Author: Geoff Manaugh

[Image: From Power from the Wind by Palmer Cosslett Putnam].

“In May 1931,” author Palmer Cosslett Putnam wrote in his 1949 book Power from the Wind, and “after two years of wind measurement, a wind-turbine 100 feet in diameter was put in operation on a bluff near Yalta, overlooking the Black Sea, driving a 100-kilowatt, 220-volt induction generator, tied in by a 6300-volt line to the 20,000-kilowatt, peat-burning steam-station at Sevastopol, 20 miles distant.”
As if anticipating BLDGBLOG’s recent look at infrastructural domesticity, Putnam points out that “a streamlined house” containing generators was held aloft behind the turbine – but this “house” also offered a temporary place of rest to the maintenance workers who checked up on the turbine’s workings. Accessible via a long flight of stairs, this airborne space added a small touch of domestic comfort to an otherwise industrial piece of machinery in the sky.

[Sent in by Alexis Madrigal, who also had this image scanned from Putnam’s book].

[Image: From a project for fish-farming the Thames by Benedetta Gargiulo, part of a recent design studio at the Architectural Association taught by Nannette Jackowski and Ricardo de Ostos; via Pruned].

A passing comment on the previous post has me thinking that a fantastic, Pruned-inspired summer architectural studio could be organized around the idea of turning backyard swimming pools not into mausoleum-like, subterranean granny flats, but experimental fish farms and hatcheries, alternative-energy algae-breeding ponds and other avant-garde aquacultural installations. Architecture as artificial ecosystem.
Could you reimagine the food production infrastructure of a city through the aquacultural transformation of its backyard swimming pools?

[Image: The subterranean granny flat of the future, via the Sydney Morning Herald].

According to an article published last month in the Sydney Morning Herald, turning backyard swimming pools into subterranean “granny flats” is a spatially innovative, if unexpected, way to assuage Sydney’s growing housing shortage. Indeed, much of Sydney’s projected population growth could simply be “housed within some of [New South Wales’s] 360,000 swimming pools.” These “redeveloped pools” could then be used as detached bedrooms for grandparents, teens, guests, bunker enthusiasts, underground-obsessed schizophrenics, and so on.
The regions 360,000 swimming pools would first be emptied of their water and then transformed, through architectural intervention, into a comfortable domestic space, “complete with a small bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, garden alcove and rooftop windows.”
But where would everyone then swim? In the ocean pools of Sydney, of course.

(Thanks to Simon Sellars for the tip!)

Last week, Sapporo announced that they would soon be serving space beer, “the world’s first beer made with barley descending from plants grown inside the International Space Station.”

The barley used in the new beer is a third-generation offshoot of the original plant stored for five months in a Russian laboratory in the station. The company has made only 100 liters of the new brew, named Sapporo Space Barley, which is not for sale. Sapporo says the beer is safe because it has tested microbes in it and did tests with lab animals and Sapporo employees, too. It also says that the space beer tastes just like regular beer.

For obvious reasons, this brings to mind China’s space seed project, in which “space breeding” puts astronomy to work in the service of contemporary agriculture.

Plant seeds have been blasted into orbit in the hope that “space breeding” holds the key to improving crop yields and disease resistance. Wheat and barley strains developed by the Department of Agriculture and Food in Western Australia (WA) have just landed back on Earth following a 15-day orbital cruise on board China’s Shijian-8 satellite. “Space-breeding refers to the technique of sending seeds into space in a recoverable spacecraft or a high-altitude balloon,” said Agriculture WA barley breeder Chengdao Li. “In the high-vacuum, micro-gravity and strong-radiation space environment, seeds may undergo mutation.”

While this certainly offers landscape architects an unearthly way to boost their horticultural repertoire, it also shows that specialty foods cultivated through genetic interaction with the universe might yet find a comfortable place in the human food chain.
Sipping space beer, ingesting astronomical influence, welcoming literally non-terrestrial nutrition into the planetary web of caloric intake, we’ll find that Sapporo’s newest beer brings a suitably alien tenor to the local amnesia of alcoholic intoxication.

(Earlier on BLDGBLOG: Turning endangered landscapes into beer).

If you happen to be near Los Angeles this weekend, I’ll be giving a 40-45 minute talk this Saturday at the A+D Museum as part of a day-long event organized by Gensler – designers of the tallest building in China, which began construction last week in Shanghai.

