Going Public: Restoring Architecture's Public Dimension

RESTORING ARCHITECTURE’S PUBLIC DIMENSION

JOE MIHANOVIC

GOING PUBLIC

Author Joe Mihanovic Project Information Site: Moffett Federal Airfield, unincorporated territory bordering Mountain View, CA 94043.

Project: Public park, housing development, and civic forum Copyright @ 2019-2020, Joe Mihanovic.

Printed and distributed via Blurb, Inc. California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, College of Architecture & Environmental Design, Architecture Department.

Karen Lange Thesis Studio, ARCH 481-04: Senior Architectural Design Project All rights reserved under international copyright restrictions. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed and bound in the United States, 2019, 2

Going Public Restoring Architecture’s Public Dimension

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I dedicate this book to my loving parents, Mom and Dad, for giving me the opportunity to pursue my dreams, and to my wonderful siblings Jake, Gillian, and Mara, for supporting me throughout.

Table of Contents 08 13

A Personal Note Manifesto

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Part I - Commodification in Architecture The Public Realm: A Shifting Narrative Architecture’s Public Dimension Architecture in the Age of Commodity Culture Experiment 1: Initial Studies

16 21 27 30 35

6

36 38 41 42 53 62

Part II - Commercialization and the Decline of Public Architecture The Privatization of Architecture Public Funding Public Sector Practice Architecture as Marketing Ideological Movers Experiment 2: Art Book

66 68 69 74

Part III - The Plight of Public Life The Devaluing of the Public Sphere The Social Cost of Private Enterprise The Social Burden of Exclusivity

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Part IV - Public Architecture (That Works) 82 The Lingering Public Value of Architecture 82 Case Study 1: Parc de la Villette 94 Case Study 2: Playa Vista Central Park 112 Case Study 3: Merida Factory Youth Movement 129 130 152 156 162 172

Part V - Urban Intervention(s) Site Experiment 3: Site Marking Program Design Studies Design Proposal

184 Endnotes

Appendix: Table of Contents

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A Personal Note Upon entering into the undergraduate program at Cal Poly, I really had no idea what architecture was, nor what to expect from my education. In my naivety I supposed that nearly every single-family house was designed by an architect; that architects laid a hand on nearly every large-scale physical manifestation of public and private life. It came as quite a shock to me, then, to realize that merely a tiny fraction of buildings are actually designed by architects. Even more of a surprise to me, was learning that there are only about 100,000 licensed architects working in the US, a country of 320 million. How small and insignificant our craft is!

Without a doubt I have been hardened by my architectural education,

in more ways than one. As such, I had very little trouble in identifying what I perceive to be shortcomings of contemporary architecture and urban design, when asked to come up with a research topic. Yet a few identifiable trends stick out from the bunch. After years of study and observation, it is clear to me that contemporary urban development (both architectural and not) is both exclusionary and mired by profit compulsion. My thesis intends to explore the causes, pitfalls, and possible solutions to this paradigm.

I do not pretend to have definitive answers.

Instead my thesis

hypothesizes on and elucidates alternative models of urban development in an attempt to realize a more socially-conscious built condition. Thesis for me has been (and continues to be) an exercise in seeking and speculating.

Over the course of my research I have consulted numerous sources,

although a few were of special import to my course of study and in some ways shaped the trajectory of the project. The first and foremost among them was a collection of essays found in the 2005 Harvard Design Magazine Reader book entitled Commodification and Spectacle in Architecture, compiled and edited

by William Saunders - which includes essays from several leading architectural historians, theorists, and designers. The most useful among them was Michael Benedikt’s “Less for Less Yet: On Architecture’s Value(s) in the Marketplace” and

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Going Public: Restoring Architecture’s Public Dimension

Kevin Kelley’s “Architecture for Sale(s): An Unabashed Apologia,” two decidedly capitalistic manifestos geared towards renewing the market value of architecture.

Kenneth Frampton’s collected essays in Labour, Work, and Architecture

were also highly useful - the most useful among them being “The Status of Man and the Status of his Objects” (1979). I found myself returning to Frampton again and again, especially in the early stages of research, during which time I was narrowing my research focus. The same can be said of Hannah Arendt’s The Human Condition (1958), a text I initially consulted mostly because of the several occasions in which a different text I was reading specifically identified this one as one of particular import (Frampton’s among them). Arendt’s astute observations concerning the public realm and mass society influenced my early ideas and set a proper philosophical framework for later discussions.

Upon narrowing my scope of research I was drawn to a few texts in

particular. The first was The Public Face of Architecture: Civic Culture and Public Spaces, edited by Nathan Glazer and Mark Lilla - a 1987 collection of essays from numerous critics, historians, and designers (related to architecture and not), including Arendt, Moshe Safdie, Roger Scruton, and J.B. Jackson. The collection discusses a broad range of topics concerning the theories surrounding public space as well as its practical usage. While it was written several decades ago, nearly everything in it is still relevant (aside from perhaps those essays which concerned the dying shopping mall), since many of the trends identified there have continued to the present day. Another was the more recent Rites of Way: The Politics and Poetics of Public Space (2009), compiled and edited by Mark Kingwell and Patrick Turmel.

I must also acknowledge a few blog posts and articles which offered

crucial commentary concerning my research topic; namely, “Architectural agency and public value” by Tom Fox (written in 2018; and suggested by my instructor Karen Lange) and a 2015 editorial by Bradley L. Garrett in The Guardian titled, “The privatisation of cities’ public spaces is escalating. It is time to take a stand.”

Many of these texts are directly quoted throughout my thesis, and indeed

A Personal Note

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my research heavily borrows ideas and concepts from them while infusing my own personal dialogue. This is an acknowledgment that I stand on the shoulders of noted scholars and professionals whose knowledge transcends that of my own. To the extent that I create (or attempt to create) new knowledge through this thesis, much of it was gleaned from realizations reached through the careful reading of these people’s texts, in conjunction with personal conjectures and observations.

And lastly, I must thank the wonderful teachers and mentors I have

interacted with here at Cal Poly, not the least of which is my current thesis professor Karen Lange. I am grateful for their patience, thoughtful consideration, and devoted tutelage.

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Going Public: Restoring Architecture’s Public Dimension

A Personal Note

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Going Public: Restoring Architecture’s Public Dimension

Manifesto Amid its pretensions of social responsibility, contemporary architecture serves as a mere tool of capital, neglecting its civic imperatives and reinforcing inequities.

Symptomatic of this condition are several identifiable trends: namely, the lack of public sector architecture, the duly-noted triumph of exchange value over use value in the construction industry, and the trimming of the “messy and the idiosyncratic” in response to market demands.1

Contemporary architecture

and urban development essentially act as methods by which private entities and well-off individuals store and accumulate wealth, rather than processes of settling and supporting people for the benefit of society at large. When profit is the be-all and end-all, architecture both loses its artistic and evocative vitality, and relinquishes its role in ensuring a healthy public life.

This thesis intends to research the neutralization of architecture’s public

value through the privatization and commodification of urban development, and explore means of re-asserting architecture’s social utility by providing for the public needs of the city which are not tied to market demands.

This entails

a review of certain characteristics of effective public architecture: namely, freedom of expression, multiplicity of use, and public spectacle. These will be discussed through several case studies.

1 Fox, Tom. “Architectural agency and public value.” UCL Institute for Innovation and Public Purpose, Medium, 12 July 2018.

Web. Accessed 1 October 2019.

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Part I: Commodification in Architecture

The Public Realm: A Shifting Narrative Together the public and private realms establish a dual lived reality. Yet the very notion of ‘the public vs. the private’ is ever subject to shifting cultural attitudes and assumptions. Today the scope of what constitutes ‘the public’ is in a state of expansion. With the invention of social media and the accompanying proliferation of hand-held communication devices, many things which were once delegated to the realm of the private are now on display for broader society. There is little doubt the world is much more connected than it once was - never before have two people on opposite ends of the globe been able communicate seamlessly. And with an expanding scope of interconnectivity has come a broadening, or rather, softening of what is considered public.

Yet the contemporary emphasis on interconnectivity is out of line

with traditional modes of understanding. In an age far gone, the “public vs. private” dichotomy was presented as strictly-defined opposing characteristics of property. A hard line was drawn between the shared civic and cultural life of a body politic and intimate home life. In The Human Condition (1958), author Hannah Arendt charts the fluctuation of the public realm over time, beginning with antiquity. She writes: “The rise of the city-state meant that man received besides his private life a sort of second life, his bios politikos. Now every citizens belongs to two orders of existence, and there is a sharp distinction in his life between what is his own (idiom) and what is communal (koinon)”1

Arendt is keen to point out that the existence of the public realm is predicated on the presence of a governing body. Without it, human life is mostly characterized by private deeds and private interactions. Furthermore, it is worth noting the emphasis on the belonging of things. In this manner, the private realm is that which is owned by oneself, and the public is that which is shared.

Yet the distinction is less a matter of abstract association than it is a literal

1 Arendt, Hannah. The Human Condition. University of Chicago Pres, Ltd., London, 1958. Print. Accessed 4 November 2019.

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Going Public: Restoring Architecture’s Public Dimension

description of land ownership. After all, a person’s speech belong to them and only them, and yet speech is considered a political (public) action. In the case of the ancient Greeks, interaction between people only considered public when it occurred in specific, designated ‘public’ places. The polis stood as the pillar of public life, and everything that occurred in the polis constituted a piece of the public realm. Meanwhile, that which occurred in one’s home was an intensely personal (private) matter.

Notably, the ancient Greek’s presentation of this duality was not merely

an observation; it was also a suggested means of ordering society. The private realm was born out of necessity for the welfare of families, and any intrusion of public matters into the home was disadvantageous to the immediate needs of the family, or so the Greeks thought.

fig 1: the Greek polis - the center of civic and cultural life for the landowning few

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fig 2: ancient Greek public life was solely enjoyed by the land-owning few

fig 3: classical antiquity is marked by the subjugation of woman to the private realm

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Going Public: Restoring Architecture’s Public Dimension

Yet this satisfies only one part of the equation.

While the spatial

distribution of commonly held vs. personally held land marks the literal boundary of the two realms, it fails to accommodate the role of civic engagement. Arendt notes that in classical antiquity owning land was a prerequisite to participating in the public sphere. Thus women were subjected solely to the private realm, as they could not own land. Moreover, instances of non-landing owning individuals finding themselves in between the boundaries of privately-held land - be they women, children, slaves, or other landless people - would not satisfy the civic mandate of the public sphere. Arendt clarifies: “[T]he word “private” in connection with property, even in terms of ancient political thought, immediately loses its privative character and much of its opposition to the public realm in general; property apparently possesses certain qualifications which, though lying in the private realm, were always thought to be of utmost importance to the political body... The profound connection between private and public, manifest on its most elementary level in the question of public property, is likely to be misunderstood today because of the modern equation of property and wealth on one side and propertylessness and poverty on the other.”

Thus the distinction between the public and private sphere is extended to civic privileges afforded by property, more than the property boundaries themselves.

Surely this association is compatible with the modern understanding of civics in relation to the public realm. Most would agree that a speech or protest constitutes an inherently public action. Yet more recent social changes have complexified the relationship between the private and the public, blurring the lines while affording an altogether different interpretation: that the public and private realms are distinguished by privacy.

Mass society itself is in some sense characterized by an ease of social

access.

It is safe to say that ‘modern’ technology has drastically altered

interpersonal dynamics, forcing a re-evaluation of the existing social structure.

The social structure is further rocked by emancipatory civil changes which empowered previously disenfranchised groups. To distinguish the public and Part I: Commodification in Architecture

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private realms by either land ownership or civic privilege is no longer adequate in gaging the dual nature of reality. Instead, the public realm includes that which is displayed, and the private, that which is hidden. Arendt again adds, “The distinction between the private and public realms, seen from the viewpoint of privacy rather than of the body politic, equals the distinction between things that should be shown and things that should be hidden.

Only the modern age, in its rebellion against society, has discovered how rich and manifold the realm of the hidden can be under the conditions of intimacy”

Here, Arendt’s words appear prescient, for the more recent arrival of the age of social media has magnified the modern era’s emphasis on privacy as the determining feature of the private. Surely neither property alone nor political action nor both combined are the sole determinant(s). One can imagine that a YouTube star’s bedroom makeup tutorial, while it may sit within the physical boundary of a private property and while it may bear no direct relation to civic privileges, has the potential to be among the most public of actions. In that case the public nature of the thing is a product of the number of viewers.

For the purpose of this thesis I mostly refer to the public-ness of a

property or urban development dually in terms of its ownership and its users.

In that sense the concept is most closely tied to the version of classical antiquity.

Inevitably, the political implications of a public space are a prime characteristic and worthy of note - this I also discuss throughout, especially in relation to a space or development’s enabling of political speech. Yet the inquiry would fall short if it did not address the modern emphasis on privacy. This too my thesis will address, especially in its discussion of surveillance in so-called privatelyowned public developments.

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Going Public: Restoring Architecture’s Public Dimension

Architecture’s Public Dimension In some respects architecture inherently belongs to the public realm, at least in societies where people live next to each other. This concept is hardly a new one; some would argue that the very existence of the public sphere finds its root in man’s first (architectural) attempts at communal shelter; the fireplace, the hearth. Yet today architecture’s public dimension is most commonly defined along the lines of Arendt’s elaboration of property ownership.

Conservative theorist and commentator Roger Scruton offers his

interpretation of architecture’ public dimension: “A space is made public by the nature of its boundary. It is a space into which anyone may enter, and from which anyone may depart, without the consent of strangers, and without any declaration-however tacit-of a justifying purpose. The boundary which creates a public space is both permeable and open to our public uses. A truly public architecture is one which attempts to record and symbolize the condition of civil life, by reminding us at every juncture of our freedom to engage in it. It is an architecture which possesses the virtue of civility. We must attempt, therefore, to understand the kind of boundary which such an architecture erects.”1

Importantly, Scruton acknowledges the political implications of public space, which in his view necessitates freedom of movement and openness of access.

But Scruton’s interpretation offers a slight twist: in his view public architecture serves as a symbol of the civic virtue of a nation. In this sense public and civic architecture is to be judged by how accurately it reflects the sociopolitical order of the regime within which it finds itself. It would seem Scruton sees architecture as a kind of conformist tool, to act as a visual legitimization of the contemporaneous sociopolitical order. Certainly Scruton’s view diverges from more progressive views on architecture’s social and political obligations.

Still, Scruton finds some corroboration in Frampton’s “The Status of Man

1 Scruton, Roger. “Public Space and the Classical Vernacular.” The Public Face of Architecture: Civic Culture and Public Spaces.

The Free Press, 1987. Print. Accessed 22 October 2019.

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and the Status of his Objects.” Writes Frampton, “While the representative scope of architecture had already become severely curtailed by the turn of the [twentieth] century, the space of public appearance could still serve not only to house the public realm, but also to represent its reality. [I]n the nineteenth century the public institution was exploited as an occasion on which to reify the permanent values of the society.”1

Evidently Frampton tends to agree with Scruton’s basic analysis on architecture’s potential symbolic power. Yet Frampton’s starkly different ideological viewpoint offers a distinct framework within which the discipline can be understood. For Frampton, architecture’s moral imperatives extend more broadly to the political dimensions of environmental responsibility and physiological and psychological well-being. In some sense architecture is a public action in and of itself - if for no other reason than the simple fact that architecture uses ever precious resources to both maintain and construct, a social burden for all to bear.

His analysis is more closely tied to Arendt’s characterizations of the

association of the public realm with property ownership and civic engagement, respectively. Yet Arendt’s analysis seems to be missing something; as Frampton explains, architecture’s public dimension is defined by that which is shared between all people - whether property or not. In the case of environmentalism, what is shared is the environment itself, far removed from Arendt’s narrower classifications of public vs. private land ownership. Frampton writes in his contribution to the Harvard Design Reader Commodification and Spectacle in Architecture: “The substance of political process needs to be articulated within the field [of architecture]... not only in relation to the big politics of largescale environmental policy, to be argued for agnostically in the public realm, but also in the small politics of psychosocial well-being and

1 Frampton, Kenneth. “The Status of Man and the Status of his Objects.” Labour, Work and Architecture. Phaidon Press Limited, 2002. Print. Accessed 17 October 2019.

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fig 4: The emergence of so-called “green design” is in part a product of a sense of shared responsibility over the public realm

fig 5: Denmark’s Bjarke Ingels is a high-profile proponent of green design

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sustainability, as these factors may be incorporated at a micro-scale into environmental design. On the one hand, then, political consciousness, in the broadest sense, ought to be as much part of design education as any other component in an architectural curriculum; on the other hand, it is necessary to maintain an ethical dimension in the culture of design itself...

It is a stark prospect and a difficult choice that not everyone in the design professions is equally free to make to the same degree, that is to say, the choice between going with the flow of the market or cultivating a self- conscious resistance... Certainly living needs, as opposed to desires, demand to be met but surely not in such a way as to ruin the world for generations yet unborn”1

Interestingly, Frampton posits architecture’s public value as in direct conflict with the desirability of profit - a topic which will be discussed in greater detail later. In any case, most would agree that architects have an obligation to the broader public to promote their physical and mental well-being, while mitigating environmental damage as much as possible. Yet many would argue architecture’s public dimension stretches even farther. If the public sphere is to be understood as that which is commonly shared, then even a building’s appearance carries some semblance of public value. Frampton adds, “Architecture, by its very nature, is a public matter. Whenever we consider buildings in their aesthetic, economic, or moral dimensions, we must be prepared, at the same time, to treat those dimensions in public terms: to see that buildings can also serve as public art, or as civic monuments, or as contributions to the social life of the city. Even the home, which might seem to exist solely for the private comfort and pleasure of the owner, will, except in the most rural setting, face pedestrians on a public street along with other homes. Architecture is ‘consumed’ less by its owners than by the anonymous public walks or drives by the facade, crosses the building lobby, or waits in the doctor’s office.”2

1 Frampton, Kenneth. “Introduction: The Work of Architecture in the Age of Commodification.” Commodification and Spectacle

in Architecture: A Harvard Design Magazine Reader. Saunders, William S. University of Minnesota Press, 2005. Print. Accessed 23 October 2019.

