11.20.2008
11.18.2008
Anarchy and Punk Are No Match for Design
Beginning in 1970’s New York, Punk Rock flourished as an underground culture that continues to today. Punk was nurtured in a DIY (do it yourself) ethic that encouraged individual creativity and expression. From bands to ‘zines (magazines) to venues, participants have fashioned the Punk movement. Yet, amidst a climate of individualism and personal creation, unspoken rules have emerged to govern music shows. The concept of “show design” is evident at events regardless of environment. Venues vary from country-to-country or town-to-town. Sometimes shows are held in legitimate music halls, while more frequently, they are held in basements, dive bars and make shift art galleries. But, they all adhere to certain basic principles of organization that have evolved naturally into a consistent, recognizable design. The irony is apparent because the Punk movement came out of a desire to rebel against government, rules and mainstream life itself. Punk saw itself as synonymous with anarchy.
Punk has acquired a worldwide fan base. Watered down versions of this genre have been popular in the mainstream, with bands like Green Day, Blink-182 and most recently Fall Out Boy. On any given day there are hundreds of bands playing shows around the world. Despite the location, there are four aspects of organization that form the basis of the show design: the stage, the front row, the back, and the merchandise area.
Only Band members may occupy the stage while a show is in progress. The one notable exception occurs as an indulgence to fans who feel compelled to “stage dive.” The outer edge of the stage forms a sacred area. This is reserved for friends of the band – and groupies, if they are clever enough to charm their way in. Although a majority of these venues lack formal security due to their small size, very few people challenge the sanctity of the stage and surrounding area. Extreme fans, and those who want to connect with the band or performer, inhabit the front row of the audience. Aggressive individuals populate this area. They will, at all costs, try to get closer to the band (normally the singer) in order to express their admiration for the members. The area is often characterized by “moshing,” a form of dance (for lack of a better term) that incorporates limbs flailing around and a lot of kicking and punching. The name derives from the area in which it is preformed, the Mosh Pit. Many times when the Mosh pit is being formed the front line recedes into the middle of the audience – taking no prisoners. Less active listeners retreat to the back where they congregate near the merchandise or “merch” tables. The merch tables form the last area of organization. To be behind the merch denotes that you are either a friend, a manager or a roadie – all of which confer status and privilege. The inner circle or entourage of a band is seen in a similar, celebrity-like light. Even the drummer’s little brother gains instant respect if he’s selling band merchandise.
The organization of Punk events is a phenomenon that evolved spontaneously from apparent chaos to a consistently accepted code of behavior that may be called unplanned design. Whether the result of serendipity or an unknown psychological force that compels social organization, the design is definable, consistent and predicable.
Punk has acquired a worldwide fan base. Watered down versions of this genre have been popular in the mainstream, with bands like Green Day, Blink-182 and most recently Fall Out Boy. On any given day there are hundreds of bands playing shows around the world. Despite the location, there are four aspects of organization that form the basis of the show design: the stage, the front row, the back, and the merchandise area.
Only Band members may occupy the stage while a show is in progress. The one notable exception occurs as an indulgence to fans who feel compelled to “stage dive.” The outer edge of the stage forms a sacred area. This is reserved for friends of the band – and groupies, if they are clever enough to charm their way in. Although a majority of these venues lack formal security due to their small size, very few people challenge the sanctity of the stage and surrounding area. Extreme fans, and those who want to connect with the band or performer, inhabit the front row of the audience. Aggressive individuals populate this area. They will, at all costs, try to get closer to the band (normally the singer) in order to express their admiration for the members. The area is often characterized by “moshing,” a form of dance (for lack of a better term) that incorporates limbs flailing around and a lot of kicking and punching. The name derives from the area in which it is preformed, the Mosh Pit. Many times when the Mosh pit is being formed the front line recedes into the middle of the audience – taking no prisoners. Less active listeners retreat to the back where they congregate near the merchandise or “merch” tables. The merch tables form the last area of organization. To be behind the merch denotes that you are either a friend, a manager or a roadie – all of which confer status and privilege. The inner circle or entourage of a band is seen in a similar, celebrity-like light. Even the drummer’s little brother gains instant respect if he’s selling band merchandise.
The organization of Punk events is a phenomenon that evolved spontaneously from apparent chaos to a consistently accepted code of behavior that may be called unplanned design. Whether the result of serendipity or an unknown psychological force that compels social organization, the design is definable, consistent and predicable.
This not That: Why the Massimo Vignelli is important
American design is an amalgamation of different styles, and origins. Although Massimo Vignelli is Italian by heritage, the New York City subway map he designed, while living in New York, for the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA), in 1972, is notable and, in all respects American. His subway map is iconic for New York City. Even if it is not being used in subway stations today, it has not been forgotten, and still sparks discourse because of its unconventional design. As a design object in the Museum of Modern Art collection, the Vignelli map should be included in Russell Flinchum’s book American Design in place of William Bonnell’s poster “Celebration! 200 Years USA/50 Years CCA,” designed in 1976 for the Container Corporation of America (CCA). Although the CCA is known for their use of top designers in their advertisements, the Bonnell’s poster does not exemplify the company’s creative background. From a Graphic Design perspective it does not posses the historical importance or value of Vignelli’s subway map.
