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Robert A.M. Stern once remarked that every school of architecture should adopt a specific design philosophy, so that students would have something to rebel against.

It is in this spirit of apostasy that forum was created. Our objective is to produce a journal which challenges convention, fosters critical thinking, and provides a forum for the creative outlet of both student and professional disciples of architecture. To the best of my knowledge, there has never been a journal published by University of Texas at San Antonio students of architecture.

Perhaps this is because of the unfortunate policy which prevents the university from supporting a studentproduced publication.

In this inaugural edition of forum is an array of design projects and essays by both current and former students of the College of Architecture. We are also thrilled and honored to present articles from two of our distinguished faculty members: Edward R. Burian and Nikos A. Salingaros. Professor Burian's interview is a fascinating insight into the making of an architect, while Dr. Salingaros has generously contributed his remarkable paper in which he challenges the aesthetic value of a mathematical ratio which is well-known to architects.

We hope that you will find this journal informative, enlightening, and entertaining. We also hope that this first edition of forum will be the beginning of a long and notable tradition of journalistic excellence from the CoA. Michael Carroll, editor-in-chief forum.utsa@gmail.com

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Spring 2013 Volume 1 Number 1

Editor-in-chief Michael Carroll Managing Editor Leslie Book Creative Director Shane Tafares Associate Editor Marisol Overstreet Associate Editor Jason Trujillo Contributors Yolanda Allen Justin Bellot Edward R. Burian Christopher Caillier Matthew Carrell Aaron Denton Eric Leitner Nikos Salingaros Advisor Professor Robert Baron Associate Dean, College of Architecture

forum is a publication of Forum, a non-profit organization of students dedicated to fostering architectural discourse. forum is not sponsored, financed, or endorsed by UTSA, and the university assumes no responsibility for its content. In fact, they don’t even say hi to us in the halls.

All rights are reserved by copyright. No portion of this publication may be reproduced without the express written consent of the publisher.

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On Memory + Design Aaron Denton Ed R. Burian, Architect, an Interview Leslie Book Missed, The John Igo Library Yolanda Allen We are the Yeast Leslie Book Riverwalk Market Matthew Carell Revitalizing the Youth of West Side San Antonio Christopher Caillier Lakeside Condominiums: A Study of Vertical Urban Integration Erik Leitner Applications of the Golden Mean to Architecture Nikos Salingaros The Urbino Study Abroad Program: A Personal Perspective Justin Bellot On Richard Rogers' Cities for a Small Planet Jason M. Trujillo A Critical Analysis of Nikolaus Pevsner's Theory of the Origin of the Modern Movement Michael Carroll

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On Memory and Design Aaron Denton

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The brain is a network of sensory memories called neurons, connected pathways for tiny electrical sparks called synapses. Knowledge is a connection between two groups of neurons, two bits of information that are associated with each other. Once the synapse has been fired for the first time, it is far easier to fire again. And it gets easier each time. For example, we can no longer tell the difference between the sound of the spoken word “chair” and the memories of sensations that make up our idea of chair. Muscle memories of sitting down, memories of sitting around a dinner table with family, visions of kings on thrones, villagers on stumps.

These neurons are the imprints of sensory experiences, and can only be created by the senses registering the world. New experience literally imprints itself onto our minds, while repeated experience fires across networks of known neurons.

Ingrained habits are often called training. They begin with the accumulation of new sensory memories, and these new sensory imprints are systematically connected through repetition.

A new idea is synapse that has never been fired, a newly minted connection between previously existing networks of memories. This is far more difficult than firing known synapses. Creating original connections is easier when your brain is untrained: with very few habits of association in a particular subject, new and unique connections are unavoidable. Thus, a creative process requires a wild firing of random synapses, the necessarily reckless association of things never before connected. Only this can generate the new.

To counter the difficulty, a creative process typically introduces a heretofore unrelated network of neurons, bringing it into collision with the necessary one. E.g., thinking about the concept “folding” in order to design a building links the network of neurons concerning architecture with those concerning paper, hands, laundry. This combination of two neural networks (previously unconnected) generates new synapses, but not new neurons.

Of course, this practice is by no means necessary for creating buildings. The Beaux-Arts practice of composition arranged known architectural elements in customary ways to create new buildings, but these habits led to the stagnation and style wars of the

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late 19th century. This in turn, caused the revolution we know as Modernism. The early Modernists were students of the Ecole that realized the need for newness, and introduced it by combining their neural networks concerning architecture with new sensory networks: those regarding machinery, hand crafts, cubism, futurism, mathematics.

Any discipline is built upon a mountain of tradition, tradition being a neural network linking ideas, habits, influences. The tradition is contained in the memories of the practitioners who yet live, and in the physical evidence of their work. That tradition must be constantly retaught to new generations, and pieces of that network are constantly falling out of common knowledge, drifting to the edge of importance.

Meanwhile, new pieces are added by the newcomers in their early training, when new synapses are fired at random before accepted habits can be fully ingrained.

All disciplines go through periods of conservatism, where the great majority accepts the known canon and is content to make small adjustments to it, and liberalism, where the invention of the new is praised above all else. Disciplines of necessary usefulness, like architecture, require the balance of both. An avantgarde [front guard] must be constantly pushing the boundaries of the new, and an arriere-garde [rearguard] must be constantly looking back, searching for valuable things that have been inadvertently lost.

Architectural education, such as I have seen it, focuses on teaching the process of generating the new. “Teaching design,� they call it, when what they really mean is teaching creative process, the activity of creating new neural links. Yet, architectural projects are only concerned with this strain of avant-gardism at elite levels. The majority of us will be tasked with building reliable buildings based on wellaccepted methods, the weight of tradition bearing down on the uncertainty of so much money spent.

This way of education is a hold-over from Modernism, where the belief that examining a problem logically would lead inevitably to a perfect solution. We have long since given up this illusion, understanding that our relationship with architecture is not confined to our logical needs. The relics of these off-cast beliefs blind us from complex and manifold truths.

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Primarily, architecture is a formal language* that must be learned, not discovered. This formal language contains the relationships to human experience, habits, and rituals that are contained within those forms. Further, the ideas that propel change in architecture are often unrelated to the character of its physical reality. As a formal language, its connection to a discourse of theory is coincidental, at best.

To be in possession of this language means being in possession of its history. In music, art, and literature we call these possessions “influences.� The quality of these influences is the prime determining factor in the quality of your work, not your ability to seek the problem of any particular design. Still, architectural education does not seek to impart these cherished possessions upon students, and in fact, the vast majority of them are unaware of any need for them.

Design is always a conversation with the past, a process of accessing familiar neural networks to solve new problems. The more acquainted we are with that past, the more eloquent our conversation.

*language of form, not language dressed in a tux.

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Ed Burian, Architect, an Interview Leslie Book

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During my first year of graduate school at UTSA, I was working late in the studio one evening struggling over a wall section when Professor Edward Burian, whom I had not yet met, walked into the studio. He happily asked me what I was up to, though I was not his student and he didn’t know me from Eve, and gave me advice on my detail. I was aware that he must have practiced as an architect because of his keen knowledge of construction, yet I felt he exuded an innate desire to teach. The following year I enrolled in Professor Burian’s Mexican architectural history course, in addition to engaging his tutelage as my Master’s Project studio professor. It is clear that he is truly devoted to his work as an architectural theorist, historian, designer, and professor, as is evidenced in his writings on Mexican architecture and the quality of work that his students continue to produce.

Recently I had the privilege to ask Professor Burian a few questions about his background as a student, architect, and educator, and to discuss his book Modernity and the Architecture of Mexico as well as his upcoming treatise on the architecture of northern Mexico.

LB: Please introduce yourself. Most UTSA students know who you are, but tell us how you got involved in architecture. What made you decide to be an architect?

What is your academic background?

EB: I grew up in an ethnic, working class family in Southern California. My father was an immigrant from Prague, Czechoslovakia and came to the United States just after World War II when the Russian Communists had taken over Czechoslovakia. He left, came out to Los Angeles, met my mother who was from a GermanAmerican family, and that’s how I got to be here in the world. The Russians confiscated everything that my family owned in Czechoslovakia, but they were able to send a few things to my family in Los Angeles. So I think I had a great upbringing because I grew up in in a working class family and developed a strong work ethic, 11

but I also grew up in a house with a number of 18 th and 19th century antiques. So there was always an interest in history, geography, and culture. I think those things, although I didn’t realize it at the time, made a huge influence on me. My father was a structural and civil engineer, and from an early age, he sometimes would take us on Saturdays out to construction sites. When I was a little kid, I recall playing in the piles of gravel on the site.

Because we were a working class family, we always built things. We made a lot of our toys, which I don’t think children do very much nowadays. We built “hot rods” out of scrap wood which we rode down hills—there was also a swamp down the street – so we built rafts also from scrap wood. We just made things, which I think was also a big influence on me.

There was a simultaneous interest in history in general, but because I grew up 2 miles from the beach, also an interest in physical things including sports, exercise, and physical fitness, so I think those things shaped my views as an architect. This influenced my own interests as an architect—my interests in the issues of human body and sensory experience, place, and materials. I also think the sense of infinite extension of space at the edge of the ocean led to my interest to build in the deserts of the American Southwest.

There are very few Anglo Saxon place names in Southern California; most are Hispanic place names; and because my family are Catholics, I generally have an interest in history, and also Mexican and Latin American culture. We used to go and see the missions of Southern California on family car trips on the weekends. I also grew up among Mexican-American families. I used to play baseball with a kid down the street named Louie Espinoza, and one of my best friends from high school was Rudi García.

In terms of when I actually thought about becoming an architect that was probably when I was filling out the 12

application to go to college. You had to check off something and I thought, “this seems like a good fit,” so I checked off architecture and I think it was a fortuitous choice. I had a State of California scholarship and so I was able to attend the University of Southern California in Los Angeles and that was a real gift. It was a really exciting time.

But at any rate, I think growing up in Southern California and being at USC was interesting at that time because there’s a Spanish colonial tradition, a rich tradition of 19 th century architecture, and a very rich tradition of modern architecture—people like Frank Lloyd Wright, Richard Neutra, R.M. Schindler, Craig Ellwood, and Pierre Koenig, who was also my teacher and who I also later worked for. And then when I was a student at USC there were people that were just emerging as architects at that time, including Frank Gehry and Morphosis, and it was interesting being in the middle of that. James Stirling, Ken Frampton, Bernard Tschumi, and other people were coming to the school as well—it was a really fantastic time. Thom Mayne was a student at the school several classes in front of me.

I think the other thing about LA that made a big impact on me was that there’s always a sense of optimism. As Jack Kerouac wrote, you’re at the edge of the ocean; the continent ends, and so there’s this sense of looking to the future and limitless possibilities. It’s the utopian sense of Los Angeles, and I later I realized how fortunate I was to grow up there. LA is really a world class city for architecture and also art, film, music, and the performing arts. You know, it really is at the cutting edge in that sense.

Some of the main reasons I chose Yale graduate school were the ability to pursue a self-directed agenda, the general openness of the place in terms of ideas, and the opportunity to study with a number of important Latin American scholars in the Art History Department across the street including George Kubler and Mary Ellen Miller.

The faculty at the School of Architecture included Alan 13

Plattus, Tom Beeby, George Ranalli, Pat Pinnell, Vincent Scully, and Francesco Dal Co who influenced my thinking. The people that passed through the school that made a big impact on me included Alberto PérezGómez, Peter Eisenman, Rem Koolhaas, and Zaha Hadid, among others. The exposure to quality during those years also included the rich resources of Yale’s museums and libraries, which was a real gift. Lectures on campus included important Mexican intellectuals such as Carlos Fuentes and the Mexican economist Jamie Serra, among others.

LB: It’s interesting how a lot of what surrounded you when you were a child has influenced you, even your interest in Mexican architecture, though you yourself don’t necessarily have a Mexican background. The influence of your environment and the place that you were in impacted your interests and you carry that idea into your teaching.

EB: It’s sort of like three or four things came together: growing up as an ethnic Catholic in a working class neighborhood, making things, and a basic interest in history and place. You know, I think you have to ask questions about, well, where did I come from? I didn’t come from Manchester or North Hampton; I came from Los Angeles, Santa Monica, and Santa Barbara. The street that cut through the city is called La Tijera, which means “the scissor,” as the street cuts diagonally through the city. You’re also immersed in things such as Mexican and Spanish riders in the Rose Parade on New Year’s Day in Southern California. The question of, “where did this place come from?” was initially part of my interest in Mexico, certainly.

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LB: So many students know you as a professor but probably only a few students know you as a writer.

Explain a little bit about the book you have published and also about your upcoming book.

EB: The first book I published “Modernity and the Architecture of Mexico.” was translated into Spanish as “Modernidad y arquitectura en México.” I think what was exciting about that was reexamining an undervalued aspect of architectural culture, as I have always been fascinated with things that were undervalued. I think we have quite a few books on Michelangelo, but not nearly enough books on 19th century or Art Deco architects in Mexico, or Latin American architecture for that matter. I think this sense of always being interested in what’s undervalued, that was the starting out point for that book. It’s a book that explores Mexican architecture from the end of the Revolution in 1918 to the Olympic Games in 1968, an area that was really ignored. I wrote the introduction and an essay for the book, did an interview with Alberto Pérez-Gómez, who’s an incredibly smart man and then I also edited the book. I asked a 15

number of important scholars to contribute essays; including William Curtis—I think he wrote the history text that’s used in the standard Modern Architecture course here at UTSA. So again, I think it was a chance to really look at a body of work that’s been undervalued, and then not just look at it in terms of names and dates, but examine what are the underlying ideas and issues such as national identity, technology, the dichotomy of being modern and national simultaneously, among others. I think those are issues that are not only endemic to Mexico but I think many other Post-Colonial countries around the world.

My current book was born again out of the idea of looking at what’s been particularly undervalued or ignored, and bringing that to the surface. This book deals with architecture in Northern Mexico from Independence in 1821 all the way to the present. So it is very ambitious and looks at architecture in Tamaulipas, Nuevo León, Chihuahua, Coahuila, Durango, Sonora, Sinaloa, and Baja California. One of my teachers in graduate school, Vincent Scully, once said that, “the past is always ready to detonate.” I think that’s a very interesting idea. Again, there’s really very little that has been written in Spanish or English, so it’s a very widereaching and very ambitious book. I’m really thrilled to have finally submitted it to press and it is currently being reviewed by external reviewers.

LB: As we talked about, being in a particular place really has an influence on what we are interested in and how we approach our academic endeavors. I know, at least for me, I had never spent time in San Antonio before I came to UTSA, and I’ve already learned so much about the history and culture. Is that part of the reason why you came to San Antonio—because of your interests in architecture and history? How does that relate?

