SNOW IN FLORIDA

Perhaps you know this very well, but there is a place called Celebration, a small town in Florida, built by the Walt Disney Company. An early example of New Urbanism put into practice, the people in this town seem to be living (that's right, they live there for real) on the very edge of reality as we know it. The idea of letting it snow in Florida is rather surreal by itself, but accompanied by music and voices seeming to come from nowhere in particular, it's beyond weird, seen with my European eyes.

And on the other hand: What if this works for the people who live there? Celebration is a walkable town, and people make real friendships there, just by passing each other by on porches or the sidewalks. At least it's an alternative to suburban sprawl, isn't it? And what are the alternatives? How much "real" traditional urbanism is there in the US?

I'd never live in Celebration, but perhaps we'll have to let fantasy play a bigger part in architecture when dealing with the need for reshaping society to meet the ecological crisis ahead. Is Celebration a definite answer? Absolutely not. Is it an interesting question? I would say yes.

SKATING IN ORDOS

What do you do with a city built for 300 000 people, but with a population of less than 10% of that? (It's Inner Mongolia, I don't blame humanity for not moving.) We're talking large urban spaces, attempts at innovative architecture, oversize bronze horses galloping across stone plazas, organic concrete shapes and four-lane roads without cars.

You bring your skateboard, of course.

The poetically named Kangbashi New Area, Ordos. Not Bregna.

GROCERS' APARTMENTS or HOW TO LOOK FLIRTY AMONGST TIMBER FRAME BUILDINGS

As I hinted earlier, I recently went to Hamburg. One of the greatest places I visited, was also one of the smallest, a tiny street inside a complex called the Grocers' Apartments.

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

On a tiny plot, this group of 17th century timber frame houses creates a world of its own, twisting and leaning and bending in all directions.

(Add some curly hair, oxfordesque attire and a hand on the chin, and you've accomplished what you wanted to, more or less.)

STREET OF FRIENDS

Erlend lived here.
The tram stop for Håkon's old apartment was here.
This was the street where I called Heidimarie and asked about the wonderful wine she and Erik served at their wedding.
This was where Petter and I met each other before he went to New York.
This is where I bought dinner today.
This was the street I walked up to go to Heidi's birthday party on the 20th July 2011, after which I caught a cold and decided to stay home for the weekend.
In Thereses gate I've walked home with Ole Thomas and Tamar after a night out.
In Thereses gate, I met Patrick by coincidence earlier this fall, after several years.
And in Thereses gate, Marta took this picture a morning when there, by some stroke of magic, was no one out, a morning earlier this summer.

Thank you!

THE MAN IN THE WINDOW

Walking home from a great day spent with my friend Aina (Remember the girl with all the talent and charm?) and her cool little brother, I had to take a picture when I passed this great sight: An elderly man, just hanging out of his window in the sunshine, looking at people and cars passing by. I don't think he talked to the girls, but it seems he at least made eye contact with one of them.

I believe good architecture will do this to a city. Windows which open up wide encourages people to look out unto the outside and get some real sunshine on their skin. The wall is pierced by the sudden gap in the facade, and a potent meeting between private and public takes place. A road without too many cars is nice to look at, while the trees across tha road cast an interesting shadow. The street becomes a nicer and more interesting place to walk, and so a few people might choose to not take the car. Urban magic.

HEY GIRL

FICTIONAL FRIDAY: HANDRAILS OF MIDDLE-EARTH

An architectonical observation from the incredibly funny Youtube channel Cinema Sins in the video counting the sins of the first Hobbit film (which by the way contains loads of cool fictional architecture and urbanism).

But what is the explanation for this? Why no handrails? Might just be because it looks good, but that doesn't explain how no one would try to prevent the thousands of casualties which inevitably would be the result of this policy. Visual pleasure vs. security is a debate in this world as well (just think of the organisations for people with impaired vision, who wants there to be gigantic glowing yellow arrows and stripes absolutely everywhere), but it's quite easy to see who won in this one.

Why not include the whole video:

URBAN PLANNING ACROSS THE WORLD

Because it's true.

MY FAIR LADY/LONDON BRIDGE

"You disgrace to the noble architecture of these columns!" - Henry Higgins in George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion, the play on which the musical and film My Fair Lady is based

The other day, a friend of mine suggested we should go see the new Oslo production of this timeless piece of musical silliness, and suddenly, I was humming the old children's song with lines that go like this:

London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair lady.

According to Wikipedia's excellent article about this verse, which is referencing Studwell, 1996, this is probably (???!?) where the musical took its name from. The rhyme is part of an old song about building a bridge using all sorts of materials (wood and clay will was away, iron and steel will bend and bow, etc.). A charmingly illustrated note sheet from 1877 looks like this:

I'm not really sure which one of these guys is the architect, but the old architect's symbol can be found on top of the stone plate being carried by that really muscular man. Maybe it's him?

