Sunrise Makes Way for Massive Mixed-Use Metropica– Curbed, 6/1/15
“Sunrise’s Metropica is one of the new goliaths of development projects coming to South Florida. Architect Chad Oppenheim, landscape architecture firm EDSA, interior design firm Yoo Studio, and architectural design firm CI Design are collaborating to build a city-within-a-suburb.”
Chicago’s New 606 Trail a Boon for Open Space, Neighborhoods It Links– The Chicago Tribune, 6/2/15
“The 606, which takes its name from Chicago’s ZIP code prefix and whose centerpiece is a 2.7-mile recreational and cultural trail, is a bold and potentially brilliant reinvention of a dormant and derelict elevated freight line that blighted Northwest Side neighborhoods such as Bucktown and Logan Square.”
Frick Museum Abandons Contested Renovation Plan– The New York Times, 6/3/15
“Facing a groundswell of opposition to a proposed renovation that would have eliminated a gated garden to make way for a six-story addition, the museum — long admired for its intimate scale — has decided to abandon those plans and start over from scratch.”
Parks for All?– The Architect’s Newspaper, 6/8/15
“Chicago’s new linear park and bike corridor, The 606, opens in June. It is hotly anticipated for its potential to transform several West Side neighborhoods, but community groups have questioned who benefits from that transformation.”
Urban, Yet Green – The Bangkok Post, 6/8/15 “As of last month people are able to go to Siam Square for something new: growing rice and vegetables on the rooftop of shopping complex Siam Square One.”
Grand Rapids Debuts Serene Japanese Garden Featuring Sculpture, Tea– The Japan Times, 6/12/15
“Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park in Grand Rapids is opening its $22 million Japanese garden after years of construction, offering a place for tranquility and contemplation that integrates contemporary sculpture with trees and plants.”
As our climate becomes more unpredictable, finding better ways to manage stormwater is crucial to reducing floods. However, traditional stormwater management strategies can be unforgettable at best and unsightly at worst. In the new book, Artful Rainwater Design: Creative Ways to Manage Stormwater, Pennsylvania State University professors Stuart Echols, ASLA, and Eliza Pennypacker, ASLA, prove that this doesn’t always have to be the case — it’s possible to effectively manage runoff without sacrificing aesthetics.
In this well-organized how-to guide for designers, Echols and Pennypacker highlight the benefits of Artful Rainwater Design (ARD), a term coined by Echols in 2005 to describe rainwater collection systems that are not only functional, but also attractive and engaging. These systems are usually designed to handle small rain events and the initial — and dirtiest — events, rather than major flooding from large storms. Given these smaller rain events of up to 1-½ inches typically account for 60-90 percent of all precipitation, the authors advocate ARD as “the new normal of runoff management.”
Beginning with a history of traditional approaches, then transitioning to the landscape amenity and utility values provided by ARDs, and, finally, concluding with 20 case studies, the book makes a convincing argument for ARDs as a stormwater management strategy. Echols’ and Pennypacker’s most compelling assertion is that creative, attention-grabbing stormwater management techniques do more than simply add aesthetic value to a landscape — they also serve as a reminder that rainwater is a valuable resource that feeds plant life and replenishes terrestrial water sources. In this way, ARDs can be used to “advance the agenda of environmentally-responsible design by making systems not only visible and legible, but beautiful.”
While some sections of the book may appear redundant with existing stormwater management guides, the book is an inspiring catalog of successful ARDs. Echols and Pennypacker first consider existing ARD projects for their general landscape amenities — a difference from existing resources that typically consider stormwater strictly as a problem in need of solving. The authors list the amenities of many public ARDs, such as education, recreation, safety, public relations, and aesthetic richness, and they offer several examples.
Among the more innovative projects highlighted in this section is the new Queens Botanical Garden Visitor Center in Flushing, New York, by Atelier Dreiseitl with Conservation Design Forum and BKSK Architects, which provides opportunities for people “to splash, float objects, or just watch the water.”
But are these amenity-providing ARDs as effective at managing stormwater as traditional methods? When considered as a starting point for site design, Echols and Pennypacker argue that ARDs can actually accomplish much more than existing strategies. They can reduce pollutant loads in rainwater, restore or create habitat, and capture water for reuse, among other benefits.
Standout projects in this section include the Beckoning Cistern by artist Buster Simpson. This project refers to Michelangelo’s painting of God’s life-giving touch as it Adam’s outstretched finger — but in this case, roof runoff is the life source and is collected into a container.
