Pocket Neighborhoods

[caption id="attachment_1410" align="aligncenter" width="700" caption="Third Street Cottages by Ross Chapin Architects • Developed by The Cottage Company"][/caption] Cohousing, clustered developments, and cottage housing are all examples of Pocket Neighborhoods – a concept that is the subject of Ross Chapin’s newly published book of the same title (Tauntum Press, 2011).

Starting off with a forward by Sarah Susanka (the architect of the Not-so-Big House books), Ross presents the concepts of pocket neighborhoods in 4 parts - historical precedents for pocket neighborhoods, contemporary examples of pocket neighborhoods, cohousing communities, and infill/adaptive developments in existing communities. This is a wonderful resource for learning about community oriented design that focuses on human scaled architecture and a smaller ecological footprint. For those that are concerned about quality (of community, relationships, and lifestyle) over quantity (of materialistic and isolated American pop-culture) Ross’ book is a must-read.

I have known Ross for many years – primarily through our good friend Karen DeLucas, who has worked with Ross for the past eight years. A year ago, I was contacted by Ross Ross while he was doing some research for his book and had the pleasure of sharing with him my knowledge of cohousing. I also shared with him our library of photographs from the 20+ Danish cohousing communities Mike and I visited in 2004 – several of which are featured throughout his book.

Ross Chapin is an architect based in Langley, WA – a quaint town at the north end of Whidbey Island, home to 3rd Street Cottages, his first “pocket neighborhood”.

To learn more about pocket neighborhoods visit the website

To buy Ross’ book, click on here

A Welcoming Patina -- an Opening Salvo to Preserve Our Interior Environment

While much effort in architectural design -- and its evaluation -- revolves around the exterior of buildings, it is the interiors that have the most intimate impact on our lives. This dichotomy is understandable, as the exteriors of buildings, and their surrounding streetscape and landscape are fully within the public gaze. We must not, however, forget the interiors behind the facades, especially those that have the special characteristic of a  'welcoming patina', a quality resulting from age and/or use that make one feel especially comfortable within them. In addition to qualities of age and use, I would add  vernacular design, the resourcefulness of the interior's designer's ability (professional or otherwise) to assemble disparate, often overlooked elements in successful and unique ways. Driven by a lack of resources (and, perhaps with a conscious eye to resisting the corporate, sterile design that pervades our society), these artisans craft a pleasing aesthetic experience from materials that may have otherwise been discarded by others. They resist the impulse to make something 'better' by giving it a fresh coat of paint, a shiny polish, or, by replacing it with something new, and instead revel in incorporating (or letting be) worn paint, mis-matched furnishings, and unfinished walls. Art figures in as well, be it oil on canvas or discarded bottle caps.

On Capitol Hill we are blessed not only with a fine urban (exterior) street-scape, but also with many patinad/vernacular interiors that were not necessarily designed by architects or interior designers, but perhaps by the owners, tenants, artists, and patrons of the space themselves. Interiors by happenstance, as it were.  Thus formed, our shops, restaurants, cafes, and theaters reveal the brush strokes of their many creators, including that most ineffable of characteristics, the patina of time. As Capitol Hill prepares for its next round of development, it is precisely these slightly worn and dusty places that are the types of spaces that we will pine for the most should we lose them, as they are the most difficult to re-create.

Bauhaus Cafe is as fine an example of a welcoming patina and vernacular design as one could find on the Hill. In February 2002, when I was in Seattle for a job interview, Bauhaus cafe was the first Capitol Hill business I entered, and I remember it well. It not only sold me on Seattle, but especially on Capitol Hill, for any neighborhood that could support such a vibrant, gorgeous, interior was certainly where I wanted to live. Three weeks later I left Manhattan for Seattle.

There was obviously design intent and careful consideration in Bauhaus's layout, yet it feels as if it evolved over time, and has a great Northwest vernacular; it is as if it were shaped by the customers and baristas within, with their collective energy somehow contributing to a space that was meant to be.

