City Lovers

@keiranlong tweeted today an article he wrote for the London Evening Standard about Renzo Piano’s latest building (which I must say has an absolutely dreadful name), The Shard.*  In it he makes several points with memorable zingers, including his characterization of Piano as a sort of promiscuous 'cities man' who lauds every place he’s ever been to as some variation of the most beautiful, ending with “Renzo, I bet you say this to all the girls.”

While I am no doubt, admittedly, one of those who's fallen for Piano’s work—I remember wanting to lick the basswood model of the modern wing in Chicago it was so gorgeous; and I must say that from the rendering, the street at St. Giles looks to be (at least envisioned as) excitingly habitable (I did, after all, grow up in Mies' beloved Chicago)—I can’t help but love the way Long makes his argument that Piano's latest London addition does little to advance his longtime stated love for the street:

St Giles Circus is a project that shows there is stuff at street level that star architects can no longer see but that for most of us constitutes our experience and memory of the city. … We long for the things that give character to London streets because they tell us stories about ourselves and our place in the city.

Swoon!  I mean, is there anything more attractive than one who envisions their work (or the work of others) in terms of stories and experience and memory?  Places that one might inhabit for…living?  Because there is difference between theoretical relationships and human ones: the first is of the mind (and perhaps the eye); the other is of the body.  It is physical.  It becomes physical—and primarily because the architecture allows it to. 

There so is much that excites me about The Shard (although certainly, it will never be the name), but I share Mr. Long’s concern for buildings that don’t allow others any kind of say—and by this I’m not talking about “community engagement” or anything that affects the design process or thinking.  I’m talking about what happens after the sweet-talk's been had: does the space become a place (for stories, experience, memories), or has the architect simply has his way?  

I’m not sure if this makes me old-fashioned or not, and I suppose it depends on who you ask.  But my interest in architecture--like dear Renzo, and I suspect Mr. Long as well--lies in a conversation about dwelling, which is ultimately a conversation about a very particular kind of [space, form, material sensibility]: one that stems from an interest in people, at a very particular scale.  For as Ike Ijeh observes (in an article that incidentally pronounces Central St. Giles a resounding success): severence from social consciousness can very quickly create the equivalent of a city's Twilight Zone.

*(Hey Shard, why so violent with the name?  'Cause there's certainly nothing warm and cozy about it, although I suppose not everyone values coziness like I do).