The Right Drawing for the Right Building

I've done a lot of drawing so far, much more frequently than I've done at school as I tend to lean more heavily on computer modeling and trace paper. As I visit more buildings and draw them, I tend to classify the buildings based on their dates of construction. Subsequently, the drawings I make get grouped in with those time periods. As I look back through my sketchbook after my midsemester evaluation today, I've noticed that certain types of buildings, built in certain time periods, lend themselves to a particular manner of drawing.

Medieval churches lend themselves to isometric drawing due to their regular and predictable arch structure. I draw the reflected ceiling plan first to describe the geometry of the ceiling, then shift the drawing about forty degrees clockwise and construct the arches three-dimensionally from their corresponding positions in plan. The drawing below is a detail of the main nave arch and the smaller side arches, done at Lund Cathedral in Sweden.

Neoclassical buildings, especially those built in the nineteenth century, lend themselves nicely to sections. The perfect symmetry makes it easy to find a good place to cut through, to record the most interesting and telling information. Cutting a section through the wall of a neoclassical building will also reveal the intricate molding and ornament on the walls, both interior and exterior, and convey their depth in a way that an elevation can't do. The example below is of the main building of the University of Lund. The section is taken just through the lobby, but shows some of the elaborate detailing on the facade (to the right) and captures the proportions which are so important to neoclassical architecture. The cut is taken through the double-height space to convey the grandeur of the balcony and skylight above.

And then, we approach contemporary architecture. It's difficult to apply a blanket judgment as to the most appropriate way to represent contemporary buildings, but generally a three-dimensional drawing is most informative. The drawing below is a semi-constructed isometric of an interior detail of Libeskind's Danish Jewish Museum. The wood panel interior meets the brick of the existing building in this no-longer-functioning doorway. It's impossible to represent in plan or section, and I don't know where I would make the cut. I drew on paper what I wouldn't actually be able to see in real life, to better understand three-dimensionally how the new interacts with the old.

Or take Calatrava's Twisting Torso in Malmö, Sweden, which took a bit of plan, but a lot of isometric, to draw understandably.

The examples above lead to a conversation I'd like to continue to explore about how the drawing can act as the building's representative. The selection of the appropriate drawing method is as important as the quality of the drawing itself. As one who draws, I must also make choices about what information to include or exclude, before even thinking about how to convey it accurately. We're seeing enough variety of buildings now that we're in Denmark for me to practice multiple modes a drawing, so you'll be seeing more variety in the future.

Covert Spaces

We've seen a few buildings by Swedish architect Gunnar Asplund (1885-1940) in the past week, and the more I see, the more I wonder why I didn't know much about him before. Asplund's work is thoroughly intriguing. He pays equal attention to the dramatic heart-racing moments, such as the grand rotunda of the Public Library, and to the quieter, subtle moments, like the stair that follows the curve of the courtroom of the Lister County Courthouse. Asplund uses big, open expanses to excite the user by exaggerating one's sense of scale. This inspires awe in the dwarfed person who cannot help but feel reverence for the space, it's designer and owner. Everyone likes a big, grand space they can lose themselves in, but I find pleasure in the irregular spaces created by combining the large forms in which the dramatic rooms are housed.

Even spaces that cannot or are not meant to be occupied receive attention. The main stair of the Karlshamn Secondary School winds around an open shaft. A series of arches puncture the shaft to let light from the windows on the exterior wall send light where it would not go otherwise. The arches also provide views to other floors and other parts of the stair. By voiding the "center" of the stairwell, Asplund reveals more about the structure, which is pretty much entirely made of vaults. Also, you get a sense of interior wall thickness that you ordinarily would only get from a window.

One of the most important things I've learned so far is how to be critical of an architect's decisions to reveal or conceal the structure of his (oh let's be honest, we're not going to be seeing any female architects on this trip) building. Structure in architecture is like a routine performed by a magician. The better the magician, the better the routine, and the best magicians aren't the ones who don't reveal their secret, but who actually let you see how they perform the trick - if you're clever enough to catch it.

