I grew up in the Midwest. Specifically, Indiana and Illinois. It’s not hard to find good architecture in bigger cities, but in smaller ones, you’ve got to search. So early on I was very influenced by Frank Lloyd Wright and his prairie-style homes, which can be found in abundance across the Midwest. I’ve toured at least a dozen of his homes, churches and museums. His influence on contemporary architecture, home design and construction technology cannot be understated. While touring some of his homes like the Robie House in Chicago and his studio at Oak Park, it quickly became apparent that he was a control freak. In all of the prairie style homes that he designed, it was common for him to design custom furniture, light fixtures, patterned leaded glass windows, carpets and curtains for each.Ěý

As I’ve come into the profession, I’ve learned that all architects are control freaks on some level or another, but Wright was the living embodiment of control and unrelenting rigor. His perspective was that you designed for every scenario, every detail—nothing was too minuscule. In his home, he designed so that he could forever control how the family interacted in the living room. In office buildings like the Johnson Wax Headquarters, he designed the used by the entire office (yes, they’re today). He even designed the his wife wore.Ěý He left nothing to chance.

The role of an architect has been evolving for hundreds of years, but the last century saw a paradigm shift in the control an architect really has over a project. First, architects have less influence over the design. Building technology has increased, products have become specialized, building code has evolved and logistics have become complex beyond the capabilities of just the architectural team. So consultants are hired when expert knowledge is needed. On a large project, there can be consultants for lighting, signage, food service, fire safety, furniture, IT, elevators and prefabrication, to name a few. On one end, I’m glad that I don’t have to calculate the moment of inertia in composite structures or memorize the acoustical attenuation in pre-fabricated wall components, but there is still a level of trust involved when multiple hands touch a single project. And while the end result can often produce a better, more cohesive project – the ability to orchestrate the built environment and user experience from beginning to end is lost.

For example, six years ago I worked at a firm for a summer internship and spent most of my time constructing physical models for a hospital addition. I re-built the main model twice and had roughly a dozen iterations of what the entry canopy could be. We took in our best ideas to the hospital chairman, got the thumbs up on one of the canopies and left feeling quite happy about his decision. After we were gone, he asked the opinion of his interior designer. She said, “Oh, well if you ask me, the canopy should be circular, wouldn’t that be nice?” She proceeded to pitch her case for a different, semi-circular design. The architectural team didn’t propose any concepts like that (for good reason), but that’s how the decision was made. The suggestion was made behind our backs without giving us an opportunity to respond to the criticism. The final design didn’t look horrible, but it didn’t look half as good as some of the designs that we had spent weeks crafting. A good consultant will try to work with the architectural team to re-enforce the overall concept, but sometimes it doesn’t work out that way.

Second, architects have far less control over how the client uses the building. For example, it’s becoming more common for companies to award architects with commissions that only include the design of the core and shell of office building. The company will then hire another interior design group to do the “tenant improvements.”Ěý It’s almost as if the client is saying “We’ve got it from here—don’t worry about how we’re going to fill everything up, we’ll figure it out!” But we do worry because we care. Sometimes this “handoff” happens in a very integrated, collaborative fashion. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s like giving your child away to a new set of parents to be raised, and as designer, you’re left unsettled by the result.Ěý

I don’t have the hubris to presume that architects can do it all. We can’t. Buildings function better today than ever before because of the expertise that outside consultants can bring to the table. And yet, as a designer, I am trained to appreciate the details of a building and how they work together to make a whole that’s greater than the sum of its parts. There’s a part of me that wishes that I, like Wright, could do it all.

by photonoir via Flick

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One of my favorite aspects of Portland is the ease of transportation that has been stitched into the fabric of our city. Bikes, buses, Max trains and streetcars abound. In cities like Chicago, cabbies and Camry’s are king — but in downtown Portland, equal emphasis is given to pedestrians, drivers, cyclists, and streetcar operators. The mix of use is not only practical; it provides an energetic, vibrant streetscape. Personally, I commute by riding my bike and love doing it…most of the time.

