Probably not, but not for lack of trying.  In a commentary posted on Minnesota Public Radio (MPR), Lee McGrath expresses caution about the fourth attempt being made by the Minnesota chapter of the American Society of Interior Designers (ASID) to make “interior design” a regulated profession.  (Currently, interior design is regulated as a distinct practice in only Florida, Louisiana, Nevada, and Washington, DC.)

As the executive director of a libertarian law foundation, McGrath’s opinion is predictable and he occasionally overstates the cost and dangers of ASID’s proposed licensing scheme.  Even so, I think he is more right than wrong (at least w/ respect to the particular proposal in the Minnesota legislature) and echoes a discussion I and a few others had a few months ago.

To be brief, regulatory obligations imposed on a particular field of work should be proportional to the public safety risks of having no regulatory barriers to entry.  I suspect that on the whole, incompetent interior designers pose fewer dangers to public safety than incompetent structural engineers or architects, and consequently, the regulatory burden should be less onerous (as opposed to nonexistent, which would be McGrath’s ideal outcome).

One possible solution is to simplify the process of licensure; instead of requiring, among other things, passage of a state-administered exam, the state could simply require, as a prerequisite for licensure, an interior design-related degree.  Such a scheme would eliminate the cost of administering a state-wide examination and still ensure that professionals know something about the field in which they work.

Alternatively, the state could impose a licensing scheme that recognizes the fact that interior design is not a monolithic profession.  That is, residential interior design is generally less complex than commercial interior design, in which building code and fire safety issues take on greater significance.  Instead of requiring all designers, regardless of specialty, to obtain a license to practice, the state could simply require a license for only those who work in the commercial context (of course, then the challenge is determining a reasonable definition for “commercial” work).

Assuming the ASID is right that public safety concerns are great enough to justify a new regulatory regime, I don’t believe political circumstances have changed so much that their current proposal is any more likely to pass than their three previous proposals.  In any event, their chances are certainly not helped by the fact that the proposal apparently does not have a “grandfather” clause, allowing existing practitioners to continue working without having to run the entire gauntlet of new requirements.

If dangers posed by the existing paradigm were indisputably substantial (they are not), then the lack of a grandfather clause would make sense as a matter of public safety.  But where, as here, dangers posed are not clearly evident, it makes sense to at least include such a clause.  (It’s worth noting that self-taught architects who met certain requirements were allowed to continue practicing, even after most states created educational prerequisites for practice.)

I’d love to here from both sides in this debate - especially those aware of evidence  underlying ASID’s claim that licensure is necessary to ensure public safety.

Related Post:  (1) Florida’s interior design “mafia” and (2) One reason to review your interior designer’s receipts.

Image courtesy of leitza.

Above, the guest suite of Rush Limbaugh’s Fifth Avenue Penthouse, which is now for sale for $13.95 million.  The rest of the penthouse is similarly awash in murals, cherubs, and hand-painted gold leaf.  I’d hate to own the place when tastes change (or have they already?)…

Via NPR’s Wait wait…don’t blog me!

Image courtesy of Gawker.

Exasperation is running high when demolition is broached as a way to deal with an unused historic building.  When demolition is actually supported by both public officials and a plurality of citizens, despite the building’s decent condition and exceptional architectural character, you can fairly assume frustrations are approaching absurd levels.  Case in point: St. Paul’s School in Garden City, New York.

In 1993, this small Long Island village suburb bought the land on which the school sits from the Episcopal Diocese of Long Island.  In exchange for $7.25 million, the village acquired 48 acres of open land and the school, a stately High Victorian Gothic built between 1877 and 1883.

Ever since, the landmarked school has sat forlorn while multiple proposals have been made, and just as many, rejected.  A library, perhaps?  Feasible, but nixed by the village board in favor of private uses.  An apartment and senior-housing complex?  Feasible, but fought against for being a private takeover of what many believe should remain open to the public.  A school?  Feasible, but finally rejected in favor of the ever-alluring chance to build an entirely new facility.

In the wake of these proposals has arisen the specter of demolition - not as a threat but as an actual option on the table.  As The New York Times reported in January, village residents even voted for demolition in 2008, which led to the currently-pending environmental review required prior to the final bow.  Why did this happen?

A toxic combination of fatigue from unending debate over the building’s future and ill-fated push-backs against viable, if not optimal, proposals for reuse.

