Common Edge: The Latest Architecture and News

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In the post-pandemic era, an oversupply of underutilized churches is a growing reality. Besides offering explorations in adaptive reuse, what does this trend say about modern spirituality? Have humans lost interest in the sacred? In a recent article on Common Edge, Duo Dickinson addressed this concern by claiming that "the cultural change that is causing the abandonment of churches does not end the human search for the sacred."

While correctly stating that no formula can turn architecture into "the holy," he seemed to indicate that a new spirituality might still be found in architectural form. As we consider what changing forms of sacred space mean for the modern era, looking for a revitalization of spirituality through architecture alone risks a repeat of an error made in the last century: expecting too much of aesthetics.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

About a decade ago, the term "resilience planning" became ubiquitous in climate circles. That shift, in the wake of increasingly unpredictable events, was shaped in part by the Rockefeller Foundation's 100 Resilient Cities program, a six-year, $160 million effort to establish chief resilience officers in cities all over the world. Out of that program, which ended in 2019, emerged its successor, Resilient Cities Catalyst (RCC), a New York–based nonprofit engaged in what it calls "capacity building" projects. For Climate Week, I talked to Sam Carter, one of RCC's founding principals, about his definition of resilience, the organization's planning and philanthropic method, and the challenge of scaling up climate efforts.

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This article was originally published on Common Edge.

The vast majority of practitioners I've known over the years seek well-trained graduates who are ready on Day One to be productive employees. But that's not all an architectural education needs to deliver. Michael Monti—who for the past 20 years has served as executive director of the Association of Collegiate Schools of Architecture (ACSA), which represents 5,000 architecture faculty teaching more than 30,000 students—stresses that architectural education needs to rest on strong foundation of shared values and ethics in order for graduates to make meaningful contributions to what he describes as a "civilized life," promoting the dignity, freedom, health, and well-being of the people who interact with architecture every day.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

"O beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain, has there ever been another place on earth where so many people of wealth and power have paid for and put up with so much architecture they detested as within thy blessed borders today?"

Tom Wolfe wrote this in his 1981 book From Bauhaus to Our House. The conflict between modern and traditional design has barely abated since, as is evident in this recent article. In the U.S., modern buildings are often met with community aversion, for familiar reasons: their perceived coldness and lack of contextual sensitivity, the impact on local character, and the loss of historical continuity. But on another level, the critique against modern design finds even more purchase on the larger scale: the city. Modern U.S. cities reek of traffic congestion and pollution, social inequality and gentrification, a loss of community and cultural spaces, and a lack of usable open space.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

I was inspired to write this essay by a fascinating post on the social dynamic of porches by Patrick Deneen entitled A Republic of Front Porches. Sustainable places must be acccessible by a variety of means, especially walking. Neighborhoods where people walk to numerous destinations are more likely to be securable, because people tend to know more of their neighbors and therefore are likelier to know when a stranger is in the area. Walkability is essential to a serviceable place, because people won’t walk to those services as often if the pedestrian experience is bad. So walking is a fundamental aspect of a place’s sustainability. Porches can serve a crucial role in the walkability of residential streets in a neighborhood, and therefore in the ultimate sustainability of the neighborhood.

National Public Radio officials thought they had a solid plan. Over a decade ago, they began to create new offices in the NoMa neighborhood of Washington, D.C., to consolidate 800 employees in three buildings. The $201 million adaptive reuse of an old warehouse plus a new seven-story tower opened in 2013 with soaring ceilings, a 24-hour wellness center, a gourmet café staffed by a resident chef, and dozens of bike racks to encourage cycling. There’s only one problem: hardly anyone works there now.

At least three-quarters of densely packed cubicles that dominate entire building floors sat eerily unoccupied during a tour for the American Institute of Architects annual convention, held in June, and it wasn’t because reporters were out covering stories. Due to work-at-home policies, few writers and editors take advantage of the building’s $44 million in top-shelf audio and multimedia equipment, 14 studios, and six recording booths.

A recent report from Nigeria’s Ministry of Agriculture predicts that at least 31.5 million citizens may experience a food and nutrition crisis between June and August of this year. This alarming data highlights the severity of the food crisis that has progressively escalated over the last few years. The high prices of fruits and vegetables and their dwindling supply in local markets are already evident, as major staples disappear from food tables. This situation portends a bleak future for Nigeria as most people struggle to make ends meet, even in better times.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

The relentless drumbeat of climate disasters in the headlines—scorching heat waves, raging wildfires, historic floods, crippling droughts—are no longer a series of anomalies. As a grim new reality across much of the globe, these extreme weather events, driven by human-induced climate change, are becoming more frequent and severe. In short, they are clearly symptomatic of a broader and more pervasive environmental crisis.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

What makes something sacred? When does a building mean more to us than nearly all other places, spaces, objects, or activities in our lives? Architects strive to achieve the sacred in buildings, but it’s the rest of us who either sense it or not, whatever the aesthetics may be. I think the meaning of what is sacred to us can be most profoundly seen and felt when things change.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

The whining of architects is futile. The stick-frame-over-podium building—the so-called 5-over-1—is here to stay. The Box, as I like to refer to it, utilizes the hybrid technology of a concrete-and-steel base below wood-frame construction, and is used predominantly for market-rate housing. Despite the common negative reaction to its banal aesthetics, the appeal to a large segment of apartment consumers is undeniable. It’s an obvious hit with developers, too.

