Platform
Focus on Historic Preservation • Winter 2003-04
From Paper to Landscapes Frederick R. Steiner, Dean
As metropolitan regions expand around the world, farmland conversion has become an important issue in other nations, too. The responses vary. The Netherlands is a small nation with rich farmlands. The Dutch people have invested considerable resources in the making of land and have devised elaborate planning mechanisms to retain agricultural lands. In contrast, the vast Italian farm regions received relatively little policy attention until the last 20 years or so, when especially the northern cities have grown rapidly. Increasingly, Italian architects and planners recognize the connection between maintaining a productive agricultural economy and the quality of urban life. A farmer in Washington State once told me that he objected to the term “farmland preservation.” He said that on the farm, when something is preserved,
School of Architecture Administration Frederick R. Steiner, Dean Kevin Alter, Associate Dean for Graduate Programs Louise Harpman, Associate Dean for Undergraduate Programs Robert Paterson, Associate Dean for Research and Operations Marjie French, Assistant Dean for Development Raquel Elizondo, Assistant Dean for Administration Jeanne Crawford, Assistant Dean for Undergraduate Programs
Photograph by Marsha Miller.
Over the years, I have worked with several farmland preservation efforts. The conversion of prime agricultural land to other uses is an urgent national issue. Farms contribute to our national food security and economy as well as nurture many local cultures and regional characters. Across our nation, some state and local governments have taken measures to protect productive farm, ranch, and forest land from rapid urban growth.
a peach for example, it is put in a jar to resist decomposition. He resented the image of his farm being canned and shelved. The farmer preferred the term “farmland protection” because it implied the farm remained in its living state. I adopted this term for several years until I lived in Italy for six months. Italy is a nation not averse to preserving things. Protection suggests planning,
the prevention of a harmful action, and that is perhaps what appealed to the planner in me. As my Italian friends are well aware, preservation involves design, a purposeful change in condition, as the peach becoming jam. One cannot start from scratch with preservation, there can be no peach jam without a peach and a good recipe. Preservation is a creative process that involves lasting action. Protection may be just the first step in that process.
School of Architecture Foundation Advisory Council Lex Acker Frank Aldridge, III Rick Archer John Avila, Jr. Ray Bailey Gabriel Barbier-Mueller Bobbie Barker Betsy Rogers David Barrow Marvin Beck Ken Bentley Susan Benz Myron Blalock, III Bill Bonham Bill Booziotis Bob Breunig Alexander Caragonne
Dick Clark, III Tommy Cowan Hobson Crow, III Gary Cunningham Leisa Durrett Biby Dykema Darrell Fitzgerald Melissa Fleming Everett Fly Tom Forbes Larry Good Tom Green Deborah Green Charles Gromatzky Stan Haas Jay Hailey, Jr. Willard Hanzlik Catherine Hardwicke
In Italy, I studied the recent efforts of the province of Cremona to preserve its agricultural heritage in the midst of considerable change. Nearby Milan is growing into the northern fringes of the province. European Union policies are affecting Italian agriculture (and not always positively for smaller farmers). The team of planners and architects from Milan Polytechnic working with Cremona officials employed concepts about sustainability in their efforts, recognizing food production is basic to sustain human communities. They have achieved some success with their efforts.
Faculty and students in the School of Architecture’s Historic Preservation Program constantly ask such questions. The program has a well-established record of probing the “whys” as well as the “hows” of preservation. With a heritage pioneered by Professors Blake Alexander and Wayne Bell, historic preservation was established as an M.S. in Architecture Studies program in 1974. Our M.S. in Historic Preservation now attracts students from many disciplines. We also offer historic preservation specializations for students in architecture, community and regional planning, and architectural history.
Each year, the American Academy in Rome awards two Rome Prizes in historic preservation and conservation. A National Endowment for the Arts Rome Prize Fellowship enabled me to study the preservation of the Cremona landscape. My counterpart preservation Rome Prize Fellow was from the National Gallery of Art and focused on paper conservation. From paper to landscape, preservation crosses many scales.
I am also very pleased that three women with significant responsibilities in the field of historic preservation have served on the School’s Advisory Council. Emily Summers was recently appointed to the President’s Advisory Council on Historic Preservation, while Dealey Herndon is one of our state’s two advisors to the National Trust for Historic Preservation, and Gay Ratliff will soon be an advisor as well.
Still, I was struck by the similarities of elements to be considered across the scales. Nature and time take their toll on paper as they do on buildings and landscapes. Economics plays a role as does the integrity or condition of the resource. If one is seeking to preserve a document or a structure, one must ask: why? What is its significance and whose culture and values does it represent?
Chris Hill Ken Hughes Martha Hyder Mary Margaret Jones Diana Keller Ellen King Chris Knapp Reed Kroloff David Lake Alan Lauck Charles Lawrence Debra Lehman-Smith Katheryn Lott Graham Luhn, Pat Mast Gilbert Mathews Jim McBride, III Mike McCall
The director of the historic preservation program, Jeffrey Chusid, guest edited this issue of Platform. He pulled together papers representing the breadth and depth of our preservation program. As these papers illustrate, the art of historic preservation requires a range of recipes. The knowledge of what mix of ingredients to use in a given preservation issue will determine its success.
Jana McCann Laurin McCracken Bill Mitchell Vic Neuhaus, III Judy Pesek Charles Phillips Janis Porter Boone Powell Leilah Powell Howard Rachofsky Gay Ratliff Jim Reichert Chandler Robinson Deedie Rose Cyndy Severson Will Shepherd Dan Shipley
Beverly Silas Madison Smith Pat Spillman Ruth Carter Stevenson Emily Summers Jerry Sutton Helen Thompson Courtney Walker David Watkins Kirk Watson Terry Wegner Frank Welch Coke Anne Wilcox
Platform Published by the School of Architecture The University of Texas at Austin. Guest Editor: Jeffrey Chusid Editors: Pamela Peters, Steve Ross Winter 2003-04: Focus on Historic Preservation 2 Thirty Years of Preservation at UT-Austin Jeffrey Chusid
14 The Origin of Stone Fences in Blanco County Laura Knott
2 Friends of Architecture
16 The Balat District: A Study of Preservation Policy and Practice in Istanbul Mehmet Bengü Uluengin
4 The Parallel Histories of Cultural and Natural Resource Preservation Peter Ketter
19 A Tale of Two Interiors Tara Thompson
6 “Buen Provecho” Project Ely Merheb-Emanuelli
21 Outreach and Development
7 A Rehabilitation Plan for the Burden Hotel, San Saba, Texas J. James Spanelli
23 Friends of Architecture Membership
8 Moore/Andersson Compound Color Study Kurt Korfmacher 11 Science in the Fast Lane: Artificial Weathering Kara R. Dotter
22 Alumni Activities
24 Platform Contributors Back cover School of Architecture Events
Centerfold The Character of Texas Architecture A Special Tear-Out Program Poster
Front and back covers: Character-defining feature study of the Old Masonic Lodge, Georgetown, Texas; from the “Buen Provecho” project by Ely Merhab-Emanueli, page 6. Left: Port Bolivar Lighthouse, east section, from the 2002 Peterson Prize-winning Measured Drawings project. See centerfold. The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture 1 University Station B7500 Austin, TX 78712-0222 512-471-1922 FAX 512-471-0716 p.peters@mail.utexas.edu www.ar.utexas.edu
The editors gratefully acknowledge the support of Gay Ratliff and Dealey Herndon that made this expanded issue of Platform possible. To our Readers: As the School continues the development of Platform’s “Character Defining Features,” we welcome any ideas, questions, or comments. Feel free to share your thoughts with Editor Pamela Peters or Associate Dean for Development Marjie French at the above e-mail address. This is the last issue that Steve Ross will be involved with in his role as editor. Steve founded Platform over twelve years ago and has been its guiding spirit ever since. His dedication and effort are greatly appreciated, and we wish him all the best in his new endeavors. Thank you. Platform • 1
Thirty Years of Preservation at UT-Austin Jeffrey Chusid, Guest Editor
Photograph by Marsha Miller.
Welcome to the mother art. Preservation is a diverse, multidisciplinary endeavor that spans both time and place. It encompasses history, anthropology, art, architecture, interior and graphic design, planning, landscape, economics, philosophy, and numerous scientific and engineering disciplines. Like all activities that impact the built environment, preservation is also essentially political. The articles in this issue were written by students in the preservation programs in the School of Architecture, which are themselves multidisciplinary. Thus the diverse topics: furniture, paint, environmentalism, stone fences, stone cleaning, Istanbul, and Fez. You will also find two design projects for buildings in small Texas towns, and measured drawings of significant places in Texas and Mexico.
The context for preservation today is global, and post-modern. There is a self-consciousness underlying much design activity around the world, and an understanding that we are operating in the full view of the world, and often in response to forces outside the local focus of a single preservation project. With increasing democratization (or increasing devolution of power from regional alliances to national and even tribal authorities), there is an increasing claim to cultural resources by those who were previously excluded from the decisions that shaped the built environment or decided what should be celebrated and preserved. These claimants include the poor who often inhabit the older parts of cities, the minority ethnic groups whose histories were previously uncelebrated or unacknowledged, and the numerous immigrees to cities from rural lands. There is also, as has been often noted, rapid change in the global realm that is going in two opposite directions: towards purified national and cultural identities,
fundamentalism, and a rejection of modernity, and towards ever more interconnected, international, corporate, multi-cultural societies. These two impulses are operating simultaneously, sometimes even concurrently within the same regions and communities. Historic preservation is at the heart of such changes and conflicts everywhere. What are some of the traditional motivations for preservation? For much of history, societies recycled or reused parts of buildings, or entire structures or sites, because they were available, and it was economically advantageous. In other instances, preservation was an act of asserting a new authority (such as the Christian reuse of a pagan church, or the Muslim reuse of a Christian one), or of reasserting a glorious past, as in the Italian Renaissance enthusiasm for Roman antiquities. In the nineteenth century, the act of commemorating great men, events, and places became the impetus for projects such as the “restoration” of Notre Dame in Paris, or George Washington’s
P l a t f orm • 2
Becoming a Friend FOA invites all with a passion for architecture and design to join at one of the following annual membership levels: Student, $25; Individual, $50; Organization, $150; Supporting, $500, Director’s Circle, $1,000.
Photograph by Stephanie Palmer.
Member Benefits • Subscription to Platform magazine • Insightful reminders and biographies regarding the School’s calendar of lectures, symposia, and exhibitions • School of Architecture’s biweekly e-mail publication, eNews • Invitations to join prominent architects, designers, and patrons at FOA member receptions and educational tours Left: David and Lu Ann Barrow, Jay and Ann Hailey, Marlene Beckman, Gitta and Bob Morris rest at a fountain in Guanajuato. Right, above: Helen Pointer, Joan Miller, and Carolyn Grant enjoy the view from the rooftop terrace of Alex Caragonne and Margie Shackelford’s San Miguel home. Right, below: Carolyn Grant, Marjie French, Sue King, and Helen Pointer at the beautiful Casa Beneficencia.
Photograph by Stephanie Palmer.
Our Members Friends of Architecture members are patrons, practitioners, and aficionados committed to increasing knowledge and awareness of superior architecture, and supporting excellence at The University of Texas School of Architecture. Members have the opportunity to tour significant regional, national, and international architecture and design, including exclusive access to interiors of notable homes, behind-the-scenes tours of museums and historic buildings, and walking tours of downtown districts and university campuses.
Nasher Sculpture Center, Fort Worth, Texas.
Photograph by Stephanie Palmer.
Our Mission Friends of Architecture (FOA) is a non-profit, member-supported organization devoted to advancing public understanding and appreciation of architecture, planning and design. FOA achieves its mission by providing enriching educational and involvement opportunities through publications, tours, lectures, symposia, and exhibitions.
Photograph by Stephanie Palmer.
Friends of Architecture
home, Mount Vernon. The enormous and pervasive impacts of the Industrial Revolution gave further incentive to many preservationists as widespread physical and cultural changes threatened traditional ways of life and places. By the end of the nineteenth century, aesthetics and a broader sense of history underlay the growing field of preservation: we began to seek out and save the best examples of aesthetic achievements such as silk wall coverings, or the finest Greek Revival porticos. In recent years, there has been a growing role for preservation as public history: telling the stories of daily life and ordinary people through the interpretation of sites such as the slaves’ quarters at southern plantations, or the Tenement Museum in New York. There has been a special focus on sites that tell the stories of those who have been, to greater or lesser extent, perceived as victims of society, or whose histories have been overlooked in the desire to preserve sites with architectural significance or monumental scale. There are both guidebooks and official designations of sites
that tell the history of African Americans, Hispanics, American Indians, Japanese Americans interned during World War II, even gays and lesbians.
Additional Benefits (Organization Level and above) • Three additional guest invitations to all FOA events and tours (Organization, Supporting and Director’s Circle) • Complimentary copy of award-winning publication CENTER: Architecture and Design in America (Support ing and Director’s Circle) • Discounted reservations for FOA tours (Director’s Circle) • Name printed on FOA letterhead (Director’s Circle)
Miguel de Allende.
Recent Tours In August, FOA members spent an unforgettable week in San Miguel de Allende, México. Participants pulled themselves away from the slow-paced lifestyle, delicious food, and warm hospitality of Martha Hyder’s home, Casa Hyder, to discover the colonial architecture, streetscape, crafts, and local history of the picturesque San Sketches by tour participant Bob Morris. Right: Martha Hyder House; far right: San Miguel Parroquia.
There has also been a movement to identify ever larger physical areas as entities worthy of study and conservation, which has arisen out of the increasingly sophisticated ways preservationists examine the relationship of individual sites to broader aspects of a culture or society. Where 30 years ago in the U.S., it might have been considered adequate to preserve a façade, today we expect to preserve both inside and out. A the building is now considered only one part of an historic property, while a property can be understood as part of a cultural landscape or a historical district. Entire cities, river corridors, and agricultural regions are being designated at both national and international levels, in an attempt to preserve not only the objects, but also the cultural practices and societies that give the objects meaning and value. This has also resulted in opportunities for merging
Our gracious host, Dean Emeritus Hal Box, led a walking tour of the quaint town center and inside several of the amazing homes and gardens situated behind the unassuming walls of San Miguel. The group also visited the eighteenth-century Church at Atotonilco and took a day-long excursion to the cities of Valenciana and Guanajuato. On November 8 and 9, FOA presented a sold-out “Dallas: Inside/Out” tour. Following lunch at the Waxahachie ranch home of Deedie and Rusty Rose,
environmental and preservation concerns and knowledge in a manner that recognizes historical similarities in their philosophical and ethical underpinnings. This attempt to develop larger, regional preservation strategies is also a response, particularly in the United States, to suburban sprawl. Finally, the movement towards a broader and more encompassing view of historical sites is related to the growing appreciation of critical regionalism as a strategy in architecture and urbanism. An educated understanding of place or local character can both supersede individual projects and accommodate, even direct, change and growth in ways that support the best of nature and culture. Preservation has also become more sophisticated in its relation to science and engineering. While the mixed results of chemical treatments used on sites in past decades can, and should, raise a cautionary flag, the rise of organizations such as the Association for Preservation Technology, the Getty Conservation Institute, architect Coleman Coker and interior designer Emily Summers answered questions about the home’s unique design and its fit into its rural landscape. In Dallas, participants visited the homes of EG and EAnn Hamilton, designed by the couple themselves; Dennis and Rosemary Heard, designed by Lionel Morrison; and Charles and Diane Cheatham, by Graham Greene. Sunday morning began with breakfast and a tour of Stephen and Emily Summers’ 1960
and the National Institute for Preservation Technology and Training, has led to increasing research in the chemistry and physics of how building materials and assemblies perform. This has resulted in a larger pharmacopeia of potential conservation treatments, and also improved design in response to earthquakes, high-salt environments, and other challenging conditions. Even more recently, as the world has increasingly focused on market prices as potent delimiters of value, preservation has been sold as an engine of development, through everything from heritage tourism to the enhancement of local tax bases by the upgrading and reuse of aging buildings. Even The People’s Republic of China is focused on these same economic impacts and arguments in historic preservation. The Main Street Program, which operates across the United States, is both a successful example of the linkage between preservation and money, and one of the most politically popular ways to advance a preservation agenda. Robert Perry-designed residence. The renovated home includes beautiful gardens described as “O’Neil Ford meets Japan.” The final stop was Dallas’ new Nasher Sculpture Center. Dorothy Kosinski, Dallas Museum of Art European Art Curator, described the impor-
Perhaps the latest development in the field is the connection to sustainable design and green building. A current exhibition touring the United States includes a section on thoughtful rehabilitation projects that introduce products, design strategies and technologies with low environmental impact. Lead paint, asbestos, and other toxic materials that can be found in older buildings, and on brownfield sites with industrial structures worthy of preservation, is a large concern from both economic and health perspectives. Of course, preservation has always been rooted in a sustainable concept: reuse rather than destruction. Nostalgia is not the only justification for saving the past. Our history, our aspirations, our achievements, form the context and the foundation that supports our search for new answers, and imbues that search with meaning.
tance of the collection. Jeffrey Hill of the Beck Group (associate architects) detailed the design collaboration, led by Renzo Piano. The groundbreaking gallery and its beautifully landscaped garden are truly a quiet oasis. FOA 2004 Calendar March 13-15—Phoenix, with Dean Fritz Steiner April 21—Austin, Third Annual Spring Mixer with designer James Carpenter June 25-27—Marfa, with Associate Professor Larry Doll October—Spain, with Associate Professor Juan Miró FOA always welcomes new members and new ideas. For details on FOA or upcoming tours, contact Stephanie Palmer at 512-471-0617 or stephanie. palmer@mail.utexas.edu.
