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asBUILT 5 PROJECT
Farm House ARCHITECT
Jarmund/Vigsnæs Architects
ESSAY BY
Jan Olav Jensen EDITORS
Karl Otto Ellefsen Jan Olav Jensen Mari Lending Børre Skodvin
OSLO, 2011
asBUILT
asBUILT documents in meticulous detail the many co-existing idioms in contemporary Norwegian architecture. Each book presents one building, complete with working drawings, technical specifications, photographs as well as a discursive essay. Contemporary building practices represent a slowly developing cultural competence of systems, methods, and techniques that rely on a certain dissemination in order to prosper. In the world of gastronomy, one generously share recipes. Highlighting the very translation from concept to physical object and from drawings to completed building, asBUILT establishes a space for similarly exchanging built experience, hoping in this way to fuel the metabolism of architecture. asBUILT makes the archives public by providing a template for publishing. The series offers a systematic depository of knowledge to inform contemporary practice, and documents architectural history in the making.
Karl Otto Ellefsen, Jan Olav Jensen, Mari Lending and Børre Skodvin
Page 2 Original framework. Page 6 Front façade of Farm House. Page 10–11 The old barn. 4
Content
Project facts 7
Essay, Jan Olav Jensen
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Images and documentation
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Complete list of drawings
112
Site plan 114 As built drawings 116
On the office 178
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Project facts
Project
Farm House
Address Toten, Norway Area
165 m2 (gross) / 150m2 (net)
Number of floors
2
Energy
124,7 Kwh/m2 year
Cost
400 000 euro
Type of project
Single family house
Planned 2005–2006 Built
2007–2008
Client
Ane Kristin Rogstad, Trond Nygård
Responsible partners
Einar Jarmund, Håkon Vigsnæs, Alessandra Kosberg
Project architects
Håkon Vigsnæs
Architect
Nicolaj Zamecznik
Structural engineer
Moelven Limtre AS
Published
A+U 458 11/2008
Arkitektur N 01/2009 Dolce Vita 01/2009 Arkitektur i Norge. Årbok 2009 Arcadia: Cross Country Style. Architecture and Design 2009 Bonytt 6/2009 Plaza Magazine 08/2009 Repères AD Nov 2009 Made in Norway 2010 21st Century Homes. 150 of the Worlds Best 2010 Arkitektur DK 2010 Indian Architect and Builder 5/2010 PocMag 01/09-10 Häusen Sept 2010
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Exhibited The Architecture Biennale in Buenos Aires, 2009 Lost In Nature 2007-2010
2008 25 Oct - 2 Nov:
Das Nordisches Gemeinschaftshaus, Berlin, Germany
2009 16 Feb-9 March:
Sint Lucas, departement Architectuur, Gent, Belgium
17 Sept-2 Oct:
Rhode Island School of Design, USA
30 Oct-19 Nov:
Washington University of St. Louis, USA
2010 10-17 March:
Pavilion, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
12-23 April
24 May-5 June:
Hongik University, Seoul, Korea Tsinghua University, Beijing, China
17 Sept-:
Museum of Nordic Heritage, Seattle
Awards
World Architecture Festival 2009: Nominated in the “House category�
Forum AID Award 2009: Nominated as finalist
History of commission
Direct commission
Structural description
Timber frame construction with aluminum-clad wooden windows, exposed
concrete on basement floor
Heating system
Water-based underfloor heating and a wood-burning stove
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Main Architectural ideas
This is a small house for two historians and their children, at an abandoned farm they inherited, overlooking lake Mjøsa. To the south rise densely wooded hills, just barely allowing the winter sun to rise above the tree tops. To the east the morning sun appears between the trees, before being hidden behind the existing house in the yard. To the west is a view towards the nearby town and the far end of the lake. These orientations have ordered the organization of the house as well as differentiated the undulating band of windows that embraces the building uninterrupted. The existing barn had to be torn down because the main load-bearing construction was rotten. However, the cladding and the bridges, more than 100 years old, were still of good quality and have been re-used for the exterior cladding and terraces of the new house. Some of the old planks are cut with a varied width from one end to the other. These diagonals adjust the horizontality of the cladding towards the sloping lines of the ground and the angle of the roof. The spatial complexity, exposed construction, and material simplicity of the barn, has inspired and informed the new architecture in a broad way. From the main entrance to the south, the interior organization has a dual focus. The whole façade is opened towards the lake to the north and steps the central space downwards to the terrace at the west side of the house. The series of common spaces along these sloping axes are visually connected, opening the full length of the house. Above is a children’s loft; below, the parent’s part of the house. The main section rises towards the south to allow the low winter sun to enter the building. The glazed and lofty winter garden works as a heat collector at wintertime, and heat buffer for the rest of the house during summer. The main construction and surfaces are wood, treated roughly in a way that accords both to the landscape and the building tradition. Windows are lined with aluminum; the ground floor is site-casted exposed concrete. There is 40 cm of rock wool insulation in the roof construction, 20 cm in the walls. Water-based underfloor heating is combined with a wood-burning stove.