The theme for the day is Design Process Innovation, and my own talk is called “San Francisco As It Should Be” – applying many of the ideas that have been found here on BLDGBLOG over the past few years to the (ironically complacent) city where I now live. From tectonic self-engineering to whole-city sound design, via guerrilla gardening, subterranean mobile libraries, and vertical film clouds, among many other ideas and projects, from Fritz Haeg to Sarah Ross to Steve Lambert and Packard Jennings, I’ll be taking a look at a range of ways to alter the face and experience of the city.
The event lasts from 10am-5:30pm, and I’ll be one of the final keynote addresses – from 3-4pm, I believe. It’s not free, unfortunately, but student discounts are available.
The other participants include some really fantastic people, including Scott Robertson of Design Studio Press; the awesome Tali Krakowsky from Imaginary Forces – from whom you’ll soon hear more when I post BLDGBLOG’s long (and very long-delayed) interview with the principals of that firm; Frances Anderton, a colleague of mine at Dwell and host of KCRW’s weekly radio show DnA; Sam Lubell of The Architect’s Newspaper; and many, many, many more.
So if you’re in town and need something to think about, consider stopping by. Here’s a map – and you can read a bit more about it here, with tickets available for purchase here.
If you do make it out, come up and introduce yourself as I’d love to say hello.

[Image: Heathrow Terminal 5, via Wikipedia].

Back in San Francisco, after a 12-hour delay at Heathrow’s Terminal 5 in London. We sat on the first plane – there were three planes – for five hours before they realized that they couldn’t start one of the engines; so we all filed back into the terminal while our luggage was loaded onto a second plane – which was then hit by a truck. A third airplane was thus conjured up out of the drizzling darkness of an otherwise abandoned international airport at midnight – I was reminded almost constantly of Iain Sinclair’s description of Heathrow as “a Vatican of the western suburbs,” a system of piazzas dedicated to geometric worship of the sky – and it rolled over to the gate to collect our bags, the lights in the cockpit still off. It was nearing 1am by then, we’d been given bags of sea-salted potato chips, and bad pop songs were playing on continuous loops through steel security grills pulled down in front of airport music shops. One or two obviously bored employees were performing day-end inventories on refrigerators full of Ribena at Boots, the guitarists for a band apparently based here in San Francisco were throwing an American football around with a kid called Nicholas, and if you stood at the edge of the glass-walled lightwells that cut all the way down to the ground in Richard Rogers‘s new terminal design you could watch under-oiled escalators squawking their way, from one side to the other, up the nearly five stories to arrive where we were all then sitting, filling out customer complaint forms.
So thanks, British Air, for that odd glimpse of anthropology amidst well-engineered 21st-century architecture after everyone else had gone home – although I would’ve preferred to arrive twelve hours earlier, on time – and thanks, as well, to everyone who came out to see the variety of BLDGBLOG events last week in London.
The other surprise worth mentioning is that, having landed at the misty, pre-BART hour of 4am, we had to take a taxi home – and as we drove up Fell Street our driver pointed out that gas prices have plunged to a somewhat unbelievable $1.79 a gallon.

[Image: The Waiting Room, Rome, by Jeffrey Inaba/Inaba Projects].

Jeffrey Inaba of Inaba Projects has a new pavilion on display now in Rome, sponsored by Enel, Italy’s largest utilities provider. Because of that sponsorship, Inaba “wanted to use numerous forms of alternative energy applications,” but decided, in the end, to apply “just one that was highly productive and cost effective.” The pavilion is thus solar-powered – Inaba describes it as an “Alice in Wonderland mushroom meets solar-ray chomping Pac-Man.”

[Images: The Waiting Room, Rome, by Jeffrey Inaba/Inaba Projects].

So what is the project? Solar-powered and lit from within, with a DVD player and monitors, it tries to rethink the hospital waiting room; in fact, the cartoon-like, festive structure with a kind of external tattoo of abstract graphics, is “sited at Policlinico Umberto 1, Rome’s largest public hospital, and one that has been recently controversial because of scandals of unsafe and unsanitary conditions.”

As an “enlightenment” era hospital, it was planned in a decentralized way, with specialities (pediatrics, respiratory maladies, contagious diseases) distributed throughout the campus, with no single central space. The project attempts to create a centralized space for all kinds of waiting (waiting for an appointment, to be picked up, the diagnosis of a loved one, for treatment, convalescing to recover).

As Inaba himself explained in a recent issue of Art Review, the real purpose was “to create an environment to cope with our restlessness, if not through easing the irritation of having to wait, then at least through distraction from it.”
“The aim,” Inaba writes in a short essay about the project, “is to produce a distraction from waiting by introducing a mix of people, activity and stimulation to thwart the inward feeling of inertia that is triggered by delays.”
Of course, this raises the possibility of a building so immersive, visually interesting, or simply distracting that you don’t realize you’re waiting for something. Time passes; nothing happens; you don’t notice.
It’s a sort of anti-prison.

[Images: The Waiting Room, Rome, by Jeffrey Inaba/Inaba Projects].

The website for Enel Contemporanea adds that “[c]olours, lights, geometric shapes and various environmentally friendly elements” bring “an element of comfort to an architectural space normally seen as a temporary and highly emotional environment.”

[Images: The Waiting Room, Rome, by Jeffrey Inaba/Inaba Projects].