2 Glazer, Nathan & Lilla, Mark. The Public Face of Architecture: Civic Culture and Public Spaces. The Free Press, 1987. Print.

Accessed 22 October 2019.

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Here the physical and mental well-being of the body politic is discussed on a meta-scale, in which architecture’s public value extends far beyond the narrow scope of its inhabitants, and is instead understood more broadly as a visual manifestation of the body politic itself.

Still more, architecture - whether

privately-owned or not - is inevitably consumed on a mass scale and thus necessarily asserts itself into the public sphere. On these terms architecture’s public dimension is expanded to the boundaries of the contemporary paradigm concerning the public sphere. Rather than being tied to property or to civic engagement, architecture’s public dimension is defined by that which is shown vs. that which is hidden. And since architecture is hardly able to hide (save for some instance of people living in the wilderness far from society), it stands to reason that architecture is inextricably a public matter, as Frampton suggests.

Yet not all architecture is equally public, to be sure. The degree to

which various kinds of people have access to and feel welcome at a particular site, for example, is an essential determinant of a project’s public character. I give the converse examples of commonly-held (public) properties like military bases that are heavily surveilled which are not open to the broader public, and shopping malls which are privately-owned yet which are (mostly) open to the broader public (although indeed many malls have exclusionary policies targeted at specific segments of the population). Both of these could serve as examples of ‘public,’ in different senses of the word - yet I would not classify either as truly public.

While the public-ness of a space is a matter of degree, for the purposes

of this thesis I mostly refer to public space as space which is accessible and open to all, commonly owned and maintained through the necessary apparatus of a democratic governing body, reasonably free of surveillance, available as a scene of political action, and which respects the bodily autonomy and freedom of expression of the individuals present.

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fig 6: luxury apartments within the heavily-subsidized Hudson Yards development

fig 7: NYC’s Hudson Yards development is perhaps the best example of an architecture optimized for exchange rather than (public) use

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Architecture in an Age of Commodity Culture Many have noted the dawn of the age of commodity culture, to paraphrase Frampton and others. A symptom, or perhaps inciter of today’s hyper-commodified consumer society is an increasingly skewed concentration of wealth in the upper echelons of the economic order. Yet while some individuals find themselves living in excess, the field of architecture has not seen the increase in agency one might expect from exorbitant wealth. Rather, architecture has increasingly been subjugated to the same corporate, profit-maximizing machinery that allowed the wealthy few to succeed. As such, it has been cheapened, trivialized, and squeezed, becoming at once a money-making tool and a symbolic display of grandeur. Some observers have noted the especially taxing economic pressures exacerbated by the 2008 financial crisis. Tom Fox’s article “Architectural agency and public value” provides a particularly cogent assessment: “Despite the important role of urban space in creating public value, the architectural profession is increasingly put to work in extracting and shifting value. The transfer of value through real estate has been gradually growing over the final decades of the 20th century, but since the financial crisis of 2008 this has become particularly acute. In order for architecture to be a reliable investment its brief has changed. Instead of architectural value being created through meeting the needs of those that live in it or around it, its value is derived from its ease of commodification. The result on the city is clear. Architecture has expelled the messy and the idiosyncratic in order to become a reliable means of revenue.”1

Importantly, Fox notes the contemporary emphasis on shifting wealth through architecture, far from architecture’s historical ties to wealth. While at one time architecture served as a mere display of royal splendor, like in the case of Imperial France’s Palace of Versailles, architecture in the consumer era is marked by the accumulative market demands of private enterprise. Within the field, this manifests as an architecture optimized for marketing, commerce, and most

1 Fox, Tom. “Architectural agency and public value.” UCL Institute for Innovation and Public Purpose, Medium, 12 July 2018.

Web. Accessed 1 October 2019.

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of all, rent collection. Surely optimization is far from undesirable in and of itself, and yet this begs the question, who is the architecture optimized for? It would seem that architecture’s “ease of commodification,” merely affords wealthy capitalists further ability to accrue wealth. Moreover, the privatization of urban development has seen through the well-documented triumph of exchange value over use value - meaning, urban developments are more and more tailored for the short term profits (of the few), rather than long-term usage (by the many).

Herein lies the impetus for my further research.

The ensuing Parts II and III will explore the causes and symptoms of this

overarching trend; Part II will mainly focus on how urban development is less and less tailored for the broader public, while Part III will more broadly analyze the devaluing of the public sphere and the decline of public life. Subsequently, Part IV puts forth a more positive note, and analyzes three decent examples of public space/public architecture. And lastly, Part V will present my own design proposal.

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Part I: Commodification in Architecture

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Experiment 1: Initial Studies Our first physical thesis investigation was executed in groups of three. Together with classmates Elijah Williams and Stephen Breaux, we identified common themes of interest across each of our thesis topics. “Domestic Novelties” is a three-part display of socio-economic degeneracy.

It crystallizes institutional

failures; namely, environmental degradation as a product of excessive consumption, greed, and commercial imagery as a form of propaganda. Each of these are enormous problems unto themselves, but they share something in common - they are all byproducts of an over-consuming American capitalist machine.

Thus this study for us was an ode to the woes of American society we felt our respective theses might address.

My focus was mostly the base of the model - which gives

a visual description of infrastructural and transportational decay.

Trains, cars, buses, are our preferred methods of movement but as a common cohort Americans refuse to invest in the public infrastructure necessary to support them - and thus they each fall short. Our trains are notoriously slow and old-fashioned; and our cars and buses suffer innumerable damage due to potholes and other preventable infrastructural failings. As follows, the base includes train tracks, traffic cones, a cloverleaf highway intersection, and paved roads.

The location of the above infrastructural artifacts at the

base of the model hint at their social function as a necessary and supportive component of society.

They “uphold” more trivial

pursuits - guns, hunting, and architecture - yet they tend to take a backseat in the eye of the public. Thus the base plays second fiddle to the grand centerpiece.

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fig 8

fig 9

Experiment 1: Initial Studies

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fig 10 (top left) fig 11 (bottom left) fig 12 (right)

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Part II: Commercialization and the Decline of Public Architecture

The Privatization of Architecture With the rise of the neoliberalism in the US and elsewhere, public entities have increasingly been privatized. The prospect of public housing, for example, has practically disappeared from the discourse in the US - in part a reaction to the monumental failures of High Modernist projects like Pruitt-Igoe, and in part a product of stereotypes associating public housing with the expectation of crime, lower property values, and poor aesthetic taste. A keen observer would remark that the lack of funding appropriated to these projects and bureaucratic mismanagement played major roles in these failures, but nonetheless the negative associations had already been drawn in the eye of the public. Developers were quick to cash in on the void left by governmental abandonment of such projects - after all, people still need places to live.

But the conditions afforded by private developments are entirely

inadequate for supporting dense populaces in many urban centers, for several reasons. The cost of living in places like New York, San Francisco, and to a lesser degree Los Angeles has increased so precipitously over the past several decades that many residents find themselves living on the streets, and many of those that do not, moved out already. So poor, in fact, are living conditions in San Francisco that a special housing report by the United Nations in 2018 declared the city of San Francisco to be guilty of human rights violations.1

By the same token, public spaces - so vital to the social and civic life of

any city - are beginning to disappear. City councils of densely-populated urban environments from New York to San Francisco to Los Angeles have happily turned over prime real estate to private developers - practically relinquishing any hope that it might be put to good public use (in many cases this is due to a lack of funding on the part of the local municipality, although in some cases there are highly dubious ties between big developers and the local officials, like in New York). Even ostensibly publicly-accessible developments held by

1 Farha, Leilani. “Report of the Special Rapporteaur on adequate housing as a component of the right to an adequate standard of living, and on the right to non-discrimination in this context.” United Nations General Assembly, 19 September 2018. Web, Accessed 16 October 2019.

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fig 13: MacArthur Park, Los Angeles

fig 14: Pershing Square, Downtown Los Angeles

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private entities, like Hudson Yards in New York, come with the asterisks of being heavily monitored and exclusive in practice. It is worth mentioning, too, that such spaces often carry an underlying capitalist imperative, wooing potential customers to a specific place in the hopes that they might go shopping after a quick trip up the Vessel for example. Is the Vessel truly a “public� project, if its purpose is to attract customers into the next-door shopping mall? Is it really inclusive?

These issues and others reveal the plight of the public realm in the

US. Whether for ideological reasons (and surely there are some) or for purely pragmatic ones, civic institutions have abdicated their role in preserving and improving public space. And more broadly, civic institutions have abdicated their role in protecting, promoting, and building public developments.

For

decades, civic engagement in architecture and construction has declined in the US - and with this decline, architecture increasingly acts as a moneymaking tool for individuals and corporations. This observation is evidenced by numerous identifiable trends; namely, the decline of public construction spending, the lack of architects working in the public sector, the turnover of public lands to private interests, and the co-opting of architecture for the purpose of selling goods and/or services. These issues are compounded and indeed, reinforced by an acquiescence to the market demands of private enterprise, by theorists and designers within the field of architecture. Even more so, they are exacerbated by the political pronouncements by ideologues within the architecture industry.

Part II will comment on each of these issues, respectively.

Public funding There is little doubt that the US government is less financially invested in funding new developments than it once was. In the decades following the Second World War, new developments were needed to support an influx of soldiers returning from the war - and with their return a near immediate skyrocketing of the birthrate. Baby-boomers, as this newly birthed generation came to

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fig 15: Iberville Public Housing Development

fig 16: Jordan Downs public housing in Watts, California

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be known, needed public schools, civic institutions, public libraries, public transportation and most of all housing. Thus for several decades following the Second World War, the US taxpayer was heavily invested in funding supportive developments through direct public funding and subsidies, although of course the Great Depression provided incentive enough for the government to act as a developer. In 1937 the Wagner-Steagall Housing Act dramatically expanded the federal government’s role in both public sector and private sector housing.

This spurred the construction of 50,000 units in 1939 alone.1 Large-scale developments like the Iberville Public Housing Development in New Orleans sprang up all around the country as part of this initiative, with the purpose of supporting and promoting the general welfare of the burgeoning population.

Public initiatives were further expanded under the Housing Act of 1949, which increased the role of the federal government in both public and private housing.

The explosion of new housing projects during this period was mirrored by an increase in various infrastructural and civic projects, including dams, roads, highways, municipal buildings, public schools, etc.

Yet over time, the US has gradually abdicated its role in funding (and

regulating) urban developments. Consider this: in the fiscal year of 2017, US public construction spending hit a 24 year low, at 1.42% of the country’s GDP, and in the following year the number mostly stayed static at 1.44% (US Public construction spending unfortunately is only available from 1993 to the present day). This marks a trend of decline since 2009 when it reached its highest point of 2.22%, at which time the US government was engaged in stimulus spending to alleviate the depression.2

Public infrastructure spending is another a good indicator of the of the

US taxpayer’s financial commitment to the public realm. A 2017 report by the Congressional Budget Office found that US spending on infrastructure as a percentage of GDP is at it’s lowest point since 1956 - a 60 year period - trickling

1 Keith, Nathaniel S. Politics and the Housing Crisis since 1930. Universe Books, 1973. Print. Accessed 20 October 2019.

2 “Total Public Construction Spending.” Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, 1 October 2019. Web. Accessed 21 October 2019.

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down to around 2.3%.1 In both cases, the US government has abdicated its role in protecting and promoting the health of the urban condition.

Public sector practice The decline of public funding for architectural projects has seen a similar decline in architects working in the public sector.

With the lack of new

projects commissioned by the government, attempting to find work in a highly competitive public sector is often an onerous and unrewarding endeavor. This is true not only of the US, but also other countries as well.

According to the Fees Bureau’s Architects Earnings survey, over 80% of

American architects are employed by private practices, while just 10% work in the public sector and an additional 10% work as in-house architects for private commercial companies.2 Evidently there is not much work to be had in the public sector, which at least partly limits architects’ ability to provide public value to broader society. Instead this public value is sort of indirectly derived through architects’ fulfillment of various private needs.

Consider also the plight of public sector architecture in the United

Kingdom. In 1976, 49% of UK architects were working in the public sector. But after a Thatcher regime hellbent on privatization, this quickly reversed, and the incidence of architects working in the public sector has continued to decline ever since. By 2017 the number of UK architects working in the public sector was around 0.7% in England and just 0.2% in London.3

1 “Public Spending on Transportation and Water Infrastructure, 1956 to 2017.” Congressional Budget Office, October 2018.

Web. Accessed 21 October 2019.

2 “Choosing an Architecture Practice.” All About Careers, 2019. Web. Accessed 21 November 2019.

3 Williams, Finn. “We need architects to work on ordinary briefs, for ordinary people.” Dezeen, 4 December 2017. Web. Accessed 21 October 2019.

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Architecture as Marketing One such private interest fulfilled by contemporary architecture is marketing.

With the inception of the consumer economy, architecture has increasingly been co-opted to serve private clients’ demands for marketing and sales. In some cases, like in the case of Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum Bilbao or to a lesser degree Heatherwick’s Vessel, the spectacle of the architectural object spurs a flurry of economic activity that benefits local businesses (Bilbao’s positive effect on the local economy is widely acknowledged1). In others, architects are implored by their clients to design an environment that induces people to purchase things. In still others yet, architects play an even more direct role in designing the graphical ‘advertisements’ themselves, like in Wiscombe’s “Sunset Spectacular.”

To be clear, architecture and urban development have long since

been tied to commercial activity. In ancient Greece the central square was often abound with merchants and sellers looking to exchange goods. Surely ancient Greek planners and architects were not ignorant of this, and their

fig 17: Wiscombe’s “Sunset Spectacular”

1 “The Bilbao effect: If you build it, will they come?” The Economist, 14 August 2018. Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

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squares were most often situated adjacent to significant civic buildings and landmarks near the center of town. Interestingly, Aristotle once bemoaned the deleterious influence of commerce on the central square, which he saw as the ideallic center of civic life for the city and thus above lowly trading. He argued that commercial activities and merchants and vendors were to be exiled to another part of town. He wrote: “Nothing here [in the agora] may be bought or sold, and no member of the lower order may be admitted unless summoned by the authorities...

The market proper, where buying and selling are done, must be in quite a separate place, conveniently situated both for goods sent up from the labor and for people coming in from the country.”1

Evidently, Aristotle saw commercial activity as harmful to the civic life of the city, and thus worthy of segregating from the precious agora. In at least a few regions (Thessaly, for example) ancient Greeks made separate squares, designating some for commerce and others for civics.2

While the ancient Greeks were careful to balance commercial interests

with the public welfare of the broader body politic, modern urban design and architecture is marked by a near-ubiquity of commercial imagery and a focal presence of corporations. This trend is most clearly seen in the proliferation and design of shopping malls in the decades following World War II, primarily in the US. During this time, tons of wealth flowed to the suburbs, and department stores were keen to follow. But instead of simply opening new branches, the larger stores began organizing, hiring architects and builders, and constructing new shopping centers altogether.

These new phenomena became massively popular destinations, and

went on to drastically change the way Americans shopped over the next several decades. This it seems, is at least in part a product of their design. Architect and critic Neil Harris notes that the design of malls is fully optimized to facilitate 1 Aristotle. “Politics.” 335-323 BCE. Web. Accessed 7 November 2019.

2 “Agora.” Encyclopedia Brittanica, 2019. Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

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purchasing, and not much else, in his 1975 essay “Spaced-Out at the Shopping Center.” He writes, “Little at shopping centers is left to chance... They were early experimenters in the separation of pedestrian and vehicular movement, and the isolation of service activities from customers. Ingenious devices handled crowded parking lots, security problems and the normal difficulties of congestion.

Logos were adopted and incorporated into shopping bags, maps, and guard uniforms. Graphics and lighting experts facilitated shopping convenience...

Piped-in music, pavements designed to cushion noise, forced ventilation, controlled lighting, all screen the customer from distraction and aid his sense of location... Connecting bridges should promise convenient access and give tempting views of the lower floor.”1

Of course, this probably comes as little surprise. As any mall-goer would know, mall environments are generally excellent at making the products inside them seem enticing. Yet such optimizations do not come without cost. While these centers usually meet the demands of the stores inside them, there is very little concern for the buildings’ contribution to the urban fabric. Practically speaking, mall owners and shop owners within malls are only concerned with the building’s aesthetic, for example, insofar as it affects their bottom line through their mallgoers. As such, the mall’s ‘architectural features’ are hardly at the forefront of design decisions. Harris adds, “Seen from the outside... the typical shopping center looks like a pile of blocks. The elemental shapes of the center don’t blend into the landscape - for there is no landscape to blend into - but they are not easily separable from it either. The streets are inside, so there is little reason to control facades... Everything that goes into the center is organized to enhance the shopping act. The typically shopper... makes no thoughtful judgments concerning good or bad graphics, architecture or space design. He feels good or uncomfortable concerning buying or not buying, staying or leaving. Thus most shopping centers don’t aim for good design as such;

1 Harris, Neil. “Spaced-Out at the Shopping Center.” The Public Face of Architecture: Civic Culture and Public Spaces. Glazer, Nathan & Lilla, Mark. The Free Press, New York, 1987. Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

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fig 18: Shopping malls are designed so that bridges ‘give tempting views of the lower floor’

fig 19: The Galleria in Houston is among the largest malls in the US

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they seek an environment that will pull people in, keep them there, and encourage them to return.”