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Case study house by Jan Olav Jensen
Architecture comes into being somewhere between the ideal and the obviously possible. Architects—unlike writers, composers, or sculptors—cannot work completely on their own and then unveil their creations to the rest of the world. An architect normally has to balance between a number of conflicting wishes and limitations when building: the ambitions of the client, the available budget, progress and fees, legal requirements, local architectural policy, the wishes and needs of neighbors, and his or her own professional ambitions. In a situation of this kind, there can be no doubt that realizing experimental and exploratory architecture is particularly precarious and demanding. It is a fact that an architectural project is often conventionalized in its journey from concept to finished structure, and it has always been a central task of the architect to steer the project through this turbulent process. To discuss how architecture comes into being, one must grasp the significance of the conditions under which practitioners work and how they cope with these. It is possible to point to certain characteristics of these conditions that particularly influence present-day architecture, and also to point to individual buildings that challenge these conditions. The Toten house, in Oppland County, Norway, is one such structure. If not a subversive project, both the origin, the process, and the final structure can be understood as a critique of what is the increasingly subjugating dynamics of the Norwegian building industry. The architect-designed single-family house The architect-designed single-family house has functioned for a long time as an arena for professional experiments. Successful single-family houses have to a large extent formed contemporary architecture and elucidated current architectural ideals. Large projects are seldom the scene of radical architectural investigations, because they pass through comprehensive processes that consistently seem to produce a more conventionalized final result. Singlefamily houses are ideal for professional research, primarily because the decision-making processes are less bureaucratic. Close, creative and flexible cooperation can more easily arise between the architect and the client. Such relations are often underestimated as a reason why projects succeed. The
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Toten house is clearly characterized by this sort of positive relationship built on mutual trust. This house, however, is special in several ways. In 2009, about 350 single-family houses in Norway were designed by architects or by the client/ contractor for a particular site.1 The Toten house belongs to this category. The 160-square-meter house cost just over three million Norwegian kroner (approximately $500,000 at the time of writing). In addition, there was an architect’s fee of approximately NOK 300,000 and the architects put around 400 hours of work into the project. These amounts are modest when compared with other highly publicized Norwegian single-family houses built after 2000. One reason why the Toten house is worth a closer look is that the project was carried out on such a low budget, which exemplifies how it is still possible to realize high-quality architecture within a framework that otherwise typifies pre-designed houses houses. Engaging an architect to design a single-family house is apparently more exclusive than ever before.The number of architectdesigned single-family houses today makes up only one fifth of what was the case in the mid-1990s.During recent years, the proportion of prefabricated houses has increased to about 95% of all single family houses built.2 Few of the major architectural offices in Norway design single-family houses, except in rare instances of well-paid assignments with extremely ample budgets.3 Single-family houses with average budgets of NOK 3–5 million (between $500000 and $800000) are a type of assignment mainly carried out by small offices and single-person enterprises, often early on in their career. The explanation is quite simple: to thoroughly design a single-family house calls for about the same amount of work as designing a small block of flats or an office complex that is several times larger and typically financially much more remunerative. In addition, low budgets might represent less freedom of choice and a higher level of difficulty—something very few architects find attractive. It is well known among architects that the typical fee for a single-family house with a low budget only rarely pays for the work one commits oneself to undertake. Such assignments often end up with a real loss once salaries have been paid. An alternative is to spend less time than
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one would wish, something that makes it less likely that the professional result corresponds to the office’s ideals. However, a few larger Norwegian offices, such as Lund Hagem and Jarmund Vigsnæs (JVA), have designed many high-quality single-family houses. JVA have apparently developed an architectural vocabulary and a method that rationalisez the process, thereby making it financially sustainable, although not particularly profitable. It is tempting to reflect on how they are able to do this within a strict framework, and still be able to realize innovative solutions. Ideals and ambitions Architecture is a profession with a built-in tension between the architect and the client, between the professional ideal and the market, between theory and practice. Architects depend on clients for their assignments and almost all of them end up in situations where dealing and making compromises becomes a necessity. Some architects end up building very little indeed, while others might end up “sitting lucratively in the lap of the particular client,” in the words of Aldo van Eyck.4 This does not mean that the successful practitioner is always corrupt, but many of those who build a great deal walk a tightrope. With conflicting aspects constantly summed up in physical form, architects might be turned into full-blooded diplomats and sweet talkers, sacrificing the architectural content of their production to get things built. Ambitious architects nevertheless often have a more or less clearly defined overall professional objective or field of interest that they pursue and that influences the solutions presented to the clients, regardless of the project involved. Sometimes it is a clear manifesto, at other times it has to be derived by others from a series of projects, like some kind of common denominator. It is a familiar phenomenon that what architects say they do—their manifestos— and what they actually do—their buildings—does not always amount to the same thing. More often than not, such articulated aims are clever rhetoric, more a kind of a marketing tool than a true description of the end result. Or it is just a sexy way to describe an architectural vocabulary that the architect masters well, and uses again and again to save time and survive as an architect. So what is JVA’s fundamental professional agenda, examined in one project after the other? “The ideal is for what we do to feel completely new every time,” Håkon Vigsnæs states: “I hope we have a recognizable method, rather than a finished mode of expression. That is, at any rate, what we are striving for. We want to be known for our thoroughness in reading and understanding each assignment. The projects must not be look-alikes—we don’t have a theme we like to include each time. At the same time, though, I notice that there is something recognizable about it too.”5
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A page dump from the web page of the company “Mesterhus� (Master house), www.mesterhus.no, showing some of the 41 pre-designed houses on offer (summer 2011).
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JVA is not particularly keen on developing or using conceptual or formal prototypes, something that was and to a certain extent still is a central modernist ideal.6 On the contrary, the office’s partners state in A+U that one of their aims is “to avoid the laziness of experience in our next challenge.”7 Håkon Vigsnæs has explained this in more detail: “We are deeply interested in ensuring that architecture is created in each and every case: that it arises out of the genuine nature of the assignment, for assignments are always different. That is what is fascinating: coming up with an answer every time.”8 This statement makes sense when one studies what the office produces. Their buildings have clear architectural differences, and it is difficult to claim that the various projects conform to a certain style even though one can find parts in several projects that interrelate in different ways. JVA has renounced a belief in prototypes and recipes, which opens up a huge landscape of architectural possibilities to explore, although undertaking such a journey is highly demanding, for the architects assume the role of pathfinders in uncharted territory. They run the risk of not delving deep enough into each of the many different architectural idioms chosen in the individual projects. Nonetheless, their architectural method can be commercially viable, although probably not commercially grounded. There is always architecture available to suit difficult clients, and one can flirt with what is popular without any qualms of conscience. The method is also well suited to concealing what is difficult, as Alessandra Kossberg, one of the three partners, states in an interview: “It makes it possible to conceal all structure, for example. You can use very cheap materials inside the walls because they are clad, or on the walls, because they are angled in such a way that they reflect the light differently, so the material is no longer the most important part of the story.”9 If we take a quick look at some well-known contemporary architects, we can see some striking differences, precisely in the light of JVA’s manifesto not to repeat itself. Frank Gehry is an obvious example of an architect with a recognizable signature. After the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, he has repeated—or been forced to repeat—the success of the formal recipe time after time, seemingly without taking into account the program that is to be housed. Museums, opera houses, and banks have all been given the same architectural expression. Another example is Zaha Hadid, whose work is also very easily detected, even though her architectural vocabulary would seem to be more versatile than Gehry’s after Bilbao. In Hadid’s work, a limited selection of rich architectural themes is explored which form the point of departure for all of her projects. These themes develop and are refined from one project to the next. Herzog & de Meuron exemplifies the other end of the scale. They cover an enormous architectural range with a richness of vocabulary unrivalled in contemporary architecture. The projects vary in quality, but are nearly always
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JVA, Cabin Nordmarka, Nordmarka, Norway, 2004.
JVA, Oslo School of Architecture, Oslo, Norway, 2001.
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JVA, Dune House, Thorpeness, Suffolk, England, 2010.
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JVA, Red House, Oslo, Norway, 2002.
