Tel Aviv Port

Dezeen featured this project recently, and I thought it worth an opportunity to investigate a little further. The Tel Aviv Port by Mayslits Kassif Architects. I was struck by the utter simplicity of form, as well as some of the interesting detailing of this highly trafficked open space, and some of the subtle ways of defining form. What first caught my eye is the was the undulating boardwalk - which aside from being visually interesting, makes for an interesting exercise to see how it was detailed.




:: images via Dezeen

The site plan shows a variety of these spaces... particularly reinforcing the design intent... Via Dezeen: "The design introduces an extensive undulating, non-hierarchical surface, that acts both as a reflection of the mythological dunes on which the port was built; and as an open invitation to free interpretations and unstructured activities. Various public, political and social initiatives – from spontaneous rallies to artistic endeavors and public acts of solidarity – are now drawn to this unique urban platform, indicating the project’s success in reinventing the port as a vibrant public sphere."


:: image via Dezeen

The overall form definitely gives thought to the concept of an urban beach - offering a more structured interface with the shoreline.

:: image via Dezeen

This takes a variety of forms that are analagous from wharf steps, shorelines, dunes, replete with umbrellas for viewing the sea. There are also 'rocks' giving a reinforcement to the beach concept and creating nodes for seating and relaxing... but doing so in an organic way similar to natural settings.

:: image via Dezeen

The overall form and detailing is interesting, and the breadth of space given to the public is laudable. There is, however, a certain barreness to the space that I can't help thinking would benefit from at least some minimal planted areas. Perhaps this is the tradeoff due to heavy use and climate, or maybe a design gesture. While the wood would stay cool, and the umbrellas provide some shading, there seems little respite from elements - giving one a simple option of sun, or head elsewhere to the surrounding buildings.

:: image via Dezeen

LAs + Plants

Ok, this is not another post about James Corner (but it does have some more images). Instead, there were some observations from a couple of recent comments that came from 'Corner(ing) the Market' a few posts back that I thought worthy of throwing out into the world and seeing what grew. The commentary was particularly aimed at some comments from Susan Szenasy of Metropolis. I mentioned that Metropolis seems to be covering more landscape-related materials, as well as the fact that Ms. Szenasy made some seemingly disparaging or clueless commentary about our fine field.


:: James Corner's Beyond Building A-Z, Venice Biennial - image via Lisa Town

'Wes' mentioned the lack of understanding of the profession: "I was appalled at Susan's comments coming from a respected design journalist and editor in chief of Metropolis magazine. There's much to criticize about the field of landscape architecture and the direction it is going; but she clearly has no concept of even what landscape architects do!"


:: Detail of Corner's corner - image via Lisa Town

'Argyle' followed up with a different story from a panel at the 2008 ASLA Conference (here's an edited snippet): "Susan Szenasy hosted a morning general session at the ALSA conference in Philly last month... essentially she told a story about being on a site with several LAs and only one of them could ID a plant when she asked about one ...Kathryn Gustafson ... took the comment to heart and made the reply; Gustafson put Szenasy in her place by letting her know that LAs are not horticulturists. We have to know such a broad spectrum of details across so many related disciplines that we can't possibly be expected to know plants that well. She said LAs are constantly put in the position of team building… bringing together specific professionals such as geologists and horticulturalists... and trying to use their specific knowledge to form/transform space."

So the question that is begging to be answered:
Are landscape architects synthesizers of knowledge from plant and other specialists, or can they be specialists in plants themselves?

I know this is one of those age old questions, much like the 'what do we call ourselves' or 'art vs. science' that seem to crop up occasionally and spark some interesting online debate. To me this is a more complex question...that has as much diversity of reason as the profession has facets. The amount of knowledge, of course, is based on what you do along the continuum of landscape architectural practice.

On one hand Gustafson is right on... we are broadly competant and able to bring together design, science, social, and political elements in coming up with dynamic spaces. This macro-scale view does not rely on knowledge of a particular species of plant, but on the balancing of hundreds of variables. Does a single plant here or there matter? Can you do this work and remain a plants expert?