In addition to its patina and vernacular, Bauhaus Cafe also has a nice variety of spatial types. From the large, main cafe space with its large windows fronting Pine Street, to the more intimate mezzanine and the still more cozy western sliver of a space that looks west, over Melrose Avenue. Finding space where available and making it work, is I suppose another quality of this kind of space. Divorced from planning done by remote corporate headquarters, such spaces adapt to the eddies and flows of their environment, grounding them to their site in a manner impossible to achieve without recognizing the potential in eccentric space.

There is a fine array of materials defining Bauhaus's spaces. The most robust is the wood of the grand bookshelf, which even includes one of those cool rolling ladders. The size of the wall provides an excellent and generous space from which to display the art work that hangs against it. The language of the bookcase nicely morphs into that of the staircase that leads to the mezzanine, which has a classic, load bearing masonry wall on its southern end, and a guard rail/wall affording one a prospect from which to look out over the main cafe space. And though there is an amazing amount of variety within a relatively compact space, the tones and materials blend together in a way so as not complete with each other or for attention. The dark floors, walls, and furniture, emphasize their contrast with the large bright windows. Glare, usually a nuisance and detractor from a space, here heightens one's awareness of the textures and spatial variety.  So complete is the Bauhaus experience, that even it fading exterior sign and crooked storefront proudly proclaim its patina to all who pass.

Although relatively new in its present location, Bimbo's Cantina has many of the above said qualities, yet in a more festive, polychromatic display. Here the interior is an apt reflection of Bimbo's eclectic and tasty offerings. No muted browns and blacks, as at Bauhaus, but vibrant and bright colors reflecting both the food and patrons (who are always a fixture around its welcoming bar). Empty fruit cases, dime-store piñatas, and (every color of the rainbow) sombreros adorn the interior, with an understanding of execution and display of creativity that no suburban, theme-restaurant could ever hope to achieve. And perhaps that is because at Bimbo's, it is not a theme at all, but an exuberant expression of those who created it -- an earnest expression of the people who both own it and work it  -- no a foreign expression of one who does not live the themes display.

Of particular fancy are the bottle-caps, re-purposed in as many ways as there are colors of the caps themselves. I will need to take note over my upcoming visits if these are a dynamic work whose breadth expands with each emptying cerveza. It is more than the objects themselves that are interesting, in fact one could argue that taken singly, they have no real interest in all and would actually be akin to the aforementioned suburban thematic restaurant. What differentiates Bimbo's and other like establishments on the Hill in their use of objet trouvé is in their compositional arrangement, where either through their repetition or assemblage (into forms far divorced from their original), they take on a new and visually pleasing appearance. Such insight into the latent potential of fruit cases is certainly beyond the grasp of an Applebees or Chili's.

By no means are the two above examples even close to representing the depth of Capitol Hill's patinad interiors, they just happen to be the two I visited one Saturday in March. So readers, please offer me your favorite places, with an eye toward continuing this call to action, a call to conserve the best Capitol Hill has to offer.

Building from Another Capitol Hill

[caption id="attachment_1170" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="Front Elevation"][/caption] Architecture comes in all shapes and sizes, and from all periods of history. Capitol Hill is fortunate to have a fairly good representation of many historic and contemporary designs. Although most of the buildings in our neighborhood  can be loosely grouped together into any number of 'styles', there are subsets within these larger categories that may have only a few, or perhaps only one representative. The novelty of singularity may at first draw one's attention, but good design is what sustains interest after the initial infatuation has passed. Good design is indeed the case with a modest little building on 231 Summit Avenue East, mid-block between John and Thomas Streets, a building which combines an unusual design approach (for our Capitol Hill) with good design, a design more likely being found on that other Capitol Hill, the one on the Potomac.

[caption id="attachment_1180" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="Oblique Elevation"][/caption]

My education as an architect and that of the majority of my colleagues did not delve into historical 'styles' or the vernacular. The history of architecture I was taught presented a building within the cultural context and time within which it was conceived, as well the underlying environmental and technological forces key to its formation.  The teaching of 'styles' and a formal-based approach to design -- and by formal I mean divorcing a building's execution from the above mentioned narratives and emphasizing form (geometry, scale, and proportion) -- was largely dismissed. Older generations of architects, however, received an education that was style based, resulting in buildings being designed with an emphasis on principles that had been vetted through many centuries of practice; however, while oftentimes visually pleasing, such form-based design was not always grounded within its cultural-time. The teaching of styles had its roots in the European academies, especially in France at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, and exercised a tremendous impact on early American architecture that continued through the beginnings of the twentieth century, where its force was greatest on the eastern seaboard of the United States, and was slowly diluted as one headed west.