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experimental in one sense or the other. They possess a seemingly inexhaustible source of architectural themes; each of them can only be used once, although treated with the same architectural attitude. JVA seems to lie closer to such an ideal, although here we find the outline of a more personal architectural method that the projects seem to have in common. This is intriguing because it might say something general about how the architects manage to make ends meet with so many simultaneous small projects, all of which have to be unique and given special treatment. My assertion is that in this architectural workshop, which has consciously decided that everything must be new every time, there are certain underlying rationalizing methods and attitudes at work, but that these do not necessarily have formal implications. JVA are architectural anarchists, maybe even hedonists, allowing themselves almost anything. It is interesting to observe how the sensory apparatus influences their architecture, for the source of architecture in this case seemingly lies within the architect and how he or she reacts to the world, not in particular external ideals. This is what Valerio Olgiati calls “architecture based on instinct.”10 I believe that JVA’s architecture is fundamentally based on personal affinities and depends on personal talent. A number of formal features recur in many of their projects, including their predilection for distorting very simple volumes. The effect is obvious: what the architects achieve is to make their structures abstract and remove the figurative, the symbolic, and the recognizable from the architectural expression. Symmetries are rare with JVA, as with Herzog & de Meuron, and both offices implicitly seem to define modernism as one of many of evernew languages of asymmetry and dissonance as formulated by Bruno Zevi.11 In an essay in the exhibition catalogue Lost in Nature, Karl Otto Ellefsen discusses JVA’s Oslo School of Architecture and Design: “The architectural language, however, is hardly founded on ideology. It was rather the case that the architects perceived that this particular job demanded this type of solution—and those other similar projects might have been solved by very different means.”12 This approach carries many advantages; among them that the theoretical superstructure can be very general, giving a great deal of added maneuverability. One can refer everything to personal affinities and interests, and completely do away with the normative. A polarized profession How do JVA manage, with such ideals, to maintain a profitable practice with a high professional profile? Are we dealing with three extraordinarily gifted individuals, or can their professional attitudes and ways of practicing exemplify something that the rest of us can learn from? When scrutinizing their work more closely, one could claim that we are looking at a unique blend of architectural talent and business intelligence. I will deal with the
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various ingredients of this recipe, but first it might be enlightening to ground JVA in a professional context. There are certain indications that Norwegian architectural culture has become more polarized, although it has many intermediate positions. It is not surprising that in a booming economy a considerable group of large, client-friendly practices have sprung up that do not consider rediscovering the wheel one of their main objectives, although they often have considerable and articulated architectural ambitions on the paper. These are consultants who help clients realize their wishes with the least possible hassle and the greatest possible effect, combined with an obvious will to adapt to the market. At the same time, they see themselves as indispensable builders of society. Architecture is basically conceived as a service given to those who require it. They have clearly defined objectives concerning continual professionalization and predictability, and an emphasis on developing and following systems, routines, and standards. Good architecture is regarded as being dependent on good systems and procedures and disciplined people who have learned to make the right decisions. This is the commercially oriented section of the trade Then there is a group of architects who in varying degrees express an idealistic orientation, with clear individual architectural ambitions. Some of them work within relatively traditional architectural roles, but what they typically have in common is an investigative attitude. There is a distinct will to develop special solutions and to challenge accepted standards. In this vein, architecture is conceived as a field of research where the architects are obliged to continually redevelop solutions, and individual projects are seen as one-off products. Architectural quality is dependent on talented and bold individuals with professional backbone, people who are also resistant and take risks. In addition to these two extremes, and all the obvious in-between positions, there are a number of examples of what, for the time being, one can call “talkative architects.� These are architects who mainly seem to be interested in power or at least influence and they seek it wherever it is to be found. They regard it as vital, not only for the profession as such, but also for society, to conquer new territory and influence processes in which architects have not traditionally been interested. Architecture is conceived mainly as policyThese positions are, in different ways, comfortable, providing an outlet for various types of talent and interest, although all of them appear to have various biases and support the assertion that Norwegian architectural culture at present is polarized. JVA belongs mainly to the idealistically oriented wing of Norwegian architectural culture. The ideal building process and the fear of the unknown It helps clarify the situation to look at what typifies a normal building process today, if one is to describe more closely where JVA stands out and
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challenges conventions. There is a general consensus in the building industry concerning the basic characteristics of what could be called the “ideal building process.”13 To simplify, this consists of two phases: the planning phase and the implementation phase. The vital thing about this process is that a watertight partition has developed between planning and implementation, and posits that planning, ideally, should be concluded and complete before implementation takes over. Both planners and builders are obliged by law to exercise a formal control of their work that can be documented. During the planning phase, control mainly has to do with confirming that planned solutions are preaccepted.14 If this is not the case, solutions must be shown to be legal. During the implementation phase, control has to do with an ongoing confirmation of the fact that implementation is precisely as planned. The assignation of responsibility is crystal clear: those who conceive the project are responsible for devising and describing all the solutions, and those who implement it are responsible for following the directions of those who conceive the project. The assumption that architects and planners begin by entirely constructing the house in their heads and only then see it realized precisely as conceived is fundamental to the process. Bureaucracy and the professional milieu agree, generally speaking, that such baton passing (or compulsory sequencing) is excellent for reducing errors and minimizing risks. Just how such a compulsory sequence has been able to become the market standard in the building industry is well worth studying, for this system has led to dramatic changes of mentality that have led to limitations in the exchange of experiences as well as large gaps of knowledge between the two groups. The main problem of such a system is that there exists a clear conflict of interests between the two groups. Those who implement, the contractors, search for deficiencies in the planning documents and instructions, which are usually not all that difficult to find, while the planners naturally try to limit their own deficiencies, primarily by not experimenting. A solution to this problem is sought in continually developing what are called pre-accepted solutions—a vocabulary of details developed mainly by, or through, different official institutions. The main aim is to bridge the gap between these two sorts of knowledge. This monopoly-like situation of developing approved solutions outside of the building industry itself clearly decreases the amount of integrated and diverse research conducted when erecting buildings. Instead, this activity is centralized, and many would say it has become a lot more anemic than necessary. The division initially makes the building process easy to grasp and—not least—predictable. This is the Achilles’ heel of the problem, as it favors experience and repetitions. This is most obvious when it comes to the insistence on pre-accepted solutions that are much easier to implement, but also when it comes to the much discussed and criticized requirement that
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JVA, Galleri Trafo, Asker, Norway, 2006.
JVA, Forsvarets ledelsebygg, Akershus (Norwegian Ministry of Defence, Akershus Fortress) Oslo, Norway, 2006.
JVA, Information booth/restroom at Henningsvær Henningsvær, Lofoten, Norway, 2007.