London Bridge in the late 19th century

London Bridge is a name that has been carried by several bridges throughout the ages. The one pictured on the note sheet was only 40 years at the time, replacing a medieval bridge which stood 30 m downstream. The 1831 bridge was later bought and moved to Arizona, USA, by Robert McCulloch, for a new planned community called Lake Havasu City, after this bridge had been slowly sinking into the Thames since the end of the 19th century. (Nasty rumors have it that he thought he was buying the iconic Tower Bridge.)

Not London Bridge

The reconstructed bridge was finished in 1971, and was in London replaced by a neutrally looking concrete bridge.

The reconstructed London Bridge in Arizona

The current London Bridge

The coolest bridge, though, was the medieval one. Construction began in 1176, but wasn't finished before 1209, 33 years later. Then again, this bridge would last for another 600 years.

From the very beginning, houses with shops, dwellings, water wheels, squares and chapels were built on top of London Bridge, almost forming a continuous street instead of giving the feeling of walking on a bridge. This was partially done to pay for the extremely expensive construction, but also looked really neat.

The infamous Nonsuch house (as in 'nothing quite like it') was perhaps the most outstanding building on the bridge, and can be seen in the middle of this picture. (It's the one with the red, yellow and white facade, topped by four blue onion domes.) To cross the bridge, you actually had to go right through many of the houses, out of which several leaned as far as seven feet out over the water.

The bottom picture shows London Bridge c. 1750, shortly before all the houses were demolished to make way for traffic. The bridge itself stood until 1831, when it was replaced by the bridge now standing in Arizona.

And then only one question remains: Who was this Fair Lady? There are several suggestions, but here's the one I found a picture of, Matilda of Scotland. She was a consort of King Henry I, and oversaw the building of several bridges in 12th century England:

(Picture credits: Wikimedia Commons, except the ones of Audrey Hepburn and Nonsuch House, which I frankly don't quite know who owns.)

PRUITT-IGOE

A younger man than myself helped me remember this beautiful piece of music, written by Philip Glass for the film called Koyaanisqatsi (1982). The title derives from a scene in which the failed housing project named "Pruitt-Igoe", designed by Minoru Yamasaki (mostly known as the architect of the Twin Towers), is being demolished.

Although frequent attempts have been made by architects to blame the failures of the project on other aspects than the architecture, it has remained a symbol of  how ideology-driven, de-humanizing thinking in our craft can result in horrible and uninhabitable places. The famous architecture historian and theorist Charles Jencks has even claimed that the tearing down of Pruitt-Igoe nailed the moment where Modernism's optimism on behalf of the future and itself ended, and post-modernism started.

The site is now mostly empty, but suggestions have been made for it to be rebuilt in completely different ways, for example in the charming and thought-through master plan developed by architect Samuel Lima. He suggests applying traditional architecture, extracted from examples in the nearby area, and is firmly planted within the New Urbanist approach.

FICTIONAL FRIDAY: ROOFED CITY OF THE YEAR 2000

I can't read the text properly, but this is obviously a "*something* city in the year 2000"! Under a wet and rainy sky (Who knew that a chocolate factory predicted climate change 112 years ago?), people are leading happy suspiciously well-lit lives under a roof, enjoying green grass, fountains and masonry buildings with domes and pediments, as well as bicycles, horses, and trams for transportation. Is this vision to blame for the phenomenon of shopping malls? Never mind, Bergen is cold today, so bring me to the year 2000!

FACEBOOK 101

Yesterday, this blog's Facebook page reached 101 likes! As you can see, 92 of them are friends of mine, most of whom were probably invited by yours truly. Still, I think this is fun. I joined Facebook in 2006, and I use it almost every day to connect with friends and co-workers, learning new things, and finding out about real-life events. In this way, the "social network"actually works almost like a well-connected city, with more or less rounded blocks of homes, stores, offices, restaurants and cultural scenes.

In this amazing map of Facebook friendships made by Paul Butler, you can see how large parts of the world are interconnected using this powerful network. I, for one, com from Norway, but have connections going to such far-off places as Kenya, Colombia, South Africa and Bangladesh. Read more about how the map was made in this short and interesting article.

Finally, a picture of a well-connected city, for comparison. Bologna in 1640:

May both the world and its cities become increasingly interconnected in the years to come!

THE BOATHOUSE

Earlier this summer, I was at the opening of a new cultural scene in Oslo, called Naustet, which means "The Boathouse". Inspired by traditional Norwegian boathouses and built directly above the water in the new waterside neighbourhood Bjørvika, this little gem was designed and built by students from Norway's three architecture schools, in the joint workshop called Trestykker.

"Tre" means both "three" (as in three architecture schools) and "wood" (as in made from) in Norwegian, and the whole thing is sponsored by different companies within the wood industry in Norway, including free materials.

The doors, back wall and wooden floors both inside and on the outside, are made from the excellent material Kebony, which has many of the same properties of tropical wood, but is made from local trees such as pine and maple, combined with leftovers from sugar factories.

The walls are clad in polycarbonate panels, which are partially opaque, depending if the sunshine is direct of filtered through clouds. Before sunset, the walls seem to be glowing.

