Brand Avenue

Towers in the City

Dubliners, who have witnessed immense changes to their city as it has prospered in the last decade, will likely soon see vertical development on a more intimate scale to provide orientation to the city's otherwise horizontal spread. The development follows the erection of the Dublin Spire, perhaps the slenderest tower to beat all slender towers:

DEGW's John Worthington, author of Managing Intensification and Change - A Strategy for Dublin Building Height, made a number of points about high rise cities which appear to have been taken on board by the powers that be. "High rise" and "tall buildings" are relative terms, he says. "In a city quarter of predominantly one or two-storey buildings, those of three to five floors could be considered of significant height." DEGW identified four key heights: low-rise (up to five floors or 15 metres); mid rise "groundscrapers" (up to 15 floors or 50 metres); high-rise "skyscrapers" (up to 40 floors or 150 metres) and super high-rise (above 150 metres).

Worthington's contention is that high-rise buildings have a role to play in intensifying and signposting cities. "Used sparingly, they can become landmarks to navigate an increasingly complex urban landscape and provide spectacular views both for those who live in and visit the city, and those who actually inhabit them."

"I wasn't a supporter of the Spire but now that it's there it does mark the centre of the city," says Dublin City councillor Kevin Humphreys (Labour). "So areas can be defined by landmark development. Such a building at The Point, for instance, would draw the eye down the Liffey telling people where a shopping and recreation area is, as well as marking the gateway to Dublin for those arriving by boat."

 

Interestingly, the insertion of the Spire into a formerly seedy central neighborhood along O'Connell Street mirrors deeper cultural changes taking place in its shadow, where the nature of Irishness is being transformed with the influx of immigrants:

Historically and geographically, O'Connell Street is the heart of Dublin. The boulevard, which runs south about five blocks to the River Liffey, has emerged from several decades of seediness, thanks to a continuing refurbishment that aims to create a Hibernian version of the Champs-Élysées, centered around a 394-foot-tall steel needle, the Spire of Dublin.

But step off O'Connell Street in almost any direction, and you glimpse a different Dublin, a parallel city that is neither homogenous nor traditionally Irish. In a tiny enclave within two blocks of the main artery there are a nascent Chinatown, a budding Little Odessa and even touches of West Africa, all catering to a recent influx of immigrants drawn to the country's economic prosperity.

Meanwhile, in the sprawl that currently characterizes the city of Mississauga, Ontario (Canada's fifth largest city; a suburb of Toronto), a recent competition for a 50-story condominium tower carries similar identity-defining weight. The city's Absolute development seeks to center Mississauga in a way not dissimilar from the way the Dublin Spire provides orientation to its surroundings: (via, also)

Everyone's heard of the Bilbao Effect, but what about the Mississauga Effect?....

Created by a young Beijing-based firm, MAD, this is no ordinary architectural icon. It's a statement about the power of design to establish a sense of place and context.

"Suburbs around the world want to become metropolises," Yansong Ma, founder of MAD, said yesterday. "But we don't think they should. They have their own character. They should create their own identity."

The winner has been nicknamed Marilyn Monroe for its shape.

I'm curious how locals receive additions like these, that literally loom on the horizon. Consider the way monuments that the Arch transformed the image of St. Louis, or how the Eiffel Tower (perhaps a more apt comparison is the Tour Montparnasse) has done so for Paris. What are the implications of such a provocation? What about when the place in question is known to be one of the most unlovely anywhere?

One more recent example--this time in Philadelphia--which never fails to shock me: (via)

Name that Line

The Los Angeles MTA is having trouble naming its new lines. Things become tricky when people start wondering about the significance of the new lines' proposed colors:

The color-coordination confusion comes as the MTA struggles with mapmaking symbols for its transit system.

In multicultural Los Angeles, naming transit lines after colors is a sensitive task. Transit officials privately said it would be inappropriate to call the Exposition Boulevard line — which runs through both African American and Latino neighborhoods — the "Black Line" or "Brown Line."

And, of course, the "White Line" would never show up clearly on a map.

But they have proposed naming the El Monte busway the "Silver Line" since that color was once assigned to the project when it was first constructed. And they have recommended designating the busway that runs down the Harbor Freeway the "Bronze Line" because it connects passengers to various South Bay beach cities where suntans are the norm.

Officials also are considering renaming the downtown-to-Wilshire Boulevard/Western Avenue extension of the existing Red Line subway the "Purple Line." The purple color and name would go with the Wilshire subway if it was eventually extended 13 miles to Santa Monica under a $4.8-billion proposal.

