Portland Architecture

Down by the water: visiting Fort Vancouver, the Confluence Project, and the Columbia riverfront

Although I was born and raised in Oregon and have spent all but about six years of my life here, I can't think of a single past instance when I've visited the banks of the Columbia River on the Vancouver side. Before last Sunday, that is, when I went there as part of an excursion to see the Vancouver Land Bridge that's part of the seven-project Confluence Project overseen by legendary designer Maya Lin of Vietnam Memorial fame.

It turns out that Vancouver has a lovely little strip of pebbled beach there, as well as lovely if frustratingly short tree-lined walking path that extends east from the Interstate 5 bridge. I've been missing a nice place all these years, although I think the built landscape and infrastructure here has something to do with it.

To access the riverfront, I started at Fort Vancouver, walking past an assortment of military barracks and other offices (such as those of Congressman Brian Baird). Some of the buildings date to the early 20th century or earlier.

Without having brought a guidebook, I'd have had difficulty finding which way it was to the Vancouver Land Bridge over State Route 14. Eventually I moved down a curving pathway, past barbed wire-enclosed fencing and a couple of windowless storage structures, passing the log-festooned historic Fort Vancouver structure, and twisting again past a vacant un-landscaped grassy field to the land bridge. It could be a pretty route to the bridge, but it's not at all.

Although the rest of the Confluence project is Lin's, the Vancouver Land Bridge was designed by Seattle architect Johnpaul Jones. On the project's website a quote from Jones reads, "The land bridge is a real link connecting back to the Klickitat Trail, Lewis and Clark, and the development of the Northwest. It completes a circle that's been broken."

The 40-foot-wide pedestrian bridge is lined with indigenous plants and Native basket weavings. There is also to be what's called a 'treaty table' designed by Maya Lin, although I did not see it there yet.

The Confluence Project website also explains:

"European and Native American cultures once converged at this Columbia River site, where the Hudson’s Bay Company stood as the first European trading post in the Pacific Northwest. Lewis and Clark camped here, and Fort Vancouver was built here 20 years later. Today, the site features an earth-covered pedestrian bridge that arcs over State Route 14, reconnecting historic Fort Vancouver with the Columbia River, which helped extend the fort’s influence from Mexico to Alaska and across the Pacific Ocean."

Entering from the south, you can also access the land bridge by walking under the land bridge’s Welcome Gate, designed by Native American artist Lillian Pitt. Two cedar canoe panels, each adorned with a cast-glass sculpture of a Chinook woman’s face, evoke the site’s role as a historic tribal crossroads as well as a point of contact between European and Native people.

It's great that Vancouver has a pedestrian connection between the Fort and the riverfront again. That there is a freeway-like state highway running so close to the water, as well as a train track, makes it difficult for the city to establish a strong tie to the Columbia's edge. When I was on the Land Bridge, a stopped freight train was blocking the river view entirely. That shouldn't be. Vancouver could be so much more enticing and beautiful city if there were people and buildings and life along the water there like there is in downtown Portland along the Willamette (although if you look at our east bank, we still have a long way to go too with the I-5 freeway along the water).

This new pedestrian bridge, especially such an artful and historically-minded one, will be a step toward Vancouver becoming a much more appealing city. And it's worth taking some steps, because there is truly a lovely resource in the riverfront here (the decaying Cisco & Pancho's and Joe's Crab Shack by said banks notwithstanding).

Considering that Jones' Vancouver Land Bridge is the closest of the seven Confluence Project sites, I'd have liked to see either Lin, Jones or both of them be given a site along the river itself, with a pedestrian bridge over SR-14 being built in tandem with the Confluence effort. I mean, at the end of the day, Jones's bridge is a bridge, one that looks out at four lanes of asphalt and a series of freight trains. It's about as picturesque a setting as one of the I-405 bridge crossings downtown, where the smell of carbon monoxide competes for your attention with the Mt. Hood view.

(Incidentally, the couple in the above photo, who I photographed randomly, turned out to be the parents of architect Darin Dougherty, who's SIPs House I just wrote about last week.)

And while the overall Fort Vancouver site, including both the military barracks and the other facilities there, is undoubtedly overall a resource and a treasure for the city, walking around there I couldn't help but feel that this land so close to the river was being under-utilized.

Again, there's no doubt most of the historic buildings there need to be preserved, and no one is trying to kick out the military - they're part of the history of Fort Vancouver. One might even argue that the Army is being kind even allowing public access here without much restriction. 

Even so, when you get a taste of the good parts of there being a beautiful Columbia waterfront, and this thoughtful Confluence project being rooted there, as well as the character of the Fort and barracks buidings, it makes one wonder what it would be like if this were a denser, more pedestrian and public-oriented place along the Vancouver side of the Columbia banks, with housing and retail and parks part of the mix. If the city were to grow dense along the river, Vancouver could some day in a generation or two become a more equal urban sister to Portland.