The Container Corporation of America was the leader in design-conscious corporate American advertising. Founded by Walter Paepcke in 1926, the CCA became synonymous with good design in 1937 when Charles T. Coiner (who was later joined by colleague Leo Lionni) was chosen to direct a series of advertisements for the company. Because Papcke had a strong understanding of the power of art and design, he was aware of the importance of creativity and design in a successful business (Papcke was also a patron of designers, for example, Lazlo Moholy-Nagy.) As a designer himself, Charles T. Coiner understood the importance of well-designed advertisements. He choose inventive and engaging graphic designers, such as A.M. Cassandre, Herbert Bayer, Jean Carlu and Paul Rand, to design CCA’s advertising posters. Due to Paepcke and Coiner’s shared vision, the company was seen as a progressive and refreshing alternative to other big businesses of the era. In 1976, William Bonnell was chosen to design the CCA’s 50-year anniversary poster. Bonnell’s poster was a simple background image overlapped by diagonally set white type declaring, “Celebration! 200 Years USA/50 Years CCA.” William Bonnell’s poster does not exemplify the CCA’s tradition of fresh modern advertisements. The poster is by no means bad design, but, because many prominent historians and critics, notably R. Roger Remington and Steven Heller respectively, see the CCA as important and noteworthy corporate design, any example should reflect the best quality of work that the CCA commissioned. Bonnell’s poster does not rise to those standards.
Massimo Vignelli’s subway map for the MTA is significant because it was the first map to combine all the borough’s subway lines in a concise, meaningful and visually uncluttered way. Until 1970 the subways were separate: the Inter Borough Rapid Transit line, the Brooklyn-Manhattan line etc. The MTA was created as a way to house all public transit systems, under one authority. This alone was a big change to the way Public Transportation worked in New York City but by implementing a system of colors, lines and dots signifying routes, lines and station, the idea of public Transit in the New York area became even more comprehensible.
Vignelli’s map of New York City’s underground transit system used only 45 and 90-degree angles. His representation of above-ground landmarks (or lack there of) like Central Park, was skewed to fit his artistic vision and consequently, led to the map's rejection by the public. Massimo Vignelli's design for the MTA map is a demonstration of an aesthetically pleasing design that fails because it attempts to be beautiful at the expense of being practical. Many people, especially designers, believe that a design that uses all the right “design techniques” (a grid, the respected typeface, etc.) is inherently better. But, this is hardly the case, and Massimo Vignelli's subway map is a distinct example of this design problem and thus should be studied and discussed for its lack of practicality, as well as, its aesthetic beauty.
In the Modernist vein, Vignelli’s map was designed to include only the necessary information: each subway line and each station. Vignelli represented the subway lines with colored lines and the stations with dots. This representation of the system deviated from the actual geography of New York for aesthetic and rational reasons.
On Vignelli’s map the lines are grouped in like areas: e.g. going from Manhattan to Brooklyn, or at combined stations, even though the physical subway lines might not run near each other. Vignelli states that it's not necessary for a commuter to know exactly how the train runs under the East River, just that it goes to Brooklyn or Queens.
In the movie Helvetica Massimo Vignelli speaks with great pride of his work for MTA. Vignelli believes that although some of the general public took issue with his work, he created a clear, concise map that had no fragmentation, “If I made a mistake here it was not making the geography abstract, the water beige, the park grey instead of green, but it was just the fact of indicating those things. If it was just blank it would have been better.”
Although Massimo Vignelli stands by his subway map, it has gotten a variety of public and professional criticism. Wilburn Bonnell, a New York designer who also designed for the CCA, thought the incident with Vignelli’s map was “[the] graphic design equivalent of the Pruitt-Loge housing development: Impractical, elitist Modernism succumbing to the practical, flawed imperfections of everyday life.” Unlike William Bonnell’s “Celebration!” poster, Massimo Vignelli’s subway map has made a lasting impression in Graphic Design history (and New York City history) through its conflict and “perfect imperfections.”
Today we can still see Massimo Vignelli’s impact on the New York City subway system; The signage he designed to compliment his map is currently being used in all subway stations, which still implements Vignelli’s beloved typeface, Helvetica. Even though the colors we see today (the red, green, blue, yellow, etc.) denoting lines and routes, are different from the 1972 colors that Vignelli chose, the idea of using colors was his. The rich history of the Vignelli subway map is why it should be a noted Design Object in the American Design collection. Good design isn’t necessarily the popular choice. Sometimes, when the functionality of the design fails in the way Massimo Vignelli’s map did, the flaws divulge more about the integration of design into culture than a more accepted solution ever could.
The Container Corporation of America was the leader in design-conscious corporate American advertising. Founded by Walter Paepcke in 1926, the CCA became synonymous with good design in 1937 when Charles T. Coiner (who was later joined by colleague Leo Lionni) was chosen to direct a series of advertisements for the company. Because Papcke had a strong understanding of the power of art and design, he was aware of the importance of creativity and design in a successful business (Papcke was also a patron of designers, for example, Lazlo Moholy-Nagy.) As a designer himself, Charles T. Coiner understood the importance of well-designed advertisements. He choose inventive and engaging graphic designers, such as A.M. Cassandre, Herbert Bayer, Jean Carlu and Paul Rand, to design CCA’s advertising posters. Due to Paepcke and Coiner’s shared vision, the company was seen as a progressive and refreshing alternative to other big businesses of the era. In 1976, William Bonnell was chosen to design the CCA’s 50-year anniversary poster. Bonnell’s poster was a simple background image overlapped by diagonally set white type declaring, “Celebration! 200 Years USA/50 Years CCA.” William Bonnell’s poster does not exemplify the CCA’s tradition of fresh modern advertisements. The poster is by no means bad design, but, because many prominent historians and critics, notably R. Roger Remington and Steven Heller respectively, see the CCA as important and noteworthy corporate design, any example should reflect the best quality of work that the CCA commissioned. Bonnell’s poster does not rise to those standards.
Massimo Vignelli’s subway map for the MTA is significant because it was the first map to combine all the borough’s subway lines in a concise, meaningful and visually uncluttered way. Until 1970 the subways were separate: the Inter Borough Rapid Transit line, the Brooklyn-Manhattan line etc. The MTA was created as a way to house all public transit systems, under one authority. This alone was a big change to the way Public Transportation worked in New York City but by implementing a system of colors, lines and dots signifying routes, lines and station, the idea of public Transit in the New York area became even more comprehensible.