EB: Absolutely. It’s a city that has a very rich culture and I’ve always had a vision for San Antonio as a gateway to Latin America, which I think is its destiny, in a 16

sense. When I came here I hoped I could spend perhaps one weekend a month in Monterrey, NL. Now, I usually make three trips a year to Mexico, including Mexico City and the Yucatan. When I was writing and researching my current book, I ignored Mexico City for about five years and really traveled intensely in the north and visited every large, midsized, or important city architecturally in Northern Mexico over a five year period. It was a really fantastic experience, and I’m really glad I did that research for my book on Northern Mexico when I could.

LB: I know in the courses that you’ve taught me, you’ve stressed how important it is to study history but you’re also very clear about how we can understand “big ideas” and incorporate them into our work as architects. Why is it important for students to study architectural history, and how can they use it as they move on with their design studios and later into their profession, especially studying in cities with a rich culture such as San Antonio?

EB: Well, I think that’s a great question and I think it’s really an important one to dwell on. I could spend some time on it, probably a long time. Let me just try to be brief here.

I think the things that I try to teach and communicate in my architectural history classes are primarily architectural ideas. I think very strongly that if there are no ideas, then there is no architecture. For example, if there are not explorations of ideas—I call these the “eternal ideas in architecture”—and it doesn’t matter whether you’re dealing with ancient Greek architecture, or Mayan architecture, or 19th century architecture, or Art Deco architecture, or Contemporary architecture---then you are dealing with uncritical construction. The issues remain the same across time: Are there ideas about culture; are there ideas about program; are there ideas about society; are there ideas about technology, craft, or materials? What are the things that drive the building, the basic conceptual idea? How is the site and 17

landscape organized; how do you enter the building; what’s the sequence of how you move through the building; what’s the relationship of exterior space and interior space; how does light come into the building; what’s the spatial sequence as you go through the building? Those are the big questions, among others, and while there are many, many different approaches, they are the same questions you could be asking across time. I think in terms of what you want to take from classes: I think names and dates and personal lives of architects, that’s really of secondary or tertiary importance. What’s really important are those questions about the issues this architect or work of architecture deals with; what are those basic organizational ideas and then what kind of experience is created. If you can understand that in every work of architecture you study in school and afterward, I think that will be extremely useful when you design buildings in school or the real world.

A very great modern architect in Mexico, Carlos Mijares Bracho, once said, “experience is the best judge.” It’s true, I think. I think it’s one thing to study buildings in a book or in a slide lecture, but actually to experience, to have the sensory experience of architecture, that’s really primary. But I think what drives architecture, again, are what are the ideas and how is it organized?

Understanding that as a set of ideas, and then being able to draw upon and reinterpret that leads to real invention as an architect. Like, how do you reinterpret pre-Columbian courtyard types, colonial courtyard types, 19th courtyard types, 20th century courtyard types? What are the materials that are used; and then how does one reinterpret those ideas in terms of contemporary materials, contemporary programs, contemporary social issues? And then, in the end, what kind of experience do you create? I think those are the big ideas that you should take from an architectural history course and the study of architectural history.

As you know, I always give out a list of reading for students to do and I think that’s very important. I think 18

that reading begins in school, and then it needs to continue all the way throughout your career. Continuing reading and experiencing great works of architecture, I think is an extremely important part of your professional development as an architect.

LB: Would you say, too, that students need to go and experience the cities themselves—maybe if they can go to Mexico, but even if it’s just in San Antonio—try to understand the spaces as they, themselves, are walking through the city or participating in a cultural event or other activity?

EB: Sure, and on every level—especially buildings that have existed for some time; how they’re wearing over time; how do these materials work, how a building works socially, etc.? One of the things that makes you really humble when you start practicing architecture and you start designing buildings and they get built is you actually see how they wear over time and how people use them.

You know, they are basic questions every architect deals with. How do you keep the weather out; how do you keep the building from staining; how does it become useful over time? Do people embrace it? Are they proud of the place? I think those are the kinds of things that every architect who designs real buildings engages and are absolutely vital.

I think the other thing that is so important for students to understand is the relationship of things drawn to things built, in terms of scale, in terms of site organization, in terms of what we discussed earlier and what you’re doing, Leslie, right now in your office—detailing—and how that detail will hold up twenty-five years from now, or five years from now, or even three weeks after it’s built.

And then we know that when there are budget cuts, what’s essential about the building are those ideas, and how does that remain when you have to make cuts.

How do you keep those ideas integral in terms of the building? I think that’s really key.

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LB: What advice do you have for somebody who has already graduated and started working in the real world, dealing with budgets and the business? How can they keep learning and keep up with studying architectural history and all these other things that help to influence their work?

EB: Well I think it’s a really critical question. I always say an architectural education is a third, a third, and a third. A third is school, a third is working professionally, and a third is reading and traveling. I think they’re all equally important. After you finish school you need to continue reading. I don’t know an architect who has a 20

serious practice that doesn’t have an architectural library. I think that may change a little bit; it may be in electronic form now, some of it…but most of the things that are important in our profession, in architectural culture, are still in books and probably will remain so for quite some time.

Oscar Niemeyer is, I think, 90 years old [actually 104 and still working]. They asked him, “What’s your advice to students?” He said, “Read.” You know, I think that when you “sign up” to study architecture, there should be a commitment to examine architectural culture and to actually understand it in a serious way, so I think it’s continuing to read is vital. As you develop your own agenda in architectural school, it’s not only just reading in architecture, but also reading in other subjects. I read a lot in history. I’m also interested now in medical issues and read things for laymen in terms of medicine. I’m interested in cultural criticism, all of those areas. I think it’s very important. Hopefully if you do have an architectural library, you begin to understand that you own those books for a short time and that you’re just caretakers for those books, and hopefully they make their way to an institution at some point.

LB: I’m glad to hear you say that because I love to read, but I know that architecture students now tend to be less likely to read, at least in my experience. But I think we all need to continue to pick up a book. Sometimes you have to put down your project and your design and read about something and get your brain thinking in a different way, understanding some other aspect or some other way of thinking.

EB: Someone once said that what we do as architects – we rest on the shoulders of other people that have preceded us. You know we talked about this before the interview: for example, if you’re making an industrial building in a rural landscape, you’re not the first person to do that. There’s always this sort of interesting tension between what you craft by hand on the site, and then how does the industrial building attach to it? Is it at the 21

level of parking, or at the level of site work, or at the level of how it touches the foundation, or any of those issues?

I think those are all interesting issues. But again, to be honest, I don’t know anyone that has a serious career in architecture that doesn’t have an architectural library.

Every serious architect, when I go visit their house or office, they have a library.

LB: Since you are a noted writer on the modern and contemporary architecture of Mexico and the region, do you have advice for students who, while they are carrying on with their architectural careers, want to get more involved with writing and publishing and are interested in staying somewhat on the academic side of things, not just shifting totally to the business side? How can students get published or start to be a part of that community?

EB: I think the most important thing for students in writing about architecture is to approach architecture in terms of ideas: what are the main issues you’re trying to discuss? Are you merely asking straightforward questions such as what and when, or are you going to ask why, how, and what does this mean, or what is this significance, or how have other people dealt with this issue and how does this fit in to some larger discourse about that issue in architectural culture? It’s what I call the “critical tools you have in your tool box.” That’s probably the most important thing—not necessarily being an expert, for example, on rural buildings in Texas —that’s really just the “what”—it’s how have people thought about building in the landscape over time and how does this work fit in to that discourse? Then, of course, you need to know about specific contemporary discourses over the last twenty years or so. I think asking those big questions and having the critical tools to approach that are crucial.

Mike Stoops, now defensive coordinator the University of Oklahoma, said half of playing defense in college football was “want to.” I think it’s the same in writing, you simply want to. As you know, I think of myself as a 22

practicing architect who also teaches. So I know when you’re working in an office there are real constraints in terms of time and focus, and you have to work long hours, and you have to be very efficient with your time – I’m aware of that. But I think the chance to step back and look at broader issues such as, what am I trying to do? why I am trying to do it and, what does it mean? – those are big questions of architectural theory.

The first few times you write, it’s very humbling. The editor will review your work and it’ll be marked up in red.

A student asked me the other day: “where did you learn to write?” I said, well, I really learned in graduate school.

I was a licensed architect before I went to graduate school, which is unusual, and so I was used to writing memos for project meetings and memos for job site visits with simple declarative sentences. It was a shock when I was in graduate school, and my papers literally ran red with ink. But that’s how I learned; that’s how I got better, and I think there are all kinds of opportunities to write.

LB: Yes. If you sit down and have to write then you are automatically critical of what you are trying to say and therefore, like you said, you have that extra “tool” whenever you sit down to design, because you are already thinking about these issues that are important instead of just cranking out one thing after the other without discussing it.

EB: Well, if I can be a little philosophical about it, I think it’s also part of my Catholic background to have a longer view of history and culture. We’re part of some long traditions in architecture, thousands of years old. There is also a whole tradition about people that wrote about and practiced architecture: Alberti, Palladio, Aldo Rossi, Denise Scott Brown and Bob Venturi, Peter Eisenman, Rem Koolhaas, and people in Mexico such as Mario Pani, Miguel Adría, Fernanda Canales among others.

You know, Peter Eisenman once provocatively stated 23

that nobody would care about Palladio except for the treatise he wrote. Although, some architects don’t write; Frank Gehry and Herzog and de Meuron don’t write very much. But there’s a whole tradition of people who reflected on what they were doing and then also practiced and I think I probably, consciously or unconsciously, I modeled myself on them. I always thought that that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do as an architect, to do both.

LB: I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.

EB: Well Leslie, regarding this publication: I think that what you’re doing is important. What are we, the seventh or eighth largest city in the United States here in San Antonio? While there is some limited writing on architecture in the local newspapers and in publications such as Texas Architect, there’s not enough discussion of architecture in terms of ideas that I know of in San Antonio beyond a few lectures, what is discussed in a few design studios, or the architectural theory seminar. I think that this is an important initiative for the architectural culture of the city and region and I hope it also reaches a larger audience in the humanities as well as people generally interested in architecture and urbanism.

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Edward R. Burian, a native of Los Angeles, California, is a practicing architect and a noted scholar on the architecture, urbanism, and material culture of Mexico and the American Southwest. His practice, writing, and teaching focus on the issues of place, sensory experience, and materials. Recently, he completed a sustainable recreation facility and residences in Tucson, AZ and in Los Angeles, CA. He wrote and edited, “Modernity and the Architecture of Mexico,” (University of Texas Press, 1997), translated into Spanish as, “Modernidad y arquitectura en México,” (Gustavo Gili, 1998). His essays have also appeared in a number of books including: “Reforma 27/Alberto Kalach,“ Arquine and Editorial RM, (2013), “Arquitech /Juan José Sánchez Aedo: Intersecciones (2010-2011),” Arquine + RM, (2012), “Landa García Landa Arquitectos, Monterrey, México,” Arquine + RM, (2006), “Cruelty and Utopia: Cities and Landscapes of Latin America,” (Princeton Architectural Press, (2005), and in periodicals including Perspecta: The Yale Architecture Journal, Praxis Journal, A+U, and Arquine, among others. His forthcoming book, “The Architecture and Cities of Northern Mexico: From Independence to Present,” documents and analyzes the undervalued architecture of Tamaulipas, Nuevo León, Chihuahua, Coahuila, Sonora, Sinaloa, Durango, and Baja California. He received his B.S. in Architecture from the University of Southern California in Los Angeles and his Masters of Architecture from Yale. During his academic career he has lectured widely in both the U.S. and Mexico, has taught in several schools of architecture in the American Southwest, and was a visiting professor at the ITESM Monterrey, NL. Currently, he is an Associate Professor at the University of Texas at San Antonio.

Images are of the Civano Recreation Center in Tucson, Arizona, designed by Edward R. Burian.

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Missed, the John Igo Library Yolanda Allen

13330 Kyle Seale Parkway, San Antonio, Texas Completed: December 2007 Architect: RVK Builder: F.A. Nunnelly Company Metal Building Fabricator: Ceco Building Systems Area: 19,000 SF

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Barns and books are a recipe for noticeable architecture in San Antonio. Throw in a sleek window wall façade, a heavy-duty metal building frame, and a touch of sustainability and you have RVK’s design for the San Antonio Public Library John Igo Branch on the northwest side. Opened in 2007, the library pays homage to the site’s history as a farming homestead owned by the namesake’s family. It won the 2008 “Mayor’s Choice” Design Award from AIA San Antonio and the 2009 “Green Building Award” from the City of San Antonio.

Namesake, John Igo, is a San Antonio native and graduate of Trinity University. He has taught at Trinity, St. Mary’s Hall, San Antonio College, and the University of the Incarnate Word, receiving a number of teaching awards. As a writer, he has published twelve books on poetry, many books of prose, and several plays, including “Our Children: the Next Generation,” which won an Emmy in 1985. He also has served as a drama critic and radio personality, has won numerous awards, and is a well-known San Antonio public figure.

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Heath Wenrich of RVK, designer of the John Igo Branch, intended to preserve much of the site’s natural landscape and provide essentially a “library in the park.” Those approaching the building have the impression of a rustic barn in a field, while readers seated inside next to the expanse of glass feel as though they are among the wildflowers. Both the exterior and interior expose the massive steel frame structure—modern industry’s pre-fabricated answer to the old wood barn—celebrating the functionalism of a metal building while adorning it in bright colors and carving some of the walls with glass.

The library faces south, maximizing daylight and taking advantage of the winter sun. The covered pathway at the entry leads to a central tower that mediates between the library and the community meeting rooms. This south to north axis continues past a covered exterior reading area to the park on the east side of the library. Gaps on either side of the canopies allow air to circulate.

Rising tall and spindly at the entry is a forty foot windmill designed by artist James Hetherington of San Antonio. Epitomizing the blending of the modern and rustic worlds, the sculpture is as useful as it is striking. It generates power to pump water into a channel that flows from the entry, under the central tower, along the reading area, and into a shallow water basin at the start of the park.

The channel is intended to provide evaporative cooling to the entry and exterior reading area.

The building is now nearly five years old. Has its salient red color stood the test of time? Does the windmill still pump smoothly, or has it already transformed into the quaint creaking wheels of old-world farms? If you stand beneath the canopy at the entry, can you really feel the wind move? We’ll let you be the judge.

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We are the Yeast Leslie Book

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When I was in undergrad for architecture in College Station, one of my professors told the class that San Antonio was the only large Texas city that was still really a city. The students from San Antonio (I was not one of them) all cheered. Pride emanated from their smiles. I remember thinking, really? I had been to San Antonio when I was little, and all I could remember were red and blue umbrellas by a wide snake of water, a squatty stone building with a funny curved parapet, and very bright colors.

Anyone familiar with San Antonio knows the importance of its history and distinct HispanicAmerican culture. The Alamo has become a city symbol; Fiesta is the most popular cultural tradition; bright colors perpetually adorn the streets; the population is over 60% Hispanic. But nearly every city in America likes to stake its claim on personal history and ethnicity (Houston is proud of the fact that it’s so ethnically diverse).

Its uniqueness is just like everyone else’s.

