THE ARCHIVE

The two-year Solar Decathlon saga came to an end this weekend with Cornell’s Silo House in 7^th place overall. Team Germany won the competition again with a power-churning photovoltaic box and Illinois claimed second with their well-insulated “vernacular” mobile home.

It would be a lie to say that these results were well received by Cornell or the architectural community. The Solar Decathlon competition – which has always been extremely restrictive – seemed to be rewarding the wrong things. Brawny photovoltaic systems collected a windfall of points whereas creative architectural solutions were all but overlooked.

Cornell team members returned to Ithaca this week proud of their accomplishments but frustrated with the competition. In an attempt to shed light on the situation, the Cornell Daily Sun asked me to write an article exploring some key issues. My feeble attempt at doing so appeared in today’s paper and is linked below:

SOLAR DECATHLON IN THE DARK

Oct. 21, 2009

Shock and disbelief were the only two feelings stronger than nausea when judges announced the results for architecture at the recent Solar Decathlon competition in Washington, D.C. After a two-year, Herculean effort, Cornell’s Solar Decathlon team (CUSD) had produced an innovative house of remarkable craftsmanship. Its peculiar form and materiality exerted an uncanny architectural magnetism, attracting the press and public and eliciting praise and pride from everyone involved.

So it came as a surprise last week when this dynamic work of architecture earned 16th place in a pool of 20 solar-powered homes >> go to full article

Homecoming events never seemed very cool when I was studying in Ithaca as an undergrad. But since I am now studying in New York City (still an undergrad but no need to dwell on that), I felt a strange urge to go back and reconnect with my alma mater. Friends from the Class of 2009 were back in full force, eager to escape their professional lives for a long-anticipated weekend of college fun.

I traveled up to Ithaca on Friday and many of the fields along the highway were covered in snow. This seemed unusual for mid-October but I’ve learned never to underestimate upstate New York.

Upon arrival I scoured the campus for some time and discovered that little had changed except for a bit of long grass on Libe Slope, a glass monstrosity lodged between Baker and Rockefeller, and a vast pit of mud in the parking lots behind Sibley Hall. The later (pictured above) marks the arrival of Milstein Hall and, in the distance, the new wing of the Johnson Art Museum. Both projects appear in a nascent state at this point, but are expected to begin taking shape by this spring.

I met up with several friends and we quickly realized that we no longer had a “home base.” The old-geezer alumni consider the Marriot Hotel their home base, but we had neither the resources nor the nerve to do such a mature thing. Instead, like so many young-alumni (and fifth-year-architecture-students-studying-in-new-york), we decided to crash with friends.

Many of my younger friends at Cornell are “brothers” in the Delta Chi fraternity. They were kind enough to host several kids from my class and feed us continuously throughout the weekend. On Saturday, the homecoming tailgate and events were markedly Greek. Students donned hoodies with their fraternity and sorority letters prominently displayed alongside the Cornell football logo – pretending for one day that we are a Pac 10 school.

I had a blast in Ithaca over the weekend but, aside from good memories, the only thing I brought back with me to New York is a lousy cold. Repeated exposure to grimy subway cars and public buses on two continents in the past year never caused more than a sniffle, but two nights at Cornell have left me wiped out — increasing evidence that the campus has truly become a bastion of contagion.

This past weekend, I succeeded in checking three major activities off my New York City To-Do list. To be completely honest, I only did one thing that had been on my list. I did the other two things sporadically and subsequently added them to my list and crossed them off. Sometimes I question the purpose of lists. Anyway, it was a great Fall Break and I thought I’d give you the run-down:

>> Modern Art at the Whitney Museum

The Whitney Museum is located just up the street from my dorm room on the southeast corner of 75^th and Madison. I’ve noticed the granite façade of the Marcel Breuer building a couple times before but never managed to step inside and pay the $12 dollar student fee. On Friday, however, I mustered the energy to check it out—just in time to catch the end of the Dan Graham exhibition “Beyond.” The temporary shows, permanent collection, and building itself were substantially cooler than I had expected, and—whereas most museums systematically put me to sleep—I left the Whitney feeling good about life and art and Modernism and expensive New York museums.

I especially enjoyed seeing/experiencing Dan Graham’s reflective glass structures in the temporary show “Beyond”. That has unfortunately already come to an end, but there are two other exhibitions worth checking out that will be up through the end of the year: Georgia O’Keeffe: Abstraction and A few Frames: Photography and the Contact Sheet. The works in the later exhibition explore issues of time and space through multiplicity and sequencing—very cool for the architecturally or cinematically minded visitor.