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architects must have the relevant experience if they are to be pre-qualified, for example, for public commissions or competitions. Both of these things make it easier to carry on as usual, and public clients, with legal backing, can turn down younger, more inexperienced architectural practices. There is, then, a basic dichotomy between some of the most discussed aspects of a high-profile and acclaimed national architecture policy launched by the government in 2009 (Arkitektur nå!), where, for instance, more young architects are desired for public projects, and the intention and actual effect of the legislation. This is not much discussed, as the content and practice of the law are supported by the indisputable and widely agreed upon argument that risks must be minimized. This has become the very credo of both the public bureaucracy and seemingly also parts of the professional community, and has taken over as the main compass. Many contemporary architects have criticized this model, both directly and implicitly, as being highly dysfunctional. Serendipity This problem is clearly greatest in major public projects, which is why singlefamily houses are important as a litmus test and a professional corrective. JVA has developed what one could call an exploratory mentality characterized by two main competences; the executions of both are based on personal talent. First is the ability to improvise or change architectural solutions as the possibilities present themselves, and, second, the ability to read and understand locations so that they can profit architecturally from existing resources. These are two of the most important characteristics of their architectural method. Becoming extremely proficient at exploiting the possibilities that always present themselves compensates for the loss of control. JVA has learned to live with improvisations and has accepted loss of control during the building process. This is precisely what seems to give their projects a certain quality and added value that cannot be achieved unless planned in advance. It is clearly a subversive trait in their professional attitude. Their practice is an excellent example of a well-known strategic principle: “Opportunities multiply as they are seized.”15 Or, as JVA claims, “We are always in search of interesting possibilities, and both we and the person giving the assignment are often surprised. Ever since the early days of the office we have tried to make the very most of the actual conditions.”16 The Toten house is a good example of a number of architectural elements that could not have emerged before the building process was under way. These elements, which are a kind of architectural improvisations or serendipity,17 are crucial to the final result. They say something about the relation between concept and realization, i.e., that there is no absolute dividing line between the conceptual and the implementation phases. This is diametrically opposed to the strict division between the planning phase
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JVA, Skrivestua (Writers Cottage) Asker, Norway, 2008.
JVA, Stable House, Oslo, Norway, 2004.
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The west faรงade clad with wedgeshaped panels.
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and building phase that has been adopted as a desirable division and a myth, constantly repeated as if it were absolute truth.18 Such simplifications may be called naive, but they are nevertheless surprising when one knows how integrated building processes can have such an architecturally significant effect on the result. Architectural improvisations can be based on physical finds in situ, such as remains of previous buildings or objects uncovered during the building process that can prove to be an architectural asset. “Look, just look at what I’ve found!” the Ash Lad, a main character in Norwegian folktales, exclaimed in “The Princess No One Could Silence.” His co-travellers thought it was scrap that he had found, but he held onto it and it proved to be crucially useful, with the Ash Lad’s acumen and ingenuity. Chance events can, if one has the ability to make use of them, offer new possibilities, enhanced quality, and give more for the money. One of the Norwegian projects that most clearly expresses this dynamism is Sverre Fehn’s Storhamarlåven, which in many ways is one long architectural journey with the motto “Just look, just look at what I’ve found!” In this project there are lots of architectural discoveries that presuppose an exploratory architectural eye able to discern possibilities that others cannot see as well as responding to and making use of surprising places, objects, and narratives that are gradually uncovered and collected during a long building process. This approach is virtually absent from the commercially oriented side of contemporary Norwegian architecture. The reason is quite evident: such an attitude is at odds with ever-increasing demands for full predictability and carefully planned processes. In the Toten house we find clear examples of such architectural shrewdness or resourcefulness, most remarkably in the solution to the house’s paneling. In the drawing for the legal permit, the paneling is regular, parallel, and horizontal. The completed project is clad with wedge-shaped panels that were once the cladding material on the barn that was demolished on the site. This repurposed paneling was fit to be used when the architects discovered it during the building process, and JVA decided to make use of it, though not in the most obvious way, i.e. to lay it head to feet. Rather, the paneling was ultimately mounted like a fan. The effect is surprising and the reuse practical, since it eliminates the need to adapt to the terrain and at least one work process is eliminated. Furthermore, an original and unlikely feel to the structure arises that would have been difficult to create using standardized building materials. If one had this idea from the outset, it would have called for elaborate and probably expensive sawing and processing of whole lengths, involving waste and off cuts. It would definitely have been relevant to ask oneself if it was worth the trouble. As it turned out, this is a classic example of resourceful use of a possibility that suddenly presented itself—and, first and foremost, of the architect’s
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ability to seize on this type of chance opportunity long after the concept had been decided. This is not something one can simply have as a professional program; it calls for a particular kind of architectural acumen, a will to adapt, and an ability to handle uncertainty. A side effect of such an applied combination of intelligence and sensitivity is that one work can hardly ever be identical or repeatable. If one acts like the Ash Lad, using what one finds and letting it influence the result, there will always be elements in the process that one cannot control in advance. The Toten house shows how architecture can be based on a will and ability to make intelligent use of the possibilities that will present themselves at unpredictable moments. Local knowledge as a prerequisite for architecture The other important knack in JVA’s work, is the way they link the house architecturally to the location. This can easily turn into a cliché, and in the Norwegian debate the relationship between building and site is argued within the confusing concept of “byggeskikk” (“architectural tradition”). In an architectural sense, this is not just a geometrical exercise but also a cultural one. It requires the architect to be able to read the location precisely for the adopted architectural measures to produce the sought-after effect. Aldo van Eyck uses an apt expression, place affinity, -“the ability and competence to understand the complexity of a place.” He describes this as a cultural competence, something which can be acquired but which is also dependent on special abilities. Eyck claims that a prerequisite for practicing “place affinity” is that “the necessary ability to sense intrinsic value from place to place has been sufficiently awakened.” Eyck then levels the criticism, still relevant today, that the architectural profession is characterized by a tendency to simplify complex contexts.19 Wilfried Wang is onto something similar, writing about Alvaro Siza: ”Siza’s architecture does not ‘travel well.’ Like most elements of a still somewhat coherent culture, the buildings and interiors belong to a context that is mutually reinforcing, a context that slowly becomes intelligible as it unfolds, as one comes in contact with it.”20 The same can be said about the Toten house, which depends on its context in order to function optimally. This is an underestimated phenomenon in architecture today. We are used to the concept that everything can be moved from place to place and that architectural ideas know no boundaries. It is, however, interesting that in recent years a number of well-known architects have chosen to work within delimited areas they know well despite opportunities to work internationally, primarily because they are familiar with the local and cultural complexities, conditions, and potential of the building processes and can make full use of this knowledge, but also because the time spent traveling is more acceptable.21 This implies that building well
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JVA, Summer cabin by the coast, Southern coast of Norway, 2000.
JVA, Svalbard Forskningspark (Svalbard Science Centre) Longyearbyen, Svalbard, Norway, 2005.