If you live here, perhaps the answer to the question: “What makes San Antonio so unique?” are just words that make you feel good: history, tradition, culture, Big City with a Small Town feel. Words that make you cheer when you go off to college and the professor says something nice about your home town. But for architects, designers, and architecture students like me, we need more than just words. We are an integral part of the design of the city. We are part of the think tank that makes the physical city happen. We can reject the essence of the city, or we can become part of it, but we must know what it is.

Studying design in any downtown makes that city a part of who we are as designers. You can’t ignore the experience of driving (or biking) through the streets that run past the site of your design project. You can’t separate yourself from the daily city politics and the theory behind your work. Living and breathing the same city air; walking to the same Hemisfair Park; experiencing the public pride of the very first UTSA football game tattoos an indelible mark on your creative flesh. And rightly so. We design not simply with scientific studies and academic theories, but with what we experience—the true way we know— and we design projects that happen right here.

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In San Antonio, designing here, is even more important than one may think. Every studio project I have been given in my three studios as a graduate student has been in San Antonio or the surrounding area. We’ve designed the College of Architecture into the old Mission Road CPS power plant; we’ve proposed a diabetes treatment facility for the University Health System; we’ve master-planned the redevelopment of Hemisfair Park. We’ve begun to peel away the layers of politics, business development, cultural pride, public policy, and the gritty stuff in between.

As we’ve studied, I’ve begun to realize how real these projects are. We’ve met a number of developers and city officials who are genuine stakeholders in the progress of our city. San Antonio, the seventh largest city in the nation, is still in the making. We, studying and practicing architecture in this historical city, are yet part of a city under transformation. Cities like New York and Chicago are complete cities; little planning is needed that will greatly impact their physical qualities. But San Antonio is unfinished.

With its SA 2020 plan, Hemisfair redevelopment plan, River North project, the new Tobin Performing Arts Center, Westside development, VIA transportation improvements, (and on and on,) San Antonio is still being designed. And we, as students at College of Architecture, are a part of that creation.

It’s hard to imagine how incredible that is. Once, years ago, an architect named Robert H. H. Hugman had an imaginative vision of transforming a drainage ditch into a lively linear park and shopping district. That eccentric (initially not well-received) idea became what Forbes ranked as the fourteenth most visited tourist destination in America—the Riverwalk. Of course, we can’t forget about Hemisfair, conceived by businessmen and city leaders, the crazy idea that put San Antonio on the map. One can argue about the conditions and methods of making these things happen, but someone made them happen, and architects were intimately involved.

A developer once told our class that the nice thing about developing in San Antonio is that we can wait for interesting things to happen somewhere else as a trial run before implementing them here. In other words, San Antonio is losing the race in urban innovation and development. Why? We have the SA2020 vision now!

We have leaders who will have big meetings and make

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decisions, and get things done, right? As far as I’m concerned, documents and meetings are just words, fluff to make us feel like we are solving problems.

Architecture is reality. Architecture is physical. We, as students of architecture must figure out what really makes San Antonio tick. What is the mechanism of the gears inside the clock? What energizes San Antonio? How do we actually, physically grow?

I was telling a San Antonio native friend of mine about a project we were working on in Hemisfair Park and what I knew about its history. She remarked, “Wow, you know more about San Antonio than I do, and you’re not from here.” My response: “I study architecture in the city; I have to know about San Antonio.” Understanding the city for an architect is like navigating the roads in your hometown.

To learn and practice architecture in this city is to understand about a place and a culture, a city of distinct traditions and a growing history. There is no other city like San Antonio. I’m not just saying that. To practice here has implications around the world, because here we deal with a thick community and ideas that run deep. We operate in a distinct place. But we also work with a community that is looking forward, aching for architects and students to boldly push their crazy ideas with an authentic understanding and experience of the city as the backbone of their visions.

Perhaps San Antonio is the only “real” Texas city because its strong identity has and will allow it to authentically mature. History and culture are the dough; we are the yeast. San Antonio is a city in the making, and we have the very real opportunity to be a part of that transformation.

We are the designers who live in this place; if someone is going to take action, it better be us.

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Riverwalk Market Matthew Carrell, M. Arch 2012.

2012 UTSA Dean’s Award Winner Introduction · Leslie Book

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A common question in the studio today is “How do we get more people to move downtown?” Many professors discuss the importance of a strong city core and encouraging people to live in places where they can walk to the grocery store, to the park, or to the pub. But the first step in revitalizing the downtown is to get people to move there.

In San Antonio, why not capitalize on its most celebrated asset—the Riverwalk? That’s exactly what Matthew Carrell did with his design for the Riverwalk Market. In his words: The San Antonio Riverwalk Market is a mixed-use commercial project that features an open-air farmer’s market, restaurants, and office space located at the corner of Commerce Street and Alamo Street.

The project is intended to serve as a catalyst and focal point for downtown residential growth by providing availability of fresh foods and goods. In addition to serving locals, San Antonio’s Riverwalk Market is designed to provide a unique cultural experience for the thousands of conventioneers and tourists who pass through what is already the busiest pedestrian intersection in downtown.

The upper levels of the market will provide 20,000 square feet of office space for the Downtown Chamber of Commerce to replace their current facility. The Market improves upon San Antonio’s urban fabric by enhancing the site’s street presence and creating accessible transition spaces to the Riverwalk below.

Blending tourist activity with residential life and city business, Carrell’s design provides a crossroads of cultural vitality for San Antonio.

Design for the intermingling of out-of-towners and residents? Who would have thought.

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Revitalizing the Youth of West side San Antonio Christopher Caillier, M. Arch 2011.

2011 UTSA Dean’s Award Runner Up Introduction · Leslie Book Can architecture strengthen communities? Improve child development and education? Christopher Callier explores that possibility with his Master’s Project, runner up for the Dean’s Award at UTSA in 2011. Working with a “real client,” Callier designed a new facility for Boys and Girls Clubs of San Antonio on the west side, combining classrooms with a dining hall, arts and crafts rooms, and a wide courtyard for play, transforming the educational and recreational building into a less of an institution and more of a home away from home—perhaps even the only real “home” for some children. As he mentions in his project description, The neighborhood around Woodlawn Lake in San Antonio’s near West side has been abandoned and disconnected from the rest of the city for many years.

This is a low income area, with a high number of single parent families, and an aging building fabric in need of repair. Youngsters’ educational development is stifled by low test scores and high drop-out rates. The existing Boys and Girls Club does little to alleviate these problems because it is in dire need of repair and continues to struggle with low membership due to its small size and inadequate amenities. However, the neighborhood offers promise; the elements needed vto boost the community’s youth are available but too dispersed and isolated to make a difference.

The new Boys and Girls Club will not only bring those

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assets together and help redevelop the community’s youth; it will also serve as a catalyst to improve the image and connectivity of the neighborhood.

The club will be sited to take advantage of recent improvements around Woodlawn Park including a city pool, Woodlawn Gym, and the redevelopment associated with the West-side Creeks project that tries to provide a pedestrian connection to downtown San Antonio. The club provides a safe haven to the neighborhood youth; and will also be inviting and an integral part of the neighborhood. By taking advantage of the existing assets, connecting the neighborhood and providing the catalyst for redevelopment the project aims to improve the area and nurture the boys and girls of the community.

Could this project actually be implemented?

According to the program director, enthusiasm over the possibilities of a new facility coupled with (free) student work and the ever-essential “pretty pictures” to awe potential patrons may be a spark to light the flame. The question for students is, of course, can the design affect the happenings? Can it speak to quality of life? Is the architecture that can do all these things—strengthen communities and help people grow—achievable on a budget and with public constraints? Only the future, and students who become professionals with a certain drive, will be able to answer.

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Lakeside Condominiums Erik Leitner 2011 UTSA Dean’s Award Winner Introduction · Leslie Book

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Anyone who has paid attention to the “architecture as ecosystem” argument, or Googled Ken Yeang’s work, or even glanced at one of Daniel Libeskind’s most famous images of his New York Tower will be familiar with the idea of the vertical city, complete with vertical park integration. Is it possible to provide all the amenities of life, including ecological systems, within the footprint of a city-block? How far can biointegration go? With interest in regaining the density of our downtowns while providing private space in conjunction with environmentally conscious efforts, Erik Leitner proposed Lakeside Condominiums as his Master’s Project, a vertical city blossoming with green. He writes: The city of Austin has a progressive demand for more downtown residences. Lakeside Condominiums help to accommodate this need while, more importantly, adding to the active and social culture by integrating parks into the building’s vertical extension. To retain residents, the design includes retail, restaurants, a grocery store, cinema, a fitness facility, a pool, and office space. Sited at the intersection of Shoal Creek and Townlake, the vertical greenscape is integrated counterclockwise and allows residents and citizens to climb the different green spaces whether to get to the next shop, their office, a restaurant, or workout facility, or simply to walk and enjoy the view from various exterior elevations. The continuation of green space and the different uses help to encourage social interaction even though there are separations of private and public. The building is also designed to address the continuation and connection to the Second Street Shopping District, making this a focal point. This project explores architectural systems integration typical in high rise design, but it also demonstrates the utilization of natural day lighting, rainwater collection and irrigation, native and drought tolerant plants, photovoltaics, and natural ventilation as downtown Austin progressively continues to be environmentally conscious.

It’s a tall order, but it’s a tall building. Our landscapes have already been invaded by our buildings. What if the landscape took over our structures?

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Applications of the Golden Mean to Architecture Nikos A. Salingaros, Ph.D.

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The Golden Mean, an irrational number related to the Fibonacci sequence, arises in the study of biological growth and hierarchical systems. Quite distinct from natural structures that exhibit such growth patterns, artists and architects have long made extraordinary assertions about a preference for rectangles having aspect ratio 1.618:1 approximating the Golden Mean.

Such claims are false and are chiefly due to failing to measure things accurately. These embarrassing errors are perpetuated by a kind of cult mysticism. The Golden Mean does apply to architectural composition in the context of scaling hierarchy that organizes complexity; this design methodology is unrelated however to a rectangle’s aspect ratio. Simply considering rectangular aspect ratios does not guarantee good design.

1. Introduction.

The architectural literature frequently mentions an irrational number called the Golden Mean. It is common to claim that the Golden Mean has influenced the shape of countless important buildings throughout history, and that it is somehow responsible for any “balance” and “harmony” that they possess. Supposedly, a rectangle with aspect ratio satisfying the Golden Mean has special, almost magical, properties. Even though there are numerous instances of the Golden Mean arising in natural systems (in growth patterns, not in rectangles), it is problematic to find unambiguous examples of Golden Mean rectangles in man-made structures (Livio, 2003).

This is surprising, considering the vigorous claims made by so many authors convinced otherwise.

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The Golden Mean does indeed arise in architectural design, as a method for ensuring that a structure possesses a natural and balanced hierarchy of scales. In this practical application, the Golden Mean plays the same — experimentally verified — role found in a wide variety of structures in nature that exhibit hierarchical scaling. Nevertheless, this result has nothing to do with a rectangle’s aspect ratio, which is the only topic the majority of proponents of the Golden Mean in architecture want to focus on.

Two experimental results by George Markowsky in fact disprove the main claim for Golden Mean rectangles. It turns out that: 1. People do not prefer a rectangle with aspect ratio the Golden Mean to other rectangles; and 2. People cannot even identify a Golden Mean rectangle when it is placed amongst other rectangles! (Markowsky, 1992).

The present paper reviews three paradigmatic case studies where Golden Mean rectangles allegedly apply in architecture: (i) The Parthenon in Athens; (ii) the Villa Stein/Garches by Le Corbusier outside Paris; and (iii) the United Nations Building in New York City. None of these is an example of the Golden Mean in the way usually claimed, a result that was already anticipated by Christopher Alexander (Alexander, 1959) and Rudolf Wittkower (Wittkower, 1960). Marco Frascari and Livio Volpi-Ghirardini reject the claimed applications of Golden Mean rectangles to architecture because proponents never measured the buildings in question (Frascari & Volpi-Ghirardini, 1998).

So, why do architects continue to uphold historic misconceptions about the Golden Mean? The reason is that people will believe myths while remaining oblivious to both mathematical proof and scientific experiments.

Moreover, this problem is not confined to a small group of Golden Mean enthusiasts looking for arcane mathematical relationships in historical buildings. It surfaces, for example, in major contemporary projects that try to use the Golden Mean as one of their selling points. This tactic, however, has nothing to do with either Mathematics or the Golden Mean, but is instead 58

symptomatic of a separation of architecture from science, and an intellectually dishonest approach to the discipline by practitioners eager for commissions.

Alexander and other researchers, including myself, are investing considerable effort to determine ways of enhancing the quality of life through informational nourishment from our surroundings (Alexander, 2010; Salingaros, 1997; 1998; 2010). We would like to apply universal mechanisms responsible for positive effects in architecture. Ever since the beginnings of civilization, people have modeled natural complexity in order to understand the basis of beauty. Mixing religion, science, and art gave birth to early scientific and artistic advances. This project was derailed however, after natural complexity as our inspiration was replaced by an abstracted simplicity. Symptomatic of this loss is a focus on an inessential detail, such as the Golden Mean rectangle, which is then used to replace natural complexity.

2. The Golden Mean and the Fibonacci sequence.

What is called the Golden Mean (or Golden Ratio) is an irrational number approximately equal to 1.618 and usually denoted Ď• (the Greek letter Phi). This number arises as the solution to the problem of subdividing a rectangle into a square x2 and a remaining, smaller rectangle that is similar to (i.e. has the same aspect ratio as) the original large rectangle (Figure 1).

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Figure 1. A Golden Mean rectangle in which the piece “left over” after defining a square has the same aspect ratio as the original rectangle.

The geometrical problem is described by the relation ( x + 1 )/x = x , leading to the equation: x2 = x + 1 (1) Equation (1) has the positive exact solution x = ϕ = (1 + √5)/2, which is the Golden Mean. The presence of a square root of a number that is not a perfect square makes this number irrational.

There is a link between the Golden Mean and the Fibonacci sequence. Consider the sequence of positive integers { an } defined by the recursion relation an+2 = an+1 + an , with a1 = a2 = 1, giving: { 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377, ... } (2) This sequence is the simplest way to describe growth by adding two numbers to obtain the next one. Starting 60

from 1 and 1 generates the entire sequence.

One can obtain rational approximations of the Golden Mean ϕ with ever increasing accuracy from the ratios of consecutive numbers in the Fibonacci sequence Equation (2), for example 8/5, 13/8, 21/13, etc. This result is due to the great astronomer Johannes Kepler (Livio, 2003: p. 152). Listing some of these ratios gives the following approximations: { … 8/5 = 1.60, 13/8 = 1.625, 21/13 ≈ 1.615 … } Therefore, the ratio of successive terms in the Fibonacci sequence Equation (2) tends to the Golden Mean ϕ in the limit: an+1 / an —> ϕ = 1.6180339887...