Most landscape architects will likely agree with Echols and Pennypacker’s arguments in favor of ARDs. As Warren Byrd, FASLA, of Nelson Byrd Woltz, asks in the first chapter: “Why wouldn’t we use ARDs?” But the question remains: Why aren’t ARD systems more widely implemented?
Many designers see ARDs as too expensive, too difficult to get through the approval process, or, more often than not, not appropriate for their geographical area. While about half of the designs featured in the book are located in Seattle, Washington, and Portland, Oregon, the authors urge readers not to consider these examples as “’out there’ and irrelevant to their own contexts” — these cities were simply ahead of the curve. As Steve Law from the Portland Tribune writes, “across the nation more than 700 cities have combined sewer overflow problems, largely communities that developed a century or more ago, like much of Portland.”
Echols and Pennypacker also assuage fears over the time and energy that can go into maintaining ARDs, offering several solutions, such as using edging to differentiate between landscapes that demand weekly maintenance (mowed lawn) from those that demand monthly maintenance (rain gardens). This strategy was successfully employed at the Oregon Convention Center, one of the featured case studies, which was designed by landscape architecture firm Mayer/Reed.
Echols and Pennypacker are honest about the many challenges ARDs pose at this point in the history of sustainable design. However, at a time when doing nothing to manage rainwater is simply not an option, their book instills hope that the days of drab detention ponds may soon be coming to an end, ushering in a new era of rain-celebrating landscapes.
SITES was developed through a collaborative, interdisciplinary effort of the American Society of Landscape Architects (ASLA), The Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center at The University of Texas at Austin, and the United States Botanic Garden. The rating system can be applied to development projects located on sites with or without buildings – ranging from national parks to corporate campuses, streetscapes and homes, and much more.
“Landscapes knit together the fabric of our communities,” said Rick Fedrizzi, CEO, GBCI. “And sustainable landscapes are critical in their ability to reduce water demand, filter and reduce storm water runoff, provide wildlife habitat, reduce energy consumption, improve air quality, improve human health, and increase outdoor recreation opportunities. SITES is an important addition to our toolkit, and GBCI appreciates this opportunity to support this additional contribution to healthy, thriving communities and neighborhoods.”
“It is exciting to see years of work developing and field testing SITES culminate with the availability of this rating system,” said Fritz Steiner, FASLA, dean of the School of Architecture at The University of Texas at Austin. “The depth and breadth of approaches that were implemented by pilot projects demonstrates how valuable SITES can become for revolutionizing our relationships with built landscapes.”
“Landscape architects and members of all the related design and planning fields know that the issues addressed in SITES are increasingly important to creating livable and resilient communities,” said Nancy C. Somerville, executive vice president and CEO of the American Society of Landscape Architects (ASLA). “GBCI will take SITES to the next level and ensure its future growth and influence, and ASLA is pleased to provide continued education and communications support.”
“SITES is a powerful tool for enhancing built landscapes precisely because it puts ecosystem services, the benefits humans derive from functional ecosystems, front and center,” said Ari Novy, executive director of the United States Botanic Garden. “This approach will help maximize our collective ability to create sustainable and healthy communities. Making SITES available through GBCI will be a great boon for the quality and resilience of our built landscapes.”
The SITES rating system uses progressive industry standards for landscape design and incorporates additional recommendations from technical experts in the fields of soil science, botany and horticulture, hydrology, materials, and human health and well-being. Some of the credits for sustainable landscape performance have been developed in alignment with similar credits in the U.S. Green Building Council’s LEED (Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design) rating system, the world’s most widely used green building program.
SITES, originally modeled after LEED, includes best practices in landscape architecture, ecological restoration and related fields as well as knowledge gained through peer-reviewed literature, case-study precedents and projects registered in the SITES pilot program.
“Adding SITES to GBCI’s rapidly growing list of certification systems and credentials it supports not only expands GBCI’s capabilities, but it also helps us to further our mission to enact global sustainable change,” said Mahesh Ramanujam, president, GBCI.
The Wildflower Center and ASLA will help GBCI create and implement SITES credentialing and certification offerings such as training project reviewers and will provide educational opportunities for pursuing SITES certification.
