separated the city by race and class, which seems obviously true, goes unelaborated, a shortcoming that mars other chapters as well. In the last chapter, “Clearing the Lungs of the City,” McNeur discusses the usual suspects associated with this story, including Frederick Law Olmsted and Charles Loring Brace, the founder of the Children’s Aid Society, who argued that the creation of Central Park would benefit poor laborers. To this more familiar narrative of Central Park, McNeur adds the life and work of ragpickers, a “large system of entrepreneurs who acted as middlemen” for a network of junk shops and second-hand stores, together forming “a crucial link in the urban recycling network” (190). In an Epilogue, McNeur concludes her investigation with the Draft Riots of 1863 and a look at New York State’s Metropolitan Health Act of 1866, which opened the door to much stricter regulation of waste. One limitation of Taming Manhattan for readers steeped in nineteenth-century urban or social history is McNeur’s heavy reliance on previous scholarship, especially when discussing class—although she does make use of copious new primary sources, tracking a street-trees ordinance through multiple committees in 1833, for example, and crosschecking the names of those arrested in the Draft Riots with her own database of squatters and piggery owners. A larger problem is weak cultural analysis. Too often she relies on stock assertions about battles for control over urban spaces—and the racial and class implications of those battles—without offering fresh insights into how they manifested themselves on the landscape. More generally, while McNeur is to be commended for restoring waste-centered businesses that poor residents created and relied on to the history of the antebellum city, she devotes too little attention to the question of how these activities change the way we understand the history of that urbanizing landscape. Nonetheless, the work is lucid and jargon-free, with occasional flashes of vivid, even suspenseful, writing and evocative scene-setting. Taming Manhattan will be prized as a concise and incisive compendium of battles over urban space in one nineteenth-century city as seen through the lens of municipal legislation.
{"title":"Old Wheelways: Traces of Bicycle History on the Land by Robert L. McCullough (review)","authors":"Evan Friss","doi":"10.5860/choice.195566","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5860/choice.195566","url":null,"abstract":"separated the city by race and class, which seems obviously true, goes unelaborated, a shortcoming that mars other chapters as well. In the last chapter, “Clearing the Lungs of the City,” McNeur discusses the usual suspects associated with this story, including Frederick Law Olmsted and Charles Loring Brace, the founder of the Children’s Aid Society, who argued that the creation of Central Park would benefit poor laborers. To this more familiar narrative of Central Park, McNeur adds the life and work of ragpickers, a “large system of entrepreneurs who acted as middlemen” for a network of junk shops and second-hand stores, together forming “a crucial link in the urban recycling network” (190). In an Epilogue, McNeur concludes her investigation with the Draft Riots of 1863 and a look at New York State’s Metropolitan Health Act of 1866, which opened the door to much stricter regulation of waste. One limitation of Taming Manhattan for readers steeped in nineteenth-century urban or social history is McNeur’s heavy reliance on previous scholarship, especially when discussing class—although she does make use of copious new primary sources, tracking a street-trees ordinance through multiple committees in 1833, for example, and crosschecking the names of those arrested in the Draft Riots with her own database of squatters and piggery owners. A larger problem is weak cultural analysis. Too often she relies on stock assertions about battles for control over urban spaces—and the racial and class implications of those battles—without offering fresh insights into how they manifested themselves on the landscape. More generally, while McNeur is to be commended for restoring waste-centered businesses that poor residents created and relied on to the history of the antebellum city, she devotes too little attention to the question of how these activities change the way we understand the history of that urbanizing landscape. Nonetheless, the work is lucid and jargon-free, with occasional flashes of vivid, even suspenseful, writing and evocative scene-setting. Taming Manhattan will be prized as a concise and incisive compendium of battles over urban space in one nineteenth-century city as seen through the lens of municipal legislation.","PeriodicalId":41826,"journal":{"name":"Buildings & Landscapes-Journal of the Vernacular Architecture Forum","volume":"55 1","pages":"101 - 102"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2017-11-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"84596400","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2017-11-27DOI: 10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0085
David Salomon
Driveways are everywhere. Like traffic signs and signals, pavement markings, telephone poles, and street lamps, they belong to a category of highly legislated and highly engineered elements found especially in the suburban domestic landscape. Like these other elements of American infra structure, driveways are ubiquitous almost to the point of invisibility. However, they do have an aesthetic presence and identity. They also have a history. In the context of single-family homes, driveways have gone from being the picturesque private paths described by Andrew Jackson Downing in the 1840s to the nondescript parking pads being built in suburbia today, with many steps taken between these two extremes. No matter the form they take, driveways simultaneously perform utilitarian and representational functions. They help establish where one can go, what one does, and how one feels. However, because driveways are designed and deployed primarily for practical reasons, their experiential and rhetorical aspects are often overlooked. What does paying closer attention to these almost invisible elements of the suburban landscape reveal? These notes focus on the formal aspects of the suburban driveway and outline the different shapes, sizes, uses, and interpretations driveways have taken on over time. The goal is not to show how one type of driveway is better than another or to argue that the aesthetic aspects of driveways preclude the functional ones. Rather, these notes draw attention to the physical qualities of the driveway as a means of beginning to understand its changing cultural significance within the vernacular cultural landscape from the mid-nineteenth century to the present. This essay focuses on the driveway’s presence in a number of well-known polemical texts, design proposals, and built projects over a 150-year time frame. While the current study documents the general changes made to the suburban driveway, it is hoped that future investigations will be able to build on some of its points by examining how local legislators, builders, and owners have adapted the driveway to meet the cultural needs of specific times and places.