3. Hierarchical subdivisions and scaling.

Any serious theory of architectural design ought to describe hierarchical subdivisions, scaling, and the relationship among distinct scales. I propose that a building should have well-defined subdivisions at dimensions that correspond to powers of e , Euler’s constant (or the base of natural logarithms), equal to 2.7182818284… (Salingaros, 1998; 2010). The design method uses the largest dimension L of the structure, making sure that substructures exist very roughly at L/e , L/e2 , L/e3 , etc. all the way down to the size of the granulation in the materials themselves (see Figure 2, below). The dimension (size) of components at each of these levels of scale is approximate; what is crucial is that no level of the hierarchy should be missing.

Design is linked mathematically with natural growth through hierarchical subdivisions at distinct scales, which is found in a majority of natural structures. There is furthermore a regular geometrical relation among different scales of substructure, and in many cases, the scales are related by a single scaling factor. This theory is based on systematic observations and measurements

by Christopher Alexander, who found that scaling factors of around 3 (with an extended range roughly between 2 61

and 5) tend both to predominate in nature, and to be preferred by human observers (Alexander, 2001).

A crucial lesson that comes from understanding natural structure is to realize that scales in a natural hierarchy are skewed towards the smallest sizes.

Natural growth begins at the infinitesimal scale and develops through an ordered hierarchy up to the largest size. The spacing of different scales is therefore not uniform. There are proportionately more small levels of scale than large scales (Alexander, 2001; Salingaros, 1998; 2010), something that is not obvious from discussions about the size of the scales themselves. I will explain this later.

If one wants to recast this scaling theory as a sequence of integer factors so as to compare it to the Fibonacci sequence Equation (2), then successive powers of e can be rounded out to: { 1, 3, 7, 20, 55, 148, 403, 1097, ... } (3) This sequence makes more accurate an old prescription sometimes used in traditional design: “subdivide everything by three� (Figure 2). Of course, all that a designer needs is to repeatedly divide by e ≈ 2.718, and most pocket calculators

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Figure 2. Components of a complex structure have sizes 1, 3, 7, etc. that follow from the integers which round off the exponential sequence. have e built in. The numbers in the sequence (3) have no intrinsic importance: they simply approximate an exponential sequence of scales by integers for the purpose of comparing with Equation (4), below.

To clarify the point about scales being distributed more towards the smaller end of the spectrum, let’s generate a set of measures as a guide for some design project, beginning from the smallest perceivable detail at, say, 0.5 mm. Multiplying repeatedly by the scaling factor e gives the following example sizes, where the numbers are rounded off: { 0.5 mm, 1 mm, 4 mm, 10 mm, 3 cm, 7 cm, 20 cm, 55 cm, 1.5 m, 4 m, 11 m } In actual design, the brief and human dimensions fix the larger scales, then the smaller scales are computed from those: here we worked in the opposite direction — from small to large — in order to illustrate the theory.

These measurements may be useful or not depending upon whether the larger sizes correspond closely to what a particular design requires. Note that in a structure of 11 m size, there are eight scales smaller than, and only three scales larger than 1 m. This is a key to understanding the enormous discrepancy between traditional and modernist design (Alexander, 2001; Salingaros, 1998; 2010).

The sequence of integer approximations to the powers of e in Equation (3) compares very roughly to alternate terms of the Fibonacci sequence Equation (2).

That means that the even terms of the Fibonacci sequence Equation (2) could, if desired, be used for the theory of design based upon a scaling hierarchy (Alexander, 2001; Salingaros, 1998; 2010): { 1, 3, 8, 21, 55, 144, 377, 987, ... } (4)

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The numbers in Equation (4) can be generated as a sequence { bn } with recurrence relation bn+2 = 3bn+1 – bn , b1 = 1, b2 = 3. In the limit, ratios of consecutive terms of Equation (4) tend to a number ψ = 2.6180339887… (the Greek letter Psi), which is the positive solution of the equation x2 = 3x – 1. This number ψ is related to the Golden Mean as ψ = ϕ2 = ϕ + 1 ≈ 2.618, and notice that ψ is within 4% of the value of e . All of this discussion attempts to make more useful Alexander’s original findings of scaling by a factor anywhere from 2 to 5 (Alexander, 2001).

Design can thus be guided by knowing a sequence of sizes that should be defined very approximately by the tectonics of the structure itself. Where structural members don’t provide a required scale, the architect creates ornament. This is a key point. To the best of my knowledge, architects have never consciously implemented this tool (other than sometimes applying the “rule of 3”), yet we universally find built examples with such subdivisions. What probably happened is that builders throughout history simply created subdivisions that “felt right” because those mimicked natural forms.

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Figure 3. One could equally well use nested Golden Mean rectangles to generate the alternate Fibonacci numbers, which then define the sizes in a natural scaling hierarchy.

Golden Mean enthusiasts will find much in common here with the proposed design theory, as can be seen from the nested rectangles shown in Figure 3. This diagram illustrates two important features. First, it generates a hierarchy of scales — not ratios of sides — that can then be used to approximately regulate a structure’s subdivisions. The second point is to recognize fractal scaling, where similar components (four rectangles in this simplified case, but in practice any shape at all) repeat at different magnification.

Scaling similarity is the main characteristic of all fractals, and can be found in many of the world’s most beloved historical buildings (Alexander, 2001; Salingaros, 1998; 2010).

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The relative lengths in Figure 3 correspond to the numbers in Equation (4). Why do we want to use only every other term of the Fibonacci sequence? The reason is that we wish to measure and compare the size of design components using a scaling ratio, and not compare sides of a rectangle that define an aspect ratio.

To summarize: the Golden Mean ϕ is useful in human creations in the same way it is found to occur in nature, where it related to the hierarchical scaling that is a consequence of organic growth. Any design that is meant to appeal to human users in the same mathematical sense as complex structures ought to exhibit a natural hierarchy of scales, and those can be generated by either an exponential or a Fibonacci sequence. A scaling theory provides a checklist of component sizes that together define a complete, natural scaling hierarchy. Scaling is the key feature in a proportional system: the ratio between consecutive sizes tends to ψ = ϕ + 1, and is not the same as the ratio of sides ϕ .

The design method just described assumes that built structures will be approximate, and thus allows for a wide tolerance and considerable deviations from the numbers given above. Thus, in real-world design, one creates an approximate hierarchy of different scales in trying to mimic natural growth as best as possible: not through precision, but through hierarchical complexity.

The simplistic application of Golden Mean rectangles that I’m now going to criticize, on the other hand, is based on the irrational property of the number ϕ. With minimalist rectangles, therefore, the imagined effect depends entirely upon an unrealistic degree of accuracy that is impossible to achieve in practice.

4. Aesthetic response to a Golden Mean rectangle.

The widely-circulated claim that a rectangle with aspect ratio ϕ gives maximum visual and aesthetic 66

pleasure to an observer is false. While the idea of optimizing our positive psychological response from a design is sound, here we find a serious disagreement with experiment. Surveys carried out by George Markowsky revealed that people most commonly select a rectangle with aspect ratio 1.83:1 out of 48 rectangles with aspect ratios ranging from 1:1 (square) to 2.50:1 (Markowsky, 1992).

Even this result is further complicated, however, by psychological experiments performed by Michael Godkewitsch, who found that subjects tend to prefer the average of the sample presented to them, regardless of the actual aspect ratios (Godkewitsch, 1974). Thus, it may be possible to obtain any result desired as long as one chooses the range of different rectangles in the experiment. Godkewitsch concludes, therefore, with: “The basic question whether there is or is not, in the Western world, a reliable verbally expressed aesthetic preference for a particular ratio between length and width of rectangular shapes can probably be answered negatively. Aesthetic theory has hardly any rationale left to regard the golden section as a decisive factor in formal visual beauty.” (Godkewitsch, 1974).

Earlier, one of the West’s most eminent architectural historians, Rudolf Wittkower (Wittkower, 1960), and one of our generation’s most distinguished architects and thinkers, Christopher Alexander (Alexander, 1959), simultaneously and independently disproved nineteenthcentury claims that the Golden Mean is responsible for a unique aesthetic experience. Wittkower cites Theodor Lipps, who already in 1903 published results from experimental aesthetics showing that: “the ratio of the Golden Section, generally and in the case of the Golden Rectangle, is entirely without aesthetic significance in itself, and that the presence of this numerical ratio is nowhere the basis of any pleasant sensation.”

(Wittkower, 1960). Visual experiments establish that people can’t distinguish between rectangles with ratio the Golden Mean ϕ and one whose aspect ratio differs by up to 6% (Alexander, 1959) (Figure 4).

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Figure 4. Is the rectangle on the right more pleasing?

The Golden Mean rectangle is the one on the left.

One can trace claims for the alleged human preference for Golden Mean rectangles to now discredited experiments from the 1860s performed by Gustav Fechner (Godkewitsch, 1974; Markowsky, 1992; Wittkower, 1960). We have here a classic case of a nonreproducible experiment. Just because someone makes a numerological argument in support of an idea does not make it right: the essence of modern science is to perform experiments to prove or disprove such claims.

None of the numerous authors who trustingly refer to Fechner’s claims have checked his experimental procedure, which not only was too limited to have any validity, but also was unconsciously rigged to give the intended result. Every recent experiment designed to empirically demonstrate a preference for the Golden Mean rectangle has provided a negative result (Godkewitsch, 1974; Markowsky, 1992).

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5. The Golden Mean and modernist architecture.

Modernism removed traditional design elements that defined ordered complexity, such as hierarchical substructure and ornament at the human scale (Alexander, 2001; Mehaffy & Salingaros, 2002; Salingaros, 1997; 1998; 2010). But this is precisely the mathematical sense in which nature manifests Fibonacci growth and the Golden Mean in the many cases that have been discovered (Livio, 2003). Without hierarchically-organized complexity there is almost nothing left to analyze mathematically. The smaller scales that generate the larger scales through organic growth are entirely absent, leaving the largest scales mathematically detached. Human beings perceive this as unnatural.

The fascination with Golden Mean rectangles as abstraction that replaces natural complexity is intimately linked to the industrialization of the architectural aesthetic implemented by the Bauhaus. A key propagandist for Golden Mean rectangles was Ernst Neufert, an original member of the Bauhaus, who in 1939 was appointed by Albert Speer to head a study on the standardization of German industrial architecture via modular production. Neufert published three books during (and by) the Nazi regime about the Golden Mean in the context of standardized spaces and dimensions for architecture (Frings, 2002). Another propagandist for Golden Mean rectangles is Le Corbusier, who will be discussed later in this paper.

Modernist architects allowed almost no mechanisms that could help the user connect to a building. A minimalist building feels alien precisely because it lacks mathematical information that our cognitive system uses to analyze the natural environment (Alexander, 2001; Mehaffy & Salingaros, 2002; Salingaros, 1997; 1998; 2010). A smooth rectangular slab presents information only in its dimensions, and very little else. Minimalism focuses one’s attention on a single mathematical relationship — the rectangle’s aspect ratio. The Golden Mean became popular among modernist architects as one of the few techniques left, as they tried desperately 69

to make their empty rectangular slabs likeable. Seizing on its mythical attractiveness, they thought that the Golden Mean could save them after they had eliminated all emotionally connective architectural components.

A significant philosophical shift enabled modernism and its “Geometrical Fundamentalism” to spread in the first place: it appealed to the architect’s intellect rather than to the user’s senses (Mehaffy & Salingaros, 2002).

Contrast the visceral, sensual pleasure of traditional, vernacular, and Art Nouveau Architectures with their rich curves and colors inspired by nature, against the stark “machine-aesthetic” minimalism of modernist buildings.

Focusing on a strictly intellectual point — such as a mysterious irrational number with a history of mystical properties — helped to distract people from the fact that human sensory experience had been suppressed in modernist architecture.

I have often heard this claim: “architecture progressed in the early 20th Century by incorporating the message of older visual ornamentation into its intrinsic dimensions, thus modern architecture works just as well but in a different way that is intellectually superior”. It does nothing of the sort. Hierarchical scaling, ordered substructure, and ornament, which are essential for generating coherent complexity and adaptation in architecture, were not transformed: they were eliminated with a vengeance. The idea that the modernist idiom somehow transmutes essential complex information encoded as proportions is a deliberate falsehood meant to sell a minimalist geometry. Visual emptiness can never relate to human feelings. And yet people have fallen victims to this deception.

Nowadays, the Golden Mean continues to be misused for its purely mystical value, to sell monstrous or otherwise bizarre structures that fail to connect emotionally with the user. An imagined intellectual property is claimed to make the design attractive (even in cases where it is impossible to see an aspect ratio near the Golden Mean). Non-mathematicians such as clients, politicians, and architecture critics are impressed and perhaps intimidated by words such as “irrational 70

number”, “Golden Mean”, “fractal”, “nonlinear”, etc., which are sprinkled throughout publicity releases arguing why some contemporary project represents a “visionary” building.

6. Proportional ratios.

Historians have long known that architects relied, as a practical expedient and during many centuries of building activity, on the smallest integers and their ratios.

Going back to the Roman architectural theorist Vitruvius, we find formulas for using ratios of integers in modular systems of measurement to aid design. For any rectangle that appears in a man-made structure, a decision has to be made on its aspect ratio. It is easy to find simple aspect ratios such as 2:1, 3:1, 3:2, 5:3, 8:5, 9:4, etc. in many surviving buildings. Other practical ratios, this time approximations to irrational numbers, include √2 ≈ 1.41, the diagonal of a square of side 1, and √3 ≈ 1.73, the bisector of an equilateral triangle of side 2.

Both of these are useful because they are easily traced.

People have measured built rectangles with aspect ratio 8:5, whether on building façades or plans, and assumed that they must represent the Golden Mean.

One cannot tell the difference in a building (8:5 = 1.60:1 differs by 1.1% from ϕ), but that is not the point. Many Golden Mean enthusiasts consider the mystical essence of the Golden Mean to reside in its irrationality, thus if a rational number is substituted, this essence is lost. A rectangle with proportional ratio close to 8:5 has none of the mystique attributed to the Golden Mean ϕ , because 8/5 is rational, whereas ϕ is irrational. Even if one could measure an aspect ratio of 809:500 = 1.618:1 in actual buildings, this much better approximation to the irrational Golden Mean is still rational.

In the words of Alexander: “the irrational numbers make no sense as physical lengths” (Alexander, 1959). A physical length is accurate only up to how closely it can be measured, and could not possibly represent a nonrepeating decimal. The mystique of an irrational aspect ratio ϕ exactly built into some building makes sense only 71

when something is measured to infinite accuracy. That’s impossible. Built examples that are touted as obeying the Golden Mean are sufficiently irregular as to give a significant error, thus making claims based on nonexistent precision impossible to justify.

7. Credit cards, movies, cameras, and computer screens.

None of the rectangles characteristic of modern technology, though built to very exact tolerances, match the Golden Mean, and nobody minds that. There exists a popular misconception that credit cards are manufactured according to the Golden Mean. It cannot be said that credit cards are intended to accurately represent Golden Mean rectangles, because their aspect ratio is defined by the ISO/IEC 7810 standard as 85.60 mm x 53.98 mm hence 1.5858:1, which differs by 2% from the Golden Mean.