As to the the former, public appetite for protracted preservation battles - as with any other political battle - is limited.  In every debate, there comes a time when patience ebbs so low that the desire for ”once and for all” resolutions gradually outweighs the will to wait for widely-supported, well-devised plans of action.

Historic preservation battles are particularly susceptible to “once and for all” decisions made out of weariness; they commonly involve a crumbling or abandoned structure that locals have already spent years passing by on a daily basis, and long-since labeled an eyesore.  Eventually, aborted plans pile up in an unseemly heap and folks tend to lower their expectations just to wipe away the stench of inaction - even if that means the public policy decision is ultimately driven by non-policy considerations, and even if the decision made is counter to the decision-makers’ preferences (which are themselves, quite feasible).

As to the latter issue - ill-fated opposition to decent plans because they are not “optimal” - how disheartening!  Here, both the village trustees and the Committee to Save St. Paul’s rejected viable plans that would have respected the character and value of St. Paul’s.  Village trustees rejected a plan to make St. Paul’s a library and community center because it did not allow for private party involvement.  Likewise, St. Paul’s devoted advocates rejected a plan to transform St. Paul’s into apartment housing and/or luxury condominiums because it did not allow for (enough) public use.

In each case, good intentions scuttled the plans - not because the plans were inherently bad (admittedly, neither were perfect, as both sides will point out), but because they were either too private or too public.  ”Private” and “public” took precedence over “good” and “viable.”

And no, this is not a situation where mitigating factors are at play; St. Paul’s is not on the verge of collapse and the village, which has to spend $100,000 in annual maintenance expenses, is in excellent financial health (note: demolition costs alone are $6 million and would cover decades of maintenance costs).  Given as much, the right thing for the village to do now, is to do nothing.  There is no rush.  If circumstances change for the worse, in the form of falling roofs, impending bankruptcy, or otherwise, then consider - carefully - whether demolition is the thing to do.  But demolition in anticipation of future indecision and future structural failure is baffling from every angle (financially, historically, culturally…).

Luckily, it is not yet too late.  The environmental review is still pending and (a few) local residents are still fighting to save St. Paul’s.

Related Posts:  (1) Manhattan misadventures in historic preservation; (2) Is bad photography to blame for Modern architecture preservation battles?

Image courtesy of  Committee to Save St. Paul’s.

Earlier this week, the EPA designated Brooklyn’s Gowanus Canal as a Superfund site, much to the chagrin of developers and local group Clean Gowanus Now! (their punctuation, not mine), two groups that generally prefer Mayor Bloomberg’s faster, cheaper cleanup plan, which (because it is faster and cheaper) would allow for major development projects to proceed much more quickly.

But as I wrote a few months ago, as imperfect as the Superfund program is, it is nonetheless our best method for scrubbing clean the nation’s most polluted properties.  Does the process tend to get bogged down with litigation and take a long time?  Generally, yes.  But it is worth noting that unlike many Superfund sites, both the economic and ownership histories of the Gowanus Canal surroundings are well-documented and the EPA already knows the identity of those most responsible for pollution.  Moreover, it bears repeating that the Gowanus Canal is exceeding dirty - so much so that the EPA put it on its “priority” list, which is reserved for the “worst of the worst.”

Since opponents to designation could not truthfully claim that the Bloomberg alternative would do a better job cleaning the canal, they instead repeatedly pushed the “faster and cheaper” angle, with a dash of ”hundreds of well-paying construction jobs” thrown in as well.  Indeed, construction jobs would materialize if development projects went forward now and it is also true that Bloomberg’s plan is less expensive.  But remember why it is less expensive: it would not fully clean the canal (one indication of this: every environmental group that has expressed an opinion on designation thus far has favored it over Bloomberg’s plan).  As for jobs, Superfund designation does not foreclose their creation - it simply delays inevitable developments until the polluted site is actually capable of hosting a clean, livable community.

As for the claims that re-development efforts would be poisoned by the stigma of being named a Superfund site, they are rather disingenuous.  To begin with, the Gowanus Canal is legendaryfor being so polluted; it achieved its mythic (and quite stigmatized) stature without the EPA’s assistance.  Stigma-related qualms are even more puzzling when you consider that even the best alternative plan would not clean the canal as thoroughly as can be expected with designation.  The reason why Gowanus Canal has a stigma for being dirty is not because it is named “Gowanus Canal,” but because of the filth that is implied by that name.  Assuming, for a moment, that the Gowanus Canal did not already have stigma for being polluted, it seems odd for someone to prefer a stigma-free, albeit dirtier neighborhood over an assuredly clean (by way of Superfunding) neighborhood.