Platform • 3
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lthough there are certainly pre-modern practices that could be considered preservation endeavors, both cultural and natural resource preservation, as practiced today in the western world, began to take shape during the nineteenth century. Industrialization was spreading rapidly, accompanied by profound physical and social changes, and the rise of preservation has sometimes been characterized as a negative, anti-modern reaction to the associated effects. While preservationists certainly did respond to these significant and profound changes, and sometimes negatively, the development of preservation was also distinctly modern, inextricably connected to the same revolutionary philosophical changes that helped feed the growth of industry. Philosopher Reinhart Koselleck has argued that one of the most profound changes to emerge from the Enlightenment was a new linear arrangement of time, replacing the pre-modern model of time as cyclical from generation to generation with a more humanistic model based on continuous advance and improvement, or “progress.” As a result, the conceptual distinctions between past, present and future became much more severe. Although one may not know what to expect of the future, one could at least be sure that it would be different than anything that had ever been. Thus, the past was also isolated as unique and therefore worthy of study. So this modern arrangement of time simultaneously provided a basis for both a faith in progress and more widespread recognition of and interest in history.1 Modern society is often associated with an unfailing belief in unbridled progress, but these changing notions of time also gave rise to the first modern, self-conscious efforts at cultural and natural resource preservation. Once the past was identified as distinct and unrecoverable, people began to take interest in retaining aspects of the present for the future, as well as the possibility of reviving conditions from the past. This basic concept has been developed P l a t f orm • 4
and applied in much the same manner whether the piece of the present being retained is a building, a landscape, a mineral, or even a social condition or practice, and all preservationists, whether concerned with cultural or natural resources, are united by this common pursuit. They have accepted the modern assumption that the world will yield constant and continuous
cussions relate to the same basic foundations, however, distinctions and arguments among cultural and natural resource preservationists have historically hinged on very similar conflicts. In my own analysis of the disciplines, I have identified five common conflicts shared by cultural and natural resource preservationists: rational vs. romantic, progressive vs. conservative,
The Parallel Histories of Cultural and Natural Resource Preservation By Peter Ketter
In 1848, Isaah Woods built a pier that extended from the land to the deep water of San Francisco Bay, allowing Ravenswood, now East Palo Alto, CA, to become a port. The challenge of balancing ecological, social and cultural resource conservation in this community was the focus of the Master’s Thesis from which this article is excerpted. change, and they have responded with efforts to retain the things they value. Rather than being anti-modern, then, preservation involves what Rudy Koshar has called, “a selective appropriation of modernity,” whereby certain aspects of modernity are embraced or even exploited while others are forcefully criticized or rejected.2 Of course, this broad definition of what it means to be a preservationist leaves a great deal of room for maneuvering. Exactly what will one choose to preserve? Through what methods? For what purpose? There are no inherent answers to these questions in the overarching concept of “preservation,” and, indeed, a whole range of responses can be found in the discourses of both cultural and natural resource preservation. Because their dis-
active vs. passive, conservation vs. restoration and objects vs. practices. The parameters of these conflicts were established in the early stages of modern preservation practice, and they have continued to shape the historical development of both cultural and natural resource preservation. This is not offered as a definitive list of conflicts shared by the two, and neither am I suggesting that many practices or preservationists fit neatly on either side of any of these arguments. In fact, most preservation practice involves a paradoxical blend of ideas and methods that unite elements of what seem to be contrasting positions. Polarizing and separating the conflicts, however, help illustrate how they have shaped the historical development and current practice of
cultural and natural resource preservation and create a useful construct for exploring relationships between the two. The rational vs. romantic conflict centers on the relationship between the preservationist and the resource itself. Preservation ists who subscribe to the rational viewpoint believe in an objective process of identifying and categorizing resources and their noteworthy features, which can then be protected or even replicated. Those who subscribe to the romantic viewpoint approach each resource more as a physical embodiment of the values and relationships that led to its creation and evolution, the result of unique processes that could never be replicated and therefore must be retained. Rational preservationists often criticize romantic interpretations for being too mystical and nostalgic, while romantic preservationists characterize rational approaches as insensitive and reductive. A comparison of the structured, scientific analysis of architecture proposed by Viollet-le-Duc in “Restoration” with the emotional connection to buildings and places relayed by John Ruskin in The Seven Lamps of Architecture illustrates the dramatic differences between the rational and romantic understanding of resources, a distinction that also emerges throughout environmentalist discourse.3 Of course, like Viollet’s centering of rational methods on the highly romantic concept of “stylistic unity,” or ecological economists’ support of centralized planning and resource control to advance the moral virtues of small-scale farming, most preservation practice draws from both positions simultaneously.4 The progressive vs. conservative conflict relates to the desired political role of preservation and centers on preservationists’ differing perceptions of change. The progressive stance is based on a faith in the productive and beneficial rewards of change, a belief in society’s ability to improve itself and a willingness to institute broad physical and social changes as a means to improvement. The conservative stance focuses instead on the unsettling and chaotic feelings associated with change. Stability and permanence are highly val-
ued, with a related unwillingness to disturb established social and cultural traditions. Preservation has often been adopted by conservative causes, with the destruction of cultural and natural resources offered as evidence of the negative effects of change, a physical manifestation of the loss of cultural identity. Progressive-minded preservationists, however, adopt preservation as a means of tempering or guiding change without opposing the change itself. Rather than shielding cultural and natural resources to isolate them from change, the basis of conservative methods, progressive preservationists seek ways of incorporating the resources into the changing world, allowing them to take on new identities. So, while cultural and natural resource preservation have both been adopted by deeply conservative causes like the German Heimatschutz movement, an early twentieth century precursor to National Socialism, preservation goals also drove the establishment of highly progressive land use controls typically associated with left-leaning politics.5 Preservation, therefore, resists categorization as either progressive or conservative, in a sense occupying its own unique political niche.6 The active vs. passive conflict relates to preservationists’ approach to the treatment of resources. Preservationists who take an active approach believe in reacting aggressively to identified problems, correcting previous damage or change and employing active treatments to prevent or slow future effects. Those who subscribe to the passive approach prefer to interfere as little as possible, treating problems only when absolutely necessary and focusing instead on minimizing any negative effects to the resources. Preservationists who support an active approach would argue that these passive means are a form of neglect, and that as selfconscious stewards of cultural and natural resources, we have a responsibility to apply all available knowledge and technology to their preservation. Passive preservationists counter that most active treatments involve a potential for unintended consequences, perhaps even worse than the problem being treated, and that careful avoidance of
harm is the best means of preservation. This conflict is epitomized by the heated “Scrape and Anti-Scrape” debates in nineteenth century England and the equally heated, ongoing conflicts between the passive methods of Deep Ecologists and the active engagement of Social Ecologists.7 The conservation vs. restoration conflict relates to the desired result of preservation treatments. The goal of conservation is to maintain a resource as it is found, preventing any future damage or change. Those attempting restoration are instead interested in returning the resource to a previous state, before any perceived damage or change had occurred. To supporters of conservation, the evolution of a resource over time is an important aspect of its value, and removing evidence of previous change creates a false sense of the resource’s “life.” Supporters of restoration instead value the resource’s original or optimal state, with subsequent changes seen as a form of degradation. For conservationists, like William Morris or environmental philosopher Richard Elliot, this conflict is often framed as an ethical issue, with restoration characterized as overstepping our right to interfere with history or nature.8 Restorationists tend instead to adopt an “ends justify the means” attitude, accepting a certain level of uncertainty or artistic license in their methods if the benefits of the restored resource meet, or surpass, those of the original.9 The objects vs. practices conflict revolves around the issue of what we ought to be preserving. Object-oriented preservationists are concerned with the preservation of “things,” the material of culture and nature. Practice- oriented preservationists focus instead on preserving the cultural or natural processes that produce, or have produced, the things they value. The desired result of preserving objects is the retention of valued resources produced in the past. The desired result of preserving practices is the assurance that valued resources from the past will continue to be produced in the future. Although the object- oriented approach is what most of us in the Western world associate with preservation practice, an examination of the craft
guilds of the English Arts and Crafts movement or the “backto-the-land” colonies established in early twentieth century America reveals the significant role of practice-oriented endeavors in preservation history.10 These common conflicts illustrate a few important points regarding cultural and natural resource preservation. First, they discount any attempts to associate preservation with a particular ideological position, or to define any single path of historical development. At no point in time have all preservationists adopted the same position regarding any of these conflicts. Multiple, conflicting paths have been pursued simultaneously, creating a series of parallel histories that interact to define preservation in the contemporary world. As preservationists, then, we have a responsibility to consider our own position within these conflicts and to critically evaluate the nature of any preservation efforts we support. Surfacing frequently throughout the discourses of both cultural and natural resource preservation, the common conflicts also illustrate the deep connections and historical parallels in the two. Rather than applying specifically to either culture or nature, these conflicts relate to fundamental questions surrounding preservation in general. The distinction between the two disciplines’ discussions, then, rests primarily on the distinctions between what is “cultural” and what is “natural.” With increasing study of the complex interrelationship of culture and nature, many scholars have begun to question those distinctions, and even the validity of the terms themselves, seemingly setting the stage for more interdisciplinary scholarship relating cultural and natural resource preservation. Although those interested in the natural environment have begun to examine the influence of culture and vice versa, little scholarly work has explored the practical ramifications of these relationships on preservation practice. In the realm of professional practice, cultural and natural resource preservationists are increasingly involved in each other’s work. United by common goals, common foes and,
in many cases, common environmental regulations, many preservation projects, programs and organizations have involved collaborative efforts to protect both cultural and natural resources. Consistent interaction between the two groups, however, remains much more the exception than the rule, whether in the government, non-profit, or private arena. Although typically employed by different organizations altogether, cultural and natural resource preservationists are often even divided when working for the same establishment. As Alice Ingerson has observed, even the National Park Service, an agency with great potential for interaction among cultural and natural resource preservationists, is still organized in two major divisions, dedicated to either cultural or natural resources.11 This division is reflective of a much broader pattern of separation in the preservation community, a separation that is increasingly problematic. Although preservationists of cultural and natural resources are frequently confronted with issues relating to the other, each group seems to be working independently toward the other, lacking the substantive interaction necessary for each to take full advantage of the other’s experience and perspectives. Despite a growing interest in cultural landscapes among historic preservationists, some ecologists have argued that the typical approach, which, for instance, considers plants and other natural elements in terms of “historic fabric,” merely applies existing models of cultural resource preservation to the natural landscape, with only a limited consideration of biological processes.12 Meanwhile, natural resource preservationists have begun to recognize cities and other human-dominated places as environments requiring attention, and they are exploring ways to apply their values and methods to the built environment.13 While this is also a positive step, these efforts could certainly benefit from the insights of cultural resource preservationists, who have a long history of connecting people with the places they inhabit. Within the fields of architecture and planning, we are uniquely situated to foster the integra-
resource preservation. By relating preservation to much broader issues like economic development, social equity, community character, and quality of life, preservationists of both cultural and natural resources have already earned themselves a place at the table of most any major planning effort and increasing numbers of individual development projects. The planning and development process is therefore an established arena with a defined role for both groups and a history of interaction among them. Architecture and planning are also fields with a tradition of integrating research and practice, while more purely academic fields have sometimes struggled to translate their studies into the language of preservation professionals.14 Better integrating the study and practice of cultural and natural resource preservation could greatly enrich discussions of and efforts supporting sustainable development. Like preservation, sustainability is essentially a project in the selective appropriation of modernity, an attempt to isolate and address the unsustainable aspects of the modern world in order to perpetuate others. Also like preservation, there are ever increasing interpretations of exactly what that might mean, but regardless of which positions one adopts, we all have a responsibility to educate ourselves about the complexities of the environments, both cultural and natural, that we are interested in sustaining. While natural resource preservation is often accepted as an inherent goal of sustainable development, cultural resource preservationists have mostly failed to integrate their aims and experiences into discussions and definitions of sustainability, despite sometimes applying the results of those discussions to their own. Rather than perpetuating this development of cultural and natural resource preservation as parallel, but separate, endeavors, we should draw from our shared conflicts and shared histories to inform and sustain each other, working earnestly toward convergence. Notes 1. Reinhart Koselleck, trans. Keith Tribe, Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1985): 276-281. 2. Rudy Koshar, Germany’s Transient
Pasts: Preservation and National Memory in the Twentieth Century (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998): 44-45. 3. See Eugene-Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, “Restoration,” in The Foundations of Architecture: Selections from the Dictionnaire Raisonné (New York: George Braziller, 1990) and John Ruskin, The Seven Lamps of Architecture (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1986). 4. See Anna Bramwell, Ecology in the 20th Century: A History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989): 64-81 for a discussion of ecological economists. 5. See Koshar, Germany’s Transient Pasts and Michael Holleran, Boston’s Changeful Times (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998) for discussions of Heimatschutz and landuse control, respectively. 6. See Bramwell, Ecology in the 20th Century, 122 and Charles Siegel, The Preservationist Manifesto (Berkeley: Northbrae Books, 1995). 7. See Nicholas Pevsner, “Scrape and AntiScrape,” in Jane Fawcett, ed., The Future of the Past: Attitudes to Conservation, 1174-1974 (London: Thames and Hudson, 1976); Murray Bookchin, The Philosophy of Social Ecology (Montreal: Black Rose Books, 1995) and George Sessions, ed., Deep Ecology for the 21st Century: Readings on the New Environ mentalism (Boston: Shambhala, 1995). 8. See William Morris, “Restoration,” Athenaeum No. 2591 (23 June 1877) and Robert Elliot, Faking Nature: The Ethics of Environmental Restoration (London: Routledge, 1997). 9. See Viollet-le-Duc, “Restoration,” and James A. Harris, Paul Birch and John P. Palmer, Land Restoration and Reclamation: Principles and Practice (Essex: Longman, 1996). 10. See, for example, David E. Martin and David Rubenstein, ed., Ideology and the Labour Movement (London: Rowman and Littlefield, 1979) and William Ellsworth Smythe, City Homes on Country Lanes: Philosophy and Practice of the Home in a Garden (1921). 11. Alice E. Ingerson, “Changing Approaches to Cultural Landscapes,” Institute for Cultural Landscape Studies, The Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University, <http://www.icls. harvard.edu/language/hist1.html>. 12. Robert Cook, “Is Landscape Preservation an Oxymoron?” Institute for Cultural Landscape Studies, The Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University, <http://www.icls.harvard. edu/ecology/cook2.html>. 13. Andrew Light, “Urban Ecological Citizenship,” Journal of Social Philosophy 34:1 (2003). 14. Ingerson, “Down with Dictatorial Definitions: Critical Users’ Guides to ‘Culture’ and ‘Ecosystem’,” Institute for Cultural Landscape Studies, The Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University, <http://www.icls.harvard. edu/ecology/definitions.html>.
Photograph of Cooley’s Landing courtesy of www.epa.net.
Platform • 5
“Buen Provecho” Project By Ely Merheb-Emanuelli
Imagine “Buen Provecho,” a Puerto Rican restaurant, in the Old Masonic Lodge Building of Georgetown, Texas. Located at 701 Main Street, the 1900 structure is one of the most attractive buildings composing the Williamson County Courthouse Historical District. The restaurant would bring another exotic use to the building, and to the life of the historic town square. The project would occupy the first two floors of the building, which has housed, in turn, a post office, drugstore, furniture store, and a Chinese restaurant. The third floor, formerly the San Gabriel Masonic Lodge No. 89, is now a graphic design firm, Graph X. Proposed insertions are light and subtle interventions that explore the different qualities of luminosity and space within the building. The organization of the restaurant is based on how sunlight penetrates the building.
The diverse qualities of light define “space” and give a unique character to “places” within. The verticality of the insertions differentiate them from the horizontality of the structure, while complementing the existing. The materials and textures are intended to evoke images of water, nature, and the delicate tropical atmosphere of the Caribbean islands. The first floor is cooler and bluer to evoke the oceans. The second is lighter and brighter to evoke the sun and warmth of the country. The building itself is part of that atmosphere, as it tells about an older type of construction that is consonant with traditional architecture in Puerto Rico. To interact with the historic structure, several rules of engagement were established. SUBTRACTION Removal of the layer added by the Chinese restaurant, revealing the historic fabric and exposing the original finishes such as the hardwood floors, and plaster and stone walls.
ADDITION First, insertions are composed of contemporary materials and methods of construction. Second, where a new material meets old, a gap or joint expresses the moment of contact. Third, glass or wood is placed over historic materials to protect and respect them at seating areas where people might come in contact with old surfaces.
location and visibility of the new bar and stair tower assembly. EXCAVATION At regular intervals around the room, connecting the two floors and celebrating the role of light in the main space, narrow vertical strips are excavated in the wall to reveal the rubble stone beneath the plaster. Set under glass these strips become twostory light chimneys, a metaphor of waterfalls with light instead of water washing over the stone.
