Architecture and travel.
Anyone who knows an architect knows we love to travel. We love seeing new places, experiencing new things, learning about new cultures, and immersing ourselves into other worlds. AND, we love gawking at buildings and landscapes.
For many of us, seeing pictures of buildings is not enough. There’s more to a great piece of architecture than what we see photos.
As architects, we have an innate yearning to experience buildings, to feel what its like to approach an entry, to transition between spaces, to understand the culture and context, and to observe the small details that get overlooked in photos. To us, that is how you really understand architecture.
Why We Travel
Architects are wired to want to understand and apply what we learn. We constantly want to build off of what we learned from the last project we did, the last building we saw, and the last place we went. To many of us, traveling is integral to that. When we step away from our desks, our minds don’t shut off. We’re still processing new things that can potentially inform our next project or even a detail we’ve been trying to figure out on our current project.
Traveling also gives us a new and different perspective on architecture and daily living. Being in unique places and experiencing new cultures allows us to reflect on our own experiences at home. Oftentimes, we find ourselves comparing our home and our buildings to other culture’s. You don’t really understand your own environment and way of life until you’re outside of it and in another. Seeing things so different from your own is an incredible opportunity for reflection and evaluation of your own values and ways of doing things.
That’s why we do it! And I encourage you to travel also.
For this post, I thought I’d share some thoughts and reflections on a few recent travel adventures earlier this year to Fallingwater, Columbus (Indiana), and Sea Ranch.
Fallingwater in Mill Run, PA
Fallingwater is unquestionably the most well-known house in the world. For those unfamiliar to this house, Fallingwater was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in 1935, and built over an active waterfall in southwestern Pennsylvania.
I grew up not too far from Fallingwater. I visited it years ago and was due for a refresher so I made the three-hour drive to check it out over a crisp autumn weekend.
What I was reminded of most when visiting Fallingwater was the daringness with which Wright located the house.
Initially, to the clients’ displeasure (but later to their surprised liking), he chose to locate the house directly on top of the waterfall, resulting in a closer (albeit noisy) relationship with the rushing water below. Instead of siting the house on the steep hillside with the view of the waterfall, he wanted the homeowners to be fully immersed with the water in this natural setting.
Frank Lloyd Wright later coined the term “organic architecture” to describe his design process and much of his work, describing it as promoting harmony between human habitation and the natural world, and achieved through holistic integration of the site, building, furnishings, and surroundings.
Much of the design of Fallingwater reflects this strong connection to nature. As seen in the above photos, the iconic horizontal beige cantilevered roofs and balconies blend with the rock outcroppings and wooded environment. Also, notice how the horizontal striations of stone masonry relate to the native rock forms on site (above right).
On the interior, the stone hearth is made of the actual bedrock left exposed. Broad expanses of window glazing go right up to the ceiling for uninterrupted views of the outdoors and butt right up to stone walls without metal framing. For better or worse, the sound of rushing water is constant. Modulation of the sound is achieved with the opening and closing of individual windows.
Although this wasn’t my first visit to the house, my experience this time was different. The newness had worn off and with it, the subjective feelings that come with seeing any new marvel for the first time.
On this visit, I was able to see past the “house built on a waterfall” and really see the house for what it was. Here stood a house, built over 80 years ago… and it’s still timeless.
What I appreciate most, and what wasn’t as apparent in previous visits was the holistic design approach of Frank Lloyd Wright to do one thing: foster a unique sense of place and oneness with the surrounding site. Careful consideration was placed in every decision and in every detail of the design of this house to translate that design goal, and it’s evident. I think that is what makes this house so successful in its placemaking.
Columbus, Indiana
[First Christian Church by Eliel Saarinen. Photo by Greg Hume.]
Columbus, Indiana is known for its modern architecture and public art. Right behind Chicago, New York, San Francisco, Boston, and Washington DC, Columbus Indiana ranks sixth in the nation for Architectural Innovation and Design, even as a small town of fewer than 50,000 people.
