Archive for the ‘Literature’ Category

Teaching Los Angeles

Sunday, August 29th, 2010

Los Angeles is so often criticized in this century as a failed city, an anti-city lacking the traditional hierarchies and radial density gradient that we have come to take for granted as key characteristics of functioning large cities.  That which in our minds constitutes Los Angeles is made up of many sub-cities, analogous to the outer boroughs of New York.  However, while the boroughs of New York are more or less subservient to the traditional model of radial density, with Manhattan as the official and functional nexus, the sub-cities of Los Angeles each contain their own density gradients, resulting in a multiplicity of hierarchies that makes for a unique, if exasperating, urban condition revolving around the individual’s desire to encapsulate himself using cars, homes, and gated communities, perpetually avoiding the idea of the collective Los Angeles.

Reyner Banham, in his 1968 series collectively known as “Four Pieces on Los Angeles,” addresses this condition on multiple fronts.  He compares the topological organization to that of London, in that both cities are agglomerations of smaller towns that have come to fall, more or less, under some civic umbrella.  After admitting to an initially unpleasant experience with public transit upon his arrival in LA, Banham declares the city to be a rather mature and distinctively modern metropolis.  He claims not only that the failure of the railways was a natural occurrence brought on by the inferiority of the Pacific Electric Railroad when compared to the much more comprehensive and freely-flowing highway system, but that the railroad company was to blame for the crime and poverty of the Watts ghetto by having effectively used train tracks to inhibit its residents from circulating between their own neighborhood and the rest of the city. He celebrates the prevalence of libertarian individuality in the citizens of LA, and embraces the fetishisation of the automobile and the rejection of civic responsibility as an extension of the art of doing one’s thing. Perhaps one of the most interesting things Banham said was that the lifestyle of Los Angeles was one that appealed most, in Europe at least, to middle-aged professionals seeking a renewed sense of freedom and excitement that could not be found on either side of the Atlantic seaboard.  That is to say, Banham wrote with a half-admission that the attraction he and others of his demographic felt for Los Angeles was a desire to spin a mid-life crisis into a Wild West adventure.

What Banham was unable to foresee was the astronomical increase in traffic density that has since become the most widely and bitterly held criticism of Los Angeles.  In the four decades that have passed since he wrote these pieces, the population of Los Angeles has outgrown the capacity of its motorways, thus making it much more difficult to maintain the lone driver motoring lifestyle.  Traffic no longer moves reliably, and many people are commuting daily from places as far away as Ventura.  The solo commute, once a symbol of glorious independence from public transportation, has become a tedious and time-consuming battle against far too many other people who also happen to be celebrating their independence.  Indeed, the highway just ain’t big enough for everyone.  There are simply too many people doing their thing over too large and dense an area that the encapsulated lifestyle so easily and romantically manifested in the middle twentieth century has proven gravely unsustainable.

image courtesy <a href=”http://philip.greenspun.com/”>Philip Greenspun</a>

What Banham described as a freewheeling aversion to government oppression may be retroactively and conceptually reassessed as a refusal to accept the terms of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s liberal republicanism, which has long been the overarching standard of American social contract.  The longstanding Angelino illusion that one may escape society by moving to a major city is not one whose irony goes unnoticed, and it is genuinely impressive that so many people have been living this illusion for so long without having some revelation as to its progressing eclipse.

Perhaps it is not too late.  The real problem with ensapsulated transportation at this time is one of congestion and fossil fuel consumption.  People operating as individuals do not possess the collective mind necessary to allow a smooth flow of traffic.  Deficiencies in driver reflexes and lapses in concentration cause traffic jams, collisions, and infuriatingly long travel times, while idling motors waste energy and emit noxious fumes even while standing still.  In this new century though, Los Angeles has a truly profound opportunity to be, as it once was conjectured to be, the most uniquely modern city in the world.  As technology allows, the city could become a large-scale experiment for infrastructural swarm intelligence.

Let the people keep their capsules, but make those capsules subservient, on certain roads at certain times, to algorithms that will allow high densities of private capsules to efficiently flow between destinations.  Fuel emissions and expenditure will no longer be in vain, and Angelinos, if they so desire, will be able to maintain their sacred private interiors, isolated from the forced company of other people that admittedly make many traditional forms of public transit disgustingly unpleasant.  At times of day and in areas where congestion ceases to be a problem, private vehicles will be released from the swarm algorithm and the control of the journey will shift seamlessly back into the hands of the occupant.  A commuter will be able to cruise up to his or her guarded suburban sanctuary in full control of his or her capsule, bringing home none of the stress or anxiety that would have resulted from a long traffic jam.

While it is easy at present to deny Banham’s relevance, to demote his essays to the status of period pieces, there is something unique about the idea of Los Angeles that is worth preserving, worth fighting for.  The first experiment for the City of Angels may have ended with disappointing results, but just as every laboratory must move past its failures toward new endeavors, so too must Los Angeles explore new opportunities in radical individualism.

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Coney Island then and now: A look at the Pyrotechnic Insanitarium 100 years on

Sunday, May 16th, 2010

On a recent trip to New York City, I finally made it to see a long time fascination of mine: Coney Island. My interest in Coney Island stems Rem Koolhaas’s analysis of the island in Delirious New York. In his essay, Coney Island: Technology of the Fantastic, he outlines the role Coney Island played in generating the 24-hour metropolis and consumer culture that transformed New York City at the turn of the 20th Century.