>> Still Life at the MCC Theater

On Saturday night, a few friends and I went downtown to see the Off-Broadway play “Still Life” currently showing at the MCC Theater. The lights dimmed before I could read the Playbill, leaving me unprepared for the tragic plot that would quickly unfold on stage.  Still Life recounts the uneventful but emotionally charged story of Generation X, the generation that was promised the world but couldn’t decide what to do with it. The play addresses fear and death and insecurities — typical fodder for playwrights but well crafted and relevant.

To keep this story short, the play got under my skin. I bought into the actors and fell for them harder than I have for anyone on the silver screen; there emotion was as tangible as that of a friend or family member. It was good theater. If you’re exhausted by the song and dance of Broadway but still interested in quality acting, I recommend checking this play out before it ends on November 1^st.

>> The Daily Show with Jon Stewart

On Tuesday, I met my friend in line to see a taping of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Feeling lucky to have pinned down two free tickets for the show, we waited eagerly alongside families that had booked their tickets six months in advance.

After a long wait and some coaching from interns and security personnel, we entered the studios and took our seats in front of the radiating blue and orange stage set that has become synonymous with quality news casting. A comedian came out to greet us, explain the routine, and crack a few of his own jokes. Jon Stewart arrived shortly thereafter and fielded a few questions from the crowd. His comedic chops were equally impressive on and off script.

Within minutes of Jon Stewart’s arrival, overhead screens lit up, crewmembers swarmed, lights flared, and cameras started flying. The show progressed at the same pace that it does on television with only brief pauses for commercial breaks and a special correspondent segment with John Oliver. After 30 minutes, everyone promptly dispersed and we shuffled back out into the daylight. A highly anticipated, extremely amusing, and surprisingly abrupt afternoon spent in New York.

The long awaited competition has arrived and Cornell looks poised to claim its fair share of attention – and points – on the National Mall in Washington, DC.  For those uninitiated to the idea of “Solar Decathlon,” let me briefly explain: Every two years, the Department of Energy invites twenty college and university teams to design, build, and operate a home completely powered by the sun. In October, these houses are transported and assembled in DC, creating a “solar village” between capital hill and the Washington monument. Teams are then judged throughout a two-week period and assigned points in ten categories ranging from architectural design to engineering and market viability.

The Cornell Solar Decathlon team (CUSD) participated in 2005 and 2007 with varying degrees of success. Combining the experience of returning team members with the talent of new ones, the CUSD 2009 team gathered together two years ago and resolved to push at the limits of the competition — to literally break the mould. Up until that point, the “mould” had been rectangular houses that looked more or less like decorated shoe-boxes on wheels (They had been criticized as such by more than a few architects). Thus, we organized a design studio with veteran professor Jerry Wells who fueled the collective architectural ambition of the team. The top design would be selected by a closed jury and executed by CUSD.

The jury chose a project that secured either the wild success or horrible failure of CUSD.  There would be no middle ground. The 2009 design, now dubbed the “Silo House,” departed dramatically from the typical solar house.  It consisted of three circular living zones clustered around a square courtyard with horizontal photovoltaic panels hovering above.  The novelty of the shapes, compounded with the transportation and assembly requirements of Solar Decathlon, presented a logistical and technological nightmare. Less than a year ago, there were still many doubts that a bunch of students could really pull it off.

Somehow, despite early setbacks and a nagging recession, the CUSD house arrived on the National Mall in spectacular condition earlier this week. Students, faculty, staff, alumni, and local professionals worked collaboratively to turn early sketches and ambition into physical reality.

The resulting house is currently on display to the public throughout the week at the National Mall. I am heading down this weekend to check it out and see what the other 19 teams have been working on over the past two years. This year’s Solar Decathlon should be a good one and anyone in the area ought to check it out.  Information about tours and events can be found online at solardecathlon.org.  Also, you can track the team’s performance on the continually updated scoring page or find out more about the CUSD house on the team website.

Lately my eyes have been peeled for flyers offering free food or drinks to medical students—but rather than discovering another surgical keg party, I came upon an invitation to participate in a medical study conducted by researchers at Cornell University. Instead of free booze, the flyers in our elevator offered volunteers cold, hard cash. If the study caused any emotional or physical harm, I figured I could use the money to buy booze.  Otherwise, I would treat myself to some good food on the town.  It was a win-win situation.

I emailed the coordinator yesterday and answered a few questions over the phone about my relatively uneventful health history.  I qualified for two separate studies and scheduled the appointments for earlier today.  The studies were expected to take about three hours and I would be paid a total of $75.

I have never been paid so well for a small sample of saliva and a cup of urine—in fact I have never been paid at all for those things.  Aside from these samples (for genetic and drug testing), I completed a series of cognitive tests, computer games, and questionnaires. The computer games were the hardest for me, seeing as my gaming skills never developed much beyond Tetris. They required the player to recognize an expression, shape, or color and press the associated key on the keyboard. I would have done alright if not for a strange digital dyslexia that has not affected my hands since piano lessons as a child. Luckily, no one but the researchers will ever see my results.