In an age of ample private wealth and an increasingly constrained public sector, a number of American cities have become dependent on privately funded conservancies to maintain and refurbish their public parks. A new report by Peter Harnik, Hon. ASLA, and Abby Martin from The Trust for Public Land’s Center for City Park Excellence explores the rise of such city park conservancies — private organizations that use donations to rebuild, renovate, and, in some cases, maintain some of the most iconic parks in the country. Interspersed with examples from 41 conservancy organizations that have a collective experience record of nearly 750 years, the study serves as a how-to guide for building successful relationships between city governments and urban park conservancies.
While many park-support organizations exist throughout the country, including friends-of-parks groups and business improvement districts, the study defines a conservancy as a “private, nonprofit park-benefit organization that raises money independent of the city and spends it under a plan of action mutually agreed upon by the government.” Throughout the study, Harnik and Martin maintain that the key to this relationship is that the land remains the city’s and the city retains ultimate authority over everything that happens there.
New York’s Central Park Conservancy, which was founded in 1980, is generally considered the catalyst for the conservancy movement. Following a nationwide recession in the 1970s which severely damaged NYC’s already declining parks department, NYC Mayor Ed Koch and parks commissioner Gordon Davis appointed Betsy Barlow Rogers as Central Park Administrator. Rogers created a revolutionary public-private partnership that would bring private money and expertise together with the City of New York to restore Central Park. The study contends that to this day, New York has used conservancies more so than any other city and continues to provide lessons for other public-private partnerships.
Since the formation of the Central Park Conservancy, urban park conservancies have become a favored tool for revitalizing many parks across the country (about 50 percent of major cities have at least one). However, the strength of the study is that is does not gloss over the inevitable conflicts that arise when trying to build a successful public-private relationship, nor does it consider conservancy support as the panacea for urban park management. As was the case with the Central Park Conservancy, most conservancies are founded to restore dilapidated historic parks and address shortcomings in governmental funding. Yet, this can often create an ideological conflict.
For every person that is skeptical of government, there is another who is skeptical of increasing private control over public space. While many city governments often lose the capacity to maintain a park’s programs and amenities without private support, putting too much responsibility in the hands of a conservancy can lead community members to suspect a park is becoming completely privatized. For example, civil right attorney Larry Krasner, who defended a group of Occupy Wall Street protestors, states, “I think there is a trend of analogizing public space to shopping malls. I think a lot of people view that as a sad state of affairs. It seems to indicate that government is insufficiently funded or not able to provide services we used to take for granted.” The study is upfront and honest about the challenges these conflicting mentalities can create for restoring, maintaining, and improving urban parks.
Among these challenges, there are two that conservancy-supported parks appear to face time and again: Maintenance and safety. According to the study, finding the money to cover basic maintenance costs can be a challenge – often the challenge – for conservancies and city governments alike. While big capital projects are more flashy and attract private donations, maintenance is less sexy. For this, Harnik and Martin offer one thoughtful solution inspired by the Central Park Conservancy: Have conservancies build in “a long-term maintenance fee to the initial budget of each capital project – an upfront gift that becomes a permanent trust fund.” Such a solution ensures that the maintenance of donor-attracting capital projects does not fall solely on the city government’s shoulders.
The issue of maintaining public safety is slightly more complicated. The study provides several examples, including Piedmont Park in Atlanta and Civic Center Park in Denver, where public-private arrangements have gone awry in the wake of public safety concerns that discourage donors and visitors. While the Civic Center Conservancy stepped up programming and the Mayor of Denver allocated more money for policing and security after a 2013 shooting, specific suggestions for dealing with urban crime and public safety generally fall outside the scope of the study.
Though the conservancy-based approach to urban park management is still emerging, the study could have benefited from more examples of conservancies that were formed hand-in-hand with brand new green spaces. Of course, private organizations that are formed in response to governmental shortcomings will face unique challenges and conflicts, but what if these relationships were established at a park’s inception? The study cites this approach as a growing trend but gives few examples to support or deny its success.
Ultimately, the report serves as a comprehensive guide for philanthropists and mayors, as well as bureaucrats and board members, who wish to create and maintain successful partnerships that benefit our urban green spaces. For the rest of us, the study provides a reminder that the free parks we often take for granted are hardly free.
The General Services Administration (GSA) granted us a rare look at a Level 5 security campus, the new U.S. Coast Guard Headquarters, at the restored St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in southeast Washington, D.C. This $646-million project is just the first in a series that will transform a mid-19th-century mental asylum, founded by social reformer Dorothea Dix, into the new headquarters for the Department of Homeland Security, of which the Coast Guard is a major piece. In a tour, Christian Gabriel, ASLA, national design director for landscape architecture at GSA, said “the goal of the new facility is improve operational efficiency by bringing together all the Homeland Security leadership in one place.” Leaders of the department will occupy revamped asylum buildings that once housed patients like Modernist poet Ezra Pound.
