Portland Architecture

A Tale of Two Landmarks

First of all, I apologize for not posting in several days. I'm actually on vacation this week, visiting in-laws in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania and friends in New York. So the story I'm about to tell isn't about Portland architecture at all, but I hope you'll all be okay with that.

On Saturday I went to the site of the former Bethlehem Steel mill. For generations the mill was the largest employer here. It also formed the town's identity and dominated the landscape. I can't stress enough what a massive structure this is. It stretches for hundreds of yards along the Lehigh River adjacent to downtown, and its massive smokestacks stretch about as high as the US Bancorp tower. And yet for more than a decade Bethlehem Steel has sat completely empty.

When a friend and I visited Bethlehem Steel, we felt as if we were visiting an ancient ruin like Pompeii. The rusted metal and weeds, and the memory of the thousands of livelihoods lost when the mill closed, give the place a spiritual, almost sacred feel. These are the ghosts of America's industrial past.

I was also reminded of something the legendary French architect Le Corbusier once said: that his favorite structures in the United States were not the skyscrapers or the houses, but the factories and silos. Standing before this stunning edifice, I just might have to agree.

A couple days later, now having moved on from Bethlehem to New York, my friend and I made the proverbial pilgrimage to the Empire State Building. (It was his first time in the city.) While I've always appreciated the architecture of the Empire State and its status as perhaps the most well-known and iconic skyscraper in America, the experience of going to the 86th floor observation deck was as disheartening as Bethlehem Steel was moving.

I've been to the Empire State several times before, so I was prepared to stand in line. But this was ridiculous. First we stood in line for a security checkpoint. Next we stood in line for tickets, then for the elevator to the 80th floor. All the while, employees were constantly yelling pitches to the audience to spend $40 going on an IMAX ride before visiting the observation deck. Next we were herded into a mandatory line to have our pictures taken. Then there was a line for the elevator from the 80th floor to the observation deck on the 86th. When we finally got to the top, it often took minutes to get a turn at the edge after the other tourists waddled out of the way.

I'll be the first to admit I'm not sure what point I'm making. Certainly it's not that abandoned old industrial sites make better or more compelling architecture than our most prized and legendary buildings. And of course I'm not saying Bethlehem, "Pretzelvania" (as some locals call it) is somehow a more worthy destination than New York, the cultural capitol of the world. And I know one can't expect the most popular tourist destinations to seem anything other than, well, touristy.

That said, when I get back to Portland, I'm not sure I can look at shiny office buildings and condos as the most interesting architecture. I'm tempted to go visit Portland's remaining shipyards, or drive out to our surrounding farmlands to check out the old grain elevators and silos. Certainly the sculptural aspect of architecture is tremendously important to what we think of any particular structure, but it's also about who occupies the architecture, and what constitutes a structure's past, present and future. In many cases, it's the patina and age that enhance a structure, not what detract from it. And sometimes a building can be the victim of its own popularity, an icon in our minds but a trap for our wallets.

Maybe the point is this: even as architecture endures over scores or even hundreds of years, what's sacred and what's empty are constantly changing, and it's our job not to let ourselves fall into worshiping the same idols when there remain other, more elusive and unlikely sites to discover and celebrate.

Frank Gehry and Beyond

Since I used to review movies and continue to write about architecture, publicists for the film Sketches of Frank Gehry, which opens today at Cinema 21, send me a video a couple weeks ago. I was somewhat enthused, simply because it’s a documentary about (like him or not) the leading architect of our time. But after seeing Sketches, I can say that it’s more than just a simple profile of the man who designed Guggenheim Bilbao, Experience Music Project, and the Disney Concert Hall.

Directed by Sydney Pollack, a Hollywood veteran whose resume includes Tootsie and Out of Africa (as well as several stinkers like Havana and Random Hearts) but no previous documentaries, the movie is an ongoing conversation between two friends that gives viewers a casual look at Gehry, but nevertheless one borne of ideas. We watch him building models, driving his car, hanging out in his kitchen – all the while imparting to Pollack, his longtime pal, the feelings and explorations that have marked his career.

What I think is particularly important about Gehry’s story is how he had to fight for his career. As many know, Gehry’s architecture is about creating sculptural shapes out of buildings. He uses sophisticated software to render projects three-dimensionally in order to bring necessary structural integrity to the shapes he dreams up. But his career wasn’t always one of huge billowing metal landmarks.