This summer I encountered a problem. To get home, I ride east down SW Stark, across Naito to get to Waterfront Park, then I ride down the river walk, over the Steel Bridge, and continue to my house on the Northeast side. The Waterfront Park trail is great- there’s always a buzz of people running, strolling, and biking. One of the reasons why our riverfront is so successful is the litany of events that are hosted on its lawns. Unfortunately, an event like the Oregon Brewers Festival can wreak havoc on the turf. After such an event, the city assembles tall chain-link fences around the trampled grounds, tills the ground, plants seed, and waters until the grounds are green and stored.Ěý The fences that are intended to protect the grounds unintentionally create an unfortunate byproduct: an environment ripe to take advantage of someone such as a muggings and theft.

In college, I took three environmental science courses that dealt with cultural and social issues in architecture. We conducted in-depth studies of how architecture (in this case, building elements like fences) enables crime. This particular scenario raises three red flags. First of all, pedestrians are travelling down a long corridor that is blocked on one side by a seven-foot fence and on the other by a twenty-foot drop down to the Willamette River. This is what is referred to as an “entrapment zone.” If confronted, these barriers prevent a person from running away from an assailant; especially since there are limited avenues which provide an alternative route to Naito Parkway. And, even along these routes, the fences follow you all the way to the street.Ěý An attacker could easily block off an escape exit without too much difficulty.

This scenario could also be labeled a “movement predictor.” The linear nature of the trail allows would-be attackers the ability to predict your path of travel and thereby surprise victims. Furthermore, at night or dusk, the trail is far enough removed from Naito Parkway that a confrontation would be less likely to be noticed by others. This scenario is akin to an architect designing a major circulation route such as an alley with no exits and no windows to keep “eyes on the street,” where people can witness the action below. It’s asking for trouble.

I understand why the city puts up the fences; it wants the grounds to recover as fast as possible. And if the city put up three to four-foot fences with caution tape instead, it’s likely that some people would disregard it, hop the fence, and take the most direct path across the grass. But what’s more important—Ěý protecting the grass, or protecting pedestrians and cyclists from a danger zone?

I actually encountered the same scenario in college. Chain link fencing was constructed on either side of a major thoroughfare (affectionately nicknamed “The Cow Path”) as a result of a building construction project. It effectively hemmed pedestrians in like cattle in chutes off to the slaughterhouse. Students were mugged and assaulted. One of my friends actually had to fight off two assailants to keep his wallet. Fortunately for my friend, he was built like a linebacker and knocked one of the attackers cold before the other attacker ran away.Ěý In a city where the average Portlander is more likely to wear skinny jeans than to be shaped like a linebacker, I worry for our community and their safety. In a city that has thought transportation out so well, this is a gross oversight.

by via Flickr

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The year was 2004. I was in my freshman year studio pulling yet another all-nighter. Even though I was on the sixth floor of the architecture building, there were no windows— the freshman studio at my alma mater is affectionately referred to as “the basement in the sky.” Instead of windows, the walls are adorned with austere, floor-to-ceiling tack-board intended for displaying drawings. There was no natural light or fresh air and without the aid of clock, I had no idea what time it was; sometimes days went by without knowing it. I can distinctly recall the off-cadence tick-tick-chatter of dying, off-colored fluorescent tubes tapping out some maddening, off-cadence noise pollution overhead. I remember setting down my exacto-blade, looking around the over-crowded studio, and thinking to myself, “This place is so terrible that it’s actually making me stupider.” It turns out that I might have been right.