In a couple weeks, I plan to return for a follow up session with one of the psychiatric researchers.  It involves an MRI test and a curious social experiment to see if I can make friends with other participants by writing “notes” to them. This time, they are offering cash AND a free picture of my brain. I can’t wait.

A few weeks ago, I traveled downtown to see and explore the empty site of the World Trade Centers—now commonly referred to as Ground Zero. I heard that they had built a viewing platform near the site but discovered a situation of disorder and ambiguity.  The pit (a description that remains accurate eight years after-the-fact) is entirely wrapped in chain link fence and canvas, blocking all but slivers of activity from sight. Signs led me around the construction to the Battery Park City sky-walk where views were tangential at best.

In the end, the thing that affected me most during my brief visit to Ground Zero was not the site itself.  Rather, I was moved by the actions of a silent Asian woman selling an ensemble of books and brochures with charged images of the twin towers before their collapse.  Bold letters across each cover spelled out a single, marketable word: T R A G E D Y.

After this first scattered and unnerving encounter with ground zero, I jumped at the opportunity to visit the site—and hear about its future—from two Cornell architecture alumni in a more organized format.  A trip was arranged by Stephanie Goto for all interested students at the AAP in NYC program. We gathered at the newly constructed WTC 7 where we met Osamu Sassa, an architect who works with the Japanese firm of Fumihiko Maki.

Mr. Sassa brought us up to the tenth floor of Tower 7 where the World Trade Center design teams have been pooled together. From the higher vantage point, we were able to see and delineate the newly formed footprints of towers, museum, and memorial. In the Image above (click to enlarge), it is possible to see the new “spine” crossing what was once a mega-block.  This is the nascent Greenwich Street which will eventually be flanked on the left by towers and on the right by the park and memorial fountains. The far right of the image shows the initial steel members of the Freedom Tower, which is expected to rise over the next four years to the symbolic height of 1,776 ft.

Turning away from this panorama, we focused in on Maki’s design of Tower 4. Mr. Sassa explained its sculptural qualities, its engagement with the ground plane, and its subtle reflection of the adjacent memorial. The building is undeniably simple—but in the thoughtful and precise manner characteristic of Japanese design.  This simplicity may prove to be Tower 4’s saving grace as construction begins under financial pressure; the more complex buildings of Richard Rogers and Norman Foster appear to be on hold.

Many of the architects, engineers, and consultants who had been working collaboratively on the tenth floor of Tower 7 have retreated back to their own turf to weather the economic storm. While construction teams work furiously to build massive foundations, no one is completely sure what will appear above.  If lending remains tight, towers face a literal (and figurative) chopping block.

More information regarding the World Trade Center site can be found online at wtc.com

Living here at Cornell’s medical campus offers an interesting perspective into the lives of med students. Our kitchen functions as the main social hub in the dorm and bears witness to a host of communal and culinary activities. Study sessions one night are followed by celebrations the next — the intensity of both activities being directly proportional to the difficulty of the intervening exam.

I glanced at notes on the table and remembered how much I dislike molecular science. Chemical structures never seemed quite as interesting to me as inhabitable ones. Studying architecture, however, doesn’t prevent me from flirting with the idea of becoming a doctor.  I live in a med-school dormitory and have a bona fide identification card — I just need to start attending classes and I will be on the fast track to success.

With this in mind, I have been keeping my eye out for information regarding my future, hypothetical career.  Medical flyers litter the bulletin boards on each floor. One poster encouraged students to attend a lecture concerning H1N1, another invited us to a special conference about healthcare. But one flyer, in particular, caught my attention:

“Interested in surgery? Love beer? You just hit the jackpot!” At the bottom of the page, after some further details, they offer a convincing — if not simplistic – reason to attend the event:  “Surgery is awesome (and there will be a keg. Seriously.)”

I’ve always been intrigued by surgery and I do like beer.  Joining the the Stimson Surgical Society suddenly seemed like a good idea.  Then I remembered my best friend talking about anatomy class and the gruesome dissection videos that he sent me. Cutting up bodies for a living is a gory business. Maybe that’s where the beer comes into play — it calms the nerves.

But consider the implications of this poster.  Do all beer-lovers become surgeons?  If so, it’s likely that other medical specialties have their own drink-of-choice.  Wine for cardiologists, jungle juice for pediatricians, gin and tonic for dermatologists, daiquiris for family practitioners — the list could go on and on.  An entire healthcare system consuming and consumed by alcohol.

I went exploring the other day and decided to relax a bit in Central Park.  Having studied Olmsted and Vaux’s original plans, I enjoyed seeing the park in a state of summertime activity. Neatly trimmed lawns, winding paths, and grand trees offer a welcome counterpoint to the ruthless grid and rigid materials of upper Manhattan.  Perched atop a little outcropping of rocks near 68^th street and 5^th avenue, I observed the surroundings and jotted a few thoughts into my notebook.

