Oslo Opera House

The 2010 European Prize for Urban Public Space was announced earlier this week and there are some great projects being honored, including the very high profile Oslo Opera House, pictured above, as well as some not-so-high profile ones, like this really lovely community garden in the 20th arrondissement.

Passage 56, Paris

And this fantastic library/park made out of parts from a demolished building:

Open-Air-Library, Magdeburg

The archives are well worth looking into, as well.

Because Michael Sorkin's "The End(s) of Urban Design" from HDM 25 has been such an important part of my research, I found this exchange particularly interesting:

[William] SAUNDERS: [...] there is a mom-and-apple-pie set of principles that, rightly, no one takes exception to, things like mixed uses, pedestrian scale, banishing automobiles as much as possible, good public transportation, retail open to streets, street trees, etc. [...] Sorkin points out that all this offers a rather pathetic form of public life centered around comfortable hedonistic lifestyle mainly for shoppers enjoying their cappuccinos and their chance to buy Gap clothes, and if that's urbanism, we're screwed, because it doesn't have anything to do with political life or social integration.

[Margaret] CRAWFORD: Sorkin's attitude is typical among certain leftists who haven't examined real behavior in the city—there are now lots of paradoxes about what is public and what is private [...] The idea that only the raw city is authentic expresses a kind of Puritanism about pleasure: what people want in public space is pleasure.

[Rodolfo] MACHADO: Sorkin's position seems very '60s.

CRAWFORD: It's so '60s.

[Paul] GOLDBERGER: It is as retro as the New Urbanism.

CRAWFORD: [...] there are two kinds of public space: the agora, the very small public space of democratic interaction; and the cosmopolis, where difference is visible; and Sorkin is conflating the two, imagining that somehow a diverse public equals a public of democratic interaction. They're quite different, although they are not mutually exclusive. [...] In Central Square, The Gap is a social condenser that mixes publics under the sign of consumption.

SAUNDERS: I'll just say that if I'm in a city and my only option is to shop and not go to museums or anything like that, I want to go home.

(Farshid) MOUSSAVI: The Tate Modern sells more per second that the Selfridges department store in London.

from "Urban Design Now", same issue of HDM.

[...] Another interesting thing about de Certeau's views is that he has a faith in collective creativity of subjects, in their tendency to invent ways to use the spaces that are given to them. You could argue that the traditional notion of public space is a kind of top-down argument whereby public space is 'given' to the public. I would turn that equation around to say: how does the collective create public space with the spaces that are given/found? This means that the role of the architect is to make a space for that public – to create the conditions where the public can freely exercise its collective creativity. It's for this reason that I've always been suspicious of the attempt to overscript the use of public space. For me, a successful public space is precisely a space where something unanticipated happens.

Stan Allen: "Architecture and Dispersal" from Cities of Dispersal

Although I was supposed to spend the weekend in Newark, it’s only a short ride on PATH from Jersey to New York, so there was really no way I was going to sit through a boring conference about slippery ideas like “leadership” and “networking” when instead I could be walking around Soho and the West Village. I regret nothing. The city is wonderful and I’m more than willing to use any excuse I can cook up to visit.

For what it’s worth, I think the High Line is fabulous¹. The architectural details are thoughtful and well-designed, the landscaping is superb, and the view of the city is at once refreshing and reässuring; the perspective is new but the city is the New York we know and love. While some of the ambition of the original design has been compromised (no wetlands suspended over 14th St? Will we still get that awesome tree lift?), it’s still a very impressive place. Even the fact that it’s there at all is exciting, and I can’t help but wonder how many other potential gems are hidden in the city, waiting to be found. (Los Angeles, capital city of underutilization and missed opportunity, has taught me all about this.)

In the new urban chemistry of New York, the High Line is both a byproduct and catalyst of gentrification. This is clear both in the glitter of the starchitecture developments springing up around it and the people who come here. Yet walking amid the hipsters and tourists, I was surprised by the pacing of the whole experience. It's impossible to hurry here, not that you'd want to. Field Operations artfully segmented the path into landscaped episodes–grasslands, woodlands, open spaces, and more intimate ones–and the result is a true urban oasis. This is reflected in the way people use the space: they sit and read, eat their lunches, crowd-watch. Many were, like me, taking snapshots with their digital SLRs; others leaned over the railings and gazed at the city below. Most of all, people simply stroll (and in lower Manhattan, this is a sight to behold).

Much of this, I suppose, has to do with scale. The vast acreage of Central Park allows for programming like baseball fields, ice-skating rinks, and amphitheaters. The wider, eastern half of the Promenade Plantée–the only real precedent for the High Line, running along an old rail route through the 12th in Paris–is crowded with local joggers and cyclists; here there is really only room for strolling. You go to there just to be there, not to go anywhere or do anything besides escape the sidewalk. Unlike Central Park, on the High Line everyone’s a tourist. After all, it doesn’t go anywhere anymore. It’s just there, a narrow park floating over Chelsea. Ostensibly it connects, or will someday connect, the Meatpacking District with Hudson Yards, but no one actually walking between those two places would use its meandering path for expedience. As a landscape, it is not a means but and end to itself. As a public space, the High Line is social rather than instrumental.²

The creation of public space from the ruins of vestigial infrastructure is, in a way, the inverse of the Sylmar project, which is about using new infrastructure as an opportunity to create public space. I’m not looking to repurpose anything, or to change one thing into another, but, by coupling public transportation and public space, actuate them both. Their relationship should be one of mutual enablement. On one hand, connecting the rail station to the city with public space will embed the station into the fabric of the city–an essential part of making mass transit work for American suburbia. On the other hand, attaching real function to the space transforms it–as a place, is not passive but active, neither a park (social) nor a plaza (civic) but an instrumental space. The reciprocity of these two aspects is vital to the project: the more people ride the train, the more lively the space; the more lively the space, the more people are drawn to the train. And with ridership projections at 16,000 passengers a day, Sylmar may be the busiest station between Los Angeles and San Francisco, so the numbers are there. The key will be in how the link is designed–my job in the spring.

PS The pedestrianization of Times Square is awesome, even if the place is still full of European and Midwestern tourists. I didn’t know, though, that the thing at the very apex of the intersection was an Olive Garden.

[1] For other notes around the High Line, see this, this, and this, as well as JHK's predictable bitchfest here.

[2] see Elizabeth Blackmar, "Appropriating the Commons: The Tragedy of Property Rights Discourse" for transportation facilities and the public realm.