In the middle ground, there's professionals working a variety of scales and project typologies - some which tap into the complexity of group and system dynamics, and others that work at site and detail scale. This jack-of-all-trades/master-of-none paradox makes us need to be able to see big picture dynamics, understand complex systems, and also prepare detailed documents to make these a reality. Can we switch scales and do each of these well - or do we marginalize the entirety by the impossibility of this massive undertaking?

On the fine grain scale, there a common cop-out for landscape architecture to remain somewhat ignorant of the actual physical tools we use in our daily practice (i.e. soils, plants, materials, et.al.) There is also an often equal countervalent patronizing tone from the 'plant' people that LAs have no clue about plants. Both are patently disrupting to the profession and process.

In the end, to be work, any of these process must become the human-scale reality of all of that broad based synthesizing and hand-waving... it's the reality that exists as the actual built product. This is the stage where it is vital that a project works. So as we ponder this... there seem to be a million more questions... Are you a specialist or generalist? Do you know plants, or do you farm this knowledge out in specialized cases (or every case)? Is there an implication that a landscape architect must be a plant pro, or does this oversimplify and reduce the profession to it's former 'shrubbing up' status? And on... and on.

Anyone have any thoughts?

Corner Redux

It seems that James Corner is basking in the glow of design press recently... with another feature in New York Magazine that investigates (in depth) the evolution and potential of Fresh Kills Park. While I have yet to see the movie, Wall-E Park by Robert Sullivan alludes to the idealogy implicit in the movie and it's message of restoration. He comments: "On giant piles of trash left by a generation of New Yorkers, landscape architect James Corner is building a park that has the power to change the way we see the past and the future of the city."


:: Fresh Kills circa 1990 - image via New York Magazine

The barren landscape is evoked from the start: "Let’s start at the peak of what was once a steaming, stinking, seagull-infested mountain of trash, a peak that is now green, or greenish, or maybe more like a green-hued brown, the tall grasses having been recently mown by the sanitation workers still operating at Fresh Kills, on the western shore of Staten Island. Today the sun dries the once slime-covered slopes, as a few hawks circle in big, slow swoops and a jet makes a lazy approach to Newark, just across the Arthur Kill."

The savior... of course is James Corner and his firm Field Operations. While known in NYC primarily for the High Line, the 2000+acre landfill renovation will be the life's work: "But as celebrated as the High Line will probably be, it is Field Operations’ other New York park—the one that’s bigger than lower Manhattan, and currently about the height of Mexico’s Great Pyramid of Cholula—that may change people’s ideas of what a park is all about."


:: image via New York Magazine

And the potential to change people's perceptions of parks is perhap Corner's greatest contribution. Sullivan evokes the pastoral baggage that has accumulated over the past century plus from the time of Central Park. The new aesthetic is derived from a new model, as Corner mentions: "Parks all start to look the same,” he says, “and that sameness is either the pastoral model or the modernist formal model, and this is my problem with style. We try not to have a style.” When Corner and his team began to think about Fresh Kills, they knew that the site was so large and technically demanding that it would be distracting to think in terms of design the way Olmsted did. So they have opted instead to “grow” the park."

The idea of palimpsest is mentioned, with is perhaps a good metaphor for Corner's work at Fresh Kills... a product and a referent to the history of this site's illustrious use. This may be a question of necessity rather than planning, due to the sheer immensity of the space, and the requirement to keep certain elements and prepare 'fields' in others... a broad brush and more passive design process that yields spaces that unfold over time.


:: image via New York Magazine

While allusions to historical large parks put's him in illustrious company, Corner is: "...more like Olmsted as modern-literature professor, a designer who sees the landscape as text, a place where stories are written and rewritten, one on top of the next, sometimes getting all smudged up. At Field Operations, he is attempting to expand the idea of ecology to include not just rivers and streams but also subway lines, movements of capital, and weekend traffic. “To me, a city is an ecology—it’s an ecology of money, an ecology of infrastructure, an ecology of people,” he says. “Everyone thinks ecology is about nature, and it is, but there are so many other systems.”