Let's get one thing straight: it isn't enough to simply show the structure in a building. And most people don't know what they're looking at, through no fault of their own. But a smartly articulated structural system can be appreciated by just about anybody. Part of an architect's responsibility is to understand and respond to the fact that the majority of the people using their building are not architects. I purposefully use the word "respond" because the architect has the choice to ignore or incorporate the public. When someone says about your building, "How did they do that?" you know you're on the right track. It's important to keep people intrigued and questioning and coming back for more.

Northern Lights

Light is inextricably bound with architecture. Whether it is blocked out or let in, an architect worth anything cannot afford to ignore light. In hot climates, the blockage of light through shading is tantamount to people's comfort. In Scandinavia, however, light is something precious and the architecture worth looking at sculpts and cradles light much as one would a priceless stone. When more than half the year is spent in darkness, light becomes a scarce commodity.

At Asplund's Stadsbiblioteket (Public Library), daylight is a key feature of the main rotunda space. Asplund floods the rotunda with daylight from clerestory windows just above the edge of the frame in the photo below, which washes the white walls above in a cheery glow. The light quality coupled with the sheer volume of the space makes a dramatic contrast with the dark stone and narrowness of the entry. We were fortunate enough to be in the library on a bright, sunny day, to see the room in all its glory. (Even if there were quite a few nasty electric lights turned on.)

I've already shown you how Aalto uses light in his buildings. I'll resurrect two examples.  The first, his home outside Helsinki and specifically, this moment where his desk, situated under a corner window, captures the sunlight streaming in the window.

The windows are high and wide enough to bathe the entire desk in warm sunlight. Even though the desk is in a fairly large room, the different between what is in light and what is in shadow simulates privacy for the architect at work.

Aalto's Nordic House handles light well, especially in the library. The combination of clerestory windows on either side, and the skylight above lets in light from all angles and takes advantage of multiple times of day.

Light does interesting things outside of buildings, too. Stockholm, as an urban city, contained many instances which manipulated light in an intriguing way. On Gamla Stan (Old Town) where our hostel was located, narrow alleys between the densely packed buildings channeled daylight and created shafts of light across the street.

Even though this image is stitched, you can still clearly see the beam of light that comes from the setting sun shining through the buildings. The strength of the light seems almost artificial, but it's entirely natural.

I hope to show more examples of daylighting and architecture, since I've surely talked everyone's ear off about electric lighting.

One Man's Trash is... probably still trash

Do you remember when I mentioned this bit of interesting outside a mall in Helsinki?

I wasn't sure if this was a piece of art or a garbage dump or a thrift swap. Its proximity to other art lent a deliberateness to the heap that lends itself to some avant-garde artist. But the haphazardness and the few people actually rifling through the assortment left me questioning. 

A few days ago we went to visit the Stadsbiblioteket (Public Library) by Asplund and a curious thing caught my eye. The rain and wind blew some leaves (or flower petals?) around and clumped around this unfortunate bicycle:

Rather than immediately dismiss the bicycle as trash and unusable, I thought the way the leaves threatened to swallow the bike whole to be beautiful in its drama.

Who's to say what's art and what isn't? This question isn't original, I know, but I haven't been able to satisfactorily answer it for myself. The answer is more like a constant pursuit of discovery, about what others deem "art" and reconciling that with my own tastes and preferences.

The Modern Art Museum in Stockholm had a feature exhibit of paintings by Ed Ruscha. He's not a name I was familiar with before the exhibit, but here's an example of his work. He does other things, but the largest body of his work is a phrase or sentence on top of a landscape or splotches of color:

I tried to understand it, and the others like it. I tried to switch words or letters around, looking for any hidden patterns in the letters and their positions in relation to each other and the image behind them. The search was fruitless and I wound up frustrated, not at myself but at the works on the wall. They were not art to me. To me, they were merely paint on a canvas, and that does not guarantee art.

The bicycle in the wet leaves above was more moving and stirred my senses to a much greater degree. Resisting the urge to encase it in a plexi-glass box, I had to admire it for what it was: a spontaneous accumulation of wet leaves and a lonely bicycle. I like it better that way: unassuming speaks to me more than a frame.