Fourth, the verticality of additions is reinforced by the central
P l a t f orm • 6
Old Masonic Lodge, Georgetown: Lower left: computer visualization of the restaurant interior set in the west elevation; lower right: plans with light studies, photographs of the building interior at top; upper right: the restaurant interior looking towards the street. Drawings by Ely Merhab-Emmanueli.
A Rehabilitation Plan for the Burden Hotel, San Saba, Texas By J. James Spanelli
Burden Hotel, anticipated its rehabilitation would become a catalyst for development in the waning historic core of their town of 6,000. The small Hill Country town of San Saba is a county seat with an impressive early twentieth- century courthouse constructed in the center of a traditional Texas square. The oldest building in town is the Burden Hotel, a small masonry building from 1857 now buried within the north block on the square, and separated from it by old and new commercial buildings. Proposing a meaningful rehabilitation for the hotel meant finding an appropriate new use for the simple three-room structure. That in turn forced a consideration of the urban design of the entire city block that divorces the building from the square. In addition, the townspeople, who were active participants in discussions on the future of the
Above: Reconstructing the lost porch was essential to restoring the character of the Hotel. Upper right: Possible parking and landscape areas on the former grounds of the Burden Hotel, now service space for the surrounding buildings. Right: The Burden Hotel isolated in the main commercial block, and its relationship to the courthouse in the square.
This study sought to find an appropriate use for the hotel, long vacant and recently purchased by the town’s historical association. It outlined a rehabilitation plan and formal design for the hotel structure, created public access to the hotel from the town square, proposed façade improvements to flanking buildings, and designed new infill to replace non-historic buildings that were under-scaled for downtown. This project would be implemented in phases, in recognition of the economics of smalltowns. After stabilization, the Burden Hotel would first be a simple “pioneer house museum” serving as an attractive setting for public events in the courtyards, and later be rehabilitated as a bed and breakfast served from an adjoining restaurant.
Far Left: Photograph of the Burden Hotel in 1911, courtesy Lynn Blankenship. Above left: The proposed new design includes a contemporary re-interpretation of the poorly documented historic porch. Above right: Section through the proposed porch design. Below: The existing Cherokee St. elevation is composed of historic structures with façades stripped of details or sheathed with metal siding, and cheap new commercial construction. The Courthouse across the street is lightly indicated. Below, middle: Proposed Cherokee Street elevation with new access to the Hotel courtyard, new infill structures, and historic buildings revealed. Bottom: Proposed access to the Burden Hotel from Cherokee St. and the town square. The building to the left of the passage is new, while the others are historic structures with rehabilitated façades.
Platform • 7
for Moore himself, his home at 2102 Quarry Rd. was the last Arcadia.
exterior and the interior off one another by adhering to common themes. For the exterior, Moore chose a neutral gray that blends in to the environment. The courtyard gives a hint of what may be found inside, through the use of a deep, almost “stillwet” blue. Once inside Moore’s
The compound consists of four buildings. One, a small model shop since transformed into a house for visiting scholars, sits in the northwest corner of
by Kurt Korfmacher
the property. The other three structures are assembled into a U, linked by roofs and trellises, surrounding a lap pool and deck. They consist of a an older 1940s-vintage cottage remodeled into Moore’s house, a small architecture office (now home to the Colin Rowe library),
house, however, a riot of color greets the visitor, both through the circus of colors on the walls and built-in decorations, and through Moore’s extensive collection of folk art. The resulting juxtaposition of exterior to interior hearkens to a geode, a spherical mineral that is plain on the outside but beautiful on the inside. The analogy of the geode was a favorite theme for Moore, and the Quarry Road House— like many of the homes he designed—makes full use of it.
Photograph by Jacob Termansen. P l a t f orm • 8
solvents, and other performanceenhancing (or altering) agents. Without the proper balance between the vehicle and the pigment, the paint will be weak and susceptible to failure. Likewise, without the proper additives, the paint will be vulnerable to certain environmental conditions,
Moore-Andersson Compound Color Study
Entry, Moore-Andersson Compound. ocean waves.1 It was a place of imagination, a “Lazy O”2 unlike any other home, where he could both work and play. Moore once said that architects had reached “the end of Arcadia,”3 meaning they had seen the last of the truly visionary houses to come out of California. If that is true, then
to the advanced heat-applied ceramic-based industrial paints used in the automobile industry, paint has been a part of human existence. Architectural paints, those paints designed specifically for the application on building exteriors and interiors, make up one of the fastest growing sectors
and Arthur Andersson’s house, now used as another residence for visiting scholars. Part of what makes the Quarry Road compound so fascinating is Moore’s explosive and liberal use of color, especially in his own house. Moore did not settle for a limited palette of common colors; instead, he played the
The color at the Moore Center is a distinctive, character-defining feature of the compound. As such, one cannot fully understand nor appreciate the compound without taking the colors into account. Yet, the paint scheme at the Moore Center may be the most delicate aspect of the compound. Fanciful yet ephemeral, the paint used to color the Center is one of the first lines of defense in protecting the house, but must be protected itself. Hazards such as water, ultraviolet radiation, physical damage, and even maintenance and repainting constantly threaten this vital feature of the property. This article is a partial summary of a larger study conducted at the Charles Moore Center on the physical condition of the property, including an analysis of the paint and color, that started when I was an intern at the Center, and became my terminal project in the Preservation Program at UT. Paint Analysis The Nature of Paint Paint is a complex substance that has undergone countless changes though centuries of application. From its humble beginnings as plant-dyed clay used to create 10,000-year-old cave paintings,
of the paint market. Relatively simple chemical formulae, nontoxic components, a wide selection of color choices, and general ease of application characterize these paints. Compared to industrial paints, architectural paints are relatively weak in durability, but their economy and simplic-
such as ultraviolet radiation, heat, cold, water penetration, or extreme dryness. Paint forms a film layer through what is commonly known as “drying,” although the process is more complex than a simple evaporation of moisture. As the
Photograph by Jacob Termansen.
N
estled under a canopy of Texas live oaks on the west side of Austin, just west of MoPac/ Loop 1, sits an extraordinary compound built by one of the United State’s most imaginative architects, Charles W. Moore, along with his colleague Arthur Andersson. The collection of residential and work spaces at 2102 Quarry Road (now the Charles Moore Center for the Study of Place) is not just the home and office of two architects, however; it is the culmination of a life’s work, the last home and studio of a visionary who never stopped learning nor teaching. For Moore, it was home and space, dwelling and memory: a club sandwich made from the bread cast upon the
Interior, Charles Moore House, Moore-Andersson Compound. ity assure them a place in the industry. All paints, architectural paints included, may be broken down into two main parts—the vehicle and the pigment. Within these two broad categories are numerous sub-categories, including additives, extenders, binders,
solvent evaporates, whether it is oil or water based, it leaves behind the binder and the pigment (and other additives, depending on the paint.) The binder forms long strings of hydrocarbons or linear molecules, which intertwine to form a bond not unlike a mesh. In architectural paints, there is no
molecular structure.
Figure 1: Example of physical damage to a painted surface. formation of chemical bonds between the molecules, what is commonly called a chemical cure.4 As there is no chemical bond between the various molecules, the paint film is thus susceptible to a variety of damage that physically intrudes upon the
Common causes for damage to painted surfaces generally fall into two categories--environmental and physical. Environmental damage results from over exposure to elements such as water, mold, and ultraviolet radiation. Water damage, the most prevalent, damages paint in a number of ways. Water may discolor paint through staining, or it may damage the surface to which the paint is applied. For example, if a painted wooden column begins to rot from water damage, the paint will lose its bond; the same may be said for water damage to interior walls. Molds work in much the same way, damaging the surface and the bond between surface and coating. Ultraviolet radiation from overexposure to sunlight not only fades pigments, but also may facilitate chemical changes in the paint itself.5 This process, known as oxidation, leads to
Figure 2: Munsell hue wheel and color space, from www.munsell.com. powdering, peeling, or flaking of the paint. UV may also alter the composition of wood, leading to further damage as the paint loses its bond to the wooden surface. Physical damage is just that: direct, aggressive contact with a painted surface (Figure 1). Physical damage at the Charles Moore Center is almost exclusively limited to chipping, cracking, and peeling of the painted surface, although color
degradation occurs in the Andersson House and in the Moore House entry hall. Such damage, however, creates openings for environmental damage, compromising any protective seal over both paint and surface. Physical damage may also aggravate environmental damage, as the latter makes the former more likely with direct contact; i.e., if a painted surface is already peeling, then simply brushing against it will likely remove more paint.
Munsell Color Chart The Munsell color system, developed by A. H. Munsell in 1915, is an international color standard used by color professionals for over 50 years. Founded on basic color theory, it divides the color spectrum into 40 “hues”, classifying colors by relative position along a black/white scale (“value”) and by the intensity of the color, or “chroma.” Although the Munsell system has undergone a number of changes over the years, the basic principles and color set has remained intact since standardization in the 1950s.6 A Munsell color notation is composed of three parts: the hue, the value, and the chroma. This is usually expressed in the format xH V/C, where H is the name of the hue, x is the position within the hue’s arc of the color See “Moore,” continued on page 10.
Platform • 9
“Moore,” continued from page 11.
wheel, V is the value, and C is the chroma. Hue is how people distinguish one color from another; in the Munsell system, there are five primary hues and five intermediate hues. The primary hues are red, yellow, green, blue, and purple, the intermediate hues are yellow-red, greenyellow, blue-green, purple-blue, and red-purple. For simplicity, they are labeled R, YR, Y, GY, G, BG, B, PB, P, and RP, in order. The position on the arc is a number from 1-10, with 5 being the middle. The value can best be described as how light the color is, also ranging from 0-10. 0 is pure black, while 10 is pure white; colors will thus range from 1-9. Chroma is the intensity, or brightness, of a color. The scale starts at 0, for neutral colors, but has no theoretical ending point as new pigments are discovered. Most hues will stop at 20, but a few extremely bright fluorescent colors can go as high as 30. The color samples used for the purposes of this study had chroma ranges from 0 to 14, expressed in even values. So, for example, forest green may have the notation 5G 5/6: 5G indicates middle of the green spectrum, and 5/6 means middle range lightness with average intensity. More precise notations may use decimals as well as whole numbers. Neutral colors have a custom notation of N V/(0), where N takes the place of the hue name, and V ranges from 0-10. Neutrals have no chroma value, hence the 0 after the V; however, it is customary to leave off the 0 in notation of neutral colors. N 5/, therefore, is middle gray, while N 0/ is black and N 10/ is white. Assigning a Munsell code to a color by eye is a trial and error process, with minor refinements in scale to adjust for color mismatch. As colors can change depending on lighting conditions, the standard is to compare the color samples to the Munsell chips under natural light equivalent to a slightly overcast day. Even under ideal conditions, however, Munsell comparisons are somewhat arbitrary, for they rely on the judgment and bias of the observer. Further complicating the process in architecture P l a t f orm • 10
is the wide variety of shades a single color may have within a building, and variations due to age and exposure. Thus, it is imperative to compare the Munsell chip to as many different locations on a painted surface as possible to ensure the best overall match.7 The following paint charts contain several types of information. Color ID corresponds to the Moore/Andersson Compound Paint and Finish Schedule, assembled by the author in the spring of 2001 (see Figure 2). Munsell is the Munsell color notation recommendation. An asterisk (*) next to the Munsell notation indicates a “best match” in the absence of a more likely color. Luster is the degree of glossiness of the paint, and may be “flat,” “semi-gloss,” or “gloss.” Inventoried, a “yes” or “no” category, refers to whether or not the paint formula for the color is known. Charles Moore Center Exterior The exterior of the Moore Center uses a total of five colors. The primary color is a light gray covering the majority of the exterior surfaces facing the property boundaries. Within the courtyard, the primary colors are the Yves Klein Blue (YK Blue) and teal, with the dark gray and white used for trim. The YK Blue is discussed in more detail below. Charles Moore House Interior The interior of the Moore House is a profusion of color, with an impressive array splashed across the walls and floors. No one color truly dominates the interior, in contrast to the ubiquitous exterior shade of gray. This report recorded only “structural” colors, or those colors on structural elements. It does not include an analysis of the incredible variety of colors used in “decorative” elements, such as the stylized suits of armor and the fireplace mantel. Such an analysis, however, does need to be conducted in the near future. The ceiling is a uniform cream color; the same color is used for the window trim. The walls include red, gray, and sea green. The bookcases and baseboard are purple-red. The floors are
Color ID Gray M01-04 YK Blue M05 Teal M06 Dark Gray M07? White M20
Munsell Luster N 6.75-N 7.5 Flat 5PB 2/10 Gloss 2.5B 4/2 Flat 10Y 5/1* Flat N 9.0 Flat
Inventoried? Yes No No No No
Table 1: Moore House Exterior Paint Colors
Color ID Cream M08 Red M09 Gray M11 Sea Green M12 Purple-Red M10 Pale Yellow M15 Khaki M19 Green M16 Blue M17 Maroon M18
Munsell 2.5Y 8/2 2.5R 5/8 No Match 2.5BG 6/2 10RP 5/4 5Y 9/4* 10YR 7/4* 5G 5/6 5B 5/6 7.5RP 4/6
Luster Flat Flat Flat Flat Flat Gloss Gloss Gloss Gloss Gloss
Inventoried? Yes Yes Yes No Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes
Munsell Luster N 9.5 Flat N 7.0 Flat 2.5Y 8.5/2* Flat 7.5Y 5/2** Flat n 6.0 Flat No Match Flat
Inventoried? Yes No No No No No
Table 2: Moore House Interior Paint Colors
White Gray Gream Brown Mid-gray White Wash
Color ID A01 A02/? A03/? A04/? A05/? A06/?
**Close match of wash-influenced color. Original color layer will be different. Table 3: Andersson House Interior Paint Colors
White Gray Gream Brown
Color ID CR01 CR02 CR03/?
Munsell Luster Inventoried? N 9.5 Flat Yes 5Y 7/1 Semi-gloss Yes N 8.0*
Semi-gloss
No
Table 4: Office/Colin Rowe Library Interior Paint Colors
painted pale yellow, khaki, green, blue, and maroon. Andersson House Interior In contrast with the Moore House, the Andersson House interior is more subtle, with a heavy emphasis on so-called earth tones. Also unlike the Moore House, the Andersson House uses a wash of some sort to help bring out the color of the floors; this wash complicated the matching process for the colors used on the wooden floors, making the Munsell notations of the “best possible” variety. The wash itself is heavily influenced by the wood beneath it, and as such was impossible to match under field conditions. As with the Moore House, “decorative” colors used on the trophy buttresses up near the ceiling were not matched for this report. The ceilings of the Andersson House are white with gray roof
beams. The walls and bookcases are white as well. The central pediment/window includes a gray and cream in addition to white. The front door is gray. The floors contain brown, midgray, and a white “wash” composed of a transparent, highly diluted coat of white paint. Office/Colin Rowe Library Interior The color scheme of the Colin Rowe Library is very simple, with two primary colors dominating and one older, secondary color. The walls, door, and ceiling are all white, as well as the east window trim. The south window trim and the body of the bookcases and shelves are cocoa gray, and the decorative cornice atop the bookcases is a blue gray. The floors are unpainted concrete.
Yves Klein Blue The most perplexing color that Charles Moore used in his color palette for the Quarry Road House is the deep cobalt blue color of the courtyard.8 This rich hue, inspired by the artist Yves Klein, has proven to be an extremely difficult color to match. Formulated with an overabundance of pigment, the paint nonetheless shimmers with an almost gel-like consistency. As it did not flow well when applied, the end result is a somewhat patchy, inconsistent shade.9 This same inconsistency, however, helps create the vibrant, complex display of shades and subtle hues that visitors and staff members alike continue to admire years after its application. As such, no single color swatch matched all parts of the paint. Test mixtures of the paint have led to mixed results. In addition to the difficulty in matching the original color, the paint is not very durable. Due to the high concentration of pigment, the paint is highly susceptible to ultraviolet radiation and water damage. In locations that experience direct sunlight, the color has faded dramatically, sometimes developing a thin layer of white powder as the paint chemically breaks down under the sun’s rays. The same visual effect, magnified several times, occurs in those places where rainwater has cascaded and washed down over the painted surface numerous times over the years. In these locations, the paint has faded to such a degree as to be a completely different color, thus creating an unflattering visual effect compared to relatively intact sections. The most noticeable location where this phenomenon may be witnessed is the northeast corner of the Office/Colin Rowe Library. Conclusions The greatest challenge to the Charles Moore Center is protecting the vibrant color scheme Moore used in construction. While all surfaces are potentially
at risk, it is the painted floors of the Moore and Andersson Houses that are directly threatened by everyday activity. The increased strain placed upon the Moore House floors in particular during special events is of particular concern. Charles Moore left behind a legacy of whimsical buildings and avant-garde architectural theory. His creations were a combination of classical forms, applications of his own theories, and a healthy dose of wonder. Color was a major part of his work, and he strived to make
not make a significant difference in the character of the property. For the Charles Moore Center, however, the color is a vital aspect, and deserves as much attention as any other architectural element. By preserving the paint and color of the Quarry Road House, the Charles Moore Center is preserving a slice of Moore himself for future generations to study and enjoy. Notes 1. Moore, Charles, “Building Club Sandwiches,” Design Quarterly, 118-119: 42-51. 2. Moore, Charles, 1985, cited in Keim, Kevin, An Architectural Life: Memoirs and Memories of Charles W. Moore.