Vignelli’s map of New York City’s underground transit system used only 45 and 90-degree angles. His representation of above-ground landmarks (or lack there of) like Central Park, was skewed to fit his artistic vision and consequently, led to the map's rejection by the public. Massimo Vignelli's design for the MTA map is a demonstration of an aesthetically pleasing design that fails because it attempts to be beautiful at the expense of being practical. Many people, especially designers, believe that a design that uses all the right “design techniques” (a grid, the respected typeface, etc.) is inherently better. But, this is hardly the case, and Massimo Vignelli's subway map is a distinct example of this design problem and thus should be studied and discussed for its lack of practicality, as well as, its aesthetic beauty.
In the Modernist vein, Vignelli’s map was designed to include only the necessary information: each subway line and each station. Vignelli represented the subway lines with colored lines and the stations with dots. This representation of the system deviated from the actual geography of New York for aesthetic and rational reasons.
On Vignelli’s map the lines are grouped in like areas: e.g. going from Manhattan to Brooklyn, or at combined stations, even though the physical subway lines might not run near each other. Vignelli states that it's not necessary for a commuter to know exactly how the train runs under the East River, just that it goes to Brooklyn or Queens.
In the movie Helvetica Massimo Vignelli speaks with great pride of his work for MTA. Vignelli believes that although some of the general public took issue with his work, he created a clear, concise map that had no fragmentation, “If I made a mistake here it was not making the geography abstract, the water beige, the park grey instead of green, but it was just the fact of indicating those things. If it was just blank it would have been better.”
Although Massimo Vignelli stands by his subway map, it has gotten a variety of public and professional criticism. Wilburn Bonnell, a New York designer who also designed for the CCA, thought the incident with Vignelli’s map was “[the] graphic design equivalent of the Pruitt-Loge housing development: Impractical, elitist Modernism succumbing to the practical, flawed imperfections of everyday life.” Unlike William Bonnell’s “Celebration!” poster, Massimo Vignelli’s subway map has made a lasting impression in Graphic Design history (and New York City history) through its conflict and “perfect imperfections.”
Today we can still see Massimo Vignelli’s impact on the New York City subway system; The signage he designed to compliment his map is currently being used in all subway stations, which still implements Vignelli’s beloved typeface, Helvetica. Even though the colors we see today (the red, green, blue, yellow, etc.) denoting lines and routes, are different from the 1972 colors that Vignelli chose, the idea of using colors was his. The rich history of the Vignelli subway map is why it should be a noted Design Object in the American Design collection. Good design isn’t necessarily the popular choice. Sometimes, when the functionality of the design fails in the way Massimo Vignelli’s map did, the flaws divulge more about the integration of design into culture than a more accepted solution ever could.
Urban V. Foster: Battleground Hearst
A steel and glass tower stands at Eighth Ave and Fifty-Seventh Street that has been hailed by critics, such as Paul Goldberger, as the most significant piece of New York City architecture since the new millennium. Completed in 2006 over a 1920’s base, the Hearst Tower was designed by Sir Norman Foster + Partners for the Hearst Corporation. The tower rises 46 floors over a tan limestone building, originally designed by Joseph Urban in 1927, that is garnished with large vase finials that sit upon geometric columns, four stories above street level. While twelve cloaked figures, depicting various aspects of the Hearst Corporation (Music and Art to Printing and Science), watch dutifully -¬¬¬ two above each entrance. The six-story building served as the Hearst Corporation’s first headquarters and was constructed with the intention that it would expand as the company grew. This new addition to the New York City skyline planned to meld the old with the new and tradition with innovation. Foster + Partners and Hearst both set the bar high for this project, utilizing the newest technologies and greenest materials available, but in trying to create a new, significant piece of New York City architecture did they lose any of the old building’s significance?
Joseph Urban's building was landmarked in 1988. The original plans predicted the necessity of expansion, and because of this early prediction it was easier for the Hearst Corporation to get the Landmark Preservation Commission to approve their tower on top of the Urban building. The Landmark’s guidelines required the original building to be restored and allowed new building only if it would be architecturally significant to New York City. The air rights of the original building allowed for 40 stories. However, when the Hearst Corporation agreed to restore part of the Columbus Circle subway station, they were allowed to build up to 46 stories. Other building in the area, such as the 750ft Time Warner Center on Columbus Circle, or the 684ft Random House/Park Imperial on Broadway, rise above the Hearst Tower. The restriction of height to only 597ft (especially in an area that is populated by other skyscrapers) is one of the negative characteristics of the Hearst Tower. The tower’s large floor plan (160ft. x 120ft.) in relation to the height, give the overall impression the structure would benefit from a taller design. At its current height, the girth of the building gives it a stubby look.
Norman Foster in collaboration with the Hearst Corporation was able to achieve all of the LPC’s specifications. Upon completion of the Hearst Tower, the Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) certified the tower with a gold rating for their environmentally conscious design, the second highest rating LEED awards, and the tower was also honored by the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA.)
The design team for the Hearst tower focused their attention to producing an innovative (and environmentally friendly) building. From the street, the building’s lack of right angles sets it apart from its neighbors, and other New York City architecture. The design gives the building a space-age quality – a look that derives from the unusual construction. The structure itself is a diagrid, or diagonal grid; this type of structure is stronger, in terms of support, than a square grid. This uncommon structural choice gives the building dominance over its neighbors and the exoskeleton is a progressive alternative to the boxy quality of surrounding buildings. Because the building employs a glass curtain wall, it shimmers in the sun – sometimes blindingly so. This large expansive glass also allows for the internal spaces to be flooded with natural light. The out-facing glass walls allow abundant outside light in and illuminates every floor during daylight hours.
Foster continued the use of glass and light in the renovation of the Joseph Urban building as well. The entire ceiling of the existing Urban building was replaced with glass, creating a expanse of sky where sunlight cascades from above. The flood of natural light mimics the waterfall that connects the atrium to the street level entrance. The powerful, yet serene, lighting is evocative of the former Pennsylvania Station and Grand Central Terminal.
