Designed as from the hand of God

Over the past several decades, modernism and its close antecedents have become, in effect, the only intellectually-acceptable style in which architects may practice. Yet, in so many cases, the public still recoils at it. Why are some modern buildings inviting and comforting, while so many are not?

Inhuman scale can be visually seductive to the designer and exciting for a visitor, but it is ultimately alienating to a resident. Consider recent building design’s direct similarities to earlier brutalist and scaleless modernism:

Boston City Hall

It is easy to understand why one would not seek out, for example, Boston City Hall as a neighbor. It interrupts a historic and compelling street fabric with an aggressive plinth and intentional removal from the life of the city sidewalk.  Concrete detailing and varied forms are intriguing and well-done on this building, but again, one can appreciate why an occupant or a neighbor would find it repulsive. People generally do not seek out unfriendly neighbors or places.

But are today’s modern forms much different than this past era of concrete brutalism? Should not the lively nature of contemporary modernism negate an imposing and off-putting nature? Unfortunately, no; it does not. This is not a result of style, but of design and construction - a lack of handmade, an erasure of the craftsman.

Let’s look at Zaha Hadid’s recent celebrated Guangzhou Opera House:

Guangzhou Opera House

Upon first viewing, it is quite different from the concrete mass of the Boston City Hall. Long stretches of glass, broken down into smaller pieces with careful detailing, provide views inside the undulating forms. A tower sparkled with lights suggests further activity higher up and beyond. Sloping walkways provide views of, and for, guests and visitors.

The Opera’s similarity with the Boston City Hall lies in the building’s appearance as built by the “Hand of God,” but is actually more brutal than the earlier structure. As we have become accustomed to in office buildings over the world, the craftsmanship of the builders is effectively erased. The attempt at scale seen in the unitized panels and triangular glass simply appears as a foreign and alien skin. The detailing has deliberately achieved the negation of the human hand.

Boston City Hall displays a remnant of humanity and nature in portions of its wood formwork, sized for a workman’s hands, but today’s trendiest buildings, such as the Opera House, strive to hide even this. Walkways and windows are designed not to humanize, but to show a mastery over material and space.  In fact, the building’s appeal is inextricably linked to alienation.

Buildings are not cars, ships, or jets, and they should not be designed as such. Unlike vehicles they are not expected to depreciate in value immediately upon purchase. Most of them do not move, and ideally they will be in use much longer. They should remain beautiful (or even become more beautiful) with minimal maintenance and care, and with age.

Building construction has its own unique set of basic rules and traditions that can be inspiring and fascinating. The visual cues developed within these methods often lend a humanism and scale that are now being deliberately avoided or hidden. This does not have to be the case. As new methods of construction are developed, they too can show us the hand of the builder, the presence of people, and the ability to age gracefully.

Again, this is not an issue of style. Many architects have been very successful in designing timeless modern buildings over the years, but they can be hard to find. More commonly, we have found in our celebrated buildings that repulsiveness and beauty have become one and the same, and can never be separated.

That is what we want to study here.