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.

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.

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.

As this bloody year draws to a close, at a moment when the message “Peace on Earth” seems altogether mute, one might well ask: What power does architecture have? How can it address violence against innocent people, whose lives have been turned upside down? How does architecture respond to staggering cruelty? What can it say? Can it raise consciousness?

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Origin myths,” “founding myths,” and “creation legends” provide a way for us to see into and imagine the distant past in metaphorical, poetic, and compelling ways. The oldest origin myths help us understand how a people or a place (such as the universe) were believed to have come into existence. Anthropologists describe these as creation myths or “cosmogonic” myths. They might explain how the world came to be. For example, Native North American peoples such as the Cherokee, Ojibwe, and Aztecs share an origin myth that land was first created on top of a great ocean. One of the most common Western origin myths is the creation of Adam and Eve. But founding stories exist for all kinds of social conditions, historical customs, and objects, as well as places—think of the myth of the brothers Romulus and Remus, suckled as babies by a wolf, who survive to found the city of Rome (after Romulus got rid of his brother).

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This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Recently I traveled to Ljubljana, Slovenia, in search of the religious architecture of the celebrated (but largely unknown in the U.S.) Slovenian architect Jože Plečnik (1872–1957). I write a lot about the architecture of spirituality, and I was curious about Plečnik’s churches and chapels—what the architect’s idiosyncratic form of classicism said about faith in a Modern age. What I didn’t expect to find was the universal nature of Plečnik’s work as an urbanist: a re-maker of the Slovenian capital that holds lessons for us today.

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This article was originally published on Common Edge.

How did we end up building an environment where the private car is often treated better than many of our fellow human beings? In the U.S., the center of car culture, parking is expected to be convenient, available, and free, writes Henry Grabar in his engaging and entertaining new book, Paved Paradise: How Parking Explains the World (Penguin Press). Parking consumes vast amounts of land; in Los Angeles County, for example, it totals about 200 square miles. In New York City alone, there are 3 million curb parking spaces (not counting parking garages), which account for 6% of the city’s area—the equivalent of 13 Central Parks! Grabar asks: What better use could we make of this space? A 2021 study revealed that if New York reclaimed just a quarter of the street space allotted to cars, the following could be created: 500 miles of bus lanes; 40 miles of busways; 38 million square feet of community space; 1,000 miles of open streets; 3 million square feet of new pedestrian space; and 5.4 million additional square feet for restaurants, businesses, and cultural institutions.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Today we know R. Buckminster Fuller primarily through his oeuvre of iconic objects and ideas created over the arc of a nearly 90-year life. Born in the last decade of the 19th century, Fuller lived long enough to hang out with Steve Jobs. He’s variously described as a “systems thinker,” perhaps the first “futurist,” a visionary, engineer, geometer, and architect (he won the AIA Gold Medal in 1970). But “inventor” is probably the most accurate description. Historian and writer Alec Nevala-Lee’s 2022 biography, aptly titled Inventor of the Future: The Visionary Life of Buckminster Fuller (Dey St. Books), tells a nuanced story of the man known for geodesic domes; space frames; “Spaceship Earth”; the Dymaxion map, house, and car; and concepts such as tensegrity, synergy, and “ephemeralization” (“doing everything with nothing at all,” as he described it).

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Theodore Prudon, the founding president of Docomomo US, recently stepped down as the organization’s head. (Robert Meckfessel is the new president.) “Docomomo” is shorthand for the group’s mission: the documentation and conservation of buildings, sites, and neighborhoods of the Modern movement. Prudon has had a storied career as a preservationist, architect, and educator, heading his own practice and teaching at Columbia University. In October, he was presented with the Connecticut Architecture Foundation’s Distinguished Leadership Award at the newly reborn Marcel Breuer building in New Haven, which began its life in 1970 as the Pirelli Tire Building and is now the Hotel Marcel (designed, planned, and developed by architect Bruce Redman Becker).