Kitchen floor, Andersson House, Moore-Andersson Compound. it as important an element as the building’s form in pursuit of his craft. The explosion of color within the Quarry Road Compound is a prime example of his analogy of the house as a geode. Plain on the outside, vibrant on the inside, the house contains secrets waiting to be discovered by the inquisitive visitor. The colors Moore used, then, are as much a character-defining feature of the property as anything else. To preserve the Quarry Road House, future curators must always keep this in mind. Without the varied pallet of colors, the house would lose a significant part of its character, to a degree where it could hardly be called a Charles Moore building. It is a lesson, though, that can be applied to other buildings, and not just those designed by Moore. Color is an important aspect of building design, yet is commonly the first thing changed by a new owner. In some cases, such a change may
Little Brown and Co., Boston. 3. Moore, Charles, “The End of Arcadia,” in Bay Area Houses, New Edition, p. 265-311, edited by S. Woodbridge, Peregrine Smith Books, Salt Lake City, 1988. 4. Lambourne, R., and T. A. Strivens, Paint and Surface Coatings: Theory and Practice, second edition, William Andrew Publishing, Cambridge, England, p. 6. 5. Weiss, Lecture given at the University of Texas at Austin, November 19, 2002. 6. http://www.munsell.com 7. Since I did the work described here, the preservation program has purchased a Minolta Spectraphotometer, which allows for much more precise and consistent color readings. This equipment is being made available to the Center for ongoing refinement in the initial matches. 8. The courtyard was originally painted the same gray as the exterior of the compound. In 1991 or 1992, Charles and Arthur Andersson added the blue. 9. According to the contactors who applied the paint, the paint dried so fast that they had to work in teams of two, with the second painter applying a “smoothing coat” immediately after the initial coat.
Science in the Fast Lane: Artificial Weathering By Kara R. Dotter
During the summer of 2003, I was the Materials Science Graduate Intern at The National Center for Preservation Technology and Training (NCPTT). Specifically, I worked on the Air Pollution and Consolidant Study that NCPTT developed to determine the effects of air pollution on various stone consolidants. Consolidants are used to hold together building stones that are decomposing in various ways over time. One aspect of the Study explores what effect weathering may have on consolidants, the stone substrate, and the deposition of atmospheric pollutants. The natural weathering process is a deleterious combination of sunlight, rain, condensation, and temperature fluctuations that leads to the mechanical and chemical decay of objects over a long period of time. If you’ve noticed the decaying, discolored stone on the north side of Battle Hall on the UT-Austin campus, you’ve noticed the effects of 80 years of natural weathering. Considering the natural process would take decades to achieve the desired degree of weathering for this study, we elected to decrease the amount of time by using artificial weathering. Artificial weathering works by exposing the test specimens to elevated temperatures, shorter cycles of light and dark, and corresponding dry and damp cycles. This combination can mimic natural cycles of fluctuating temperatures, daily light cycles, and the resulting condensation cycles, while speeding up the process by enhancing the contributing factors. There are several types of artificial weathering devices on the market, but they fall into three main categories: Xenon arc, carbon arc, and fluorescent. While the ability to closely mimic natural conditions varies with type, none of them is
currently capable of generating results that can be directly correlated to what happens in the natural environment. A naturally weathered specimen may be used to get a rough idea of real-time correlation, but the natural time factor is still an issue. The current devices do, however, provide comparable results within the shorter time span conducive to materials research. Moreover, the potential discrepancies between results of realtime and artificial weathering can be minimized through selection of an appropriate testing cycle. This, is the key to achieving repeatable, realistic weathering effects in a laboratory setting. NCPTT has a fluorescent type artificial weathering device, specifically the QUVSpray. The device provides control over temperature, light and dark cycles, and moisture (condensation and/or spray). The process of developing an acceptable testing regimen began with collecting information on various techniques and applications of weathering cycles published by the American Society for Testing and Materials (ASTM), scientific and academic researchers, and individual companies. There was a remarkable variety in the resulting testing cycles, but they had a few things in common: temperatures ranging from 50°C to 60°C (approximately 120°F to 140°F) during light exposure, followed by a period of darkness at lower temperatures averaging 40°C to 50°C (100°F to 120°F) to enhance condensation. The duration of each step in the cycle was generally equal in time (4 hours each) or a multiple of the time with more exposure to light (8 hours UV and 4 hours condensation).
The following artificial weathering cycle was used in our study: 1. UV light (340nm lamps) exposure for 4 hours at 60°C (~140°F). 2. Condensation (no light) for 4 hours at 50°C (~120°F). 3. Repeat the cycle of steps 1 and 2 over a period of 800 hours, rotating samples every 160 hours to ensure an even distribution of light energy. 4. The irradiance control should be set at 0.77 W/m2. so as to increase the amount of light energy over that found in nature without causing alterations of the stone and/or consolidant not seen in the natural environment. A trial run was conducted to test this cycle, consisting of eight natural untreated limestone samples and sixteen blue wool reference cards as a standard reference material. The wool was utilized to record the amount of weathering for comparison to future tests following the same method. This helps determine the repeatability of results from a procedure, and provides a way to ascertain whether the device is operating properly. The results of the trial run were a success. The limestone samples exhibited weathering effects similar to that seen after years of natural weather exposure, including a slight color change and dissolution of the finer grained limestone material resulting in larger pore sizes. At the same time, we did not induce any effects not seen in nature. Carefully selected and applied, artificial weathering can be an invaluable tool for the conservation scientist and the historic preservation industry as a whole. Hippocrates said, “I will neither give a deadly drug to anybody who asked for it, nor will I make a suggestion to this effect.” We, preservationists are also bound to promote the best care for our ancient and historic patients. Knowledge of how potential treatments on similar substrates respond to weathering before the final application to the object itself will not only aid in the selection of the best immediate treatment protocol, but can prevent the use of treatments that will ultimately do more harm than good. Platform • 11
Pres. Program
HABS drawings
I
n the spring of 2003, the Cultural Landscapes class of the Historic Preservation program spent close to four months documenting the cultural landscape of the Browning Ranch, close to Johnson City, Texas. Among the many character-defining features that were identified in this vernacular agricultural landscape, the remains of a historic dry-stack stone fence complex generated the most interest. However, little specific information has been located about this feature in the historic record, primarily because the Blanco County Courthouse burned in 1876, destroying any information, such as tax records, liens, or lease agreements that might tie the construction of the fence to a specific builder. The chain of ownership is clear, but the owner of the property was known to be living elsewhere during the probable time of construction of the fence. Because part of the future planning for the ongoing development of the Browning Ranch includes an interpretive element--it would be useful to further pursue this issue to find out more about the history and significance of this stone fence in terms of how it fits into the cultural history of the larger area of Blanco County. Description In the eastern half of the nearly one-thousand acres which make up the Browning Ranch lie the remains of dry-stack limestone fences which appear to have formed a compound of fields and possibly pens for livestock (Figure 1). These fences outline a rough rectangle of about 85 acres, at the center of which is Hunnicutt Spring. There are three distinct sections to this fence complex, the northern section, the wall compound, and the southern section. The northern section lies completely to the west of Hunnicutt Creek and roughly outlines what must have been cleared pasture at the time of its construction, which has since grown up in cedar (Figure 2). The stone used to build these fences appears to be flatter and more angular than that used for the other two sections, which is consistent with the exposed limestone bedrock of the Hunnicutt P l a t f orm • 14
The Origin of Stone Fences in Blanco County
Country have been attributed primarily to the immigrant German population that settled the region, beginning in the 1850s and were most likely constructed sometime between 1860 and the mid-1880s, before the introduction of the barbed wire fence.2 When they first arrived in the Hill Country, the Germans copied the American style wood “zig-zag” or “worm” fences, but around 1859, they began to construct fences out of the flat limestone found in the area:
By Laura Knott
geological formation found in the immediate vicinity. The remaining portions of these fences are only 18” tall at the most, but when constructed, were probably much taller and have been pushed down by the seasonal flooding of Hunnicutt Creek. The southern fence section was built on both sides of the creek and appears to have been constructed up to the creek banks at one time; however, several hundred feet of fence are missing where some of the stone was removed for sale sometime in the past.1 The stone used to construct these fences is thinner and more varied in size than that used for the north fence and appears to have come from the Glen Rose Formation. Remaining sections of this fence are as tall as four feet in some areas. Whereas the north and south sections appear to have been built to contain pasture, the wall compound appears to have been constructed as a series of pens,
Figure 1: Map of fence complex, compiled by Sylvia Guerrero, field GPS and TNRIS. some of those walls also functioning as retaining walls built into the side of the hill (Figure 3 and 4). The stones used to construct the compound are rounder and more varied in size that those used for either of the other sections. Where most of the stone in the complex was used in its natural form, in the compound it appears that, at least in one area, some stones were deliberately formed to create possibly a hearth or the foundations for a building. In general, the fences and walls of the complex vary in width from around 16” to 24” and are consistently two courses wide
Southern mountaineer culture complex, from “The Texas Appalachia” by Terry G. Jordan.
Dry Rock Fences, from “The Hill Country Germans of Texas,” by Terry G. Jordan.
when courses can be distinguished. Heights also vary, but one must take into account displacement as a result of natural forces and human action over time. In the stone complex area, portions of the wall are as tall as six feet, while other segments are less than one foot and have no logical termini, this attributed to the removal of stone from this area in the 1960s. Because the fields contained within the stone fence boundaries have been cleared of stones, one can assume that the fences were constructed of this local material during the process of clearing. History Stone fences in the Texas Hill
German Texas culture complex, from “The Hill Country Germans of Texas,” by Terry G. Jordan.
In the Hill Country, where the open range and cattle roundups persisted into the 1870s, the stone fences were used to enclose not only fields, gardens, and corrals, but also pastures. Across the flat stream valleys, up the steep hillsides, and over the divides the Germans built them, accomplishing what no other ranchers in the entire West were willing or able to do—fencing the open range before barbed wire.3 These fences were constructed by first laying down two rows of large, flat stones on the ground with a space in-between. Then a second course of large stone would be laid on top of these, stepping inward slightly, as would the third course, and so forth. The space between the two sides would be filled with rubble until the two rows came together. At this point the wall would be capped with one or more large flat stones and, at times, finished with a layer of thin flat stones, set on end, creating a diagonal, toothed appearance. A question has been posed regarding the origins of these stone fences, because no prototype has been found in the source regions of Germany of these Hill Country immigrants.4 It has been suggested that this fence-building technique emulated the “Bluegrass” stone fence, commonly found throughout the Upland South, that is, in Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, and North Carolina. These types of dry-stacked, pyramidal stone fences are found all over the highland areas of the British Isles and the construction method most likely came to America with earlier immigrants from England, Scotland, and Wales and then moved across into Texas with immigrants from the Upland South.5 Tennessee is
Many stone fences have been located in this small portion of the German culture complex in Blanco County. They tend to be clustered in the southern tip of the county, generally around the town of Twin Sisters, which was at the center of German
culture in the Hill Country.10 A list of names from the area from the original Texas land grant map includes Jonas, Preiss, Volmering, Baum, Beiler, Waest, Rues, Schmidt, Wegner, and Krauss.11 The rest of Blanco County, however, is included in the southern mountaineer culture complex, which reaches from the northwest border of the German complex all the way to the northern border of Texas along the Red River.12 This culture complex has been identified primarily by the place of
origin of the immigrants, who were principally from Tennessee, Arkansas, Missouri, Kentucky, North Carolina, and Virginia, as well as place names, agricultural and ranching practices, family income, education, and reports of feuding. Most of these Anglo-Americans who came to the Hill Country did not bother to build their traditional stone fences once they reached Texas. These southern farmers tended to view land in Texas as a temporary investment, one that they would use to the fullest, giving little back,
Figure 3: Stone fence in southern section.
Photograph by Adrienne Campbell.
Hill Country Culture Complexes Geographers have identified two culture complexes in the area, the German culture complex and the southern mountaineer culture complex. The German culture complex8 has been identified by many variables, including not only the built environment of house, barn, and fence types, but also the history of the types of crops, town planning patterns, linquistics and folkloric practices, such as story-telling, symbolism on tomb stones and folk medicine. In general, the German culture complex is a long narrow area, oriented southeast to northwest and contains the majority of Mason, Gillespie, Kendall, and Comal counties as well as peripheries of other counties, such as Blanco County, where it includes a narrow border along its southwestern boundary and most of its southern tip.9 The 1870 U. S. Census reported that in Blanco County, German-born persons, or natives of German ancestry, constituted 21% of the total population.
Figure 2: Stone fence in northern section.
Photograph by Adrienne Campbell.
Whether tenant or owner, the peasant commonly occupied land that his ancestors had tilled for centuries, and he expected that his descendants would continue to live in the same place and enjoy the benefits of whatever improvements he made. This locational stability of the population encouraged a striving for permanence, which manifested itself best, perhaps, in the solid, enduring farmstead structures.7
and then move on once the land was used up. Land was cheap, and new acreage was continually opening up as the United States increased its territory throughout the nineteenth century:
Photograph by Kara Dotter.
especially rich in these types of fences and the state is also one of the main sources of Upland South immigration to Texas. Although stone fences did not originate in Germany, the Germans in Texas took to them enthusiastically, because “they satisfied a Teutonic need for permanence.”6 The immigrant Germans came to Texas with fresh memories of their farmsteads in Europe, where families lived on the same land for generations:
Figure 4: Possible structure in wall compound.
At any time, a large part of the [Anglo-American] population was on the move, and it was not uncommon for families to migrate more than once in a single generation. The roots which held them to any particular piece of land were shallow, and the result was a lack of appreciation for lasting improvements and conservational care of the land. The very appearance of their farmsteads suggested impermanence.13 Conclusion Two questions, then, begin to emerge. First, if the German immigrants learned stone fencebuilding technique from the Anglos of the Upper South, how did they learn if there were no Anglos building stone walls? One would have to suppose that there were examples being constructed in the area by the Anglos themselves, suggesting that some of the Anglos were settling down and building more permanent farmsteads. Secondly, if most of Blanco County was settled by Upland South Anglos and the Anglos did not build stone fences, why are there so many of them still found throughout the county? The presence of a stone fence does not necessarily indicate a German builder. Geographer Terry Jordan recalls a woman speaking up at one of his public lectures, disagreeing with his assertion that all stone fences were German—she informed him that her grandfather had built the first stone fence in Mason County and that his name was Smith.14 In addition, if one compares the locations of these stone fences in the more northern part of Blanco County to the land grant map, one sees stone fences located in grants named after grantees such as Poitevent (a name of Tennesee origin), or Roberts, Kelly, or McCracklin—Anglo-American names associated with the British Isles. It is possible that these grantees sold or leased their land to German families, but this is less likely in this part of Blanco County than it would be in the south or western borders.
As it stands today, interpretation of these stone fences is limited to broad connections or conjecture. Much work still remains to be done in order to connect one cultural group or the other to their construction. A survey of Blanco County could be conducted, identifying these stone fences and connecting them as best as possible to ownership records where available. A survey was done in Gillespie County in the 1980s of a number of agricultural buildings and a similar survey could be conducted in Blanco County. Not only would this begin to uncover information on the builders of these walls, it would also serve as a starting place to begin verifying the limits of the two cultural complexes. The result of this research would not only be useful in identifying the source of the walls for the purposes of interpretation at the Browning Ranch, but through this interpretation, awareness of the public of the physical manifestations of these two different cultural complexes and their significance would enrich their experience of the region. Notes 1. Bill Watson, former ranch manager, personal communication, 2003. 2. Jordan, Terry G. German Seed in Texas Soil: Immigrant Farmers in Nineteenth-Century Texas. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1966, pp. 164-165. 3. ibid. 4. Jordan, Terry G., personal communication, 2003. 5. ibid. 6. ibid. 7. Op. cit., Jordan, 1966, pp. 37-38. 8. Jordan, Terry G., “The Hill Country Germans of Texas,” in Association of American Geographers Field Trip Guide, Peter J. Hugill and Robin W. Doughty, eds. Prepared for the 1982 Annual Meeting of the Association of American Geographers at San Antonio, Texas. Washington, D.C.: The Association of American Geographers, p. 95. 9. Wilhelm, Hubert G. H., “German Settlement and Folk Building Practices in the Hill Country of Texas.” Pioneer America 3 (July 1971), pp. 15-24. 10. Op. cit., Jordan, 1982, p. 109. 11. Texas Land Grant Map. 12. Jordan, Terry G., “The Texan Appalachia,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 60, no. 3 (September 1970): p. 415. 13. Op. cit., Jordan, 1966, pp. 18-19. 14. Jordan, Terry G., personal communication, 2003.