The tour started with moving through multiple high-security checkpoints stacked with fully-armed guards. Once cleared, we looped up towards the upper terraces of the new 1.2-million-square-feet Coast Guard headquarters, designed by architects at Perkins + Will and landscape architects with Andropogon Associates, with HOK providing landscape architecture, interiors, and sustainability services as part of a design-build team. As Gabriel explained, new Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) rules meant that 95 percent of stormwater had to be captured on site. On top of that, historic preservation, sight, and security considerations meant that the new Coast Guard headquarters needed to be lower than the historic asylum buildings.
What that meant in reality — for such a large site on such a steep slope — was GSA needed to set the 9-story building deep in the hill and cover it in a set of stair-step green roof terraces that funnel water down to a constructed wetland and pond. GSA ended up creating the second largest green roof in the U.S. at 550,000 square feet, and the third largest in the world. It’s so big that a deer actually grazed on the roof, not realizing it was on one.
Thomas Amoroso, ASLA, the landscape architect who designed the project at Andropogon, explained that while the system may look complex, it’s actually pretty simple. “It’s low-tech and common sense. The green roof terraces are a gravity-based system that move water from the higher terraces to a lower ones and then into the pond.” That the system operates in such a seamless way — and also doubles as public space for the coast guard officers operating the facility — is a testament to the depth of the design.
As we make our way down through many floors to get to the 350,000-cubic-foot pond, we begin to see subtle differences in the plant life in the courtyards spread among the green roofs. Amoroso, and HOK landscape architect Brandon Hartz, ASLA, explained how they “replicated existing native eco-zones throughout the courtyards.” During the 120-foot-drop through the levels, water moves off the buildings, onto roofs and courtyards, through diverse regions, from the “Blue Ridge and rocky barrens of Piedmont to the coastal plains.”
All the courtyards that get ample light feature a mix of shrubs, grasses, and Oak community trees, a majority of which are native. “They are habitat for wildlife.” Indeed, Hartz told us how there are actually gravel pockets in the roof designed to enable nesting by Killdeer, a small bird. And a rare bald eagle and its family now live on the facility, too.
Once the water leaves these upper courtyards, it makes it way to the lowest courtyard — the vernal pool, where the wetlands cleanse it.
Then, stormwater is conveyed to the huge constructed pond, where it’s aerated, recycled, and used to water the green roofs and courtyards once again.
While we saw few people outside when we visited, Amoroso said many thousand Coast Guard officers are already hard at work there, with a few thousand more scheduled to move in. We saw a few officers pulling together cafe chairs and table together for an outdoor lunch. Hopefully, the Coast Guard will put some effort into organizing outdoor events, so they can better take advantage of their landscape.
While some may balk at the $646 million price tag, imagine the cost if the GSA had used grey instead of green infrastructure to deal with all that stormwater. For this alone, the design approach seems like a wise use of taxpayer money. And it’s good news that the biggest government construction project since the Pentagon is covered in green roofs; it would be upsetting if it wasn’t. It’s just too bad that the security is so high that more people can’t get in there to see it for themselves.
Autism spectrum disorder is a “psychological, cognitive disorder that creates intellectual and mood disabilities.” People with autism have a “blend of cognitive strengths and weaknesses.” In general, they have the capacity for “detailed thinking, expansive long-term thinking, and examining complex patterns.” But they have problems with “understanding social nuances, filtering stimuli, and planning daily living.”
However, Ahrentzen argues that “autism isn’t just a medical condition, it’s also a cultural one.” To help people with autism, “we must first acknowledge the diversity of human conditions.” To do this, we must understand that “disability is really a social construction. We create environments that enable or disable people.”
Kim Steele, director of urban and health initiatives at the elemental group, co-author of At Home with Autism, has a daughter with autism. In her effort to create a more empathetic environment for her, Steele seems to have truly learned what it means to have autism. Steele and Ahrentzen also interviewed many people with autism to better understand how they experience the environment and to create design guidelines that will improve their quality of life:
“People with autism focus on details, not global perspective. A fleck of white on a shirt, a flickering light, a noise command attention. Their default is too many details.” While this focus may work well for some types of work that are repetitive and require attention to detail, “it can be a huge problem, as too much input is stressful.” For example, Steele’s daughter will flap and rock to help refocus attention into something more manageable. “Outside, in the neighborhood, she will fall on the ground and collapse when the details are too much.”