At least in the case of shopping malls, architecture has been maximally-reduced to a series of market-based decisions for the benefit of private enterprise (in this case the mall owner or shop owner). Many of the elements of building typically associated with the field of architecture are either done away with altogether or cheapened to the point at which it can hardly be considered architecture anymore. Typical architectural investigations of composition, color, form, and texture are made simple by private entities that want shop-goers to see nothing else but the products themselves - thus even the most interesting malls in the US are often painted with muted colors and made up of the most basic geometries (the square, the rectangle, the circle, etc.).

Of course, shopping malls are not the only modern instance of architecture

being used for the purposes of marketing. In the midst of a long term trend of Americans increasingly dining out, there have been a slew of much-needed grocery store redesigns. And the prime beneficiary (or rather, the initiator?) of these projects appears to be architect-turned-grocery-store-redesigner Kevin Kelley, founder and principal of design firm Shook Kelley, based out of Los Angeles. Kelley has spent much of his career redesigning failing grocery stores all around the US - mostly Mom-and-Pop operations and similarly sized businesses.

Kelley’s practice thrives on providing grocery store owners what they seem to neglect - the knowledge that potential shoppers are actually affected by their shopping environment, as well as the vision and skills to redesign it effectively.

One such instance was Harris Teeter supermarket in Charlotte, North

Carolina, a project which won an Outstanding Achievement Award from the International Interior Design Association (apparently the first time this award was ever given to a grocery store). For this project, Kelley’s team redesigned each section of the store to thematize the aesthetics of the food being sold in that section. The deli counter became a mocked-up delicatessen, the produce section reassembled a roadside farm-stand, and the dairy cases were embellished

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fig 20: Harris Teeter supermarket in Charlotte, NC, Shook Kelley’s most widely publicized redesign

fig 21: Another look at the interior of Harris Teeter in the mid 1990’s

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with the logo of a local milk supplier.1 By all accounts, Kelley and his team did excellent work, and not only did the market gain many of its customers back, but the company is still alive and well today.

To be sure, Kelley is enthusiastic about his firm’s work.

For him,

consumerism is not something to be scoffed at or shrugged off, but rather accepted and even embraced as a fundamental characteristic of contemporary society. Kelley was another contributor to Commodification and Spectacle in Architecture. In his essay “Architecture for Sale(s): An Unabashed Apologia,” Kelley offers a hearty defense of both his firm’s work and consumerism at large.

He gives the latter argument in the following two passages; “Some think that buying things you don’t ‘need’ is immoral, but all of us do it, and if we’re honest we would admit that it’s harmless and we enjoy it... When we help satisfy [consumers’] wants, we give them moments of pleasure. Designers can be proud when they do that.”

“A lot of architects think, as I once did, that business is nothing but greed.

But we don’t understand it. Most businesspeople are proud of what they sell and believe it will improve people’s lives - at the very least by giving them pleasure. Some may argue that much if not most of retailing takes advantage of people’s weaknesses: their need to delude themselves that if they have this or that product, they will be more attractive, intelligent, secure, youthful, cool, loved, and so on. The ultimate result of shopping, in this argument is disappointment, disillusion, even depression.

My

response is that people will have such delusions whether or not they are shopping and that the pleasures of positive fantasy outweigh the pains of a letdown to ‘realism.’ Moralists decrying shopping are as tiresome and crabby as those who argue that being entertained by mindless action movies weakens our ‘character.’”2

Kelley makes a good argument here. It is true that many architects haughtily turn their noses at the suggestion of grocery store design and the like; maybe

1 Fassler, Joe & The New Food Economy. “The man who’s going to save your neighborhood grocery store.” New Food Economy, 23 April 2019. Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

2 Kelley, Kevin Ervin. “Architecture for Sale(s): An Unabashed Apologia.” Commodification and Spectacle in Architecture:

A Harvard Design Magazine Reader. Saunders, William S. University of Minnesota Press, 2005. Print. Accessed 23 October 2019.

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this is unfortunate. In apparent defiance of the industry’s snobbery, Kelley‘s firm has proven that architecture is entirely relevant to food sales by providing an invaluable service to some struggling small business owners (although it should be noted that one of Kelley’s clients is Amazon-owned Whole Foods). This is no doubt a laudable endeavor. Nevertheless, Kelley’s argument seems overly dismissive of the deleterious long-term effects of consumer society, one which manufactures desire for products that are not needed in the first place, and leaves consumers in a constant state of wanting more. At best the contemporary culture of consumerism produces a general feeling that one’s current possessions are inadequate. At worst, it instigates harmful addictions. Yet Kelley seems to brush this off, flippantly implying that momentary satisfaction is something to be strived for in the design profession. “Designers can be proud” when they give people “moments of pleasure,” Kelley says.

There is an important distinction to be made here, as well. It is reasonable

to say that Kelley’s firm is providing a socially-valuable service - at least in part because the goods being sold in this case are vital resources. The fact is, people need food to survive. It seems significantly less laudable, then, when architects are employed by the fashion industry for example, to deceive potential buyers into thinking they should buy something they do not need in the first place. Or, for that matter, when architects design shopping malls. Kelley seemingly glosses over this distinction, tacitly equating food and beverages to other consumer products. The pleasure, however fleeting, of biting into a sandwich should not be equated with the pleasure of buying a new Chanel bag, because people need the sustenance from that sandwich to survive.

Kelley misses another point here too. It is true that most businessmen

think whatever they are selling is beneficial to broader society, but this does not mean they are right in that assumption. Kelley naively posits businessmen as moral arbiters who are doing what they genuinely believe is best for society, but the reality is that businessmen and businesses are necessarily driven by the laws of commerce to increase their profit margin as much as possible, whether or not

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the actions they are taking in attaining that goal are beneficial to broader society.

True, they may think that the product they are selling is ‘good,’ but most do not go to great lengths to determine whether it actually is good or not, especially if they are making money off it. This I think, is just human nature.

In any case, it appears that Kelley’s plea to architects is partly a self-

preservational one.

Kelley wants architects more involved in commercial

projects, because it would benefit them. He adds, “Whether you are going to the mall, to church, or to the library, each venue has a specific exchange value that architects can either embrace or ignore. We architects should be leading the way, instead of allowing allied professions like graphic, industrial, and technology designers to claim and own the embodiment of this value. If we continue to avoid marketing in the built environment, it will be at our peril. To date, retailing strategy has been left primarily to advertisers, marketers, accounting firms, banks, stockbrokers, and a few design firms.”

It is notable that the self-preservational plea is so central to Kelley’s argument.

Rather than hinging his argument on the betterment of society, Kelley’s main concern is evidently that architects stay relevant. But what purpose is architecture, if it does not benefit broader society? Is it merely to make money by acquiescing to the market demands of private enterprise? Many would say it should strive for more.

Despite a clear ideological divide within the architecture industry; there

is one thing that practically everyone agrees on; that contemporary urban development is beholden to private interests, even within the realm of civic architecture and public spaces. Kelley elaborates, “Look at any major institution - museums, zoos, parks, universities, stadiums, even churches - and you will see the growing presence of retail.

We are inviting, encouraging, and demanding retailers to be more involved in our lives. The first thing that urban planners now think about for downtown revitalization is stores; they use retail and restaurants to create movement, activity, and renewed energy on the street, which will attract

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investors, home owners, and other kinds of businesses. Churches sell daycare and fitness services; corporate buildings have gift shops, cafeterias, retail stores, and recreation centers, as well as services like dry cleaning and auto maintenance. Hospitals sell sports medicine, wellness education, alternative practices, and cosmetics. Long considered the holdout, even municipalities are beginning to embrace consumerism, hiring branding firms to create logos and other images that will attract new people and businesses.”

While most would agree with Kelley’s assessment here, perhaps the real question people should be asking is, “Do we want this?”

fig 22: The fashion industry certainly understands the marketing power of architecture. Pictured is a proposed design by UN Studio for the flagship Louis Vuitton store

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fig 23: from Venturi and Scott Brown’s Learning From Las Vegas; Post-modernism celebrated and even embodied consumer culture (though sometimes ironically)

fig 24: Venturi and Scott Brown were loud defenders of prominent commercial signage; it seems likely that the two would be appreciative of Kevin Kelley’s work

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Ideological Movers While the commodification of architecture and urban design can largely be tied to sociopolitical developments over the last half century, there is no doubt that these are reinforced and indeed magnified by architects and urban designers themselves. This reinforcement takes two forms: first, an acquiescence to the market demands of private enterprise (this, I think, is not far off from Kelley’s stance); and second, assuming political positions that either call for further privatization of public space and/or urban development or diminish the value of public developments/public space.

It is this latter circumstance that is especially alarming, when considering

that many designers do not have much of a choice but to simply comply with the requests of their private clientele. However, architects and designers do have a choice in what they publicly proclaim and how they influence policies. In far too many cases, they are quick to decry public space and civic buildings.

To be sure, architects and urban designers have long been weary of

public space. Post-modernism, with its apparent infatuation with commercial imagery and contempt for civic life, provided a host of vocal critics. For their part, Venturi and Scott Brown bemoaned architects’ fascination with the public square, writing, “Architects have been bewitched by a single element of the Italian landscape: the piazza. Its traditional, pedestrian-scaled, and intricately enclosed space is easier to like than the spatial sprawl of Route 66.

Architects have been brought up on Space, and enclosed space is the easiest to handle.”1

There is also Venturi’s remark:

“Americans don’t need piazzas; they should be at home watching TV.”2 1 Venturi, Robert & Scott Brown, Denise. Learning From Las Vegas. The MIT Press, 1977. Print. Accessed 24 November 2019.

2 Frampton, Kenneth. “The Status of Man and the Status of his Objects.” Labour, Work and Architecture. Phaidon Press Limited, 2002. Print. Accessed 17 October 2019.

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And another: “[A] crutch of Modern architecture is the piazza compulsion... But the open piazza is seldom appropriate for an American city today except as a convenience for pedestrians for diagonal short-cuts. The piazza, in fact, is ‘un-American.’ Americans feel uncomfortable sitting in a square: they should be working at the office or home with the family looking at television... We are in a habit of thinking that open space is precious to the city. It is not. Except in Manhattan perhaps, our cities have too much open space.”1

These arguments might bode more fairly, if everyone had access to a home and a sofa and a television. As it is, today nearly half a million Americans find themselves homeless, and many more after that do not have a safe or comfortable home environment. Of course Venturi and Scott Brown were writing in the 1970s, but it is not as if the country had no homelessness problem then. How fare the homeless and the extremely poor, in a Venturi Scott Brown fantasy world devoid of ‘piazzas’ and other open public spaces? At the very least it seems these authors and others gloss over public space’s crucial role in providing informal lodgings for those who have nowhere else to be but there.

Venturi and Scott Brown miss another important point here. They seem

dismissive of public space’s role in ensuring a healthy civic and social life, which in turn has broader social benefits. For one, when people congregate together - especially outdoors - they feel better. Humans are social animals after all.

What’s more, public space at its best provides a reprieve from the intensive workday that many Americans face. Venturi and Scott Brown would rather this reprieve be carried out at home in front of a television screen, but studies show that watching television can cause some serious mental health issues.2 The same cannot be said of most public parks for example, even poorly-designed

1 Venturi, Robert. Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, 1977. Print.

Accessed 24 November 2019.

2 Tan, Alexis S. & Tan, Gerdean K. “Television Use and Mental Health.” SAGE Journals, 1 March 1986. Web. Accessed 24 November 2019.

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ones.

Venturi and Scott Brown typify the postmodern critique of public

space. In its repudiation of the ideallic utopianism and universalism of modern thought, postmodern architecture naively brushes off praiseworthy urbanistic and architectural goals of the modern movement, especially those concerning egalitarianism and public space. While it is true that Le Corbusier’s “Plan Voisin” proposal for Paris, for example, was comically bad, it is worth noting that a major point of emphasis in the proposal was his vision for a vast public park, which would provide for the “shade of trees,” “vast lawns spread all [around],” and air that is “clear and pure.”1 Today no one yearns for Le Corbusier’s prismatic monstrosities, but is the desire for a lush public park really so bad?

Postmodernism’s cynicism was matched in tenor only by the strong

sense of social justice which accompanied the “green design” movement of the early 2000s. Architecture in the 21st century is often evaluated along

1 Lubin, Gus. “Why Architect Le Corbusier Wanted to Demolish Downtown Paris.” Business Insider, 20 August 2013.

Web. Accessed 24 November 2019.

fig 25: Le Corbusier’s widely discredited vision for Paris

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fig 26: Schumacher is shown here in his speech at the World Architecture festival in Berlin, during which he infamously proposed privatizing all public space

fig 27: During that same 2016 speech, Schumacher suggested selling off 80% of London’s treasured Hyde Park to developers

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ethical standards relating to construction techniques and energy consumption.

Simultaneously, there appears to be a heightened concern with the civic imperatives of contemporary architecture and urban design.

This is most

clearly seen in the industry’s wide-scale adoption of social justice-based rhetoric, typified by Jeanne Gang’s website which espouses the desire to “foster stronger communities” and “foreground the relationships between individuals, communities, and environments”1 or Leddy Maytum Stacey Architects’ practical slogan, “design is a social justice issue.”2

Yet there are still those that seem perfectly content with the continued

privatization and commercialization urban development. In the mind of Patrik Schumacher, for example, public space is better put to use in the hands of private entities. In 2016 the sole remaining partner at Zaha Hadid Architects gave a controversial speech at the World Architecture Festival in Berlin in which he proposed eliminating public housing and privatizing all public spaces including streets. Yes, streets. He would later elaborate in a 2018 interview with The Guardian’s Aaron M. Renn, specifically on the prospect of privatizing public spaces: “If you look at public spaces today, it’s meant to be all-inclusive, but it’s strictly policed. It’s kind of generic, for some kind of mean voter-crafted space that is quite uninspired. I think there would be much more diversity.

I think these public spaces are kind of wasted if they’re managed by the public, by local bureaucrats if you like. I would imagine streets gaining character if they had entrepreneurs imagining their potential.”3

And later: “We have a thousand publics which don’t have to equally catered to in every single space. We could have some spaces which are more edgy, for youth, where you could slacken the rules and policing. In another space,

1 “Jeanne Gang.” Studio Gang, 2019. Web. Accessed 24 November 2019.

2 “Design is a social justice issue.” Leddy Maytum Stacey Architects, 2019. Web. Accessed 23 November 2019.

3 Renn, Aaron M. “Architect Patrik Schumacher: ‘I’ve been depicted as a fascist.’” The Guardian, 17 January 2018.

Web. Accessed 24 November 2019.

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you cater for a different section of the public.”

Schumacher’s argument here hinges on the alleged dynamism (or as he puts it, “diversity” and “character”) that would be engendered by privatization. The attainment of these goals, in his mind, are stymied by the “strictly policed’’ nature of public spaces. On this point Schumacher is just flat-out wrong. As I will elaborate later, studies show that on average, privately-held spaces that are open to the public are subject to a higher level of scrutiny, security measures, and policies regulating behavior than government-administered public spaces, at least in the US.1 As such, the idea that Schumacher’s vision for privatelyowned “plazas, parks, gardens” would somehow make these places more lively or exciting, seems dubious at best. When people know they are being watched, they self-regulate, and behave as they think they are meant to behave. This is

1 Nemeth, Jeremy & Schmidt, Stephen. “The privatization of public space: modeling and measuring publicness.”

Department of Planning and Design. University of Colorado Denver, 2010. Web. Accessed 12 November 2019.

fig 28: There is perhaps no other figure in the field of architecture more maligned - fairly or not - than Patrick Schumacher. His face in seen here in a poster held by protesters in London which riffs off Stanley Kubrick’s “The Shining.” The sign reads, “He wants our homes. He wants our parks. He won’t be satisfied until he has cleansed London of the unproductive and made it ready for his people.”

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even more so the case when they are directly told by private security officers to act a certain way. Where is the diversity or character in that? In any case the public-ness of the space is lost, not only because of its private ownership, but also because it violates another necessary criteria of public space; that it allows for freedom of movement and freedom of expression. Each of these are severely curtailed by private ownership.

Another major point Schumacher misses (and this appears to be a

running theme among proponents of privatizing public space) is the question of exclusivity. He correctly points out that privately-owned spaces which are ostensibly open to the public are often more specialized; more finely tuned for the specific segment of the population which that particular business means to target. What he leaves out however, is the simple fact that there is broad swath of people which businesses have very little incentive to cater to. This is not limited to homeless people - although certainly the homeless are included in this group. The class of working poor too, growing in both in the US and abroad, have very little buying power - making them an unenticing consumer base for retailers. Estimates place this total at around 9.5 million in the US.1

In any case, Schumacher is hardly alone in his pronouncements. While

Schumacher’s proposed policies have yet to be executed on a wide scale, some of the ideas espoused by him and others have seeped into the public imagination.

One such manifestation is the campaign for privately-owned public space, a tweaking of Schumacher’s suggestion for wholesale privatization. These types of spaces are popping up all around the western world, from Los Angeles to New York to London, fueled in part by its advocates. In these areas, developers are often granted the rights to build higher if they supply some public space on their property. Of course, the actual public-ness of these spaces is questionable, and private entities often make these space unwelcome for people they do not want.