Perhaps the most disingenuous arguments against designation were made by Clean Gowanus Now!  That group recently released a fear-inducing study and graphic alleging that if designation occurred, then all mortgaged-originated real-estate activity within 3,000 feet of the canal would be blocked.  The hook for these claims was a federal housing regulation that, as Carroll Gardens Diary already noted in some detail, is not so threatening as it appears.

The claims made by Clean Gowanus Now! make much more sense when you consider its roster of underwriters.  Among them: construction and realty firms, at least three local developers (including Toll Brothers), and property owners who may be liable, under the Superfund program, for costs associated with cleaning up pollution caused by them or their corporate predecessors.  Similarly, the roster of underwriters explains the group’s dogged support of the Bloomberg plan.  Under that plan, many of these same underwriters would reap a financial windfall either from development project profits (significantly, Toll Brothers) or in the form of avoided/negotiated-down environmental liability costs (Bayside Fuel Oil Corporation).

There are enough perfectly valid reasons to oppose Superfund designation for one to avoid making conflict-of-interest laden and mis-leading arguments against it.  In the long-term, the best way to foster development (and fight stigma) on polluted land in a rundown-neighborhood is to clean the land.  If you think “Superfund” is a tough word to deal with in your development’s marketing materials, just imagine how tough it is to use “Gowanus Canal” without hurting sales.  Oh, right…

Related Post:  On possible EPA designation, Brooklyn’s Gowanus Canal:  Superfund me!

Image courtesy of listenmissy.

Ambassador, you are spoiling our view of the Thames with this boring glass cube.

Is Kieran Timberlake’s winning design for the new American embassy in London really as bad as Lord Richard Rogers thinks?  Even though the public only has access to a few renderings of each proposal (and as a judge in the competition, Rogers had access to the details) I think not, particularly given the State Department’s recent, design-assaultive approach to diplomatic architecture.  Indeed, I think the Philadelphia firm managed to rescue the State Department from a rut in which it assumed good, welcoming design and adequate security are incompatible.  Moreover, their “boring glass cube” nicely restores to prominence a kind of irony that has rarely manifested itself in American diplomatic architecture since the early 1980s.

Although the Beirut embassy bombing of 1983 really just marked the end of an era that was already in decline for over a decade, it deeply impacted the State Department’s subsequently-implemented policies governing the design of American facilities abroad.  Notwithstanding its function as America’s voice abroad, security concerns came first and local engagement, at least in terms of architecture and physical presence, came last.  Street setbacks became the mandated norm, high, often opaque, perimeter fencing obstructed views and foot traffic, and facades shed glass like dandruff.

Whereas Gropius, Breuer, Bunshaft, and Saarinen - the best of their era - were once hired to design embassies to project an image of American transparency, optimism, and openness, recently-built embassies (most prominently in Berlin and Baghdad) suggested that architects were now hired solely based upon their ability to manage complex construction projects involving four bomb-proof walls and a roof.

Of course, the downside of this approach to architecture is that it produced diplomatic facilities that completely undercut the State Department’s reason for existence.  Many American embassies practically beg host countries to smirk at American words of friendship and cross-cultural exchange and instead reinforce commonly-held perceptions that the United States is merely interested in one-way relationships.

In other words, more than a few American embassies, viewed in light of American foreign policy, are permeated by a sort of “bad” irony - by seeming to admit in physical form that American expressions of friendship are nothing but a shallow ruse.  Apart from the obvious difficulties this creates for diplomats on a practical level, the damage rendered by the State Department’s ugly architecture to America’s reputation is particularly unfortunate since the United States generally does have the best of intentions.

Luckily, something happened in Foggy Bottom that prevented the State Department from adding London to the long list of cities embittered by the hulking presence of American facilities.  To find a design to replace its cramped, vulnerable London embassy on Grosvenor Square, designed by Eero Saarinen and built in 1960, the State Department held a design competition, the participants of which alone gave reason for optimism:  Kieran Timberlake, Richard Meier & Partners, Thom Mayne’s Morphosis, and Pei Cobb Freed.

Even more surprising than the pedigreed competition itself were the proposals, all of which, albeit with varying degrees of success, avoided the dreaded syndrome of “bunker diplomacy.”  Due to setback requirements, each proposal placed the embassy building in the middle of the 5-acre riverfront location in London’s Battersea neighborhood, and deftly surrounded it with grass, water, walkways, and trees to minimize the visual intrusion of security barriers.