While the skylights create a welcome alternative to most pedestrian office cafeterias and entryways, the essence of the original building has been altered. The landmark guidelines forced preservation of the original façade but could not prevent the inside from being stripped of the spirit of the1920’s building. The main renovation to the building consisted of gutting the existing six floors in order to create a hollow structure that could easily be used as an envelope for the prized jewel, Norman Foster’s tower. Joseph Urban’s original Hearst building now serves as a mere wrapping for the open space of the atrium in the Hearst Tower. The entire footprint of the 1926 building is either lobby space or a general seating/cafeteria area. The Hearst Corporation’s decision to exclude the original building from housing any of the business aspects of the company suggests a gesture to quickly acknowledge the company’s past on the outside, while underlining the fact that the company has evolved on the inside. Using Joseph Urban’s six-story building as an entranceway certainly makes this grand statement about the Hearst Corporation.
Joesph Urban (who was also a noted theater designer) was not entirely irritated from the new Hearst Tower. Tucked away in one of the only enclosed areas of the atrium, is a small multiuse theater space, named the Joseph Urban Theater. The theater can hold 168 people in its grey leather-clad seats and can be used for film screenings as well as lectures and presentations. The walls of this theater are made of Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certified American Maple and at the front of the theater is a large panel of red leather, made from scar free, German cows. The carpets of this theater (like all other carpets in the building) are also environmentally conscious and made using recycled materials.
Sir Norman Foster and the Hearst Corporation certainly built a spectacular addition to New York City. Even though there may be room for improvement, they have achieved their goal to create a significant piece of architecture that is forward thinking, but at what cost? Except for the façade, which was landmarked, the Joseph Urban building was been lost in the integration with the new structure.
When expanding on an existing building the architect must decide to either continue using the same contextual elements or to diverge from the present form. In this instance, Foster + Partners kept to their tried and true aesthetic: A contemporary building that is influenced by Modernist ideas. In doing so, they chose to reject any influence of Urban’s architectural style. This was a smart choice because the building has been widely discussed and praised, but they didn’t pay enough homage to the existing architecture of Joseph Urban’s building. Their decision to gut the interior comes off in such a way that it is easy to imagine that the whole building would have been demolished if it was not landmarked. Norman Foster proved himself to be a talented architect of modern design, but it came at the expense of obliterating the interior of Joseph Urban’s building.
The amalgamation of these two buildings work on the outside because of the vast difference between the ornate façade of the Urban building and the utilitarian exoskeleton of the Foster tower. The exterior of both buildings – especially at night – emits light from inside and out; both buildings look striking in their outward juxtaposition of each other. The effect is symbolic of a new era rising out of the old, expressing its individuality and innovation while staying grounded in the ethics of the past – but unfortunately, the promise of a great union of these noteworthy buildings, is only realized on the outer surface. Like a picturesque marriage that is bubbling with turmoil underneath, these two buildings look unconventionally handsome together from a far - playing on each other’s differences. But, once inside, this stately combination of eras, colors and materials is lost, and it is hard to find any sign of the original Urban building. Quickly, it becomes clear why compromise is a key to a lasting relationship.
Joseph Urban's building was landmarked in 1988. The original plans predicted the necessity of expansion, and because of this early prediction it was easier for the Hearst Corporation to get the Landmark Preservation Commission to approve their tower on top of the Urban building. The Landmark’s guidelines required the original building to be restored and allowed new building only if it would be architecturally significant to New York City. The air rights of the original building allowed for 40 stories. However, when the Hearst Corporation agreed to restore part of the Columbus Circle subway station, they were allowed to build up to 46 stories. Other building in the area, such as the 750ft Time Warner Center on Columbus Circle, or the 684ft Random House/Park Imperial on Broadway, rise above the Hearst Tower. The restriction of height to only 597ft (especially in an area that is populated by other skyscrapers) is one of the negative characteristics of the Hearst Tower. The tower’s large floor plan (160ft. x 120ft.) in relation to the height, give the overall impression the structure would benefit from a taller design. At its current height, the girth of the building gives it a stubby look.
Norman Foster in collaboration with the Hearst Corporation was able to achieve all of the LPC’s specifications. Upon completion of the Hearst Tower, the Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) certified the tower with a gold rating for their environmentally conscious design, the second highest rating LEED awards, and the tower was also honored by the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA.)
The design team for the Hearst tower focused their attention to producing an innovative (and environmentally friendly) building. From the street, the building’s lack of right angles sets it apart from its neighbors, and other New York City architecture. The design gives the building a space-age quality – a look that derives from the unusual construction. The structure itself is a diagrid, or diagonal grid; this type of structure is stronger, in terms of support, than a square grid. This uncommon structural choice gives the building dominance over its neighbors and the exoskeleton is a progressive alternative to the boxy quality of surrounding buildings. Because the building employs a glass curtain wall, it shimmers in the sun – sometimes blindingly so. This large expansive glass also allows for the internal spaces to be flooded with natural light. The out-facing glass walls allow abundant outside light in and illuminates every floor during daylight hours.
Foster continued the use of glass and light in the renovation of the Joseph Urban building as well. The entire ceiling of the existing Urban building was replaced with glass, creating a expanse of sky where sunlight cascades from above. The flood of natural light mimics the waterfall that connects the atrium to the street level entrance. The powerful, yet serene, lighting is evocative of the former Pennsylvania Station and Grand Central Terminal.