Many of you have likely experienced something similar. Whether it’s a sealed medical building with bright, fluorescent lighting, a manufacturing plant with the incessant pounding of heavy machinery, or an office building with low-ceilings and identical cubicles as far as the eye can see, we all have been in places that seem destined to hinder creativity and productivity. What’s frustrating is that, from an architectural point of view, it’s hard to measure this. One can survey people’s preferred environment, worker productivity, employee absenteeism, measure noise decibels and exposure to natural light, but holistically, it’s hard to say that one environment is better than another – particularly when it often comes down to how one feels in the space. Is there a way that we can use biologically-based data to empirically prove what our intuition already tells us?

The answer, as it turns out, is yes. There are now scientific studies that show that brain growth is directly linked to our physical environments. In fact, studies conducted from 2001-2010 by Dr. Elizabeth Gould at Princeton University, show that boring and/or stressful environments encumber the ability for the brain to produce .

I first heard about Dr. Gould’s study in a report by Jonah Lehrer. Before going any further, I should mention that Jonah Lehrer has been getting a lot of negative attention lately for plagiarism and “” his ideas, but the scientific data from the study he wrote about is still quite valid. As Lehrer discusses on the National Public Radio show , Dr. Gould’s experiment was pretty straightforward.Ěý

Three groups of Marmoset monkeys were placed in different environments.Ěý The first group was placed in typical laboratory cages where food was given to them. The second group was put in a more “” where there was hidden food, more monkeys for interaction, and new objects that were sporadically introduced every few days. The third group had even more monkeys, hidden food to forage for, and “toys” with which to engage. The primates were allowed to live in these environments for a period of time and then a few individuals were chosen from the groups and the scientists dissected their brains.

The results were black and white. The primates who had the “enriched environments” had very healthy, robust brain activity—generating new neurons and healthy neuron connections. The brains of the monkeys that were kept in the cages had actually stopped regenerating neurons, the branches that connect neurons had begun to disappear, and the hippocampus portion of their brain (imperative for learning and memory) .

Other studies by Gould have shown that chronic stress and noise will also produce the same results.Ěý As Christian Mirescu, one of Gould’s post-doc lab assistants , “When a brain is worried, it’s just thinking about survival. It isn’t interested in investing in new cells for the future.”

The physical environment actually decreased brain activity. Conversely, a vibrant environment with stimulating materials invigorates. Investing in a quality work environment, an acoustically-serene museum, or a visually-pleasing home isn’t just an exercise in personal preference- it’s an investment in maintaining healthy brain activity.

Earlier, I mentioned the abysmal qualities of the first-year architecture studio. What I didn’t disclose was this: once students make it past the first couple of years, they graduate to better studio spaces in a different wing of the building that has lots of daylight, higher ceilings, operable windows that permit pleasant breezes, and more room to spread out.Ěý While I might have been accustomed to my environment by that point, working in the new studio spaces felt so much nicer. And if I had to guess, my brain felt happier too.

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Is it just me or did the 2012 Olympic games come and go in a flash?Ěý I’m still suffering from Olympic withdrawal. I was fortunate enough to be on vacation during the ceremonies and finished most evenings in my family’s living room tuning in to see what had happened in London that day.Ěý It was exhilarating to watch athletes from around the world strive for perfection in their respected events.Ěý It got me thinking, is there an architectural equivalent?Ěý I think so.Ěý For over 150 years, countries from around the world have come together at the World’s Fair.Ěý In recent years, these events have been a hotbed of architectural competition. Just as athletes come together to represent their country in the Olympics, architects must enter competition among scores of their peers for the honor to design for their country.

Like the Olympics, World’s Fairs happen every two or three years in different cities around the world.Ěý The last major World’s Fair was held in in 2010 (there was one in South Korea this year, but it was a minor exposition- major expositions now happen every to avoid conflict with the Olympics).Ěý In years past, host countries designed and built all of the buildings for the site.Ěý Under this model, visiting countries occupied their respected event spaces with displays that represented aspects of their culture.Ěý There are high expectations that these buildings be nothing short of spectacular.Ěý Erik Larson’s book, , showed that it was a tremendous task to design the facilities for the in Chicago.Ěý Indeed, it was a wonder that the fair even happened as several designers were ill with pneumonia or exhaustion by the time the fair was finally complete. In the modern-era World Expositions, host countries visiting countries to design and build their own pavilions on the exhibition grounds to house their displays.