车道无处不在。像交通标志和信号、人行道标线、电线杆和路灯一样，它们属于高度立法和高度设计的元素，尤其是在郊区的家庭景观中。就像美国基础设施的其他要素一样，车道无处不在，几乎到了看不见的地步。然而，它们确实有一种审美存在和身份。他们也有一段历史。在独户住宅的背景下，车道已经从19世纪40年代安德鲁·杰克逊·唐宁(Andrew Jackson Downing)所描述的风景如画的私人小路，变成了今天在郊区建造的不起眼的停车场，在这两个极端之间采取了许多步骤。无论采用何种形式，车道都同时具有实用和表征功能。他们帮助确定一个人可以去哪里，做什么，以及如何感受。然而，由于车道的设计和部署主要是出于实际原因，它们的经验和修辞方面经常被忽视。密切关注这些郊区景观中几乎看不见的元素会揭示什么?这些笔记侧重于郊区车道的正式方面，并概述了随着时间的推移，车道的不同形状、大小、用途和解释。我们的目的并不是要证明一种车道比另一种车道好，也不是要论证车道的美学方面妨碍了其功能。更确切地说，这些笔记将注意力吸引到车道的物理特性上，作为一种开始理解它在19世纪中期到现在的本土文化景观中不断变化的文化意义的手段。这篇文章的重点是在150年的时间框架内，车道在许多著名的争论文本、设计方案和建筑项目中的存在。虽然目前的研究记录了郊区车道的总体变化，但希望未来的调查能够通过检查当地立法者，建筑商和业主如何调整车道以满足特定时间和地点的文化需求，从而能够建立在其中的一些要点上。
{"title":"Research Notes: Toward a History of the Suburban Driveway","authors":"David Salomon","doi":"10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0085","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0085","url":null,"abstract":"Driveways are everywhere. Like traffic signs and signals, pavement markings, telephone poles, and street lamps, they belong to a category of highly legislated and highly engineered elements found especially in the suburban domestic landscape. Like these other elements of American infra structure, driveways are ubiquitous almost to the point of invisibility. However, they do have an aesthetic presence and identity. They also have a history. In the context of single-family homes, driveways have gone from being the picturesque private paths described by Andrew Jackson Downing in the 1840s to the nondescript parking pads being built in suburbia today, with many steps taken between these two extremes. No matter the form they take, driveways simultaneously perform utilitarian and representational functions. They help establish where one can go, what one does, and how one feels. However, because driveways are designed and deployed primarily for practical reasons, their experiential and rhetorical aspects are often overlooked. What does paying closer attention to these almost invisible elements of the suburban landscape reveal? These notes focus on the formal aspects of the suburban driveway and outline the different shapes, sizes, uses, and interpretations driveways have taken on over time. The goal is not to show how one type of driveway is better than another or to argue that the aesthetic aspects of driveways preclude the functional ones. Rather, these notes draw attention to the physical qualities of the driveway as a means of beginning to understand its changing cultural significance within the vernacular cultural landscape from the mid-nineteenth century to the present. This essay focuses on the driveway’s presence in a number of well-known polemical texts, design proposals, and built projects over a 150-year time frame. While the current study documents the general changes made to the suburban driveway, it is hoped that future investigations will be able to build on some of its points by examining how local legislators, builders, and owners have adapted the driveway to meet the cultural needs of specific times and places.","PeriodicalId":41826,"journal":{"name":"Buildings & Landscapes-Journal of the Vernacular Architecture Forum","volume":"26 1","pages":"85 - 99"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2017-11-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"73654530","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2017-11-27DOI: 10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0037
Kristina Borrman
The federal organization Better Homes in America built a model house in a conspicuous Midtown Manhattan location in 1934. Standing on the corner of 39th Street and Park Avenue, America's Little House drew daily crowds during its nearly one-year run. Better Homes leaders used the model house as an educational demonstration to illustrate how standardized components and methods could make home improvement easier and cheaper. Many of these ideas were inspired by Frederick W. Taylor's philosophy of scientific management, which was originally designed to make industrial work more efficient, but was broadly applied to other fields, including home improvement, during the interwar era. America's Little House was an important testing ground for the federal government, which assembled a team of experts in the fields of architecture, interior design, landscaping, and housekeeping to come up with universal plans that could be used to improve any house. In this way, Better Homes leaders challenged the conventional wisdom that the best houses were individualized ones, and they targeted more efficient domestic labor and consumerism as primary examples of the benefits associated with standardization. America's Little House demonstrated, for example, how women's household chores and purchases could be systematized in order to save time and money. For the Better Homes organization, standardized parts and procedures were more than just practical goals; they were democratic pursuits, undertaken with the belief that economical planning could make home improvement available to all.