While sitting on the rock, I overheard a brief exchange between a father and his inquisitive son as they walked up toward me on the little mound.  The boy — who couldn’t be much older than five — called out to his father in an excited voice “Look Dad, a real mountain!!!

With a glance in my direction (and perhaps unsure of what to do when he reached the top), he called out again to his father — this time in a more contemplative tone. “Do people rest on mountains?”  Noticing me as well, the father turned toward his son and explained didactically “Yes, some people come up here to read books… or to write books.”  Linking two parts of the conversation in his mind, the boy asked eagerly “Do they write books about mountains?”

Five to ten years from now, I expect that that boy will be pleased to discover that many people have written many books about mountains. I can only begin to imagine his excitement when he discovers what “real mountains” really are!

Those familiar with Cornell have probably already been subjected to the repetitive naming scheme of campus buildings.  The first week of class brings with it many trials and tribulations – among them trying to find the location of your first lecture. Although it might seem obvious to veteran Cornellians, the collegiate nomenclature could hardly be more confusing. Your first impression upon arrival at Cornell is that every university building is called a “Hall” without regard to its size, structure, or function.  Then, as soon as you begin to ignore these accessory titles, you will be caught unaware in the wrong building on the wrong side of campus.

Wealthy alumni are partially to blame for this confusion, seeing as they are unable to fund merely a single building on campus.  To make matters worse, their surnames have migrated and multiplied as departments, laboratories and chimes have changed location. Thus the current situation: McGraw Hall is not attached to McGraw Tower, Uris and Olin Libraries have no relation to the similarly named Halls, and you will be hard pressed to find the Sibley Labs in Sibley.  Adjacency be damned! Sage Hall has no chapel by that name and don’t expect to find the Johnson museum in the Johnson school.

I sometimes wonder if the university planners were playing the same sort of joke as those who decided to put Kansas City in Missouri.  It just isn’t logical.

But, after time, this particular brand of Cornell nomenclature makes sense to the people who need to know. Each name becomes inextricably linked to a particular space, to experiences, and to our collective memory. When taken in sum, the names constitute a sort of code that reflects the culture of Cornell the way that strands of DNA reflect the nature of an organism. Until this semester, however, it never occurred to me that this “code” might extend beyond Cornell’s campus in Ithaca.

After walking the streets of Manhattan with bags in tow, I felt a wave of amusement and satisfaction upon the sudden discovery that I had reached my destination at Cornell’s Medical school. Every building in sight was named for Sandy Weill, a banker and philanthropist who has donated a good portion of his enormous fortune to Cornell. Then, on the corner of York and 69^th, I found the dormitory where I am living this semester. “Olin Hall” it is called, not to be confused with the chemistry building of the same name in Ithaca.

Olin and Weill Halls on the Upper East Side?  The Medical campus is like an intellectual microorganism created from the same “Cornell DNA” that generated the campus in Ithaca.  And I’ve got to assume that the same could be said for the campus in Qatar and other, smaller, and more remote educational outposts.  Where does this University end? The extent and multiplicity of the thing I know as Cornell continues to amaze me.

I guess it might be worth explaining a bit about my accommodations this semester in New York.  I am staying in Olin Hall at the Cornell Medical College on the Upper East Side of Manhattan (where all the architecture students without family arrangements have been placed).  If, by chance, discussion of the Upper East Side brings to mind thoughts of Park Avenue flats and Trump Palace, I’d have to ask you to think again. Although the location is pretty stellar, the dormitory — used primarily to house first-year med students – leaves a bit to be desired.

Each floor has two long corridors with an assortment of single and double rooms. We share a kitchen and a small lounge area usually occupied by studious Medies. I live in a single room with an excellent westerly view of a very active construction site. The workers begin jack hammering bed rock at the stroke of eight each morning, eliminating the need for a back-up alarm.

The single rooms are reasonably spacious and have access to what might appear at first to be a private bath. The awkward thing about these bathrooms, however,  is that they serve two rooms and are accessed by two different doors with exterior locks. That means that Joe Neighbor can stroll in while yours truly is sitting on the john.

I could manage perfectly well with this situation except that, in my case, Joe Neighbor appears to be quite mysterious. I can’t actually tell if anyone is living next to me. There aren’t any signs of life in the bathroom but I sometimes hear noises at night. I’ve mentioned this to my friends and the girls suggest I write a friendly note and post it on the mirror. Three different guys (on separate occasions) told me that I ought to leave some beer as a peace offering.  The conclusion: leave a beer with a note.

Hopefully as the weeks progress I will settle into the room and re-accustom myself to the joys of dorm life. I’ll make sure to post the results of my bathroom reconnaissance mission if everything works out.