Dedicated to the memory of Dr. Terry G. Jordan-Bychkov. Platform • 15
The Balat District: A Study of Preservation Policy and Practice in Istanbul By Mehmet Bengü Uluengin The little brass bell above the gate to Ibis Pasha’s house jingled as he closed it behind him. Stepping out of his lush green garden into the bland street was an abrupt transition, but one that was typical in Istanbul. Even in more modest houses, a garden was to be found. But his was a stately home—a handsome wooden building leaning against the hills of the Balat District in Istanbul and commanding gorgeous views of the Golden Horn. Of course, a man of his position would be expected to have no less. He began to descend the rough cobblestone steps of Pastırmacı Street. With each step, the skyline of Galata and of Mount Alemdar beyond slowly sunk beneath Balat’s jagged roofscape. He turned onto Sultan Çesmesi (Sultan’s Fountain) Street and continued his walk down. This was not a routine day. Normally, he would have gone up Sultan Çesmesi Street on his way to the Ministry of Defense; but today he needed to make a trip to the Imperial Dockyards across the Golden Horn for an inspection. As Sultan Çesmesi Street became Kürkçü Çesmesi (Furrier’s Fountain) Street, the slope leveled and the built fabric became more dense. This is where most of the Jews of Balat live. As he walked past the Ahrida Synagogue—a grand rectangular building with a low-pitched roof, hidden behind high perimeter walls—he nodded at the lonely officer standing guard at its gate. Instinctively, the officer clicked his heels and responded with a “Hayırlı sabahlar olsun Pasam”— “Good morning Pasha.” It was almost Passover and just the other day a Greek child had disappeared. The Greeks of the neighboring Fener District had gone mad—they were sure it was a Jewish ritual murder case, the so-called “barrel with nails” inciP l a t f orm • 16
dent where Jews are believed to put Christian children in a barrel with nails to draw their blood, which they supposedly used to make unleavened bread. Mobs of them stampeded through the streets of Balat, making more noise than damage, but nevertheless breaking some windows and frightening the district’s Jewish residents. Ibis Pasha was sure the child would be found in a few days—as usual having probably fallen into a well or a lime pit. But the antagonism between the different communities in Istanbul, and the rest of the Empire, for that matter, was very real. Of course, what happened afterwards was routine. The zabtiye (police) quickly appeared on the scene and rounded up a bunch of the “bashibazouks.” They detained them—probably gave them a good beating too—and later released them. Meanwhile, higher level officials and community leaders intervened to try to calm the public down. The guard’s appearance at Ahrida’s gate was also routine—likely to disappear in a few days—but until then, he will stand there with that look of frustration and disgust on his face. Him, of all people, having to stand in the cold to protect the asses of a few Jews! A slight grin broke on Ibis Pasha’s lips—the thought somehow amused him; perhaps because it reminded him of how nasty officers could sometimes be towards Jews. It was only last fall. Ibis Pasha had taken his family on a picnic to the Sadâbâd. While the women and children sat by the water’s edge, he was slowly sipping his coffee and taking long puffs from his nargile Top: Figure 1. Map of Balat. Right: Figure 2. An originally masonry building now clad with split logs.
(hubble-bubble) in an open-air coffeehouse nearby, gazing, occasionally, at the nightingales singing in the grand oak tree above him. Suddenly, a group of young zabtiyes arrived. Their relaxed and somewhat obnoxious behavior gave them away as being off duty—later confirmed by the “cold coffees” they ordered.1
They were loudly exchanging jokes when suddenly their attention became focused on an old Jew, a vendor of kurabiyes, or cookies. As he was going around with his basket hung before him, two of the officers, as his back was turned, relieved their lit nargiles of the burning pieces of charcoal by dropping them into the hollow crown of the Jew’s calpac. As the felt began to frizzle and smoke, they roared with laughter. Ibis Pasha could not help but laugh himself when he saw the Jew (who, intent on business, was not aware of the trick played on him) continued his perambulation among the trees, smoking at the poll like a chimney. Of course, when the coal penetrated his calpac and made its approaches sensible to the skull, the poor old man let go of his basket to snatch
the calpac with a cry of alarm. In bewilderment, he peeped through the holes made by the cinders, at which point the officers were rolling over with laughter. He remembered countless such cases where officials would pick on poor Jews. He himself did not have any problems with Jews or the Greeks (or, for that matter, the Armenians). After all, many of his neighbors as well as owners of almost all the shops he shopped at were non-Muslims, and they were nice people. He walked by Avram’s bakery. Avram had already cooked the first batch of the day’s loaves. Inside the dimly lit shop, his çırak (apprentice) was just visible. He was busy loading the loaves onto a wooden cart that would visit all the bakkals (cor-
Left: Figure 3. View of the Kürkçü Çesmesi Street.
S
Above, right: Figure 4. Building on Block no. 2349, parcel 8 (July 2003). Above, right: Figure 5. The same building five weeks later. Below: Figure 6. The Eliou Synagogue, now used as an automobile tire shop.
ner stores) in the vicinity, and also to that one bakkal in Lonca that preferred Avram’s bread even though there were other bakeries closer by. Avram was sitting outside his shop, slowly sipping his morning tea. The flimsy stool beneath him looked as if it might give under his hefty weight at any moment. Next door, fish had arrived at Moshe’s shop. His çıraks were busy cleaning them, and all the stray cats in the neighborhood were lined up outside waiting for a bit of fish gut to come their way. For the çıraks this was a source of entertainment. They would throw the bits of fish high into the air, and would wager on which cat would get it. Of course, where the fish landed, a miniature battle took place. Ibis Pasha turned left onto Ayan Street and approached the gates of the kavafhane, or as the Jews would say in Ladino, la kanfafana. The kavafhane was the commercial heart of Balat’s bazaar, comparable to the bedesten2 in the Grand Bazaar, since, like the bedesten it had gates which were locked at night. Its narrow streets, lined with small, cave-like shops, wound their way towards the Balat gate. This area was always quieter than the rest of the neighborhood; all the clothes and wares hung outside the shops and the tents above the street absorbed the sound. It
was like wearing earplugs. Shoe sellers were in the majority in the kavafhane, but there were also clothiers, fez makers, and tailors. Shop owners had already opened their shops and were busy carrying out their wares onto display cases placed right on the sidewalk. Some were busy sweeping the mooned surfaces of the cobblestones. Ibis Pasha walked by, responding to their salutes. He finally came to the Balat Gate—a Byzantine structure in semi-ruinous state—and crossed over into that foul smelling neighborhood of Karabas. The street, as usual, was full of mud. He waited for a carriage to pass, taking care to avoid the splashing mud, then hastily crossed the street. How he hated this. Normally, he would go nowhere near the wretched Karabas Quarter. He walked by the repugnant drainage ditch that wound its way through Karabas, spewing its contents into the Golden Horn next to the main wharf. The wooden houses on either side were encrusted with mildew. Their paint was all but gone. The smell of drying fish, hung between two bay windows, became mixed with the stink of decaying waste. As he neared the Golden Horn, a slight breeze dissipated the stench somewhat. Perendeoglu—owner of a nearby
side. He was probably awaiting delivery of sugar or tea, or perhaps some coffee and also lokum (Turkish delight). His rag was draped over his shoulder. He was very skilful at using this rag in brawls—which he often got mixed up in—much like a whip. Perendeoglu was a very colorful character indeed, known as a bandit, but, nevertheless, a righter of wrongs and man with dignity. He finally got to the caïque wharf—la skala des los kayikes in Ladino. This was a small wooden jetty, barely five feet wide and perhaps thirty feet long. Around it, long, narrow caïques (long, narrow boats) glided through the water, skillfully maneuvered into the tightest docking spaces by their oarsmen. He saw, much to his dismay, that it
was Kitapçı’s turn at the wharf. This was really turning out to be his day! Kitapçı (literally “the book man”) was really an oarsman, but he was known as such because he requested his passengers to read Jewish religious books during the trip (which he provided). Of course, he knew Kitapçı would not bother him, but there were some men in the boat who he knew to be Jews. Kitapçı was already fishing through his bag of books! With his arrival, they pushed away from the wharf.
uch an account3 of the Balat District in Istanbul (see Figures 1 and 3), although fictional, gives a fairly good idea of what the locale may have looked and felt like roughly a century and a half ago. Only a faint suggestion of that past—as reflected by Balat’s historic fabric—remains today, and even that is being lost as I write these words. While it is true that historic buildings alone cannot relate such a story, their existence greatly enhances the chances of this and similar narratives emerging. Let us examine why this should be the case. Firstly, historic narratives are much more likely to be told if historic properties are extant simply because people are more inclined to ask. A tourist, for example, is more likely to point to a building and ask to hear its story if the building is still there. Secondly, historic properties function as perfect backdrops against which we can imagine historic narratives being played out. It is much easier to imagine Ibis Pasha walking in front of the Ahrida Synagogue (Figure 4), for example, if the synagogue is still there. Thirdly, the story sometimes emerges because the physical remnant of a building acts as a magnet for information. If the Ahrida Synagogue stands, its story needs to be put into guide books, monographs, research papers and virtually all other texts on Balat. As such, people are constantly conducting research on the building, and
See “Balat,” continued on page 18. Platform • 17
“Balat,” continued from page 17.
in the process, discovering new sources and narratives about it. The reasons for the loss of Balat’s historic fabric are complex, and their full discussion is beyond the scope of this article thus only a brief outline is offered herein. The end results, however, are unmistakable. Balat today, is but a faint shadow of what it had once been, and I don’t say this in a sentimental or nostalgic way. Cities, if they are to continue to function as such, must change; so in no way do I suggest that we should “embalm” historic cities and turn them into interesting but lifeless museums. However, the way that change happens cannot be left to chance. As Biddle explains, too much is at stake, especially in cities like Istanbul wherein thousands of years of history lies: The character which gives each place its own identity is fragile, and today it can be swept away almost overnight. This character resides in townscape and streetscape, in the pattern and in the variety of areas within a place, as well as in its individual structures. The physical presence of the past is certainly only one of its elements to be understood and used in the creation of the new, but it is ignored, misunderstood, or perverted at our peril.4 Yes, Balat is losing its historic character. But what has and continues to contribute to that historic character? Is it the synagogues? Is it the mosques? Is it the stately mansions of highranking Ottoman officials? Is it the city ramparts and Balat Gate? Is it the caïques? Or is it, perhaps, the kavafhane? These are questions that have no definitive answer. Indeed, they are questions that ultimately hinge on the larger question “for whom are we preserving the past?” Or, put another way, “whose past are we preserving?” In her influential article “The Power of Place: A Proposal for Los Angeles,”5 Dolores Hayden reports on Gail Dubrow’s finding that as of 1985, 97.7% of Los P l a t f orm • 18
Angeles’ landmarks were associated with Anglo-American culture, and only 2.3% celebrated Native American and ethnic minority history—despite the fact that the latter constituted over half the city’s population.6 No such study has been conducted for Istanbul yet, partly because the data regarding designated historic properties is only beginning to be put into a format that readily allows such analysis,7 partly because it is difficult to draw clear lines regarding which ethno-religious group a certain property belongs to,8 and partly because preservation in Turkey is still seen as an “objective science”—historic properties are, supposedly, preserved based on their historic and architectural merit alone, and politics does not weigh in on the decision-making process.9 An investigation into the urban planning and preservation practices of the Turkish Republic, however, tends to suggest otherwise. In Istanbul, roads have been cut through non-Muslim neighborhoods (in the 1950s and again in the 1980s). Swatches of urban fabric along the shores of the Golden Horn have been demolished in the 1980s, and since non-Muslims in Istanbul tended to live on the periphery of the walled city, it was their properties that got destroyed. Of the ten synagogues that once existed in Balat, only four are standing today, and two of these four are in poor condition (see Figures 6). The surviving synagogues in Balat were not registered as historic properties until 1987.10 Today, registered historic properties in Balat are routinely tinkered with and in the process often transformed beyond salvage. Nor is there any clear process by which historic properties are designated as such in Istanbul or in Turkey. In contrast to the relatively few buildings registered in Balat in 1987 (in a comprehensive survey conducted by preservation officials), for example, a much larger number were added to the historic register only a year later. One finds it difficult to understand what had changed in the meantime. Several conclusions can be drawn from these facts. Firstly,
one begins to get the impression that Turkish preservation policy is not as objective as some claim. It may be true that the Republic seldom indulges in active destruction of non-Muslim historic properties (though, occasionally, it does that too), but neither does it take the necessary steps to duly protect them. One must understand that equal treatment of Muslim and nonMuslim heritage does not imply neutrality, for the latter is by far the more endangered. Secondly, one begins to question the success of past and current preservation policies generally. All over Istanbul, historic properties are being lost due to willful neglect, arson, demolition, or destructive public projects (see Figures 4 and 5). Preservation, it seems, is not high on the Republic’s list of priorities. Perhaps this is why UNESCO is considering placing Turkey on the list of countries hostile to their historic heritage. Thirdly, there is no comprehensive approach to understanding what the past has to tell us. In addition to the built environment itself—which is usually the first and foremost source—is a plethora of sources in the form of oral, written or pictorial records. Turkish preservationists, it seems, are not trained to use these resources, thereby failing to achieve the richness of perception that can be attained by their thorough correlation. Fourthly, little is being done to educate people about the importance of preservation. Istanbul’s population has grown tremendously over the past thirty years or so (after a sharp jump in the 1950s, which was followed by a period of relative stability in the 1960s). Most of the city’s immigrants are from rural areas with little apparent appreciation for historic properties. For the new residents of Balat (who are mostly from Turkey’s Black Sea Region where wood as a building material is plentiful), homes are supposed to be of wood, so they occasionally clad the façades of Balat’s masonry buildings with split logs (Figure 2).12 Amidst this grim picture of preservation practice in Turkey are, however, some more positive trends. Perhaps the most
hope-inspiring development with regard to preservation in Istanbul is the burgeoning of a segment of the population that has become more vocal about preservation issues. In the past decade or so, these people have begun to form local organizations to help protect their neighborhoods. Several of these have been successful in stopping (at least for now) public projects that would have had devastating results for the historic environment had they been built—a project for a third bridge across the Bosphorus being among them. Municipalities have been quick to respond. Several local municipalities, such as the Municipality of Fatih, have initiated special preservation or rehabilitation programs for certain districts,13 while the Municipality of Greater Istanbul has increased its efforts to complete a comprehensive preservation plan for the historic Istanbul peninsula.14 All of this, when coupled with an emerging trend of “returning to the city core” in Istanbul portends an increase in property values in the city’s central, historic areas.15 Increased property values mean change. Transforming the famous architectural dictum “form follows function” into “form follows funding,” Stewart Brand comments that “[i]f people have money to spare, they will mess with their building, at a minimum to solve the current set of frustrations with the place, at a maximum to show off their wealth.”16 The result of that change can, at one extreme, be detrimental to the historic fabric, or, if we can seize the opportunity, be a boon for its preservation. In such a setting we, as preservation professionals, are charged with doing the latter. In that vein, this study aims to focus on the third point discussed above, namely the incorporation of various, hitherto neglected, sources in the preservation of a building, neighborhood or city. In the case of Balat, in contrast to the relatively few sources used by preservation officials and professionals17 exists a vast array of sources that typically go unnoticed (or, are considered inappropriate because they are “too subjective”). Among these are Byzantine records, Ottoman
governmental records, shari’a (Islamic) court records, vakıf (charitable trust) records, rabbinical records, church records, personal accounts, accounts of travelers etc. Ideally, a neighborhood preservation project would utilize most—if not all—of these sources. Let us now look at a few examples to see how these sources, through their correlation, can provide a richness of perception for, and a pluralistic reading of, the Balat district. Balat suffered a great fire in 1866—one that consumed roughly 500 houses.18 The district’s increasing population was causing fires to become more frequent and more devastating. After the fire, instead of allowing owners to erect their homes on the same plots, city officials re-allotted the district to give Balat wider streets that conformed to a grid plan (the district, until then, had had a Medieval urban pattern). Residents were also encouraged to use fireproof masonry building materials. Except for key monuments which survived the fire, the entire building stock of the burned-down area dates from after 1866; thus, by examining the existing fabric, we are able to learn very little about the pre-1866 period. This is where one has to turn to shari’a court records, among other sources. Since shari’a courts also acted as notaries public, their registers are full of cases involving property transactions and lease contracts. In the majority of these, the property being sold is described in some detail, though in a schematic fashion. First, the property’s boundaries are delineated by listing all of the adjacent properties, or, if the property faces a street on one or more sides, these are indicated with the phrase tarîk-i am (public road), or tarîk-i has (private road). If the property has gardens, those are also indicated. Next, the house (menzil or hane) and its spaces are described. If it is a two-story building, the floors are referred to as tahtânî (lower) and fevkânî (upper), but for three story-buildings the terms used are suflâ, vustâ and ulyâ (bottom, middle, and top). Service spaces such as kitchens (matbah), toilets (helâ, kenef) or bathrooms (hamam) are recorded on their respective floors.