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also includes a prerequisite element of local knowledge or competence and may be something similar to a native language. Haldis Moren Vesaas elaborated on this phenomenon as a kind of social intelligence, in an interview with her son Olav Vesaas in the Norwegian Broadcast in 1987. She used to going skiing on Sundays when she moved to the farm Midtbø in Vinje in Telemark, but her husband, Tarjei Vesaas, was not all that keen about her hobby. No one else in the community did anything similar on non-working days, and he said to her, “act like the others when you’re outside.” This was a modern couple, courageous and experimental in their writing, and yet he said this to her, that one should not needlessly provoke one’s surroundings, that there can be other channels where one can seek to be different, and that certain customs function as a highly necessary social glue. One of the most interesting features of the Toten house is how precisely this dilemma is handled: the tension between the wish of the architect to create something new and at the same time to pay attention to the client’s obvious need for belonging and for a corresponding architectural identity. Both needs are fullfilled in the project. The house exemplifies a form of camouflaged modernism, in both its outward appearance and in the juxtaposition of the rooms. As such, it is a good example of architectural social intelligence. It exists in a tiny field where two normally conflicting views of a profession overlap. The Toten house is the result of successful professional diplomacy; in an unusual way, it balances and takes both considerations into account at the same time. Between categories “Everything that exists in the way of laws and regulations, urban planning considerations, regulation, politics, and economy can have a paralyzing effect. But it is precisely in this resistance that one finds the possibilities for original and unconventional architecture,” says Håkon Vigsnæs.22 He points to something that is rarely discussed: To what extent does legislation prevent good architecture, and as an architect what attitude should one have towards legislation? Legislation is based on the idea that clear categories can be established for most things, thereby discouraging unforeseen or unanticipated solutions. It has conflicting features: an ever-increasing denial of risk and a need for predictability on the one hand can easily collide with ideal conditions for producing architecture. For example, the Toten house uses architectural elements that cannot be unambiguously categorized. This has to do with both the architects’ vocabulary and their attitude towards legislation. A remarkable feature is how the margins are treated. Here one can also read an implicit criticism of legislation that influences architecture. The fact that rooms are woven into each other in various ways led to individual rooms and zones becoming marginal, or maybe
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The permanent installation by Per Inge Bjørlo at The National Museum of Contemporary Art, Oslo, 1990: “Inner Space V, The Target.” Stainless steel, electric light. Photo: Tom Sandberg
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even too small. This applies in particular to the height of rooms. But in the Toten house, there are different heights, ranging from six to seven meters down to under two meters, and it works very well, even though strictly speaking it is not completely legal. The somewhat liberal interpretation of a regulation has many advantages: the total volume becomes less than it otherwise would have been, the house becomes more compact with shorter internal distances, and there is at various points a surprising contact between the levels. These are qualities that are seldom found in monumental housing architecture, but in earlier vernacular architecture one often finds such circumstances. It forms an architectural vocabulary that has fascinated architects on excursions, particularly to southern Europe, but which prove almost impossible to use in practice in Norway, if the regulations are to be followed to the letter. It would seem that the increasing degree of categorization and standardization required by legislation and regulations, with the good intention of avoiding mistakes, has made the architecture more clinical and more cynical—and impoverished in terms of expression. Some architects avoid the problem by redefining elements in their projects as art, which makes them exempt from the system of laws to which architecture is subjected, and it is not surprising that completely different types of rooms then become possible, some of which have been highly acclaimed. We find a good example in Per Inge Bjørlo’s permanent rooms in the Museum of Contemporary Art, Oslo. According to present architectural regulatory requirements, many of the spatial choices Bjørlo made are illegal: the staircase is too steep, the corridor is too narrow, there are no railings down to the powerful lamp one floor below, there is no space to evacuate the area, and the acoustics are hardly acceptable. However, these are all important aspects of the work. This implies that an architect’s available vocabulary has diminished, and that certain types of expression are quite simply unrealizable if the regulations are to be taken literally. Obviously, there is a long tradition of embracing resistance in creative processes, as seen in for example Lars von Trier’s Dogma project. But there are strong indications of fundamentally different types of resistance. Some kinds of resistance seem to function as fertilizers and others as poison on architectural processes. The farm The site plan for the Toten house follows a well-known pattern, i.e., a traditional Norwegian farm with a courtyard comprising an unspecified number of buildings with particular functions, formed as various types of independent and detached buildings. In such a system, new buildings can be added to the existing group, making the formation increasingly complex. In this case, a typical external space is formed where a “pensioner’s house’”(accommodation provided for the parents by the new farmer, usually the eldest son or daughter)
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A view of Kruke Farm in Heidal, showing a number of simple, but individualized wooden volumes. Photo: Christian Norberg-Schulz; facsimile from ”Stav og Laft” by Norberg-Schulz and Bugge.
Two storehouses on a farm (Nordre Gjellerud), with clearly defined main volumes set on foundations with varying distances to the ground, according to the local topography. Photo: Christian Norberg-Schulz; facsimile from ”Stav og Laft” by Norberg-Schulz and Bugge.
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Villa by Telje Torp Aasen. Facsimile from ”Treprisen – Ten Norwegian prize winning architects,” Dag Rognlien, Arkitektnytt, 1978.
Villa by Wenche and Jens Selmer. Facsimile from ”Treprisen – Ten Norwegian prize winning architects,” Dag Rognlien, Arkitektnytt, 1978.
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has also been built. The positioning is in many ways both obvious and conventional, with new housing replacing existing older housing that has been demolished, but it is also extremely successful. Arrival at the site presents a quiet though firm direction. The entrance facade gives a closed appearance but the untreated beams of the overhanging roof create an impression of something that is open, of the unprotected inside showing on the outside, of a half open lid that creates a strange welcoming effect: There is no grand view from the courtyard, but one has a clear expectation of experiencing it from within—and one is not disappointed. Just inside the door, the visitor has a view of almost the entire house, as well as sections of the lower floor and the surroundings. The “trick” of using a relatively closed entrance facade and a correspondingly open panorama wall corresponds to an expectation of something more, although the effect comes as a surprise nevertheless. This may work because such an architectural narrative is still quite rare; one is used to entering typical rooms with small windows symmetrically placed in the facade, regardless of what they can achieve architecturally if placed with care. The house is a reinterpretation of the actual farmhouse, as regards position, external form, and relation to the other buildings and the landscape, although it differs in several important respects from the traditional dwelling. The approach used in terms of composition is extremely open within the outer walls—the floor can move up and down, the inner walls can be positioned in many ways—and it seems as if most things can be incorporated. This is the exact opposite of, for example, Sverre Fehn’s villa Norrkøping, which has what is a typically strict, monolithically geometrical composition, based on various kinds of symmetries and modules. In the Toten house, the inner world lacks the stringency that is typical of the Norrkøping house. The house has a spatial organization that can be described as a kind of “Amerika-koffert” (referring to the huge chest Norwegians used when emigrating to America). Many different sizes of room have been shuffled so that everything is incorporated in an overall volume. This is a three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle and it presents considerable difficulty if one wants to avoid wasting space. All the rooms cannot be situated just anywhere in the volume, but an intelligent shuffling of the rooms can be economical. Only small sections of the overall area are used for corridors, and the open entrance level has features that exploits modern architectural inventions, such as a core of water-using rooms one can walk round, overlapping room zones, and ambiguous boundaries. The house investigates a classical typology, but what one could call architectural impurities or disturbances have been added to this, instances that one normally does not see in modern buildings. First and foremost, this has to do with the fact that there are rooms in the house that are difficult to categorize, various kinds of residual areas like those one often sees in vernacular architecture.