To alleviate the stress from all this stimuli, planners, landscape architects, and architects need to make the built environment “more predictable and familiar,” perhaps simpler. For example, for most of us, the “kitchen is a place to prepare food, socialize, and eat.” For those with autism, “it must be a place to prepare food only, you eat and socialize somewhere else.” In another example, Steele explained how hallways can only be seen as conduits. They are not places to stop and talk. “Multi-functional spaces are not acceptable. The meaning is environments is very specific.” To help those with autism, designers must create places that “create transparency through spatial sequences and smooth transitions between uses.”
Those with autism have various levels of receptivity to the environment, so creating quiet, safe spaces with high-quality lighting is important, too. “Some display hyper-receptivity. This means they may have a problem with noise.” For one person with autism they spoke to, “the noise was so disorientating, she couldn’t find her body in space.” However, in contrast, some people with autism experience “hypo-receptivity, meaning they are under responsive to stimuli.” Steele’s daughter has this issue. “She can touch a hot stove burner and not realize she is burning herself. She can scald herself in the shower and not know it.”
Outside the home, smaller spaces with fewer details may be better. For example, those with autism avoid big box stores. “The acoustics and lighting are bad.” According to one person with autism they interviewed, they only go to small shops, which are more manageable.
For landscape architects, those with autism will want residential landscapes and public gardens and parks that are “controlled environments they view as safe.” They will also want “things you can lift, engage with.” They like swings and “almost universally love to swim.” In fact, those with autism will be “drawn to water in all forms,” which can also be dangerous. “Designers will need to create safe swimming pools.” But Steele also cautioned that hyper-receptive people will be overwhelmed with “gardens with too many different plants.”
Eve Edelstein, New School of Architecture & Design, said that “moving through any environment involves the same plastic part of our brains.” Edelstein, a leader in the emerging field of “neuro-architecture,” argues that design guidelines for indoors then relate to outdoors, too. “What we learn works for hospitals will also work in gardens. It’s about brain function in space.” She added that what will be good for those with autism will also work for those with a range of other disabilities, like post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Edelstein believes the journey from theory and design guidelines to actual practice in the world at large will be a “tough one.” An interdisciplinary design approach is a must for any project that will be more soothing to those dealing with the constant onslaught of too many details.
In 1971, architectural historian Reyner Banham wrote Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies, which revised the view of L.A., at its lowest point, as a “polluted, monstrous, empty place,” said Vincent Brook, who teaches media studies at UCLA, at the Environmental Design Research Association (EDRA) conference in Los Angeles. “Banham was a neo-booster of the city, a revisionist, laying out a vision of a proto-New Urbanist movement.” Brooks describes the tenets of Banham’s book, and then takes them further, describing how film makers have played with idealized images of the city and its car culture, “autopia,” to create “L.A. Noir,” a special kind of noir found in classic films like Double Indemnity (seen above), Chinatown, L.A. Confidential, and, finally, Blade Runner.
The modern poet Gertrude Stein famously went to Oakland, California, and said “there’s no there there.” That sentiment, Brooks said, was widely applied to Los Angeles by the end of the 60s as well. The view was it was a “set of suburbs in search of a city.” But Banham saw the “complex unity and unique qualities of the city, with its many-centered growth.” Los Angeles, he explained, is a multi-hub city.
Banham identified four facets of this amalgamated urban landscape:
Surfurbia: A combination of surf community and suburbia. The beach-side communities, including Malibu and Santa Monica, promoted an alternative lifestyle. They formed a “city on the shore,” which was “anti-materialist and anti-consumption.” While those communities may have started out that way, today, that materialism has taken over today, as outdoor shopping malls are omnipresent.
The Foothills: “In Los Angeles, the higher you go, the more affluent it gets.” There, the great West Coast modernists began experimenting with new forms. In the Hollywood Hills, Richard Neutra built his many glass houses, as Pierre Koenig created the Stahl House (Case Study House #2), and John Lautner created the Bond villain getaway, the Chemosphere. Many of these modern architects were actually influenced by the Spanish hacienda style, which called for integrated indoor and outdoor spaces, with open fronts and backs.
Plains of Id: This is what Banham called the “endless grid of streets in the valley below.” There he found the “cathedrals of consumption, with its assemblage-style ‘dingbat’ architecture.” It’s there, along with New York, that subdivision mania first struck, and, unfortunately, spread across the country and the world.