In Sketches, Gehry tells Pollack of one moment when he’d completed a very successful mixed-use development in Santa Monica, only to confess to the client that he didn’t really like the project. When asked why he did it, Gehry said it was to pay the bills. The client, a friend, actually prodded Gehry to drop all the projects and clients he wasn’t passionate about, and to devote himself to the kind of career he dreamed about.

I can’t help but think there must be architects here in Portland who are weighing different kinds of careers – maybe between a big firm and a small one, or between big institutional projects and littler jewels – and could use that bit of encouragement from a legendary architect who once faced a similar crossroads.

Another conversation I always like having when it comes to Frank Gehry is just how much architecture really is – or isn’t – an artform. From early in his career Gehry identified with and befriended artists more than other architects. He sought to make buildings that compelled us with the power of sculpture. But I also vividly remember an interview Charlie Rose once did with sculptor Richard Serra – perhaps the closest I’ve ever seen that talk show come to blows – in which Serra passionately and unbendingly argued that architecture is not at all an artform. Serra argued that there may be great artisanship and design going on, but that art is too personal an endeavor for such a collaborative, compromising practice as architecture to be included under its umbrella.

What do the rest of you think? Is there too much hype about Frank Gehry? Where will his place in history be? Is architecture a true artform? And what kinds of similar crossroads have local architects faced in their own careers?

Hear Ye, Hear Ye: Waterleaf's Henry V

Yesterday I made a belated visit to Henry V, headquarters for the company of the same name, which produces special events with high-tech audio, video and such. Designed by Waterleaf of Portland, Henry V is a $2.2 million conversion of an old dairy on Martin Luther King Boulevard (between Ainsworth and Portland Blvd.) and meets sustainable strictures for the US Green Building Council's 'Silver' LEED rating. It opened a few months ago.

There's a lot to like about this project. At the entrance, Waterleaf has created a wonderful sense of presence with a flat metal awning and two spires. The architects have also created a series of triangular-shaped glass openings that extend outward from the facade to capture more light. Inside, the space is bright and open with a series of striking diagonal columns for seismic retrofitting. Outside, the building is fronted by an attractive bioswale and a sculptural water feature that helps Henry V retain 100% of its stormwater.

The only thing I don't like about the Henry V project is how the water feature has necessitated a tall masonry wall right along the streetfront. I can only assume there are important reasons for the wall, but it detracts from the building's street presence. Overall, though, this is a nice project in a multitude of ways.

Shame on PGE

For all the effort Portlanders have gone to building more sustainable buildings, for all the progressive thinking that’s gone on here, both at the public and private level, about architecture’s relationship to the environment, it turns out that one of the city’s leading institutions is polluting the air like an English factory from the Industrial Revolution.

A new study commissioned by the US Forest Service has found that Portland General Electric’s massive coal-burning power plant, in Eastern Oregon near the small town of Boardman, so pollutes the are that a haze envelops much of Oregon and Washington.

What’s even more horrifying to read is that ever since the plant was built in 1975, it’s been operating without modern pollution control equipment such as scrubbers. According to today’s Oregonian article by Michael Milstein, the plant was authorized “just in time to avoid toughened provisions of the federal Clean Air Act.” Boardman, Milstein continues, is “one of only two major coal plants in the West” without modern pollution controls.

So since its very inception 21 years ago, the Boardman plant has been operated with PGE knowing full well that it ought to have pollution control equipment that it didn’t have. They escaped on a virtual technicality laws to protect clean air, and knowingly took advantage of it. And they did so with a massive industrial plant adjacent to some of America’s most beautiful scenic treasures, such as the Columbia River Gorge, Mount Adams, Mount Hood, and Hells Canyon.

I’m a PGE customer, as are many thousands of Portlanders, and I’ve seen the utility offer an increasing array of green power options such as wind turbines. And yet all the while they were belching a constant cloud of polluted air.

Naturally some will respond to this rant that such pollution controls can be very expensive. But I'm completely accepting of my power rates going up in order to stop such massively scaled pollution.