Let's Talk Royalty and... IKEA?

It's an exciting time to be in Stockholm, not only because it's summer and the weather is amazing, but because a once(ish)- in a lifetime even is taking place this Saturday. The royal family's oldest child, the Princess Victoria, is getting married! In three days, she will marry Daniel, a man whom the media has dubbed the "man of the people". He comes from a rural fishing family, and was the princess's personal fitness trainer. Their relationship has spanned seven years, and Saturday they will tie the knot!  For two weeks up until the ceremony, the royal family (and their many staff) have organized a citywide celebration with musical artists, cultural exhibitions and touristy stuff. Our hostel is literally right around the corner from the palace, on the island of Gamla Stan (lit. "Old Town") so we are smack in the middle of Love Stockholm 2010!

As a distinctly Swedish brand, IKEA was invited to set up a pavilion for the bash on Gamla Stan, almost directly across the street from our hostel. IKEA built a small mock palace and furnished it entirely with furniture and objects from their collection. Part advertisement, part fairly tale, with very little reality, the exhibit was pretty ridiculous.

The first room you enter is the library/study and is the first presentation of Swedish culture. The skis on the wall allude to Sweden's climate and geography, the shelves upon shelves of books celebrate Swedish literature.

If you look up behind me where I took the above photo, this large print of the royal family around the turn of the twentieth century looms above:

A special challenge to you all: can you identify the painting that the family is sitting in front of? The dog in the top right corner is the only clue, and I know I've seen the painting before but perhaps some of you with more nimble minds can help me.

The banquet room is pictured above, along with a pair of what seems to be reporters or talk show hosts being filmed talking about the IKEA palace. They seemed to be very interested in the flatware at the table, so they might have been representing a culinary or cooking design show. They spoke Swedish, so this is all conjecture.

The palace, as we moved through it, showed a strange mix of detail and simplicity. In some rooms, such as the banquet room, the walls were just white with some raw marker drawings of shields and molding. The table is richly decorated with dozens of flowers. In other rooms, such as the kitchen (shown below), the designers pay more attention to architectural integrity.

Look at those beautiful (fake) columns! (I wish it wasn't so hard to convey sarcasm through written word...)

I couldn't help wondering... what was I supposed to feel about the exhibit?  How was I supposed to see? As an American tourist, catching a glimpse of Swedish culture?  As a commoner in awe of the privileges of royal life? Or maybe IKEA wanted to create a place of escape by appealing to my sense of fantasy.

The recreation of the fairy tale The Princess and the Pea seemed to do this quite blatantly. Perhaps that's what was so unsettling about the entire exhibit: it was incomplete. It tried to take multiple routes and appeal to the so many different audiences that the result was disjointed and haphazard. I felt like I was being talked down to, and the receipts posted at the end of each room (to show how cheap all of the IKEA swag used in the room was) came off as really tacky. Overall, the exhibit quite literally cheapened the experience of the royal wedding and could have been more thoughtful and not so sloppy.

Another Note from the Author

Hopefully none of you have noticed, but I have to be honest. I'm VERY behind in my blogging. I've tried to record every day as it happened but, this is not an efficient use of my time. It's nice to have everything laid out all organized-like, but let's be honest: life isn't like that.

So I'm going to proceed in a different way, and instead record what happens as a series of vignettes. No more complete days, and things will be out of order. I'll provide dates and locations for your reference, but don't expect a logical sequence. I think this will make reading more interesting for all of you lovely people, and it will certainly make my life easier.

Thanks for bearing with me and I hope you all enjoy the new format!

Visit the CMU Scandinavia Blog!

I'd like to make a quick plug for the general CMU Scandinavia 2010 blog. You can find it at scandinavia2010.wordpress.com and it's used by everyone on the trip. There's a bunch of interesting posts by the other students there now. Leto and Dan have been using a device called a Gigapan, which takes giant panoramic pictures. Check out the posts!