[caption id="attachment_1171" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="Exterior Corridor South"][/caption]

Two-hundred thirty-one East Summit falls within the Beaux-Arts approach. The composition of its street elevation -- and a composition indeed it is -- has a formality and understanding of proportion and decorative motifs that indicate an aesthetic rooted in the cultural influences of the East Coast, rather than in the 'pioneer' aesthetic of the Pacific Northwest. Its materials and details are further revealing, including fair-faced (and very red) brick, instead of the more rustic materials common to NW design (think of Anhalt's clinker bricks), as well as terra-cotta trim with thematic elements derived not from nature, but from a pedagogy emphasizing  geometric purity and crispness. The openings if horizontal are sub-divided by windows that have a human (vertical) proportion, or are simply vertical themselves. The exterior corridor/colonnade harkens to east coast cities such as (the other) Georgetown or colonial Boston, cities whose original densities are similar to our Capitol Hill but were built of brick instead of wood (as a means to suppress fire) in a proximity close enough to each other to lead to the development of colonnades, allowing light to penetrate deeper into the building and giving merchants greater venue within which to display their wares.

[caption id="attachment_1173" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="Exterior Corridor North"][/caption]

Built in 1925, the architects who designed this handsome little building were not doubt educated and well versed in these older traditions. The faithful and skilled execution of 231 to its guiding design principles makes it a welcomed contributor to the built quality of our neighborhood, and holds many a lesson for architects today, in a tidy, easily digestible package. And though I have both feet firmly planted in the modernist tradition, that tradition's emphasis on continual re-invention and emphasis on originality often comes at the expense of the good for the interesting. Irrespective of one's particular design preferences, we can all learn from buildings such as 231 that are first good, with a little interest added for zest. That so much thought was spent on a very small building makes it even more precious, for similar to the cottages I wrote of several weeks ago, one would be hard pressed to find such a small (or even large), well-crafted building constructed today, ranking it amongst my favorite little anomalies on our Hill.

Seattle's Best Building

Exceptional works of art are a rare and treasured asset to the community. Exceptional architectural works are perhaps even rarer, as the uniting of the client’s needs, the architect’s vision, and the monies available to execute a design present an alignment of three often competing forces. Evoking both intellectual and emotional responses, exceptional architecture not only pushes the boundaries of a particular time or place’s qualities, but also inspires both hemispheres of the mind: the logical (structural/functional) and the artistic (beautiful/sensual). Capitol Hill is extremely fortunate to have such an exceptional architectural work, as it is not only world class but is also welcoming to the community. I write of the Chapel of Saint Ignatius  designed by internationally acclaimed New York (and Bremerton born) architect Steven Holl, on the Seattle University Campus. If you have yet to visit it I strongly encourage you to do so.

[caption id="attachment_1080" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="The Reflecting Pool"][/caption]

As an architect, I often visit or see photographs of a building and think to myself “hmm, if the architect had done this or that, the building would have really been great (or at least pretty good)". Even with such internationally lauded structures such as Seattle’s Central Library, I have such musings. With the Chapel, no presumption is possible. It is as close to a perfectly conceived, designed, and executed building you are likely to see anywhere, of any design approach, of any program, of any budget or size. Yes, it is that good, and it is right in our back yard.