As many know, the Boardman plant has actually been out of service since last fall as PGE has struggled to repair breakdowns. This could have been a time to install scrubbers or other pollution control equipment. But PGE officials told the Oregonian that it could be five years before they even begin to install such controls, and only then they’d be doing so after their mandated deadline from the Environmental Protection Agency had reached its end. PGE’s primary step right now, as I understand it, is probably going to be more study. To find out burning coal pollutes the air? I think we can answer in the affirmative quite confidently right now.

The Oregon Department of Environmental Quality is taking comments on Boardman’s emissions renewal permit. Here is a link to the website for leaving comments. I urge everyone to bombard PGE with messages. PGE needs to wake up to what’s ridiculously obvious, that running a huge coal burning plant without pollution control is absolutely unacceptable, that it contradicts the values that we as Portlanders hold strongly.

If you think PGE’s guilt-by-association with Enron was a black mark on the company, it’s nothing to the blackness of burned coal filling the skies for three decades.

Matt McCormick and the Lure of Abandoned Buildings

For several years I've been writing about film in addition to architecture. I'm not a fan of Hollywood blockbusters, or even most Oscar winners, but I'm especially devoted to local underground work with passion, imagination, and an absence of formula. And Matt McCormick has long been one of my favorite local filmmakers.

As it happens, Matt's artwork and his outlook have a decidedly architectural bent. His most acclaimed film, The Subconscious Art of Graffiti Removal, was a half-mocking, half-serious look at how Portland's system of painting over graffiti has created, however unwittingly, a series of abstract works across the city that even seem to recall the style of legendary abstract expressionist Mark Rothko (a former Portlander, by the way). Another of McCormick's films, Towlines, portrayed these workhorses of the waterways against a backdrop of majestically gritty local industrial enclaves.

Matt has now started a blog of his own, and many of the entries respond to architecture in Portland and on his many travels. In a post from earlier this week, he expresses a fascination with abandoned buildings. "An abandoned building is a place that represents a failure or a retreat," he says."Maybe it is that tragic mystery that intrigues me. I like old, historic architecture, but I have to admit that I have little interest in newly renovated buildings. I'll take a photograph of a run-down building from the 1950's over an immaculately restored building from the 1890's any day. Renovation scrapes away more than just the leaky roof and layers of old paint. It scrapes away the mystery, and scares away the ghosts."

Tipping the Scale

Take a look at the Oregonian's InPortland section today and you'll find three straight stories on successive pages about the problems of multi-story buildings trying to fit into neighborhood contexts. This seems to be one of the continuing sagas of our time in Portland.

First, Wade Nkrumah reports that Reed College's renovation of Parker House, a two-story, 30-room residence, into a space for meetings and occasional social events. The neighborhood association is bugged that anything other than residential use is happening in their neighborhood. (Funny, no one seems to complain when the non-residential use is a church.)

Next, Fred Leeson has a Q&A with Micki Carrier, an activist with the Maplewood Neighborhood Association who took action when a four-story residence was built near where she lives.

Finally, Stephen Beaven reports on a developing story that's been whispered about in the architecture community, that developer Randy Rapaport hopes to build a combination of condos, live-work spaces, and retail with a focus on artists and other creatives along North Mississippi Avenue. Residents there have already voiced discontent over other mixed-use projects because of their height. And Rapaport has endured a lot of criticism already (especially on this site - in the comments section) about The Clinton, his condo planned for a lot on Southeast Division and 26th Street.

If you connect the dots, you have four different cases where residents in single-family homes are worried about being overwhelmed by bigger buildings. Portland is rapidly densifying, and these structures will continue to come - particularly along major streets and avenues.

I can sympathize with concerned residents, but I also feel that design itself should be taken into consideration as much or more than scale. But scale is obviously very important to a lot of people.

This is a fundamental architectural dialogue happening throughout the city, and I think it's really important that the design community get involved. How about the AIA sponsoring some kind of continuing meetings, lectures, or other events? Why not the City Club? The question of scale and how it relates to other architectural issues isn't going to go away, and we've got to address the disconnect. It's threatening not only livability in the neighborhoods, as residents argue, but also the integrity of design. If height is all we care about, then neighbors are destined to have their fears realized - although perhaps not by height itself.

Phil Knight's Second Chance

In the Business section of today's Oregonian, Mike Rogaway reports that Laika Entertainment, the animation house formerly known as Will Vinton Studios and now owned by Nike head Phil Knight, is expanding exponentially. There's nothing about architecture in the piece, but one paragraph got me thinking.

