambridge, Massachusetts we will have a copper tone fabric embedded into our glass louvers to control the sun and it will also add a warm glow to the interiors.
VB: Would you say there is a particular progression in your work?
TM: Not really. I am not systematic and, as I mentioned earlier, I tend to start from scratch every time. We work intuitively, based on the power of observation and power of imagination. Architecture is becoming more and more complex and a lot of our work is based on research, particularly in the fields of engineering, energy efficiency, human comfort, and so on.
VB: Looking at the contemporary architects whose work do you admire most?
TM: Oh, the next-door guys; I like them! Herzog & de Meuron have their New York office right on our floor. I followed them since my student days. They are very inventive and they don’t do the same thing twice. They don’t impose their style. Every project starts from zero. They do a lot of research. It is all about working with the specifics of each site, program, and other constraints. You can concentrate on using forms and shapes, and progress in perfecting a particular stylistic language, but to me this means you limit so many other possibilities and challenges of architecture that are very different in every project. It is in confronting the specifics that true inventions occur.
VLADIMIR BELOGOLOVSKY is the founder of the New York-based non-profit Curatorial Project. Trained as an architect at Cooper Union in New York, he has written five books, including Conversations with Architects in the Age of Celebrity (DOM, 2015), Harry Seidler: LIFEWORK (Rizzoli, 2014), and Soviet Modernism: 1955-1985 (TATLIN, 2010). Among his numerous exhibitions: Anthony Ames: Object-Type Landscapes at Casa Curutchet, La Plata, Argentina (2015); Colombia: Transformed (American Tour, 2013-15); Harry Seidler: Painting Toward Architecture (world tour since 2012); and Chess Game for Russian Pavilion at the 11th Venice Architecture Biennale (2008). Belogolovsky is the American correspondent for Berlin-based architectural journal SPEECH and he has lectured at universities and museums in more than 20 countries.
Belogolovsky’s column, City of Ideas introduces ArchDaily’s readers to his latest and ongoing conversations with the most innovative architects from around the world. These intimate discussions will be a part of the curator’s upcoming exhibition with the same title to premier at the University of Sydney in June 2016. The City of Ideas exhibition will then travel to venues around the world to explore ever-evolving content and design.
From the architect. The teachers’ houses were designed to attract teachers out to the countryside, as well as to promote the use of earth as a sustainable and durable building material. The houses were realized as a series of adaptable modules, each of comparable size to the traditional round huts typically found in this region. Single modules can be combined in various ways into a larger composite whole. The simplicity of the design and minimal use of bought materials means that it can easily be adopted by the villagers. The six houses for teachers and their families are arranged in a wide arc to the south of the school complex. This curvilinear layout is not only beautiful but is also reminiscent of a traditional Burkinabé compound. The roofs are barrel vaults constructed from stabilized earth blocks. This construction method, previously unheard of in this region, makes use of local resources and is climatically efficient. To protect the building from rising damp, the 40cm thick adobe walls stand on a foundation of cast in-situ cement and granite stones. The villagers produced around 15,000 blocks, each 40x20x10cm, at a rate of between 600 and 1,000 a day.
A tie beam connecting the walls bears the roof load in each module. The roof is a layer of reinforced concrete poured in situ into a permanent shuttering of compressed stabilized earth blocks (CSEBs). The roof heights alternate between 100cm and 150cm, therefore when they overlap a sickle-shaped opening is formed and serves as a means of ventilating the interior and providing daylight. Generous roof overhangs protect the walls from moisture. In traditional Burkinabé houses, a special type of thin loam rendering – mixed with vegetable juice and cow dung – is applied to the outer walls as a protective layer of about 3cm against weathering.
Unfortunately these components are of little use in the rainy season and attract termites which can eventually destroy the walls. In the teachers’ housing, the traditional organic components of the rendering were replaced with bitumen. The culmination of the building work is the tamping of the clay floor to create a smooth, homogeneous surface. The enthusiastic involvement of the people of Gando was the key to the success of this project. The villagers gained not only new skills but also a sense of responsibility, awareness and sensitivity to both the traditional and the innovative aspects of building.
A pair of chequerboard designs have been unveiled as the new official logos for the Tokyo 2020 Olympics and Paralympic Games, after the original designs were ditched amid claims of plagiarism. (more…)
Zaha Hadid Architects has unveiled its first completed building since the death of its founder, a new maritime terminal for ferries and cruise liners in Salerno, Italy (+ slideshow). (more…)