While the skylights create a welcome alternative to most pedestrian office cafeterias and entryways, the essence of the original building has been altered. The landmark guidelines forced preservation of the original façade but could not prevent the inside from being stripped of the spirit of the1920’s building. The main renovation to the building consisted of gutting the existing six floors in order to create a hollow structure that could easily be used as an envelope for the prized jewel, Norman Foster’s tower. Joseph Urban’s original Hearst building now serves as a mere wrapping for the open space of the atrium in the Hearst Tower. The entire footprint of the 1926 building is either lobby space or a general seating/cafeteria area. The Hearst Corporation’s decision to exclude the original building from housing any of the business aspects of the company suggests a gesture to quickly acknowledge the company’s past on the outside, while underlining the fact that the company has evolved on the inside. Using Joseph Urban’s six-story building as an entranceway certainly makes this grand statement about the Hearst Corporation.
Joesph Urban (who was also a noted theater designer) was not entirely irritated from the new Hearst Tower. Tucked away in one of the only enclosed areas of the atrium, is a small multiuse theater space, named the Joseph Urban Theater. The theater can hold 168 people in its grey leather-clad seats and can be used for film screenings as well as lectures and presentations. The walls of this theater are made of Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) certified American Maple and at the front of the theater is a large panel of red leather, made from scar free, German cows. The carpets of this theater (like all other carpets in the building) are also environmentally conscious and made using recycled materials.
Sir Norman Foster and the Hearst Corporation certainly built a spectacular addition to New York City. Even though there may be room for improvement, they have achieved their goal to create a significant piece of architecture that is forward thinking, but at what cost? Except for the façade, which was landmarked, the Joseph Urban building was been lost in the integration with the new structure.
When expanding on an existing building the architect must decide to either continue using the same contextual elements or to diverge from the present form. In this instance, Foster + Partners kept to their tried and true aesthetic: A contemporary building that is influenced by Modernist ideas. In doing so, they chose to reject any influence of Urban’s architectural style. This was a smart choice because the building has been widely discussed and praised, but they didn’t pay enough homage to the existing architecture of Joseph Urban’s building. Their decision to gut the interior comes off in such a way that it is easy to imagine that the whole building would have been demolished if it was not landmarked. Norman Foster proved himself to be a talented architect of modern design, but it came at the expense of obliterating the interior of Joseph Urban’s building.
The amalgamation of these two buildings work on the outside because of the vast difference between the ornate façade of the Urban building and the utilitarian exoskeleton of the Foster tower. The exterior of both buildings – especially at night – emits light from inside and out; both buildings look striking in their outward juxtaposition of each other. The effect is symbolic of a new era rising out of the old, expressing its individuality and innovation while staying grounded in the ethics of the past – but unfortunately, the promise of a great union of these noteworthy buildings, is only realized on the outer surface. Like a picturesque marriage that is bubbling with turmoil underneath, these two buildings look unconventionally handsome together from a far - playing on each other’s differences. But, once inside, this stately combination of eras, colors and materials is lost, and it is hard to find any sign of the original Urban building. Quickly, it becomes clear why compromise is a key to a lasting relationship.
I like Hello Kitty, And I am Cool
In my elementary school, if you owned anything Hello Kitty, you were cool. The most popular girl in my class was turning 12th and guess what her birthday invitations were? Hello Kitty. Even my best friend at the time had a one-foot-tall Hello Kitty phone, and I was jealous, not only did she have her own phone, but it was also Hello Kitty. What made this intense, adolescent need for these products even greater, were that they was so hard to find. There was only one store in my hometown that carried Hello Kitty, a small dancewear shop located in a local strip mall, and even they had limited merchandise.
When I entered the Hello Kitty store in Times Square, it rekindled an old flame that I thought was put out at least 5 years ago. Before this trip I envisioned my discussion on good Japanese design to solely consist of Muji and their “enough” aesthetic. I love Muji, don’t get me wrong, as a grown up it makes perfect sense in my life. If I could, I would surround myself in it and IKEA products. But, there is something about Hello Kitty, something that just won’t let me deny her round, cherub like face, or her plethora of useful everyday objects.
To my dismay, the Times Square store didn’t carry a lot of the ridiculous Hello Kitty items I remembered, things like the one-foot-tall phone or the Hello Kitty waffle maker. This store just stocked a lot of clothing and fashion accessories, and many of these things seemed geared towards an older generation of women - maybe even women like myself.
Hello Kitty’s empire consists of so much more than clothing and plush toys. It is about a lifestyle, an all encompassing, Hello Kitty lifestyle. The range of products spans a great chasm from home to office, from infant to elder. My favorite thing about the Hello Kitty line is the idea that it is creating a lifestyle for the consumer. At first, every item seems more ridiculous than the last – a sandwich case, a $3000 diamond necklace, and a Fender guitar complete with matching guitar picks. Who needs any of those things? But the more I looked at these items, the more the thinking behind them made sense. The way the merchandise is offered is individual, so that the buyer can chose to what degree they want to immerse themselves in Hello Kitty. I think this idea of production makes liking Hello Kitty manageable. If you just want a Hello Kitty eraser, then you only buy the eraser – but who could stop there?
There are so many items in the Hello Kitty line that are really intelligent and obviously researched designs, like the silicone cake mold, or the Hello Kitty Stratocaster guitar. These specific products are smart design choices because they are building on already successful ideas. Silicone kitchen supplies are at the top of their class in kitchen technology, Alton Brown, Rachel Ray, and Giada Di Laurentas all use silicone utensils on their cooking shows. The Stratocaster guitar is another example of well-researched collaboration. George Harrison and John Lennon, as well as, Pete Townshend used the Stratocaster – it is an icon of rock and roll music.
With a business model like this one it is hard to find one items that doesn’t exemplify good Japanese design, because if you pick on one item, you will be picking on the whole. Like Muji, Hello Kitty is giving you everything; they are giving you the clothes to match the bed sheets to match the toaster. If you say the toaster isn’t important, then why are the bed sheets important? Why is the sandwich case important? Because it’s a part of a greater system, and in the Japanese mindset it is all related to creating a common theme in the consumer’s life. Whether it is a Muji life or a Hello Kitty life, it is consistent life and a consistent style.