Similarly, each proposal refreshingly made heavy use of glass, mitigating the spatial isolation that would result from an opaque building set apart from neighboring buildings and further insuring against another case of “bad” irony.  (Kieran Timberlake’s design is still bomb resistant, thanks to a transparent polymer coating.)

Although each design employed an array of environmental features, Kieran Timberlake made them a central design element, using wall and roof solar panels and daylighting, among other things to make the embassy a friendly-acting, not just friendly-looking, addition to London’s urban landscape.  Pei Cobb Freed’s curvy, triangular glass proposal is nearly as cohesive as Kieran Timberlake’s cube, but is partly held aloft by a somewhat sharp-edged lower level that makes it a bit less engaging with the square.  Richard Meier’s and Morphosis’ proposals are both dynamic, the former being a collection of dis-jointed volumes clinging to a large wall and white, floating volume, and the latter resembling a squished horseshoe.

But I suspect the energy of these proposals, which happens to serve them quite well architecturally, was perhaps too much for an agency that is not known for architectural risk-taking.  The conservatism of Kieran Timberlake’s proposal on the other hand, seems to make it a natural successor to Eero Saarinen’s Mayfair building, which itself is modern, but not exuberantly so.

As for irony, The Guardian’s Jonathan Glancey is completely right that the winning design (and the other entries for that matter) has it in spades:

Cool, remote and superficially transparent, the winning design does reflect what we can divine of the US political process. Nominally open to all and yet, in practice, tightly controlled, the system of US government and its prevailing culture, aped bad-temperedly in Britain, does indeed inform the brief to Kieran Timberlake and their response to it.

But Glancey’s assessment is misplaced in two ways.  First, the United States is no different from any other nation in that it desires welcoming, but secure, diplomatic facilities; it just happens to have the worst record of striking an architecturally-appealing balance because it is the nation most at risk of an attack.

Second, and more broadly, diplomatic architecture strikes me as an inherently ironic concept, and as such, it was only a question of whether the irony of the winning design would be “good” (perhaps “neutral” is the better word) or “bad.”  As I noted above, the Baghdad and Berlin embassies embody the “bad” sort of irony that undermines the very efforts they were created to house.

In contrast, Kieran Timberlake’s design, due to its deftly-integrated security features, transparent facade, and landscaping,  positively embodies the irony inherent in diplomacy: the need to cultivate productive relationships built on trust (hence the permeable facades and engaging landscaping), while also being careful to not reveal too much or trust too readily (protection in the form of non-intrusive security systems).  Its glass facade and landscaping genuflect to the need to reaffirm perceptions of transparency and openness (after all, in diplomacy, perceptions are often taken as reality), and the sensitively-integrated security features reflect the fact that in diplomacy, as with any negotiation-related endeavor, you can’t let your guard down.

The new London embassy may be ironic, but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Related Posts:  (1) White papers, the AIA, and ugly embassies; (2) One benefit to not being the focus of would-be terrorists.

Image courtesy of y0_ghurt. ]]> http://structurehub.com/blog/2010/02/kieran-timberlakes-london-embassy-reflects-inevitably-irony-of-diplomatic-architecture/feed/ http://structurehub.com/blog/2010/02/detroit-parcel-survey-sets-stage-for-something-resembling-progress/ http://structurehub.com/blog/2010/02/detroit-parcel-survey-sets-stage-for-something-resembling-progress/#comments Wed, 24 Feb 2010 17:57:23 +0000 Paul http://structurehub.com/blog/?p=2341

Thanks to the efforts of a few groups and many volunteers, Detroit just completed what is surely a prerequisite to crafting a coherent plan of urban rejuvenation: it took an inventory.  Specifically, volunteers combed Detroit’s streets to determine and document the condition of Detroit’s nearly 350,000 residential parcels (not including buildings w/ more than 4 units).  The Detroit Residential Parcel Survey documents (1) property type (single-family, duplex, or multi-family), (2) property condition (good, fair, poor, or demolish), (3) vacancy (probable or possible), (4) vacant or dangerous, (5) fire damage, and (6) vacant lot (unimproved or improved).

Among the interesting statistics generated:

• roughly one-third of parcels are either vacant or not suitable for occupancy;
• 86% of single-family homes are in good condition; and
• 74% of multi-family homes are in good condition.