All of which is another way of saying that the project enlivens the experience of waiting inside architecture – highlighting the general but overlooked surreality of the waiting room, as a space in which you simply wait for something else to happen.

[Image: The Waiting Room, Rome, by Jeffrey Inaba/Inaba Projects].

It’s up until February 2009 – so if you’re in Rome, check it out.

[Earlier on BLDGBLOG: Trash Mandala].

A quick heads up that I’ll be participating in a roundtable discussion tomorrow afternoon about “science fiction and architecture” at the Bartlett School of Architecture here in London. The participants are:

— Rachel Armstrong, author of The Gray’s Anatomy
— Nic Clear, of Unit 15
— Ted Kreuger, of Pamphlet Architecture 14 fame
— Geoff Manaugh, author of the website you are currently reading
— Neil Spiller, Vice Dean of the Bartlett School of Architecture and Director of AVATAR

It should make for an interesting conversation, with a great mix of perspectives on the intertwined topics of science fiction, built space, and the imagined environment, so do come out if you’re in the neighborhood.
The event lasts from 4-6pm, and it is free and open to the public. We’ll be awaiting your arrival in Room G02, Wates House, 22 Gordon Street, London, WC1H 0QB. Here is a map.
Of course, I’ll then be moving down the street for the feral cities event at UCL tomorrow evening.

I’m in London, watching snowflakes fall amidst early morning rain flurries, reading David Grann’s new book The Lost City of Z, and getting ready for the Barbican event tomorrow night.
But there’s an article in the Guardian today about the WaterMill, which “uses the electricity of about three light bulbs to condense moisture from the air and purify it into clean drinking water.” The company, Element Four, imagines a future for their product involving everything from irrigation and personal thirst to peacekeeping and disaster relief. Perhaps it might even require an update to the atlas of hidden water – where the water supply is “hidden” in the sky itself.

[Image: A diagram of the WaterMill at work].

As the company describes it:

The system draws in moist, outside air through an air filter. The moist air passes over a cooling element, condensing the moist air into water droplets. This water is then collected, passed through a specialized carbon filter and is then exposed to an ultraviolet sterilizer, eliminating bacteria.

Further:

The WaterMill is installed unobtrusively on the outside of your home, using outside air, so it won’t dry out the air you breathe in your home. And don’t worry if your outdoor air is less than pristine – even if you live in a crowded city, the Watermill’s filtration system ensures your drinking water will be clean and free of toxins and bacteria – more pure than tap water or even spring water.

You’re basically drinking water from a dehumidifier, then.
According to the Guardian, the obvious – if extremely uninteresting – next question is: “are you crazy?” But it would seem that the next question might actually be one of large-scale climate-engineering and the future of urban design.
In other words, would it be possible to re-engineer a city’s weather patterns through the judicious and geographically strategic deployment of WaterMills? What might happen if this were to occur accidentally, over time, and according to no particular plan?
Over the years, say, tens of thousands – even millions – of these machines are installed in a humid city like New York, Tokyo, or London, achieving imperceptibly slow local climate modification. The city goes into a drought, with very little rainfall as humidity disappears – and it’s all because of a certain line of products that have been installed, gradually, home by home, over the course of a decade.
Sucking hundreds of thousands of liters of water out of the air everyday, and re-directing that water into the sewage system through the metabolic processes of human bodies, these machines inadvertently re-engineer the local climate.
I remember walking to a restaurant through almost unbelievable summer humidity, thinking that massive, solar-powered air-conditioning units installed atop Manhattan skyscrapers could flood the surrounding streets with downward winds of cooled air to avoid uncomfortable nights – but industrial-sized WaterMills might accomplish the same thing, sitting up there in the heights of the marvelous, stealing water from the sky. Anti-clouds. Black engines atop roofs prevent rainfall. Whole summer storms could be stopped before they form. City-wide, temperatures drop and the humidity falters.
The resulting fresh water is then sold to Spain.
So if designer climates are the future of urban design, something explored in the forthcoming BLDGBLOG Book, then perhaps the widespread use of WaterMill technology might be an interesting way to start. Convince enough people in one large building, say, or even one borough, to install a home WaterMill… and see if the local climate begins to change.

[Image: From Code 46, courtesy of United Artists (via)].

Next week’s event at the Barbican just got even better, with the addition of Mark Tildesley, production designer for Code 46, 28 Days Later, Sunshine, The Constant Gardener, 24 Hour Party People, Millions, and many others, including Richard Curtis’s forthcoming film The Boat That Rocked.
I’ll be interviewing director Michael Winterbottom and Mark Tildesley both after a screening of their film Code 46. The event has already sold-out, but if you’ve got your ticket I hope you’re in for a great conversation! For those of you who can’t make it, the event will be videotaped and I should be able to host that on BLDGBLOG within a few weeks.
Also, if you heard about the event here, come up and say hello – I’d love to see who’s reading the site in London these days.

More information: Code 46.