People seem to appreciate when the generic coding, coloring, or numbering of the built environment coincides with some particular aspect of local/regional/cultural/physical identity. Well-known recent case in point: how Daniel Libeskind's original design for the "Freedom Tower" in Lower Manhattan measures exactly 1,776 feet, to harken to the date of the American Declaration of Independence.

This seems to pair well with the recent rash of mashed-up anagram transit maps from around the world appearing on the web (spotted here). Here's just one (click to enlarge):

Playplace No Longer

It goes without saying that the architecture and imagery of McDonalds is perfectly calibrated to answer a very complex and constantly evolving set of desires and aspirations. Everyone knows how all-encompassing a visit to McDonalds can be. However, that ubiquitous experience is about to undergo a significant shift.

Under the banner of a design concept termed "Forever Young," McDonald's is remodelling about half of its 13,700 U.S. restaurants in the coming year. Keyed into the popularity of a lounge/living room atmosphere popularized by Starbucks and other coffee chains, the muted colors and designer finishes entice people to linger:

The room is subdued, its booths and overstuffed chairs upholstered in earthy beige or brown faux leather or other fabrics and separated by partitions topped by curved, silver-colored railings. The prints on the walls are tasteful – if arty – the hanging lights muted. Modern designer tiles cover the floor and walls. Customers in a music zone section listen to the latest tunes under sound domes, surf the audio channels on wall units or access the Internet on their laptops through the Wi-Fi system. Above it all, a flat screen TV beams the latest news from CNN. Welcome to Ronald McDonald's lounge.

(Or just "MD Lounge.")

Gone are the earth-toned plastic banquettes, and most of the playgrounds. In its place, a "McThirdPlace" neighborhood hangout of sorts, with community meeting rooms and 24-hour news that offers "an escape from normal frenetic fast-food noise and clutter."

To me, "Forever Young" poses some issues about the nature of semi-public space, present everywhere from shopping malls to chain coffeeshops around the world. What is being lost or gained here?

DTW Airport City

In conjunction with architecture and planning students at Michigan, the director of development for the county that includes Detroit is conjuring visions for a new kind of city of 450,000 to be constructed along a linear swath between Detroit and Ann Arbor, on land that is currently economically stagnant suburbia. The city would be called Airport City:

March 1, 2026: Gathering speed on the immensely popular light rail line from downtown Detroit to Metro Airport is a car full of executives on their way to Manila. It's a beautiful sky-blue day. As the train leaves the station stop in Taylor, passengers gain an eye-level view of the Detroit area's newly built, ultra-modern and world-renowned Airport City. This is the eastern edge of a 25,000-acre stretch of western Wayne County that not long ago was a congested mismatch of aging neighborhoods, cracked parking lots, traffic-clogged highways and featureless warehouses stretching from Dearborn Heights to Willow Run Airport.

A generation later this part of southeast Michigan is entirely engaging, fresh and globally significant. An astonishing display of stone and steel and glass, straight lines and beckoning angles, unveils itself to passengers, a modern metropolis with 450,000 residents and 350,000 jobs. Like Silicon Valley of another era, Detroit's Airport City brims with deep pools of entrepreneurial and technical talent supplying an array of product laboratories, technology manufacturers, suppliers, global distributors and corporate offices unrivaled in the Midwest.

This vision, inspired by Airport Cities springing up elsewhere around the world, is founded on transportation links both existing (Detroit Metropolitan Airport, the sixth busiest in the United States, and nearby Willow Run Airport, a freight hub) and planned (a commuter rail line stretching between Ann Arbor on the west and downtown Detroit on the east). The esprit of Airport City would be breakneck speed:

Efficient public transportation is needed to turn western Wayne County—now a congested mismatch of aging neighborhoods, cracked parking lots, and featureless warehouses—into a modern city teeming with offices and condominiums and brimming with entrepreneurial and technical talent along the park-lined tributaries of the Huron River.

The mobility of people, goods, and ideas is a cornerstone of the 21st century economy and of Airport City. At a time when news circles the globe in seconds, people and goods need to move fast too. That’s why Mulu Birru, the development director of Wayne County, is focusing his efforts on “Airport City.” He hopes to capitalize on existing and planned transportation infrastructure, to attract and generate 350,000 jobs in Airport City alone.

Airport City would stretch across disparate economic, class, and race lines, while renewing a push to build on the power of transportation, which has traditionally been Detroit's business. It could provide a new focus to a region that has none and overhaul Detroit's image in a lasting way no Super Bowl ever could provide. Airport City would also link three research universities in a type of latter-day Research Triangle:

In vision and values, though, the lines trace a potentially smashing project to revive southeast Michigan's economy and reverse Detroit's 50-year population decline. The intellectual foundation for Airport City is to add multiple layers of value to realm of transportation, one of Michigan's historical strengths. The concept joins the new global economy developing around air transport, with fast commuter rail and other efficient ground transport, the interconnected economy that Thomas Friedman describes in his 2005 bestseller The World Is Flat. In fact, futurist Alvin Toffler envisioned such bustling markets in The Third Wave, his 1980 bestseller which predicted that the 21st century would link information globally so that data, people and goods could move very fast.