1934年，联邦组织“美国美好家园”(Better Homes in America)在曼哈顿中城一个显眼的地方建造了一座样房。坐落在第39街和公园大道的拐角处，美国的小房子在近一年的时间里每天都吸引着人群。“美好家园”的领导者们用样板房作为教育示范，来说明标准化的组件和方法是如何使家庭装修变得更容易、更便宜的。其中许多想法都受到弗雷德里克·w·泰勒(Frederick W. Taylor)科学管理哲学的启发，该哲学最初旨在提高工业工作的效率，但在两次世界大战之间的时代，它被广泛应用于其他领域，包括家居装修。美国的小房子是联邦政府的一个重要试验场，联邦政府召集了一个建筑、室内设计、景观美化和家政领域的专家团队，提出了一个通用的计划，可以用来改善任何房子。通过这种方式，Better Homes的领导者挑战了传统观念，即最好的房子是个性化的房子，他们将更高效的家庭劳动力和消费主义作为标准化相关好处的主要例子。例如，美国的小房子展示了如何将女性的家务和购物系统化，以节省时间和金钱。对于美好家园组织来说，标准化的部件和程序不仅仅是实际的目标;它们是民主的追求，相信经济计划可以使所有人都有机会改善家庭。
{"title":"One Standardized House for All: America's Little House","authors":"Kristina Borrman","doi":"10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0037","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0037","url":null,"abstract":"The federal organization Better Homes in America built a model house in a conspicuous Midtown Manhattan location in 1934. Standing on the corner of 39th Street and Park Avenue, America's Little House drew daily crowds during its nearly one-year run. Better Homes leaders used the model house as an educational demonstration to illustrate how standardized components and methods could make home improvement easier and cheaper. Many of these ideas were inspired by Frederick W. Taylor's philosophy of scientific management, which was originally designed to make industrial work more efficient, but was broadly applied to other fields, including home improvement, during the interwar era. America's Little House was an important testing ground for the federal government, which assembled a team of experts in the fields of architecture, interior design, landscaping, and housekeeping to come up with universal plans that could be used to improve any house. In this way, Better Homes leaders challenged the conventional wisdom that the best houses were individualized ones, and they targeted more efficient domestic labor and consumerism as primary examples of the benefits associated with standardization. America's Little House demonstrated, for example, how women's household chores and purchases could be systematized in order to save time and money. For the Better Homes organization, standardized parts and procedures were more than just practical goals; they were democratic pursuits, undertaken with the belief that economical planning could make home improvement available to all.","PeriodicalId":41826,"journal":{"name":"Buildings & Landscapes-Journal of the Vernacular Architecture Forum","volume":"5 1","pages":"37 - 57"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2017-11-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"80808605","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2017-11-27DOI: 10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0022
G. Hallock
{"title":"Object Lesson: \"Build the Negro houses near together\": Thomas Jefferson and the Evolution of Mulberry Row's Vernacular Landscape","authors":"G. Hallock","doi":"10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0022","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.2.0022","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":41826,"journal":{"name":"Buildings & Landscapes-Journal of the Vernacular Architecture Forum","volume":"2 1","pages":"22 - 36"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2017-11-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"89702163","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
than a vision of never-ending reconstruction and newness. In charting these responses to obsolescence, Abramson provides an architectural history of one more approach, too: the strategy today known as sustainability. Indeed, one of Obsolescence’s great contributions is to give sustainability a history. Here, Abramson ties the idea inextricably to the obsolescence paradigm. Obsolescence insisted on the replacement of resources at regular intervals. Sustainability, by contrast, insists on their conservation. Yet in chapter 6 Abramson warns against a simplistic view of their relationship as one of succession, with sustainability replacing obsolescence as a more enlightened theory. To the contrary, he insists on a connection “as much filial as agonistic” (138), with obsolescence persisting as a force in the built environment and sustainability exhibiting many similar attributes and contradictions. Most significant among these is the continued power of capitalism at the core of sustainability. As Abramson explains, sustainability aims to use fewer resources but has nevertheless become a selling point for real estate developers and is often “a privilege of the wealthy” (152). Paradoxically, it has also provided ready justification for new claims of obsolescence, with state-of-the-art sustainable buildings replacing older obsolete ones. Here, Abramson returns to the book’s guiding premise of understanding what the built environment can teach history more broadly. Ultimately, Abramson argues, his story suggests the limitations of “creative destruction” as the explanatory logic of capitalism. Instead, the architectural history of obsolescence shows us “capitalism’s capacity to manage the contradictions of its own development” (137), meaning that demolition and reconstruction of still-young buildings could be very profitable, but so too could the adaptive reuse of postindustrial environments for new purposes, or historic preservation, or new, sustainable design approaches. In other words, he writes, this history shows “the flexibility of capitalism, its capacity . . . to exploit the built environment one way and then the other” (138). In the course of demonstrating that the history of architecture has new insights to offer to the history of capitalism, Abramson crafts an alternative history of the built environment in the twentieth century. By centering obsolescence in that history, he joins discourses that are otherwise easily separated, including those of the vernacular and the avant-garde, the modern and the postmodern, the visionary and the pragmatic, and the aloof and the socially embedded. Across these decades and geographic boundaries, Obsolescence shows that architects, planners, and developers alike were joined in a common pursuit: the need to acknowledge and grapple with the dominant idea that buildings, as soon as they were completed, were already destined to fail. Yet as Abramson explains here, their responses rarely answered that challenge in
{"title":"Zoo Renewal: White Flight and the Animal Ghetto by Lisa Uddin (review)","authors":"John M. Kinder","doi":"10.5860/choice.193207","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5860/choice.193207","url":null,"abstract":"than a vision of never-ending reconstruction and newness. In charting these responses to obsolescence, Abramson provides an architectural history of one more approach, too: the strategy today known as sustainability. Indeed, one of Obsolescence’s great contributions is to give sustainability a history. Here, Abramson ties the idea inextricably to the obsolescence paradigm. Obsolescence insisted on the replacement of resources at regular intervals. Sustainability, by contrast, insists on their conservation. Yet in chapter 6 Abramson warns against a simplistic view of their relationship as one of succession, with sustainability replacing obsolescence as a more enlightened theory. To the contrary, he insists on a connection “as much filial as agonistic” (138), with obsolescence persisting as a force in the built environment and sustainability exhibiting many similar attributes and contradictions. Most significant among these is the continued power of capitalism at the core of sustainability. As Abramson explains, sustainability aims to use fewer resources but has nevertheless become a selling point for real estate developers and is often “a privilege of the wealthy” (152). Paradoxically, it has also provided ready justification for new claims of obsolescence, with state-of-the-art sustainable buildings replacing older obsolete ones. Here, Abramson returns to the book’s guiding premise of understanding what the built environment can teach history more broadly. Ultimately, Abramson argues, his story suggests the limitations of “creative destruction” as the explanatory logic of capitalism. Instead, the architectural history of obsolescence shows us “capitalism’s capacity to manage the contradictions of its own development” (137), meaning that demolition and reconstruction of still-young buildings could be very profitable, but so too could the adaptive reuse of postindustrial environments for new purposes, or historic preservation, or new, sustainable design approaches. In other words, he writes, this history shows “the flexibility of capitalism, its capacity . . . to exploit the built environment one way and then the other” (138). In the course of demonstrating that the history of architecture has new insights to offer to the history of capitalism, Abramson crafts an alternative history of the built environment in the twentieth century. By centering obsolescence in that history, he joins discourses that are otherwise easily separated, including those of the vernacular and the avant-garde, the modern and the postmodern, the visionary and the pragmatic, and the aloof and the socially embedded. Across these decades and geographic boundaries, Obsolescence shows that architects, planners, and developers alike were joined in a common pursuit: the need to acknowledge and grapple with the dominant idea that buildings, as soon as they were completed, were already destined to fail. Yet as Abramson explains here, their responses rarely answered that challenge in ","PeriodicalId":41826,"journal":{"name":"Buildings & Landscapes-Journal of the Vernacular Architecture Forum","volume":"32 1","pages":"102 - 104"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2017-09-08","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"91337587","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2017-09-08DOI: 10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.1.0046
