Furthermore: Where the Headlines Take You
Last week our own Willamette River played host to The World, a floating condominium of profanity inducing proportions that just happens to be shaped like an ocean liner. Conceptualized by Norwegian cruise ship magnate Knut U. Kloster Jr., The World set sail from Oslo in 2002 and now roams the oceans of, well... the world with a cargo of presumably rich (2.3 million was the starting price for a studio at the time the ship first hit the water) seafarers. Having left Portland, where it spent three days crammed between the Morrison and Hawthorne bridges, World travelers will next visit Astoria before heading up the coast to Seattle, British Columbia and points further north. So if on a recent trip into downtown you didn't get chance to tap a friend on the shoulder, point and exclaim, "What in The World is that!?" I'm sorry. That ship has sailed.
Reflecting on what it might be like to live in a 290 sq ft studio-condo aboard The World reminded me of Stewart Brand's insightful and highly utilitarian How Buildings Learn: What Happens After They're Built. Brand, best known as creator of the Whole Earth Catalog, discusses the virtues of efficient use of space and embraces the Japanese concept of Wabi Sabi which, architecturally speaking, calls for some space in new buildings to be left unfinished so that the buildings can better "learn" the best way to suit its tenants. Brand calls on numerous examples including his own home (a tugboat in dry-dock!!!) and his work space/studio (an over-sized, retro-fitted shipping container). How Buildings Learn is chock full of theories and case studies that can be applied to the spaces around you and will really inspire you to rethink the way you see and use space.
If one was looking for further practical advice for developing space in a humane fashion it'd be hard to imagine a better resource than A Pattern Language: Towns, Buildings, Construction which is full of maxims such as: "Arrange houses to form very rough, but identifiable clusters of 8 to 12 households around some common land and paths. Arrange the clusters so that anyone can walk through them, without feeling like a trespasser." Author Christopher Alexander, et al, reverse engineer the most livable and enduring structures and complexes from around the world and distill rules and guidelines that could give life to columnist Thomas Friedman's sense that we Americans may need to "Europeanize" our lifestyle to in order to maintain our quality of life.
But I've gotten a little off topic, traveling the oceans of earth in a buoyant borough is one way to see the world but Thor Heyerdahl experienced life on the water at a much more intimate and graphic level while testing his theory of Polynesian diaspora in raft made of, mostly, primitive materials. He documented the 101 day voyage in Kon-Tiki (the library also has a documentary by that same name with footage from the original undertaking). Heyerdahl's incredible courage made a strong impression on me as a 12 year-old when I first read his descriptions of setting sail on a raft of balsa logs lashed together with hemp ropes. The voyage of the Kon-Tiki only seems more impressive today with advances in technology that make me wonder if anyone will ever chose to do something this difficult again. Setting aside Heyerdahl's anthropological theories, Kon-Tiki is a compelling tale of adventure and careful observation that leaves one with a strong respect for the power of the ocean and the creatures that live there. Though Heyerdah's ideas have since been discredited no one can discount the experience that he had traveling the Southern Pacific at sea level. That's something that money simply can not buy.
Posted by Matthew
Last week's earthquake in the central Italian region of Abruzzi killed more than 200 people and destroyed many homes, businesses and other buildings. But life, limb and livelihood are not the only things to have been damaged – churches, castles and other structures important to Italy's cultural heritage were damaged by the quake also, and Italy is asking other nations to help with the restoration process. This aspect of the tragedy reminds me how often we are unprepared to manage material threats to our cultural treasures, and of how gracefully people sometimes come together after a disaster to help restore buildings and art, and help communities to heal.
In November, 1966, the Arno River topped its banks in the Italian city of Florence, flooding the city and eventually rising to 22 feet in some neighborhoods. Florence is an ancient city with a huge store of libraries, museums, and private collections of paintings, sculpture, rare and antique books, and other treasures, many of which were put at risk by the flood's water and mud. Art conservators came from around the world to help restore Florence's books, paintings, and other artworks – these cultural lifesavers became known as angeli del fango or “mud angels.” In Dark Water: Flood and Redemption in the City of Masterpieces, Robert Clark provides a broad view on the story of the 1966 flood, and on the many floods that preceded it. He begins with a history of flooding in Florence and how it intertwines with the history of the city as a center of fine art, and then goes on to discuss the world's response to the 1966 flood, and the disconnect between Florence, the city of fine art, and Firenze, the practical, working city in which Florentines actually live.
For those of us who prefer novels to nonfiction, there are still ways to learn about Florence's flood. Robert Hellenga's debut novel The Sixteen Pleasures follows Margot Harrington, one of the “mud angels,” who came to Florence to share her skills as a book conservator. After suffering under the unlacquered sexism of the leading mud angels who coordinate and assign book conservation tasks for the various libraries, Margot is assigned to lead restoration of the library belonging to a small convent. Short on money, she moves in with the nuns, makes friends with the mother superior, and discovers some unexpected treasures in the convent's library. The Sixteen Pleasures is a vivid, exciting story despite its mild-mannered setting in the book stacks, and careful readers will note that the technical details of book construction and conservation are both accurate and clearly described.
Of course, natural disasters have struck beloved antiquities in other places as well. In 1927, an earthquake damaged the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, which marks the site where many Christians believe Jesus Christ was crucified and buried. This most holy of Christian shrines is managed jointly by several churches – chiefly the Armenian Apolistic, Roman Catholic, and Eastern Orthodox churches, and the balance is a tenuous one. Monks and priests working at the church have regularly, if infrequently, come to blows over territorial claims and purported slights. For decades, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre sat damaged and in danger of falling in on itself. Yet somehow, the churches came together with the aid of popes, kings, architects, and many others, devised a plan to rebuild the church, and managed to begin to carry it out. Raymond Cohen's Saving the Holy Sepulchre traces this remarkable story from its roots in the unusual management of the church over time through the restoration now underway.
But these books all raise another question: what do we learn from the experience of cleaning up after a flood, earthquake, or other calamity? In Planning for Disaster, William G. Ramroth, Jr. looks at how events like the 1666 fire of London, the San Francisco earthquake and fire of 1906, and the 9/11 attacks in New York City have affected how we build buildings and plan cities. When have we learned our lessons, and when have we simply repeated past mistakes?
Posted by Emily-Jane