Autopia: “This is perhaps his most creative contribution to our understanding of Los Angeles.” With the car, he saw a “city of mobility playing out against its monumentality.” He saw Los Angeles as a “text that can only be read through the rear-view mirror.” The automobile, with its expansive yet fast views out the window, is deeply connected with the motion picture. “They are both about moving.” Being in a car is “not unlike being in a movie.” In the mid 50s, Disneyland created a theme park ride called Autopia; Los Angeles just scaled it up.
But just as autopia started as a exciting, shiny new thing, its dark side soon became apparent. “Los Angeles has always had a deep ambivalence. It’s both the new Jerusalem and the new Babylon. It’s a paradise and a hell. A bright but also a guilty place.”
These ideas have played out in the movies. In the classic noir Double Indemnity, the automobile plays a central role. Walter Neff (Fred MacMurray), an insurance salesman, and Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) plot to kill her husband for the insurance money. Neff eventually strangles Mr. Dietrichson from the backseat of a car while Phyllis drives on.
Here, “the automobile is about mobility but then immobility,” as Neff kills Phyllis to cover his tracks and is then invariably caught by the police. “The idea of the freedom and independence of the car, the opportunity for upward mobility, is turned on its head. In noir, the car has to lead to tragedy and downfall.”
Brooks traced this narrative through a slew of L.A. noir films over the decades, from Chinatown to L.A. Confidential and then Crash, “where the only way to meet anyone in L.A. is through an accident.” In recent years, Drive and Nightcrawler, neo-noirs, have continued this dark dialogue with the automobile.
Finally, we get to Blade Runner, “future noir,” where there is a striking absence of cars on the streets, given they all fly through the sky in the Los Angeles of the near future. But, in the first-run release (not the later director’s cut), Harrison Ford and Sean Young drive off into the light.
“It’s an autopian note. They are heading to never, never land.”
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, which opened in 1982, was designed by architect Maya Lin who won the national design competition. It consists of a long black granite wall in an open V shape. The wall is a timeline, with the 58,300 dead listed in chronological, not alphabetical order. This enabled a “social ordering of the space,” so visitors could find the name of their loved ones by the year of the conflict.
The names of the fallen soldiers are etched in the wall, which enable rubbings that create “haptic memories.” Lin thought that “our primary sense was touch, so she used this as a design strategy.”
“Material culture is also used to express grief.” People leave flowers, teddy bears, and other objects to commemorate their loved ones. Flowers are often inserted in the wall itself. “It’s a palimpsest that changes as people engage with it.” All the left objects are periodically swept from the site and archived.
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial set an important precedent for many other memorials, including the Oklahoma City National Memorial and Museum in Oklahoma City. In 1995, a bombing orchestrated by American terrorists brought down a federal office building, killing 168 people and wounding another 680. The blast destroyed or damaged more than 340 buildings in a 16 block radius. Holland explained that approximately one-sixth of all Oklahoma City residents knew someone who died or were affected by the blast, so “for them, it’s a local tragedy.”
Holland explained that just three days after the bombing, local officials were talking about the need to create a memorial. Over the following years, in one of the “most democratized memorial design processes ever,” local officials used surveys and public meetings to gauge what people wanted. The most popular answers were “healing, peace, hope.”
In 1997, Berlin-based architects Hans and Torrey Butzer won the Oklahoma City Memorial design competition. While Hans is German, Torrey is from Oklahoma and had a connection with the city and site. They created a memorial that enabled people to touch and interact with objects that commemorated the victims. The memorial has become “the most visited tourist site in Oklahoma City.”
Visitors can enter through the Gates of Time. The bomb went off at 9:02. The first gate is marked with the time 9:01, which represents the “last moment of peace,” while the gate at the other end of the park is marked 9:03, which represents the “first moments of recovery.” Holland argued that the gates “intentionally slow you down, which increases haptic memory.”
One of the few trees that survived the blast now has a honored place in the memorial, where it has thrived. The space around the tree is a major gathering space because it’s the “only place with shade.” Nearby in the memorial, in a place enshrouded in trees, is where Timothy McVeigh parked his bomb-laden car. Holland said this was another example of turning the horrific into the healing.
Each of the 168 victims is memorialized in a chair, which glow from within at night. The chairs for the children victims are smaller. After the official ceremony that opened the park in 2000, victims’ loved ones began decorating the chairs, leaving photographs and mementos. What is particularly sad is the “adults remember the children always as children,” but there are no photographs of them, for some reason, only toys.