According to the article, "Laika has about 170 employees but expects to hire as many as 400 more...The company is seeking larger facilities in the Portland area to house its growing staff."

Knight could have been a huge contributor to Portland architecture. The Nike campus in Beaverton (or perhaps I should say "surrounded by but not in" considering the company's silly battles with the city) includes some very impressive architecture, a collection of pristine white contemporary buildings by Thompson Vaivoda (now "TVA" after Ned Vaivoda's departure). Unfortunately, though, these buildings are walled off from the public by a giant berm and a guarded security gate.

In 2001, for example, I wrote an article for Metropolis magazine about how the world's two biggest athletic apparel makers - Nike and Adidas - both have headquarters here in Portland. Nike built theirs behind the berm out in the 'burbs, while Adidas renovated the old Kaiser hospital into a beautiful BOORA-designed urban headquarters. At the time I remember then-city councilor Charlie Hales saying of Nike's campus, "It's great architecture, but terrible placemaking." (The article is not listed on the Metropolis website but you can access it here.)

If Laika is expanding to almost 600 employees, it's going to need to build something. Regardless of what we think of Nike secluding itself in a suburban campus, Knight's company is willing to invest in quality architecture. Might we expect the same from Laika, only in Portland proper?

Currently Laika is housed in Northwest Portland. What if TVA were to design a palace for animation there? Or, wanting to distance itself from Nike, what if Laika sought another bold architect to turn its highly desirable budget into a work of great design?

What I'm saying here is that great architecture needs great clients. And while high-caliber design can indeed be done on a budget, it never hurts to be able to spend some money. Portland has very few benefactors who are willing to do what it takes to see a great building designed and built. Dan Wieden comes to mind - he commissioned Brad Cloepfil's magnificent Wieden + Kennedy headquarters. The notion of Knight commissioning a large building in Portland should have architects salivating.

Duin, Homer, and the Mandate of Success

In today’s Oregonian, columnist Steve Duin’s topic is developer Homer Williams. But this is one fat-cat that Duin praises rather than attacks:

“He has a vision. He’s not afraid of risk…And he has never subscribed to the self-defeating mantra that Portland is ‘unfriendly’ to business…unlike so many Oregonians, he has an agenda, not an inferiority complex.”

Duin’s central argument is that Homer Williams is a doer, that he seizes opportunities to build buildings and even outright neighborhoods that others have been too timid to make happen. If he’s right, why haven’t there been more like Homer? If he’s wrong, who are the other developers deserving applause?

For all his successful projects, however, I’ll always remember one Homer Williams initiative that didn’t happen. In 2002, Williams’s company was in talks with the world’s best-known working architect, Frank Gehry, to design a senior housing project in Portland. It sounds outright absurd: the architect of Guggenheim Bilbao, the Experience Music Project and Disney Concert Hall doing a little condo for old people? But that’s precisely why it would have been fascinating to see that project happen. It would have given a wonderful message to the world about what Portland’s priorities are—not just fancy museums, but housing for the needy. Ultimately, though, it was no surprise to see the Gehry project fall through because of budget problems.

In the meantime, Homer Williams has gone on to be one of the primary movers and shakers behind South Waterfront, which may be his legacy even more than what he did in the Pearl. Still, I hope that somewhere along the way, Homer’s success with project after project in Portland and now Los Angeles brings the opportunity to use that capital to make happen something truly great for our city, be it a public building or a private condo or office, but one of truly exceptional architecture.

Here are some examples off the top of my head: Why not bring Allied Works to South Waterfront as originally indicated? How about Homer helping out to bring a new concert hall for the Oregon Symphony? Why not bring back of the talented out-of-town firms like New York’s SHoP or Holland’s UN Studio? Or how about using that penchant for risk that Duin praised Homer for to give a talented smaller firm a shot at a big condo?

What I’m trying to say is this: I agree wholeheartedly with Steve Duin that Homer Williams has been great for Portland, and we need more like him. But ultimately what will bring Homer a truly lasting place in Portland’s history is utilizing the money and know-how from building countless condos and other projects to create the kind of landmark, one-of-a-kind work of architecture that, for all its wonderful livability, the city largely lacks. Homer could retire today with more accolades and accomplishments than most of us can ever hope for. But I’d like to see him bring a true diamond to complement Portland’s string of pearls.