His work – more than 250 buildings in the span of 30 years – was lauded by critics and colleagues, cited for international design awards, and landed the architect on the cover of Time. But today, even practitioners and aficionados might be challenged to name one of Minoru Yamasaki's buildings beyond his two most infamous creations that no longer exist: the Pruitt-Igoe housing project in St. Louis and New York’s World Trade Center towers. Paul Kidder explores this complex architect and his work in a new book, Minoru Yamasaki and the Fragility of Architecture (Routledge).

Kidder, a professor of philosophy at Seattle University, provides a fresh, sobering assessment not only of Yamasaki's architecture but the man himself: his challenges, triumphs, and contradictions, as well as the fragility of architectural achievement. The loss of this architect’s most famous buildings suggests the growing scope of architecture’s fragility, especially today, when real-estate investment often augers against preservation of even late-modern works. Yet, paradoxically, Yamasaki believed that fragility could be a desirable architectural quality—the source of its refinement, beauty, and humanity.

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This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Christopher Alexander (1936–2022) and Joseph Rykwert (b. 1926) were two giants of 20th century architectural theory who began their work in England and eventually created lasting legacies at two great American architectural schools: the University of California at Berkeley (Alexander) and the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia (Rykwert). Their careers not only coincided with a critical period of social and cultural research among designers and urbanists, but in many ways continue to inspire the current generation of committed critics of late capitalist development on our imperiled planet. Yet to many they are too little known.

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This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Developers often make it sound as though their latest LEED platinum office building will single-handedly reverse climate change. The unfortunate reality is that they could spend a lifetime designing and building all of their work to meet the highest environmental standards, but it wouldn’t fix the problem. The planet will grow hotter, the seas will rise, and storms will intensify. A century of burning fossil fuels has baked global warming into the atmosphere for our lifetime.

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This article was originally published on Common Edge.

In London, where I live, there are 23 universities. Those universities make up an institutional population of nearly half a million people. In a city with almost 10 million residents, 5% may seem a small number, but it’s a significant one, roughly the population of Atlanta. Shrink the city, and the proportion can increase dramatically. In our neighbouring cities of Oxford (population 150,000), 40% of the population is institutional; in Cambridge (population 125,000), it’s 33%. Campus and city are so intertwined in those places that a plan for one is almost necessarily a plan for the other.

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This article was originally published on Common Edge.

In her Dhaka, Bangladesh–based practice, Marina Tabassum seeks to create a language of architecture that’s simultaneously contemporary yet rooted to its place. One of the first buildings she undertook after establishing her own practice in 2005—the Bait Ur Rouf Mosque in her own city—won an Aga Khan Award for Architecture, which recognizes design that addresses the needs and aspirations of Muslim societies.

Bangladesh’s Museum of Independence, which she designed with her former partner, Kashef Mahboob Chowdhury of the practice URBANA, has become a national landmark. But Tabassum also works at the intimate scale of housing, pursuing innovative modular space-frame designs constructed of bamboo. She’s taught at architecture schools around the globe. Recently, she was recognized with an award from the Architecture, Culture, and Spirituality Forum and identified by Time magazine as one of the 100 most influential people for 2024 for her work in sustainable, socially responsible design.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

In 1956, when car ownership and the suburban development that this enabled were just being embraced as American cultural ideals, pioneering urbanist Jane Jacobs wrote that the U.S. was becoming “an unprecedented nation of centaurs. … Our automobile population is rising about as fast as our human population and promises to continue for another generation.” She continued, “the car is not only a monstrous land-eater itself: it abets that other insatiable land-eater—endless, strung-out suburbanization.”

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

The U.S. has a long tradition of republicanism and laissez-faire capitalism that has not favored strong federal housing policy or intervention in the housing market. Policymakers have believed that private enterprise could best provide sufficient housing and that, as with healthcare and education,[1] government involvement would bring in “socialism” and undesirable control of the free market. There are two major exceptions to this tradition: the 1937 National Housing Act, a result of the devastation of the Great Depression, and the “war on poverty,” initiated by the Johnson administration in the mid-1960s.[2] Successful as these programs were, subsequent federal housing policy has mostly been aimed at undermining them, through either malice or neglect. Instead, federal policy has mainly sought to promote home ownership, the American dream, but that approach was eviscerated by the collapse of financing due to the subprime loan crisis and its aftermath. The result is that there is currently virtually no cogent federal housing policy. Thirty-five million Americans live in substandard housing; a much larger number devote 50% of their income to a roof over their heads. Housing construction is at a historic low, and construction costs have risen so high that they are well beyond the means of the average citizen.