Like the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, all non-perishable materials are periodically collected and archived, which then becomes available for viewing at the museum, except some of the excess teddy bears left at the memorial have been sent overseas to kids in need.
The chairs and the process of leaving mementos are another touch experience that help visitors deal with loss.
Holland argued that some people have called these mementos “kitsch and consumerist,” but he wonders if that doesn’t reflect some “class bias?”
Burger uses Margaret Somerville’s definition of sacred, as described in her book, The Ethical Imagination. The feeling of sacred is the “complex interaction of knowing ourselves, relating to others, appreciating our place in the great web of life, and seeing ourselves as part of the earth, stars, universe, and cosmos.” Being in a sacred landscape makes us “less selfish,” and can help us understand “our role in the greater scheme of things.”
Which natural landscape features most factor into a sacred experience? To find out, Burger interviewed 70 people, asking them where they had experiences of sacredness. Almost all people chose “mountain top views, the place where the ocean meets the horizon, or where the prairie meets the horizon.” It seemed to Burger these places create a sense of “infinite scale, continuing forever.”
In the second phase of his study, Burger asked people to rate 120 photographs on a scale of 1-10 in terms of “which landscapes most facilitated a sacred experience.” And to see if there is a difference between sacredness and beauty, he also asked them to rate them all in terms of which they preferred, or thought were most beautiful, and then compared the top 15 for each category. The people who rated the photographs said they had a hard time differentiating between beauty and sacredness. “It was difficult to judge slides on sacredness but discard them for beauty.”
Burger explained that there are four factors of preference: coherence, legibility, complexity, and mystery. “Sacred photographs are high in coherence and legibility, but low in complexity and mystery levels are mixed.” Furthermore, sacred slides often have “remarkable lighting conditions, with clouds, sunsets, mist or fog, and a mix of light and dark.”
Then, three groups of people, more than 250 in total, were purposefully stressed out, using the standard psychological tests. One control group was shown a regular set of photos, while another looked at the preferred or beautiful photographs, and a third viewed the sacred photographs. “The beautiful and sacred slides really had the same restorative effect. In fact, they left happier than when they came in.”
Burger concluded that perhaps sacredness and beauty are the same. “Maybe beauty gives us a better appreciation of our context. Maybe beauty and sacredness are a matter of semantics and the same thing.”
But he also said the perception of sacredness has an impact, because it shapes the types of landscapes “we want to emulate and also preserve.” A sacred experience “shapes the decisions we make because we sense they have an impact on things, the greater system beyond ourselves.”
“This is the image that sits above my computer screen. It’s a fractal form, which explains how we work. Within fractals, there are similar forms but at different scales. The molecular scale and broad scale work together as a whole. Fractals are a system. You can’t draw an outline of a fractal and fill it in, or create a bottom-up modular system and put one together. Fractals are about the overarching structure,” said Mikyoung Kim, FASLA, head of her namesake landscape architecture firm, in a lecture at the National Building Museum.
Fractals relate to her creative process. Just as at the broad scale — or the aerial view — you can see human behavior patterns, at the molecular scale, she is thinking of “one person, and their multi-sensory experience within that place.” However, having said all of that, Kim also believes that landscape architects “can’t predict how a public space will be used and allow for flexibility.”
Kim described a few projects that show her attention to both the broad and human scales, and how they fit together into a system:
ChonGae Canal Source Point Park: Sunken Stone Garden
She won an international design competition to create the ChonGae Canal Source Point Park, with its Sunken Stone Garden in Seoul, South Korea. For Kim, it was a great experience working there, as she is a Korean American born in Hartford, Connecticut. She discovered that Seoul has 22 million people, which is about half the population of South Korea as a whole. It’s 8 times denser than NYC, with 16,000 people per square mile.
The 7-mile-long ChonGae Canal was once a river that collected water from surrounding mountains. The river was one of the reasons Seoul became the capital of Korea in the late 1300s. Over the decades, it became a conduit for wastewater and raw sewage. “By the early 1960s, it had become a symbol of poverty, and so dangerous that you couldn’t even touch the water.” It was eventually covered over with an elevated highway, dividing the city.
The Seoul government took down the highway and decided to open up the river again. They brought day light back to the corridor and improved the water quality to class 2 level, which was really difficult. The new river corridor park had to handle monsoons and 100-year storms. “But, really, it was about bringing back national pride.”