Still yet, there are less ideology-driven factors which contribute to the

1 “Who are the working poor in America: Data from the Bureau of Labor Statistics.” Center for Poverty Research, University of California, Davis, 2019. Web. Accessed 12 December 2019.

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continued devaluation of public space in the minds of the general population.

Geographer Don Mitchell points to a general anxiety over social ills that often occur in public spaces. He writes: “Public Space engenders fears, fears that derive from the sense of public space as uncontrolled space, as a space in which civilization is exceptionally fragile. [We are convinced] that public space is the space of anarchy... It is a feature of the contemporary city, of the current media-encouraged, overweening concern about crime, homelessness, and random terrorism that makes public space seem such an undesirable attribute of the contemporary American city.”1

Mitchell encapsulates the general sense of distaste towards public space; a distaste which builds off certain stereotypes. Public space is undesirable to many people because the things that are often happening within them are undesirable.

These negative associations surely play a role in the general

population’s acquiescence to privation, along with purely ideological advocation.

1 Mitchell, Don. The Right to the City: Social Justice and the Fight for Public Space. The Guilford Press, New York, 2003. Print. Accessed 11 November 2019.

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Experiment 2: Art Book In the age of commodification, architecture has trimmed itself of the “messy and idiosyncratic” at the behest of its financiers.

My art book explores this “trimming” process through the

lens of everyday life - displaying ordinary objects on a sliding scale of social utility. On one end - the leisurely, playful, and messy; and on the other - the orderly and efficient. Underneath lies the final enigmatic figurine, which represents the nature of the human experience once the messiness and playfulness have been entirely stripped away.

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fig 29

fig 30

fig 31

Experiment 2: Art Book

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64

fig 32 (left) fig 33 (right)

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Part III: The Plight of Public Life

The Devaluing of the Public Sphere Whatever the reason, it is clear that contemporary society does not value public space as it once did. Accordingly, the vitality of public life has been depreciated, in more ways than one.

Modern urban life is one characterized by both

exclusivity and banality, as Part III will enumerate.

One would think that living in a global society would heighten social

inter-connectivity. Yet, as Arendt shrewdly noted in 1958, the opposite has occurred; and people have been driven to the safe recesses of their private lives by a mass society they are uncomfortable with. Apparently writing ahead of her time, Arendt suggests: “The public realm, as the common world, gathers us together and yet prevents our falling over each other, so to speak. What makes mass society so difficult to bear is not the number of people involved, or at least not primarily, but the fact the world between them has lost its power to gather them together, to relate and to separate them. The weirdness of the situation resembles a spiritualistic seance where a number of people gathered around a table might suddenly, through some magic trick, see the table vanish from their midst, so that two persons sitting opposite each other were no longer separated but also would be entirely unrelated to each other by anything tangible.”1

Desocialization, it would seem, is primarily a factor of the world we have afforded ourselves. In other words, the trouble with our interpersonal relationships does not derive from their own deficiencies unto themselves, but rather the space which is commonly shared and which hosts them. In this sense public space may be understood as the scene by which relationships between people succeed (or fail). Arendt’s metaphor is particularly acute in its distinction between the quantity of interconnectivity and the quality of it. There is no doubt we have better access to interaction with our peers, but not necessarily better access to high quality interaction. Here, the vanishing table represents public space, which

1 Arendt, Hannah. The Human Condition. University of Chicago Pres, Ltd., London, 1958. Print. Accessed 4 November 2019.

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previously parameterized their interactions, and which now offers no clear path.

Meanwhile, the seance may be understood as the activity of civic engagement or public life, which is no longer taken up, at least not to the same degree. Surely one can imagine the awkwardness of discerning how to approach a conversation while sitting in chairs which previously surrounded a table and which now rest idly in a circle.

In any case many would agree that the space which occupying the in-

between of our private lives is wholly deficient; it suffers from a host of problems, most of which can be tied back to the commodification and/or privatization of urban development. Part III of this thesis inquiry will explore the costs of this dynamic, including the social cost of private enterprise and exclusivity. And lastly, Part III will speculate on the role that civic and cultural centers play in urban zones, and comment on the changes in them that have been spurred on by the “age of commodity culture” to paraphrase Frampton and others.1 The Social Cost of Private Enterprise It is widely acknowledged that the exercising of power over urban space by private enterprise carries with it an enormous social cost. The idea is nothing new; even neoliberal academics recognize that control by any private entity carries with it the market demands of said entity. But what many fail to realize is that actions taken in the interest of market demands do not necessarily translate to public value, and in many cases quite the opposite.

For one, the laws of commerce dictate that a private entity is only

concerned with public utilities insofar as those public utilities directly contribute to its continued profitability. There is no discernible inclination (aside from very rare instances) for private enterprise to provide public value for people who live in its vicinity, or anywhere else for that matter. In fact quite the opposite is true; the more public services are devalued and disarmed, the more consumers

1 Frampton, Kenneth. “Introduction: The Work of Architecture in the Age of Commodification.” Commodification and Spectacle

in Architecture: A Harvard Design Magazine Reader. Saunders, William S. University of Minnesota Press, 2005. Print. Accessed 23 October 2019.

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depend on private entities for such services. This dynamic is clear to see within a Marxist framework. Writing a half-century ago, French-Swiss scholar and architect Claude Schnaidt opined on the social cost of industry: “When a manufacturer sets up in a developed area he can use the existing infrastructure and equipment. And these — water, gas, electricity, telephones, sewage, communications, public transport services, public buildings — are paid for by the community. Thus the manufacturer is enabled to avoid the expenditure involved in setting up, renewing and adapting this infrastructure and equipment. He is thus able to increase has profit margin. Put differently, the community has to bear what has been called the social cost of private enterprise... Why should this be? Because from the capitalist’s point of view, public utilities and services do not pay.

The needs which these utilities should serve are not translatable into monetary terms. Their satisfaction does not earn an immediate profit. The law of the market does not apply to them. Consequently capitalism tends to neglect them or to suppress them and to give priority to individual needs. It is more remunerative for him to multiply consumer needs than to create public services.”1

Schnaidt is keen to point out that the sole imperative of private enterprise if profit, and nothing more. And further, he recognizes that the costs associated with sustaining it are shouldered by broader society.

That corporations will waste no time in destroying public land in particular

if it favors their profit margin, is clear to see. One need look no farther than the tragedy of Keystone Pipeline, in which multinational corporation TC Energy systematically violated the land rights of indigenous peoples, stole national natural resources from both Canada and the US, and indeed lobbied both federal governments for that very privilege - public welfare be damned. TC Energy did all this with the knowledge that a pipeline of that size and scope was bound to produce leaks which would prove disastrous for the environment, the biggest public resource of them all. Sure enough, as practically every serious observer

1 Schnaidt, Claude. “Architecture and political commitment.” Lecture at the Academy of Fine Arts, Hamburg, Germany, 2 March 1967. Accessed 22 October 2019.

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fig 34: the Keystone Pipeline running through North Dakota

fig 35: Devastation due to a 2017 oil spill in South Dakota

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predicted, the pipeline has proven itself to be an environmental debacle, already having caused multiple leaks releasing millions of gallons of highly toxic crude oil into both waterways and the ground. Perhaps not-so-unexpectedly, these are costs TC Energy need not bear; in each case US regulators have merely instructed the corporation to fix the leak and clean the spill, and nothing more.1 To this date, no payments have made by TC Energy reimbursing those individuals and communities whose land has been ruined by the spills caused by their pipeline.

Of course, that concept is not limited to environmental degradation.

In the case of urban development, private developers are keen to trim costs and maximize profits at every turn.

With the absence of public initiative,

contemporary urban development is marked by a triumph of exchange value over use value. The long-term efficacy and usefulness of a thing is hardly relevant to a developer whose goal is to cash-in, and quickly.

The problem is easily explained away within a neoliberal framework.

Theoretically, a developer who does shoddy work is discredited and thus their ability to engage in commerce threatened. If and when a building degrades, the reputation of the entities responsible would be hurt, and accordingly potential buyers would become less likely to purchase their services. Thus developers have a motive to ensure their buildings are safe and durable, or so the argument goes. This general theory appears to hold true in the instance of trivial consumer products, like kitchenware for example.

But the theory falls apart in the discussion of things which carry as much

long-term public value as buildings or other large-scale developments. Take for instance a scenario in which a developer cuts every corner and spares every possible expense in the construction of a building (hardly a foreign idea to be sure). After 30 years the building practically falls apart - perhaps not in the manner of critical structural failure but instead in the sense that the roof leaks, the facade is falling apart, and various supportive systems are damaged beyond

1 Rueb, Emily S. & Chokshi, Niraj. “Keystone Pipeline Leaks 383,000 Gallons of Oil in North Dakota.” The New York Times, 2 November 2019. Web. Accessed 8 November 2019.

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repair. And upon those 30 years the businessperson/developer, who was 55 years old upon its initial completion, is now 85 and has made enough money over the course of their career that they have long-since retired and are living out their retirement in comfort. The building now must be torn down by the city or some other developer or it will sit idle and unused, and in this sense the project has been a massive failure. And yet the retired developer already cashed their checks - the deed is done. It appears they bear no real burden upon its failure, aside perhaps from some vague sense of personal guilt.

And if the economic well-being of the businessperson/developer is not

at stake in relation to the long-term usage of a building or space, what is? What economic imperative would compel a developer to ensure their building is safe and useful in 50 years time? In 100? What economic imperative would compel a developer to ensure an efficient and/or environmentally responsible demolition or deconstruction process, as various so-called green designers have proposed?1 The common conception of businesspeople as moral arbiters is mistaken. To the extent that individual businesspersons make morally-conscious decisions (whether good or bad), those very people are often undercut by competitors willing to trim every expense and cut every corner. There’s no doubt at this point that private developers alone cannot be trusted to ensure the long-term well-being of city-dwelling people. Perhaps Michael Benedikt best encapsulated this dynamic in his essay “Less for Less Yet: On Architecture’s Value(s) in the Marketplace”: “[T]he product itself has changed. Clearly, we are progressively directing relatively less of our total wealth and effort to infrastructural and architectural quality...

Our environment has become ever more

commodified, ever more the subject of short term investment, income generation, and resale rather than of lifelong dwelling or long- term city making.”2

1 “Demolition planning as part of construction - reuse and recycling of parts improves the eco-efficiency of buildings.”

VTT Technical Research Center of Finland. Phys.org, 3 December 2014. Web. Accessed 10 November 2019.

2 Benedikt, Michael. “Less for Less Yet: On Architecture’s Value(s) in the Marketplace.” Commodification and Spectacle in Architecture: A Harvard Design Magazine Reader. Saunders, William S. University of Minnesota Press, 2005. Print. Accessed 23 October 2019.

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It is worth noting that Benedikt’s proposed solution to the problem differs from my own. Benedikt takes the rather simplistic position that the conception of architecture and urban development as a consumer product need not be questioned; but rather that architects should endeavor to increase the market value of their product by ‘capturing the imagination’ of the public, to paraphrase.

He adds: “It is said that market forces are impersonal, but the upshot is that, in the marketplace at least, architects have been outflanked and out maneuvered by the purveyors of stronger medicines with better stories. Architects have not fought back effectively but instead continue to sacrifice themselves on an altar of their own making in loyalty (or is it submission?) to the religion that still, albeit with increasing difficulty and infighting, organizes their schools. I refer, of course, to Modernism, Post and Neo.”

Although this proposition seems to neglect the complex political and ideological structure which contributes to architecture’s continued devaluing, I’m inclined to believe his basic analysis of the problem: that the quality of urban development (architectural or not) has been diminished by its increased commodification.

The Social Burden of Exclusivity The increased privatization of urban development also carries with it the inseparable problem of exclusivity. It is not difficult to understand how land and buildings which lie in private hands generally are not available for enjoyment by all people. For one, private holdings are necessarily subject to the surveillance and security provisions of the entities themselves. Given that the government has very little say in parameterizing the scope of such provisions, the broader public who may find themselves on such privately-owned land is entirely subject to a selection process determining who can stay and who can go. Many, if not most private companies would rather not cater to homeless people for example, or even people of an economic status which would preclude them from buying anything belonging to that company. Additionally, it is not hard to imagine that

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such a process can easily fall into discriminatory practices along racial lines, given differences in the ‘trust-ability’ of different races in relation to commercial activity.1

One symptom of privatization is the relatively recent proliferation of so-

called ‘privately-owned public spaces.’ In numerous urban areas throughout the western world (but especially in the US and UK) the past few decades have seen an influx of privately-owned properties which ostensibly serve some public purpose. In the UK, so called “Pops” have sprung forth, becoming ever more present decade after decade since the Thatcher regime of the 1980s. Today expansive open-air spaces, gardens, squares, and mini-parks brought forth as Pops dot the urban landscape in densely populated areas like London. And to be clear, they’re often quite attractive. Several Pops can be found in the new development at King’s Cross, London, which upon first glance appear to be a vibrant centers of public activity.

Yet as one might expect, the these spaces at King’s Cross are most often

fig 36: Granary Square in King’s Cross, London

1 Doleac, Jennifer L. & Stein, Luke C.D. “The Visible Hand: Race and Online Market Outcomes.” SSRN, 29 May 2010.

Web. Accessed 10 November 2019.

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highly surveilled, and limit perfectly legal activities. For example, one would find it difficult to take a photograph within the premises of a Pop at King’s Cross without being approached by security and asked to desist. While conservative voices within the UK - Boris Johnson included - have lauded Pops as a good alternative to the traditional publicly-managed parks and squares, it is unclear whether they should be considered public at all, given their restrictive policies.

Geographer Don Mitchell suggests that public spaces necessarily provide access for people of all economic statuses. Writes Mitchell, “By claiming space in public, by creating public spaces, social groups themselves become public... Only in public spaces can the homeless, for example, represent themselves as a legitimate part of ‘the public,’”1

And yet at King’s Cross homeless people face hostile security forces and private entities which wish to sell, not provide informal accommodations.

The US has seen its share of privately-owned ‘public’ spaces as

well. Perhaps the best-known example is the Hudson Yards development in Manhattan. Hudson Yards is the largest private real estate development by area in the country (28 acres) and hosts a range of commercial activities including shopping centers, restaurants, and museums. And it was not cheap; the entire development costs a whopping $25 billion while two individual structures, the Vessel and the Shed, cost $200 million and $500 million, respectively.2 While it’s cost is enormous, the developers can rest assured knowing much of the cost will be supplied by the city; all-in-all the city will shell out $4.5 billion, including around $750 million in subsidies for special projects including the Vessel and the Shed. So far city officials have justified the expenditure by commenting on the development’s commercial and public value. Yet these claims appear dubious; or at least they raise questions about who the development provides value to, and

1 Mitchell, Don. The Right to the City: Social Justice and the Fight for Public Space. The Guilford Press, New York.

Print. Accessed 11 November 2019.

2 Demause, Neil. “Hudson Yards Has $4.5 Billion In Taxpayer Money. Will We Ever See It Again.” Gothamist. New York Public Radio, 11 October 2018.

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11/11/2019

fig 37: The well-publicized “Vessel” by sculptor/architect Thomas Heatherwick sits within a larger complex of luxury unnamed.0.jpg condos,(920×613) shopping centers, and high-end restaurants

fig 38: Diller-Scofidio + Renfro’s “The Shed”

https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/qWAnq6QdHh37wu60NQhEHbK7qGk=/0x0:1191x857/920x613/filters:focal(501x334:691x524):format(webp)/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_image/image/62816070/unnamed.0.jpg

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who is it for.

As visitors can attest to, the entire Hudson Yards development, especially

the Vessel, are heavily monitored. It is hard to imagine a homeless or lower class person feeling welcome there, given the extensive security measures undertaken; for one, guards routinely remove people sitting on the paved concrete stairs at the Vessel’s base. Broadly speaking, the culture created within the Hudson Yards development projects opulence and luxury, in a city full of homeless and destitute - not an all-welcoming scene.

While the surveillance tendencies of private companies are clear, a

reasonable counter might assert that public spaces are similarly subject to oppressive security measures - and this, I would stipulate, is certainly true of many municipal and civic buildings which require extensive security measures.

Yet in the case of public spaces like parks the scope of surveillance and regulation is decidedly less so than in private developments, as are the negative sociological effects with such surveillance. One 2009 study conducted at the University of Colorado Denver concluded that privately owned public spaces “control use behavior, and access, and are less public” than publicly-held counterparts, and that private owners tend to employ more restrictive measures including “surveillance, policing, and design features that control how a space is used.”1

While it has its beneficiaries, modern urban development’s continued

commodification has led to cities that are increasingly exclusive and hostile to economically disadvantaged people. Unwanted individuals, it would seem, are ever subject to being ousted from the premises of private developments, when owners feel uneasy or even threatened by their presence. Thus while many private developments are ostensibly ‘open to the public,’ most are not open to all of it - and if they are not open to all of it, they are not truly open to the public. The urban design strategy of ‘privately-owned public space’ must be re-evaluated in light of its shortcomings, in order to materialize more socially-

1 Nemeth, Jeremy & Schmidt, Stephen. “The privatization of public space: modeling and measuring publicness.”

Department of Planning and Design. University of Colorado Denver, 2010. Web. Accessed 12 November 2019.

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conscious cities.

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Part IV: Public Architecture (That Works)

The Lingering Public Value(s) of Architecture While contemporary urban design and architecture are largely mired by private profiteering, there are numerous examples of projects which successfully contributes to a healthy public and civic life. Part IV will present and describe three case studies: Parc de la Villette in Paris, Playa Vista Central Park in Los Angeles, and Merida Factory Youth Movement in Merida, Spain, and evaluate each on how well they provide for their city’s public needs. This entails analyses on each project’s respective attainments of the essential criteria for public space.

