Strolls through these parts of the city are always awash with life. Wafting, blowing, hinting and delighting, smells abound in the air of the city, the air of the harbor and canals, the bakeries, cafes, sidewalks, gutters and garbage. A cool breeze brings warm smells of rolls and coffee, chills from the water, and the premonition of rain from the skies, from the clouds, grey canvases creased with strokes from the wind, laden and permanent over the land, cloaking the sun and damping out precious hours of daylight. Already the shadows of the passages seem to darken. The nose awakens, ancient olfactory machinations, aware of more in the air. Damp, moss covered corners, dusty crevices, sharp tinge of urine, stale smell of spilled beer. Echoes, reverberations, vibrations, clues, phantoms fill the auditory space of our worlds. Painting a three-dimensional panorama invisible to our eyes we understand more of the physical world and spaces we occupy. Sounds from the street recede, replaced by strengthening echoes from our footsteps, our conversations, our belts of laughter and hushed whispers. Under echoing footfalls, old and worn cobblestones greet the feet. Thin shoe soles do not impede the nerves and skin from contouring, tracing the outline of each cobble, worn corners, imperfect gaps of patterns and intervals that never repeat, lain with the uniquely creative and imperfect laboring hand. Fingertips are reassured by rough brick sliding coarsely by in the darkness, scraping fingernails add to the acoustic space while imperceptibly being ground, filed, shaped. Minute imperfections unable to hide from the sensitive skin, acutely aware of even the slightest deviance from perfection, appreciating the endless story told upon the face of brick after brick. A gasp, a rush of blood, flush of the face, pulse quickening step into the abyss. A loss of repetition in the footfalls, a dislocation of the ground plane, hands flinching to seize the unseen for support. Laughter and apologies from nearby friends and classmates, forgot to the mention the step down, won’t happen again. Winding down a street, feeling the shape of the city, the shape of the constructive forces of centuries past, cross streets and alleys signified by the opening and closing of sounds, bikes bells, conversation, echoes, distant sounds barely able to address us. A bustle is approaching, sounds of commerce, rush, heavy pedestrian traffic, walking faster, energizing the air, feeling the space of the city, the crush of the crowd. Cobbles smooth out underfoot, pace quickens, less to feel here on the recently lain cobbles, full of intricate tone and pattern (or so your friend tells you). Conversations from passerbys, sounds of transactions and inquiries, cinnamon roles, hot dogs, ice cream, meat, coffee and more roll in wave upon wave across the nose. Strangers unseen brush by, bumping shoulders, rustling coats, fragments of words bounce away in the turbulence, light smells hang ephemerally in the air, sweat, stress, masks, memories, desires. Seated upon a bench, feet value the rest from labor, leg and back muscles relax, re-adjust as they feel out the contours of the bench, the chill of metal, the spacing of the slats. Light rushes in as the blindfold is removed, squinting, blinking eyes welcome the contraction of the pupil, a return of focus to the scene, a return to the dominance of the eye.

Simple outings as powerful reminders of the deep and envoking world enlightened by the senses. A chance for a retrospective on the ocular-centric culture of our day and lives, and the archaic, embedded, indescribably rich experiences open to us if we close our eyes. Considering how much our senses contribute to how we feel about a place, how we define a place, as well as remember it, ample energy should be given to address all of our haptic system in our designs, large and small.

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Google Earth is a wonderful tool for seeing and understanding the earth from a vantage point we can normally never attain. And until the advent and expansion of the program, it was only a limited audience that saw what many of us are now familiar with. Google Earth allows us the view the natural landscape and built landscape from an entirely new perspective. This bird’s eye view can show us patterns and relationships in the built environment that may not be apparent or discovered through other means.

The views captured from the software are also a valuable graphic and presentation tool. Many posters for architectural projects contain at least one Google Earth image, which precisely, and often creatively, shows exactly where the site is in space and geography. Different scales of photos reveal different things about the conditions of the site. One photo may illustrate that the project is sited near the water in a large harbor. The next may show that the project is near a pier and other public space on the edge of the urban fabric. The last may show the site and its immediate surroundings, as well as how the building or project is laid out on the site. These three views, as well as other derivations, present valuable information about the site and project in an attractive visual format. However, this is, I feel, where the benefits and strong points end and where I will become more critical of widespread application of the program.

Fundamentally, the bird’s eye view is completely different and at odds with the street level view and human scale. For all the information the satellite view can give us, it can tell us little if anything about life and conditions and the human scale on the site. The excessive use of satellite views puts an emphasis on where the site is in space and geography as opposed to what it is. The what entails all of the qualitative factors of the site that relate to the human experience of the place and project. The culture, demographics, history, population trends, traffic patterns, wind, sun, noise, microclimates and more all contribute to one’s experience and understanding of a place. These factors should be understood, valued and promoted to help promote a positive qualitative experience on the site for the users and passersby.

The serpentine and pedestrian streets of medieval Copenhagen

One example that quickly comes to mind is a case study an urbanism class did while I was studying in Copenhagen. We compared the medieval part of the city to a new development in an outlying area, Ørestaden, and noted the difference from both the bird’s eye and street level experience. The two areas of the city differed greatly in both regards. The former area was a dense labyrinthine network of streets and alleys, as well as buildings tightly packed into the fabric. The latter was a typical grid pattern, with large block buildings and nothing much else to note. The street level experience differed drastically. The medieval part of the city is a delight for one to walk through. The serpentine streets and serial views always draw your feet and curiosity around the corner; the variety of shops, sights, sounds and smells engulf the senses and engages the mind. Further, the scale was appropriate for the user, from the width of the street to the façades of the storefronts; all were in tune to the human scale. In contrast, the new area featured large and wide avenues, much more suited to the car than the pedestrian. The storefronts lacked and buildings lacked an appropriate scale, far overwhelming their human users. The street was much more devoid of life and sensory interest, and the wide avenues encouraged the wind to sweep through the area.