Much of the earth’s population is today staring at computer, film, or television screens during many of its waking moments. One would think that the television, film, and computer industries try to utilize a human preference for a specific aspect ratio. But there is none.

Various aspect ratios have been used for computer screens, including the unofficial but ubiquitous standard of 4:3 ≈ 1.33:1. The MacBook Pro computer’s 15-inch screen does have 1,440x900 pixels, and thus an aspect ratio of 8:5 = 1.60:1. This is within 1.1% of the Golden Mean. Had the perfectionist Steve Jobs wished to use the Golden Mean, he could have easily used 1,440x890 pixels for an aspect ratio of 1.6180:1, but did not. And the new 11-inch MacBook Air has a 1,366x768 pixel screen with aspect ratio 1.78:1.

The Universal Video Format used for standard television since its inception in the 1930s has aspect ratio 4:3 ≈ 1.33:1 (originally defined by Thomas Edison for films in the late 19th Century, adopted by the Society of Motion Picture Engineers in 1917 as its first standard, and continued into television as SDTV). Nowadays, however, the new standard for HDTV screens is the 72

“sixteen-to-nine” aspect ratio 16:9 ≈ 1.78:1. In the 1930s, films modified their aspect ratio to the Academy Standard of 1.37:1. The commonest format today for films shown in theaters is the American Standard Widescreen (Academy Flat) aspect ratio of 1.85:1.

Ever since the first Leica cameras started using 35 mm film for still pictures in the early 20th Century, the standard aspect ratio for photos has been 3:2 = 1.50:1.

Some photographers, like the great Henri CartierBresson, refused to crop their pictures, insisting on the authenticity of the full frame. And the aspect ratio is not even the Golden Mean!

The vocal community convinced today of the importance of the Golden Mean asserts that the advertising industry, realizing the magical attraction of the Golden Mean, manufactures cereal boxes and the iPhone to this standard, and there is even a propaganda movie that includes these examples (Spinak, 2011). All not true! The Apple iPhone 4 has physical dimensions of 115.2 mm x 58.6 mm, thus an aspect ratio of 1.97:1. Its screen, on the other hand, contains 960x640 pixels, giving it an aspect ratio of 1.50:1. As for cereal boxes, they do come in a variety of different shapes and sizes.

For the sake of scientific completeness, measurements of a Weetabix box (By Appointment To Her Majesty The Queen) give its dimensions at 26.0 cm x 19.0 cm, hence an aspect ratio of 1.37:1.

8. The Parthenon.

The Parthenon in Athens, built by Iktinos and Kallikrates around 440 BC, is widely perceived as an extremely attractive building. I claim that one of several reasons for its appeal is its scaling hierarchy and highly ordered complexity (Salingaros, 1997). And yet Golden Mean enthusiasts attribute its informational success to its supposed design using Golden Mean rectangles, and the Parthenon is promoted as being one of the paradigmatic examples of buildings designed according to the Golden Mean. That claim is founded on several simple misunderstandings.

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As is well known, one of the marvels of the Parthenon is its carefully-computed curvature, or “entasis” (Haselberger, 1985). It makes no sense to look for rectangles on a building that is essentially curved. Its frontal façade is not rectangular — it is a distorted rectangle sitting on curved steps, and with a curved triangle on top of it (Figure 5). One cannot define an exact rectangle on the front or back faces of the Parthenon. Even though the Parthenon is built to extremely accurate specifications, its curvature precludes rectangular measurements of any greater precision than about 1%. This built-in error precludes finding any Golden Mean rectangles, since the required accuracy is simply not attainable.

Figure 5. The Parthenon’s deliberately curved façade exaggerated to show “entasis”.

Mathematician Keith Devlin dismisses claims that the Golden Mean has anything to do with the Parthenon’s design: “Certainly, the oft repeated assertion that the Parthenon in Athens is based on the golden ratio is not supported by actual measurements. In fact, the entire 74

Mathematician Keith Devlin dismisses claims that the Golden Mean has anything to do with the Parthenon’s design: “Certainly, the oft repeated assertion that the Parthenon in Athens is based on the golden ratio is not supported by actual measurements. In fact, the entire story about the Greeks and golden ratio seems to be without foundation.” (Devlin, 2006: p. 108). In two articles, Devlin re-iterates his conclusion that there is not even a shred of evidence to support the appearance of the Golden Mean in art and architecture (Devlin, 2004; 2007). Note that the presence of the Golden Mean in the Parthenon was postulated by Adolf Zeising in the 1850s, and appears nowhere in ancient Greek architectural treatises.

I should not even have to discuss this point since investigators determined a modular measurement system for the Parthenon. A very careful geometrical analysis undertaken by Ernst Berger (Berger, 1980) reveals that the Parthenon’s plan is based on a module of 85.76 cm, used in the context of a proportional ratio 9:4 = 2.25:1. Significantly, Berger did not find any evidence of the Golden Mean. Further analysis by Anne Bulckens independently confirmed this design module, and established the rectangular part of the Parthenon’s façade to have

Figure 6. The obvious rectangle in the Parthenon’s façade was most probably built to have exact aspect ratio 9:4 before curving to achieve “entasis”.

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entablature (Figure 6) has width 30.88 m ± 135 mm, with the second number representing the total inclination at the top (counting both corners), and height 13.72 m ± 66 mm, which notes the vertical rise through curvature. This gives an aspect ratio of (2.25 ± 0.02):1, where the curvature leads to an “error” of 1%. Therefore, the most obvious rectangle in the Parthenon’s façade is unrelated to the Golden Mean, while agreeing completely with the rigorous analysis of Berger and Bulckens.

Next, Markowsky uses measurements to the exterior tip of the triangular pediment (projected, since it no longer exists) to obtain a rectangle with aspect ratio approximately 1.71:1 (again, a more precise figure is not unique), which is far from the Golden Mean (Markowsky, 1992). It is possible by trial-and-error to superimpose a rectangle that has aspect ratio nearer ϕ , but it is not clear if there is anything to be learned from such an obviously rigged exercise (Figure 7).

Figure 7. Some Golden Mean enthusiasts draw this shaded rectangle on the Parthenon’s façade, using the bottom of the third step. Others only go to the bottom of the first step. Others still, use the bottom of the building’s 76

base (a thinner slab that is not a fourth step: there are only three marble steps) and width somewhere out in space.

One sees the now standard published images of the front façade of the Parthenon with a Golden Mean rectangle superimposed — of three different possible sizes and positions! Those rather arbitrary figures are entirely misleading because of the thickness of the line with which such a rectangle is usually drawn. The resulting error is so great as to make any accurate aspect ratio meaningless, and Alexander already pointed out this misconception (Alexander, 1959).

Nature photographer Mike Spinak reaches the same conclusion: “The notion that the Parthenon matches up with the golden ratio doesn’t hold up to examination…

The decisions of what to include within the rectangle and what to exclude from it are entirely arbitrary… It’s not a close fit; it’s just made to look like one by arbitrary inclusion and exclusion… Golden numberists often use thick lines in their demonstrations because they cover up a wide margin of error [of about] 3.33%… The Parthenon does not seem to have golden mean proportions.” (Spinak, 2011).

9. The Villa Stein/Garches.

The Villa Stein-de-Monzie in Garches-Vaucresson outside Paris, built in 1927 by the Swiss architect Le Corbusier, has a horizontal rectangular façade. It presents a rectangle built with rather well-controlled tolerances. Le Corbusier intended an aspect ratio of 8:5 rather than the Golden Mean ϕ in designing this building, contrary to what he claimed in his voluminous writings on the subject. Available measurements confirm this by giving an aspect ratio that is somewhat less than ϕ (8/5 = 1.600 < 1.618).

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Figure 8. The Villa Stein/Garches, in which every component is intentionally designed to be unnatural and not to harmonize.

Roger Herz-Fischler discovered that Le Corbusier went back to the original drawings one and a-half years after the building was completed, and drew in the Golden Mean ex post facto (Herz-Fischler, 1984). Le Corbusier subsequently reproduced this doctored drawing, claiming that his design was guided by the Golden Mean all along. Possibly, Le Corbusier was practicing an intentional deception; alternatively, according to Herz-Fischler, Le Corbusier did not distinguish between the 8:5 aspect ratio and the Golden Mean ϕ . Or maybe he just thought that alluding to the Golden Mean would make better publicity than to the more ordinary aspect ratio 8:5.

In the final analysis, does this building’s rectangular façade elicit a pleasurable emotional response? I find this building, along with other creations by Le Corbusier, willfully odd and particularly unappealing. It is an example of what Michael Mehaffy and I have labeled as “Geometrical Fundamentalism” (Mehaffy & Salingaros, 78

2002). To claim any attractive effect from a Golden Mean rectangle (built to any accuracy) is unfounded. Whatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s missing that would make it look appealing and not so bleak, possibly a nice house to live in? Among other things, it lacks a natural scaling hierarchy, adaptation to human purposes, and harmonization with its surroundings. A contemporary house by Le Corbusier, the Villa Savoye, 1929, was declared by its owners to be uninhabitable (Sully, 2009).

10. The United Nations Building.

The geometry of tall buildings cannot be perceived by their users as designed, because of the visual distortion due to perspective (Spinak, 2011). Users inside a building cannot see its form at all. Any building in the form of a vertical rectangular slab is perceived as a trapezoid (a triangle with its top cut off) by anyone nearby, and not as a rectangle (Figure 9). The perceived trapezoid changes as one moves around in the vicinity of the building. Only viewers from sufficiently far away actually see a rectangle. Thus, aesthetic considerations based upon a tall buildingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s overall form apply strictly to viewers at a distance, and then only if they have an unobstructed on-axis view.

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Figure 9. Where’s the aspect ratio? Users perceive a tall building built with a rectangular façade as a trapezoid, whose shape changes as the observer’s position changes. This building could have any number of storeys.

The Secretariat Building of the United Nations, in New York City, has a façade in the shape of an empty rectangular slab, which is frequently cited as having aspect ratio the Golden Mean. It was designed in 1950

by Wallace Harrison and Max Abramovitz, based on earlier sketches by Le Corbusier. Markowsky computed the aspect ratio of its façade and found that it equals 1.76:1 (Markowsky, 1992). This is not the Golden Mean.

Herz-Fischler thinks that Le Corbusier’s original sketches were intended to set up a Golden Mean aspect ratio, but Le Corbusier was not allowed to work on the final design because he got into a nasty fight with Wallace Harrison.

We need to ask two questions, regardless of the validity of any claim based upon the building’s dimensions: 1. Is this gigantic vertical rectangular slab attractive or not?; and 2. Would an adjustment of its height or width to better approximate a Golden Mean aspect ratio make it more attractive than it is at present?

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The answer to the first question remains in the eye of the beholder, and I personally find this building unbearably dull. Any building as an undifferentiated rectangular slab devoid of hierarchical scaling is just another example of “Geometrical Fundamentalism”, and as such, cannot connect to human beings through complex ordered information (Mehaffy & Salingaros, 2002).

The second question, however, can be confidently answered in the negative: no, any minor adjustment in this building’s proportions to bring it more in line with a Golden Mean rectangle will have absolutely no effect in its actual aesthetic appeal. I conclude that the search for such an aspect ratio has little meaning.

11. Le Corbusier’s Modulor.

Le Corbusier made grandiose claims for a scheme of hierarchical subdivisions that he called Le Modulor, which was based on the Golden Mean. No one today supports that it led to any practical designs which are in any way superior to designs that did not use the Modulor. Le Corbusier claimed to have used the Modulor in designing his Unité d’Habitation apartment block in Marseilles, 1947-1952, but people who have measured the dimensions have found discrepancies. The chief flaw of his confused system is that subdivisions are too close to be distinguished psychologically, and so the result is rather chaotic.

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Figure 10. Partition of a system into parts: using the Golden Mean doesn’t work, whereas it’s easy to create three components plus space for their connections.

A scaling hierarchy of sizes cannot be based on the Golden Mean (Salingaros, 2010) (Figure 10). In system decomposition, components are objects of equivalent size that together form the system. The whole can be partitioned into two, three, four or more parts, allowing for the connections that hold them together. A similar decomposition occurs on each distinct level to define components of components, etc. In a visual/geometrical system such as architecture, a scaling ratio relates structural scales. Possible partitions and their rough scaling ratios are: into two parts with scaling ratio 2.3, four parts with scaling ratio 7 (Figure 2), or three parts with scaling ratio 3.5 (Figure 10). The minimum possible scaling ratio is 2. It’s impossible to create subunits at a scaling ratio of 1.618 (Figure 10).

Malcolm Millais, in his forthcoming book on Le Corbusier, is neither kind to the architect, nor to his design system as it was supposedly applied to the Unité d’Habitation. After a careful analysis of the structure, Millais concludes that: “In fact the dimensions were an incoherent mixture of the two Modulor numerical series, with other dimensions which were odd combinations or 82

not part of the system at all. An examination of the threestorey module cross-sectional dimensions shows what nonsense it all was.” (Millais, 2012).

Le Corbusier copied many of the Unité’s key features from the very similar Narkomfin apartment building in Moscow, 1928-1932, which he had studied during his visits there in the 1930s. These include the central axis, a flat concrete roof (optimistically labeled “roof garden”), and originally standing the Narkomfin building on pilotis (columns) until the ground floor was filled in with more apartments later. Its architects, Moisei Ginzburg and Ignati Milinis, did not use the Modulor in designing the Narkomfin block, since that was only published in 1948.

In his brilliant discussion of the Golden Mean in architecture, Alexander had this to say about Le Corbusier and the Modulor: “Yet we have only to examine the work in detail to see how flimsy its foundations are. The failure of writers to appreciate the true reason for the visual efficacy of the golden section has led them to shelter in a maze of obscurity... First of all, throughout the writings we are concerned with, there seems to be deliberate intention to hoodwink the reader... because the only way to prove things that are incorrect is by false argument. Or perhaps it is simply that the writers are too ignorant to know what they are doing. Le Corbusier, for instance, reverently reproduces facsimiles of two pages of arithmetic a mathematician did for him. The arithmetic involved could have been done by many schoolboys, and to suggest that it is difficult by showing readers the original manuscript is sheer deceit.” (Alexander, 1959).

We must be wary of taking anything Le Corbusier wrote at face value because of his record of mendaciousness. The architect and author Anthony Antoniades interviewed Le Corbusier’s apprentices in Paris, who told him that “Le Corbusier had no idea of mathematics, contrary to what he professed.”

(Antoniades, 1990: p. 270). Antoniades further mentions several negative characteristics of Le Corbusier, such as his plagiarism, pretensions, absence of credibility, and 83

promoting himself by “stepping on cadavers”, as revealed by those he worked with (Antoniades, 1990: p.

285). Le Corbusier falsified photographs that he published in his commercial advertizing magazine, later included in his books (Colomina, 1994; Mehaffy & Salingaros, 2002; Millais, 2009). The writer and physician Theodore Dalrymple also condemns Le Corbusier (Dalrymple, 2009a; 2009b).