These three projects have been chosen because each in their own

way introduce radical organizational and spatial strategies which provide for the human needs of its visitors and the broader public. As such Part IV will also identify architectural devices utilized in the fulfillment of those needs - in particular, open-endedness, multiplicity of use, and spectacle.

Case Study 1: Parc de la Villette Tschumi’s Parc de La Villette in Paris presented a new vision for urban parks in which the park is seen as a continuation of the city - a stark departure from the predominant view of parks as a reprieve from the city, as in the case of Central Park in NYC. Tschumi himself saw the project as an “open-air cultural center, encouraging an integrated programmatic policy related both to the city’s needs and to its limitations.” He wanted it to “embo[dy] a change in social context” through a “juxtaposition... of a variety of activities to encourage new attitudes and perspectives.”1 Several decades out from its initial construction, it is now clear that these goals are at least partly fulfilled; today Parc de la Villette is host to a number of cultural attractions and political events. While it is unclear whether its design actually influences public ‘attitudes and perspectives,’ as Tschumi claims, there is little doubt that it has become an invaluable contribution to Paris’ public life.

The park’s design is derived from an organizational strategy consisting of

1 Tschumi, Bernard. Parc De La Villette. n.p., 2014. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

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fig 39

fig 40

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fig 41 (left) fig 42 (top right) fig 43 (bottom right)

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three architectural components as defined by Tschumi: points, lines, and surfaces.

These three components represent the activities that occur in or around each of them. Each of these three relate to a 120 by 120 meter grid imposed on the site which gives a sort of cadence to the site; a “common denominator for all events generated by the program.”1

The “points” are, as one might expect, located at the intersections of

the grid. At each of these locations sits a bright red-painted “folie” - a semiprogrammed cube transformed by various operative strategies.

The folies

themselves are proportioned according to the grid to the scale of 12 meters cubed. These folies are meant in part as a kind of navigational indicator - their regular distribution grants the project a legibility for the observer, making orientation simple. The “lines” are paths created which connect to points of interest along the periphery of the site, a method for establishing continuity between the park and the rest of the city. Many of the paths align with the orthogonal grid, while some diverge, including the seemingly-random curvilinear route of the Path of Thematic Gardens. This path acts as a sort of connective tissue for the site, “link[ing] various parts of the Park in the form of a carefully planned circuit.”2 And lastly, the “surfaces” are all of the large expanses of horizontal space, conceived for a variety of different purposes including play, games, exercise, entertainment, informal markets, etc.

While many are keen to remark on the idiosyncratic architectural language

created through the manipulation and coloration of the point-follies, Parc de la Villette is also notable for how it addresses urbanistic issues; how it relates back to the city, how it contributes to the city’s public life. One such relation is the imposed grid. While it in part departs from the predominantly organic nature of Parisian planning, the imposed orthogonal grid is still formed in response to the park’s surroundings, its axes aligning with an abutting canal and an adjacent major road. This strategy places the folies firmly within the broader context

1 Tschumi, Bernard. Parc De La Villette. n.p., 2014. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

2 Tschumi, Bernard. Parc De La Villette. n.p., 2014. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

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fig 45: Tschumi’s system of lines, points, and surfaces

fig 44

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fig 47

fig 46

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of the Parisian ‘grid’. The two axes are also relevant for another reason; the North-South coordinate links two Parisian subway stations (Porte de Pantin and Porte de la Villette), and the East-West coordinate “joins Paris to its suburbs,” according to Tschumi.1

Parc de la Villette is also notable for its ambiguity of use. While many

other urban parks - Central Park included - offer a fairly cut-and-dry reading, Parc de la Villette’s “superimposition” strategy grants the project multiple readings, especially in relation to program.

Tschumi’s overlapping of different

systems results in conflicting interpretations on the part of the observer. This open-endedness is especially identifiable in the project’s flexible attitude toward landscape. Charles Waldheim of Harvard notes the accommodative capacity of the project’s multi-functional landscape: “La Villette began a trajectory... in which landscape was itself conceived as a complex medium capable of articulating relations between urban infrastructure, public events, and indeterminate urban futures for large post-industrial sites.”2

Waldheim’s observation illuminates the benefits in offering open-ended uses in public parks, especially for the purpose of major public events. The strategy of indeterminate programming in public spaces reinforces people’s perceived freedoms, because it encourages them to creatively engage with the work how they see fit. Still, there is merit in finding the right balance between overly prescribed (which limits people’s perceived freedom to engage with the work) and no program at all (which is likely to result in a lifeless space). To be fair, Parc de la Villette has received a considerable amount of criticism on account of this issue; with some critics deriding it as non-user friendly, specifically because of the follies’ non-prescribed nature. Despite this, the park is apparently well-used by locals, who frequent it for various recreational activities. Architect and author

1 Tschumi, Bernard. Parc De La Villette. n.p., 2014. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

2 Waldheim, Charles. Landscape as Urbanism: A General Theory. Princeton University Press, 2016. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

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Carol Berens writes, “Regardless of the... derision, the park is well-used by the neighborhood, partly because of planned events, but also because it provides large open space areas where none existed before.”1

Landscape architect Celine Baumann and artist Vesna Jovanovic corroborate this observation in their essay, “The Versatile Monument Question, Parc de la Villette as Managed Reality.” They report that the park engenders a “busy animation” on weekends, in which its lawns often find themselves “fully occupied by small groups,” while its several promenades are “intensely used.”2 The authors go on to explain that the “chaotic structure of the park” results in a series of happy “interstitial accidents” which serve to enliven the space.

In any case, Parc de la Villette’s disposition toward the greater urban

condition is indicative of a commendable urban design strategy; one that sees the city as one continuous ecosystem to be nurtured by its parks. A pitfall of the modern urban park is the tendency for people to compartmentalize their respective experiences inside and outside the park; this we can safely assume is at least partly due to the discontinuity of experience upon entrance to or exiting from the site. Generally speaking, people are more inclined to preserve a naturally beautiful place like Central Park, and much less likely to preserve a steel and concrete monstrosity like greater New York City. It seems likely that people would be more inclined to take care of their environment (which, in the broadest sense of the term, includes even highly industrialized areas) if this dissociation was made obsolete.

Parc de la Villette’s urban disposition is also potentially beneficial in other

ways. For one, it improves the peoples’ sense of connection to it and to each other. When people feel connected to a particular park, they are likely to enjoy

1 Berens, Carol. “Paris Promenades.” UrbDeZine, 3 November 2011. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

2 Baumann, Celine & Jovanovic, Vesna. “The Versatile Monument Question, Parc de la Villette as Managed Reality.”

Journal of Landscape Architecture, 2015. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

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fig 48: Multiplicity of uses; open-air cinema

it more, and more likely to connect with or at least feel connected to other people that visit that park. As such, it is desirable for parks to physically engage with its broader context, through strategies such as responding to the existing city grid.

The creation of public spectacle too, is a positive contribution to the Paris’

urban fabric. Through its idiosyncratic point-follies, Parc de la Villette provides momentary places of delight. Their un-programmed nature grants users the ability to creatively interpret it through their engagement with it; their activities within them serving as a kind of unplanned performance. This is reinforced by other people visiting the park, who find themselves lounging on the lawns and ‘people watching’ those interacting with the point-follies. In this sense these locations host a sort of public performance, in which the users themselves are the performance.

But even beyond people’s physical interaction with the pieces and the

accompanying spectators, the point-follies still act as public spectacle in people’s constant viewing of them.

So curious are the point-follies, that they have

become a major tourist attraction, a major contributing factor to the over 10 million visitors the park receives every year. Their bright red coloration further

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demarcates the point-follies as places of particular importance, even within the broader park.

Despite these clear contributions, the public-ness of the park still falls

short in a major way; its facilities are regularly co-opted for commercial activities.

Some, like the Imax theatre included, are permanent private entities which find themselves on the site. This also includes a profitable entertainment venue which hosts theater and shows. Apparently, several of its privately-occupied facilities are closed off to non-customers - meaning they are not entirely inclusive. This is worth noting, since Paris has a homelessness problem comparable to that of major US cities. There are also several revenue-generating institutions right next to the site which gives a boost to customer traffic, including the Cite de la Musique and the Cite des Science et de la L’Industrie. Thus, under present conditions Parc de la Villette is firmly tied to private enterprise.

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fig 49 (top left) fig 50 (middle left) fig 51 (bottom left) fig 52 (right)

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Case Study 2: Playa Vista Central Park Similar to Parc de la Villette, Playa Vista Central Park takes a sophisticated, multi-layered approach, carving space for distinct programs through a dynamic interplay of crossing paths. Designed by Michael Maltzan in collaboration with landscape architect James Burnett, Playa Vista Central Park was completed in July 2010 in an emerging tech-fueled neighborhood in the Westside area of Los Angeles. Burnett conceived of the project as a kind of “public art installation”; the site parceled into a “series of distinct landscape experiences unified by a central spine and linear bands of specimen trees.”1 For Maltzan too, there was emphasis on the performative nature of the work. He writes, “The Park is not a mimetic representation of nature, but is instead defined by activity, utility, and performance. Rather than creating a series of static scenes in relationship to a fixed linear narrative, the Park encourages a multiplicity of simultaneous itineraries, experiences, and encounters through its function and form. Soccer fields and basketball courts to the west, and amphitheater lawn and woodlands for gathering and relaxation to the east, extend the program areas to the street edge.”2

Maltzan’s strategy of parceling the site through a system of bisecting line-paths and overlapping terrain serves to differentiate distinct programs, while at the same time allowing each to “spill” onto its adjacent. The rectilinear footprints of two sport courts and a playground are placed seemingly haphazardly in a sortof zigzag fashion, such that the implied corner of one juts out into the space of the next - this strategy provides for a general sense of connectivity, since the observer is forced to reckon with the overlapping of one unto another. The treating of these three as one continuous system is reinforced by bright orange fencing which surrounds all three.

Bisecting the volleyball court and the playground is a straight-line path

which runs through the center of the park longitudinally, forming the project’s

1 “Playa Vista Central Park.” OJB Landscape Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

2 “Playa Vista Central Park.” Michael Maltzan Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

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fig 53: Playa Vista Central Park in Los Angeles

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fig 55 (top left) fig 56 (bottom left) fig 57 (right)

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central spine. The entire project is circumscribed by two meandering paths; which, together with the straight central spine, form the major circulatory apparatus of the site. The one meandering path which abuts the street, winds in a serpentine fashion - detouring to reveal landscape features at certain points, and widening to accommodate seating at others. Additional bisecting pathways further break up one of the parcels, which appears to be solely dedicated to landscaping and sitting areas.

The complex configuration of pathways speaks to the public nature of

the project, because they reinforce a perceived freedom of movement. When presented with a range of different routes, the walker, jogger, or casual passerby is granted agency over their experience. This, it appears, was intended by Maltzan, who compares the park to an educational campus, “its tightly integrated network of pathways and programs open and unscripted in access and use.”1 These connectional devices further serve to break up the expansive site into easily-digestible parcels, amenable to hosting human-scaled activities.

That public parks are best served to be accommodative rather than

prescriptive, is widely acknowledged. Philosopher Roger Scruton noted several decades ago: “The park... is a place to which all may go and seek, in recreation, the peculiar satisfaction that they covet. The park is essentially ‘open to our uses,’ providing the background to every individual aim. In short, it is not so much a public space as an open arena, in which the modern individualist may roam freely, pursuing his private satisfactions.”2

These are the values embodied by Maltzan’s disposition toward public space, as demonstrated through his strategies of bisection, parceling, and overlapping terrain. A comparison can be made here between Parc de la Villette and Playa Vista Central Park, both of which invite a multiplicity of uses and individual

1 “Playa Vista Central Park.” Michael Maltzan Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

2 Scruton, Roger. “Public Space and the Classical Vernacular.” The Public Face of Architecture: Civic Culture and Public Spaces.

The Free Press, 1987. Print. Accessed 22 October 2019.

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fig 58: “unscripted” bisecting pathways

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freedom. Whereas Parc de la Villette creates agency through ambiguity of program - inviting creative uses of the point-follies and the landscape, Playa Vista Central Park creates agency through clearly-defined choices.

While the architectural affect of the bisecting pathways is noteworthy,

the grand architectural intervention at Playa Vista is the billowing, PTFE-clad “Bandshell” which hosts a range of public and semi-public events, including theatrical performances, outdoor movies, and concerts. The bulbous form has an airy lightness, the enormity of its enclosing volume betrayed by a stealthy perch on two minimal steel connections at its base. One reviewer described the structure as having an “aeronautical quality.”1 This piece too, was designed for versatility; with the Bandshell, Maltzan hoped to create an environment equally as accommodative as the bisecting pathways.

Surely, the architectural device of spectacle is not to be ignored here. The

Bandshell serves as an impressive public display - a playful point of reference with which the larger project is demarcated as a place of delight, a place of leisure.

Notably, the Bandshell marks a stark departure from the formal language of the broader project - largely characterized by Libeskind-esque fragmentation and linearity. The boldness of this move appears to have worked out for Maltzan, for the Bandshell has largely received praise for its unique design.

Often criticized, architectural spectacle has its place in securing a healthy

public life. Aaron Betsky explains that when executed artfully and judiciously, architectural spectacle unshackles people from consumer society by shocking them into an introspective state. He writes, “The civic realm... is exactly what the best... art spectacles open up. In attracting larger amounts of people than traditional painting in sculpture, showing them art that is immediately accessible, and taking them into another place and time, museums can create an alternative to a world in which the Empire of Signs is ruled over by the Almighty Dollar and the experience is always that of either seduction and sale or paranoia and

1 Amelar. Sarah. “Playa Vista Park.” Architectural Record, 16 May 2011. Web. Accessed 9 December 2019.

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fig 60; “The Bandshell”

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fig 62: Landscaped features of the park, bordering a Joey Shimoda-designed office space in Playa Vista

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constraint. The best makers of these kinds of works of art... offer a critique of a world in which virtuality unmoors us and leaves us swimming in the sea of commerce. They instead make us think about our bodies, our social relations, and the manner in which the space of self and society is framed.”1

Within this framework, architectural spectacle is understood as a public service of sorts, though an intangible one. Through spectacle, architects capture the imagination of the public, stealing it back from the dull varnish of consumer culture. The Bandshell is exemplary of this tactic; it provides a beacon of lighthearted entertainment within a largely corporatized region of Los Angeles. Its utilization as architectural spectacle is accentuated by its distinct presence on the site.

Of course, the device of spectacle is at play in other aspects of the park.

The playful manipulation of landscape evokes a sensation of childlike wonder.

Following from the geometric configurations of crisscrossing paths, are colorful bands of landscape features, programmed by varying configurations of plant-life.

The result is a altogether picturesque assortment. This, it appears, is a major asset to the project, earning near universal praise. Sarah Amelar of Architectural Record writes, “[T]he park’s graphic qualities are as striking and unreal as a rendering.

Bands of contrasting materials and textures stripe this irregular swath of land with a plaza dotted with circular benches, two wide strips of water, allées of trees, faceted berm gardens, and a lawn sloping down to the bandshell. The berm plantings form swatch-like triangles and trapezoids of color and pattern, pieced together like a collage.”2

Beauty in architecture, though hard to define, should not be made an afterthought, as is so often the case in the contemporary world of architecture.

Sometimes a place’s contribution to the public health of a city is as simple as the

1 Betsky, Aaron. “In Defense of Architectural Spectacle.” Architect Magazine, 4 May 2015. Web. Accessed 8 November 2019.

2 Amelar. Sarah. “Playa Vista Park.” Architectural Record, 16 May 2011. Web. Accessed 9 December 2019.

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fig 64

fig 65 : a sign photographed by a Yelp reviewer at Playa Vista Central Park

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beauty it provides. Maltzan’s park provides numerous sitting areas surrounded by picturesque scenery; these are places of humble refuge, delightful enclaves physically and psychologically removed from the trials of everyday life. The park’s system of bisecting pathways too, involves an element of architectural spectacle.

Still, the actual public-ness of the project is debatable. To Maltzan’s

credit, the park was initially envisioned as a sort of extension of existing public spaces in the area. Maltzan writes: “The 8-acre Playa Vista Park provides an infrastructure of recreation and performance spaces to support expansive experience of public space in our city.”1

And to be fair, it appears that the park is fairly well-received by the general public for some characteristics that can be considered public in nature. It boasts generally favorable ratings on Yelp, and has tallied a few glowing reviews from major architecture publications, Architectural Record and Archinect among them. However, the park fails to meet a few essential criteria for public spaces; specifically, that they must be publicly owned, and that they must allow for a freedom of movement and expression.

First off, it is worth noting that Playa Vista Central Park is not really a

public park at all, in a literal sense. The project was financed by master developer Playa Capital, the same developer which hired Maltzan to design several office buildings in the area - and sits on private land. This may not be so bad, were it not for the actions of the project’s private security forces. While most visitors like the project, quiet a few report being approached by security guards on site and asked to desist from mundane activities. For example, taking photos is apparently discouraged. But the bulk of criticism has focused on restrictions placed on dogs; this indignation is perhaps expected, considering how often the average person takes their dog(s) to the park. At Playa Vista, dogs are only 1 “Playa Vista Central Park.” Michael Maltzan Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

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allowed in certain areas of the park - this is apparently strictly enforced by the security guards. Still other critics remark that the project is non-user friendly, in much the same vein as Parc de la Villette. There is also the “shiny object” issue, wherein places can be so graphically pristine that they makes relaxation feel inappropriate. One Yelp reviewer noted, “This park feels like that living room you had growing up with all white furniture that no one was actually allowed to use, it just looks nice and you stare from a far [sic]. It really is pristine and because I went before 10 a.m. on a rather chilly Friday I practically had the place to myself. It looks so perfect you feel like you’re not actually supposed to touch or walk on anything but the walkway. Not really sure what this place should be called but I think the name ‘park’ is misleading since you can’t really play here and there are no dogs allowed.”1

A fair point to be sure. While the project is unquestionably beautiful, perhaps there is merit in allowing for a controlled messiness in the design of parks; lest they feel more like zoological exhibits or worse yet, museums, than actual parks for playing, sitting, running, relaxing, etc.