Given the method of analysis (3-person observations of parcels from passing cars), it was perhaps inevitable that the data compiled be somewhat cursory.  After all, knowing a house is in “poor” or “fair” condition reveals little about how much necessary renovations might cost, and the survey does not reveal the condition of important structural features that are not visible from the curb - such as cracked foundations or rotting roof structures.

But given the limited resources (and time) available, the survey lays an excellent foundation for future assessments at the neighborhood and block levels and paves the way for a targeted master plan.  Moreover, even in its present form, the survey is Detroit’s most up-to-date, objective report on the location and density of the city’s worst-condition housing clusters and therefore, offers public officials the best political cover for tough (but quite necessary) decisions about which neighborhoods deserve preservation, at the sure expense of others.  Nothing clears the political air better than irrefutable hard data and in this case, the survey at minimum lends substance to the perceptions many people already have about certain neighborhoods.

At least one news account has noted one issue in particular that will surely gain more press as decisions begin being made on the basis of the survey’s data: how to work with those residents who live in largely abandoned neighborhoods but are unwilling or hesitant to relocate.  Racial and economic tensions already permeate debate over how to make use of Detroit’s massive land-mass, and the obvious option of using eminent domain to create large, contiguous parcels of land and shrink the city’s infrastructure to a manageable size has similarly obvious political challenges.

Then again, no one said Detroit’s renaissance would come easily.

Related Posts: (1) Seven cities primed for an architectural renaissance - Detroit, (2) Silverdome auction not exactly a positive development for Pontiac, Detroit, Lions, etc., (3) First step to city revitalization: tear it down, and (4) Second step to city revitalization: farm it.

Image courtesy of less_is_more_or_less.

In light of the fact that Chicago (well, the Chicago region) is first among cities that can boast as backdrops for Frank Lloyd Wright’s legacy, I thought it only appropriate to take inspiration from him for fixing Chicago’s most recent, ill-fated, act of architectural braggadocio.

Among the thousands of real-estate developments that fell victim to changing economic realities in recent years, none were so prominent as the Chicago Spire.  Sculpted by Santiago Calatrava as an instantly-iconic torquing tower of metal and glass, the tower would’ve been the nation’s tallest, peaking near 2,000 feet.  So far however, financing problems (which do not appear likely to improve any time soon) have prevented the project from going anywhere but down, literally, into a 110 foot wide and 76 foot deep concrete hole.

A little over a year ago, Blair Kamin informally solicited ideas for how to make use of what would have been the Spire’s cylindrical foundation.  Entries ran the gamut from subversive (employ it as a black hole to toss money into for the Chicago Olympics or as a home for the new Children’s Museum) to infeasible (fill it with Richard Daley’s ego or Beanie Babies).

Perhaps thinking that if money were on the line, better (but hopefully no less whimsical) ideas would come along, the Chicago Architectural Club just launched Mind the Gap, which is open for entries (until May 3rd) that propose how to make the most of Chicago’s deepest scar of real-estate speculation gone bad.

Why not transform the hole into an inverted version of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York?  After all, Wright was the most bold, most visionary architect of the 20th-Century and consequently, might identify with Santiago Calatrava, who is Wright’s equal when it comes to bravado, albeit as an artistic engineer, not an intuitive architect.  Moreover, Wright himself once proposed an audacious mile-high tower (The Illinois), which would’ve housed hotels, condos, government offices, shops, and basically any other human habitation that comes to mind.  Although Wright’s design was basically conjectural, I suspect he would also be sympathetic to the Spire’s financial and political problems, since his tower would’ve been plagued by them to an even greater degree (Wright claimed that The Illinois was structurally feasible, though he probably admitted - if only to himself - that the tower was a non-starter politically, and a fool’s errand, financially).

Structurally, the Spire’s hole is an obvious analogue to the Guggenheim as well, though with less personality (the hole is just an empty vertical cylinder, with no sloping sides).  As the mirror version of Wright’s museum, the hole could employ a circular ramp on which patrons stroll upward to the surface, after taking an elevator to the bottom.  Viewing artwork while on a walk from deep, inside the earth up to the light of day would be quite engaging.  While most of the structure would be under ground and out of site, I am sure a clever ground level structure, possibly an angled, unraveling ramp that spills out of one side of the hole, could be devised to inject the site with a bit of energy and supply the neighborhood with a few interesting sight lines.