Beyond Pomp & Circumstance

Over the weekend I attended my sister's college graduation from USC. She's not an architecture student, but watching the ceremony and visiting Los Angeles got me thinking about the many who are about to graduate this month or next with architecture degrees and start pounding Portland's pavement for a job.

And of course when one analyzes the opportunities and challenges facing young architects as they enter the job market, the conversation really becomes about the profession itself.

Before saying anything more, I'd like to emphasize that this post in particular should be about your responses more than what I have to say. Whether it's students, the recently graduated or longtime professionals, I'd like to hear from you what's good, bad and in between when it comes to the state of the profession and design itself for young architects entering the profession.

As I've said many times before, one trend I've been happy to see is that more architects seem to be embracing a do-it-yourself attitude and developing their own projects. When you've just left school it may not be realistic to do this, what with college loans to pay back for most kids. But considering the housing boom happening now, there is certainly opportunity for young architects to prove their mettle not simply in an entry-level firm job creating drawings, but seizing the reigns and building a building.

Obviously green building is more a part of design to graduating architects today more than at any other time. So much so, in fact, that differentiating sustainability from other modes of design and building may seem almost antiquated. At the same time, though, there's still a long way to go in terms of educating clients. I always remember going to the US Green Building Council's 'Greenbuild' conference in Austin a few years ago, being very jazzed about all the talk inside the convention center, and then getting into a cab and hearing from my driver as we talked, "What's green building?"

Having been in Los Angeles for the past few days, one has the opportunity to see magnificent works like Frank Gehry's Disney Concert Hall and Thom Mayne's Cal Trans building. And while both are exceptionally impressive, I hope most of today's architecture graduates understand that these are examples of facade architecture--fancy packaging that may get written up in lots of magazines but often is a disappointment on the inside. I hope the majority of graduates seek to design buildings from the inside out.

I know some young architects have done exciting design work in school only to sign on at a firm where their contributions are more tedious. But there also seems to be a trend in which more firms are turning to a charette model to generate their most important designs, utilizing the fresh perspectives of young architects to generate ideas in a more egalitarian environment. That's something we'll hopefully see continue exponentially.

Being in LA this weekend, I couldn't help but feel saddened by how a handful of exclusive enclaves and buildings were vastly outnumbered by a cacophony of sprawl, grime and decay. I think today's young architects also carry a greater responsibility than ever to be politically involved, either through a member organization like the AIA or in different manifestations. Society needs architects out there not just designing buildings, but fighting for better cities. Portland is a far cry from Los Angeles, thank God, but every city has its issues, ours included, and the principles of good design - both on the macro and micro levels - need to be shared with everyone.

Meanwhile, as I said, I'd like to hear from the rest of you on this. What advice can we offer new graduates? What do students want to tell the established local architecture community? The establishment and the new generation need each other, and it never hurts to start a dialog.

FFA's Cronin Block

Last week when I posted an entry about The Casey condominiums, one reader mentioned there's been a profusion of entries about condos. And it’s true – so far the site has featured many of them. Architects are encouraged to send me images of and info about projects in other program types. But condos in inner Portland are clearly the building type of their time, and they keep on coming.

So here’s the latest one: the Cronin Block, designed by local firm Fletcher Farr Ayotte and developed by Robert Ball, and to be situated at Northwest 13th and Marshall in the Pearl District, across from the historic Bridgeport brewery.

In the past I’ve criticized how so many Pearl District buildings have gone with an industrial palette reflecting the neighborhood’s past/present context and shied away from more contemporary design. But while the Cronin Block certainly does that, somehow it seems more successful – at least based on the renderings.

Architect Robert Hoffman of FFA told me that the project re-uses brick from the old warehouse that stood at that corner, about the same size & scale. In fact, they wanted to preserve the original building, but it wasn’t structurally sound enough.

Much of the design is focused on creating a pleasant experience streetscape by tying in with the Bridgeport brewery. The designers have even re-established the ivy-covered truss that used to connect the brewery and warehouse. One sees ground-level retail surrounding most of the building, from which the taller tower steps back to break up the mass. Indeed, by stepping back from the street this block-sized project doesn’t feel as mammoth as it could have. This seems like a nicely scaled project that feels not like one building, but several intertwining forms.

