Letters.

QUESTION OF RESPONSIBILITY?

SIR: I have just read the letter by James Hansen ('Question of responsibility') that you published in your July 2000 issue. Leaving aside the content of Mr Hansen's letter, I would like to point out that the concept sketches you reproduced beneath the letter are not Lord Foster's, but Arup's, and can be found on their website.

Yours etc

MATTHEW FOREMAN 

Foster and Partners, London, England

MONEO IN CONTEXT

SIR: Your elegiac farewell to Enric Miralles rightly acknowledges his unique response to context and his abilities in making places. In researching the July 1990 issue of AR, I found his work (with Carme Pinos) in illustrious company. All architects featured, including Rafael Monco, demonstrated a sublime understanding of context, albeit responding in differing ways.

It was with some disappointment then that I turned to Houston's Beck Museum of Fine Art (AR August), finding little in the way of recognition of the building's response to a rather unique context, but instead a somewhat disjointed analysis of the response to contents.

In the Moderna Museet, Stockholm, it is Moneo's understanding of place that raises the game. I had hoped to see this in Houston. However, if I am to find a true Texan palazzo of art, Fort Worth and Kahn's Kimbell Gallery seems a better bet.

Yours etc

GORDON C. MURRAY

gordon murray + alan dunlop architects, Glasgow, Scotland

DESERT STORM

SIR: On leafing through your July issue, which I opened with the usual childlike sense of anticipation, I came across a home I had recently toured: the Schall House by Wendell Burnette.

It became abruptly clear to me that the author and photographer (Ms Slessor and Mr Hurstey) must have recently been hired by you or your subordinates sight unseen, and for this reason will be forgiven for their sophomoric critique, save for the astute opening paragraph. Anyone who has toured this abode during any month when pumpkins, turkey and Santa Claus are not displayed in every strip mall window in the United States, is immediately struck by the realization that this house offers no reprieve from the subversive desert heat, and in that most important respect, the structure is rendered an absolute failure.

The lift, while an interesting study in curvilinear symmetry -- provided you have stumbled in from an afternoon at the local pub, which is the only way you will gain the vantage point shown in the photograph -- has no upper ventilation. There is no way for the heat collected by the natural form and the steel construction of the lift to escape. The experience is that of being a muffin subjected to 350-degree temperatures. A pity, given that this is the most entertaining way to traverse vertically through the structure.

The south and west-facing windows, no matter how carefully located, are not protected from the sun's inferno and thus relegate themselves to comparison with the thousands of 'cookie-cutter' homes that litter the Valley of the Sun. The stairs along the curved exterior wall are simply a cavern, devoid of any physical or physiological relief, despite Mr Hursley's talents as displayed in the photograph adorning the cover. They are claustrophobic: unfortunate when the internal flow of the design renders these stairs a necessity. For your staff and readers who do not have the opportunity to live in a climate where the temperature on the streets can reach 120[degrees]F (49[degrees]C) during the summer months, allow me to explain: without active cooling no one would live here. So it must be with Mr Burnette's clients. As your article shows, the south and west facing windows are not only unprotected from the sun, they are 1/4in-thick single-pane, i.e. uninsulated. This means, to put it simply, the heat gain is excess ive, irresponsible and replete with the typical American arrogance that relies on a large electric cooling system to make the space tolerable.

With all due respect for the architect's relationship to the client, and the task of solving their needs and style of living, the abode does seem to have aesthetic flair, enhanced by the creativeness of Mr Hursley's eye. However, no one who lives in the desert, much less claims to practise architecture here, can claim any knowledge of good design when the basic necessity of mitigating the sun's almost unbearable heat is missed so thoroughly. Look at the photo of the corner seating area on the second level (p52). The human species has not evolved such that it can tolerate sitting in that southwesterly location, behind uninsulated glass, leaning on a heat absorbing table of dark steel and not be grossly uncomfortable. If you doubt this fact, I invite you and your readers to try it any Arizona summer day. Bring your canteen and a towel.