Although I am not ready to completely immerse myself in this glamorous Hello Kitty life style, complete with matching drapes. I am planning on purchasing the Hello Kitty waffle maker as soon as I can scrape together $34.98. The finished waffles look like Hello Kitty and her friends, Cathy, the quite bunny, and Tippy, the helpful bear. If that doesn’t impress future houseguests, I might have to ask them to leave.
To me, Hello Kitty will always be this social symbol of my childhood. The prices were almost too much for my parents to deem it suitable for someone my age; spending $13 on a pencil case and 3 pencils, just because it involved a cartoon cat - that no one had heard of - seemed like nonsense to my parents. Looking back on it, they were right, it was nonsense, but not to me. Not to the consumer who has forged some sort of bond with this mouth-less character, someone who thought that these designs exemplified what I, as an 11 year old, wanted everyone to know about me – I like Hello Kitty and I am cool.
When I entered the Hello Kitty store in Times Square, it rekindled an old flame that I thought was put out at least 5 years ago. Before this trip I envisioned my discussion on good Japanese design to solely consist of Muji and their “enough” aesthetic. I love Muji, don’t get me wrong, as a grown up it makes perfect sense in my life. If I could, I would surround myself in it and IKEA products. But, there is something about Hello Kitty, something that just won’t let me deny her round, cherub like face, or her plethora of useful everyday objects.
To my dismay, the Times Square store didn’t carry a lot of the ridiculous Hello Kitty items I remembered, things like the one-foot-tall phone or the Hello Kitty waffle maker. This store just stocked a lot of clothing and fashion accessories, and many of these things seemed geared towards an older generation of women - maybe even women like myself.
Hello Kitty’s empire consists of so much more than clothing and plush toys. It is about a lifestyle, an all encompassing, Hello Kitty lifestyle. The range of products spans a great chasm from home to office, from infant to elder. My favorite thing about the Hello Kitty line is the idea that it is creating a lifestyle for the consumer. At first, every item seems more ridiculous than the last – a sandwich case, a $3000 diamond necklace, and a Fender guitar complete with matching guitar picks. Who needs any of those things? But the more I looked at these items, the more the thinking behind them made sense. The way the merchandise is offered is individual, so that the buyer can chose to what degree they want to immerse themselves in Hello Kitty. I think this idea of production makes liking Hello Kitty manageable. If you just want a Hello Kitty eraser, then you only buy the eraser – but who could stop there?
There are so many items in the Hello Kitty line that are really intelligent and obviously researched designs, like the silicone cake mold, or the Hello Kitty Stratocaster guitar. These specific products are smart design choices because they are building on already successful ideas. Silicone kitchen supplies are at the top of their class in kitchen technology, Alton Brown, Rachel Ray, and Giada Di Laurentas all use silicone utensils on their cooking shows. The Stratocaster guitar is another example of well-researched collaboration. George Harrison and John Lennon, as well as, Pete Townshend used the Stratocaster – it is an icon of rock and roll music.
With a business model like this one it is hard to find one items that doesn’t exemplify good Japanese design, because if you pick on one item, you will be picking on the whole. Like Muji, Hello Kitty is giving you everything; they are giving you the clothes to match the bed sheets to match the toaster. If you say the toaster isn’t important, then why are the bed sheets important? Why is the sandwich case important? Because it’s a part of a greater system, and in the Japanese mindset it is all related to creating a common theme in the consumer’s life. Whether it is a Muji life or a Hello Kitty life, it is consistent life and a consistent style.
Although I am not ready to completely immerse myself in this glamorous Hello Kitty life style, complete with matching drapes. I am planning on purchasing the Hello Kitty waffle maker as soon as I can scrape together $34.98. The finished waffles look like Hello Kitty and her friends, Cathy, the quite bunny, and Tippy, the helpful bear. If that doesn’t impress future houseguests, I might have to ask them to leave.
To me, Hello Kitty will always be this social symbol of my childhood. The prices were almost too much for my parents to deem it suitable for someone my age; spending $13 on a pencil case and 3 pencils, just because it involved a cartoon cat - that no one had heard of - seemed like nonsense to my parents. Looking back on it, they were right, it was nonsense, but not to me. Not to the consumer who has forged some sort of bond with this mouth-less character, someone who thought that these designs exemplified what I, as an 11 year old, wanted everyone to know about me – I like Hello Kitty and I am cool.
Parsons V. NYU: Battle of the Renovations
Urban campuses are often a collection of mismatched buildings that are donated or acquired by a college or university over time, and in most cases, beggars can’t be choosers. Many smaller schools don’t even own the buildings they occupy, making it difficult to control their students’ environments in the same way that non-urban campuses who own their own buildings can.
Urban campuses don’t lend themselves easily to originality since it’s hard to forge an identity when you’re literally confined by the walls of neighboring buildings. Nevertheless, both Parsons The New School for Design and New York University recently took up the challenge to inject a sense of identity into a pre-existing architectural space. Because the two spaces function so differently, a comparison of the two spaces might be partial from the start: Parsons renovated was their main lobby, an area that is consistently in use— by the public as well as the school. Meanwhile, the NYU renovation was of a 1890s building occupied solely by the Philosophy Department—and only open to NYU affiliates. Yet when considering that both schools’ renovations attempted to achieve brilliant architectural spaces by employing creative concepts, it becomes clear that only one of them is truly a success.
In 2008, Lyn Rice Architects was commissioned by Parsons to renovate the school’s main lobby at 66 5th Avenue. The architect’s concept for this project was to create an “urban quad” – which tried to emulate a suburban campus quad, in theory, and—in the case of the Parson’s project—in materials as well. The main area that was renovated was seen as a prospective campus “hub”: a meeting point for all things social and academic. It is easy to understand why flow and accessibility are important to this new urban quad, especially between class hours.
In order for bustling academic spaces to be a success, they must meet certain criteria: They must be easily navigated, visually organized and physically uncluttered. In order for these academic areas to be a total functional success they also need to contribute to the learning environment. This can be achieved by creating a well-designed space that supports and inspires the students in their academic pursuits.