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A sketch made by the architect on a piece of wood during a site visit, clarifying a particular solution to the carpenter.
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These zones can definitely be used, but, strictly speaking, they are not recommended, or even allowed, in laws and regulations. The most important effect is that the house is neither sterile nor easily understood. One rather gets the impression of something that is complex and rich. The construction is simple, clear, and functional. The uprights of the walls are load-bearing, with windows on the outside. The uprights run free along the inside, so that the wall retains its primary task as a load-bearer, like a masonry wall, without special exceptions. This principle is clearly demonstrated by the fact that the band of windows is continuous around the entire house. Visually, it divides the house horizontally in two, creating a sense of lightness. The band varies in both height and position. The positioning and opening is governed by the wish to allow the sun to enter at certain points inside the house all day and all year long from the most favorable angles. This is an advanced architectural act that definitely depends on local knowledge. In addition, it is an anti-monumental technique. The form of the window band is the result of considerations other than compositional evaluations, and it is one of many touches that link the building to its location. The effect is most powerful in the entrance section. Here there is a view in all directions; no matter how one turns, there is a view either outwards or upwards. Such a situation is rare, and is hardly ever found in dwellings. Rather, one finds it in lookout towers, lighthouses and the like. The effect is unique and impressive, lending the building a clear distinct identity. It has a shed roof, like a simple outhouse, laid parallel with the terrain. This is a feature that has been much used by several Norwegian architects practicing in the sixties and seventies for wooden structures, such as Wenche and Jens Selmer and Telje-Torp-Aasen. The intention has been clear: it was regarded as a formal adaptation to the terrain; it was the form that differed least. It represented the wish to submit and adapt to the overall topography of the landscape. At Toten, the house has additionally acquired a noticeable and surprising monumentality. It is like a Norwegian stabbur (a storehouse on pillars) with a clear and simple main form enhanced by the strange optic effect that results from the diagonally cut paneling. From the entrance side in particular, one gets the impression that the house has two wings, as if one had come to a small mansion. No matter whether this is intended or not, it is effective. The details are coarse, rather like the way ingredients are combined in a good home-cooked meal, without refinement of the individual elements. It is thus not particularly demanding to build. Compared with music, one can say that it is at the opposite end of the scale from Paganini: Many people can play it. It does not require specialized craftsmanship. This choice makes the building more sensible, but it naturally has limitations. There is a certain architectural vocabulary that thereby becomes in-
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accessible. Some architects have developed techniques to include particular, demanding details with a special knowledge of craftsmen who are good at carrying out these assignments. This is a possibility that is fairly inaccessible in modern contract systems, which nearly always have a hierarchical structure subject to a bureaucracy that does not allow this type of contracting, because it represents a breach of the purchasing regulations, even though it would often be better value for money. Instructions The drawings for the Toten house are worth a closer study. The working drawings in particular have been executed in almost nonchalant fashion, the architects having decided to go in precisely the opposite direction from what most architects do today, i.e., very low-tech. This tells us at any rate that the drawings are mainly seen in this instance as a means, a message, and not as an end in themselves. Working drawings have always enjoyed a special status among architects. Edwin Lutyens pointed out (on a framed picture in Sir John Soane’s House in London) that “the main purpose of the working drawing is not to create a piece of art, it is simply a letter to the contractor, instructing him precisely how to build the house.” If architects had built their own projects, the need for drawings would diminish. An architect would ultimately be in the same situation as a sculptor, or painter, who works directly with the material and avoids the detour of a formal representation. This is still a situation certain self-building architects place themselves in, but the limitation, of course, is scale. The execution of the working drawings is normally the largest part of the architect’s assignment. Such drawings are subject to certain conventions, because the drawing has a communicative function. The important thing about a good working drawing— and the main reason why mastering this type of drawing confers status—is, however, that it represents a process-oriented competence. It is perfectly possible to draw, down to the smallest detail, something it is impossible to build, in the same way that it is possible to compose music that is impossible to play. An efficient working drawing is always based on a thorough understanding of what it means to build; it is not just a detailed and unambiguous geometrical definition of the size and relative position of objects. Most practicing architects want to master this aspect of their profession because it gives greater architectural control. Peter Zumthor, for example, says about working drawings: “Among all the drawings produced by architects, my favorites are the working drawings. Working drawings are detailed and objective. Created for the craftsmen who are to give the imagined object a material form, they are free of associative manipulation. They do not try to convince and impress like project drawings. They seem to be saying: ‘This is exactly how it
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will look.’�23 He characterizes the working drawing as something almost naive and truth-seeking, completely without the demagogical overtones one often finds in perspectives and renderings. In these, one can cheat and unrestrainedly beautify, promise and lie about the future, mainly in order to influence decisionmakers such as clients, juries, politicians, and the general public. The working drawing does not have this potential. They are demanding to understand and form a content-saturated collection of unsentimental and dry instructions that are to be carried out by craftsmen and contractors. The drawing material must, at a minimum, consist of a description of how the individual parts are to be produced, and then of how they are to be put together. This is reminiscent of recipes or assembly instructions for furniture or other DIY kits. In the case of the Toten house, it was necessary to rationalize this process. A work-saving, project-specific set of instructions was devised, and it proved highly effective to provide hand sketches to scale. The instructions are not elaborate but short, simple, and precise, rather like military orders, with no beating around the bush. Architectural acronyms or abbreviations are used. The instructions have been designed in a non-sentimental way, without the drawings laying any claims to future beauty, simply so that the message is conveyed and intentions communicated. The details have, to a great extent, been supplemented by something that is usual on small building sites where legal and financial bureaucracy does not clog the process, i.e., sketches that are made here and there, often on a piece of planking or the back of a print-out. Ten such sketches can quickly accrue at each visit to the site. The aim can be to make it easier to understand the working drawings, to solve new problems that have arisen because of errors, or quite simply to solve transitions that have not previously been defined. This is a form of communication that is based on trust between the parties involved, for it often involves varying degrees of financial consequences. The method saves time, for everyone concerned, but it is not really found at major building sites because of the demands for documentation and traceability that normally prevail there. Learning from Toten What is typical of vernacular architecture? First and foremost that it is characterized by necessity. In Norwegian forests the farmers developed log architecture; in the desert the nomads developed tent structures; in the north the Eskimos built igloos. All of this has an innate, location-specific architecture intelligence. The solutions do not apply or work well in all situations, but at the locations where they are intended they often function better and are more economical than anything else. Even in wealthy cultures that could afford enormous monuments, there is usually a logical relation between building and location, and this kind of consideration gives added value. The lessons
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of vernacular architectural knowledge are in danger of being consigned to oblivion. It is no longer absolutely necessary or obviously appropriate to consider the location or the innate logic of a place. We have a much greater degree of freedom of choice than our colleagues from history had: We can afford to build on the premises of people who profit from special building methods, or who have enough resources to lob specific solutions right into the legislation. We do not question that, and unknowingly we do harm to society because of our choices. This overwhelming multitude of possibilities has a sedative effect on architecture, making it easier for architects to happily choose effects, like children in a toy store, without taking the trouble to discern intelligently between them. Seen in that light, the Toten house is an exemplary architectural antidote.