Kim worked with the international team restoring the river, but focused on one piece: a stone garden at the source point. With this project, Kim realized landscape architecture can have significant political impact. This landscape has caused the city to rethink its relationship with the water, and changed perceptions about what’s possible with public space.
Also, the landscape itself is politically charged. In the era of the optimistic “Sunshine Policy” just a few years ago, when South Korean leaders thought reunification with North Korea was imminent, the ChonGae Canal Source Point Park was to be the site of the reunification ceremony.
There are ceremonial aspects of the landscape: Kim set 9 stones to represent the 9 provinces of Korea as a whole. The stones represent the “collective effort of this urban park, adding a layer of cultural significance.” Beyond the cultural aspect, Kim says the park, which has been visited by 20 million people since its opening, has led to $600 million in private sector development along the river corridor.
Through the Sunken Stone Garden, Kim came to the conclusion that the “most successful projects are ones where we don’t have to hire a photographer. If we can find lots of photos through Pinterest, Facebook, Flickr, we’ve been successful. Successful public spaces are canvases with a design language and character, but can embrace different kind of activity and discovery.”
Farrar Pond Residence
Kim said she does very little residential work, but she created a 3-acre landscape in Lincoln, Massachusetts, which links to Walden Pond. The clients had but one requirement: no lawn, but an outdoor space were the kids and dogs can run. They ended up deciding there would be no imperious surfaces on the property.
“The big star of show is this CorTen fence structure that contains the dogs. Our client was really two German Shephards.” The fence is designed to just keep these particular dogs in. Kim’s team measured the dogs from shoulder to shoulder to determine what the width of the fence openings should be. A dachshund that visited was able to slip right through. The fence was welded on site, so it fits the regraded landscape “like a glove.”
On the ground are lilac bluestone pavers and granite stepping stones. As her client said, “it looks like the void of fences have fallen out to create this pattern.”
140 West Plaza: Exhale
“We like smaller cities where we can make an even bigger impact.” In Chapel Hill, North Carolina, a “charming, historic university town, ” Kim worked with local developers to create a master plan for a new downtown park. Kim and her team concurrently looked at circulation, including bicycle infrastructure, plazas, and stormwater. They found that the mixed use developments were creating lots of surface stormwater run-off.
So Kim created a brilliant solution called Exhale. Instead of storing the run-off in gardens, she convinced them to exhale the cleansed runoff through an artful misting system. “If there is no extraneous water from the site, there is no mist.” Kim choreographed the experience, creating a score of sorts, with light and mist, which grows and dies back. “It’s like the sculpture is breathing.”
At night, Exhale is a magnet, particularly in the hotter months when the mist is on, as it reduces temperatures by 10 degrees. “Kids are willing to get soaking wet. They run and around and engage it.”
The Crown Sky Garden: Ann & Robert H. Lurie Children’s Hospital of Chicago
“I’ve always really been into healthcare. And now, healthcare is interested in us. Every facility wants a garden, which is much different from 20 years ago.” Still, at the Ann & Robert H. Lurie Children’s Hospital of Chicago, Kim felt pressure to deliver. “We were taking 8,000 square feet out of a vertical hospital to build a garden instead of a new MRI center. How does that equal out?” While she said her husband, who is a doctor, would take issue with the statement that “gardens heal people,” gardens do “transform our bodies in ways that can’t hurt. Within 3-5 minutes, it has been proven that gardens normalize blood pressure, heart activity, muscle tension, and brain electrical activity.”
In this healing garden on the 11th floor, there were enormous constraints. Given so many young patients there have weak immune systems or just had surgery, they couldn’t be exposed to organic materials like soil or plants. There have been cases of people catching Legionnaire’s Disease from fountains, so water features were out, too.
Kim and her colleagues finally convinced the hospital to allow bamboo in raised planters that patients wouldn’t be able to access. The soil that holds them is 98 percent inorganic. “Basically, the only thing that will grow in soil like that are weeds, and bamboo is a lovely weed.” The hospital staff have committed to putting a tarp on the bamboo and spraying them three times a year to keep them clean.
To get around the fact that no open water could be allowed, Kim created water features that bubble up through marble. And a fallen tree, which Frederick Law Olmsted planted in a park in Chicago more than 100 years ago, was reclaimed and turned into wonderfully tactile benches and interactive art pieces. Sealed together with resin and lit from within, the tree sculptures also feature kids’ hand prints, which when touched, activate sounds of water.