While dealing with the historical remnants of shifting subgrade, methane offgassing and toxic leachate, the park design builds on this systems approach to protect and restore - no small feat on this scale. But alas, the beauty perhaps comes from the realistic and truthful approach that Corner took during the competition: "Every contestant ended up emphasizing so-called green ideas like recycling, native planting, and the use of sustainable-energy sources. Hargraves Associates featured Olmsted-sounding names like “The Meadows” and “The Preserve”; John M. Caslan and Partners proposed “ecospheres,” or giant domes that housed various American climates; and Rios’s plan featured an intrapark amphibious shuttle bus. But none of the competitors addressed the trash hills as explicitly as Corner."


:: image via New York Magazine

The beauty of the competition is that it acknowledges time as a major component of the design process. This requires some definite patience, but with a potential that pivoted on a simple idea posited by Corner: "Keep the views, which he knew would blow away every New Yorker who will, 40 years from now, take a hybrid bus or solar-powered ferry to the place. “I said, ‘Look, whatever we do we’ve got to keep the big and green. These are views and vistas that most people in a city would have to drive three or four hours to see.’ "


:: image via New York Magazine

This broad view doesn't discount the details... at least in terms of regeneration, evoking the broadness of a forest and the biomimicry of a lichen to explain the process: "Corner relates the architecture of the place to something more along the lines of forest and landscape management than typical park development. “You start with nothing, and you grow, through management, a more diverse ecology,” he says. “You take a very sterile or inert foundation and move something in. It’s like lichen. They quickly grow and die, grow and die, creating a rich soil that something else can grow onto. And that’s how ecosystems grow.”

Continuing on to explain the Lifescape concept and it's distinct phases: Moundscape, Fieldscape, Openscape, and Eventscape - gives some indication, at least in verbal form of the evolution from primitive state to usable park - with constantly expanding occupation over this time period. This evolution is conceptual but realistic - and perhaps difficult to comprehend when looking at the scale and current state of the park.


:: image via New York Magazine

With criticism of the glacial timeline, as well as the idea of 'erasing' the landfill thrown out via critics - the plan is responsive of site constraints and opportunities. Versus Duisberg Nord - a specific post-industrial ruin in which Peter Latz built a large scale park, Fresh Kills is a whole different monster: "As much as Corner admired Latz’s achievement, Fresh Kills doesn’t offer him the same opportunities for romantic decrepitude. For starters, most ecologists argue that we can’t just leave a place like Fresh Kills a broken dump. “If you left it alone,” says Handel, “it would change, but it would change in a depauperate way.” And Corner can’t imagine exposing, say, leachate streams for teaching-moment purposes, especially in a city where parents sue if their children’s feet burn on hot playgrounds. “I think landscape should be edifying, but there are joyous and optimistic ways. It doesn’t have to be so apocalyptic.”

This positivity in the face of amazing constraints is the hallmark of a long-view - which is perhaps the definition of the design. Change is inevitable in landscape architecture, yet we seem to look at design as a 'product' that has a finite timeframe and beautiful ending - not as something that evolves along sometimes unknown ways. "The most complicated part of the design is the idea that it is designed to change. “Large parks will always exceed singular narratives,” Corner wrote in a recent essay. “They are larger than the designer’s will for authorship.” He added, “The trick is to design a large park framework that is sufficiently robust to lend structure and identity while also having sufficient pliancy and ‘give’ to adapt to changing demands and ecologies over time.”

"Fresh Kills is like forest succession on a simultaneously human and industrial basis, like a nurse log in the woods, where one plant moves in on the back of another, where one use is superseded by another, one layer of ideas on top of the last." In the end, is the park on it's way to potential success, using this pliancy and flexibility? Is this something we can even begin to ascribe potential meaning, or are we caught up in the pastoral baggage of our perceptions of parks that will not allow us to comprehend something different. Or, as Sullivan mentions, does this offer a potential teaching moment, both on a site scale and as a society - about our relationship with trash, it's dirty heritage, and our way of dealing with it?

This, perhaps, is the question at the root of modern landscape architecture. And Corner deserves this moment in the spotlight, with us all following him into the breach.