Each country’s pavilion attempts to exemplify the essence of their country. Like the Olympics, each nation wants to put their best foot forward. Medals are not awarded, but a certain level of gamesmanship is implicit through (somewhat propagandist) video presentations and (books could be written on how the countries choose to represent themselves). Furthermore, being chosen as the architect to represent your country is an honor that is on par with Olympian status in the design world.Ěý In fact, most countries hold nation-wide to determine which architect should be awarded the privilege.

In the spirit of the games, I researched past World Expositions and retroactively awarded the best pavilions at the . I chose this particular exhibition because there were numerous exemplary pavilions which captured the spirit of their respected countries.

I award the bronze to the Netherlands which hired MVRDV to design its pavilion.Ěý The firm designed an eccentric series of stilted boxes which stratified layers of flowers, trees, and wind turbines. To me, the designers of this pavilion attempted to symbolize the Dutch’s technological triumphs in harnessing nature in a way that was structurally expressive and visually striking.

The silver medal I award to Japan which was represented by Shigeru Ban.Ěý Ban designed an elegant, undulating, paper tube tunnel which was sheathed in a translucent, PVC skin to house its displays.Ěý Its subtle beauty would normally be enough to garner my vote, but the pavilion also had a hidden factor.Ěý Its low-tech construction method of lashing structural paper tubes with fabric allowed for fast deconstruction and its recyclable materials allowed most of the project to be recycled or re-used after the exposition was over.Ěý It’s likely that this particular building influenced the 2012 London Olympic designers to design buildings that were temporary, easily de-constructible, and .

Finally, I’m giving the gold to the underdog: Finland.Ěý SARC designed the Finnish pavilion to be an escape from the noisy exposition grounds.Ěý Quite literally, the firm brought the forest of Finland to the visitors at Hannover.Ěý The heart of the design is a birch forest with trees rising up to fifteen meters.Ěý The ground is covered with ferns, moss, and granite boulders.Ěý Viewers experience the courtyard through ramps made of rough-sawn pine, passing by the papery bark of the birch trees which are close enough to touch.Ěý Light is brought into the space through translucent glass with silkscreen-printed images of birch trees.Ěý This not only creates an ethereal effect of true Nordic light, it also gives the impression that the forest does not stop at the glass, but continues on in a misty fog. It would be difficult to design a more-fitting experience for this country.

As an architect, it’s hard to imagine a better project typology.Ěý Designers are given extensive artistic freedom, the budgets are usually high (the average pavilion investment is ), and while the pavilions may only last for a few months, the impression bestowed upon visitors can last a lifetime.

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Recently, I heard about an on-going court case that peaked my interest. The case involves technology giants Apple and Samsung. At the heart of the case, Apple is suing Samsung because they believe Samsung stole their design for the iPhone. My first reaction was “How can Apple claim that they own the market on shiny, black boxes?” After some thought, I realized that the magic of an iPhone is not its beautifully-minimal design. It’s amazing because it’s sleek design is so minimal that absolutely nothing distracts the user from the interface. Hand swipes over a glossy, keyless, pane of glass combined with simple, intuitive software produce a symbiotic connection between user and machine that had never before existed. The designers at Apple didn’t create a beautiful black rectangle – they created an experience. And the minimal design of the phone was paramount in creating that experience.

As Apple designer Christopher Stringer , “We were looking for a new original and beautiful object, something that would really wow the world. We wanted to create something that seemed so wonderful you can’t imagine how you’d followĚýit.” Apple designers toiled for “years” to create the “most simple, purest manifestation of what that can be – something that people canĚýlove.”