Although the brick façade is a nod to the existing context, the Cronin also has metal windows and glass forms jutting out at the penthouse and along one side – somewhat like Akrom Moisan’s Pinnacle condos to the east. The idea here, Hoffman told me, is that the glass portion is meant to resemble a waterfall of transparency and motion.

It’s not a backhanded compliment to say this is really a fabric building, one that fits into its context with deference. I certainly wouldn’t want all buildings to be like this. The Pearl really needs more contemporary buildings that don’t adhere to conservative context quite so much. But a city needs solid, dignified structures like these, too, that don’t call attention to themselves but fit well into the urban fabric.

City Approves First Two Narrow-Lot Designs for Living Smart Program

Last Wednesday the Bureau of Development Services hosted a reception to celebrate the Living Smart program, which provides permit-ready plans for narrow lots.

As many may remember, Living Smart arose from neighborhood concerns about single-dwelling infill development on 25-foot wide lots. In 2003 the City Council voted to maintain the narrow lot housing option because it’s good for density, but restricted construction to currently vacant lots (too many existing homes were being torn down to build two “skinny” houses) and added design requirements.

To help address concerns about the design of these houses, a design competition was held to create the Portland Catalogue for Narrow House Designs, a catalogue of plans for Portland neighborhoods.

Now, as of April 22, two of the winning plans have had their permitting process streamlined in order to encourage their use. One, by Portlander Bryan Higgins, is a 1779-square foot, three-bedroom house. Unlike any other Living Smart entry, this plan has actually already been built here in Portland. The other, by Roxana Vargas Greenan and Trent Greenan of Berkeley, comes with two floor plans: one with an offices, the other a garage; both have three bedrooms as well.

Having sat in to observe the jury process, I can tell you the first two plans do not represent the majority of what the jury favored. These two house designs are more or less traditional in style. One jury member, a home builder, preferred the more traditional look, as did Commissioner Randy Leonard, who oversees the BDS. But most of the jurors favored entries of a more contemporary style. The biggest dispute came over the issue of pitched roofs versus flat roofs; the former is more in keeping with existing single-family homes, while the latter gives small homes another usable space and sculpturally better fits with the narrow geometry.

That said, it’s understandable that the BDS would choose two of the more traditional designs for its first to shepherd through this process. The developers have to be on board with Living Smart in order to make better narrow-lot homes a reality.

One other thing about the homes that were chosen is that they rely more on form than materials to express themselves. The worry with some of the other plans was that homes using materials and simple forms could easily be corrupted by developers looking to build them more cheaply.

The process will be monitored by the BDS over the next two years, and there is hope that afterward—if not sooner—more plans from the competition will be streamlined for permitting. That’s the time perhaps we could see some more contemporary plans, either from the competition or commissioned separately.

Living Smart remains a work in progress, but it’s great to see the city trying to solve issues of density, architecture and livability with design.

Casey at the Bat

Construction has begun on The Casey, a new Pearl District condo at 12th and Everett from Brewery Blocks developer Gerding/Edlen in partnership with landowner Roger Jones (the building is named after his father). The 17-story Casey also is designed by GBD Architects, which gives them, if you count the Armory and the Edge Lofts (which they co-designed with Holst), eight buildings in the Pearl District.

Particularly noteworthy about The Casey is that it’s a quarter-block, which there are few of, if any, in the Pearl. (That’s really a shame, by the way. It would’ve been so much easier for some of our stumpy-looking buildings there to be much more elegantly scaled on quarter-blocks or half-blocks. But the economics make that tough.) There will be 61 residential units, ground-floor retail, and underground parking.

I am still waiting to talk with the architect about specifics of what we’re seeing in this rendering. But in terms of shape, there is a wide glassier balconied portion intersecting with what appears to be a metal or masonry-clad form in the center. Then you have some penthouses that include multiple stories of glass.

The patterns here are very geometrical, a GBD trait, as compared to the more abstract glass and metal patterns that ZGF has done for The Eliot and their new tower for Gerding/Edlen near 12th and Washington.

Of course much of how this building looks will also have to do with materials. Personally, I think the Brewery Blocks have had mixed success in this department, at least from a purely aesthetic standpoint. But obviously architecture has to be more practical than that too.