An inverted Guggenheim Museum in Chicago would also be an ideal venue for architecture-centric exhibitions, given Chicago’s status as an urban mecca for architecture.  And what better location to exhibit the curiosities, dreams, and achievements of architects than on the site of one of the profession’s most ambitious schemes to ever almost rise over Chicago?

In what can only be described as an eerie coincidence, the Guggenheim is currently celebrating the 50th anniversary of its New York building by hosting “Contemplating the Void,” which is an exhibition of over 200 ideas submitted by architects who were asked to conjure up new (and quite hypothetical) uses for the Guggenheim’s cylindrical volume.  Surely, one of the 200 ideas could work for the Spire’s hole in Chicago!

Related Posts:  (1) Latest setback for Michael Reese Hospital isn’t as bad as it seems; (2) Disposable architecture: historic preservation’s modus operandi; (3) Why Chicago and Rio de Janeiro are better off with a Brazilian 2016 Olympics; (4) Alert: some company invests in Chicago real estate deal; (5) Chicago’s Aqua Tower in fact made of concrete and glass; (6) Sears, er, Willis Tower going green; birds still angry.

Image courtesy of (1) ciltis and (2) alotor.

One city just passed a measure to spend roughly $600 million over 20 years on its bicycling infrastructure; one city is in the midst of planning similar improvements that, if fully built out, would cost an estimated $230 million.

The substantial difference between the two figures might lead you believe two things: that the $600 million improvements are for a much larger metropolitan area or that they are for a metropolitan area that is practically starting from scratch.  In either case, you’d be wrong.

Portland, the first city that comes to mind as a bicycling mecca, will spend roughly $600 million to implement the Portland Bicycling Plan for 2030, which the city council just approved, unanimously; Los Angeles, probably the last city that comes to mind as a bikable city, would spend roughly $230 million (PDF) if the current, embattled iteration of the Los Angeles Biking Plan were fully implemented.

When you consider Portland’s rarefied status in the bicycling community and small size (geographically and people-wise) relative to Los Angeles, the difference in funding levels is particularly striking, if not surprising.  In Portland, civic leaders are so committed to two wheels that the most influential group of its large bicycling community is heralding the 2030 plan as the best in America.  In Los Angeles, bicycling die-hards have gotten by with lukewarm support from public officials for years and are so disgusted with the still-being-debated bike plan that they’ve proposed a much different alternative one.

Then again, the per-mile cost of building/painting bike lanes is actually quite low compared to the cost of building other bicycling infrastructure elements such as parking areas, bike-specific traffic signals, etc.  Since Portland already has the basics covered - a relatively extensive network of lanes/paths - more of its plan will go toward the pricier elements that Los Angeles is not yet ready for.  Perhaps that explains/justifies a portion of the difference in funding level?

Incidentally, funding for Portland’s $600 million promise is not yet nailed down.

Related Posts:  (1) Are Los Angeles bicyclists undermining bicyclists with “freeway” bike plan?  Probably. and (2) Unfortunate-looking days of Portland’s federal building are thankfully numbered.

Image courtesy of bikeportland.

As construction continues at the east London site for the 2016 Olympics, evidence continues to accumulate that, per tradition, London’s Olympic legacy may include a combination of unfulfilled promises, under-funded budgets, and forlorn facilities.

A committee of the Greater London Authority just released a entirely unsurprising report in which it notes that without proper planning, London’s Olympic legacy won’t necessarily include the things that Londoners want most: more affordable housing, more park space, and better employment/living conditions in east London.  The report notes that already, cost estimates have skyrocketed from 2.4 to over 9 billion pounds, and only 4 percent of the jobs created during construction have gone to local, unemployed residents.

While I suspect that ultimately, east Londoners’ patience will be rewarded with a few of these good things, I am less sanguine about the other major challenge noted by the report: finding financially sustainable uses for Olympic Stadium, the Aquatic Centre, and the media centre.

As Athens and Beijing have shown, it is foolhardy to assume that if you build it, they will come.  In Greece, 21 of 22 Olympic stadiums are abandoned and deteriorating, and the entire country may need to be rescued from a debt load that includes an Olympics that cost 10 times more than initially estimated.  (I actually expected Beijing’s major Olympic venues, the Bird’s Nest and Water Cube, to be the exception to the apparent rule of Olympic hangovers, since China is flush with cash and has a population that is so massive that it would seem plausible for such venues to see regular use.  And yet, even China has been unable to figure out how to prevent its Olympic icons from becoming architectural artifacts.)

