We thought that we would walk the High Line this day, and take the opportunity to visit Piano's much promoted new Whitney Museum of American Art on the westside. It was a pleasant morning, so we strolled across to Central Park North and caught the subway to 14th Street. From here we walked through the Chelsea Markets, then on towards the Hudson, and turned left into 10th Avenue. The destination was only a few blocks away.
The museum disappointed. It seemed to be blind to its context, trying to express itself with a rationalised, self-conscious pomp to flamboyantly present a bespoke, aggregated image. One passed meat workers loading vans on the approach to the building that fronted a busy clutter of roadways and freeways bordering the Hudson River. It seemed a strange location for such a building. On reaching the museum, all the clues for entry led us to a main door on the west that we found, much to our embarrassment, permanently closed. The entry had to be discovered on the south, off the road that led to the High Line.
This annoying fumble with the reading of the building did not make for a good introduction. It proved to be indicative of the whole arrangement. The ground floor looked like an amorphous sprawl of reception counter, cafe, and shop, as if it was a subsequent fitout solution rather than a planned strategy shaping place; it looked like an afterthought that made the western entry redundant.
As one moved to the lifts to access the upper gallery levels, one realised that the graphic indicators and the lift doors were concealed from view, leaving one scrambling for any blind arrival of an available lift car once one was discovered, with frustrating trial and error attempts to reach each in time. Someone had not thought about the visitors in a place designed to encourage them.
Trying to sort out the various gallery levels when at least two were closed, turned into another frustrating guessing game. There seemed to be a struggle to get any density with the exhibitions that were open. These appeared just too spacious, as if the curators might be scrambling to fill the voids in some meaningful manner. Perhaps the place had opened too early?
On an upper level, one discovered a deck and bridging walkways that, perhaps just because they could, opened up to the eastern surroundings, highlighting the stark difference with context, similar to that experienced on arrival. This considered building overlooked the ad hoc clutter of city life and its infrastructure. Was this museum the seed building for the redevelopment of this precinct? The project looked deliberately theatrical; an attempt to be something special using quirky materials, forms, and expensive details as highlights. It appeared as an assemblage, with a bit here, and something else there; maybe parts seen before in Piano's other works? Might it have been a Piano potboiler, a collection of inspired pieces from other projects as seen in Richard Rogers' Sydney office tower?
We left disappointed, knowing that the promise of free entry at a later date to make up for the shambles meant nothing to us. We strolled up the road and discovered the stairs that led up to the High Line at its southern terminus, and started our northern journey.
The walk proved to be a well-considered and sensitively detailed experience; it was a joy to discover. The scheme had been designed thoughtfully and with care, with an awareness of the complexity of the experience and its possibilities, revealing a sensitivity to the various little things that can be done to encourage others to explore, e.g., a quiet place to rest; an axial vista to pause at and enjoy; a rail track detail that reminded one of the past function; a link to the city below. It was in stark contrast to the museum.
As the path slid over the blocks, it cut a surprising cross section through building forms and functions, along spaces both public and private, linking with numerous connections to the various parts of the city it traversed, using both grand and tiny stairs and lifts just where they were needed. The High Line proved to be an enjoyable walk, a welcoming design happy to accommodate all with a nonchalant, but managed ease: it cared for the little things in life.
Towards the northern end, on the narrow straight stretch before the walk swung west, a surprisingly distinctive, large new building loomed. What might this be? The exposed floor slabs fingered together decoratively and intricately at the inside bend of the 'L' plan, stretching out to the limits to frame vast areas of floor to ceiling glass with apparent cantilevers, making a grand 'high five' gesture towards the High Line. It seemed incongruous that the public way would be acknowledged in this dramatic way.
Behind the glass workers could be seen fitting out the spaces. One could see bathroom fixtures and kitchen cupboards exposed to full public view. Were these really apartments on view for all those on the High Line, or office spaces? Some areas were only metres away from this public thoroughfare. Who had done this? The name was there on grand display: ‘Zaha Hadid.’
The building has an awkward, very close relationship with the High Line; it imposes on this public way.
Moving on to the adjacent road frontage, the name appeared again high on the rooftop: 'Zaha Hadid' – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2021/04/the-new-new-brutalism.html The declaration was in bold black and white, even though she had passed away: the name had become a brand. It was 'Zaha Hadid, Zaha Hadid,' just to emphasise the point, along with the promotional contacts for the apartments: '520 West 28th' - it was an apartment building by Hadid's office. Was one expected to see quality and value here in this open, very public display just because of the name? The street elevation lacked the three dimensional possibilities of the 'L' but still managed to include a 2D version of the decorative intersecting slab edges, just to continue the theme. The whole project appeared contrived; it seemed to be a real effort to get the expected flamboyant 'Hadid' forms into a development on a tight, city site.
One was flabbergasted. Just what was going on here? Had architecture come down to a few clever twists and a starchitect's name: Hadid's office - first New York building? Was one looking at an outcome shaped by an office that no longer had rigour in its inspiration or driving force? One thought of the work Wright's office churned out after his death: projects that tried to look like something Wright might have done by referencing the past, when the master always referenced the future, explaining once how his best building was his next one.