My weekend trip to Columbus, IN was a short two-hour drive west. After a quick stop at the Columbus Visitor’s Center for a tour map, I highlighted the route I wanted to take, hopped on a city bicycle, and started exploring the architectural marvels that Columbus had to offer. In just a few hours, I saw dozens of early modernist buildings, many of which were revolutionary for the time.
[Columbus, Indiana architecture. Photos courtesy Visit Columbus Indiana.]
The story of Columbus, IN is inspiring. A philanthropist and patron of modern architecture, Joseph Irwin Miller (the CEO of Cummins–a diesel engine manufacturer) was able to almost single-handedly shape the architectural landscape of his hometown. He created the Cummins Foundation, a program that would pay architects’ fees for public buildings provided the architect chosen was from a preselected list compiled by the foundation.
Thus is why this small Midwestern city has over 80 buildings by world-class architects like Eero Saarinen, Eliel Saarinen, I.M. Pei, Kevin Roche, Richard Meier, Harry Weese, César Pelli, and Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, and many public art pieces by renowned artists.
Justin Davidson, architecture critic at New York magazine, and winner of a Pulitzer prize, provided an introduction to the book Columbus, Indiana: Midwestern Modernist Mecca where he wrote about Joseph Miller:
“He saw social justice as a tool of enlightened capitalism and design as the mark of a gracious, economically thriving city. The civic monuments, golf courses, and well-lit schools he paid for—these were not just the fruits of do-gooder altruism, but tools with which to recruit the brightest talents to a quiet provincial town.”
Seeing Columbus, IN for the first time was eye-opening and not what I’d originally expected. I knew Columbus was a mecca for modern architecture but I (wrongfully) assumed that these modern buildings would be on every street corner, dramatically on display. I was pleasantly surprised to find them dispersed throughout the town miles from each other, some in some very random places. For me, as I biked from place to place, this created a feeling of normalcy that I didn’t expect, as if the buildings were just like any other building in town serving its function.
Elvia Wilk in Small Town, Big Modernists in Uncube Magazine said it perfectly:
“It’s not that fantastic architecture is taken for granted in Columbus. It’s that, over decades, the architecture initiated by Miller has been fully integrated into the fabric of everyday life. The buildings may serve a secondary function as archi-tourist attractions, but unlike much pilgrimage-worthy architecture, they serve primarily as inhabited, functional public spaces. Miller’s greatest achievement was not to persuade the giants of modernism to descend on a sleepy midwestern town. It was to make well-designed architecture ubiquitous and accessible enough to seem entirely warranted in a normal place. It was, overall, to make great architecture seem entirely….ordinary.”
As I toured Columbus, IN observing one modern landmark after another, one fundamental question kept resurfacing: What is the value of investing in good modern architecture? And how can we make it more accessible and ubiquitous like it is here–to make it seem almost normal and ordinary?
Such big questions… These are the questions I struggled with and still do at times. As someone who understands the value of good architecture, how can I better explain its merit to you? And how can I make good design more accessible? Miller was just one person, albeit a wealthy businessman, but just one person who saw the merits of what good design could bring and how it could inspire people, attract talent, and help pave the way for sustainable economic development, even in a small town. He believed that if the town held itself to high standards of architecture and design, the benefits to society would be manifest.
I left Columbus that weekend with a greater appreciation of just how important good design is and how one person can influence the built environment to affect positive and productive change.
For a glimpse into Columbus, IN, watch the official Visitors Center video (7:40)
The Sea Ranch, CA
The Sea Ranch is a planned community located along a 10 mile stretch of California’s Highway 1 about 2.5 hours north of San Francisco, CA. Set within open meadows and wooded forests, these homes have a unique sensitivity to the surrounding landscape and adjacent structures here on the Pacific Ocean.
Established in 1965 by young visionaries like Lawrence Halprin, Charles (Chuck) Moore, Bill Turnbull, and Don Lyndon, the vision was to create a community that lived in harmony with the natural environment. Today, the community of approximately 700 wood-clad homes is characterized by timber framing, pitched roofs (without eaves), sweeping views of the surrounding environment, and a sensitivity to the landscape.