Coney Island Then - Luna Park by Night

According to Koolhaas, Coney Island always existed in binary opposition to Manhattan. At the beginning, Coney Island was a natural landscape with quiet beaches; a relief from the congestion of Manhattan. As the island became more popular and more crowded, it could no longer exist in its current state and had to swing to the opposite binary, one of extreme artificiality and urban intensification. Mutating the island into a city of lights and artificiality, a place where pleasure was created and consumed, required technology. To borrow from Koolhaas, technology of the fantastic was used to create a synthetic reality. Technology of the fantastic was used to create an urbanism and social environment that the public demanded and consumed, one that became a laboratory for Manhattan.

A bizarre landscape of theme parks evolved on the Island, each trying to outdo the last. Dreamland was home to over 1,300,000 electric lights, creating a second city of lights that was the advent of the 24-hour metropolis. Attractions like Fighting the Flames, The Fall of Pompeii, Barrels of Love and Lilliputia developed in line with the public’s demand for the fantastic and bizarre. Each relied on technology to create and sell a synthetic reality to be consumed by the public. Further, cardboard was a predominant building material, resulting in many impossible spires and useless space. However, the architecture was convincing enough to support “the formula: carboard + technology (or any other flimsy material) = reality.” Coney Island’s extreme artificiality and wonderland of lights and attractions prompted some critics to call the place “The Pyrotechnic Insanitarium.”

These factors of technology, synthetic reality, urbanism and the bizarre served as a laboratory for Manhattan, creating a new urbanism and consumer culture to go with it.

That was Coney Island then, but what about now? What is it and how does it function in the metropolis?

To me, it seems like it is caught between lives, between what was then and what it is now. It was interesting to see how my preconceptions of the place both aligned and strayed from what it actually is. It is still a weird outpost at the end of the line, but it is not the abandoned landscape devoid of life that I imagined. In fact, it still seems to be quite popular among the public, offering a unique blend of attractions amid the fading glory. Some of the old attractions, or remnants of them, still exist. You can eat a hot dog at Nathan’s hot dogs, home to the world’s first, ride the old Ferris wheel and other carnival rides. Coney Island retains some its old former weirdness, with fading signs and structures from the previous century, as well as attractions like Shoot the Freak. “Come on up, ladies and gentlemen, shoot the freak and the rest of your day will be gravy.”

Coney Island Now - Boardwalk and old tower

Pier and housing blocks

The former Thunderbolt roller coaster, Coney I...

Image via Wikipedia

The urban composition of the area is quite unique, a blend of carnival, relaxing boardwalk, fenced off fields, housing blocks and an aquarium. It is in this new composition that the weird is preserved. Such a diverse landscape attracts a varied social conglomeration: carnival goers, aquarium goers, tourists, residents, photographers, artists, addicts, etc. The people watching, particularly against the background of Coney Island, is worth the trip out there. Then there are those like me, hunting for the remnants of the Coney Island that used to be, and still exists in our imaginations. I can still drift into the synthetic reality of what I want the place to be, of what it means to me.

Coney Island has certainly changed, but it still exists in binary opposition to Manhattan. Once an intensification of urban pressure, it is now an exhale from the pressure and crowds of Manhattan, a world apart from the museums and fashion of the other island. The attractions and landscape of the island have changed drastically during its lifespan, but the motivations to go have not. It is always has been, and still functions as, an escape, a chance to find, and even temporarily live in, a different reality.

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A Lesson from the Aleutians – The Brilliance of Vernacular Design and Construction

Thursday, January 14th, 2010

The book Steller’s Island is the account of a Russian ship exploring the coast of Alaska in 1741. The ship carried the first scientist to ever visit that part of the world, Georg Steller. In addition to performing an amazing study of the flora and fauna of the area, he also learned from the indigenous people ways of living that saved the life of the team several times. Among his observations include detailed account of the kayaks, or iqyan, that the Aleutians used.

Drawing of Steller's Sea Cow.

Image via Wikipedia

The kayaks were fundamental to the survival and well-being of the local people; fat from marine mammals was crucial to their survival. Without dependable access to the sea they could not have flourished. Over time they learned how to construct their kayaks in a way that emulated the sea lions as closely as possible.

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Architecture and Anthropology in The House of Mirth

Friday, December 18th, 2009

This fall I read The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton on the recommendation of a former professor. It is a tale of a young woman in New York’s high society in the early 1900s and follows her social rise and ultimate demise. My professor suggested that I keep my eyes open for anthropology throughout the story. I was amazed by how many elements of anthropology I found on nearly every page; at how many of the social events and nuances I recognized from anthropology lectures. I began to wonder whether Wharton was a student of anthropology or such an astute observer of people and society that she was able to capture these subtle elements.

* Photo: Edith Wharton, 1915 * License: Public...

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Ayn Rand’s Anthropological Insights

Monday, December 7th, 2009

In the introduction to her seminal work The Fountainhead, Rand comments that in her opinion the greatest failing of man is the loss of the spirit of youth, of giving up. She writes:

“Then all of these [men] vanish into the vast swamp of their elders who tell them persistently that maturity consists of abandoning one’s own mind; security, of abandoning one’s values; practicality, of losing self-esteem. Yet a few hold on and move on, knowing that the fire is not to be betrayed, learning how to give it shape, purpose and reality.”

The Fountainhead

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Inspirational Words from Ayn Rand

Tuesday, November 17th, 2009

Ayn Rand’s introduction to The Fountainhead, written 25 years after it was first published, is both a reflection on her trials in the publishing process and a call to the youth. As recent graduates from architecture school the novel, and Rand’s introduction, are particularly poignant.

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