Besides providing a wealth of qualitative information, a quantitative analysis of court records involving property transactions enable us to determine, for example, the average number of floors; the average number of toilets, or baths; the existence of separate men’s and women’s quarters (selâmlık and haremlik); the ratio of shops to homes in the neighborhood; etc. And while this study is only able to focus on a time span of four decades with regard to court records (due to constraints of time and resources), a more comprehensive study would enable us to determine how these trends (that is, number of floors, the availability of service spaces, separation of men’s and women’s quarters, etc.) evolve over time. This, in fact, provides us with a tool to challenge the legitimacy of design guidelines which are often stipulated to ensure congruent development on empty lots (or lots containing nonhistoric buildings) in historic areas. These design guidelines are usually developed based on formal typologies—i.e., by examining existing historic buildings to find “common denominators,” or recurring features. These features, then, become the basis for a list of desirable attributes that new buildings might possess (or at least not contradict). The problem with typological studies, however, is their relative insensitivity to the constant flux that the built environment experiences. Even if care is taken to discern (to the extent possible) between original features on buildings and alterations or additions, the typological study focuses on a relatively thin slice within the evolutionary process of the neighborhood. Indeed, a study based on formal typologies can only be justified if one believes that urban environments are essentially static (which they are not); and what is worse, by building upon the findings of a typological study to derive guidelines, this static image is projected onto, and imposed upon the urban environment, and made perpetual. This becomes even more problematic when the imposed image provides an incomplete (or false) interpretation of the environment’s past. By focusing on the process through which an urban
environment was created and re-created rather than on the end product, its various histories may be given a better chance of emerging; and the basis for a mechanism that does not prescribe a static environment but fosters its guided evolution may be created. It is due to this richness of detail and their ability to inform us about a host of other social issues that I chose shari’a court records as the main source for the current study. But court records are not the only documents that provide rich information about Balat’s past. The Ottomans amassed mountains of government records; held at the Archives of the Prime Ministry in Istanbul and elsewhere. To take but one example, the Bostancıbası Registers—which were prepared as guides for coastal security, and gave the coordinates of all public as well as some private buildings on the shores of Istanbul—provide detailed information about the shoreline of the Balat District. In a Bostancıbası Register dating from the period of Sultan Mahmud II, for example, we find out that the following buildings lined the shores of Balat: Church of Turi Sina (Figure 12), three boathouses belonging to the above church, yahudihane (apartments for Jews) of Emin Aga, land of lady known as “Istanbullu” (Istanbulite), land of Hayim the Jew, coffeehouse of Ismail, the Balat Wharf, etc.19 In addition to the wealth of information these records provide about the shoreline, they are also valuable guides for “fixing” the locations of some properties that are mentioned in shari’a court records, but for which, as is usually the case, precise addresses are not given.20 Another useful source is the accounts of former residents of Balat. In this regard, the work done by Marie-Christine Varol is unparalleled. Her book titled Balat: Faubourg Juif d’Istanbul (op. cit.—see footnote 3) is the result of fieldwork conducted between the years 1980 and 1985 during which period Varol made repeated visits to Balat and interviewed a total of 79 persons—73 in Istanbul and 6 in France. It is through Varol’s work that we learn about the colorful character
of Perendeoglu mentioned in the little narrative at the beginning of this text, and of a row of houses that he had had built in the Karabas Quarter in Balat. Varol’s informants identify these as “a most beautiful group of wooden houses on the banks of the Golden Horn.”21 The houses have since been demolished (along with the rest of the fabric comprising the Karabas Quarter). Perhaps more saliently, we learn of a peculiarity in the hamam (public bath) of Balat, which still exists. Although the bath’s plan conforms to the general plan type of Ottoman baths, there is a special pool, both in the men’s and the women’s part, known as a mikve. Apparently, Jews used this little pool to cleanse themselves as part of their tevila (purification) ritual. As a prime indicator of Jewish existence in this neighborhood22 this is an extremely significant detail. Yet today, in both the men’s and the women’s part, the entrance to the mikves have been sealed off with brick walls. If this is an innocent mistake (i.e. if the mikves were sealed because their significance was not known), then this example serves to demonstrate how a wider range of sources can help us improve the way we ascribe significance to buildings (or, in this case, building parts). If, on the other hand, the mikves were sealed in an attempt to “change” history (i.e. to downplay the extent to which Jewish existence in this neighborhood has left its marks), then Varol’s account gives us the tools to effectively address this move. These few examples serve to demonstrate the benefit of using a wide range of sources to inform our preservation policies and decisions for richer results. Obviously, bringing these sources to light alone will not help to draft better preservation policies or make for better preservation professionals. But they will constitute important tools once the discipline of preservation in Turkey in general and in Istanbul in particular, takes a turn towards being more democratic. Notes 1. Coffeehouses in Ottoman Istanbul occasionally served alcoholic beverages, but to help their customers save
face, owners served them in fincans— small cups in which Ottomans typically consume coffee; of course, one could easily tell the difference because this “cold coffee” did not steam; but the practice was, nonetheless, widespread. 2. The clothes market or the bedesten in the Grand Bazaar (also known as the Covered Bazaar) was the bazaar’s nucleus. 3. Parts of this account are based on narratives found in published works. The name Ibis Pasha comes from the account of Feyyaz, Selim and Emre Yalçın on their family’s house in Balat (on Pastırmacı Street) (available online at http://www.turk-ortopedi.net/ album/balat/balat.htm). The “burning calpac” incident is from: Charles Mac Farlane. Constantinople in 1928; A Residence of Sixteen Months in the Turkish Capital and Provinces: With an Account of the Present State of the Naval and Military Power, and of the Resources of the Ottoman Empire. London: Saunders and Otley, 1829: 514; Mac Farlane claims to have witnessed. The narratives of the kavafhane, of Perendeoglu and of Kitapçı are based on: Marie-Christine Varol. Balat: Faubourg Juif d’Istanbul. Istanbul: Éditions Isis, 1989. 4. Martin Biddle. “The Experience of the Past: Archeology and History in Conservation and Development” in Conservation as Cultural Survival. Renata Holod (ed.). Place of publication not specified: The Aga Khan Awards, 1980: 9. 5. Dolores Hayden. “The Power of Place: A Proposal for Los Angeles” in Classic Readings in Architecture, Jay M. Stein and Kent F. Spreckelmeyer (eds.). Boston: WCB/McGraw-Hill, 1999: 211-221. 6. Hayden, ibid.: 212. 7. The archives of the regional office of the High Commission for the Preserva tion of Cultural and Natural Heritage are substandard. All documentation is done manually, no computers are used, and the files are kept under terrible conditions in the moldy basement of the Commission’s offices in Vefa. 8. Consider, for example, the case of a Byzantine church converted into a mosque; or an aqueduct which, although built in the Byzantine period, was much altered and added to in the Ottoman period. 9. Revealed in interviews conducted with preservation officials and professionals as part of author’s dissertation fieldwork in the summer of 2002; almost all interviewees were surprised, almost irritated, at any suggestion that the Turkish Republic could have favored the historic heritage of Muslim-Turks as opposed to non-Muslims; Ilgi Yüce-Askun (Head of the Preservation Department of the Mimar Sinan University in Istanbul, preservation professional), in fact, went as far as to say that if anything, historic properties of non-Muslim would be preferred over Muslim properties because in the final years of the Ottoman Empire, these tended to be more monumental and/or ornate. 10. One could argue that this is not an example of discrimination, for many of the district’s mosques were also registered in the same year; but one has to consider the fact that these mosques were in active use and as such were
not under the same threat of destruction as the synagogues. The latter had lost their congregations and were slowly being turned into warehouses or simply being demolished. 11. During the forty-year period from 1950-1990, the greatest influx of immigrants has been from rural areas in the Black Sea Region (22.42%); rural areas in the Eastern Anatolian and Central Anatolian regions follow this with 12.10% and 11.12% respectively (Oya Baydar. 1993. “Göç” [Immigration] in Dünden Bugüne Istanbul Ansiklopedisi [Encyclopaedia of Istanbul: Its Past and Present] Semavi Eyice et al. (eds.). Istanbul: Kültür Bakanlıgı ve Tarih Vakfı: v. 3, pp 406-407). 12. In contrast, the new residents of the Zeyrek neighborhood further east are from Central Anatolia where the primary building material is stone. For them, the deserted historic buildings of Zeyrek (mostly wooden) are a good source of firewood. 13. In the case of the Fener-Balat Neighborhood Rehabilitation Project begun by the Municipality of Fatih, funds are also contributed by the European Union. 14. While it is true that the requirement for the Municipality of Greater Istanbul to draft this preservation plan was imposed from above, one cannot disregard the pressure from citizens either. On July 12, 1995, the regional office of the High Commission for the Preservation of Cultural and Natural Heritage declared the historic Istanbul peninsula a historic zone in its entirety. With this decision, all building activity in the area was frozen until the drafting of a comprehensive preservation plan (by the Municipality); anything beyond the simplest repairs on all buildings (historic or otherwise) had to be approved by the Commission. Such a requirement placed a huge burden on the already slow-working Commission, and became very unpopular with area residents for they had to wait months to get even the simplest permits. As a result of this, among other factors, the Municipality has increased its efforts to draft a preservation plan. 15. Of course, this is, as yet, a quietly emerging and unpublicized trend, for if it weren’t, the powers that be could not move in while the public is still flocking to the city’s periphery (and buying overpriced suburban homes) and accumulate properties in historic areas economically. The complexity of the real estate market in Istanbul should not be downplayed, of course; there are many other factors at play regarding people’s location choices— huge speculation about ground conditions in various parts of the city as a determinant of expected earthquake damage being among them; but the general trend for “smart money” seems to be a return to the city core. 16. Steward Brand. How Buildings Learn: What Happens After They’re Built. New York: Penguin Books, 1995: 5. 17. Most of the time, these sources are limited to the historic object itself, old photographs and historic maps—in particular, the fire insurance maps drawn by Jacques Pervititch between 1922 and 1937.
See “Balat,” continued on page 25. Platform • 19
T
he historic interior is important to the preservation of social and cultural history. Professionals and practitioners have grown increasingly involved in saving historical fabric within the shells of structures and have begun to contribute to the public’s awareness of the value of historic interiors. Along with increasing recognition of the various types of spaces being designated has come refinement of the guidelines for preserving interior spaces. And yet, there are challenges associated with determing an appropriate preservation treatement for a historic interior.. Primary among these is that collecting documentation for an accurate and sensitive treatment is often difficult due to the fact that building interiors are not as readily photographed
A Tale of Two Interiors By Tara Thompson
of the Republic of Texas, is to preserve the heritage of the French Legation of the Republic Texas and to educate the public about Texas history and culture. The French Legation was built between 1840 and 1842 to serve as the home and foreign embassy for French charge d’affaires to the Republic of Texas Jean Pierre Isidore Alphonse Dubois (or Comte de Saligny as he falsely called himself).1 The French diplomat arrived in Texas in
French Legation, hall, c. 1930. Samuel E. Gideon Collection, Center for American History, The University of Texas at Austin.
ally occupied the home, it would have been only for one month. After Dubois’ official tenancy ended, the house remained unoccupied until it was sold to Dr. Joseph William Robertson on May 16, 1848. Robertson was a native of North Carolina who had emigrated to the Austin area in 1839. He was an important figure in the young Republic, serving as a Texas Ranger and as a member of the State’s Fourth Congress. The widower married Lydia Lee in 1842 and was elected Austin’s fifth mayor the next year. The Robertson family moved into the former home of Dubois in late 1848. One daughter, Lillie Robertson, resided at the Legation until her death in 1930. Sarah Robertson Smith, who was the first child to be born at the home, returned as a widow and lived there until her death in 1940.2 The Robertsons’ longterm presence at the home, involvement in civic affairs and their vast landholdings in eastern Austin prompted the high area on which the French Legation was built and its environs to become known as Robertson Hill. Lillie’s status as an active member of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas prompted the organization to lobby the state of Texas to purchase the property. Their aim was to memorialize the property as the only foreign “embassy” established during the Republic, and as the home of an important pioneer family.
early 1840 and purchased propAt a historic house museum erty just east of Austin proper like the French Legation, one on September 15, 1840. Because of the first tasks for developing of Dubois’ apparent problems a preservation plan is to deterobtaining materials, his fremine the period of significance, quent trips to New Orleans and the date or range of dates the Galveston, and his problematic house will exemplify. This decisocial and political relationships sion then informs the interprewith Austinites, it is uncertain tive and educational programs. how long he resided in the Though Dubois may not have home. In December 1840, the lived in the residence much, if house and property were sold at all, the style in which he built to Father Jean Marie Odin, the the home reveals much about Catholic Church’s Vice-Prefect his preferences and the lifestyle to the Texas Republic. Dubois that he expected to live there. agreed to complete the house The building was the intended on the condition that he could showplace for a government offiFrench Legation retain residency until April 1842. cial. However, the Legation also The French Legation Museum The house was completed in served as a large important famis located just east of downtown March 1841. However, due to ily’s home through the Victorian Austin. The mission of the escalating personality clashes era to the middle of the twentiMuseum, which is owned by with Austin locals and Texas eth century. the State of Texas and under the officials, Dubois left for New custodianship of the Daughters Orleans on April 29 of that year, The design of the French 5. Photograph of Hall, c. 1930. Samuel E. Gideon Collection. Center for is that of a New never to return. So, had he actuLegation P l a t f orm • 20 American History, the University of Texas at Austin. or referenced as are the exteriors during their construction and subsequent history. By exploring the selection of appropriate interior treatmemts for the French Legation Museum, Austin Texas, and the University of Texas’ Alice Littlefield Dormitory, one can get a sense of a few of the issues involved in preserving the historic interior and recognize that, while one solution may not be applied to all spaces, creative yet effective means can be applied to their preservation.
Orleans Creole cottage with a modified American Cottage floor plan.3 This style of architecture, prominent in the Frenchpopulated or Creole areas of New Orleans and related to provincial French architecture would have greatly influenced Dubois. The house contains two rooms arranged enfilade, as traditionally found in the Vieux Carre and Fauborg Marigny, a primarily Creole district of New Orleans, on either side of a central hall, an influence of Georgian architecture. The surviving fabric, both on a structure’s interior and exterior helps to determine the period of significance that it will represent. In the case of the French Legation, most changes to the exterior were cosmetic alterations made during the course of maintaining the house though the Robertsons did add a kitchen/ dining wing to the rear of the residence during their tenancy.4 Similarly, the most extreme changes to the interior took the form of repainting or woodwork and hardware removal. The major problem was coming up with a furnishings plan with “authenticity.”. After he left Austin, Dubois’s belongings were sold off. To fill the void in the home, the Robertsons filled it with personal effects representing over eighty years of their history. Planning to furnish the house as a French embassy, the DRT initially decided to demolish the addition and sought a list of Dubois’ personal effects from the French Foreign office in order to replace his lost possessions. However, they discovered that this type of information does not exist.5 With the exception of a sofa and armchair that had belonged to the diplomat and were donated to the museum, no other pieces were obtained.6 Still, a decision was made to furnish the house as completely as possible as an approximation of the Dubois era but with limited resources as funding was a primary concern. Thus, the Robertson family furnishings, which had been deeded to the museum, were augmented with donations of “Dubois period” pieces from members of the Colonial Dames of America. This resulted in the creation of conflicting periods of significance since the Robertsons did not move into the house until eight years after it might have
been occupied by Dubois. During its forty-six years as a public institution, the French Legation interiors have undergone various minor projects, including repainting in 1987 and 1993 to schemes that might have been present during the days of the Legation. Periodically, the rooms have been rearranged to accommodate new donations and other collection items, often an attempt to create settings that were more “authentic.” Because practically no original Dubois furnishings were available, many original pieces belonging to the Robertsons were kept in the museum. Added to these were a hodge podge of pieces that have more value as memorials to members of the DRT and Colonial Dames or as representations of Texas pioneer furniture. As no exact record or inventory of furniture for Dubois survives, many pieces that came to the museum are only representations of pieces that he might have owned. On the other hand, a plethora of documentation and references for the Robertsons as well as their actual belongings do exist. Biographies, inventories, personal correspondence and wills, tell us a great deal about the lifestyle of the Robertsons. Given all this, an appropriate treatment would accommodate both the story of the days of the Republic highlighting Dubois’s career, and the Robertsons, a family important to the development and memory of the Republic. A compromise such as this is often necessary for interiors that have a complicated history of use. By taking advantage of its plan type and historical room use the museum can set up one half of the house as Monsieur Dubois’s parlor and study (18401846) and the other half as the bedrooms of the Robertson family (1848-1865) with the parents’ room in front and a girls’ room in the rear. In this way, a more focused interpretation is created with a shortened time span, but the visitor can still experience different types of living spaces that focus on themes important to the history of the building. Further, it allows inconsistencies to be presented, an important
reality in preservation. Alice Littlefield Dormitory The Alice Littlefield Dormitory is located at the corners of Dean Keeton (26th Street) and Whitis Avenue of the University of Texas at Austin campus. The dorm for freshmen women is one of the oldest structures on the original 40 acres of the campus and one of a handful of student housing venues offered by the University. Littlefield Dormitory was named for Alice Payne Tillar Littlefield (1846-1935), wife of George Washington Littlefield (1843-1920). Major Littlefield served in the Civil War and then became an important rancher in the state. After moving to Austin in 1883, he became played a major role in the economic growth of the city. He also served as a member of the University of Texas Board of Regents from 1911 to 1920. Like many invested in the growth of the University, Littlefield was concerned with the status of women’s housing on campus. At the time of his service on the Board, the Women’s Building, built in 1903, was the only University-run dorm for female students. Throughout the teens and early twenties, various privately owned dormitories were opened. However, these were only available to women with certain religious affiliations, and the Major considered sorority houses, the other alternative, to be a bad influence.7 Once opened, the Alice Littlefield Dormitory greatly affected policy and practice for women’s housing on the campus. Littlefield Dorm featured a girls’ council, which allowed residents to participate in a system of selfgovernment and to have a role in establishing regulations for the dormitory.8 The opening of Littlefield Dormitory also made it possible for the Dean of Women to introduce a policy that would require all freshmen girls to live in University-run dormitories.9 Greene, LaRoche and Dahl, the new campus architects, were commissioned to design the dormitory and it became one of their first undertakings for the University. The three-story structure is in the Mediterranean Renaissance Revival mode with a red tile roof, limestone base and yellow brick walls supplied by
materials from the Elgin-Butler Brick Company. Extreme care was taken with appointment of the interiors. The furniture committee selected by Dr. William Battle, chair of the Building Committee, was instrumental in the decoration of the dorm. Its members were Professor Mary Gearing (Home Economics Department Chair), Mary Taylor (Home Economics art instructor), Ruby Terrill (wife of the President;s secretary), Selma Streit (Scottish Rite Dormitory Business Manager) and Anna Janzen (University Commons Manager). They presented recommendations for furnishings and all other aspects of the dorm’s decoration from lighting to upholstery to hardware. While the dorm rooms were fitted with the most modern
minutely every piece of furniture.”11 The specifications for the decoration and furnishing of the dorm note: “this building is of Spanish Renaissance architecture, and it is the intention of the building committee to develop the interior in this style.”12 The rooms contained walnut furniture reproduced from Spanish Renaissance sources and bright draperies and upholstery with period motifs. Ceiling beams were stenciled with appropriate polychrome designs. Even the water fountains featured splash backs of carefully chosen tile. The interiors of the Alice Littlefield Dormitory have maintained many aspects of their original character despite changes to the exterior of the building and renovations to counter wear and tear from continuous use.