But how do you patent an experience?* Apple can merely claim that the imitation of the iPhone and the iPad by Samsung goes “beyond acceptable imitation.” The Samsung attorney in the case that “Being inspired by a good product and seeking to make even better products is called competition. It’s not copying and it’s not infringing. Everybody does it in the commercialĚýmarketplace.”

This ethical dilemma of inspiration versus borrowing is especially compelling to me as a young design professional at ZGF Architects. I have been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to work on several projects at the conceptual stage. In these early phases in Ěýa project, there’s significant examination of what the concept of the building . Ideas are generated by copious amounts of hand sketching, computer drafting, and model building. Some concepts come all at once and some crystallize only after weeks of hard work.

During this process, I’ve learned that every architect has their own way of doing things. In projects that I’ve worked on, a big part of the design process is utilizing precedents.Ěý Once I understand the scale and function of a building, I find similar built projects and attempt to learn lessons from their successes and failures. Then, I try to apply those lessons to the design at hand. The more projects one studies, the larger the library of ideas one has to pull from. The team will toss around ideas, conceptual drawings, and precedents during in-house critiques and from those decide the best direction to take.

Is this copying work? No. One is simply applying the successful ideas of others to create an entirely new idea of his own.

Precedent is incredibly valuable as a point of reference. When you mention a specific built project, everybody on the design team knows what you’re talking about. For example, if I reference by Louis Kahn, most architects instantly understand that I’m referring to a building that (among other things) has a strong, geometric plan which is inwardly focused around a central atrium. The reference communicates the visual idea, aids in the mental experience of a space, and shows the concept could be successful.

Just because ideas can be used freely doesn’t mean that they’re not important.Ěý During the conceptual phase of the architectural design process, the value does not reside in the drawings themselves. The value resides in the ideas behind the drawings. The drawings merely communicate the ideas. ĚýLater in the process, there is unquestionable value in drawings which detail the construction of the building. After all, architects are the ones who are entrusted with making buildings work. ĚýEven in these later phases, architects are paid because we design buildings, we don’t mass-manufacture them.Ěý And design, by its very nature, requires vision, perseverance, and rigor.

The Apple v. Samsung case made me realize just how much designers depend on the successful ideas of others. There is a fine line between learning and copying. Furthermore, sometimes the concept (or the experience) is more valuable than the actual product. Unfortunately for Apple and other designers, your most valuable commodities – your ideas –cannot be copyrighted. **

*The writer of this blog acknowledges that the case in question concerns broader intellectual property rights beyond just patents. He also acknowledges that the case includes issues of trademark infringement and common law unfair competition. As such, ideas presented in this blog simplified the court preceding in an effort to make a concise argument.

** As was explained to me by a lawyer, ideas are not copyrightable. Only the expression of those ideas in a “fixed tangible medium of expression” is copyrightable.

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If you’re like me, you’re a fan of the television show . The premise is simple: characters work at an advertising agency located on Madison Avenue during the glittering sixties. I like the program because it closely aligns with the work I do at .

Similarities between architecture and advertising aren’t hard to see. In both fields, professionals try to understand what a client wants and then attempt to distill that desire into a product. Both require creativity and conceptualization, both require late-nighters and constant re-drafting, and most-importantly, both define an image for a company or an institution. The type of building that a company designs for itself is very revealing of its core values. After all, architecture is merely a vehicle through which clients direct their values and aspirations.

In my opinion, a good ad campaign does two things: it makes make people want to buy a product or service and it converys the company’s values and brand. For example, at the end of every Ziploc commercial is a little phrase: “S.C. Johnson, a family company.” Makes it seem more wholesome, right? By demonstrating that the firm has kept the business in the family, it implies that the company is family-friendly (Of note is the fact that S.C. Johnson has a ).

