Our architectural practice is based in Perth, the capital city of the state of Western Australia. “WA” is jokingly said to stand for “Wait A while”, particularly by our east coast brethren; as a colleague once said to me: “Most places start as cities and then sprawl to the suburbs—Perth started as suburbs and then decided it needed a city”. Of all the Australian states and territories, we have seen the greatest benefit from the mining and resources boom, at least economically, but perhaps culturally we are still in need of further development.

Metropolitan Perth has a population of only 1.74 million people, which compared to cities such as New York and London can hardly be described as a “metropolis”. However, according to Professor Richard Weller in his book Boomtown 2050, growth projections suggest our population is set to double in the next 40 years. Such rapid growth brings its own unique challenges for a city, not least of which is the problem of urban sprawl. Weller once described Perth as “Car City”, as outside of the central city it is extremely difficult to get around without one. As I stood on the bus in peak hour traffic this morning, it occurred to me that most traffic congestion is created by cars operating at 20% efficiency—nearly every vehicle we passed had a sole occupant, the driver, yet all of us were heading in the same direction.

Despite the awareness that the infrastructure of a comparatively low-density city such as ours is already struggling to cope with its existing population, we are incredibly resistant to change. NIMBY is another popular acronym used to describe the people of Perth: “Not In My Back Yard.” An overwhelming desire for the “Great Australian Dream” of a detached house in the suburbs still persists in our cultural memory, despite the evident reality that this would make our city unsustainable. In Perth, anything more than four stories is considered “high-density,” and is immediately perceived as an anathema upon our beautiful city. In truth, because we have been spoilt for space for such a long time, I believe we still have a lot to learn in terms of designing and planning for density.

I have never been a fan of the term “sustainability” and I use it reluctantly, because really nothing we do is truly sustainable. Consequently, I prefer the notion of “eco-effective” design, which I first encountered in William McDonough & Michael Braungart’s book Cradle to Cradle published in 2002. While their philosophy isn’t flawless, in architecture.collective we embrace the idea that we can certainly do things better and with more respect to the planet, without jeopardizing our lifestyles and contemporary society.

One project we have been involved with that will soon be completed is a renovation to a single story semi-detached house in the inner city. The original house dates back to the early 20th century and has been largely retained, to which we have added a two-story extension designed to capture light and views of the central business district. While architects can sometimes be obsessed with the shiny and the new, there was integrity to the existing dwelling that warranted retaining, and the extension is very much designed to both contrast and complement. In Perth, there is all too often a tendency to mimic the old, which inevitably ends in pastiche.

Our eco-effective approach to this project has been relatively simple—while the build does include technological “bling” such as solar PV, home automation and a transparent insulated wall to allow light but protect against the worst of the summer sun, more often than not we return to the fundamental principles of solar passive design. A small courtyard creates access to the sun for solar heating in winter, walls are constructed as reverse veneer to insulate internal thermal mass from the outside, while windows and doors are made from certified timber with high performance glazing, to reduce heat losses and gains via conduction.

Strategically located openings provide natural ventilation for cooling during the summer, with zero-VOC paints and finishes used throughout. A rainwater harvesting system captures water from the roof for consumption (the tank is concealed under the courtyard deck), salvaged timber has been used for the suspended floors and kitchen bench tops, and future provision has also been made for an extensive green roof over the new extension.

There’s nothing particularly “sexy” about the eco-effective features listed above—we consider them “no brainers” —but they each contribute to a better environmental outcome overall. Above all of this, the clients don’t currently own a motor vehicle, which by itself is responsible for up to 34% of the carbon footprint for a typical Australian household—even if we were to design a house that required no artificial heating or cooling, this would only account for just over 12% of residential carbon emissions.

As with all our projects, we make small steps to improve their environmental credibility, though we still have a long way to go. With the support of knowledgeable clients, and a willingness to ask difficult questions and explore alternative solutions, we would like to think that our contributions are, in a modest way, helping us all to survive the metropolis.

By Sid Thoo

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CM: So that’s deliberate, how do you reach as many people as possible?
AS: Exactly, what is going to titillate people so that they want to come and play in this little floating room? It exists in this pop up world which is only a 5 x 7 space, the bed inflates and pushes the sofa shut, this back and forth, this little soft space.

CM: The thing that is incredible about the work is that you have taken the idea of the hotel—a place to sleep, to deflate, to take care of yourself, to have the space be as desirable as possible. Its sexy to spend a night in a hotel room, although you are taking away some of the comforts, like a bathtub. Instead you make it into a viewing space, having a window view in one’s chosen destination would inherently be the best possible scenario, and you have done that on a 360-degree rotation.
AS: And it was important to me being able to sleep in this space in the middle of the city and look up at the sky. The curtains come up at night. It’s not usually a view we think of when thinking of an urban space, just the sky, and the parking lot is one of the few open spaces in the city.

CM: This parking lot theme suggests that it’s a portable hotel and that you can take it with you wherever you want to go.
AS: I can take it wherever I want to take it.

CM: The scissor lift is also an icon of popular culture. They are used everywhere, in construction all over New York, but we might not notice them. You are bringing attention to something that is quite literally happening all around us in this city, being under construction constantly. Is that how it functions architecturally for you?
AS: Yes, the van and the scissor lift combine the two most common modes of transportation, the elevator and the automobile. So, you’ve got the vertical and horizontal in the same piece, that moveable opposite is a distinctly urban piece.