minor scratches and other damage, these pieces have survived constant use. And from historical documentation, including descriptions of the rooms and photographs, one can see how they were arranged and used. These photographs are particularly useful in that they provide an image of two sets of elements that are the only parts of the historic fabric missing today: the dorm’s original textiles and lighting.. However, it would be possible to reproduce the upholstery, draperies, and light fixtures and reintroduce them into the interiors of the Littlefield dormitory. This would provide the ambience needed to restore historic character to the interior. Because a substantial amount of original fabric remains, the preservation treatment focuses on
Reception room, Littlefield Dormitory, The 1932 Cactus Yearbook of the University of Texas, Texas Student Publications, Inc., Austin, Texas. of living conveniences such as Murphy folding beds, the Mediterranean aura evoked on the exterior of Littlefield was extended to the interior of the first-floor public spaces. After the dorm was opened, a contemporary noted that in other buildings on campus: “we could hardly find a trace of the Spanish style beside that of the floor tiles, resembling mosaic, and that of the hand-railing of the stairways….”10 However, from lighting and hardware to the textiles to the furnishings, the entry foyer, reception hall, social room and library of Littlefield Dormitory were entirely decorated after the Spanish style. The members of the furnishing committee “took these rooms as a social unit, and [adhering] very strictly to the Spanish Renaissance period planned
It still houses freshman girls and contains an impressive amount of original fabric. While the dormitory rooms are the most altered, they continue to feature the most modern conveniences for residents as they did in the 1920s. Most changes that have been made for the sake of progress and maintenance have been sensitive, however. As the least changed spaces, the public rooms provide residents and visitors to the dormitory an opportunity to experience living in the residence hall in much the same way its original occupants would have. All of the original sofas, tables, armchairs and other Spanish “Renaissance” furniture remain in the foyer, reception hall, social room, and library. Amazingly, with the exception of
maintenance rather than restoring to a period of significance. Rather, it needs to focus heavily on housekeeping issues. A conservative and consistent maintenance plan and more strict use plan are in order for Littlefield Dormitory. Housekeeping chemicals and practices should be evaluated to determine if they are detrimental to the fabric of the residence hall. Similarly, while housing regulations prohibit actions that would destroy University property, for historic dorms they might be strengthened and reinforced. The key components to determining a preservation plan for interiors include the treatment of the building’s façade, the amount of surviving original furnishings, the availability of
documentation on the space’s appearance over time, and the degree and type of use the spaces will undergo. While general guidelines can be determined, practitioners must make their decisions on a case-by-case basis. For a house museum like the French Legation, a compromise between two important periods of significance is the best policy. While the implementation of a new interpretative plan and (limited) purchase of appropriate reproduction furnishings will be necessary to adequately tell the tales of Dubois and the Robertsons, this treatment supports more of the historical and cultural context central to why the structure has been preserved. In a case like the Alice Littlefield Dormitory, only minor replacements are required to bring back the original appearance of the interiors. Instead, a preservation plan for this space should focus on long-term maintenance issues so that the furnishings and historic character will continue to last for generations of University students to come. Notes 1. See Nancy Barker, The French Legation in Texas (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1971) for biographical information on Dubois and the story behind his name change. 2. Lois Douglas, “Dr. James William Robertson,” Austin History Center and Kenneth Hafertepe, History of the French Legation in Texas (Austin: Texas State Historical Association, 1989), 24-25. 3. Lloyd Vogt, New Orleans Houses: A House-Watcher’s Guide (Gretna: Pelican Publishers, 1985), 16, 20. 4. In order to accommodate their large family and create a dining room and attached kitchen (the original Legation kitchen was located several yards to the rear of the house), the Robertsons added a wing circa 1880. This was later removed by the DRT. 5. Eula Lee Carson to Honorable Pierre Pelen, 16 November 1954, JMS, Container III, French Legation Archives. 6. Dubois’s original settees are now in possession of the State of Texas at the Governor’s Mansion. 7. Brenda S. Vaughan, Alice Littlefield Dormitory, National Register nomination. 8. Margaret Berry, Brick by Golden Brick: a History of Campus Buildings at the University of Texas at Austin (Austin: LBCo., 1993), 307. 9. “Freshmen dirge ‘Nobody Cares,’ No Longer Sung,” The Daily Texan, 23 October 1927. 10. Gustavo W. Fernández, “Campus Visitors See Many Styles in Architecture: Spanish Influence Is Strong In Newest Buildings,” The Daily Texan, 23 October 1927. 11. “Furniture for Dormitory is Very Modern,” The Daily Texan, 23 October 1927. Platform • 21
Keynote Speaker Robert D. Yaro.
Robert D. Yaro, President of Regional Plan Association (RPA) was the keynote speaker for the School’s fall symposium, “The Future of Texas City-Regions” held on September 19, 2003. Over 200 city officials, industry professionals, and civic leaders gathered to explore various strategies, urban planning, and design tools that city-regions can employ to accommodate unprecedented growth and change. Proceeds from the event supported the School’s Center for Sustainable Development and Partnership in Quality Growth programs. Drawing from his experiences as chair of the “The Civic Alliance to Rebuild Downtown New York,” a broad-based coalition of civic groups formed to guide redevelopment in Lower Manhat tan in the aftermath of September 11, Yaro outlined the characteristics of an effective city-region.
recent Texas housing growth has come from metropolitan areas (D/FW, Houston, San Antonio & Austin), illustrating the rapid regional growth. Similarly, Voights indicated that the Austin regional counties will double by 2025, and that transportation issues will affect each region as whole; not just specific cities alone.
Yaro explained that “80 percent of Americans live in areas of more than one million people” hence leaders must consider that regional problems require regional solutions. Myers and Voights supported his statement with further statistical evidence.
He noted six success factors for a global economy: Access Amenity Research Social Diversity & Cohesion Buzz: Fun & Fashion Leadership
Demographics study by Dowell Myers (Los Angeles, University of Southern California) and transportation statistics by Betty Voights (Austin, Capital Area Planning Council, Envision Central Texas) illuminated the importance of planning for an entire region rather than individual cities adapting in a vacuum. Myers stated that 69 percent of
The framework created by Yaro in his opening statements paved the way for further analysis by two panels consisting of leaders from across Texas. These speakers then addressed issues specific to their city-region.
P l a t f orm • 22
Yaro asks, “Why Regionalism?” The answer was clearly stated. “Metropolitan regions are the productive units of the global economy,” accounting for 80 percent of the population and productivity. “Regions have outgrown the infrastructure developed in the last half of the twenthieth century” and as a result, they will strip themselves of all of their resources if they do not work collectively to make improvements for the future.
The Challenges Panel: Neal Kocurek (Austin, St. David’s Health Care System, Envision Central Texas) moder-
ated the “Challenges in Texas City-Regions Today” with panelists Fernando Costa (Fort Worth, City of Ft. Worth, North Central Texas Council of Governments), Jana McCann (Austin, City of Austin), Cecilio Ortiz-García (El Paso, Center for Environmental Resource Management, University of Texas at El Paso ), Leilah Powell (San Antonio, City of San Antonio), James Pratt (Dallas, Architecture/Urban Design, Inc), and Bruce Webb (Houston, Gerald D. Hines College of Architecture, University of Houston). Kocurek offered a series of questions including: “What do you believe are the two most
and prospective newcomers.” Pratt answered the question: How are you dealing with gentrification? “In a very few cases, the City of Dallas is trying to restrict gentrification reluctantly forced by imposed federal mandates seeking to eliminate ethnic ghettos—by dispersing existing low-income units; in regulations for use of public funds where developers provide a small percentage of affordable housing units; through public bond funds used to stimulate new development, and in a few neighborhoods through strategy plans that sprinkle some 20 percent of new affordable units among new market units.”
health care linked to public welfare in your city-region?,” Powell responded that “on a regional level, San Antonio’s emergency rooms handle trauma cases from a 22-county catchment area of 27,000 square miles. (Trauma injuries are the leading cause of death for all age groups under 44 years old, and 76 percent of trauma involves motor vehicles--another planning topic!). Because the County health system picks up the tab for indigent care, Bexar County ends up providing unreimbursed care to residents of other counties. Local property taxes are covering the regional health care.“ Addressing major issues exclusively from a regional perspective does
“Challenges” Panel: Bruce Webb, James Pratt, Leilah Powell, Cecilio Ortiz-García, Jana McCann, Fernando Costa, and Neal Kocurek. pressing issues or greatest challenges currently facing your city-region?” Costa answered: “Public officials and civic leaders in North Central Texas tend to view mobility and air quality as the most pressing issues currently facing our region. Traffic congestion and air pollution have reached such levels that they have begun to threaten the sustainability of our region’s economic growth and quality of life.” Webb noted, “An article in the June 21, 2001, issue of the Economist called Houston ‘ugly.’ With some exceptionally beautiful enclaves to the contrary, this is largely true. This condition which is characteristic of much of Houston’s cityscape erodes public spirit, detracts from the quality of life and exercises a negative influence on outsiders
McCann expounded: Overall, the City of Austin is doing nothing to “stop” or mitigate the effects of gentrification on a city-wide basis. Few tools exist to do effect this, citywide. However, the City of Austin recently focused on this question, in regards to whether historic zoning or the preservation of historically-zoned properties in East Austin was having the effect of gentrifying - or increasing property values and hence taxes – in this lower income area. The conclusion is that gentrification had no direct relationship to historic zoning, and instead, identified the creation of local historic districts as a needed means to help neighborhoods maintain both their architectural and social character. When asked, “In what ways is
have its downside. Ann Hamilton, a speaker on the second panel, cleverly and colorfully summarized this perspective: “Its like putting pantyhose on a rooster.” Ms. Hamilton and her colleagues on the second panel addressed regional planning and the importance of working together as a region to manage and preserve our perishing natural resources. The Planning & Solutions Panel: Ross Milloy (San Antonio/ Austin, The Greater-Austin San Antonio Corridor Council) moderated “Best Practices-Now and in the Future-Planning and Design Solutions” panel with panelists: Robert Decherd (Dallas, Belo Corp, The Dallas See “City-Regions,” continued on page 24
Photograph by Charlotte Pickett.
The Future of Texas City-Regions Symposium Raises $25,000 for Outreach
Photograph by Charlotte Pickett.
Outreach & Development Updates
Alumni Activities
The Materials Lab bustled with activity during the fall semester. It served more than 200 students and checked out approximately 500 material samples and catalogs. The Lab hosted a number of vendor presentations, a student membership drive for the International Interior Design Association, and co-hosted with the architecture student chapter APSC a reception for visiting lecturer Larry Scarpa. It also held a lunch for Chicas Verdes, a group of women professionals working in the area of sustainability who mostly represented Austin Energy, LCR and non-profit environmental groups. Graduate students Anu Parmaranuradha and Lisa Loftus spoke to the members about recent initiatives at the School of Architecture’s Center for Sustainable Design. The Materials Lab has proved to be a good meeting space for seminar classes and groups also. The interior design course, Interior Materials, Assemblies
and Systems, taught by Lecturer Wendy Dunnam Tita was held in the Lab’s seminar space. Dunnam Tita appreciated having materials from the collection readily accessible to use as teaching tools for her class. And Associate Professor Billie Faircloth’s Construction I class used the Lab’s collection of concrete, stone, and metals for the lab portion of her course. Last May, the Materials Lab launched a website (http://wnt. cc.utexas.edu/~matlab) to help students and the public search for building and design materials. Searching is done by material type, which then provides links directly to building manufacturer and vendor’s websites. All of the materials that are represented in the website are also in the Lab’s collection, so students can search the Lab’s collection virtually from home.
In his 1944 book, The Architectonic City of the Americas, Professor Leipziger-Pearce laid out a proposal for a research program. He wrote that “little attention has been paid to subjects like the physiology, psychology, biology, human and social geography, ecology, and regionalism” in environmental and city planning or housing design. Hugo Leipziger-Pearce’s vision for research remains timely. New initiatives in the School, such as the Center for Sustainable Development and the Partnership for Quality Growth and Preservation, reflect that vision. The Funds distributed from the endowment will be used to support graduate students in Community and Regional Planning, specifically physical planning.
Photograph by Stephanie Palmer.
2003 Texas Society of Architects Annual Convention Alumni Reception John Poss [BSAS ‘75], Melinda Koester Poss [M.Arch. ‘76], and Becky Schenker [M.Arch. ‘85] at the home of Martha Hyder in Fort Worth.
Hugo Leipziger-Pearce, 1965; photograph courtesy of the Alexander Architectural Archive, Hugo Leipziger-Pearce Collection.
Henry M. Rockwell Chair in Architecture In 1988, Mr. Joe Green, Jr., coexecutor of the Estate of Henry M. Rockwell designated that the Henry M. Rockwell Chair in Architecture be established in memory of Helen M. Sterling. The Dean of the School of Architecture will hold this Chair.
“Books & Buildings”: Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center
Above: Views of the Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center renovation by Lake/Flato Architects. Photographs courtesy of Lake/Flato.
On November 6, the School held what was perhaps our most successful “Books & Buildings” event. Co-hosted with UT-Austin President Larry Faulkner and Vice President for for Employee and Campus Services Pat Clubb, the event recognized the renovation of the Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center (HRC) by Lake/Flato Architects. Some 150 visitors toured the building, and HRC Director Dr. Tom Staley applauded Lake/Flato’s work and explained the design process. A panel comprised of MIT Professor Michael Dennis, Associate Professor Larry Doll,
Photograph by Charlotte Pickett.
University Cooperative Society Materials Resource Lab Update
Hugo Leipziger-Pearce Endowed Graduate Fellowship in Planning Mrs. Martha Leipziger-Pearce made a generous donation to the School in establishing the Hugo Leipziger-Pearce Endowed Graduate Fellowship in Planning in honor of her husband, Hugo Leipziger-Pearce, who founded the School’s Community and Regional Planning Program in 1950. Professor Leipziger-Pearce joined the faculty in 1939.
and Associate Dean Kevin Alter, as well as architect David Lake, discussed the project. (It was recently announced that Lake/ Flato Architects was named American Institute of Architects 2004 Firm of the Year.) The next “Books & Buildings” symposium will take place on March 4 and will feature former Adjunct Professor Paul Shepheard’s recent book, Artificial Love: A Story of Machines and Architecture. Details will be announced on the School’s website.
Community and Regional Planning Alumni Reception Andrew Grigsby [MSCRP ‘99], Hillary Calavitta [MSCRP ‘99], and Associate Professor Kent Butler.
Photograph by Stephanie Palmer.
Photograph by Tara Carlisle.
Endowments and Scholarships
Class of 1953 Reunion Reunion attendees Overton Shelmire, Hisham Munir, Howard Parker, Professor Emeritus Jon Bowman, and Bill Upcoming Events: March 6: All-Class Reunion June 11: Chicago Alumni Reception at the AIA National Convention We encourage all alumni to contact alumni coordinator Stephanie Palmer at stephanie. palmer@mail.utexas.edu or 512471-0617 for information on upcoming events, to share your personal and professional news, or to update your contact information. Platform • 23
“City-Regions,” continued from page 22.