[caption id="attachment_1091" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="The Chapel's Entry"][/caption]

The construction of the Chapel consists of tilt-up concrete for the walls and (what I assume to be) light-weight metal framing and zinc siding for the skylights. Tilt-up concrete’s typical use is for the construction of warehouses and industrial buildings, where it is utilized as simple, economically produced rectangular planes that are butted up one against another, providing both structure and enclosure. With the Chapel, the tilt-up panels are planar, yet have a fluid perimeter giving form to the many skylights. The zinc-clad infill framing forms both the curved  and flat planes between the tilt-up bookends. Additionally, the panels have over-lapping seams at the corners and the window openings, instead of being butt-jointed, furthering the expressive and probing design approach of the tilt-up; and, rather than being painted, the panels are stained with an integrated color giving them a deep, sensuous texture. While certainly more expensive and far more creative than a typical application, the tilt-up still remains within the traditional performance characteristics of a planar based, support and enclosure system.

[caption id="attachment_1088" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="The Entry Wall"][/caption]

I am hard pressed to think of another building that handles daylight in a more magical way than at the Chapel, where soaring skylights, cast glass windows, and concealed openings create mystery and beauty. Daylight is formed, not merely admitted into the space, and is bent by the will of the architect to support his concepts of space and place. Oftentimes screened, the contrast, the shadows, and the filtering of daylight that surrounds you is perhaps the building’s most intense experience, and unlike one you are likely to have anywhere else.

[caption id="attachment_1084" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="Cast Glass Window in Entry Wall"][/caption]

The boldness of the building's exterior forms and materials are deftly balanced by an interior of subtle textures, which are skillfully manipulated by the above mentioned daylight. The cross-hatch patterning of the plaster walls, the cast glass windows with their random air bubbles and changes in hue, and the splendid, hand chiseled entry doors immerse one in a sensual world of material splendor. Seven hundred pounds of candle wax form the finish of the Sacristy, creating an otherworldly environment.

[caption id="attachment_1078" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="The Sacristy"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1127" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="Candle-Wax Walls"][/caption]

The spatial quality of the Chapel is as exceptional as any of the above attributes. The curved planes of the ceiling, the light shrouds, and the skylights create the seemingly disparate qualities of intimacy and vastness. The repetitive planes, when seen assemble in perspective, layer the overall Chapel space, creating both extension and containment.

[caption id="attachment_1100" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="Looking South Toward the Lobby from the Main Chapel"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1104" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="The Confessional"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_1130" align="alignnone" width="700" caption="Interior View Northwest"][/caption]

The evaluation and experience of art and architecture is of course personal. And while checklists can be seen as arbitrary or even naive when forming an opinion of a work of art – especially one that breaks ground in the many refreshing ways as does the Chapel -- I cannot help but think that the Chapel is one of those few buildings that so completely fills out my own list.

Let's Not Celebrate that Corner

An architect's desire to 'celebrate' a building's corner has become so defacto that she or he may be seen as some kind of subversive if they were to do otherwise.  My corner problem, as I call it, lies not so much with the intent of being expressive, but in its recent, almost universally poor execution. So much design effort is expended on corners today, that they have become buildings onto themselves, resulting in chaotic assemblages of parts reminiscent of Ms. Shelley's infamous antagonist, but in built form. Garish colors and materials, clumsy canopies, little hats for roofs, and shifts in the building plane (often all together) are common ingredients in this over-cooked entrée. To make matters worse, such celebratory excess is often couched in a building's need to be contextual (i.e. historical). The fact of the matter is that for hundreds of years most buildings were quite content to go about their business in a dignified manner, either blissfully ignorant of their proximate influences, or, if feeling a bit provocative doing a little something extra at the extremities. The goal was not to make the corner an end onto itself, but to make it a part of an overall design. [caption id="attachment_933" align="alignnone" width="661"] Carson Pirie Scott Department Store, Chicago, IL (Source: Wikipedia)[/caption]

Carson Pirie Scott Department Store, Chicago, IL (Source: Wikipedia)

There are, of course, great buildings whose excellence has not been diminished by a corner folly here or there; and, dare I say, have even been enhanced by them. Sullivan's Carson Pirie Scott department store comes first to mind. Here, a gentle curve  of the same material that surrounds it, gently acknowledges its prime location. Another distinguishing feature of Mr. Sullivan's masterpiece is that of its window/structural bay expression going from horizontal to vertical, no doubt a recognition of the structural requirements needed to accomplish the move. Inspired by such a successful example, I set out on a grey January Sunday with camera in hand to see what local lessons on corner propriety could be discerned from our very own Capitol Hill, with the hope that not all buildings in the neighborhood suffer from the corner problem and that I may be able to document those that do not.