12. Conclusion.

In this essay, I discussed a method for checking a design to make sure that it possesses a natural hierarchy of scales. Coherent hierarchical structures are found throughout historical and vernacular architectures, but are almost entirely absent from the formal architecture of the 20th and 21st centuries. A return to more life-enhancing buildings and urban spaces can well use this design method coming from natural growth and complex systems. Scaling in an ordered hierarchy of sizes receives support from the widely-found occurrences of the Golden Mean in natural systems (Livio, 2003). We see growth either as a continuous exponential or discrete Fibonacci sequence very clearly in patterns in the form of plants and animals. There are also natural inanimate systems whose mathematical description leads them to exhibit the Golden Mean.

This application of the Golden Mean to design contrasts with the unsatisfactory state of affairs — or rather, problems in finding any applications at all — when it comes to claims made in the architectural and popular literatures. Rectangles with aspect ratio the Golden Mean have no special meaning; most embarrassing for its numerous proponents is that the key examples used to illustrate this recurring theme turn out to be contrived. Claims for attractive properties of minimalist architecture, which dogmatically celebrates empty rectangles, are therefore nothing more than wishful thinking by its practitioners and their cult followers.

It is frustrating, however, to try and argue for the non84

existence of something: far easier to show its existence, since then only a single example suffices. To prove the opposite, an author needs to carefully examine and disprove a number of proposed but erroneous applications. This was attempted here in part, although it would be a fruitless exercise to tackle all the various claims for the appearance of Golden Mean rectangles in art and architecture. More important is to expose the misplaced beliefs that lead to those claims, in the hope of introducing some clarity of thought to the discipline.

Diverging from a study on the applications of mathematics to architecture, this paper instead ends up clarifying certain cult tendencies. By accepting a flawed and rigid model as the accepted “basis for beauty”, the biological basis for genuine beauty is replaced, and the results are unnatural. Alexander described this understanding succinctly: “We shall examine the cult of the golden section; and show that the claims made for it are in large part exaggerated — that the order this system does provide can be provided just as well by countless other systems which are only less well known because no attempt has been made to mysticize them, to make religions of them... now, at the moment when hope of understanding visual aesthetics is just appearing, the architectural world has been inundated by further mysterious writing on the golden section and geometry. Instead of trying to account for the effect of order in a way appropriate to our time, the majority of writers have returned to an almost primitive acceptance of magic and ritual.”

(Alexander, 1959).

Much discussion of the Golden Mean in architecture is plainly wrong, and is spent on analyzing historical buildings to identify the presence of Golden Mean rectangles. I tried to fix misconceptions and errors associated with the Golden Mean in architecture, and turn this into a creative design project. Significantly, architects are finally asking how to build structures today of a comparable emotional appeal. The mathematics of architectural form — the hard work of learning how to build great buildings — combines the latest scientific 85

understandings from complex systems with knowledge revived from traditional design and construction. This new framework provides a useful design basis for generating attractive architectural forms and spaces.

Acknowledgments: I thank Andrew Crompton, Eduardo Dueñez, Alessandro Giuliani, Phil Keenan, Claudio Lanzi, Federico Mena-Quintero, and Malcolm Millais for their helpful criticisms and suggestions.

References Alexander, Christopher (1959) “Perception and Modular Coordination”, Journal of the Royal Institute of British Architects, Volume 66, pages 425-429.

Alexander, Christopher (2001) The Nature of Order, Book 1: The Phenomenon of Life, Center for Environmental Structure, Berkeley, California.

Antoniades, Anthony C. (1990) Poetics of Architecture, Van Nostrand Reinhold, New York.

Berger, Ernst (1980) “Bauwerk und Plastik des Parthenon”, Antike Kunst (Basel), Volume 23, pages 59-65.

Bulckens, Anne M. (2002) “The Parthenon Height Measurements”, Symmetry: Art and Science, Volume 2 (New Series), Numbers 1-4, pages 219-229 <http://etopia.sintlucas.be/3.14/MatOmium.pdf>.

Colomina, Beatriz (1994) Privacy and Publicity: Modern Architecture as Mass Media, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Dalrymple, Theodore (2009a) “The Architect as Totalitarian”, City Journal, Volume 19, Number 4 <http://www.city-journal.org/2009/issue_19_4.html>.

Dalrymple, Theodore (2009b) “Inhumane Le Corbusier”, Axess, Number 4 <http://axess.se/magasin/english.aspx? article=541>.

Devlin, Keith J. (2004) “Good stories, pity they’re not true”, Mathematical Association of America, June 2004

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<http://www.maa.org/devlin/devlin_06_04.html>.

Devlin, Keith J. (2006) The Math Instinct: Why You’re A Mathematical Genius, Basic Books, New York.

Devlin, Keith J. (2007) “The Myth That Will Not Go Away”, Mathematical Association of America, May 2007 <http://www.maa.org/devlin/devlin_05_07.html>.

Frascari, Marco & Volpi-Ghirardini, Livio (1998) “Contra Divinam Proportionem”, in: Nexus II: Architecture and Mathematics, Kim Williams, Editor, Edizioni Dell’Erba, Fucecchio, Florence, pages 65-74. Abstract available online <http://www.nexusjournal.com/the-nexus-conferences/nexus1998/116-n1998-frascari-ghirardini.html>.

Frings, Marcus (2002) “The Golden Section in Architectural Theory”, Nexus Network Journal, Volume 4, Number 1, Winter 2002 <http://www.emis.de/journals/NNJ/Frings.html>.

Godkewitsch, Michael (1974) “The ‘Golden Section’: An Artifact of Stimulus Range and Measure of Preference”, American Journal of Psychology, Volume 87, Numbers 1-2, pages 269-277.

Haselberger, Lothar (1985) “The construction plans for the Temple of Apollo at Didyma”, Scientific American, Volume 253, Number 6, December 1985, pages 114-122.

Herz-Fischler, Roger (1984) “Le Corbusier’s Regulating Lines for the Villa at Garches”, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, Volume 43, pages 53-59.

Kappraff, Jay (2002) “Anne Bulckens’ Analysis of the Proportions of the Parthenon and its Meanings”, republished in Symmetry: Culture and Science, Volume 17, Numbers 1-2 (2006), pages 91-96 <http://www.trinitas.ru/rus/doc/0000/006a/00001002.htm>.

Livio, Mario (2003) The Golden Ratio: The Story of PHI, the World’s Most Astonishing Number, Broadway Books, New York.

Markowsky, George (1992) “Misconceptions About the Golden Ratio”, The College Mathematics Journal, Volume 23, pages 2-19.

Mehaffy, Michael W. & Salingaros, Nikos A. (2002) “Geometrical Fundamentalism”, Plan Net Online Architectural Resources, January 2002. Revised version is Chapter 9 of A Theory of Architecture, Umbau-Verlag, Solingen, Germany,

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2006.

Millais, Malcolm (2009) Exploding the Myths of Modern Architecture, Frances Lincoln Publishers, London.

Millais, Malcolm (2012) Le Corbusier – The People’s Enemy (provisional title of forthcoming book).

Salingaros, Nikos A. (1997) “Life and Complexity in Architecture From a Thermodynamic Analogy”, Physics Essays, Volume 10, pages 165-173. Revised version is Chapter 5 of A Theory of Architecture, Umbau-Verlag, Solingen, Germany, 2006.

Salingaros, Nikos A. (1998) “A Scientific Basis for Creating Architectural Forms”, Journal of Architectural and Planning Research, Volume 15, pages 283-293. Revised version is Chapter 2 of A Theory of Architecture, Umbau-Verlag, Solingen, Germany, 2006.

Salingaros, Nikos A. (2010) Twelve Lectures on Architecture: Algorithmic Sustainable Design, Umbau-Verlag, Solingen, Germany.

Spinak, Mike (2011) “The Golden Section Hypothesis: A Critical Look”, Naturography, 27 January 2011 <http://naturography.com/the-golden-section-hypothesis-acritical-look/>.

Sully, Nicole (2009) “Modern Architecture and Complaints about the Weather, or, ‘Dear Monsieur Le Corbusier, It is still raining in our garage’”, M/C Journal, Volume 12, Number 4 <http://journal.mediaculture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/172>.

Wittkower, Rudolf (1960) “The Changing Concept of Proportion”, Daedalus, Volume 89, pages 199-215.

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The Urbino Study Abroad Program: A Personal Perspective Justin Bellot

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UTSAâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s study abroad programs provide an enormous opportunity for college students to gain valuable experience from another culture. Of the programs available I chose to enroll in the Urbino Signature Experience, based in Umbria, Italy. This program seems to present the most diverse experience with the possibility to travel to anywhere else in Europe.

The course work, which was far more intense than I had anticipated, changes the way you approach your subject and forces you to develop more efficient practices. The freedom to travel, alone or in a group, is probably the greatest opportunity afforded by these programs, and can lead to the best memories. The experience of traveling abroad, immersing yourself in another culture, and living in a place outside of your comfort zone facilitates personal growth.

The Urbino program includes an intensive schedule of three courses: a studio focused on the merger of classical and contemporary design, the evolving architectural theory from classicism to modernism, and a sketch and watercolor course. I found the classes fascinating, with the course in watercolors intense in terms of the focus required and the frustration involved in learning the medium. It is time-consuming and requires not only patience but a steady hand; qualities you have to learn by doing it. Watercolors are unforgiving, and one mistake can be ruinous to the lengthy draft work you were rendering. Such was the emotional intensity in that class that it became palpable and audible; a sigh of relief upon accomplishment, or the more common hiss of frustration and the stern expression when all goes wrong. Sketching, on the other hand, was nearly therapeutic, because mistakes could be corrected, granted it was not too grievous an error.

Having done only drafted work for most of my education in architecture, my own approach to sketching was hesitant, obsessed with perfection, and time-consuming; as opposed to the quick and loose nature of sketching.

One of the most humbling events of my life took place in Venice where I witnessed a young Italian child sketch St. Markâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Cathedral in the time it took me to prepare an 90

outline. Theory and history courses can seem to stretch time; when you have accompanying design work to match the theory and the opportunity to experience the subject matter of history first hand, these courses become far more substantive. This is one of the ways in which study abroad proves a worthwhile investment; the experiences you have are infinitely more tactile than in a distant classroom.

Traveling abroad is worthwhile for just the experience itself. While learning in a classroom and from a book gives you satisfactory detail, it is merely a shadow compared to the actual experience. Direct, physical interaction truly brings the subject to life. It was told to me that some of your most valuable memories will come from your time abroad; itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s true. You might enjoy listening to Vivaldi, but the experience of listening to a live concerto performed in a neo-classical cathedral in Venice is indescribable. The significance of the large, sloped campo of Sienna can never be fully appreciated unless youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re actually there lying on your back and enjoying the local cuisine. No more can the serenity of Paris (outside of the tourist section) nor the thrill of bike riding in Amsterdam be understood unless you do it yourself. That is the value of traveling abroad, these are the experiences that make you a more diverse and better person, and this is what makes the subject matter of architecture come to life; experiencing the culture and environment of the place.

Traveling abroad widens your perspective on culture and allows you to experience a different lifestyle.

Comparing these two ways of life, your own and your host countries, enables you to identify certain aspects that you feel are better approached by one culture or another. It is through identifying the best of both cultures and adopting these aspects that you can achieve a more wholesome lifestyle. Cultures are manifest through many media, the architecture of that country being one of the greatest examples. The institutions that promote and facilitate the lifestyle of that culture also instruct you on how to achieve the same effect. This is why it is so 91

critical for design students to experience another culture, that by doing so you will become a more capable designer â&#x20AC;&#x201C; by being exposed to diverse architecture, observing how people interact with their built environment, and how that environment in turn influences them. The ultimate goal of this experience is to gather the best qualities of both cultures and merge them in your design.

So, I encourage you to take the opportunity and travel abroad, despite the initial inhibitions you may have. Although these programs can become costly there are scholarship opportunities available to lighten the burden. UTSA provides a scholarship called the IEF (International Education Fund) that provided multiple students with grants of up to $3,800 last year. Other scholarships aim specifically to promote student travel either openly or based on the students field of study.

One such program that I benefited enormously from was the Gilman Scholarship, which matched UTSAâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s IEF with an additional $3,800. Nearly half of the cost of the program was covered by just two scholarships alone.

The study abroad experience will enhance your skill set, diversify and mature you as an individual, and help market you to future employers who are looking for a globally diverse individual.

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On Richard Rogersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Cities for a Small Planet Jason M. Trujillo

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Humans occupy a precarious time in our relatively short history. On October 30th, the world was introduced to its seven billionth inhabitant, an increase of approximately one billion since 1999, and two billion since 1987. The world's inflated population has risen to alarming levels.

As a result, there has been extensive research conducted concerning the planet's ability to sustain such growth.

The origin of current population growth can be traced back to the Industrial Revolution. It was during this period that humankind witnessed the introduction on a wide scale of mechanization, mass production, and interchangeable parts. Machines began to minimize the necessity of human labor. These developments significantly increased the efficiency of the manufacturing industry. Manufactured goods were available to a larger population than at any time in history. As such, the two hundred years since 1800 saw the world's average per capita income increase ten-fold. 1 The Industrial Revolution marked a pivotal point in the evolution of human civilization. Technology elevated manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s stature in the world. There was a sense of dominance over the natural environment. Machines enabled manipulation of the natural environment in ways never before possible. Mankind continued down a naive and shortsighted path of planetary exploitation. Jonathan Barnett writes, "The danger is that we won't wake up to the true dimensions of what is happening until 15 or 20 years from now, when we will have wasted many of our natural advantages, and when the cost of fixing our mistakes will far exceed the costs of anticipating and solving these problems today."2 How do we address these emerging issues? Can societies across the world continue to ignore the challenges set before them? British architect Richard Rogers addresses these issues in his book Cities for a Small Planet.

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Cities for a Small Planet is a reaction to the intensifying relation between urban planning and the ability of cities to maintain a healthy living environment. It is a critique of the unsustainable nature of contemporary urban planning principles. Rogers emphasizes the need for enhancing and maintaining the urban fabric of cities. He concentrates on the cultural deterioration of cities as well as the need for sustainable urban planning and architecture.

Rogers begins Cities by commenting on contemporary urban planning and the ability to either enhance or degrade a cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sense of community. He writes that contemporary urban planning lacks a holistic perspective concerning growth and development. As a result, many urban areas exhibit unsustainable growth patterns commonly viewed as urban sprawl.

The size and scale of traditional cities, those of the preindustrial era, were driven by the physical limitations of its inhabitants. Open air markets were within walking distance of many inhabitants. Streets were scaled for the pedestrian and framed by buildings of various and integrated functions. Building height was regulated to the extent at which its users could comfortably climb. These traditional principles are revisited by the members of the Brussels Declaration of 1978 who stated, "All intervention in the European city must focus on what the city has always been, that is: streets, squares, avenues, blocks, gardens...and quarters."3 However, due to technological advances, the city has grown in size with little regard for human scale. In Architecture and Theology Quinlan Terry writes, "But now steel, glass, concrete and plastics, electronic lifts, artificial light and air, have given us an unbridled and unlimited freedom which we are unable to control." 4 The invention of electricity and the automobile have marginalized the need of human considerations in urban planning. Contemporary urban planning has relied heavily on the advancement of these technologies. As a result, cities grow in uncontrolled and inefficient ways.