The Parsons space is both uncluttered and user-friendly. Simple elements (like the diamond pattern of the concrete floor tiles) are echoed in other places around the quad (like the skylights) and give a coherent flow to the main entry space off of 13th street. The smooth, crisp nature of the variety of materials used——like aluminum, poured concrete, plastic and glass——move the viewer’s eye along and ease the transition from one area of the main space to another. As concrete floor tiles turn into aluminum on the large ramp in the middle of lobby, the similarity in the visual language of the materials is still evident, because both of these elements are consistent in texture; There is no jumping from one space to the other. Even the white walls and large set windows, which look out over 5th Avenue and 13th Street, stay true to this visual vocabulary. A single wall, covered in yellow poplar bark, is the only façade that doesn’t stay consistent with this smooth, visual language. This wall injects a natural presence to the space and brings an element of the suburban campus quad, trees, into this urban space. The mixture of materials adds interest to the space, while staying in a neutral color range of silver, grey and white. There are specific neon accent colors in each office, gallery or lobby of the Parsons’s renovation. Although these colors are eye-piercing, their visual simplicity as a solid color counteracts their visual noise as neon color, thus making them bearable in the design.
The other central idea for the Parsons renovation was less physical and more conceptual: to make an identity for the school and for the students. Both of these were achieved in different ways. Before the renovations, the school’s reputation for cultivating “who’s who” in the design world was not fully realized in their buildings design: Long lines to get into class and old, bland architecture were not cues that signified to an outsider this was a top design school. Lyn Rice Architects focused much of their time creating a space where the schools ideals, values and presence could come through, via a sleek new interior, but would still somehow reflect student’s personal identity and work. The solution to this was movable, changeable elements—like TV screens to display video of student’s work and window frames that contribute to the space by allowing paintings to be hung from them. The architecture of this showcase-like space compliments the student art and design work it displays, without taking away any of their spotlight.
Meanwhile, Steven Holl was commissioned by NYU to renovate their Philosophy department; a six story, Greenwich Village building at 3-5 Washington Place. Since the space was split into separate levels, it was important that—in addition to maintaining a consistency of design detail throughout all floors—one large-scale object visually held the space together. A large staircase meandering up the right side of these six stories does the job of connecting the spaces, physically and visually, and it also engages the viewers at street level. When seen at night, the staircase resonates with light. Holl’s sponge-like, organic shapes, which are cut out of white painted wood that encases the stairwell, create the lightbox effect. Unfortunately, this is the only part of the renovation that speaks with such vibrancy and presence.
In comparison to the Parsons renovation, the new NYU department was barren. Even though the NYU department largely houses offices—save for a few classrooms and a departmental lounge—the lack of people wasn’t the real issue. The actual space felt sad and uninviting. Holl’s plan for these six floors was that they would be a multiuse facility for students and facility. Along this line of thinking, the architects installed large desks in the middle of each floor. These desks had three apparent functions, a filing cabinet, a seating area and a workspace, but no one appeared to be using any of them. These desks were literally collecting dust—and rightfully so—since, in this digitized world, the idea of the filling cabinet has gone the way of the Walkman and a workspace had translated to a desktop.
The lounge was the only floor in the NYU department that looked as if it might have had many people congregating in it at a certain time. The furnishings were sleek and modernist, as the designers chose black leather to compliment the overall black-and-white color scheme found on the rest of the floors. Although these furniture choices seemed apparently design-conscious (in terms of style and comfort), they did not add anything to the room, and their lacquer-like upholstery just accented to the already-boring visual elements.
Both projects were relatively large-scale, more than just one floor or area, and spanned over many floors or departments. But Parsons’ renovations, both aesthetically and functionally, were more of a success than NYU’s. The Philosophy Department fell short of luminous, with floors that, more or less, repeated themselves the plan became monotonous after the 3rd floor. The renovations also didn’t span further than the main areas of these floors: The bathrooms and extra spaces surrounding the main hallways were neglected and felt out of place. The lighting of every space was minimal and dreary and added to the stark, lonely feeling of the black, white and grey color scheme.
For the most part, the new renovations appeared to be well-integrated into all areas of both campus spaces. Parson’s urban quad and the NYU department each had coherent design schemes that were apparent at first glance. In addition, both were modern, minimalist and multiuse renovations. The color scheme for each was a white and neutral color pallet with one accent color per space. And in both designs, the light color scheme created an issue with durability and longevity of the materials: The walls, floors and furniture in the high-traffic areas of both Parsons and NYU were dirty and worn. Resilience of materials is something that should have been considered in both areas, and at Parsons in particular (where the décor is predominantly white), the color scheme could have been more vibrant in order to reflect the creativity of their students.
On the other hand, Lyn Rice Architects’ choice of accent colors might not be so easy on the eyes, but at least this space captures attention.
Lyn Rice Architects accomplished the job of creating an identity for the school while allowing the identity of the students to shine. This consideration for the students reflects well on both the school and design team. Both the Parsons and NYU spaces are functional, but Parsons’s urban quad goes above and beyond physical practicality, and incorporates a space that can be transformed and reinvented based on the current students needs or aspirations.
Urban campuses don’t lend themselves easily to originality since it’s hard to forge an identity when you’re literally confined by the walls of neighboring buildings. Nevertheless, both Parsons The New School for Design and New York University recently took up the challenge to inject a sense of identity into a pre-existing architectural space. Because the two spaces function so differently, a comparison of the two spaces might be partial from the start: Parsons renovated was their main lobby, an area that is consistently in use— by the public as well as the school. Meanwhile, the NYU renovation was of a 1890s building occupied solely by the Philosophy Department—and only open to NYU affiliates. Yet when considering that both schools’ renovations attempted to achieve brilliant architectural spaces by employing creative concepts, it becomes clear that only one of them is truly a success.