Google Earth has its place to be sure, but it should not be too heavily used or leaned upon during the design process. Beginning the design process in Google Earth creates a foundation of detachment from real time, real space, and real people. It is a static view that does not change with the seasons, the time of day or anything else. It is immune to the inputs of people, conversation, commerce, sounds, textures, smells and other forms of urban delight.

“You take delight not in a cities seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives you to a question of yours. Or the question it asks you, forcing you to answer….”

Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

The problem with this reality of D.C. is illustrated by several references in the article, most-pointedly the city clinging to the grandiose visions of the 20^th Century as opposed to leading America in a new century of urbanism; and the large, often hot and empty spaces that cannot be utilized easily by the public.

Proponents of changing the mall cite a desire of many Washingtonians for a streetcar system, and for returning the mall to a state of civic usefulness and enjoyment, a “Central Park of Washington.”

The issue of monumentalism presented in the article brings up several interesting facets of human behavior as it relates to architecture and the built environment. The first is the determination to preserve the mall as it is, a “grand and imperial city that overawes tourists.” I cannot explain this, but perhaps a century of collective memory has generated a vast cultural value for the mall. We all know what the capitol looks like and stands for, and perhaps there is the implication that changing the physical structure of the city will change the non-physical status and values of the country and people it represents.

What is also interesting is the idea of postcard D.C. being placed above human D.C. This notion reinforces current trends of our society’s obsession with the image and the belief that the way things look is more important than the way they actually are. As technological development has accelerated, this trend has become more prevalent. The camera is often viewed as an infallible observer, the only device capable of capturing the truth. Further, these images can be transported far greater distances and to greater numbers of people than raw experiences can. Even if one has never been to D.C. or the mall, they are likely to have seen dozens if not hundreds of images of the capitol.

This value placed on digital tools and images over experience and real space extends further into architecture and urbanism. Many new developments are planned from a birds-eye view using aerial images, a position that could not be further removed from the people who walk the streets. Architectural projects are often sold on the merits of the rendered images, 2D graphics of the way something may look, but not how it will actually be for users to occupy.

I suppose what is most interesting about monumentalism is the idea that the value of a city can be contained in, and defined by, images. This absurb, but not impossible, proposition reminds me of Colonel Korn in Catch-22 who is perpetually obsessed with aerial photographs of tight bomb patterns. The photographs, in fact, are far more important that if the bombs even hit the target.

Perhaps preserving the monumentalism of D.C. helps to preserve the grandiose ideals and optimism of the 20^th Century, an attempt to counterbalance the turmoil and schizophrenia of the modern world by seeing a different, and familiar, built reality. What do you think?

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Image via Wikipedia

Articles with positive themes were emailed far more often than negative or downer articles. After noticing that science articles received a surprisingly high rate of email shares, researchers concluded that articles that inspired awe were the most popular and most likely to be shared.

“More emotional stories were more likely to be e-mailed, the researchers found, and positive articles were shared more than negative ones…They used two criteria for an awe-inspiring story: Its scale is large, and it requires ‘mental accommodation’ by forcing the reader to view the world in a different way.”

Determining the root of this behavioral trend was somewhat trickier. Ideas of reciprocal altruism came up, meaning offering something of value and counting on a return favor in the future, as well as the possibility of status and competition, trying to elevate or maintain social status by portraying oneself and well informed. However, researchers concluded that people were actually seeking “emotional communion”

“Emotion in general leads to transmission, and awe is quite a strong emotion. If I’ve just read this story and that changes the way I understand the world and myself, I want to talk to other about what it means. I want to proselytize and share the feeling of awe. If you read the article and feel the same emotion, it will bring us closer together.”

– Dr. Jonah Berger

Can this research indicate anything about how architectural projects or ideas are valued and shared? I imagine that sharing awe-inspiring experiences or knowledge holds true for architecture. There are many projects – modern, classic and ancient – that we hold in our collective consciousness as being awe-inspiring. The Taj Mahal, Machu Picchu, The Acropolis, Therme Vals, The Alhambra, The City of Arts and Sciences, etc, etc. These are projects that, whether we have seen them or not, we understand to be awe-inspiring and value them accordingly.

What makes us want to tell others about architecture we have seen or (preferably) visited? From personal experience I only share projects that seem to hold a connection to the land, people and environmental forces in creative ways. Others, while I may find them interesting, radical, good or absurd, I do not often find them worth passing on. Of the projects and cities that I remember best and tell people the most about that I have visited, it is always ones that carefully, brilliantly or perhaps subtly addressed the human.

Does the potential for people sharing and spreading the word on architectural projects influence the projects? For example consider the Burj Khalifa and the never ending race for the world’s tallest building.  Its seems that the power of awe is being used in a big way; it is difficult to imagine a building reaching half of a mile into the sky. Is it possible that awe is created but also used as a mechanism to ensure that everyone tells everyone and thereby validates the existence of the tower and concretizes Dubai’s prominence? I am also reminded of the building boom in Beijing prior to the 2008 Olympic Games. The projects were, in their own right, revolutionary, a testament to the building boom and the times, and successfully generated a lot of attention. Now, however, many of the projects and planning schemes are facing criticism for being empty, and for not considering their use and value after the Olympics. These two articles, one by The Architects Newspaper and one by the New York Times, look further into this issue and compare Beijing and Vancouver Olympic construction.

Awe is powerful and probably often overlooked, but research shows that we connect strongly to it and that it influences us to share the experience in order to connect to one another. What types of stories do you share? What architectural projects generate the most awe?

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