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Many cities experience decreasing population density as they grow. As density decreases, urban fragmentation increases.

Rogers writes that it is this increasing fragmentation that degrades an areaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sense of community. Unlike the growth of traditional cities, the fragmented nature of contemporary growth suppresses the active participation of citizens in their community. Rogers writes, "I passionately believe in the importance of citizenship and the liveliness and humanity it stimulates."5 He argues that civic participation is directly linked to the integrity and quality of urban culture.

Rogers refers to political theorist Michael Walzer when comparing the inherent differences between traditional and contemporary urban growth trends. Walzer writes that urban space can be classified into two distinct groups: single-minded and open-minded space. Single minded spaces are those that serve a single function.

These types of space, Rogers writes, include "the residential suburb, the housing estate, the business district, the industrial zone...shopping mall, and even the car itself."6 On the contrary, open minded spaces host multiple functions and are used by a wide variety of people. This idea is echoed some thirty years earlier by theorist Jane Jacobs in her text The Death and Life of Great American Cities. On the need for mixed use she writes, â&#x20AC;&#x153;the district...must serve more than one primary function, preferably more than two. These must ensure the presence of people who go outdoors on different schedules, and are in the place for different reasons, but who are able to use many facilities in common."7 The presence of open-minded space effectively ties a community together. Spaces that are used by a variety of people encourage communication, cultural understanding, and civic participation. It blurs social, economic, and cultural divides. Open-minded space fosters a rich experience and involvement in urban spaces. Rogers writes, â&#x20AC;&#x153;We created cities to celebrate what we have in common. Now they are designed to 96

keep us apart.”8 Contemporary goals of urban planning encourage the segregation of functions, income, and culture. Urban planners must begin to view the nature of the city from a new perspective. The revival of urban culture requires the amalgamation of function and a concern for public space.

Expanding on his critique of cities, Rogers writes that cities are not appropriately designed to absorb population growth. Cities, especially in the developing world, are experiencing an unprecedented influx of people from rural areas. To accommodate such growth, cities are swelling in size. As cities grow, they require increasing amounts of land for new development, the manufacture of materials, or agricultural production.

Rogers argues that the processes of the natural environment should serve as a model for developing urban areas. The natural environment is complex but guided brilliantly by mutually beneficial relationships. At every scale, processes of the natural environment are cyclical in nature. There are no loose ends, no waste.

However, contemporary urban systems do not reflect these principles. “Cities,” Rogers writes, “have become parasites on the landscape – huge organisms draining the world for their sustenance and energy: relentless consumers, relentless polluters.”9 Similar to Sim Van der Ryn’s principle of integral design, Rogers argues that cities should be viewed as ecological systems. A cradle to cradle ideology must begin to drive the consumption of resources in urban environments. In this way energy, food, goods, and waste all exist within a closed, circular system. These principles reduce the need of virgin resources and minimize waste.

Improving urban sustainability requires a broad understanding of the nature of cities. Many factors that are complex in nature must be considered in urban planning. Just as Ian McHarg argued in Design with Nature, Rogers believes that urban, economic, and social factors must be considered in the design of sustainable cities. Rogers writes that, in many cases, 97

improvements in the environment influence the overall well being of people; that “ecological and social solutions reinforce each other and build healthier, livelier, more open minded spaces.”10 This may be exemplified by efforts to reduce and integrate urban functions within a small area. A city’s residents may trade the use of an automobile for a bicycle. As a result, the overall health of a community is improved while energy demands are decreased.

Rogers’ strongest argument on urban sustainability calls for future development based on the model of the compact city. The compact city is dense and developed around the idea of open-minded space. It emphasizes social diversity, the blending of function, and the development of communities around neighborhoods.

This idea draws similarities to the writings of Jane Jacobs and Peter Calthorpe. Calthorpe writes, “The alternative to sprawl is simple and timely: neighborhoods of housing, parks, and schools placed within walking distance of shops, civic services, jobs, and transit…”11 It is this idea of density and integration of function that must drive the planning of urban growth. Compact cities are more efficient in providing civic services such as waste collection, water supply, maintaining its infrastructure, and providing police and fire protection.

Less materials are used in construction and automobile use is reduced.

At the heart of the compact city is its independence of the automobile. Prior to the invention of the automobile cities were compact. Streets were narrow, yet provided ample space for trade. Buildings were multifunctional; various daily activities could be conducted within a single city block. The integrated and dynamic nature of these traditional cities fostered a rich level of communication and personal interaction between its inhabitants.

The automobile has systematically degraded the sustainability and social cohesion of urban environments. The convenience of the automobile has allowed cities to spread further apart and be divided into 98

various functional districts. No longer do daily activities exist within a relatively small radius. We now have shopping, residential, industrial, and commercial districts. Residential districts are segregated even further based on economic income or racial affiliation. Urban fragmentation and sprawl increases the consumption of energy. Traffic congestion grows proportional to the growth of cities. Rogers writes that the economic impact of traffic congestion in the United States, when considering wasted time and energy consumption, amounts to approximately 150 billion dollars per year.

Extensive amounts of energy and financial resources are wasted and are not reintegrated into the cyclical principles associated with sustainable cities.

A city’s dependence on automobiles degrades its experiential, social, and cultural qualities. Rogers emphasizes the development of walkable streets which again draws a similar comparison to the writing of Peter Calthorpe. Calthorpe argues that the pedestrian should be the center of urban design and planning for they “are the catalyst which makes the essential qualities of communities meaningful.” Contemporary cities show little regard for the pedestrian. Cities continue to invest large sums of money to increase the scale of street and highway infrastructure to alleviate congestion. As streets grow in size they become more dangerous to the pedestrian. Thus, the pedestrian is hardly able to engage in the urban spaces between destinations.

Urban thoroughfares become derelict and exist as microwastelands collecting litter. There is no attention paid to the experiential qualities of these areas. Weeds grow rampant, the concrete begins to buckle; a wayward shoe or shredded tire remain the only evidence of human existence.

On the other hand, compact cities such as Rome and Paris are developed around the pedestrian. As a result, they provide rich experiential qualities. In Rome’s cultural center, as large as it is, one has trouble finding anything lacking apparent meaning. There is very little arbitrary design. Careful attention is paid to sidewalks, 99

street pavers and lampposts. Around every corner are shops, bars, and opportunities for human interaction. In this way dependence on the automobile is marginalized and the continued cultivation of urban culture is ensured.

Expanding on his argument for the necessity of sustainable cities, Rogers emphasizes the integration of buildings with the surrounding natural environment. He writes that architecture used to be a form of art; a celebration of human values. It was a physical manifestation of the relationship between humans and the environment. Architecture has never been completely void of meaning. It has always served to represent a condition of the human psyche.

Rogers believes that emphasis on economic frugality has stripped buildings bare of meaning. The ideas behind the Late Modern movement - streamlined manufacture, efficient construction, and the minimizing of material - were rooted in social progress and creative freedom. Despite its sterile and pragmatic appearance, Late Modern architecture stood for something.

Unfortunately, the achievements of the Late Modern movement have been exploited for the sole purpose of short-term profit. The qualities we have come to appreciate in architecture are neglected and seen as unnecessary added costs. As a result, there is little investment in sustainable technologies despite their long-term benefits.

Rogers argues that architecture must begin to contribute to social and environmental sustainability. Thus, architects have a responsibility to create architecture that transcends programmatic requirements.

Architectural design must respond to the natural environment. Buildings must cease to exist independent of nature.

The underlying principle in Rogersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; argument is the need for architects to distance themselves from traditional building forms. The acceptance of new building methods, forms, materials, etc. affords the architect an 100

opportunity to explore new technologies and techniques.

Modern architecture should respond to its context, not mimic it. Architecture should reveal its modernity and celebrate its juxtaposition of traditional forms. Rogers refers to I.M. Pei’s addition to the Louvre as an example of this idea. There is a rich dialogue between old and new. The idea here is that we need not superficially decorate a modern building to blend in with its surroundings. In this way, a building’s design is free to explore new technologies that contribute to its sustainability.

Sustainable architecture requires flexibility. Rogers writes that contemporary societies are dynamic, and buildings should be easily adapted to address changing programmatic functions. According to Rogers, “A building that is a financial market today may need to become an office in five years and a university in ten.” 12 The flexible use of space was one of the driving forces behind Rogers’ and Piano’s design of the Pompidou Center.

They sought to design a building whose form was determined by its interior activities. The building’s structural members and service systems were all placed on the exterior of the building to create an open plan associated with many Modern buildings. This, coupled with adjustable interior partitions, allow the building to satisfy varying interior functions. Emulating the Pompidou’s design in future development reduces the need for entirely new construction.

While Rogers recognizes the value of tradition, he emphasizes a contemporary architecture that breaks from past forms. Architectural design is driven by modern materials, technologies, and ideas. Concerning sustainable architecture, Rogers emphasizes the opportunity for technology to alleviate environmental degradation. This is clearly revealed as Rogers writes, “…we must pursue ever more decisively the development of technologies and innovations that protect our ecology and humanize our cities.”13 Perhaps to the chagrin of Reyner Banham, Rogers goes on to write, “I am wild about technology but not about 101

technology run wild.”14 While the work of Richard Rogers clearly falls under a Late Modern discourse, his views of urban development tend to draw from other architectural discourses. Rogers argues for emulating natural systems in urban design.

He emphasizes the need for buildings to respond and coexist with the natural environment. Rogers writes that many buildings are designed with a rigid envelope and require energy intensive mechanical systems to cool and circulate air. Instead, buildings with operable glazing systems allow natural breezes to cool and circulate the air inside. These ecological arguments are expressed directly in the writing of Ian McHarg, Sim Van der Ryn, Kenneth Yeang, and others. The compact city model Rogers emphasizes recalls both Jane Jacobs and Peter Calthorpe’s argument for the development of dense, multifunctional urban spaces.

In Cities for a Small Planet Rogers suggests that the essence of urban environments exist as a reflection of human qualities. Rogers writes, “Cities should be about the people they shelter, about face-to-face contact, about condensing the ferment of human activity, about generating and expressing local culture.”15 Urban environments should celebrate what people have in common; they should promote social interaction and civic participation. Urban design should effectively connect and facilitate the daily activities of its inhabitants.

The essence of architecture, according to Rogers, parallels the ideas of the Late Modern discourse. Rogers writes, “Architecture extracts beauty from the application of rational thinking."16 Architectural form is a reflection of a building’s structural and functional requirements. We see this idea in his design of the Pompidou Centre, a competition entry for public housing in Hanssem, Korea, the Lloyds of London building, and others. The beauty of a building is seen through the clarity of its material and tectonic expression.

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Rogers writes that buildings should not be designed to exist on their own, but should serve to frame public space. Rogers refers to the Nolli map of Rome as a study of the relation between public and private space.

Unlike deconstructivism, buildings must satisfy the more Post-Modern idea of responding to its surroundings.

Architecture should contribute to the city and enhances the urban environment.

The criteria Richard Rogers would consider in judgment of architecture would probably lie in the extent at which it promotes civic participation. A common theme throughout his writing is an emphasis on enhancing the lives of people and the celebration of culture. Urban planning must encourage compact development and provide efficient transportation infrastructure. This ensures the walk-ability of urban communities, fostering increased levels of social interaction. Urban planning is also judged by the extent at which it emulates the systems of the natural environment. Cities must begin to make more efficient use of its resources.

Concerning architecture, buildings are judged by their contribution to the overall urban environment. Buildings must frame public space and provide opportunities for social interaction. They must co-exist within the extant built environment while representing the ideas and culture of the time in which they are built. The question must be asked: does a buildingâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s design pursue new technologies and material applications? Rogers sees architecture as a means to social progress.

Preconceived architectural form and traditional building methods must not inhibit the progressive opportunities inherent in architectural design.

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1 Angus Maddison, (2003). The World Economy: Historical Statistics. Paris Development Centre, OECD. 256-62.

2 Jonathan Barnett et al, Smart Growth in a Changing World (Chicago: Planners Press, 2007), 1.

3 The Brussels Declaration, "Reconstruction of the European City." In Theories and Manifestoes of Contemporary Architecture, ed. Charles Jencks and Karl Kropf (Chichester: Wiley-Academy, 2008), 176.

4 Terry Quinlan, "Architecture and Theology." In Theories and Manifestoes of Contemporary Architecture, ed.

Charles Jencks and Karl Kropf (Chichester: WileyAcademy, 2008), 193.

5 Richard Rogers, "Cities for a Small Planet." (Boulder: Westview Press, 1997), 15.

6 Ibid., 9.

7 Jane Jacobs, "the Death and Life of Great American Cities." In Theories and Manifestoes of Contemporary Architecture, ed. Charles Jencks and Karl Kropf (Chichester: Wiley-Academy, 2008), 24.

8 Richard Rogers, "Cities for a Small Planet." (Boulder: Westview Press, 1997), 11.

9 Ibid., 27.

10 Richard Rogers, "Cities for a Small Planet." (Boulder: Westview Press, 1997), 32.

11 Peter Calthorpe, "The Next American Metropolis." In Theories and Manifestoes of Contemporary Architecture, ed. Charles Jencks and Karl Kropf (Chichester: Wiley-Academy, 2008), 161.

12 Richard Rogers, "Cities for a Small Planet." (Boulder: Westview Press, 1997), 74.

13 Ibid., 21-22.

14 Ibid., 23.

15 Ibid., 40.

16 Ibid., 67.

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A Critical Analysis of Nikolaus Pevsner's Theory of the Origin of the Modern Movement Michael Carroll

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With Pioneers of the Modern Movement, Nikolaus Pevsner evoked a controversy which has survived for over three quarters of a century. Following years of acerbic condemnation, it is generally accepted that Pevsner's theory tracing the origin of the Modern Movement to William Morris and Walter Gropius has been discredited. I believe that the critics' own stylistic biases, combined with Pevsner's provocative polemics, have obscured the value of a theory designed to reveal the genesis of a narrowly-defined movement in architecture. Those who extrapolate Pevsner's theory in an attempt to suggest that it is meant as an explanation for the source of the broader phenomenon of modern architecture do a disservice to this work. As a complete history of modern architecture, Pioneers is limited in scope. Contrary to being a detriment, this brevity makes it an excellent source for introducing a discourse on modern architecture to the fledgling theorist.

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In 1936, Nikolaus Pevsner imparted a blueprint which delineates his theory describing the origin of the Modern Movement. As the author of Pioneers of the Modern Movement: From William Morris to Walter Gropius, Pevsner credits Walter Gropius for being instrumental in the creation of this new style. In his now famous argument, Pevsner suggests that the inspiration for the fundamental principles upon which Gropius informed the new style of architecture can be traced to the British Arts and Crafts Movement and William Morris in particular.