There has been significant progress nearby this stretch of Vancouver riverfront. To the east there is Columbia Shores with a hotel, waterfront restaurants office buildings, condominiums and apartments. To the west there are 26 acres adjoining downtown from the former Boise Cascade site; this is planned to become a more dense urban waterfront. This adjoins to the regular part of downtown Vancouver where Esther Short Park and several new mixed use projects have given the area more vitality.

Of course when we're talking about Fort Vancouver on the other side of I-5 from downtown, the other major presence in these parts is the historic Pearson air field, from which an occasional small-engine Cessna plane was taking off on the Sunday when I visited. Portland has a functioning airport that includes service for smaller planes, and the proximity of Pearson is seriously compromising the design of the Columbia Crossing. I mean, it's downright absurd to me. But that's another conversation for another time. Right now, I'd be happy to see Vancouver continue moving towards a closer relationship with the riverfront. If nothing else, Johnpaul Jones' bridge is just that.

Portland Center Stage Removes James Harrison Light Sculpture

Portland Center Stage, occupant of the renovated Portland Armory (now known as the Gerding Theater), has removed the sculptural marquee it commissioned from acclaimed local artist James M. Harrison for its 2006 opening.

The piece is called "Aiorema" after the Greek word for "God in the Machine". On his website, Harrison explains, "Originally this was a more literal concept- a crane used in ancient Greek theater for flying in the gods.  I thought this was an appropriate way to link old and new.  New Theater, Old Concept- Old Building, New Marquee, etc."

The sculpture is made from stacked layers of light diffusing acrylic pieces. It's shaped like a cloud at the base, and shaped like a star against the sky.  The layers gradually transition from the one shape to the other shape.

Harrison first gained notice in Portland as part of the art-architecture collective Rigga. He's done sculpture for the Eastbank Esplanade as well as projects in Seattle, London and elsewhere. Those 'beehive' booths at the Gotham Building Tavern were also his, designed in partnership with the restaurant's co-owner, Michael Hebb, who has since moved on to Seattle (with tail betwen his legs).

Harrison was also the initial choice for the public art commission in Old Town/Chinatown that ultimately went to that dragon sculpture that was removed for offending locals, particularly Chinese-Americans. The light sculpture James made would have been a vastly better choice, but to the selection committee it apparently wasn't enough of a tchotchke, which ironically turned out to be the problem with the sculpture they did choose.

In the Aiorema light sculpture's place outside the Armory is a new sign that acts more as a traditional marquee. I spoke with a few people from Portland Center Stage about this, including artistic director Chris Coleman. What I sympathize with the most is their assertion that Portland Center Stage needed a sign that does more to draw people inside. It's perfectly reasonable for them to want a marquee that advertises the plays being put on and so forth.

However, it also seems that a major driving force in the removal of Harrison's sculpture besides the need for more explicit signage is that Portland Center Stage's leadership simply wasn't crazy about Aiorema. The message I heard from PCS was that they were big fans of Harrison's work before and after this one, but that they were disappointed by Aiorema. It wasn't tall enough. It had a funny shape. It was hard to clean.

I'd wondered if a compromise could be found in which the new marquee could stay at the entrance, but Harrison's light sculpture could be moved elsewhere, such as to the other side of the Gerding Theater along 10th Avenue. So far, though, my understanding is that Aiorema will not be relocated. Depending on whom you talk to, it seems to be a board member who doesn't like Aiorema, or a member of PCS in-house leadership. But for whatever reason, they're just not into it.

This brings up an important question. PCS paid Harrison $45,000 for the sculpture (not a lot for that kind of piece but still a large chunk of change), and they own it. They can do whatever they want with Aiorema, including remove it or even destroy it. PCS hasn't done the latter; the sculpture is in storage at the theater. But in the year or two that the sculpture has been standing and glowing on 11th Street, I and many others have developed a fondness for it. What recourse do fans of public artwork have when the client decides they don't like a piece that we do? I also wondered if somehow the sculpture could be altered to remove the name 'Portland Center Stage'. Heck, why not move it to Chinatown where the remains of that removed dragon sculpture sit pitifully?

I also think PCS's need for a bigger, more obvious sign speaks to the architecture of the Gerding Theater. Historic preservation laws would have prevented a major alteration of the Armory, and we might not have wanted that anyway. But in transitioning from an armory to a welcoming public theater, I don't think the architects or client solved the issue of what a massive barrier exists there. One of the exciting aspects of the Gerding Theater was supposed to be that it acted as a people magnet and as a place to congregate even when there wasn't theater showing: a viable public space. I don't the theater does that at all. It's a very nice theater inside, but it still feels like an armory on the outside. And armories were explicitly built to forcefully keep people out.

On top of that, the building's entrance was switched from the 10th Avenue side, where there's a big curving architectural entryway, to the 11th Avenue side. That means they're swimming against the current, so to speak, in directing people into the building. When you make a move like that, you need big obvious, airport-like signage to show people the way.

Harrison's piece isn't right for that mission. But however justified PCS is removing Aiorema, either legally or morally, I think they ought to bring Harrison's fine work back into the public realm where it belongs.