O r c h e s t r a t i n g D e c a y
The creator, molder, sculptor, planner, draftsman, artist, maker, builder, designer are the number of roles that an architect has fit as history has shown. As of late it seems something has been lost in architecture where efficiency and profitability trump craftsmanship. I would argue this loss of design integrity surfaced within the last century when there was a desire to build towards the sky with the most efficient floor plans. The last 100 years no doubt brought with it innovative ideas and impressive buildings, however, it also generated a fast track and modular construction method. My criticism of the contemporary world is that the built environment is constructed at an alarming pace that results in gleaming objects that are sterile and bland, more akin to one another. There is no identity and character to individual buildings. When looking at antiquity, permanence and palimpsest comes to mind. The aqueducts of Istanbul or the Coliseum of Rome have collected countless layers of history and show signs of age by the elements or human behavior but what is true for both is that they have stood the test of time and still somehow stand today. Their lifespan is dangerously diminished when care is not taken into the design of a buildings death. More importantly the time in-between its birth and death; its graceful decline into death. If we think of material like stone, brick, or wood overtime they develop a patina. In some cases one architects patina is another architects dirt but nevertheless specific material can offer a character and can begin to tell a narrative of a space. This then becomes not just planning decay of building but it is about what makes weathering special. Buildings with a rich material palette can be beautiful, but if it ages beautifully it then tells a story.
What gives architecture permanence and longevity? Today something has been lost in the built environment where the human desire is for materials to be permanent leaving no room for excitement. The reality is that our desire for permanent architecture is heading in the wrong direction with composite materials, vinyl and polystyrene to name a few. Sure the purpose of these materials is that they decay much slower than materials like concrete stone, brick, or wood and economically they make sense. However, I would argue my definition of permanence is buildings and materials that have a visible and tactile process of decay to them.
My site is the Northern Avenue Bridge located on the Fort Point Channel, the division between downtown Boston and the Seaport. Over a century old, the Northern Ave Bridge served as a hinge of city carrying mostly freight as a vital connection that linked people and industry. Historically, it’s valued because it is symbolically the bones of a former era, a time when materials and construction methods were completely different. Unfortunately, the bridge has reached unsafe conditions for pedestrians but if a bridge is to remain it should by definition continue to serve that function, to span two bodies.
A bigger question remains of why there is value? The city recognizes its value evident by the fact that it still hasn’t been torn down. It comes down to character. It is the years that the bridge has collected where it has weathered into a coated rusted surface ultimately becoming a relic of the past. It’s the idea of the embodied time of the bridge and the potential of giving it back to city. This thesis is organized into three acts that span 100 years and shows the development of a bridge and a form.
Act 1
Act 2
Act 3
The work shown above is only a snapshot of the process and final materials.
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