Largely ignored when it was initially published, Pioneers found new life after the Museum of Modern Art reprinted it in 1949. Reminiscing about his book thirty years after it was first published, Pevsner remarked that Pioneers “has been compulsory reading for many a generation of architectural students in this country [England].”17 In the introduction to the 2005 edition of Pioneers, Richard Weston states: “Pioneers remains one of the handful of books that are essential to an understanding of Modern architecture and design.”18 Despite the panegyrics, Pioneers has drawn a plethora of criticism, especially from advocates of traditional styles of architecture. 19 This paper focuses on the subtitle of Pevsner's opus: From William Morris to Walter Gropius. This Morris-toGropius theory has been a particular catalyst for contentious debate, providing one of the most controversial narratives written on the genesis of modern architecture. Because of Pevsner's reputation as an avowed Modernist, Pioneers has fueled an antagonistic disputation between critics of the Modern Movement and the faithful who defend this often-maligned architectural style. In Pioneers, Pevsner suggests that the Modern Movement, a specific sub-style within modern architecture, was launched by William Morris and epitomized by Walter Gropius. The validity of the Morristo-Gropius theory and the value of Pioneers to today's students of architectural history comprise the foundation for this paper.

Criticism of Pevsner by those who suggest that his Morris-to-Gropius explanation for the origin of Modern 107

architecture is an oversimplification of a complex subject is difficult to refute. Specifically, critics of Pevsner's theory suggest that: Pevsner was swayed by his alleged nationalistic bias; he was ignorant of Morris's scorn for the machine; Morris's embracing of medievalism disqualifies him as an influence in the history of Modernism; the kinship felt by Pevsner for Morris because of shared socialistic beliefs prejudiced his opinion; and Pevsner was overly obsessed with the notion of zeitgeist.20 The suggestion that William Morris is one of the founders of Modernism no doubt conjures up a vision of subterranean gymnastics to those familiar with his philosophy. The purpose of this study is to demonstrate the contemporaneous merit of Pioneers to the discipline of architectural history by convincing the reader that Pevsner's theory is worthy of acclaim both for its substance as well as for being a source of inspiration for further investigation and discovery.

While Pevsner's affiliation with Modernism has been well-documented and is hardly a subject for dispute, this allegiance does not mean that Pevsner was unappreciative of other architectural styles. His acceptance of picturesque forms drew criticism from fellow Modernists who were less tolerant of deviations within the new architecture. As a devout Modernist, Pevsner flirted with hypocrisy when he famously declared that aesthetically-speaking the medieval Lincoln Cathedral is architecture, as opposed to the purely utilitarian bicycle shed.21 In fact, in The Buildings of England, Pevsner describes an English church which is the antithesis of Modernism in the most loving language. Could this be the same historian whose admiration for Gropius bordered on fawning?22 Pevsner was not betraying Modernism; the label 'historian' is key.

Pevsner appreciated architectural styles from a bygone era as much as Morris; he simply did not cling to the sentiment that pastiche was an acceptable component of design in the twentieth century. Pevsner even came to the aid of historicist Victorian architecture, praising the â&#x20AC;&#x153;fervent individualism of Victorian architects.â&#x20AC;?23 Lamenting the lack of appreciation for Victoriana by his 108

fellow Englishmen, Pevsner joined a band of preservationists in founding the Victorian Society in 1958. Pevsner defended Victorian architecture at a time when this style shared a similar level of popularity in England as Brutalism does in America today. This is Pevsner the historian; historic styles should be studied and appreciated for their originality. Pevsner the Modernist held no desire to see historic styles reincarnated for the present. This, he felt, would deny architects the joy of original creation, and rob mankind of an architecture for the zeitgeist, one befitting the modern world. In 1961, Pevsner summarized his zeal for the arrival of Modernism when he said: “about 1900 to 1910, a race of giants arose and created a new style for a new century, a style which was completely independent of the past.”24 Later in life, after absorbing profuse criticism for Pioneers, Pevsner remained unrepentant. Loathe to betray his beloved International Style, Pevsner asserted that the architecture of 1930 had lost none of its appeal or validity. In the preface to the 1960 edition of Pioneers, Pevsner emphatically insists that the “structure” of his argument remains unchanged.25 Pevsner is quite explicit in his intentions for writing Pioneers. He not only introduces a clear outline for his theoretical evaluation of the origins of Modernism within the pages of Pioneers, he also revisited Pioneers on numerous occasions during his lifetime. Likely due to the controversy which Pevsner long-endured surrounding this book, the author recorded his thoughts regarding the validity of his theories, insisting that they have stood the test of time. Pevsner held true to his belief in the Morris-to-Gropius theory throughout his lifetime.

“The style of the twentieth century [is] a synthesis of the Morris Movement, the development of steel building, and Art Nouveau.”26 With this statement, Pevsner defines the tripartite argument which is the basis of Pioneers.

The selection of Art Nouveau, a rather short-lived 109

expressionistic style, as one of the three pillars of Modernism is interesting. In my opinion, Pevsner's view of Art Nouveau is somewhat schizophrenic; he assigns a vital role to this style in the creation of the Modern Movement, yet seems to only begrudgingly acknowledge its contribution to Modernism. Pevsner credits Art Nouveau as being important to the Modern Movement because its adherents were more accepting of the new construction methods and materials than were Arts and Crafts practitioners. The second part of Pevsner's argument, steel construction, refers to the revolution in building which was propelled by the use of iron as a structural material in the eighteenth century. Out of iron evolved steel. The new paradigm in strength-to-mass ratio made it possible to create structures which incorporated basic tenets of modern design, such as open floor plans, expansive use of glass, and flat roofs.

This is the least controversial “root” of Pevsner's sources of Modernism.27 The notion that the Morris Movement is a source of the style which would define the architecture of an epoch dominated by a machine ethos is, I believe, the most intriguing aspect of the three-part argument. It has been debated not only from the standpoint of the questionable relationship between two very different architectural styles, British Arts and Crafts and Modernism, but also because of the architects whom Pevsner chose not to identify as pioneers of the Modern Movement, including Le Corbusier. This theory is made even more fascinating by Pevsner's justification to deify Morris as “the true prophet of the twentieth century” by drawing a connection between Morris and Walter Gropius.28 Before continuing this investigation into Pevsner's Morris-to-Gropius theory, we should establish the importance of Gropius as an essential contributor to the development of Modern architecture.

Support for proclaiming Gropius as a pioneer of the Modern Movement may not be universal.29 However, in the interest of creating a point of departure from which we can examine the debate surrounding Pevsner's 110

Morris-to-Gropius theory, I will accept the premise which represents the consensus opinion of architectural historians. The esteem in which his supporters hold Gropius is evidenced by Giedion, who stated: “Walter Gropius put forth a new means of architectural expression in Europe about 1913.”30 With the fundamental role of Gropius in the genesis of Modernism assumed, we continue our examination of Pevsner's Morris-to-Gropius theory. Far from being a casual suggestion by the author, Pevsner courageously states this concept as the subtitle of Pioneers. Pevsner elucidates his theory in the following passage: Gropius regards himself as a follower of Ruskin and Morris, of van de Velde and of the Werkbund. So our circle is complete. The history of artistic theory between 1890 and the First World War proves the assertion on which the present work is based, namely, that the phase between Morris and Gropius is an historical unit. Morris laid the foundation of the modern style; with Gropius its character was ultimately determined.31 This quotation appears at the end of the critical first chapter of Pioneers. Titled “Theories of Art from Morris to Gropius,” this section begins with a discussion of Morris and the British Arts and Crafts Movement. Next, Pevsner highlights the importance of the machine to Modernism, in addition to the Arts and Crafts principle of rejecting applied ornament. He credits followers of Art Nouveau, Henri van de Velde in particular, for accepting machine art, thereby serving a transitory function between Arts and Crafts and Modernism. Pevsner then presents Hermann Muthesius as the man most responsible for acquainting Germans with the English style at the turn-of-the-century.32 The debate which Nikolaus Pevsner launched in 1936 has outlived popular enthusiasm for the new architecture. In Pioneers of the Modern Movement, Pevsner introduces a theory in which three primary factors are credited with being the sources of 111

Modernism: new engineering, Art Nouveau, and the Morris Movement.33 The contribution of engineers who employed materials such as iron, steel, concrete, and glass in a manner never before seen, is the least controversial attribution of Pevsner's sources of Modernism, though critics point to the antithetical relationship between these modern methods and materials and the medieval-rooted philosophy of Arts and Crafts.34 Pevsner includes Art Nouveau in his narrative despite his rejection of Expressionism.

Reflecting on Pioneers in 1961, Pevsner stated: “To recognize Art Nouveau for what it was and to define the part it played in history does not necessarily mean to recommend it, least of all for imitation.”35 The crucial role which Art Nouveau (the origins of which Pevsner traces to Louis Sullivan and Victor Horta) served in the inception of Modernism lies in the “courage” of architects such as Gaudi, who Pevsner claims challenged historicism and introduced originality.36 Pevsner credits architects of Art Nouveau for providing inspiration to Modernist ideals by experimenting with new methods and materials as they rejected historic styles; therefore, Art Nouveau need not share either functional or aesthetic principles with Modernism to still be a contributing factor. This is an important concept for understanding Pevsner's logic. Similarly, Morris inspired Muthesius and Gropius in their quest for a new architecture, even though there is much that Arts and Crafts and Modernism do not have in common.

In England, not since Ruskin has there been a critic as influential as Pevsner. The sheer volume of his literary oeuvre makes him a significant contributor to the history of architecture, especially English architecture; but it is his opinionated, straightforward manner of writing which has made Pevsner both endearing and controversial.

His critics' myopia, jealously, suspicion, and the scholarly dissection of questionable logic, as well as Pevsner's polemical style of recording history, have combined to produce copious assessments of Pioneers. Pevsner invited criticism that his theory is an oversimplification of a complex subject when he stated in 1966 that he meant 112

for Pioneers to be â&#x20AC;&#x153;the complete prehistory of all that mattered in twentieth-century architectural design â&#x20AC;&#x201C; the Modern Movement.â&#x20AC;?37 The Morris-to-Gropius theory may be an oversimplification, but that is part of its value. By proposing a theory meant to uncover the origins of Modernism in an easily-grasped narrative and illustrated with specific examples, Pevsner liberated a dialogue from the confines of academia. When Pevsner created The Buildings of England, he was attempting to compile a complete, definitive record of the subject. In Pioneers, on the other hand, he does not chronicle every architect and factor relevant to the legacy of Modernism.

Pioneers is not a handbook, but rather a guidebook; by illumining key historical factors which are relevant to an inquest seeking the source of the Modern Movement, Pevsner invites the reader to explore one of the most controversial and divisive topics in twentieth-century architecture.

Today, Pioneers remains both influential and controversial. Much of the disparagement which has fallen on Pevsner's theory of Modernism has paralleled the declining fate of Modernism itself. Pevsner's detractors criticize him for his Modernist agenda, yet the opinions of many of his critics are suspect; too often the discussion involves devotees of Modernism versus neoclassicists. Pevsner's theory deserves to be considered on its own merits as a historical (if somewhat polemical) study; not as fodder in the contentious debate revolving around the role which Modernism deserves in architecture. Certainly, the origin of the Modern Movement specifically and modern architecture in general is more complex than the Morris-to-Gropius theory suggests. The history of modern architecture is intertwined with the history of human culture. It transcends a singular theory, encompassing disciplines as varied as art, fashion, psychology, economics, even music. Nonetheless, Pioneers is a valid study of the sources of the Modern Movement as it evolved in Germany during the years leading to the Great War, influenced by unique cultural forces in Great Britain.

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1 Nikolaus Pevsner and Stephen Games, Pevsner on Art and Architecture: The Radio Talks (London: Methuen, 2002), 293.

2 Nikolaus Pevsner, Pioneers of Modern Design: From William Morris to Walter Gropius (New Haven, Conn: Yale University Press, 2005), 7.

3 Although Pevsner does not offer a specific definition of Modern Movement in Pioneers, evidence in this as well as later works by Pevsner suggests that he is referring to a style of modernism which is most closely identifiable with the International Style, an appellation coined by Philip Johnson and Henry-Russell Hitchcock just four years before Pioneers was published. In this paper, International Style, new style, new architecture, Modern architecture, and Modernism are synonymous with Modern Movement, a genre of modern architecture.

4 Indicative of their philosophical kinship, Pevsner's strong belief in zeitgeist was shared by Muthesius, who said in 1902: “there can be only one standard for art, namely that which expresses the life and culture of the time.” Hermann Muthesius and Stanford Anderson,StyleArchitecture and Building-Art: Transformations of Architecture in the Nineteenth Century and its Present Condition (Santa Monica, CA: Getty Center for the History of Art and the Humanities, 1994), 61.

5 Nikolaus Pevsner, An Outline of European Architecture (New York: C. Scribner's Sons, 1948), 10.

6 Pevsner, writing in The Anti-Rationalists, described his tribute to Gropius in the final pages of Pioneers as “dithyrambic.” J. M. Richards and Nikolaus Pevsner, The Anti-Rationalists (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1973), 1.

7 Draper, Reassessing, 136.

8 Pevsner and Games, Radio, 272.

9 Pevsner, Pioneers, (1960), 17.

10 Ibid., 147.

11 Ibid., 118 12 Ibid., 22.

13 In a letter written to Pevsner in 1947, Philip Johnson stated: “Of course you realize that I feel the name of Walter Gropius is overstressed. I can tell you that I believe that Mr. Gropius has never designed any building, whether it has appeared over his name alone or not.” Sunwoo, "Whose Design,” 69. The motive for this criticism is questionable. Within the pages of the landmark text The International Style, written in 1932 and 114

14 15 16 17

18

19 20 21

co-authored by Johnson, is found the statement: â&#x20AC;&#x153;It is particularly in the early work of Gropius in Germany, Oud in Holland, and Le Corbusier in France, that the various steps in the inception of the new style must be sought.â&#x20AC;?

Henry-Russell Hitchcock and Philip Johnson, The International Style (New York: Norton, 1966), 28.

Sigfried Giedion, Space, Time and Architecture: The Growth of a New Tradition (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967), 618.

Pevsner, Pioneers, (1960), 39.

Ibid., 32.

Pevsner's Morris-to-Gropius theory was not entirely original. In Style-Architecture and Building-Art, written in 1902, Hermann Muthesius credits the Arts and Crafts Movement which Morris inspired in the 1860's as the source of Germany's new architecture. Muthesius, StyleArchitecture, 83.

Pevsner recognizes that Pugin and Ruskin both found the Crystal Palace appalling; however, despite his rejection on aesthetic grounds, Ruskin predicted that iron and glass would have a significant effect on architecture in the future. Pevsner, Pioneers, (1960), 133-134.

Pevsner and Games, Radio, 275.

Ibid., 272.

Ibid., 293.

115

There is nothing more dreadful than imagination without taste.

Goethe

116