Morning News), Ann Hamilton (Houston, The Houston Endowment, Texas Environ mental Grantmakers Group), Robin Rather (Austin, Hill Country Conservancy, Liveable City), Karen Walz (Dallas, Strategic Community Solutions, The Dallas Plan) and James White (Lubbock, Texas Tech University). Milloy began by asking, “Can you provide a positive & a negative example of green space planning in your region?” Powell noted “San Antonio voters approved Proposition 3 to spend sales tax dollars on park and open space acquisition over the Edwards Aquifer and along creeks. A great example of regional planning to address multiple issues (water quality, open space, recreation, flood control, and growth management). A negative example is the separate park systems maintained by the city and county (all county parks are within city limits), with little
or no coordination in planning, expansion.” Hamilton stated that, “Positive: Buffalo Bayou Master Plan future plan for linear parks along with mixed use development along Buffalo Bayou, Houston’s major waterway running through downtown. Creates green space, trails, parks, retail shops, living space in an urban setting. Planning undertaken over a two-year period with Thompson Group consultants and others. Sponsored by the Buffalo Bayou Partnership and funded by the city and county with many opportunities for citizen participation. Negative: Houston has done many green space plans. Until recently, the plans sat on a shelf. Because of considerable negative media attention aimed at Houston’s air quality, traffic gridlock, lack of zoning, highway blight (billboards) and urban sprawl, business leaders and citizens have become more involved in quality of life issues. Efforts are underway to change Houston’s
negative image through regional and city planning. Groups include the Quality of Life Coalition under the Greater Houston Partnership, Blueprint Houston, and the Center for Houston’s Future. One of the byproducts of all this planning is a Compendium of Plans, a component of the Blue Print Houston effort. The compendium is a review and analysis of 35 plans addressing the urban condition and growth of the City of Houston from 1990 to 2002.” White responded to the question: What are your thoughts about ‘how a strong sense of regionalism could improve crisis response (such as flood, fire, terrorist attack, blackout, etc.)? “The development of the playa lakes, natural drainage systems for the region have helped to control flood conditions. The city of Lubbock’s development of an underground drainage system to control flooding in low-lying areas of the city. The presence of coal generating electric power com-
panies can assist at a low cost of perhaps preventing blackouts. The climatic conditions of the region to provide wind power generation in the future.” Decherd answered Milloy’s next question, how might regionalism improve opportunity for the public arts? “Regionalism already is improving opportunities for the public arts, as evidenced in the DART stations built across North Texas, the Central Expressway project, and the recent expansion and/or plans within the region, such as Dallas County’s ambitious proposal for a new public plaza on the east side of its major buildings in Downtown Dallas.” This spirited and thoughtful discussion left us with two difficult questions to ponder, and answer and resolve: How can we transform the disconnect of a thousand fragmented organizations, entities and jurisdictions into a cohesive, discerning and functional cityregion? And how quickly will we lose our precious resources and overall quality of life if we
Left: Susan Benz and Diana Keller enjoying “Dallas: Inside/Out.” Right: “Constructed head No. 2,” by Naum Gabo, Nasher Sculpture Center.
Director’s Circle Gabriel Barbier-Mueller Mark A. Calhoun Winstead Sechrest & Minick Joan and Steve Clark Mr. and Mrs. H. Mortimer Favrot Jr. Jay and Ann Hailey Willard Hanzlik Robert G. Ikel Mr. and Mrs. William B. Mitchell Judy Pesek Gensler Ms. Janis Porter Dale and Susan Rabe Deedie and Rusty Rose David and Ann Sutherland Jerry Sutton and Mary McCleary Courtney Walker Courtney and Company David Watkins Watkins Hamilton Ross Architects Inc. Supporting Members P l a t f orm • 24
Ms. Janice Abrams Mr. and Mrs. Frank M. Aldridge, III Mr. Alexander Caragonne Mr. Tommy Cowan Mr. and Mrs. Larry Good Mr. Kenneth Hughes Mrs. Gay Ratliff Mr. and Mrs. Nelson H. Spencer Mrs. Emily Summers Organizations Mr. Randy Ackerman Ackerman & Savage LLP Mr. Dan Alexander 3D/International, Inc. Ms. Debbie Baxter, ASID, IIDA Baxter Design Group Mr. and Mrs. Jim Beckman Beckman Construction Company Mr. Myron Blalock, III Senterra Corporation Mr. Russ Butler Elgin Butler Brick Co. Canadian Centre for
Architecture Mr. Dick Clark, AIA Dick Clark Architecture Mr. Robert H. Clark Robert Clark & Associates, Inc. Ms. Susie Clark Maharam Mr. Robert Coffee Robert R. Coffee Architect & Associates Mr. Charles W. Croslin Croslin & Associates, Inc. Ms. Mercedes de la Garza Mercedes de La Garza Architect Studio Mr. Rick Hawkins id2 Mr. and Mrs. Chip Henderson Mr. Gilbert Mathews Lucifer Lighting Company Mr. Mike McCall McCall Design Group Ms. Jana McCann Mr. Clayton Morgan Mr. Lionel Morrison, FAIA Morrison Seifert Murphy Charles Naeve and Pat Brockie
“The Future of Texas CityRegions” Symposium was made possible by: Locke Liddell & Sapp, LLP Wells Fargo Bank Deedie & Rusty Rose Texas Gas Service Austin-San Antonio Corridor Council Bosse and Turner Associates Capital Metro Dallas Morning News Downtown Austin Alliance Jerry S. Sutton Land Design Studio Land Strategies, Inc. Mary Lamar Gallagher Killam and Sons Mr. & Mrs. Robert M. Bass Page Southerland Page ROMA Design Group St. David’s Health Care System Stratus Properties Texas Chapter American Planning Association Urban Design Group
Photographs by Stephanie Palmer.
Friends of Architecture Membership
do not begin searching for the answer to question number one.
Architectural Engineers Collaborative Mr. Patrick Ousey FAB Architecture Ms. Sarah Reilly November Design Group Ms. Fern Santini Abode Ms. Lloyd Scott Scott + Cooner Ms. Cyndy Severson Severson Studios Mr. David Shiflet Shiflet Group Architects Mr. Robert F. Smith Robert F. Smith Inc. Ms. Mary Stanley Mr. Rodney D. Susholtz The University of Auckland Individual Members
Mr. D. Blake Alexander Mr. Richard Archer, AIA Mr. Rod Arend Ms. Meredith Aughtry Mr. David B. Barrow, AIA Mr. John Beach Mr. Marvin E. Beck, AIA Emeritus Mr. Ken Bentley Ms. Susan Benz, AIA Mr. Edward Blaine Ms. Molly Block Mr. Bill Booziotis, FAIA Mrs. Bibiana Bright Dykema, AIA Ms. Yvonne Bryant Ms. Virginia Carmichael Mr. Henry R. Carranco Mr. Chris Carson Ms. Phyllis Cartwright Ms. Juanita Caskey Mrs. Diane Cheatham Ms. Ann Clark Mr. Sherman Clarke Ms. Judith S. Cohen Mr. Kent Collins Ms. Rebecca Connally, Assoc. AIA Mr. Larry Connolly, AIA
Platform Contributors Jeffrey Chusid is director of the Historic Preservation Program in the School of Architecture, and an architect and consultant on projects in both Texas and California, as well as several foreign countries. He is currently working on a book on Frank Lloyd Wright’s Freeman House in Los Angeles, forthcoming in 2004. Kara Dotter is in the final year of the M.S. Historic Preservation Program and plans on returning to the Masters program in Geology at UT upon graduation from the School of Architecture. She is working on her professional report on an early concrete jail in west Texas. Her article describes some of the work done while an intern last summer with the National Center for Preservation Technology and Training.
“Balat,” continued from page 21.
2001 and now works at the Texas Historical Commission, coordinating historic resource surveys, and conducting outreach to local preservation groups. His article is derived from the first part of his thesis, which studied the conservation of the cultural landscape of East Palo Alto, California.
and Planning Consultants as an architectural historian. This article is excerpted from a portion of the Historic Structure Report he prepared for the Charles Moore Center for the Study of Place in Austin. His research there started when he was the preservation intern at the Center.
Laura Knott is a landscape architect, and a student in the M.S. Historic Preservation Program. She is also a development services process coordinator for the City of Austin, advising the public on zoning issues. The article is based on a study of the Browning Ranch done by the Cultural Landscape Class in 2003, and on continuing study of stone fences for her thesis.
Ely Merhab-Emmanueli is completing her Master of Architecture degree this semester, and plans on enrolling in the M.S. HP program at UT in the fall. Her article summarizes an independent design project she undertook in 2003. She is completing her Master Design Study, which focuses on preservation planning and infill development for the plaza in Rio Pedras, San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Peter Ketter graduated from the Preservation Program at UT in
Kurt Korfmacher is a 2002 graduate of the M.S. HP program, and now works for Sandra Hicks and Company Environmental, Archaeological
Ms. Jeannette S. Cook Mr. James Coote Mr. and Mrs. Juan Creixell Mr. H. Hobson Crow, III Mr. Richard Davis Ms. Mandy Dealey Ms. Claire Dewar Ms. Danae Durio Diana Mr. and Mrs. David L. Dowler Ms. Suzi Dunn Mr. Don Eckols Ms. Caroline Favrot Mr. Ted Flato Ms. Leslie Fossler Mr. Robert W. Garrett Mr. Rick Geyer Mr. David Gill, AIA, MRAIC Mr. Enrique S. Gonzalez Mr. Mark Gonzalez, AIA Ms. Connie Goodrich Mr. Stan Graham Ms. Carolyn Grant Mr. Mike Gray Mr. Michael Guarino Mr. W. Mark Gunderson, AIA Mr. Chuck Hagemeier Mr. and Mrs. EG Hamilton Mr. Darwin Harrison Mr. David Harrison Mr. Harold Hebson Mr. Philip Hendren Ms. Jane U. Henry Mr. Trey Herschap Ms. Catherine Hevrdejs Mr. J. Brantley Hightower
Mr. Jeffrey Hill Mr. Tom Hinson Mr. Nic Holland Mr. Bradfield Horton Mr. John Hustace Mrs. Martha Hyder Ms. Grace Jones Mr. Grant R. Jones, FASLA Mr. Kevin Keim Ms. Diana Keller Mr. S. Craig Kennedy, AIA Ms. Susanne D. King Mrs. Melinda Koester Poss, AIA Ms. Dorothy Kosinski Dr. Nancy Kwallek Ms. Sita Lakshminarayan Mr. Wes Lane Mr. Charles Lawrence, FAIA Mr. and Mrs. Kevin Leahy Mr. Dan Leary Mrs. Martha Leipziger-Pearce Mr. Joseph Loiacono Mr. Graham B. Luhn, FAIA Mrs. Alice A. Lynch Mr. Peter Flagg Maxson Mr. Dennis McCarthy Mr. Don B. McDonald Ms. Eleanor H. McKinney Ms. Heather McKinney Mr. Paul C. N. Mellblom, AIA Mr. Max Menefee Mr. and Mrs. Robert L. Miller Ms. Ann Maddox Moore Mr. Mark F. Moore Mr. and Mrs. Bob Morris
J. James Spanelli graduated from the Post-Professional Master of Architecture program in the School of Architecture in
Ms. Caroline Mounger Ms. Nan Nelson Mr. John T. Newman, II, AIA Dr. Nona Niland Mr. Lynn L. Northrup, Jr. Mr. James M. Parkey Mr. Chris Pellegrino Mr. Josh Peterson Mr. Peter L. Pfeiffer, AIA Ms. Helen Pointer Ms. Jane Cheever Powell Mr. Howard Rachofsky Ms. Ellen Ray Ms. Gary Robinson Mr. Ron Roeder Mr. Alan Sadeghpour Ms. Elizabeth Salaiz Ms. Nancy Wilson Scanlan Mr. Dan Shipley Mr. Louis H. Skidmore, Jr., AIA Ms. Sandra Bearden Smith Mr. W. Gary Smith Mrs. Sandra E. Snyder Mr. Lawrence W. Speck, FAIA Ms. Kathryn Stephens Mr. James Susman, AIA Ms. Susanna Sustare Mr. Hill Swift Mr. John Greene Taylor Mr. John Teinert Mr. B. Carroll Tharp Ms. Helen Thompson Ms. Cynthia Toles
2003, and now works as a restoration architect with ArchiTexas in Austin on projects throughout the state. The article here summarizes his Master Design Thesis for the town of San Saba, Texas. Tara Ann Thompson is a Ph.D. student in the Historic Preservation Program in Architecture, with a special focus on historic interiors. She graduated from UT with an M.S. in Historic Preservation in 2003. Her article discusses research on two of the building interiors she has studied over the past several years. Mehmet Bengü Uluengin is a doctoral student in Community and Regional Planning, with an emphasis in Historic Preservation. The article here discusses issues that are at the heart of his dissertation on Preservation Policy and Planning in Istanbul, scheduled for completion in 2004. He has received numerous awards for his
Ms. Rose T. Trevino Ms. Meggan Weeks Mr. Terrance R. Wegner Mr. Anthony J. Weisman Ms. Judy Whalen Mr. and Mrs. Ted Whatley Mr. Leon Whitney Mr. Jerry L. Wright Mr. Christopher Yurkanan
18. Jak Deleon. Ancient Districts on the Golden Horn (Balat-Hasköy-FenerAyvansaray). Istanbul: Gözlem Gazetecilik Basın ve Yayın, no date: 24. 19. Cited in Ates, Sevim. Istanbul’daki Yerlesmelerde Mimari Kurgu Farklılıgı ve Yahudi Yerlesmelerinin Analizi. Unpublished doctoral dissertation submitted to the Department of Architecture of the Mimar Sinan University, 2000: 162. 20.While shari’a court records are very precise about providing the location of a property, this is almost always done in relation to other properties (formal addresses did not exist in Istanbul until late in the nineteenth century). In order to solve the “puzzle” of how properties are located, therefore, one needs to have at least one known point, and Bostancıbası Registers often provide that starting point. 21. The account of Perendeoglu is to be found on page 8 of Varol’s book. The quotations in this paragraph come from the following article: Marie-Christine Bornes-Varol, “The Balat Quarter and Its Image: A Study of a Jewish Neighborhood in Istanbul,” (transl. by Eric Fassin and Avigdor Levy) in The Jews of the Ottoman Empire (ed. Avigdor Levy). Princeton, New Jersey: The Darwin Press Inc., 1994: 640-41. 22.As well as being a good sign that the various communities in Balat—con-
Mr. Matthew Abrahamson Ms. Claire Eddleman Ms. Maria Kilgore Ms. Michelle Modisett Ms. Kate Musselman Ms. Amy Robins Dempsey
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The University of Texas at Austin Platform • Winter 2003-04
UT-AUSTIN SCHOOL OF ARCHITECTURE SPRING 2004 EVENTS Exhibitions 01.20-02.04 TRAVEL STORIES: Study in Italy Program and Europe Program 02.09-03.03 A Year of WORK: An Exhibition of Recent Projects by WORK AC, New York 03.08-03.31 Dance Halls in Central Texas: Pre-World War II Wooden Structures 04.05-04.28 2X2: An Exhibition of Recent Work by alterstudio + DanzeBlood All exhibitions in Mebane Gallery, Goldsmith Hall, 22nd & Guadalupe.
Special Events 01.30-31 The Landscape Futures Initiative: Connectivity and Landscape Change Symposium 02.19-20 Stone Conservation Symposium & Preservation Workshops, with PT and APT 02.20-21 Ornament: A Continuing Education MiniConference 03.04 Books + Buildings Symposium: Artificial Love: A Story of Machines and Architecture by Paul Shepheard 03.26-27 Technologies of Place Symposium: Gilles Perraudin,
Lake/Flato and Gary Cunningham 04.16-17 Lucifer Lighting Symposium: James Benya, Janet Mayer, Randall Whitehead, Charles Stone Lectures 01.28 Grant Jones, Jones & Jones, Architects and Landscape Architects, Seattle 02.04 Michael Maltzan, Michael Maltzan Architecture, Los Angeles 02.09 Dan Wood, Jens Holm + Amale Andraos, WORK Architecture Company, New York 02.18 Barbara Hoidn, Hoidn Wang Partners, Berlin 03.01 Waro Kishi, Waro Kishi + K. Associates, Kyoto 03.08 Jan Kleihues, Kleihues & Kleihues, Berlin 03.10 Charlotte Frank + Axel Schultes, Schultes Architekten, Berlin 03.24 Brigitte Shim, ShimSutcliffe Architects, Toronto 03.25 Johan Mårtelius, Author, Stockholm 03.26 Gilles Perraudin, Gilles
The University of Texas at Austin School of Architecture 1 University Station B7500 Austin, Tx 78712-0222
Perraudin Architecte, Vauvert, France 04.12 Richard Gluckman, Gluckman Mayner Architects, New York 04.19 Louise Harpman and Scott Sprecht, SprechtHarpman, New York 04.21 James Carpenter, James Carpenter Design Associates, Wilson Art Lecturer All lectures are at 5pm in Goldsmith 3.120 at The University of Texas at Austin, 22nd & Guadalupe. Events subject to change. For information and updates, please visit our website www.
Non-Profit Org. U.S. Postage Paid Austin, Texas Permit No. 391