NOTES:
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Daniel Butenschøn, ”Det Norske ferdighus,” Dagens Næringsliv D2, January 29, 2010. It is not easy to see from statistics what this is due to, but there are certain indications: We know that an average building process has become more complex and hard to grasp over the same period, not least because of more comprehensive public regulations and a more diversified market. It is apparently tempting to offer a package solution that does not expose the client to the jungle of possibilities and pitfalls in the building industry, and architects do not supply this. We can safely assume that most clients who choose architects do so because they have the time and money for a more complex process, and in order to get the bonus effect that potentially can provide, e.g., in the form of exclusiveness. An architect-designed house is now mainly customized. A typical example is Øystein Stray Spetalen’s house, designed by Niels Torp at Bygdøy. The cost of the site is reported to have been NOK 36 million, and the house is approximately 1000m2.
4 5 6
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Aldo van Eyck, “The Child, the City, and the Artist,” Writings. Vol. 1, (Amsterdam, 2009), p. 129. ”Enestående hendelser,” Håkon Vignæs interviewed by Harald Foss, in Jan Olav Jensen (ed.), 10 arkitekter intervjuet (Oslo: Pax, 2007), p. 72. “It may even happen that a single building stands out at the head of a sequence and takes on the role as a prototype. The Unité d’Habitation at Marseilles (1947–53) had something of this function in the field of collective housing. It was difficult to ignore for any later architect facing analogous tasks.” “The ideas of a prototype were transformed to meet various conditions (and) was repeated many times throughout the 1950s and 1960s.” William J. R. Curtis, Modern Architecture since 1900 (Phaidon, 1997), p. 437. Jarmund/Vigsnæs, A+U 12 (2004), p. 66. “Enestående hendelser,” p. 78. ”Resistance and Precision,” in Ingrid Helsing Almaas (ed.), Made in Norway, (Basel, 2010), p. 35. Markus Breitschmid, The Significance of the Idea in the Architecture of Valerio Olgiati, (Zürich: Niggli Verlag, 2008), p. 47. “In 1973, Zevi set out these ideas as a set of invariants-a sort of anti-classical codebook that attempted to define modernity as a language of asymmetry and dissonance, which he propagated via his magazine L’architettura, cronache e storia. “ Thomas Muirhead, ”Bruno Zevi,” The Guardian, 01.03.2000. Karl Otto Ellefsen, Lost in Nature (Oslo, 2007). This division lies implicitly in a number of important types of contract and is practiced to a great extent by the public sector. It has become a standard for most major projects. Furthermore, such a division is to a large extent a premise for the definition of areas of responsibility and roles in building assignments in the new planning and building act. Even though this division is a simplification, I feel it is justified to claim that there is a relatively high level of agreement about the basic features of such a definition of what one can call the ideal building process. This concept is found in the Norwegian planning and building act, and relates to solutions that are considered formally acceptable. On the whole, this has to do with a large amount of detailed solutions and main principles for designing projects. Zun Tzu describes the connection in a slightly different way in this quotation: “Military tactics are like unto water; for water in its natural course runs away from high places and hastens downwards... Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing. Therefore, just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions. He who can modify his tactics in relation to his opponent and thereby succeed in winning, may be called a heaven-born captain.” Zun Tzu, Art of War, c. 300 BC. The book exists in many versions. ”Enestående hendelser,” p. 71. Serendipity: 1) the faculty of making happy and unexpected discoveries by accident; 2) the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely (Wikipedia). In architecture one could say it is the ability to take advantage of happenings outside of your control. “A philosopher once said that what distinguishes the most proficient bee from the worst builder is that the house is built in the head before it is built in reality.” Espen Søbye, “Realitetsvegring,” Prosa 6/09, p. 43. Aldo van Eyck, op.cit., p. 155. Wilfried Wang (ed.), Alvaro Siza: Figures and Configurations: Buildings and Projects 1986– 88 (New York,1988). Gigon & Guyer, among others, have stated in lectures that they wish to limit their action radius for professional reasons. ”Enestående hendelser,” p. 68. Peter Zumthor, Thinking Architecture (Basel: Birkhauser, 2006), p. 18.
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Right Walking north-east across the site. Next spread Photographs taken by former owners of the neigboring building.
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This page Sketches. Left Sketches. Next spreads Balsa models showing plans and facade. 53
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DOOR
FLOOR
CABINET
S0570-G90Y
S0505-Y
S2570-Y50R
This page, lower part Color codes used for the house. This page, above Kitchen facing the dining and entrance area. Left Kitchen. Page 74 Work area in kitchen. Page 75 Wall facing south. Page 76 Upper level living room, looking down to lower living room. Page 77 Lower living room. Page 78–79 Panoramic view of upper living room. 73
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This page One of the upper level bedrooms, looking west out the bedroom window. Left From the entrance, looking north. Page 90–91 From Farm House, looking towards the structure that will be the garage. Page 92–93 From the entrance, facing west, towards the upper floor. Page 96–97 Facing east, kitchen table with kitchen work area in the background. 95
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This page Garage from the entrance side. Right The door to the garage. Old and new constructions and materials together. Page 104 Side of garage, Farm House in the background. Page 105 Front construction detail of garage. Page 106 Drainage system detail. Page 107 Three materials meet. 102
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This page Difference in coloring throughout the wooden panels. Right View from house towards garage. Page 110–111 Backyard of site. 108
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PROSJEKT 216.04 FARM HOUSE DETALJPROSJEKT
SIDE1 AV 2
HOVEDTEGNINGER LISTE NR.