In 2008, Lyn Rice Architects was commissioned by Parsons to renovate the school’s main lobby at 66 5th Avenue. The architect’s concept for this project was to create an “urban quad” – which tried to emulate a suburban campus quad, in theory, and—in the case of the Parson’s project—in materials as well. The main area that was renovated was seen as a prospective campus “hub”: a meeting point for all things social and academic. It is easy to understand why flow and accessibility are important to this new urban quad, especially between class hours.
In order for bustling academic spaces to be a success, they must meet certain criteria: They must be easily navigated, visually organized and physically uncluttered. In order for these academic areas to be a total functional success they also need to contribute to the learning environment. This can be achieved by creating a well-designed space that supports and inspires the students in their academic pursuits.
The Parsons space is both uncluttered and user-friendly. Simple elements (like the diamond pattern of the concrete floor tiles) are echoed in other places around the quad (like the skylights) and give a coherent flow to the main entry space off of 13th street. The smooth, crisp nature of the variety of materials used——like aluminum, poured concrete, plastic and glass——move the viewer’s eye along and ease the transition from one area of the main space to another. As concrete floor tiles turn into aluminum on the large ramp in the middle of lobby, the similarity in the visual language of the materials is still evident, because both of these elements are consistent in texture; There is no jumping from one space to the other. Even the white walls and large set windows, which look out over 5th Avenue and 13th Street, stay true to this visual vocabulary. A single wall, covered in yellow poplar bark, is the only façade that doesn’t stay consistent with this smooth, visual language. This wall injects a natural presence to the space and brings an element of the suburban campus quad, trees, into this urban space. The mixture of materials adds interest to the space, while staying in a neutral color range of silver, grey and white. There are specific neon accent colors in each office, gallery or lobby of the Parsons’s renovation. Although these colors are eye-piercing, their visual simplicity as a solid color counteracts their visual noise as neon color, thus making them bearable in the design.
The other central idea for the Parsons renovation was less physical and more conceptual: to make an identity for the school and for the students. Both of these were achieved in different ways. Before the renovations, the school’s reputation for cultivating “who’s who” in the design world was not fully realized in their buildings design: Long lines to get into class and old, bland architecture were not cues that signified to an outsider this was a top design school. Lyn Rice Architects focused much of their time creating a space where the schools ideals, values and presence could come through, via a sleek new interior, but would still somehow reflect student’s personal identity and work. The solution to this was movable, changeable elements—like TV screens to display video of student’s work and window frames that contribute to the space by allowing paintings to be hung from them. The architecture of this showcase-like space compliments the student art and design work it displays, without taking away any of their spotlight.
Meanwhile, Steven Holl was commissioned by NYU to renovate their Philosophy department; a six story, Greenwich Village building at 3-5 Washington Place. Since the space was split into separate levels, it was important that—in addition to maintaining a consistency of design detail throughout all floors—one large-scale object visually held the space together. A large staircase meandering up the right side of these six stories does the job of connecting the spaces, physically and visually, and it also engages the viewers at street level. When seen at night, the staircase resonates with light. Holl’s sponge-like, organic shapes, which are cut out of white painted wood that encases the stairwell, create the lightbox effect. Unfortunately, this is the only part of the renovation that speaks with such vibrancy and presence.
In comparison to the Parsons renovation, the new NYU department was barren. Even though the NYU department largely houses offices—save for a few classrooms and a departmental lounge—the lack of people wasn’t the real issue. The actual space felt sad and uninviting. Holl’s plan for these six floors was that they would be a multiuse facility for students and facility. Along this line of thinking, the architects installed large desks in the middle of each floor. These desks had three apparent functions, a filing cabinet, a seating area and a workspace, but no one appeared to be using any of them. These desks were literally collecting dust—and rightfully so—since, in this digitized world, the idea of the filling cabinet has gone the way of the Walkman and a workspace had translated to a desktop.
The lounge was the only floor in the NYU department that looked as if it might have had many people congregating in it at a certain time. The furnishings were sleek and modernist, as the designers chose black leather to compliment the overall black-and-white color scheme found on the rest of the floors. Although these furniture choices seemed apparently design-conscious (in terms of style and comfort), they did not add anything to the room, and their lacquer-like upholstery just accented to the already-boring visual elements.
Both projects were relatively large-scale, more than just one floor or area, and spanned over many floors or departments. But Parsons’ renovations, both aesthetically and functionally, were more of a success than NYU’s. The Philosophy Department fell short of luminous, with floors that, more or less, repeated themselves the plan became monotonous after the 3rd floor. The renovations also didn’t span further than the main areas of these floors: The bathrooms and extra spaces surrounding the main hallways were neglected and felt out of place. The lighting of every space was minimal and dreary and added to the stark, lonely feeling of the black, white and grey color scheme.
For the most part, the new renovations appeared to be well-integrated into all areas of both campus spaces. Parson’s urban quad and the NYU department each had coherent design schemes that were apparent at first glance. In addition, both were modern, minimalist and multiuse renovations. The color scheme for each was a white and neutral color pallet with one accent color per space. And in both designs, the light color scheme created an issue with durability and longevity of the materials: The walls, floors and furniture in the high-traffic areas of both Parsons and NYU were dirty and worn. Resilience of materials is something that should have been considered in both areas, and at Parsons in particular (where the décor is predominantly white), the color scheme could have been more vibrant in order to reflect the creativity of their students.
On the other hand, Lyn Rice Architects’ choice of accent colors might not be so easy on the eyes, but at least this space captures attention.
Lyn Rice Architects accomplished the job of creating an identity for the school while allowing the identity of the students to shine. This consideration for the students reflects well on both the school and design team. Both the Parsons and NYU spaces are functional, but Parsons’s urban quad goes above and beyond physical practicality, and incorporates a space that can be transformed and reinvented based on the current students needs or aspirations.
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