The best part of the buildings GBD and G/E have collaborated on, including not only the Brewery Blocks but also in South Waterfront, is how sustainable they are. According to one report I read online, The Casey is likely to get at least 50 LEED points. (52 is the requirement for a Platinum rating.) It’s going to have an eco-roof, photovoltaic panels for powering common-area spaces, operable windows, and window glazing that keeps unwanted heat out. The developer and architect also have a real spirit of collaboration when it comes to the contractor, engineers and subcontractors all contributing to a more efficient building.

Those are all valid reasons why we’re getting a kind of broken-record phenomenon when it comes to design in this portion of the Pearl. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing or a good thing—maybe both, however. The Casey isn’t a work of architecture one is likely to be blown away by walking past, but it’s also a contemporary work in a neighborhood too given to faux-historicism. Thanks to its more slender floorplate, it'll also be more naturally elegant than some of its neighbors. And it’ll undoubtedly be built the right way, innovative from the inside out.

Weekend of Acronyms: PNCA, ASLA

This past Friday I attended the ‘Tokyo Flow’ symposium at the Pacific Northwest College of Art, which seeks to build connections between Portland and Tokyo. Sometimes the crowd was a little disappointing, with a mixture of students, professors and seemingly few from outside attending daytime presentations. But those on stage were exceptionally impressive.

In particular, I was struck by the work of Oki Sato, a young Japanese architect and industrial designer. The first project he showed, called Canvas, was the ultimate example of how even the most low-budget projects can come alive with the right imagination. The project was a French restaurant occupying a two-story building in Tokyo. The budget was only about $35,000. Sato and his firm, Nendo (which means “clay”), bought about 200 square meters of fireproof, weatherproof white tent fabric, and proceeded to wrap the entire building, inside and out. On the exterior, Sato placed tiny light bulbs between the fabric and the façade, so at night the entire building became a lantern.

Another Nendo project for Sato’s parents, called the Drawer House, was filled with custom furniture that could be slid in and out of the wall—like drawers. Bookshelves, appliances, even beds were able to disappear and reappear at one’s whimsy.

Perhaps my favorite of Sato’s projects was the Book House, constructed for a small community on a remote island off Japan. The owner wanted a private residence, but also wanted to create a library where residents could borrow and return books anytime. Sato put the private quarters on the inside of a square box, and literally built shelves all around the exterior to stack with books. (The shelves were protected by an overhang and porch that could also be closed off.) Behind the bookshelves were Japanese rice paper, so light pierced the façade in a continually changing abstract pattern based on where there were open spaces in the shelves.

Later, a group of creatives from local ad agency Wieden + Kennedy, multidisciplinary design firm Ziba, and elsewhere shared the stage. One presenter talked about how contemporary design, particularly in Japan, often attempts to recapture the sense of meaning that largely went out with mass production. When you buy a plastic bowl at Ikea, for example, you don’t think about it being manufactured in China by the thousands, but instead you look at the picture at Ikea of the Swedish designer who designed it. The product comes with a story—a context.

One presenter quoted Aristotle saying, “There is the thing, and then there is the meaning of the thing.” Certainly there are some projects in Portland—the tram immediately comes to mind—for which that would be true.

On Saturday it was my honor (and anxiety) to serve as master of ceremonies for the bi-annual awards for the Oregon chapter of the American Society of Landscape Architects. We jurors (a cross-section of academics, working designers, and yours truly) had met a couple weeks ago to decide the winners. The biggest honoree, with the Award of Excellence, was the South Waterfront greenway. One architect I talked to after the ceremony snickered a bit about the award. There was a lot of wrangling about how big the greenway would be and what it would look like. And perhaps like any design, there’s more that could have been done. But we on the jury reacted very favorably to the ultimate mix of wildlife habitat, open space, green streets and other elements of the plan. There’s nothing else in the city that comes even close to the scale and scope of the work being done here.

Another top award went to Murase Associates for the Santi Ya residence, a private retreat for the Murase family. As many know, founding principal and legendary landscape designer Robert Murase passed away recently. And while the award was given entirely because of the quality of the project, it was a pleasure to bestow it to  the firm as a tribute to Bob’s enduring contributions. If you saw the stone wall at Santi Ya, at once pristinely clean-lined and emotively organic, you’d have given it an award too.

There were several other winners, including Tanner Springs Park and two small but exceptional “green street” projects from the City of Portland. Congrats to all the winners.