It is tragic that a heretofore respected international publication such as The Architectural Review should fall so easily into the trough of mediocrity. Decent three-dimensional form does not necessarily dictate acceptable function. Function, and the relationship to the surroundings, must exist for any structure to be a success -- or has our relationship with the land evaporated whilst I've been a-slumber? I thought it was your duty to 'etch' this fact 'into [our] consciousness'. Sculpture it is, good design for the human animal it is not.

Yours etc

LOU WERNER

by email

WENDELL BURNETTE REPLIES

I believe it is fairly obvious that the design offers many a reprieve from the desert heat -- as well as warm places to sun oneself in the winter (we in Phoenix feel cold at 63[degrees]F!). Mr Werner seems to be hypersensitive to the heat and forgets that the reason 2 million people live here is that it is extremely pleasant for most of the year (seven months, give or take). But exclusively on the subject of 'reprieve from the heat'.

First, numerous outdoor spaces exist to enjoy shade and Venturi breezes at different times in different places throughout the day (north balcony, arrival court/pool patio, cocktail terrace and breakfast terrace). Everyone who enters this house, including the many contractors who have worked on it, comments on the simple fact that there is always a breeze.

Second, the amount of glass facing northwest (so catching the worst afternoon sun: the sun sets 27[degrees] north of west on the summer solstice) is minimal. The dining room's 8ft-square sliding glass door of 1in insulated glass, with low-c surface 2, is externally shaded by the 'ship hull' wall until just before sunset. The high living room window of 30in-square 1in insulated glass with low-e surface 2 is recessed l2ins into the l6in-thick wall construction and effectively shaded until six in the evening. The corner window ('bring your towel and canteen') is in fact 1/4in 'blue-green eclipse' glass with an extremely efficient solar coefficient that is somewhat reflective, 'like a pair of Oakley sunglasses glued to the nose of the prow', the approximate size is 9sq ft on each face. This corner window is an admitted compromise on a purely solar strategy but I hardly think it renders the design an absolute failure. (The corner window table is in fact sand-blasted glass, and is intended as a romantic dinner spo t for two after sunset when the city lights come up.)

The only large area of glass in the home (20ft wide by 8ft 6ins high) faces east-south-east and is subjected to morning sun, which can be very undesirable in the summer -- therefore it is 1-inch insulated glass, low-c surface 2, externally shaded with an automated shade screen of 94% Textilene fabric. Obviously Mr Werner didn't stick around to see this in action. This also controls glare for watching TV and, when it is closed, the sloping glass still allows a Zen view of the garden below (see section).

All other glass is either 1in insulated glass low-c surface 2, recessed a minimum of 6ins, sometimes 8ins, for shading when the sun is at 82" in the summer sky, or, if it is flush to the skin it is 'blue-green eclipse' as above. All in all, the need to edit the view and still create space with the pristine and distant parts of the landscape went hand-in-hand with reducing the total square footage of glass. The amount of glass facing south is equally minimal and follows generally the explanation above.

Third, the lift view taken by Hursley is achieved by simply looking up and doesn't require alcohol. The construction of the lift is perforated stainless steel, precisely for ventilation, with no top, so that it can exhaust. Mr Werner is correct that the uppermost part of the shaft has no ventilation and in fact it can and does get warm as the cab comes to a stop at the upper level. A round duct with barometric damper was discussed during construction and is still being tossed around, although the owner is not yet toasted, and 350[degrees], the Schalls would attest, is a gross exaggeration.

Fourth, the stair is a beautiful space as rich as any in the project and without exception always provides one with a breeze: 5mph on the shaded skin of the human body is a comfort all desert dwellers appreciate.