The building stands in stark contrast to the other buildings of Bjørvika. While the rest are mostly glasshouses in a vulgar, petroleum-driven architectural language, who turn their back in the rest of the city, the Boathouse is a human-scale construction, made of wood, and talking to the city, actually turning its back on the water. In my opinion, this very last quality is also the best, and very brave, in a city that is forgetting what it has been for several hundred years. If the old Oslo, perched in the low, rolling hills, and the new Oslo down by the water are going to feel like one place instead of two, the communication has to go both ways.

The acoustic qualities of the building are excellent. There were three concerts during the opening, and I particularly enjoyed this one, by the wonderful Ingvild Våge. I also taped a video there, which I might post on the blog later.

The wood frames are made of plywood, which were pre-made, but glued and screwed together on site.

Let's hope that the Boathouse will find people to run it as a scene, and that Oslo will be inspired to create more architecture that relates to the site, is human in scale and materials, and dares to talk to the city. Good luck on next year's Trestykker!

MEDIANERAS

This is a strange and wonderful little film about people living in the city, and how architecture interacts with their daily lives. Great pictures and good music.

FICTIONAL FRIDAY: OLIVER!

Thank God it's Fictional Friday! In this new series of posts on my blog, I'll present fantastical and fictional architecture from books, television, films, computer games, art etc. every Friday.

Today's contribution is the gloriously silly "Who will buy?" scene from the 1968 musical film "Oliver!", which won an Oscar for Best Picture. Although this may look very much like a real London street, and some even believed it was filmed at the Royal Crescent in Bath, it's all a gigantic film set which was built at Shepperton Studios. According to movie-locations.com, the designer was John Box, Production Designer, and the inspiration is of course classical terraced houses, garden squares and architectural crescents such as the aforementioned Royal Crescent.

Not only is the street and park beautiful, and most definitely a place I'd like to live myself if it was real, but the scene, which by the way took six weeks to film, also has a great interaction between choreography and architecture, with dancing and stunts following the rhythm of the facades.

FICTIONAL FRIDAY!

Why are there dinosaurs walking in this street? I'll tell you why: Because this is a painting from the fictional land of Dinotopia.

Welcome to Fictional Friday! For quite some time now, I've been interested in fantastical and fictional  architecture and urbanism from books, tv, films, computer games etc, and I've decided to start sharing some on this blog every Friday. 

The opening archifiction is from James Gurney's Dinotopia. The Dinotopia series started with the publication of the first book in 1992, and made up of beautiful and compelling stories, set in a land where dinosaurs and human live together, in (mostly) peace and harmony . To me, however, what remains most interesting, is all the architecture and urbanism Gurney imagined for this world. Everything from farms and small villages to great cities and monuments fill the pages of these beautifully executed books. The references go to Italy, to Gaudi and Maya architecture among other things, and the result is an eclectic and intriguing mix that is both traditional and humanistic, and yet something very different. 


Gurney's drawings and paintings are almost nostalgic, all bearing a picturesque quality and warm glow which I'm sure is what captured my imagination when I forst got to know the work. Now, however, I think it's just as interesting to see how different scales meet in buildings and streets that are made for both dinosaurs and humans, like the different stairs in the top picture, or to see how the needs of humans and the dinosaurs can both be covered and combined through design solutions.

Great books, herebu recommended to all lovers of fictional architecture and good stories.

The first picture shows Steep street in Waterfall city, where one of the main protagonists lives. 


This next one is a view from above, where visitors to the city are getting ready to enter the only way possible, via the air:

A view along one of the channels of Waterfall city. there are no really narrow streets in Dinotopia.

A detail of Waterfall city, with the huge globe and flying creatures transporting people back and forth.

Gurney often makes maquettes for the design of buildings. I think he makes photographs and then paints after them. That's at least how he usually makes paintings and drawings of people.

The Hatchery, a sort of farm, where the protagonists of the story are first taken when they arrive in Dinotopia.

An almost-too-cute village of tree-shaped houses, borrowing some shapes form gothic architecture, built in an unknown material (maybe concrete?). In this painting, Gurney seems somewhat influenced by his infamous college friend, the late Thomas Kinkade.

Thermala, a "village" high up in the mountains of Dinotopia. No dinosaurs up here, only pre-Ice age-looking mammals. A place to stop while on the way to the


Tentpole of the Sky: Featuring Tibetan-looking architecture and old Tibetan-looking guys, this is a monastery of sorts built for seclusion and isolation. This image also shows how his paintings are based on drawings.

Treetown, where houses are built at the hight of the heads of tall dinosaurs. This way humans and their tall friends can talk together face-to-face.

It's nice to have dinosaur friends when you've lost your thingy in the water.

Street scene from the city of Pooktook. Gaudiesque architecture on the right.

This painting was actually made before the books were written. The surroundings were later given the name of "Sauropolis", and named the capital of Dinotopia. The scene is copied for less than a second at the very end of Star Wars Episode 1.

Saurpolis from above. Very classical-looking.

Approaching Sauropolis from the water. Note the Triceratops head on the keystone.


Finally, be sure to visit James Gurney's blog, from which several of these pictures were stolen.