Certainly a corner does not a building make, and a couple of the buildings in the photos contained herein are part of rather uninspired design; however, those buildings have corners that are at least pretty good, and provide some thoughts as for strategies for designing an expressive corner (or not) for reasons other than an ungrounded and misguided nostalgia for buildings as they once were. The photos start from a working proposition that, to quote Hypocrites, first do no harm; or, at the very least, one should first aim for simplicity and only resort to rhetorical flourishes with discretion, forethought, and an understanding of the 'precedent' cited.

Agnes Lofts

Above, is Agnes Lofts, one of Capitol Hill's most recent (and best) mixed used buildings. The body of the building is so nicely executed, one wonders why change anything at the corner; thankfully, the accomplished architects at Weinstein A + U felt the same. Well done. Note also the nice subtractive bay modulation on the far left. Well done. Again!

The Velo Bikes building can be seen as a precedent to Agnes Lofts (or not -- your choice). Design a handsome edifice with beautiful terra cotta and generous windows, why change a thing at the corner? What could be a more appropriate approach (or more effective)?

[caption id="attachment_1006" align="alignnone" width="1024"] Seattle Central Community College Broadway Performance Hall[/caption]

At Seattle Central, we have a subtle, yet robust corner. If only more buildings had the confidence to rely on the selective expansion of their existing vocabulary: drop the arched window, swap it out with a combination circular and rectangular. For some added emphasis, add some coigning. Inspiring.

This photo, taken earlier in the year, is of a favorite Pike Street building. Lovingly restored by our friends at Capitol Housing (http://capitolhillhousing.org/), this affordable housing, mixed use building at the corner of Boren and Pike has a lovely wooden storefront running its length, which then turns the corner (and even steps back) just so slightly at the corner.

[caption id="attachment_1007" align="alignnone" width="849"] Seattle Police Department East Precinct[/caption]

Here is a rather ordinary fabric building that continues the evolution of the above themes. The regularity of the building's structural bays is exposed at the corners as the windows push back, signifying the entry. Note the view beyond to Eltana Bagels. A nice logical progression, should one want to add a little corner zest.

[caption id="attachment_1005" align="alignnone" width="740"] Apartment at Harvard and Roy[/caption]

There are several of these roadside -motel-inspired (ouch) apartments on the Hill. I have a certain fascination for them, as period pieces more than anything because for the most part they are not very well done (parking dominating the front is a poor display of urban manners). None-the-less, the corner here is notable in that it actually contains a programmatic element - the stairs - and hence, perhaps, a reason for expression (can you imagine, the willfulness!). Want to emphasize a corner and give it some panache, put a stair there and surround it with glass. Very mod.

The best new building on Broadway built during our last boom (sadly), this competently designed building does have a nice corner -- and an architect's favorite -- to make a corner expressive, make it go away. If done well, as this is, it is an trustworthy and reliable companion. Mithun Architects.

A favorite  corner of the day (or any day), and for a couple of reasons. It is simple, it is clear, and it is simultaneously distinct from the rest of the building yet wholly of its vocabulary. Nice. And, best yet, it houses a space that is of a different character than the remainder of the building. An expressive corner that actually expresses something inside! Bravo. Johnston Architects in collaboration with Cutler Anderson Architects.

Below, inside the corner window. And across the street, well, a corner problem.

[caption id="attachment_1000" align="alignnone" width="912"] Seattle Public Library Capitol Hill Branch[/caption]

Arguably the best corner on a building (or corner building -- a typology?) on Capitol Hill, and finally with a suitable ground floor tenant. The architects of this 1900's beauty designed the boldest of the bold in the world of corners -- they curved it. This is perhaps the most frequently botched corner-solution, leading to many a corner problem, yet done here with smashing success. How? because the materials, modulation, and detail are grounded in the remainder of the facades. One of our best heritage buildings, corner or otherwise.