Another potential instance of non-user friendliness exhibited by the

project is the haphazardly-designed playground.

Another Yelp reviewer

suggested, “[T]he playground is just awkward. It looks all classy from a distance but [my younger cousins] couldn’t figure out how to play on it. There were these metal bars that look like they could be a slide but you really can’t play on them... The playground was definitely designed with aesthetics in mind, not children.”2

This is another fair point. Maltzan’s unique vision for the form and function of children’s play structures appears to be largely academic; since the undulating groundscape seems to offer no other activity other than running or jumping,

1 H., Quisha. Contribution to “Central Park at Playa Vista.” Yelp, 4 January 2019. Web. Accessed 8 December 2019.

2 E., Katie. Contribution to “Central Park at Playa Vista.” Yelp, 30 July 2013. Web. Accessed 8 December 2019.

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fig 66: A long list of park rules

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and the arrangements of metal hoops and bars are confusing. While there is something to be said for allowing for multiple interpretations, it appears that at least in this case, children’s activities would have been better served with a more precise suggested use. Creativity of children knows no bounds, but this creativity can be nurtured by allowing them to re-interpret a specific suggested use, rather than asking them to invent a new one altogether.

Despite these shortcomings, Playa Vista Central Park still offers some

valuable lessons in addressing human needs through architectural intervention.

In short, Maltzan’s park encourages a multiplicity of uses through overlapping terrain and bisecting pathways, it grants agency by presenting users with a range of different paths to traverse, and it creates public spectacle by establishing a distinctive and monumental centerpiece which differs from the architectural language of the rest of the site.

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Case Study 3: Merida Factory Youth Movement The Merida Factory Youth Movement (“Factoria Joven”) is a hybridized youth counseling center and public park in Merida, Spain, designed by husbandand-wife architects Jose Selgas and Lucia Cano under their eponymous firm SelgasCano. Merida Factory supports a range of different recreational activities, most of them aimed at teenagers and young adults. This includes skateboarding, skating, Internet browsing, performing arts, acrobatics, electronic music, parkour, graffiti, urban art, street theatre, manga, audiovisual art, contemporary dance, dance funk, hip hop, ballroom, and concerts. These activities are hosted by a massive protective canopy and playfully sculpted landscape; and further animated by an expressive architectural facade made of translucent corrugated plastic. The architects explain their design intentions: “The building is designed as a large canopy that is open to the entire city and available to anyone who would like to come. This canopy is composed of a series of volumes with oval floor plans [which are] treated as isolated modules, allowing independent access. Since there is no system to control climate within the site, a large thermal covering, a meter thick, protects the youth from rain and sun while they participate in activities below. The cover also helps control the climate within these activity areas. Protective and translucent, the roof extends like a floating cloud.”1

In short; “An open factory of ideas, urban art and sport.”2

The project is anchored, both thematically and structurally, by its vaguely cylindrical tube-cores. These simultaneously enclose isolated indoor spaces which host counseling sessions, and act as points of reference from which the landscape is sculpted and space is configured. The landscape dips, dives, curls,

1 “Merida Factory Youth Movement / Selgascano.” ArchDaily, 7 July 2011. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

2 “La Factoria Joven by SelgasCano Arquitectos.” Iconeye, 19 August 2011. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

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scallops, carves, and bends around these cores, creating a dynamic skate and bike park. As users traverse away from the cores, the ground gradually flattens out until eventually it meets the even plane of the surrounding streetscape.

At the project’s northeastern corner rises the grand architectural feature

of the project; a brightly-colored rock-climbing wall. The wall is multi-faceted, composed of triangular and trapezoidal surfaces, all painted one of either white, yellow, light green, or dark green. The jaggedness of the polygonal faceting carries over into other aspects of the project - including paved concrete which itself is faceted, and landscape features which appear to ‘slice’ through sloping terrain. The same yellow hue found on the rock-climbing wall also paints an accessible ramp which zig zags through the center of the project, its motion a further continuation of the faceting language.

A bright orange, meter-thick canopy covers the project, winding about the

project in a serpentine motion and maintaining a gentle curve. From a distance it vaguely resembles the canopy of a dense tropical forest, if the trees did not grow very high, their trunks were white, short, and squat, and the underside of their leaves emitted a soft orange glow. Or better yet, like a clump of lowhanging mushrooms. The canopy is painted on its top side, while the corrugated plastic surfaces on its underside are left unpainted. Their translucence allows for the orange to seep through, and this is readily apparent when underneath the canopy. From a distance though, the orange is much softer, mitigated by a soft layer of white. The bright orange can still spotted from afar along the edges of the canopy, or at angles from which the sloping top side can be spotted. This same orange hue finds itself in other parts of the project, including the floors of indoor spaces and the exterior walls of one of the tube-cores.

The project appears a bit rough around the edges. Its construction was

completed in just around 13 months, a quick turnaround for a project of this size and complexity. But the haste makes itself known in the quality of the project’s finishes, which leave something to be desired. Panelization of the underside of the canopy, while an essential architectural feature of the project,

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seems to merely approximate the volume of the canopy. Awkward corners

and messy seams abound throughout. Despite this, Merida Factory’s charm is undeniable. A playful color palette, dynamic canopy structure, and skillful carving of the landscape serve to establish the site as a place of delight; of lighthearted entertainment. Merida Factory has become a popular destination for local teens and young adults; and has established itself as a vital contribution to the urban fabric. One reviewer raves, “With its light materials and bright colours, the Youth Factory recalls a circus tent in its open park-like setting, an irresistible attraction. Since it opened last April [2010], it has been overwhelmed with users. The project... channel[s]... the energies of marginalised urban teenagers, who programmed its activities through supervised collectives grouped around each interest.”1

Another reviewer concurs, and notes that the spectacle of Merida Factory allows for a greater civic engagement among teens and young adults. He writes, “By creating a public space that’s so visually exciting, it’s hard to imagine that kids (or their parents) will want to hang out anywhere else. And that’s partly the point: The skatepark’s structure actually hides meeting rooms where kids can get group counseling. So the activities get them in, but that also creates an unparalleled opportunity to reach them.”2

The civic dimension of the project is noteworthy here. In its inclusion of an array of teen-friendly activities, Merida Factory is successful in catering to a segment of the population the typical public space does not. Teenagers are notoriously withdrawn from participation in public activity, whether political or not. This matter is only exacerbated by the modern public space, which seems keen on fostering everyone but them. Public parks (especially in the US)

1 Cohn, David. “Double Enntendre: The Duality of two Small-Town Spanish Public Spaces.” Architectural Review, 21 September 2011. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

2 Toy, Tommy. “Spanish Architects Selgas Canos’ [sic] Factoria Joven is a Cool Kids Counseling Center, with Skate Park and Rock Climbing Wall.” Imaginative Pro Blog, 7 December 2019. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

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are popularly conceived as places of play for young children, accompanied by sitting areas for their adult caregivers. Even the presence of teens at a child’s playground is likely to bring derision, or at the very least a general uneasiness.

Left to their own devices the modern teen is left to loiter and trespass. In defiance of this lamentable circumstance, Merida Factory offers a safe and exciting adolescent-specific space.

Better still, Merida Factory engages youth in a way that draws them into

the act of placemaking by granting them agency. Enclosed by arrays of trees and somewhat sequestered in an industrialized part of Merida, the park acts as an urban enclave for youth, a place which they feel they have control over. The project is so effective in this regard that it drew praise from the Project for Public Spaces (PPS), a multinational organization dedicated to helping communities build effective public spaces - the same organization that denounced Parc de la Villette as non-user friendly. On their website the PPS includes Merida Factory on a short list of projects that effectively engage the youth. They write,

“[Merida Factory] is a unique facility as the outdoor public space draws young people in for informal activities but creates opportunities to take risks in constructive ways. The outdoor activities can be risky but for young people asking for help can also be a huge risk. Having the indoor facilities provides an easily accessible point of contact for community workers to reach out and support young people as well as engage them in the physical activities.”1

Merida Factory is illustrative of the capacity for architectural spectacle to serve the public needs of a city. By creating a lively and graphically striking environment, the architects circumvent some of the problems typically associated with youth counseling; in particular, the fact that the patients do not want to be there. In the same vein, dense programming - which itself can be understood as a kind of spectacle, especially in the case of performance art - engenders an atmosphere

1 Millard, Cheryl. “Young People and Placemaking: Engaging Youth to Create Community Places.” Project for Public Spaces, 1 June 2015. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

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of light-hearted fun. It is not hard to imagine how a teen attending a group counseling session in one of the ovaloid interiors would be affected by first walking by a rock-climbing wall, by students learning how to graffiti, and through a skatepark. Through spectacle, the youth of Merida Factory are tricked into liking their counseling, or at the very least associating their counseling with the cheerful recreational activities happening all around it.

Merida Factory also serves the public needs of Merida by providing for

a range of different activities, some occurring in the same place. Spaces are programmed - at least more intuitively than those of Parc de la Villette or to a lesser degree, Playa Vista Central Park. Still, there is enough flexibility to allow for multiple interpretations, multiple uses. Teens are keen to creatively engage with the work how they see fit, inhabiting the sculpted landscape by skating on it, walking it, skateboarding on it, biking on it, and sitting on its perches and ledges. Other youth would rather spectate from the peripheries of the site, lounging on the lawns. These observers reinforce the notion of Merida Factory as public spectacle, one that is formed around the activities of its inhabitants.

Much like Parc de la Villette, the people themselves are the performance art.

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Site Moffett Federal Airfield is an unincorporated territory bordering Mountain View, California, in the heart of Silicon Valley. The airfield is a 1930s-era decommissioned Navy airship base originally chosen for its apparent ease of landing in relatively clear skies. It is a place of personal interest - having grown up in neighboring Los Altos, having attended high school just a few miles from it, and having spent quite a bit of time in and around the area. The site has always seemed so strikingly important and yet so empty - and for years I have imagined building upon it. It is also a place of historical and cultural significance.

Moffett Federal Airfield (“Moffett Field” for short) is situated along the

southern shore of the marshy wetlands of South Bay sandwiched in between four cities: Palo Alto to its west, Mountain View to its west and southwest, Sunnyvale to its east and southeast, and San Jose to its east. Adjacent on the western side of the property is the well-known NASA Ames Research Center.

Both the center and Moffett Field sit within the commercial sector, and are surrounded on all sides by various companies (mostly tech), though a few take precedence. Specifically, Google holds the vast majority of property in their immediate vicinity, though other companies share substantial shares of the land as well. While the present-day landscape paints a picture of frenetic commercial activity, this was not always so; a century ago, Moffett Field was a striking mark on a largely undeveloped tract of land (see the image to the right).

Upon its inception in 1931, the naval base was well-received by the

locals of then-Sunnyvale, many of whom had pitched in to purchase the land and re-sell it to the Navy for one dollar. Official confirmation of the transaction was accompanied by a parade and days of no school. After President Hoover authorized the Navy to accept title to the land, construction began on the first of three airplane hangars (Hangar One) as well as clearing the land for an airstrip.

From 1931 to 1991, “Moffett Field” (shorthand) would serve as a crucial base for US military and naval operations - crucial for both its primacy of location in a fair-weathered nook in the Bay Area and for its continued operational successes.

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fig 86: Moffett Field in 1938, with newly constructed Hangar One

fig 85: Moffett Field in 2008, bordered by Sunnyvale (bottom right) and the rest of Mountain View (bottom left). Hangar One is visible center-left, while Hangars Two and Three are center-right

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During World War II, Moffett Field stood as a vital defense against the potential of West Coast land invasion by Imperial Japan.1

Yet its importance waned along with perceived national security threats.

The Cold War saw a flurry of activity as the US braced itself for the potential of Soviet attack. At its height the base hosted several thousand employees, including service men and women and civilians (mostly working in repair or maintenance). But upon collapse of the Soviet Union, the federal government drastically dialed back its national security operations and defense spending. In 1992, Moffett Field was signaled out for closure by the Department of Defense Base Realignment and Closure (BRAC) program and was officially closed as a military base in 1994.

In July of 1994, Moffett Field was sold to NASA and merged with

the adjacent NASA Ames Research Center.

NASA thereby assumed both

ownership of the property and legal obligation to maintain and preserve the existing facilities on site - namely the three airplane hangars - as well as to continue Moffett Field’s operation as an airstrip. Initially, hopes were high for the prospect of new ownership. NASA released plans to turn the consolidated property into “NASA Research Park (NRP), a world-class, shared-use research and development campus in association with academia, industry and nonprofit organizations.”2 For a time Hangar One was slated to be turned into an interactive space center/museum called “Space World Hangar One,” until toxic polychlorinated biophenyls was detected inside, prompting investigation by environmental regulators.3 Whether out of fear of potential health hazards or for some other reason(s), the broader plans were abandoned altogether, and no significant developments were undertaken by NASA - with the exception of some heavy duty maintenance and repairs.

Still, under NASA’s stewardship, Moffett Field continued to operate as

1 Shettle, Jr., M.L. “Naval Air Station, Moffett Field.” Historic California Posts, Camps, Stations, and Airfields. Military Museum, 26 June 2016. Web. Accessed 5 November 2019.

2 Shettle, Jr., M.L. “Naval Air Station, Moffett Field.” Historic California Posts, Camps, Stations, and Airfields. Military Museum, 26 June 2016. Web. Accessed 5 November 2019.

3 “Moffett Field History.” NASA Ames Research Center History Archives. NASA, March 2019. Web. Accessed 6 November 2019.

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fig 87: President Obama visits Moffett field in 2014 for a fundraising event, historic Hangar 1 in the background

fig 88: Donald J. Trump arrives at Moffett Field with Air force One in September 2019

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Shoreline Slough

Area of Interest NASA Ames & Research Center Hangars 2 & 3

Hangar 1

Loma

Mountain View fig 89 (top left): Historic Hangar One fig 90 (bottom left): Hangars Two and Three fig 91: Site Map showing area of interest and relevant territories

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Shoreline West

Jagel Slough

San Jose Devil’s Slough

Stevens Creek Shoreline Nature Study Area Reserve

Sunnyvale

North Whisman

Whisman

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an active airstrip and was host to the Air Force, Army, Air National Guard, and other federal agencies. And it continues to do so today - except under different tenants. Perhaps not-so-unexpectedly, the costs of maintaining and operating the site quickly had grown too burdensome for NASA’s already dwindling budget - and by the mid-2000s NASA was desperately seeking leasers. Eventually, one presented itself. In 2011 Google - operating as Planetary Ventures, LLC - signed an enhanced lease with NASA that allowed them to build approximately 1.2 million square feet of office space, housing, and support services as part of their new “Bay View Campus” on 42 acres of land which sat on the westernmost part of Moffett Airfield.1 Several of these buildings are under construction today, including one designed by BIG and Heatherwick Studio, and one designed by NBBJ.

But it appears that Google wants to expand even more into the airfield.

In 2014 NASA sealed a 60-year deal with Planetary Ventures, LLC in which Planetary Ventures and its guarantor Google agreed to take over the operating and maintenance cost of the entirety Moffett Field including the three hangars and pay NASA well over $1 billion over those 60 years, in exchange for access to the hangars and accompanying facilities.2

It is worth mentioning the present state of the site in light of recent

developments. Firstly, Moffett Field maintains its standing as a historical and cultural landmark - in part a function of the high profile of some of its users (the last two presidential administrations among them). This standing is buttressed by the neighboring Moffett Field Historical Society Museum, which was born in the mid-1990s, and continues to preserve the history of Moffett Field, especially Hangar One.

Secondly, planes are still flown into Moffett Field. While there certainly

are not any commercial flights flying in and out of the airfield, there are still routine naval and Air Force-related flights, as well as an occasional stop by Air

1 “City of Mountain View Memorandum.” Mountain View City Council, 30 June 2011. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

2 “Adaptive Reuse Lease Between National Aeronautics and Space Administration and Planetary Ventures, LLC regarding NASA Ames Research Center Eastside/Airfield.” NASA, 3October 2014. Web. Accessed 3 November 2019.

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site of the Google Bay View Campus, announced in 2011 and currently under construction

fig 92

fig 93: Aerial photograph of the canopied roofs of several of Google’s new buildings under construction as part of the new Bay View Campus and Charleston East

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fig 94: Two of Google’s new developments, Charleston East on the left and the new Bay View campus (technically part of Moffett Airfield) in the center-right

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fig 95: Google’s canopied Charleston East (now under construction) shown in an early render

fig 96: One of the renders released by Google showing plans for the Bay View campus

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fig 97: High-altitude Internet balloons seen here in one of the hangars in 2015.

Developed by “Project Loon,” a brainchild of Google X (research company) the balloons would bring Internet to far-to-reach places of the globe.

fig 98: NASA’s playground. In 2013, the K10 Rover executed a test site survey of Moffett Field (shown), while engineered by an Astronaut in space - a first.

