The value of conceiving criticism in this way, it seems to me, is that it allows for and acknowledges that certain buildings and projects may be perfectly elegant or beautiful solutions to perfectly trivial questions (think Meier’s tower on Grand Army Plaza) and, conversely, that there may be difficult or unsuccessful designs which nevertheless engage questions that have much greater relevance or significance to the values the critic prizes. Because criticism is perforce a statement of values; it is in that sense that criticism is at root a utopian venture and a bully pulpit. If we weren’t interested in remaking the world it wouldn’t matter much what we said about it.

In this vein, it is also important, from time to time, to write about bad buildings and failed projects, to use them as counter-exemplars and to explicate what it is in their design and realization that makes them a negative standard. This is difficult for a profession bred on the false politesse of ‘if you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything’. We need to understand what makes bad buildings bad, and what the steady accretion of poorly conceived, boring, venal and badly built projects does to our cities and our souls. We need to name names. Or else, give up altogether.

There is also an element of time in all this; Henry A. Millon, one of the best critical historians of his generation, used to say that history could not be written before 50 years had passed, the implication being that the circumstances which frame a project’s gestation could not themselves be looked at historically until a certain contemporaneous reverberation had dissipated. The prerequisite of history is distance and a consequent lack of immediate familiarity; context must become strange again, or more precisely, we must become estranged from it, for the methods of historical analysis to be deployed. By this standard we are only just able to begin to analyze the projects of the 1960’s, to look seriously at Saarinen’s TWA terminal for example. And, in fact, this is exactly what is happening, the Museum of the City of New York’s revisionist Saarinen exhibition and the current reappraisals of Rudolph and Stone following by a few years the welter of texts and exhibitions that had us look afresh at the icons of the previous decade, Lever House and the Seagram Building, etc. (to look only within the limits of Manhattan for examples).

Criticism of course is but the first draft of history, not the thing itself. It is journalistic in the original Latin/Francophone sense of the word — ‘of today.’ Its historical aspirations, such as they are, can only be to serve as the raw material of some future, more dispassionate, analysis. But in exchange criticism can — must — make full claim to passion, to the convictions, enthusiasms and biases that animate discussion today, now, in full understanding that once our passions are spent they too will become the subject of more broadly contextual and quieter historical methods. Deprived of any pretense to history, criticism has nothing left but bias: without bias criticism is worthless.

This is the sixth in an ongoing series of posts that ponder the state of architecture criticism. To read all posts on this topic, please click here.

As with all review and opinion pieces posted on Urban Omnibus, the views expressed are those of the author only and do not reflect the position of Urban Omnibus editorial staff or the Architectural League of New York.

Stephen Rustow is the founding principal of SRA/Museoplan, a consulting practice working with arts institutions and design professionals on the presentation of cultural collections.  An architect and urban planner, he is also a Professor of Architecture at Cooper Union and has written criticism for Praxis, JSAH and other publications. He lives in Manhattan.

Photo via core77

As week two of rescue and recovery began in Haiti, the design community began to weigh in on what shape reconstruction should take. But before that can take place, what Haiti needs most of all is money. The best intentions do not ease the distribution or delivery of old shoes, water bottles and canned food. Nor should the urgency of creating temporary shelters frustrate attempts at long-term rebuilding. Canada’s Globe and Mail puts post-disaster planning for Port-Au-Prince in perspective by revisiting lessons from Sichuan, Peru and Pakistan. Read a summary of Architecture for Humanity’s long-term Haiti relief plan here and get involved. Also check out Frances Anderton on KCRW’s DnA talking to experts in Haitian land use planning, vernacular architecture and building techniques on how best to rebuild the capital.

Rebuilding is never simple, as anyone who has followed attempts to rebuild on the World Trade Center site knows well. Steven Spielberg’s upcoming documentary about the rebuilding process, however, will apparently focus on the “the uplifting, innovative reengineering of the World Trade Center site through the eyes of the people—architects, engineers, construction workers and city planners” rather than the imbroglio that has frustrated progress over the past nine years.

Over on Gotham Gazette, Joan Byron asks what’s next for the Kingsbridge Armory, providing a comprehensive overview of community opposition to the project in the context of labor unions, complex coalition building, and the future of both community benefits agreements and the living wage issue. And there’s also the question of what happens now:

Having accomplished the unthinkable and by defeating a project backed by the administration, The Kingbridge Armory Redevelopment Association and its allies are gearing up to re-imagine a future for the armory that puts community needs first, doesn’t strangle the neighborhood in traffic and delivers jobs capable of lifting Bronx residents out of poverty.