Traditionally, the main difference between advertising and architecture is time. An ad campaign is fleeting compared to the life-span of a typical building. Furthermore, an advertisement can exist solely to sell a product; architecture has a responsibility to protect its inhabitants and provide an environment that enhances the act of dwelling, working, playing, shopping or studying. Anna Klingmann puts it this way in :

Unlike the short-lived images of dazzling signature projects, architecture that uses branding strategies can effect lasting, meaningful changes that draw upon the dormant or explicit potential of particular cultures and places…The architectural brand, by its sheer nature, is defined by a sustained public presence and characterized by an extensive duration period.”

More and more, the exception to this rule is retail architecture. In this case, buildings are more like advertising and less like architecture. Consider the Apple store on Fifth Avenue in New York City, built in 2006. At the plaza level, it’s a beautiful glass box.

The walls are glass, the ceiling is glass, and holding it all up—yes, you guessed it—structural glass framing. The box serves as a completely-transparent beacon that suspends the Apple logo for all to see. To enter the store, you must go down a flight of glass stairs or a glass-enclosed elevator to a below-grade level where the actual products are located. The interior design is minimal. Nothing is to distract customers from the attention of the products on display. Like any good advertising campaign, the building infers the qualities of the brand and the values of the company: We are technologically advanced and our products are exquisitely crafted in a minimal aesthetic so that nothing is superfluous.

And just like a re-branding strategy or a new product rollout, when the building technology got better, Apple “re-booted” the building.Ěý After only five years of existence, the box was entirely re-designed and re-built in 2011. The new cube consists of 15 seamless glass panels (the old design had 90), which span from floor to ceiling. To me, it’s clear that the concept of this building is all about the brand and spectacle. Still don’t believe me? In 2011, Tech News Daily showed in a study conducted by Eric Fischer that the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue is .

Most architecture doesn’t have the chance to be re-branded in such a dramatic way when the very nature of architecture has traditionally been permanency. Many would say that it’s irresponsible to spend $6.7 million on basically the same building (though I’m sure the publicity it garnered offset the cost). But this says a lot about the value Apple places on innovation in its products and reinforces the building as a branding tool. Ethically, I have a problem with calling the project a renovation when none of the glass from the existing glass cube was used, but I’m all for technological innovation. Like many, I’m caught between ethic and awe.

Fifty years ago during the age of Mad Men, ad executives like the fictionalized Donald Draper made advertisements, and architects like Paul Rudolf designed buildings. Architecture was architecture and advertising was advertising. Today, it’s becoming harder to make a distinction.

David Shaffer is a design professional atĚý.

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Recently, I was in a meeting at work and somebody mentioned a project I had never heard of:Ěý Building 20 at MIT. I was intrigued, so I looked it up. Here’s what I found: the building was . It leaked. It had bad acoustics and was poorly lit, inadequately ventilated, very confusing to navigate (even for people who had been working there for years) and was scorching in the summer and freezing in the winter. What I haven’t mentioned is that this building was an incubator for some of the greatest intellectual achievements of last century. Among others, Building 20 was host for the development of high-speed photography, modern-theory linguistics, single-antenna radar and the development of the physics behind microwaves. What’s unfortunate about this story is that it’s an anomaly that would be nearly impossible to replicate.

Before explaining further, a brief history is required to fully understand the situation. Building 20 was initially commissioned as an extension of the Radiation Laboratory at MIT in May of 1942. This lab was specifically constructed to aid the Allies in WWII by developing the technology that would eventually . As one physicist put it “…there are two prominent shrines of the triumph of science during the war: One is the desert installation at Los Alamos, N.M., where the atomic bomb was born; the other is the plywood building where radar was invented. Radar won the war, and the atom bomb ended it.” Even though Building 20 violated fire code, it was given an exception with the promise that it would be torn down after the war. Once the war ended, however, the inundation of students from the G.I. Bill left MIT with a space problem, so the administration used the building for offices of professors who had no place to go. The building existed as a ramshackle group of strewn-together scientists until 1998 when it was razed for its replacement, which was designed by Frank Ghery.