01
TEGN.NR./TITTEL
MÅL
DATO
1:500
30.03.06
01 SITUASJONSKART A 01-01
SITUASJONSKART
02 PLANTEGNINGER A 02-01 A 02-02 A 03-11
PLAN U. ETG. PLAN 1.ETG. / 2.ETG. GARASJE PLAN
1:50
1:50 1:100
07.08.07
30.03.06 11.06.09
03 SNITT-TEGNINGER A 03-01 A 03-02
A 03-03
A 03-04 A 03-05 A 03-06
AKSE 2 AKSE 3
1:50 1:50
AKSE 9
AKSE C AKSE H AKSE K
1:50
30.03.06 30.03.06
1:50 1:50 1:50
30.03.06 07.08.07 30.03.06
FASADE NORD FASADE ØST FASADE SYD FASADE VEST GARASJE OPPRISS
1:50 1:50 1:50 1:50 1:100
30.03.06 30.03.06 30.03.06 30.03.06 11.06.09
VER.DET.1_MURVEGG/DEKKE VER.DET.2_SOKKEL U.ETG
1:5
VER.DET.3_SOKKEL AKSE 9 VER.DET.4_GES./VINDUSINNG VER.DET.5_TAKUTSTIKK HOR.DET.1_PANELHJØRNER HOR.DET.2_DET. FOR V4 OG V7 HOR.DET.3_TERRASSEDØR HOR.DET.4_VINDUSINNSETTING GARASJE DETALJER_PORTROM GARASJE DETALJER_SNITT GARASJE DETALJER_VINDUSINSETTING GARASJE DETALJER_HJØRNE
1:5 1:5 1:5 1:5 1:5 1:5 1:5 1:5 1:5 1:5 1:5
30.03.06
04 FASADE-TEGNINGER A 04-01 A 04-02 A 04-03 A 04-04 A 05-11
05 DETALJER A 05-01
A 05-02
A 05-03 A 05-04 A 05-05 A 05-11 A 05-12 A 05-13 A 05-14 A 05-21 A 05-22 A 05-23 A 05-24
JARMUND
/
VIGSNÆS
A.S.
1:5
30.03.06
30.03.06
30.03.06 30.03.06 30.03.06 30.03.06 30.03.06 30.03.06 30.03.06 11.06.09 11.06.09 11.06.09 11.06.09
ARKITEKTER
M. N. A. L.
HAUSMANNSGATE 6, 0186 OSLO, NORWAY P: +47 22 99 43 43 F: +47 22 99 43 53 E-POST: JVA@JVA.NO
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PROSJEKT 216.04 FARM HOUSE DETALJPROSJEKT
SIDE2 AV 2
HOVEDTEGNINGER LISTE NR.
01
TEGN. NR./TITTEL
MÅL
DATO
1:50 1:50 1:20 1:20 1:20 1:20 1:20 1:20 1:20 1:25 1:25
07.08.08 07.08.08 07.08.08 07.08.08 14.08.08 14.08.08 14.08.08 14.08.08 07.08.08 07.08.08 07.08.08
06 SKJEMATEGNINGER A 06-11 A 06-12 A 06-21 A 06-22 A 06-23 A 06-24 A 06-25 A 06-26 A 06-27 A 06-31 A 06-32
JARMUND
KJØKKEN INTERIØR GARD., WC, KJØK.ALKOVE GARDEROBE / SKAP 1 GARDEROBE / SKAP 2 GARDEROBE / SKAP 3A GARDEROBE / SKAP 3B GARDEROBE / SKAP 3C GARDEROBE / SKAP 3D GARDEROBE / SKAP 4 FLISSKJEMA_BAD 1 FLISSKJEMA_BAD 2
/
VIGSNÆS
A.S.
ARKITEKTER
M. N. A. L.
HAUSMANNSGATE 6, 0186 OSLO, NORWAY P: +47 22 99 43 43 F: +47 22 99 43 53 E-POST: JVA@JVA.NO
113
GJĂ˜VIK
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On the office
Office
JARMUND/VIGSNÆS AS ARCHITECTS MNAL
Contact info
Hausmannsgate 6, 0186 OSLO, NORWAY,
Tlf. +47 22 99 43 43, www.jva.no
Partners
Einar Jarmund, Håkon Vigsnæs, Alessandra Kosberg
Employees
Anders Granli, Anna Zeuthen Andersen, Claes Cho Heske Ekornås, Siv Hofsøy,
Nikolaj Zamecznik, Kazuhiko Yamada, Silje Kristin Noer Johansen CV office/partners
Einar Jarmund and Håkon Vigsnæs were both born in 1962 in Oslo. They graduated
from the Oslo School of Architecture in 1987 and 1989. Håkon Vigsnæs spent one
year at the Architectural Association (AA) in London and Einar Jarmund received
a Masters degree from the University of Washington in Seattle. Vigsnæs worked with
Sverre Fehn, while Jarmund taught and worked in Seattle. Both have been teaching
in Oslo and Bergen, and were visiting Professors at Washington University in St. Louis
in 2004 and at the University of Arizona, Tucson, in 2005.
Jarmund/Vigsnæs Architects was established in 1995. Currently, the office employs 9
architects. In 2004 a third partner, Alessandra Kosberg (b. 1967), was included. She
graduated from the Oslo School of Architecture in 1995, and started working with
JVA in 1997. Awards and prizes
12th International Architecture Biennale, Buenos Aires
Critics’ (CICA) International Architecture Award: Oslo international School
Statens Byggeskikkspris 2009
Nominert/Oslo International School
World Architecture Festival 2009
Nominert i kategorien House: Farm House
Nordnorsk Arkitekturpris 2009
Gimsøystraumen/ Ungdomshus Dønning
The Copper in architecture award 13 (2007). Highly Commended.
Svalbard Forskningspark / Svalbard Science Centre
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Mies van der Rohe Award 2007. Nominated.
Svalbard Forskningspark / Svalbard Science Centre
Record Houses Award for excellence in design 2004 / Architectural Record, USA
Villa på Røa / The Red House
Anton Christian Houens fonds Diplom 2003
Arkitekthøgskolen Oslo / Oslo School of Architecture
Blueprint Architecture Award 2002, finalist best refurbished public building
Arkitekthøgskolen Oslo / Oslo School of Architecture
AR Awards 2001, Highly Commended
Administrasjonsbygg for Sysselmannen på Svalbard / Administration building for
the governor of Svalbard
Major built works
Svalbard Science Center, Longyearbyen, 2005, Svalbard; Norway.
Client: Norwegian Directorate of Public Works
Oslo School of Architecture, 2001, Oslo; Norway.
Client: Norwegian Directorate of Public Works
Villa by the Ocean, 2004, Stavanger, Norway Norwegian Ministry of Defence, 2006, Oslo, Norway
Client: Norwegian Ministry of Defence
Triangle House, 2006, Nesodden, Norway.
Client: Heidi Gaupseth, Geir Kløver
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