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Force One. Yet these are not the only flights. Since at least 2008, Google executives have been flying their private jets in and out of Moffett Field and storing them in the hangars. They had struck a deal with NASA in 2008 which granted them the rights to fly in and out of Moffett Field for a little over $1 million per year.1 The decision did not come without controversy. For years, the local community had soundly rejected various proposals permitting civilian and other air travel through Moffett Field, including one in the 1990s which would have granted access to FedEx Air. At best, Google’s apparent position of privilege raises questions about the role of government (federal and local) in limiting the power of large corporations. At worst, it exemplifies the dubious financial ties between the big tech industry and state agencies (case-in-point: local congresswoman Anna Eshoo (D) is no stranger to big tech money, cashing massive checks from numerous top tech companies including Google).2

But NASA contends that the deal corresponds with their mission of

scientific discovery. Evidently, the arrangement included provisions that granted NASA the ability to collect scientific data on those jets. And what scientific data is being collected? It appears we do not have an answer to that yet. In any case, it stands to reason that Google’s interest in Moffett is at least partly tied to their desire for the ease of travel of its executives.

And lastly, while some information is available, the other goings-on at

Moffett Field are mostly unknown. Aside from private jet catering, there are indications that Planetary Ventures is either planning to use or currently using the hangars and other facilities for experimentation with technology. While the operations of Google and its subsidiaries are largely opaque, NASA has released information regarding their agreement. According to NASA, Planetary Ventures plans to use Moffett Field facilities for “research, development, assembly, and testing in the areas of space exploration, aviation, rover/robotics, and other

1 Helft, Miguel. “Google Founders’ Ultimate Perk: A NASA Runway.” The New York Times, 13 September 2007. Web. Accessed 6 November 2019.

2 “Rep. Anna Eshoo - California District 18: Contributors 1989 - 2020.” OpenSecrets.org The Center for Responsive Politics, 2020. Web. Accessed 14 November 2019.

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emerging technologies.”1 Evidently, one of their recent experiments included high altitude Internet balloons.2 Yet surely there would be no need to lease over 1,000 acres of property simply for the use of a few airplane hangars and their accompanying support facilities. It remains possible that the leasing of Moffett Field is part of Google’s bid to increase its local landholdings.

In any case, much is afoot in and around Moffett Field, spurred on by both

Google and NASA, as well as other local entities. Aside from new developments already under construction, there are also a few other proposals afloat involving potential further development of Moffett Field and the surrounding area. One such proposal was put forth by UC Berkeley in early 2019. The plan would lease out 1.4 million sq. ft. and 36.2 acres for development, to be used by UC Berkeley for “laboratories, teaching spaces in collaboration with local industry, as well as additional housing units.”3 The plot would include the southwestern corner of the airfield, as shown in the graphic. There is another addition proposal that would sit adjacent to that - this one sought by the US General Services Administration and tailored for NASA employees, many of whom have a difficult time living in the Bay Area while earning modest salaries.

And why Moffett Field? Aside from my personal affinity for the area, I believe there are several characteristics of the site which make it favorable for testing out my thesis ideas. The looming influence of “big tech” is unavoidable, practically speaking, anywhere in Silicon Valley. Even residential zones theoretically free from big tech intrusion are entirely shackled by proximity to specific workplaces.

In the case of Google, the arrival of a herd of wealthy young people has dictated the price of homes and thereby the standard of living for surrounding areas.

But the issue is more than just one of individual income earnings.

Google has now consolidated a vast expanse of property in the northern parts 1 Northon, Karen M. “Release 14-305: NASA Signs Lease with Planetary Ventures LLC for Use of Moffett Airfield and Restoration of Hangar One.” NASA, 10 November 2014. Web. Accessed 6 November 2019.

2 O’Brien, Matt. “Google takes over aging Moffett Field and its airship hangars.” The Mercury News, 31 March 2015.

Web. Accessed 6 November 2019.

3 Srinivasan, Meera. “UC Berkeley proposes development of Moffett Field with NASA’s Ames Research Center.” The Daily Californian, 16 August 2019. Web. Accessed 21 November 2019.

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fig 99: UC Berkeley’s proposed plan for development, in partnership with NASA Ames Research Center (blue) and the proposed new NASA housing development (gray)

fig 100: A concept illustration released by NASA showing the potential mixed-use housing development on Moffett Field

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fig 101: Google offices as of 2014-ish

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of Mountain View, Sunnyvale, and Palo Alto - and continues to expand both westward and eastward along the southern shore of the bay. This includes properties on all sides of Moffett Field and adjacent NASA Ames Research Center. According to one estimate, Google’s total landownings in Silicon Valley are now valued at around $7.5 billion in taxable revenue.1 Mountain View is certainly no stranger to big tech companies, with Microsoft, Symantec, Intuit, and LinkedIn all maintaining major presences. Yet Google’s takeover is jarring to say the least; as of 2013 Google employed 9.7% of Mountain View’s entire workforce and 10.7% of the city’s taxable property.2 And their presence has only grown since then. While the number of employees in Google’s Mountain View campuses numbered around 11,000 in 2013, the total number of people that Google employs in Silicon Valley today is around 23,000 (granted, this 23,000 is dispersed throughout all of Google’s Silicon Valley campuses, but given that most of these employees reside in Mountain View, it stands to reason that Google’s share of all Mountain View employees has grown as well).3 The community’s fears are best captured by conservative Mountain View city council member Jac Siegel, who stated in 2014: “What I fear mostly is that Mountain View becomes Googleville... It’s a town controlled by Google, most of their employees live here, and it just becomes like a old factory town on the East Coast where they control anything and everything they want.”4

The issue is only compounded by Google’s determination to continue

its expansion. It would appear that the company’s continued acquisition and development of property is not simply just a bid to clear more space for new employees - as the leasing of the still-unused airstrip demonstrates. Google’s 1 Kendall, Marisa. “Google V. Apple: While One Takes on the Housing Crisis, the Other Stands Back.” Mercury News, 28 October 2019. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

2 “Principal Employers: Current Year and Nine Years Ago.” City of Mountain View, 2012. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

3 Van Romburgh, Marlize. “Mountain View mulls taxing large employers like Google millions.” Silicon Valley Business Journal, 7 May 2018. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

4 Hollister, Sean. “Welcome to Googletown: Here’s how a city becomes company property.” The Verge, 26 February 2014. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

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expansions are also a boost to their long-term financial standing. It is welldocumented that landowning and land development are among the most lucrative and most effective means of generating wealth.

Furthermore, the federal government’s relinquishment of Moffett Field

to a private entity is exemplary of my earlier discussion on the privatization of land development. In this case, as in others, a government agency was unable to maintain its properties due to a lack of funding, and instead turned it over to a wealthy land-developer (which is effectively what Google is, in this instance).

This transaction is exemplary of the triumph of private enterprise over public welfare in the Bay Area. Moffett Field once promoted the public welfare by providing for the common defense of the nation - and as far as I can tell, now it is a glorified storage facility for private jets of corporate fat-cats. Similarly, Moffett Field once had the potential to provide enormous public value through the imaginative “Space World Hangar One” proposal - and now it is a massive playground for capitalist ventures in robotics.

But there are other site-specific and/or urbanistic drivers of my selection

which make it amenable to exploring the ideas posed in this thesis. For one, the lack of civic and/or cultural centers in the surrounding area are clear symptoms of the plight of public life. I can attest first hand that there is a clear absence of effective public spaces - outside of maybe religious congregations and school communities. Even the very idea of a public life is so often associated with undesirable social ills, namely homelessness, poverty, and crime. The vanishing of the public realm, as it were, is an essential characteristic of life in Silicon Valley.

Generally people confine their social activities to private properties, whether in their own homes or the semi-public space of commercial centers. This issue too, is compounded by the relatively recent mass arrival of Google employees. Jac Siegel adds “The community … is being replaced by people who spend most of their day on the Google campus, not really contributing much to civic life.”1 1 Hollister, Sean. “Welcome to Googletown: Here’s how a city becomes company property.” The Verge, 26 February 2014. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

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Related to this predicament is the question of land distribution. I find it

morally wrong that a single private entity has consolidated so much prime real estate abutting the bay (albeit not the most scenic part of the bay, but the point stands nonetheless) - in an urban context filled with homeless and economically disadvantaged. This is both a question of urban design and a question of politics; the city council of Mountain View is well within its rights to intervene and either prevent further development by Google or prevent further acquisitions. By the same token, Moffett Field in particular is a prime location for a grand public space for use by all, not just Google employees. It could even address housing needs.

Not directly related to my course of study, but nonetheless an important

consideration is the question of environmental degradation. Specifically, I am interested in environmental degradation as a major consequence of; 1. Google’s continued land development in and around the area, 2. water-intensive golf courses which introduce invasive plant species to the local ecosystem, and 3. massive paved-over areas of the airstrip which are rendered practically useless to wildlife; which produces the net results of; 1. contributing to climate change through the carbon emissions of the construction process Google’s new facilities, employees’ commutes (albeit often small in distance) and stalled vehicular traffic due to congestion caused by the influx of Google employees, 2. harming local wildlife and the general health of the local ecosystem, and 3. increasing harmful surface runoff due to paving and non-green roofs.

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fig 102: Some of the opposition to Google’s continued development in northern Mountain View is centered around its threatening of the burrowing owl

fig 103: Ridgway’s rail is an aquatic bird that is potentially threatened by Google’s bayside developments

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Experiment 3: Site Marking My first attempt at analyzing the site was an exercise in marking it through three mapping exercises, each at a different scale. The process of marking had the dual purpose of firstly, understanding the “hidden” sociopolitical and cultural factors which contribute to the present urban condition and secondly, identifying potential design drivers. Public life at its most basic is defined here as those places, things, and actions shared between people. As such, my diagrams illustrate those landmark places which shape of public life of Silicon Valley.

My exercise begins at the urban scale, crucial to the

development of a project of this size and scope. This graphic identifies three cultural landmarks which accommodates shared experience. The three are: Stanford University (Palo Alto), Levi’s Stadium (Santa Clara), and Santana Row (San Jose).

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fig 104: the urban fabric of the metropolis

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fig 105: Google landownings (represented by white dots) and golf courses

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fig 106: at the local scale, the major cultural landmarks are Shoreline Amphitheater and Hangar 1

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Program: And what should occupy the site? I envision the project serving as a muchneeded hub of public life for the greater metropolis.

I have in mind an

intervention along the lines of Golden Gate Park in San Francisco or Central Park in New York City - two reasonable precedents for development considering their approximate likeness to my own in terms of acreage. But while each of those act as urban oases of sorts - naturally beautiful enclaves serving as brief reprieves from the work-intensive city life - I envision my own project as a catalyst for vibrant public life. As such, the Moffett project must satisfy, and indeed exceed the basic requisites for effective public space, as discussed earlier;

1. openness and accessibility to all, including the freedom to come and go as one pleases; 2. common ownership and maintenance through a democratic governing body; 3. preservation of personal privacy, especially in relation to surveillance and security measures; 4. freedom of expression; and 5. propensity for political action.

Yet these standards, while essential to the discussion of making effective public space, do not describe its aspirations - nor my own aspirations for that matter. Truly public urban development should aspire to be much more than just its baseline. Public space must fill some gap in the urban fabric that private property and private enterprise are not currently providing for. This aspiration is perhaps best encapsulated by Frank Cunningham in his book, Rites of Way: The Politics and Poetics of Public Space:

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fig 107: Central Park, New York City (843 acres) for comparison

fig 108: Golden Gate Park, San Francisco (1,017 acres), for comparison

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“The ‘right to the city’ centrally includes the right to live in a city the urban design, architectures, politics, infrastructures, and landscapes of which are not subordinated to capitalist economic needs.”1

The ability for large groups of people to live together and thrive in cities is predicated on their ability to provide those things that capitalism cannot. Public space therefore serves an essential function of city life because it stands as the last remaining territories not beholden to private enterprise. Yet this qualifies only what is not effective public space. And what is effective public space? I have simplified the question into three essential aspects of pubic space;

1. Leisure: this is a commonly-accepted conception of public space, one in which people are encouraged to walk, jog, run, exercise, nap, play, people-watch, meditate, or picnic. Most effectively executed as suburban playgrounds and local parks, the leisure component of public space offers a reprieve from the taxing demands of work life and allows people to engage with the landscape how they see fit.

2. Habitation: this is duly-noted as a primary characteristic of many public spaces in densely-packed urban environments.

Modern urban public

spaces act as informal lodgings for the homeless and destitute, who are often themselves victims of capitalist exploitation. This is not to be avoided but rather embraced, seeing as that they have nowhere else to reside.

3. Political action: this is an often neglected component of public space.

Political action through gathering, conferring, debating and subversion is an essential aspect of public spaces in a democratic society.

I intend for my project to provide a vibrant hub of public life which capitalizes on and indeed, reinforces each of these aspects.

1 Cunningham, Frank. “Public Spaces and Subversion.” Rites of Way: The Politics and Poetics of Public Space.

Kingwell, Mark & Turmel, Patrick. Wilfrid Laurier University Press, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada. Print. Accessed 14 November 2019.

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Leisure walking running, jogging, exercise napping playing people-watching meditate picnicking

... parks, squares, festivals ... parks, gyms ... parks, benches, couches ... playgrounds, skate parks ... parks, gatherings, crowds ... parks, congregations ... parks

Habitation sleeping going to the bathroom showering eating hydrating

... bedroom, apartment ... bathroom, port-a-potties ... bathroom, outdoor showers ... dining room, restaurants ... kitchen, restaurants, bars

Political Action protesting demonstrating rallying gathering debating policy-making

... protests, events ... public events ... political announcements ... open spaces ... forums, open spaces ... legislatures, councils fig 109

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Leisure walking running, jogging, exercise napping playing people-watching meditate picnicking Habitation sleeping going to the bathroom showering eating hydrating Political Action protesting demonstrating rallying gathering debating policy-making

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Urban Park trails tennis courts basketball courts running track batting cages pool gymnasium soccer/football ďŹ eld planted forests grassy ďŹ elds Event Grounds outdoor amphitheatre festival grounds grand central plaza Civic Center board of supervisors civil court criminal court forum lecture hall events hall Public Housing Arts Center performance hall arts appreciation museum dance hall exhibition space

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fig 110 (left): My first attempt at defining a formal strategy in addressing the site; Sculpted volumes break up a long and linear site.

Some flatten to act as landscape fig 111 (top right) fig 112 (bottom right)

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fig 113 (left): Addressing the ‘flatness’ of the site; developing strategies for peeling, pushing, tearing the landscape to create space; imposing grids as regulation fig 114 (top right) fig 115 (bottom right)

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fig 117

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[Title of Thesis]

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fig 119: Dealing with conflicting circulations; the path of air travel, civilian bridges, raised and sunken plazas, etc.

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At the beginning of winter quarter, our thesis studio presented our fall thesis books in our annual book show, which we affectionately called, “(If You’re Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To.” We displayed our books as shown in the above image, lying between white, upright books on bookshelves within a small, white box - which we pre-fabricated and assembled within a larger room in the Architecture building. Using projectors, fog machines, and fabric, we blacked out the rest of the room, filled it up with fog, and shot colorful lasers across the room at a consistent height. The white box sat in the corner of the larger room, hardly visible when first entering, and standing in stark contrast to the colorful laserbeams. Visitors were invited to sit around the exterior of the white box, and read our books using flashlights we provided to them. fig 133 (left): Bookshelves with thesis books laid between white, spray-painted books fig 134 (top): Room within the room

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fig 139 (top left) fig 140 (bottom right) fig 141 (right)

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I spent some time developing a more humane and coherent housing scheme, which entailed getting to the architectural-ish scale. I developed these siteless schemes, in which I experimented with densifying the housing condition, undulating and conflicting landscapes, and introducing smaller follies.

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fig 148: Housing

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fig 152: Follies fig 153: Site Plan

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Manifesto (Revised) Amid pretensions of social responsibility, contemporary architecture serves as a mere tool of capital, bending over backwards to meet the market demands of the developer. While architecture has always been tied to wealth, increasingly it has been optimized for wealth-extractive business pursuits like landlordship and marketing. As such, the fundamental social mission of architecture has been lost in the shuffle. When profit is the be-all and end-all, architecture relinquishes its role in ensuring a healthy public life.

The developer model can be upturned by maximizing urbanistic and architectural “inefficiencies” within publicly-funded projects.

At the urban scale, the

developer’s motive to subdivide, modulate, and codify is obstructed through irregular partitioning, idiosynchratic building configurations, and physical “barriers” that interrupt a site’s divisible land area. At the architectural scale, the developer’s motive to partition off and rent out is disrupted through redundant circulation and awkward spaces.

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Solids housing parcels, semi-enclosed outdoor spaces, and programmed follies decorate the site

Lines multiple grid systems conflicting with reserved paths of travel across the site... a continuous walking bridge unites each corner and the follies

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Endnotes - Figures Part I - Introduction 1 “Polis.” Encyclopedia Britannica, 2019. Web. Accessed 4 November 2019.

2 Rehmke, Gregory. “Property Rights and Law Among the Ancient Greeks.” FEE: Foundation for Economic Education, 6 November 2016. Web. Accessed 12 November 2019.

3 Nguyen, Marie-Lan. “Woman spinning.” Antonio Salinas Regional Archaeological Museum of Palermo, c. 480-470 BCE. 4 Morby, Alice. “Today we like: sustainable design.” Dezeen, 22 April 2016. Web. Accessed 13 November 2019.

5 Foster, Jerome II. “10 Bjarke Ingels Buildings that are Eco-friendly.” The Climate Reporter, 1 December 2017. Web. Accessed 13 November 2019.