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

In a time of global unrest, rising intolerance, and, some might argue, increasing secularization, is the campus chapel relevant anymore? Might it disappear altogether? As it turns out, campus sacred space appears to be transforming to play a more important role as many universities focus on educating their students to be more globally aware.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Jim Polshek, who died at 92 last week, was an award-winning architect (AIA Gold Medal, 2018), designer, public advocate, and educator (architecture dean at Columbia, 1973–1987). He was a Midwesterner, born in Akron, Ohio, who went on to open his own practice in 1963, when he founded James Stewart Polshek Architects. Ultimately, the practice became internationally recognized as Polshek Partnership Architects. In 2010, the partners renamed the firm Ennead Architects, and he remained involved as a design consultant.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Can a piece of infrastructure literally kill a city? This is the question that writer Jim Krueger poses in his recent podcast, The Road That Killed a City. The place in question is Krueger’s current hometown—Hartford, Connecticut—which he grew up next to in the leafy suburb of West Hartford. Kruerger has lived in both towns, and that helps to balance the amazing story he uncovers about how Connecticut’s capital was impaled by a roadway (actually, two: east/west I-84 and north/south I-91 converge in Hartford in a sort of arterial highway ground zero). I spoke with Krueger about what prompted the podcast, some of what he uncovered about the history of this ill-fated urban “improvement,” and the legacy of a highway that continues to thwart Hartford’s rebirth—an inheritance shared by many cities across North America.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Compared to that of the West and East, awareness and knowledge of the architecture of sub-Saharan Africa—Africa south of the Sahara Desert—is scant. A new book intends to mitigate this oversight, and it’s a significant accomplishment. Architectural Guide Sub-Saharan Africa (DOM publishers, 2021), edited by Philipp Meuser, Adil Dalbai, and Livingstone Mukasa, was more than six years in the making. The seven-volume guide presents architecture in the continent’s 49 sub-Saharan nation-states, includes contributions by nearly 340 authors, 5,000 photos, more than 850 buildings, and 49 articles expressly devoted to theorizing African architecture in its social, economic, historical, and cultural context. I interviewed two of the editors—Adil Dalbai, an architectural researcher and practitioner specializing in sub-Saharan Africa, and Livingstone Mukasa, a native Ugandan architect interested in the intersections of architectural history and cultural anthropology—about the challenges of creating the guide, some of its revelations about the architecture of Africa, and its potential impact.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

What, exactly, is the point of architecture criticism? The word “criticism” is derived from the Greek term krinein, meaning to separate, to sift, to make distinctions, to discern, to examine, or to judge. According to Wayne Attoe, an architect and educator who writes about architecture criticism in his book Architecture and Critical Imagination (now sadly out of print), this does not necessarily mean to disapprove of, or to find fault with. It can be favorable or unfavorable; it can praise or condemn.

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

Exploring the question of slavery in Architecture, the building materials and the construction industry, Michael J. Crosbie interviews Sharon Prince, the women behind Design for Freedom, discussing the initiative's report "on the pervasive use of slavery in the design and construction industry, and how design professionals can respond".

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

For most people, calling a place “sacred” designates it as an important location, one usually associated with spirituality. It might be the setting for religious rituals (the sacred space of a church, synagogue, or mosque), a spot where some event described as “miraculous” has occurred (such as the reported sighting of the Virgin Mary in Lourdes, France, which became a pilgrimage site), or a place which held the body of deity (think of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, built upon what is believed the be the tomb of Jesus Christ). 

This article was originally published on Common Edge.

In 2012, the Yale School of Architecture held a conference on the topic of drawing. It posed a couple of provocative questions: Was the study and practice of architecture already beyond it? Was it is even necessary to draw in order to be an architect? Mark Alan Hewitt’s new book, Draw in Order to See (ORO Editions), is a resounding affirmation that not only must architects draw, they cannot help but do so—it’s like breathing. The connection between the hand and the eye, between a soft pencil and a toothy sheaf of paper, is how architects, in fact, “see.”