Michael Windover
The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's (CBC) site near Sackville, New Brunswick, exemplifies the material and spatial foundations of radio. Designed by the CBC's own architecture department and constructed in 1939, the station operated as a regional transmitter, broadcasting to the Maritimes of Canada and the northeastern United States, and visually and materially represented the CBC in this area. During World War II the Canadian government decided to establish a powerful shortwave station at the Sackville site, resulting in the erection of a much larger facility on the location of the earlier building and an innovative system of antennae on the surrounding marshlands in 1944–45. The recent dismantling of these towers, which marked the skyline for seven decades, has radically altered the built environment around Sackville and raises questions about the role of architecture and space in the history of radio.
{"title":"Placing Radio in Sackville, New Brunswick","authors":"Michael Windover","doi":"10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.1.0046","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.1.0046","url":null,"abstract":"The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation's (CBC) site near Sackville, New Brunswick, exemplifies the material and spatial foundations of radio. Designed by the CBC's own architecture department and constructed in 1939, the station operated as a regional transmitter, broadcasting to the Maritimes of Canada and the northeastern United States, and visually and materially represented the CBC in this area. During World War II the Canadian government decided to establish a powerful shortwave station at the Sackville site, resulting in the erection of a much larger facility on the location of the earlier building and an innovative system of antennae on the surrounding marshlands in 1944–45. The recent dismantling of these towers, which marked the skyline for seven decades, has radically altered the built environment around Sackville and raises questions about the role of architecture and space in the history of radio.","PeriodicalId":41826,"journal":{"name":"Buildings & Landscapes-Journal of the Vernacular Architecture Forum","volume":"97 3 1","pages":"46 - 66"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2017-09-08","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"89538547","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2017-09-08DOI: 10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.1.0001
G. A. Berlinger
In 2010 and 2011, as civil demonstrations erupted around the world, the observance of Sukkot, the annual Jewish holiday that commemorates the Israelites' biblical journey through the Sinai Desert to the Promised Land, came to embody the contemporary struggle for social and economic justice. During this weeklong autumn festival, observant Jews traditionally build and inhabit temporary outdoor ritual structures called sukkot, which translates from Hebrew to "booth" or "tabernacle." This practice creates a unique opportunity for creative expression through the construction, decoration, and interpretation of the sukkah (singular of sukkot) and for social interaction through the holiday's customary rite of hospitality. Ethnographic research conducted from 2010 to 2011 in Shchunat Hatikva (Neighborhood of Hope), a working-class, multiethnic neighborhood in south Tel Aviv, Israel, uncovers the purpose and variety of Sukkot observance in a community struggling with economic constraint and social neglect. Addressing the history of the holiday and its practice in south Tel Aviv in the fall of 2011, as housing and Occupy demonstrations took root across the country and the world, this study bridges the fields of vernacular architecture and folklore studies. Challenging the holiday's symbolic promise of shelter, the search for house and home among Israel's disadvantaged and migrant populations reframes the narrative and observance of Sukkot with both reaffirming and subversive expressions of sukkah construction and use.