Air-conditioning for my clients on this project was a requirement, I will note that they didn't turn it on in their first year in the house until mid-May, when we experienced unseasonably early high temperatures of 100-110[degrees]F. The Schalls like the desert and only use the air-conditioning in the extreme summer. Otherwise you find them using the 10 1/2in-squrare cross-ventilation doors to create Venturi breezes with the larger operable sliding glass doors, and by God it works -- as it did on the day Mr Werner toured the home, I presume on the AIA-sponsored tour for 350 people. On any summer day when I have visited Ed Schall, who is retired, I can find him sitting outside by the pool in one of the many outdoor spaces.

Even in the best climatic design, people move and pick out comfortable places to be. For example, Berber families in the towns of Algeria have a summer oasis place and the regular home in the city quarter. I too have required my clients to move and experience creosote after rain or the smell of citrus in bloom in the spring night. The Schall residence has an adequate number of these places. No doubt it is not without some error, but it is a sincere attempt to provide a responsible and pleasure-filled design in the desert.

Yours etc

WENDELL BURNETTE

by email

WHAT'S WRONG WITH TATE MODERN?

SIR: I am thoroughly enjoying reading the August 2000 issue of the AR on Evolving Museums, and especially the editorial juxtaposition of Moneo, Herzog and de Meuron and Pallasmaa. However, when is a critic honestly going to criticize Tate Modern? Your coverage is the most comprehensive I have read, including an excellent set of drawings and photographs, but it blatantly ignores some fundamental contradictions resulting from the key architectural moves of the design.

On approach, the building offers two options. The most obvious entrance from the north (it is the front, after all) delivers you onto a platform where escalators to the galleries tantalizingly bypass visitors, albeit in a beautifully detailed glass box; a hunt revelas bottlenecked queues passing through narrow openings in layers of glazed screens, past a bizarrely-scaled glass cabinet of curiosities adjacent to the entrance to toilets, to the lifts and staircase O.K., so let's assume the visitor is sufficiently architecturally literate to go around the side and take the ceremonial ramped entrance from the west (and let's assume they are not a kamikaze wheelchair user). The spatial sequence is quite remarkable, and this continues -- ignoring those ridiculously small and claustrophobic gallery intersections -- vertically through the galleries to the fantastic double-height spaces which are evidently the showcase galleries. And yet there's still another floor to the 'ethereal and ghostly' light beam: what furth er delights can this hold?

Sadly none, except a cafe with nice views, the bulk of the light beam (perhaps appropriately omitted from the competition sections) containing plant rooms and a long and narrow glazed corridor. And then there's that end room, arguably the climax of the architectural experience: you enter at ground level from the west (truly an urban experience) and ascend and cross to the eastern end of the light beam (an urban scale element introduced from within the city). Culmination of the route is little more than a small school canteen forced to cater for all those who can't fit into the nice cafe it is full of people squatting on the floor eating packaged sandwiches.

I understand that, as an architectural critic, it must be hard to dwell too much on the unresolved aspects of a scheme like Bankside, an urban project which is extraordinary in its vision and intentions and, what's more, is obviously already making a difference to the surrounding city. However, the gallery is not solely an urban venture; it is also a building, and admirable urban moves like the signature light beam and ramped entrance have set up a built topography which contradicts itself in its resolution.

The current architectural scene is dominated by projects which assume that three or four (if that) simple conceptual moves can carry an entire scheme, and, although questionable in many cases, Bankside Power Station is one situation in which this approach is entirely valid. But a strong overall concept (at its extreme, pure visual formalism) does not necessarily guarantee an appropriate and successful spatial experience as Pallasmaa (AR May 2000) 50 brilliantly argues in his inspiring essay on 'fragile architecture'.

Yours etc

BOBBY OPEN

Cambridge, England

PERRETS TRADUCED?

SIR: Oh capricious editors: How could I have guessed you were itching to denounce 'the humourless aridities of Le Havre'?

An image of the RAF carpet-bombing Le Havre in September 1944 would have illustrated your caption (AR August, p31) so much better than does that cheerful archive photograph of youthful Ferret brothers from IFA/Norma's new book.

If only I'd known...

Yours etc

CHARLOTTE ELLIS

Paris, France