Architecture and Englewood, Part 3
March 12, 2008 Filed in: John's
Corner
This post is somewhat of a parenthetic note, but
important nonetheless.
My last post for The Englewood Report was written to put into context the history of New Jersey during the Revolutionary War. I had planned that this post would deal directly with New Jersey's experience during our war for independence.
But, given the comments I've received asking why I felt obliged as an architect to write about American history, I've decided to address these questions head on.
Isn't architecture, as an art, strictly about the design of buildings? Yes, it is about that; but, no, not only that.
Architecture, like mathematics, is in many, many ways whatever you want to make of it; which is to say, architecture has its roots in everything. Vitruvius, the gifted Roman polymath, alluded to this when he wrote in his De Architectura that for a thing to be architecture, it must possess "firmitas, utilitas, venustas" -- firmness, utility, and beauty. I take him to mean that for a building to rise above simple building-ness and reach the status of architecture it must, first of all, be well constructed -- that is, be structurally sound, have a roof that successfully keeps the rain out, and have windows that bring fresh air and light into the interior. Second, the building must competently serve a function -- if a fortification, be well fortified; if a bath house, be well plumbed and heated. And third, the building must possess a beauty that touches both inhabitant and visitor alike.
By Vitruvius' own standards, I would surmise (leaving questions of beauty aside) that he would criticize Englewood's new parking garage as architecture, because it apparently serves its purpose poorly: people aren't choosing to park in the garage! Nor would Vitruvius praise Englewood's Palisade Avenue "Towne Centre" as architecture, since a significant number of its residents are dissatisfied with its construction quality, calling it "uninhabitable." But these are simply two of a number of buildings in our town that fail Vitruvius' prescriptive test, and what's more, a footnote to the central purpose of this article.
Of course, Architecture is art, but it doesn't usually tend towards the social commentary that we are accustomed to seeing in the art of our day. On the other hand, while architecture can passively comment on our society, architecture is itself an active ingredient, an almost living agent that is involved in shaping our society.
We, the people, in turn make the decisions which lead to the building of various types of architecture. Casino, school, cathedral or prison: each of these are a type of architecture that we choose or don't choose to construct and to shape our world.
This point -- that you and I help to shape the architecture that in turn shapes our city -- does not by itself give a good accounting of why I am writing about the American Revolution as part of a blog intended to focus on architecture. For us to intelligently choose what our city's architecture should be, we need to be knowledgeable of the environmental, political, and historical ground that our city has sprouted from. Why know this? Because there's no point in building an ice palace in the desert, or a hospital in a cemetery, they're out of place.
By bringing to light the historical context out of which Englewood has emerged, I hope to give each of us a more complete sense of where we have been, where we are now, and where we may be headed.
I for one feel deeply that we are selling our city and ourselves out; we can do much better. We must do better, if those future builders of architecture are to view us as wise and not foolish.
My last post for The Englewood Report was written to put into context the history of New Jersey during the Revolutionary War. I had planned that this post would deal directly with New Jersey's experience during our war for independence.
But, given the comments I've received asking why I felt obliged as an architect to write about American history, I've decided to address these questions head on.
Isn't architecture, as an art, strictly about the design of buildings? Yes, it is about that; but, no, not only that.
Architecture, like mathematics, is in many, many ways whatever you want to make of it; which is to say, architecture has its roots in everything. Vitruvius, the gifted Roman polymath, alluded to this when he wrote in his De Architectura that for a thing to be architecture, it must possess "firmitas, utilitas, venustas" -- firmness, utility, and beauty. I take him to mean that for a building to rise above simple building-ness and reach the status of architecture it must, first of all, be well constructed -- that is, be structurally sound, have a roof that successfully keeps the rain out, and have windows that bring fresh air and light into the interior. Second, the building must competently serve a function -- if a fortification, be well fortified; if a bath house, be well plumbed and heated. And third, the building must possess a beauty that touches both inhabitant and visitor alike.
By Vitruvius' own standards, I would surmise (leaving questions of beauty aside) that he would criticize Englewood's new parking garage as architecture, because it apparently serves its purpose poorly: people aren't choosing to park in the garage! Nor would Vitruvius praise Englewood's Palisade Avenue "Towne Centre" as architecture, since a significant number of its residents are dissatisfied with its construction quality, calling it "uninhabitable." But these are simply two of a number of buildings in our town that fail Vitruvius' prescriptive test, and what's more, a footnote to the central purpose of this article.
Of course, Architecture is art, but it doesn't usually tend towards the social commentary that we are accustomed to seeing in the art of our day. On the other hand, while architecture can passively comment on our society, architecture is itself an active ingredient, an almost living agent that is involved in shaping our society.
We, the people, in turn make the decisions which lead to the building of various types of architecture. Casino, school, cathedral or prison: each of these are a type of architecture that we choose or don't choose to construct and to shape our world.
This point -- that you and I help to shape the architecture that in turn shapes our city -- does not by itself give a good accounting of why I am writing about the American Revolution as part of a blog intended to focus on architecture. For us to intelligently choose what our city's architecture should be, we need to be knowledgeable of the environmental, political, and historical ground that our city has sprouted from. Why know this? Because there's no point in building an ice palace in the desert, or a hospital in a cemetery, they're out of place.
By bringing to light the historical context out of which Englewood has emerged, I hope to give each of us a more complete sense of where we have been, where we are now, and where we may be headed.
I for one feel deeply that we are selling our city and ourselves out; we can do much better. We must do better, if those future builders of architecture are to view us as wise and not foolish.