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Pub Date : 2017-09-08DOI: 10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.1.0026
C. Yanni
A women's dormitory required a plan that facilitated genteel surveillance. The Martha Cook Building (York & Sawyer, 1911–15) at the University of Michigan manifested early twentieth-century ideas about gender, race, class, and higher education. The residence hall, named in honor of donor William W. Cook's mother, had one main entry on its narrow end, with a door facing the street and a matron's office adjacent to it. When the University of Michigan built a men's dormitory soon after, paid for by the same patron and designed by the same architects, it used a staircase plan, which afforded less control over the students. One might think that a donor who funded a lavish dorm would have as his motive the promotion of woman-centered education. Instead, Cook employed architecture in the service of social exclusion; he objected to the presence of Asians and poor women in the dorm and imagined that the elegant semipublic rooms would civilize brutish young men. As had been the case at Oberlin College, the women's residence hall served as the social hub for the entire campus.
女性宿舍需要一个便于优雅监控的计划。密歇根大学的玛莎·库克大楼(York & Sawyer, 1911 - 1915)体现了20世纪早期关于性别、种族、阶级和高等教育的思想。这栋宿舍楼是为了纪念捐赠者威廉·w·库克(William W. Cook)的母亲而命名的，它狭窄的一端有一个主入口，一扇门面向街道，旁边是一间护士长办公室。不久之后，密歇根大学(University of Michigan)建造了一座男子宿舍，由同一位赞助人出资，由同一位建筑师设计，但采用了楼梯平面图，这减少了对学生的控制。有人可能会认为，资助豪华宿舍的捐赠者的动机是促进以女性为中心的教育。相反，库克利用建筑为社会排斥服务;他反对亚洲人和贫穷的女人住在宿舍里，想象着优雅的半公共房间会教化粗野的年轻人。就像奥伯林学院的情况一样，女子宿舍是整个校园的社交中心。
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Pub Date : 2017-09-08DOI: 10.5749/BUILDLAND.24.1.0067
J. Ochsner, David A. Rash
Intercity buses were significant in transportation networks serving American cities and towns during much of the twentieth century. Bus terminals were once an important building type, an element of the vernacular urban landscape. In the twentieth century, intercity buses offered a new form of mobility, and bus terminals showed how this new technology was manifested in place, both architecturally and urbanistically. American architectural journals occasionally published designs for bus terminals along with other types of transportation facilities. Yet surprisingly little scholarship has been published about this building type. Part of the reason for the lack of attention is that bus companies only occasionally employed leading architects and built facilities that were recognized for design achievement. In recent years, evidence of this part of American urban and architectural history has begun to disappear, making the story of bus terminals more difficult to uncover. Daniel Bluestone notes the buildings historians choose to analyze are often the ones that are preserved. In turn, buildings by their presence, or absence, are often included in, or omitted from, the histories that scholars choose to address. The investigation of a building type will draw attention to it, but the absence of examples may make its detailed study unachievable. With the increasing demolition of bus terminals, it becomes harder to understand their forms and contributions to the urban landscape. This essay begins to fill this gap by exploring this building type as it developed in the Puget Sound region. In the early twentieth century, entrepreneurs established independent bus companies in markets that were not well served by steam railroads and electric interurban lines. Early bus companies were most competitive in areas of the United States that grew rapidly in the first decades of the twentieth century—places where rail networks were relatively incomplete, including parts of Minnesota, Texas, California, and the Pacific Northwest. Because the Puget Sound region was one of the places where bus transportation developed rapidly, examining bus stations here offers an opportunity to discuss the development of bus terminals over more than half a century while also suggesting some ways in which the changing fortunes of bus companies shaped the form, style, and location of bus terminals (Figure 1). We hope this regional study presents a typology that may support additional examinations of these understudied buildings nationally.
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Pub Date : 2017-01-08DOI: 10.5749/BUILDLAND.23.2.0023
Bryan D. Orthel
I want modernism to emerge as a distinctive patterning of mental and technical possibilities. . . . “Modernity” means contingency. It points to a social order which has turned from the worship of ancestors and past authorities to the pursuit of a projected future—of goods, pleasures, freedoms, forms of control over nature, or infinities of information. This process goes along with a great emptying and sanitizing of the imagination. Without ancestor-worship, meaning is in short supply—“meaning” here meaning agreed-on and instituted forms of value and understanding, implicit orders, stories and images in which a culture crystallizes its sense of the struggle with the realm of necessity and the reality of pain and death. . . . We know we are living a new form of life, in which all previous notions of belief and sociability have been scrambled. And the true terror of this new order has to do with its being ruled—and obscurely felt to be ruled—by sheer concatenation . . . that is, by a system without any focusing purpose to it, or any compelling image or ritualization of that purpose.
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