McLofts and Memory

A Georgia man is moving into a loft--in a brand-new suburb:

But his loft isn't in a century-old factory building on a gritty inner-city block. It's in a new development in rural Palmetto, Ga., surrounded by meadows, stables and an organic farm that will grow things like asparagus and edible flowers. "It's my little piece of New York," says Sickles. "But New York is too urban for me."

Coming to a subdivision near you: the McLoft. Amid ranch houses and McMansions, developers are putting up buildings that look like they're out of downtown Manhattan or Chicago. Unlike urban lofts, which started out as last-resort housing for arty types, these condos can be some of the priciest housing in suburbia. Instead of stepping out into sidewalks where vendors peddle gyro sandwiches and counterfeit handbags, residents are just minutes from mountain-bike trails or the mall. And while city lofts are known for creaky freight elevators and exposed ventilation ducts, their country cousins come with floating faucets, bidets and designer kitchens.

Not surprisingly:

Developers say they're targeting the 78 million Boomers who are poised to enter retirement and may be ready to trade down from a big home and a yard.

The loft in question is located in Serenbe, a new master-planned community outside of Atlanta. Instead of a golf course or racquet club, Serenbe (the name combines the words "serenity" and "be") boasts an organic farm at its center. The "hamlet" also boasts progressive environmental controls that minimize its impact on the land. The concept is a genius combination that is equal parts Mother Jones and Seaside (Toll Brothers, take note):

Where else can you live like this? In a community of bright, creative neighbors, people who are thinking and talking about things that matter. A community of hamlets connected by looping country roads and well-worn footpaths that make walking easier than getting in a car. A community of private gardens and public farms. And trails for walking, hiking and biking that connect with a future 98-mile regional greenway system. This is the kind of place where you’ll have an equestrian center and the freedom to ride for miles right outside your back door and, for that matter, right up to the coffee shop. Where you’ll be able to enjoy outdoor performances, films, lectures and readings in the community amphitheatre. Where you can stargaze with your neighbors at the celestial observation deck. Where you can gather around a community bonfire at the end of a thoroughly enjoyable day. Serenbe is all that and more, with the big-city cultural life of Atlanta just 45 minutes away. Not to mention an international airport even closer than that.

See? In today's Mayberry, you can be connected to the global economy, and still enjoy the small-town bakery, yoga studio and real-live blacksmith shop down the street from your house.

 

As if on cue, an article about how people subconsciously look for symbols of personal and shared history when shopping for real estate:

As architecture and interior design buffs know, people generally look for places that represent who they are — or who they would like to be. "The dwelling is a symbol of the self," said David Seamon, an environment-behavior researcher and professor of architecture at Kansas State University in Manhattan, Kan. "In that sense the house both avows the self and reveals the self."

Brand Avenue Block Party

I'm a bit late in commemorating this, but a couple of weeks ago Brand Avenue passed its first birthday.

Herman Hertzberger's body of work (a diagram of Centraal Beheer, above) has always interested me, and I find myself continually returning to it and questions he raises: about spatial identity, about image and aspiration, about communication and relationships, about architecture's connections to culture, about urbanism, experience, "placeness". Hertzberger is just one jumping-off point to consider these things, but as an architect and a lover of cities, I think all of the above are always present at the scale of the architectural as well as the urban. Culture is both implicitly and explicitly spatial.

With this weblog, I've been attempting to chronicle my primary interest in these topics for my own sake; my secondary interest is to contribute to a greater conversation about the places we inhabit, our relationships to them, how culture and place connect, and how we capitalize on all of this. My starting point was a fascination with gentrification and marketing (neighborhoods, at right) and how we perceive place and space. I'm pretty pleased with the directions this has gone since then.

To those of you who read this site regularly (or even irregularly), many thanks. I hope you've found at least some of Brand Ave. interesting. Please visit the links at left, too--they are disparate and fascinating and each worthy of attention.

I would love feedback, suggestions (especially books), etc--get in touch and introduce yourself.