Edible Schoolyard is coming to New York – specifically to P.S. 216 in Gravesend. The program, started by chef and food activist Alice Waters, aims “to create a space in which schoolchildren plant, harvest, prepare food and eat together, creating a comprehensive interdisciplinary curriculum, tied into New York State Standards, that connects food systems to academic subjects such as literacy, science, social studies, math, and the arts.” WORKac is designing the Brooklyn schoolyard, complete with a “kitchen classroom,” a mobile greenhouse, and a “systems wall” with a chicken coop and reclaimed water, composting and waste-sorting stations. Principal Celia Kaplinsky worked hard to bring the program to P.S. 216, but her passion for the project is not universal. Caitlin Flanagan slammed the program in The Atlantic in a contentious article that spurred others to come to the defense of educational gardens.

New Yorkers are no strangers to construction barriers, sheds and scaffolding. Since the structures are inescapable, why not freshen them up a little? One suggestion, a prototype of which will appear this summer, is the Urban Umbrella, the result of the UrbanShed design competition launched by the Bloomberg administration and the AIA New York Chapter. The design, by Young-Hwan Choi, an architecture student at the University of Pennsylvania/Penn Design, offers improved light, air, and pedestrian flow, and it looks downright pretty. The Alliance for Downtown New York suggests a different intervention for existing construction sites, using barriers as art installation spaces.

Speaking of streets, we’ll leave you with this video of artist Aakash Nihalani who highlights the geometry of New York through temporary tape installations:

The Roundup keeps you up to date with topics we’ve featured and other things we think are worth knowing about.

The first issue, the insecurity of the landscape/architecture professions, is a relatively recent phenomenon, beginning with the fallout from Modernism. In his seminal essay “Whatever happened to Urbanism?” Koolhaas gave voice to an unsettling feeling that had been haunting practitioners since it became apparent that modernist architecture was not the panacea it claimed and not as important as it supposed. Forced to confront superfluity in a single generation, the critical discourse within the profession took up defensive positions to weather the storm.

The second issue is more ingrained; the mystification and resultant inaccessibility of the intellectual aspect of the landscape/architecture professions.  Design pedagogy is defined according to processes of exclusivity: design methods and forms are understood as too sophisticated to be either fully comprehended, funded, or implemented by its constituents. And academic discourse is presented as too complex and profound to be undertaken or appreciated by the plebeians. For this reason, the majority of practitioners have abdicated their responsibility to contribute to the contemporary discourse within the professions.  It is currently dominated by writers and theoreticians with no foundation in praxis.

As a result, the critical discourse has become a series of self-catalyzing memes and hyperbolic metaphors characterized by a forced focus on concept and cult of personality. Only projects deemed exemplary according to a conservative set of values (standards of beauty, economic viability, social popularity) are discussed and then largely in a laudatory tone. This is not healthy criticism.

The landscape does not need an apologist. The implicit meanings do not need to be spelled out and given voice, and we do not need to know if the design decisions meet the approval criteria of the author. In recent decades, a generation of design practitioners and writers have taken to conceptualizing a site, wrapping it up tightly in a metaphor (or series of them), and then narrating the argument to us. Marc Treib argues the impotence of this stance was argued persuasively in an essay titled “Must Landscapes Mean?”*

Meaning accrues over time; like respect, it is earned, not granted. While the designer yearns to establish a landscape that will acquire significance, it is not possible to use pat symbols alone as a means to transmute syntax into semantics, that is, tectonics into meanings… differences in culture, in education, in life experience, in our experience of nature will all modify our perception of the work of landscape architecture… We cannot make that place mean, but we can, I hope, instigate reactions to the place that fall within the desired confines of happiness, gloom, joy, contemplation, or delight.

After addressing these two issues, the question becomes what should contemporary criticism focus on? If the purpose of professional criticism is not to explain a project but to make the work better, then there are four areas of focus of contemporary criticism: political process, cultural context, a focus on criticism through time, and polemics.

First, the political process; instead of remaining enamored with the cult of personality, the designer’s thoughts and views should always be presented within the larger context of all of the players in a project. Without exception the significant designers of our time are experts at negotiating the political intrigues inherent in public agencies, affluent clients, vocal constituents, and marginalized communities. This dynamic will always influence a project and the criticism should acknowledge and examine this.