As flawed as Chicago’s hubristic bid for the 2016 Olympics was, at least its organizers had the good sense to make the Olympic stadium a temporary structure.  Not only did that decision reduce the price-tag for construction, it also side-stepped the problem of finding a financially viable use for a massive stadium in a city already full of major athletic venues.  In London, the report reveals that, organizers are still, after years of effort, having difficulty finding a use for the Olympic Stadium - and it doesn’t help that like Chicago, London already has other venues (such as Wembley Stadium) that adequately meet sports and entertainment demands.

While Olympic stadiums are just single elements of what are always massive urban planning puzzles, their post-Olympic fates tend to effect perceptions about the broader Olympic legacy in any given community (e.g., Montreal in a bad way and Atlanta in a somewhat better way).  More importantly, those perceptions have the power to influence the actual effects on neighborhoods adjacent to the Olympic venues.  That fact alone should make Olympic planners cautious about building massive, difficult-for-communities-to-absorb, facilities without a clear-cut plan for future use.  Chicago was right to build temporarily, and Rio is even smarter for deciding to use an existing soccer stadium for the main Olympic events.

The London report doesn’t make me too confident that London will avoid the problems that befell many other host cities, but at least it shows that the governmental units responsible for London’s post-Olympic legacy are still aware of what they’ve gotten themselves into.

Related Post:  Why Chicago and Rio de Janeiro are better off with a Brazilian 2016 Olympics.

Image courtesy of yo_ghurt.

To the good fortune of many, no.  Ten years after being founded on a shoe-string with an insurgent ”design like you give a damn” mentality, Architecture for Humanity’s relief efforts in Haiti suggest that AFH is no longer a humanitarian group working on the fringes of disaster response.  And even if it was never completely accurate to describe AFH as an outlier aid group, its modest beginnings, rapid rise, and unique approach to relief efforts certainly combined to set it apart from more established organizations.

Before AFH came along, people were already using design to combat a myriad of issues (refugee shelters, affordable school buildings, etc.), but their efforts were loosely organized and generally under the radar, which consequently limited wide-spread adoption of whatever design solutions they came up with to address recurring architectural problems.

Enter AFH (and the evangelistic energy of founders Cameron Sinclair and Kate Stohr), which provided the necessary framework to attract the most volunteers, raise the most money, and hasten wide-spread adoption of the best design solutions to combat recurring humanitarian problems.

That framework has resulted in well-organized responses to a string of the worst environmental and humanitarian disasters of the last decade, including the Kosovo War, AIDS crisis in South Africa, Bam Earthquake in Iran, South Asia Tsunami, and Hurricane Katrina.  In each case, AFH volunteers were among the first on the ground and consistently came up with designs (for schools, temporary and permanent housing, community shelters, among other structures) that mixed local building practices, styles, and materials with (physically, financially, and of course, environmentally) sustainable designs.

As successful as AFH has been thus far, having built over 250 buildings, hosted numerous competitions, and assisted hundreds of localities, its relief work in Haiti suggests that its effectiveness is really on a whole new plane.  Until recently, it’s fair to say that AFH was not a “go to” aid group, like the Red Cross or Relief International.  But now, after building up expertise in responding to and rebuilding after a variety of disasters (war, environmental, and otherwise), other groups are starting to realize how valuable AFH’s expertise is and how crucial its emphasis on architectural issues is in humanitarian crises.

James S. Russell recently noted that in Haiti, where most buildings were not built to withstand an earthquake, the Vatican is seeking AFH’s expertise (they took the time to write an earthquake building manual, after all) to design and build new churches; similarly, groups connected to Warren Buffett and a few celebrities have approached AFH to design new schools and a disaster center.

Although there are certainly many positives about the fact that AFH has really arrived as an influential group, one stands out in particular. It appears that more and more groups (whether non-profit or governmental) are realizing how integral architectural issues are to any successful relief effort - not only for responding to the initial disaster (such as by the design of cheap, well-designed relief shelters), but also for improving the community’s built environment to minimize the risk and extent of damage from future disasters.  Architectural issues are becoming more than incidental issues; more and more they are being addressed along side more established concerns (e.g., food shortages and medical needs), and AFH is responsible for much of that change in approach.

Related Post:  Why Project H Design’s lack of money doesn’t impair its positive impact.

Image courtesy of United Nations Development Programme.