Selling Bushwick

The NYTimes sings a now-familiar tune about finding the next hip urban neighborhood. This time, the article is about Bushwick, Brooklyn (not to be confused with nearby, newly-named Greenwick):

Then he parks, locks, dashes into an old storefront, so that he is suddenly the tiniest bit overdressed, a tinge too businesslike for the all-of-the-sudden hip environs. Brushing off his navy blue blazer and straightening his rain-soaked red tie, he orders a carrot-ginger soup, and a high-energy smile breaks across his face like a banner unfurling. With an accent that is part Californian, part Vietnamese, part top-selling real-estate agent, he asks rhetorically, "Isn't this great?"

By this he means Bushwick, the next new neighborhood or, more precisely, a neighborhood that is now in the sights of New York City real-estate agents and developers as the next new neighborhood. This is Bushwick as seen from the banquette at Life Café Nine 83, a cool place with mostly comfort food (meatloaf, fried chicken) and a few vegan options. There is also a new late-night menu, now that people in the neighborhood have started staying in the neighborhood on Saturday nights.

Viewing the neighborhood goings-on from this banquette-level perspective can be considered a type of "tryvertising"--marketing parlance for a growing trend of experience-based consumption, or a kind of "test-driving" that can be applied to place as well as product. I had heard of this term last year, but didn't have the right occasion to use it, until now:

Mass advertising is dying. Experienced consumers couldn't care less about commercials, ads, banners and other fancy wording and imagery that is forced upon them, so let's move on to more interesting ways of igniting conversations between corporations and consumers....tryvertising, which is all about consumers becoming familiar with new products by actually trying them out.

Think of tryvertising as a new breed of product placement in the real world, integrating your goods and services into daily life in a relevant way, so that consumers can make up their minds based on their experience, not your messages.

Think 'obvious' activities like handing out product samples, and more subtle, integrated product placements that are part of an experience or solution.

Product placements that become part of the landscape, part of the real world where consumers hang out and certainly don't mind trying something as long as it makes sense to them.

When squatters moved into Soho in the 1960s, the NYT wasn't standing by with its Magazine detailing the national obsession with real estate; as cities like New York are continually transformed it's interesting to ponder gentrification's trajectory in relation to how architecture, planning, marketing and real estate are all practiced.

Why? Because what occurs in Brooklyn nowadays greatly influences so much of what happens elsewhere.

City of Fleeting Fulfillment

We expect a lot from geography; it molds our behavior, our interests, our culture, and our aspirations. In our physical surroundings we look for some sort of resonance with our own preferences and hopes, and ultimately, some sort of fulfillment. Tourism evidences this.

With that in mind, welcome to the city of New Ephemera, where the culture is quirky and enigmatic, and the weather warm and sunny. It's the ideal place, encompassing everywhere you want to be:

Whether you spend three days or three weeks in New Ephemera, you will have the experience of a lifetime. From radiant landscapes to celebrated cultural events, all the pieces of a magical vacation come together in one easy-to-reach destination....New Ephemera exhilirates, awakening the senses to new experiences as well as those things usually taken for granted. Stroll down its cafe-lined streets, admire its monuments and great works of art, absorb the sun on its beaches. Lose your ties to the drudgery of daily life in an hour in the Honey Baths or rent a bicycle to explore the Outer Bivouacs.

(The New Ephemera brochure was a recent student art project.)

Along these lines: Visited Countries (and Visited States), a neat little trick where you generate maps that display where you've been, and where you haven't.

Potluck Utopia

The NYTimes reports on an enterprising group of retirees in idyllic Davis, CA who joined forces to create what is considered to be the "country's first self-planned housing development for the elderly...right down to its purple gutters:"

The four couples, two widows and two who are now living solo live in eight individual town houses, grouped around an inner courtyard. Still under construction is the "common house" with a living room and a large kitchen and dining room for communal dinners; upstairs is a studio apartment they will rent at below market value to a skilled nurse who will provide additional care. It is their own self-styled, potluck utopia.

The architectural organization of the complex is an interesting reflection of a collective desire to grow old together, differently. The article notes that demographic shifts suggest many, many more developments of this kind are to come:

Dr. William Thomas, who developed the "Eden Alternative," a widely publicized effort to make nursing homes less institutional, is developing Eldershire in Sherburne, N.Y., south of Syracuse, a hybrid between co-operative housing and a traditional development. The idea is to build first and then attract residents who will run it themselves.

Dr. Thomas compares co-operative housing, and its time-consuming community planning, with "homemade bread — people get together, mix the ingredients, let the dough rise." He's trying to adapt the concept for broader consumption — "100 million people," he says, "buy bread at the store."

As the residents of Glacier Circle are joined by waves of Baby Boomers just beginning to retire, the elderly--who will be more affluent than any other generation before them--will be searching for different experience than those of their parents'. They may not necessarily crave traditional "leisure towns;" they could retire downtown, for example.