This 'Zaha Hadid' building seemed to struggle to transform a very simple and straightforward plan and form into a complex with a difference. The dramatic, flowing 'Hadid'-styled appearance seemed to take so much effort in this shaping and precise, pristine detailing, that the comfort and convenience of habitation appeared to have been forgotten, along with its context. This apartment block seemed to ignore its neighbours, an oversight that, in this case, appeared to be a major problem for anyone hoping to share in the glory of the name. The building looked like it was trying hard to impress those nearby rather than respond to the needs of those it sheltered.
Occupants of these apartments would be on full view of everyone walking the very popular and busy High Line. With the effort to style the intersecting lines of the elevation, and to emphasise the sculptural clarity of the concept, the full height glass walls lined all interior spaces similarly, be these bathrooms, toilets, bedrooms, living rooms, or kitchens. Every space was potentially on full, equal public display, just for the appearance alone. No one seemed to care about the lived experience; just, perhaps, the publicity images in the magazines.
It all made an extreme mockery out of Sullivan's idea of form 'follows function.' Here, form followed concept irrespective of function. The building is an extreme example of self-conscious style. How could anyone live behind this glass without turning the space into a curtained or louvred enclosure that would change the whole idea? Should one really have to suffer a lack of privacy just to be in an 'Hadid' building? Or is it that those who can afford to live in the Hadid brand must be and want to be seen? Surely neighbours in the apartments do not want to stare at each other across the 'L' void, or at others across the street? The curtains seemed to answer these questions.
We walked on to the end of the High Line that fizzled out into a sprawling deck and a track that overlooked the Hudson Yards. The Heatherwick Bowl was being fabricated: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/04/step-well-steps-but-no-living-water.html Has style really become the core driver for form, for life? One does wonder what Hadid might have designed for this apartment block?
There are lessons to be learnt here, with warnings from the Piano and Hadid buildings that seek a dominant presence through bespoke style; it is the High Line that sets the best example with a design that caters for and cares for people with a subtle integrity and an approach that knits neatly into the city context, caring for it without any boasting; enriching the experience and function of place with a modest, quiet calm, rather than a grand, styled declaration of form that screams out "Look at ME!"
We need more High Line than Hadid or Piano. The point here is that two projects carry the name of an architect, a starchitect; the third, like traditional architecture, holds its values in the outcome, not the name, as all good work should. "Ye shall know them by their fruits." Matthew 7:16 KJV
SOME GOOGLE IMAGES
A vision of open living for the magazines? Which space gets the tiny window?
Does it matter?
The High Line has been carefully excluded from this image.
SCHUON ON ART
But as soon as artistic initiative becomes detached from tradition, which links it to the sacred, this guarantee of intelligence fails and stupidity shows through everywhere: aestheticism is moreover the very last thing that can preserve us from this danger.
The purpose of art of every kind – and this includes craftsmanship – is to create a climate and forge a mentality; it thus rejoins, directly or indirectly, the function of interiorizing contemplation.
True genius can develop without making innovations: it attains perfection, depth, and power of expression almost imperceptibly by means of the imponderables of truth and beauty ripened in that humility without which there can be no true greatness.
Frithjof Schuon Principles and Criteria of Art Chapter 1
GOOGLE EARTH / STREET VIEW
SEE:
https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2017/10/the-need-for-street-view-in-architecture.html
and
https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-importance-of-street.html
#
Who knows what art is today, or what to do with it?
See:
https://www.independent.co.uk/asia/east-asia/graffiti-art-accidental-damage-seoul-b1826626.html
NOTE
11 April 21
The difference in the Piano and Hadid design strategies is interesting. Piano works hard to develop special, precise, rationally sophisticated detailing, and organises spaces in much the same carefully considered, somewhat diagrammatical manner to provide a place for his inventions. Hadid’s approach can be likened to car design, where style is critical, and everything else is manipulated to achieve an appearance.
See:
https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2015/09/zahas-architectural-car-design-strategy.html
and
https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2021/02/the-car-and-boat-contrasting-design.html
Piano’s strategy is more like the approach seen in boat detailing, but is far more intentionally contrived for bespoke elegance. The difference is something like that seen in the Bond downpipes and those installed by the local plumber: see -
https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/11/bond-downpipes.html
The design strategy for the High Line can be described as piecemeal pragmatic. Here each situation is considered for its circumstance, its potential, with the idea of responding not only to context, but also to frame experience – always wondering how this can be embodied and enriched in all of its complexity, while managing an integrated wholeness. The approach realigns the attention that Piano and Hadid give to their work by placing the importance on the user. Style and detailing are here used to create place to fit functions and feelings: to accommodate these with an ease and comfort – a certain homeliness rather than a self-conscious grandeur.
13 APRIL 2021
As an aside, it is interesting to note the diagrammatic similarity between the plans of the Whitney Museum and Falling Water. The museum has a service core edge with adjacent public spaces and galleries; Falling Water has its structural walls, service areas, and stairs on one edge, with the spaces stretching out to the cantilevered terraces: but the buildings could not be more different.
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