CM: How high could you get the piece, not just how high does the lift go but how far up could you drive the piece? Hypothetically could you drive to the top of a hill or a six-story parking lot.
AS: One of the decisions has to do with defining it as a distinctly urban piece, not a rural piece at all. I could have added a generator but it relies on a regular outlet for power.

CM: You wanted the city experience.
AS: It basically ties in to the city through this umbilical cord, on the side of the van is this little plug and you have to find an outlet. Every parking lot that I visited has an outlet somewhere; you have to look for it because it’s not something you think about. It’s like a little building that has an umbilical cord to the city.

Alex Schweder, The Hotel Rehearsal, 2013. Performance image courtesy of Cristobal Palma.

CM: Is your interest focused solely on bodies in buildings?
AS: That, and the performative nature of the work—the understanding of the city as something that you can practice and rehearse. Basically, the parking lots are open spaces; they are potential buildings, and the hotel is just one of the many types of possible buildings that could go into a parking lot. I chose a hotel. I made this little hotel based on the desire of this site. What I like about the parking lot is that you can drive something in and you can practice. It’s a kind of autonomous thing; it could be a hotel, a library, any number of inserts, and that for me was really exciting about the parking lot.

CM: Which is curious when considering perception and physical awareness of space and how you get to thinking that a parking lot has desirability. The idea of what people generally consider a parking lot to be in terms of an aesthetic, you are turning that around. The temperament of how a parking lot is represented in ones mind is not usually rife with possibility. How did you get to that thought system?
AS: I’ve been working with parking lots for quite some time. When I was in graduate school doing my research I chose parking lots because there is nowhere to go but up in terms of making them interesting, usually it’s just a totally functional place. Questions arose as to why you would go there, why would you go to a parking lot as an experience. I had 16 parking lots in the underground city, in its ruinous landscape that no one can access, and if you open that landscape up and give it a lobotomy, you can make it safe for people. With a car you’ve got this little zone of safety through which you can drive into a dangerous landscape or a landscape which is not pretty and thereby charged—you have this pocket of safety in a danger zone. It became a way of cleaning up something that was ugly and seeing that treacherous area as something that you want to see.

CM: How does the performative aspect tie into the piece?
AS: I have been working with performance architecture for about seven years, studying how you perform the space. For instance, the wall texts that I put on the walls in the Chinati Foundation residency, a body of work called Architectural Performances in Geological Times, were a set of instructions. I had two studios in Chinati, the locker plant and the ice plant, which used to be butcher shop. What’s interesting about that is there was this sunny space facing the sidewalk and then just behind it was the meat locker, which is completely cool with thick walls. Without having mechanical cooling it was about 10 degrees cooler in the dark room than it was in the sunny room, so one of the instructions that I came up with, was: “inhale this warmer room and exhale it into the cooler room until their temperatures are the same.” Your body takes over the room and shifts that bit of warm space again and again, but its not like you would ever accomplish or realize this change.

CM: Its about being cognizant about what that means, taking a moment to actually think about what your body is doing in space.

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Image courtesy of Kansas Gallery

Sreshta Rit Premnath
January 25 – March 1, 2014
Kansas Gallery
59 Franklin Street
New York City
kansasgallery.com

The post Sreshta Rit Premnath at Kansas Gallery appeared first on NY Arts Magazine.

Foster begins by examining the practice of pivotal architects who have consistently been pushing the envelope not only with the structures they build, but the materials they experiment with, and the way they consider the interaction of the viewer with their various projects. Architectural leaders such as the Venturis, Rem Koolhaas, Renzo Piano, and Zaha Hadid.  Their work is evaluated in relation to pop aesthetics, the international style, and the widespread influence of minimalism.

Aptly using Richard Serra’s work as a stepping stone between the two worlds, Foster glides seamlessly into an evaluation of how the loft-sized work aesthetic provided by the changing landscape of the New York art world of the 60’s and 70’s provided a need for larger viewing spaces. Foundations such as Dia stepped up to fill a gap between the exhibition space of the gallery and the museum. They began refurbishing larger industrial buildings and utilizing their massive interiors as new exhibition possibilities geared towards work that commanded larger viewing spaces but was not yet welcome into the categorically stuffy, academic validation of the museum.

Moving from Serra, whose work utilized the space, to artists such as projection specialist Anthony McCall, the success of whose work was dependent on the space, Foster makes a move toward describing a further connection between architecture and perceptual art. From here the door is wide open to Irwin, Flavin, Judd, and Eliasson.

Like any good piece of art historical or critical thought, Foster is trying to nail down one of those topics that continues to be something that is art-historically tangible, while it’s explanation somehow remains fleeting and ephemeral.

The ownership of a gesture’s relation to space is something that has been under great debate between the circles of fine art and architecture for some time. Should a mark laid onto a surface be enough unto itself, or does it yearn for more­—is it also the seed of an idea ready to grow into a description of how a body relates to this original gesture in real time and space? Foster does his best to corner this idea and put it into terms that any aesthetic thinker can approach. He does so quite convincingly, when all is said and done, producing a book that will continue to gain relevance as we move forward. Like a newly shelved bottle of wine, it is presently quite consumable, but promises only to get better with time.

Hal Foster’s The Art-Architecture Complex was published last year by Verso Books.

Reviewed by Matthew Hassell

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