What I appreciate about this community is that what has come out of this master plan is a vested interest by the entire community to follow this vision. While the The Sea Ranch Covenants, Conditions & Restrictions (CC&Rs) provide the basic framework for how to achieve specific results and shape the community (such as addressing the allowable exterior color palettes and roof profiles), there is a strong shared stewardship where residents share, appreciate, and understand that the greater whole is more important than the sum of its parts.
“At The Sea Ranch, we have developed a community—based in wild nature and sustained by its beauty. We have an important responsibility here. What do we bring to this environment and how do we alter it? I feel myself a custodian rather than an owner of it. . . . I feel I owe constant vigilance and care for its poetic and spiritual survival. I hope those who follow me feel the same.”
–Lawrence Halprin, Landscape Architect of The Sea Ranch, from the book: The Sea Ranch
In one of BuildLLC’s blog posts, The DNA of Planned Communities, they summarize what they believe to be the essential DNA behind planned communities (paraphrased):
- Focus on Activities and Nature (rather than property and real estate) At The Sea Ranch, the focus is on walks along the ocean bluff, horseback riding, and swimming.
- Cluster the Dwellings and Share the Land – Dwellings at The Sea Ranch are strategically clustered together leaving natural spaces open to all. Cabins are discretely tucked together into the trees so that contiguous forest remains as the primary experience. It requires that people appreciate their neighbors and enjoy sharing the natural spaces with each other.
- Shared Stewardship – Owners within the community own land that is considered commonly shared space and it’s understood that everyone takes care of it. An organic and linked whole is more important than the constituent parts.
- Visual Order – The community shares a common understanding and appreciation of keeping things neat and tidy. Owners make decisions about their home and land based on the good of the overall community. A shared discipline with the built-environment benefits everyone.
- Environmental Sensitivity – Touch the land lightly and appreciate nature going about its usual course. A shared resistance to the domination of nature keeps structures modest and environmentally unobtrusive.
- Localized Design – There is a mutual agreement of a design language specific to each particular place. The community establishes its own architecture that responds to the environment and spirit of the place.
I stayed a few days in one of the wooden cabins with sweeping views overlooking the ocean. I spent time hiking along the rocky outcroppings and forested trails and relaxing in Adirondack chairs on the deck reading a good book and doodling the beginnings of a new project in my notebook (more on this in a later post).
While I was free from the distractions of modern life–no TV, no internet, no notifications–and immersed in this amazing natural setting, I had time to reflect on the beauty that surrounded me both in natural and built form and on how placemaking is achieved when people are given a chance to understand and appreciate their environment.
Being here, I was reminded of just how important it is to design a structure that respects nature, integrates with the surrounding context, and maintains a sensitivity to place. Site-responsive design truly does create a simple beauty that can’t be achieved otherwise.
My travels this year were to places that have a unique sense of place. Fallingwater was built on top of and fully engulfed in a creek and active waterfall. Columbus, IN put its own self on the map with its architecturally-driven civic mindedness and economic development. At The Sea Ranch, the buildings become part of the landscape, not subordinate to it creating a poetic experience of being one with nature.
As Eliel Saarinen once said:
“Always design a thing by considering it in its next larger context – a chair in a room, a room in a house, a house in an environment, an environment in a city plan.”
One last thought:
An architect’s responsibility is not just to create great buildings for its inhabitants but also to create great buildings for the surrounding environment. This is a timeless quality that makes for exceptional architecture.
These travels have been a great reminder of this and reinforce my belief in the importance of site-responsive design. For more discussion on site-specific design check out another travel journal post on resonating with place. By stepping away from what is familiar to see new places and new things, we have the opportunity to reflect and confirm our initial beliefs or shift our thinking so that we can create better designs with conviction.
Where have you traveled that has a strong sense of place unique to itself? Share them in the comments below and tell us about their elements of placemaking.
[Feature image photo by Peter Alfred Hess via Flickr.] *Some links above are affiliate links and at no cost to you, send a small commission to us which supports our creative endeavors and travel excursions like these. Thank you!