Second, the cultural context – historical, scientific, technological, social and popular – should be present in criticism. This can be implied or explicit but it should be present. It is this perspective that will help to frame the discussion around sustainability, changing it from a tactic that is essentially a marketing tool for designers, developers, politicians, and manufacturers, to a logical argument and thoughtful discussion. If the intellectual context surrounding the implementation of an initiative were more thorough and critical the project could be examined more honestly for effectiveness and appropriateness.

Third, criticism for a project should take place through time. How a place changes over the course of a day, through the seasons, and across a number of years should be considered. The conventional approach is largely the fault of shortsighted editors placing a focus on narrow definitions of timely and relevant in order to drum up readership for their publication. Criticism of a project should absolutely not be limited to opening day, a date set by political and economic agendas.  Andrew Blum stated this sentiment in his essay “In Praise of Slowness” and Elizabeth Meyer’s essay “Slow Landscapes”* is a good example of a more thoughtful type of criticism.

Fourth, all landscape/architecture criticism should be polemical. The High Line is an exceptional project – extremely expensive, complicated, and high profile.  That it has gotten a free pass from the critics, Jacky Bowring’s critique notwithstanding, is a huge disservice to the professional community. Every project, at various stages and according to metrics deemed appropriate by different editors, should be examined and questioned. As a profession, we gain nothing by constantly patting the same people (and by extension, ourselves) on the back for a job well done. Designers know that no project is perfect.  Self-righteous celebration is not the job of criticism within the profession. There is a place for that, and it is with the lobbyists, apologists and at times the popular media.

Ultimately, criticism exists to make the work better, always better. If the discourse can include more voices – practitioners, writers, and academics – all questioning and examining thoughtfully and professionally, we can get at the interesting aspects, stories, intrigues, and facts.  If we can get past our fixation on metaphor, concept and style, landscape/architectural criticism will function as a feedback loop with the design process to better the work of designing the built environment.

This is the fifth in an ongoing series of posts that ponder the state of architecture criticism. To read all posts on this topic, please click here.


Sources Cited:

* “Must Landscapes Mean?” by Marc Treib Landscape Journal. 14(1):46-62 (1995)

** “Slow Landscapes: A New Erotics of Sustainability,” by Elizabeth K. Meyer, Harvard Design Magazine, Vol. 31, Fall/Winter 2009/10, p. 22-31.

As with all review and opinion pieces posted on Urban Omnibus, the views expressed are those of the author only and do not reflect the position of Urban Omnibus editorial staff or the Architectural League of New York.

FASLANYC works as a landscape architect for an urban design firm in New York City. He also writes the landscape criticism blog faslanyc and contributes to other design journals with features focusing on urban projects in South America.

Those of you that came along for our walk through the Atlantic-Pacific Subway Station a few months ago might want to swing by the transit hub again — the new LIRR Atlantic Terminal Pavilion is now open. The terminal, which links the LIRR, 10 subway lines, and 5 bus routes, not to mention the vibrant surrounding neighborhoods, offers a new ticket office, a customer waiting area, public rest rooms, and an installation of the artwork “Overlook” by artists Allan and Ellen Wexler. Although it ended up being more than $26 million over budget and more than two years behind schedule, people seem to be pleased with the result — at least until they walk outside.

The proposed plan for the Domino Sugar Refinery site has entered public review, a process expected to take eight months. The proposal would require a rezoning of the area, from manufacturing to residential, and would include development of the three landmarked structures on the site. Community Preservation Corporation, the developer, and architects Rafael Viñoly and Beyer Blinder Belle have presented designs that include a waterfront esplanade, a large community facility, retail space, and 2,200 units of housing, 30% of which would be set aside as below-market-rate (noteworthy, as similar luxury developments in the area typically offer only 20%). CPC hopes to begin construction in early 2011.

If you’ve ever started craving a waffle while sweating it out in a sauna, you might want to take a trip to College Point, Queens to visit the 5-story, 100,000 square foot luxury-fest that is Spa Castle. Sarah Muller at WNYC checked it out and reports on a mini-village built inside the facility, Sauna Valley, which she describes as “a huge cluster of igloo-shaped huts with a mock-river running through it for added effect.” Rooms might be LED-illuminated, gold-plated, or hand-painted. And to top it all off, it’s owned by an architect.

New years always prompt reflection and evaluations of the previous year or decade. What about what comes next? As we settle into 2010, where do we think we’ll be in 2020? Jonathan Bowles imagines what New York City will be when we ring in the next decade.

Image: Atlantic Terminal Pavilion, courtesy of the MTA. The Roundup keeps you up to date with topics we’ve featured and other things we think are worth knowing about.