6 “Fifteen Huson Yards.” City Reality, LLC, 2019. Web. Accessed 12 November 2019.

7 Young, Michael. “35 Hudson Yards, Neighborhood’s First Residential Supertall, Readies For Spring 2019 Opening As Work Nears Completion.” New York Yimby, 22 December 2018. Web. Accessed 12 November 2019.

8 Mihanovic, Joe, Breaux, Stephen, & Williams, Elijah. “Domestic Novelties.” Model. California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, 10 October 2019.

9 Mihanovic, Joe, Breaux, Stephen, & Williams, Elijah. “Domestic Novelties.” Model. California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, 10 October 2019.

10 Mihanovic, Joe, Breaux, Stephen, & Williams, Elijah. “Domestic Novelties.” Model. California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, 10 October 2019.

11 Mihanovic, Joe, Breaux, Stephen, & Williams, Elijah. “Domestic Novelties.” Model. California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, 10 October 2019.

12 Mihanovic, Joe, Breaux, Stephen, & Williams, Elijah. “Domestic Novelties.” Model. California Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo, 10 October 2019.

13 “Macarthur Park.” Wikipedia, 22 August 2001. Web. Accessed 20 October 2019.

Part II - The Decline of Public Architecture 14 “Pershing Square throughout the years.” Los Angeles Times, n.d. Web. Accessed 20 October 2019.

15 “Iberville Public Housing Development Historic.” National Park Service, 2019. Web. Accessed 20 October 2019.

16 Aguilar, Erika. “Jordan Downs’ toxic legacy. High Country News, 1 March 2017. Web. Accessed 7 November 2019.

17 Tom Wiscombe Architecture. “Sunset Spectacular.” Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

18 Chander, Farish. “Branded Mobile App for a Shopping Mall = Higher Footfall.” Mobiloitte Technologies, 2 September 2016. Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

19 Auvil, Jennifer Plum. “Top US Shopping Malls.” Travel Channel, 2019. Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

20 Fassler, Joe & New Food Economy. “The man who’s going to save your neighborhood grocery store.” New Food Economy, 23 April 2019. Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

21 Fassler, Joe & New Food Economy. “The man who’s going to save your neighborhood grocery store.” New Food Economy, 23 April 2019. Web. Accessed 22 November 2019.

22 Etherington, Rose. “Louis Vuitton flagship store by UNStudio.” Dezeen, 31 July 2008. Web. Accessed 23 November 2019.

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23 Venturi, Robert & Scott Brown, Denise. Learning From Las Vegas. The MIT Press, 1977. Print.

Accessed 24 November 2019.

24 Venturi, Robert & Scott Brown, Denise. Learning From Las Vegas. The MIT Press, 1977. Print.

Accessed 24 November 2019.

25 Le Corbusier. Model. Artists Rights Society, 2013, New York. Web. Accessed 24 November 2019.

26 Renn, Aaron M. “Architect Patrik Schumacher: ‘I’ve been depicted as a fascist.’” The Guardian, 17 January 2018. Web. Accessed 24 November 2019.

27 Renn, Aaron M. “Architect Patrik Schumacher: ‘I’ve been depicted as a fascist.’” The Guardian, 17 January 2018. Web. Accessed 24 November 2019.

28 “Quick report on Class War against social cleansing architect Patrik Schumacher.” Class War Party, 8 December 2016. Web. Accessed 24 November 2019.

29 Mihanovic, Joe. “Art Book.” Hand-made book, 13 October 2019.

30 Mihanovic, Joe. “Art Book.” Hand-made book, 13 October 2019.

31 Mihanovic, Joe. “Art Book.” Hand-made book, 13 October 2019.

32 Mihanovic, Joe. “Art Book.” Hand-made book, 13 October 2019.

33 Mihanovic, Joe. “Art Book.” Original Drawings, 12 October 2019.

Part III - The Plight of Public Life 34 Kumar, Devika Krishna. “Rare permit for Keystone oil pipeline in spotlights after spills.” Reuters, 7 November 2019. Web. Accessed 8 November 2019.

35 Johnson, Lauren M. “Keystone Pipeline leaks 383,000 gallons of oil in North Dakota.” CNN, 31 October 2019. Web. Accessed 8 November 2019.

36 Garrett, Bradley L. “The privatisation of cities’ public spaces is escalating. It is time to take a stand.”

The Guardian, 4 August 2015. Web. Accessed 11 November 2019.

37 Ghilarducci, Teresa. “What Could Possibly Be Wrong with Hudson Yards?” Forbes, 31 May 2019.

Web. Accessed 11 November 2019.

38 Plitt, Amy. “Hudson Yards multidisciplinary arts center sets opening date.” Curbed. Vox Media, 9 January 2019. Web. Accessed 11 November 2019.

Part IV - Public Architecture (That Works) 39 “Parc de la Villette - Plein Air.” Paris Convention and Visitors Bureau, 2015. Web, Accessed 5 December 2019.

40 “Parc de la Villette - Plein Air.” Paris Convention and Visitors Bureau, 2015. Web, Accessed 5 December 2019.

41 “Parc de la Villette - Plein Air.” Paris Convention and Visitors Bureau, 2015. Web, Accessed 5 December 2019.

42 “Exploring Parc de la Villette.” Paris Convention and Visitors Bureau, 2015. Web, Accessed 5 December 2019.

43 Wilson, Christine. “The 5 Best Hotels Near Parc de la Villette, Paris.” Culture Trip, 12 March 2019.

Web. Accessed 5 December 2019.

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44 Tschumi, Bernard. Parc De La Villette. n.p., 2014. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

45 Tschumi, Bernard. Parc De La Villette. n.p., 2014. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

46 Tschumi, Bernard. Parc De La Villette. n.p., 2014. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

47 Tschumi, Bernard. Parc De La Villette. n.p., 2014. Print. Accessed 7 December 2019.

48 Walker, Alice White. “Open air cinema in Paris.” TimeOut England, 22 May 2017. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

49 “Parc de la Villette: Paris, 1982-1998.” Bernard Tschumi Architects, 2019. Web. Accessed 5 December 2019.

50 “Parc de la Villette: Paris, 1982-1998.” Bernard Tschumi Architects, 2019. Web. Accessed 5 December 2019.

51 “Parc de la Villette: Paris, 1982-1998.” Bernard Tschumi Architects, 2019. Web. Accessed 5 December 2019.

52 “Parc de la Villette: Paris, 1982-1998.” Bernard Tschumi Architects, 2019. Web. Accessed 5 December 2019.

53 “Playa Vista Central Park.” Michael Maltzan Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

54 Baan, Iwan. “Playa Vista Central Park.” Pinterest, n.d. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

55 “Playa Vista Central Park.” OJB Landscape Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

56 “Playa Vista Central Park.” OJB Landscape Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

57 “Playa Vista Central Park.” OJB Landscape Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

58 “Playa Vista Central Park.” Michael Maltzan Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

59 “Playa Vista Central Park.” OJB Landscape Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

60 “Playa Vista Central Park.” OJB Landscape Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

61 “Parks & Rec.” Playa Vista, 31 July 2014. Web. Accessed 9 December 2019.

62 “Playa Vista Central Park.” OJB Landscape Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

63 “Playa Vista Central Park.” Michael Maltzan Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

64 “Playa Vista Central Park.” OJB Landscape Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

65 M., Doreen. Contribution to “Central Park at Playa Vista.” Yelp, 14 February 2015. Web. Accessed 9 December 2019.

66 H., Quisha. Contribution to “Central Park at Playa Vista.” Yelp, 4 January 2019. Web. Accessed 9 December 2019.

67 “Playa Vista Central Park.” Michael Maltzan Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

68 “Playa Vista Central Park.” Michael Maltzan Architecture, 2019. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

69 Amelar, Sarah. “Playa Vista Park.” Architectural Record, 16 May 2011. Web. Accessed 7 December 2019.

70 “Merida Factory Youth Movement / Selgascano.” ArchDaily, 7 July 2011. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

71 “Merida Factory Youth Movement / Selgascano.” ArchDaily, 7 July 2011. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

72 “Merida Factory Youth Movement / Selgascano.” ArchDaily, 7 July 2011. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

73 “Youth Factory By Selgas Cano.” AAS Architecture, 27 June 2013. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

74 “Youth Factory By Selgas Cano.” AAS Architecture, 27 June 2013. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

75 Toy, Tommy. “Spanish Architects Selgas Canos’ [sic] Factoria Joven is a Cool Kids Counseling Center,

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with Skate Park and Rock Climbing Wall.” Imaginative Pro Blog, 7 December 2019. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

76 Toy, Tommy. “Spanish Architects Selgas Canos’ [sic] Factoria Joven is a Cool Kids Counseling Center, with Skate Park and Rock Climbing Wall.” Imaginative Pro Blog, 7 December 2019. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

77 “Merida Factory: SelgasCano.” Landezine: Landscape Architecture Platform, 29 September 2011.

Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

78 Toy, Tommy. “Spanish Architects Selgas Canos’ [sic] Factoria Joven is a Cool Kids Counseling Center, with Skate Park and Rock Climbing Wall.” Imaginative Pro Blog, 7 December 2019. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

79 Toy, Tommy. “Spanish Architects Selgas Canos’ [sic] Factoria Joven is a Cool Kids Counseling Center, with Skate Park and Rock Climbing Wall.” Imaginative Pro Blog, 7 December 2019. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

80 Toy, Tommy. “Spanish Architects Selgas Canos’ [sic] Factoria Joven is a Cool Kids Counseling Center, with Skate Park and Rock Climbing Wall.” Imaginative Pro Blog, 7 December 2019. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

81 “Merida Factory Youth Movement / Selgascano.” ArchDaily, 7 July 2011. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

82 “Merida Factory Youth Movement / Selgascano.” ArchDaily, 7 July 2011. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

83 Toy, Tommy. “Spanish Architects Selgas Canos’ [sic] Factoria Joven is a Cool Kids Counseling Center, with Skate Park and Rock Climbing Wall.” Imaginative Pro Blog, 7 December 2019. Web. Accessed 10 December 2019.

Part V - Urban Intervention 84 Schrempp, Jim. “Aerial Photos of California.” 4 January 2005. Web. Accessed 14 November 2019.

85 Shettle, Jr., M.L. “Naval Air Station, Moffett Field.” Historic California Posts, Camps, Stations, and Airfields. Military Museum, 26 June 2016. Web. Accessed 5 November 2019.

86 Shettle, Jr., M.L. “Naval Air Station, Moffett Field.” Historic California Posts, Camps, Stations, and Airfields. Military Museum, 26 June 2016. Web. Accessed 5 November 2019.

87 “Obama completes first day of Silicon Valley visit with fundraising blitz.” The Mercury News, 12 August 2016. Web. Accessed 5 November 2019.

88 “Dodging Protesters, Trump woos Big Tech donors...” The Mercury News, n.d. Web. Accessed 5 November 2019.

89 Charlton, Alistair. “Google Agrees 60-Year Lease of NASA Airfield to Pursue Space Exploration and Robotics.” IB Times, 11 November 2014. Web. Accessed 5 December 2019.

90 O’Brien, Matt. “Google takes over aging Moffett Field and its airship hangars.” The Mercury News, 12 August 2016. Web. Accessed 5 December 2019.

91 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Map.” Original Drawing, 92 “City of Mountain View Memorandum.” Mountain View City Council, 30 June 2011. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

93 “A sky-high look at Google’s giant Mountain View construction project.” Silicon Valley Business Journal, 15 July 2019. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

94 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Diagram - Charleston East and Bay View Campus.” Original Drawing, 11 November 2019.

Noack, Mark. “Google relaunches Bay View project.” Mountain View Voice, 19 May 2017. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

95 “Google Charleston East Campus.” Silicon Valley Business Journal. Web. Accessed 20 November

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2019.

96 Noack, Mark. “Google relaunches Bay View project.” Mountain View Voice, 19 May 2017. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

97 Simonite, Tom. “Project Loon.” MIT Technology Review, 18 February 2015. Web. Accessed 6 November 2019.

98 David, Leonard. “Astronaut in Space Drives Robot on Earth, a First.” Yahoo News, 3 July 2013. Web. Accessed 6 November 2019.

99 Srinivasan, Meera. “UC Berkeley proposes development of Moffett Field with NASA’s Ames Research Center.” The Daily Californian, 16 August 2019. Web. Accessed 20 November 2019.

100 Orr, John. “NASA accepting proposals to build 2,000 housing units at Moffett Field.” The Mercury News, 26 October 2017. Web. Accessed 21 November 2019.

101 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Map Diagram.” Original Drawing, 18 November 2019.

102 “Burrowing Owl.” The River Otter Ecology Project, 2018. Web. Accessed 21 November 2019.

103 “Ridway’s Rail.” EBird, 2019. Web. Accessed 21 November 2019.

104 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Marking - Urban Scale.” Original drawing, 17 November 2019.

105 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Marking - Cluster Scale.” Original drawing, 17 November 2019.

106 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Marking - Local Scale.” Original drawing, 17 November 2019.

107 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Diagram - Central Park Comparison.” Original Drawing, 18 November 2019.

108 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Diagram - Golden Gate Park Comparison.” Original Drawing, 18 November 2019.

109 Mihanovic, Joe. “Program Breakdown - Activities.” Original Drawing, 25 November 2019.

110 Mihanovic, Joe. “Sculpted Volumes, Part 1” Original Drawing, 25 November 2019.

111 Mihanovic, Joe. “Sculpted Volumes, Part 2” Original Drawing, 26 November 2019.

112 Mihanovic, Joe. “Sculpted Volumes, Part 3” Original Drawing, 26 November 2019.

113 Mihanovic, Joe. “Addressing Flatness: A Landscape Study, Part 1A.” Original Drawing, 27 November 2019.

114 Mihanovic, Joe. “Addressing Flatness: A Landscape Study, Part 1B.” Original Drawing, 27 November 2019.

115 Mihanovic, Joe. “Addressing Flatness: A Landscape Study, Part 1C.” Original Drawing, 27 November 2019.

116 Mihanovic, Joe. “Addressing Flatness: A Landscape Study, Part 2A.” Original Drawing, 27 November 2019.

117 Mihanovic, Joe. “Addressing Flatness: A Landscape Study, Part 2B.” Original Drawing, 27 November 2019.

118 Mihanovic, Joe. “Addressing Flatness: A Landscape Study, Part 3.” Original Drawing, 27 November 2019.

119 Mihanovic, Joe. “Circulation vs. Program.” Original Drawing, 29 November 2019.

120 Mihanovic, Joe. “Perspective View 1.” Original Drawing, 30 November 2019.

121 Mihanovic, Joe. “Perspective View 2.” Original Drawing, 31 November 2019.

122 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Plan.” Original Drawing, 31 November 2019.

123 Mihanovic, Joe. “Perspective View 3.” Original Drawing, 30 November 2019.

124 Mihanovic, Joe. “Axonometric.” Original Drawing, 31 November 2019.

125 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Model - Schematic Design.” Physical Model, 9 December 2019.

126 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Model - Schematic Design.” Physical Model, 9 December 2019.

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127 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Model - Schematic Design.” Physical Model, 9 December 2019.

128 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Model - Schematic Design.” Physical Model, 9 December 2019.

129 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Model - Schematic Design.” Physical Model, 9 December 2019.

130 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Model - Schematic Design.” Physical Model, 9 December 2019.

131 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Model - Schematic Design.” Physical Model, 9 December 2019.

132 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Model - Schematic Design.” Physical Model, 9 December 2019.

133 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020.

134 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020.

135 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020..

136 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020.

137 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020.

138 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020.

139 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020.

140 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020.

141 Mihanovic, Joe. “Book Show.” Photograph, 21 January, 2020.

142 Mihanovic, Joe. “Housing Scheme 1; Plan.” Original Drawing, 24 January 2020.

143 Mihanovic, Joe. “Housing Scheme 1; Process.” Original Drawing, 24 January 2020.

144 Mihanovic, Joe. “Housing Scheme 1; Axon.” Original Drawing, 24 January 2020.

145 Mihanovic, Joe. “Housing Scheme 2; Axon.” Original Drawing, 24 January 2020.

146 Mihanovic, Joe. “Housing Scheme 2; Plan.” Original Drawing, 24 January 2020.

147 Mihanovic, Joe. “Housing Scheme 2; Process.” Original Drawing, 24 January 2020.

148 Mihanovic, Joe. “Program - Housing.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

149 Mihanovic, Joe. “Program - Wildlife Preserve.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

150 Mihanovic, Joe. “Program - Public Parks.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

151 Mihanovic, Joe. “Program - Plazas.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

152 Mihanovic, Joe. “Program - Follies.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

153 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Plan.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

154 Mihanovic, Joe. “Axon.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

155 Mihanovic, Joe. “Exploded Axon.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

156 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 1.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

157 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 2.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

158 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 3.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

159 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 4.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

160 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 5.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

161 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 6.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

162 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 7.” Original Drawing, 30 January 2020.

163 Mihanovic, Joe. “Section Show Section.” Original Drawing, 12 February 2020.

164 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 1.” Original Drawing, 6 March 2020.

165 Mihanovic, Joe. “Exploded Axon.” Original Drawing, 6 March 2020.

166 Mihanovic, Joe. “Site Plan.” Original Drawing, 6 March 2020.

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167 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 2.” Original Drawing, 6 March 2020.

168 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 3.” Original Drawing, 6 March 2020.

169 Mihanovic, Joe. “Chunk Section.” Original Drawing, 6 March 2020.

170 Mihanovic, Joe. “Render 4.” Original Drawing, 6 March 2020.

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