Probably the most-important reason why there will never again be a Building 20 is its design (or lack thereof). Strangely enough, the very things that made it bad also made it ideal for collaboration and innovation. Thin, wood-stud walls covered modestly by plywood allowed the engineers to manipulate the building for any need. The researchers didn’t have to wait for a new lab facility — they could immediately change the built environment so that it fit their needs. If the scientists needed additional water or electricity, they helped themselves by tapping into the exposed lines and pipes.Ěý Furthermore, the building was notoriously hard to navigate. This would often lead occupants astray into different offices and laboratories and provide chance opportunities for intellectual discussion. These informal hallway discussions would often lead to cross-departmental collaboration on new projects.

A perfect example of this is Amar Bose. Procrastinating in writing his dissertation, Bose would hang out in the acoustics laboratory, which was just down the hall from his department. He found interest in the subject and before long, Bose was spending more time in the acoustics lab and less time on his paper. With the help of the acoustical engineers, he invented a unique, wedge-shaped speaker and .

In more ways than one, World War II was the catalyst that made Building 20 so great. First, the building would have never been allowed to stand in violation of Cambridge fire code if it wasn’t for the fact that its occupants were directly aiding the war effort. Also, the funding and encouragement of the Defense Department helped to accelerate advancements that may have not otherwise developed. Indeed, a 1945 statement by the Department of Defense noted that the research in the Rad Lab “”

Another factor that made this building an anomaly was the disparate array of departments that occupied the building.Ěý the following inhabitants occupying the building over the years: Acoustics Lab, Adhesives Lab, Linguists Department, Guided Missiles Program Office, Lab for Lighting Design (part of the Architecture Dept), Office of Naval Research, Model Railroad Club, ROTC, Council for the Arts, etc. At this time in history, these researchers would have never shared the same facilitiesĚý— the biologists would have studied in the life science building, and the lighting designers would have been drafting away in the architecture building. Scientists from diverse fields got to know one another in a unique and exciting way that produced unparalleled cross-departmental collaboration. Professor Jerome A. Lettvin : ”When we had parties, there were no class distinctions. The janitors and technicians were there getting drunk with the rest of us.” Innovative companies like IDEO and 3M have caught on to this concept and regularly group different specialists like anthropologists and chemists together.

The story of building 20 teaches us how hard it is to encourage collaboration and innovation across disparate disciplines. It illustrates that this is an anomaly, particularly for its time in history. Its temporary construction qualities enabled flexibility to adapt and own a space in ways that are impossible with today’s fire codes and building standards. The magic that created Building 20 was special because a building of this construction, layout and inhabitants had never before existed. And it likely will never exist again.

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I recently read a book that I thought had nothing to do with architecture. In fact, I picked it because I thought it would be a nice respite from the subject. Surprisingly, it ended up being one of the more enlightening books I’v­e read on architecture.

Foer wrote that one of the most-commonly used memorization techniques is attributed to the Greek poet Simonides of Ceos who lived in the fifth century B.C. As the story goes, he was at a banquet, and right before he addressed the crowd, he was interrupted and asked to go outside to talk to two men. Right after he crossed the threshold, the ceiling of the banquet hall collapsed and everyone inside was instantly killed. After the event, mourners were scouring through the rubble trying to find their loved ones. Simonides closed his eyes, mentally reconstructed the palace, and recalled where each of the guests were seated.Ěý He then took each mourner through the rubble and showed them the exact spot where their loved ones were buried.Ěý This mnemonic was called the method of loci (colloquially: the memory palace).Ěý Architects will no doubt know of genus loci which is “the spirit of a place.”

So how does work in a practical sense?Ěý Imagine yourself walking along Southeast Belmont Street and seeing these things: two cats sunning on a porch of an 1898 Queen Anne home that has four columns and wrought iron numbers beside the door spelling out 462 S.E. Belmont St.Ěý You’ve just memorized 2-1-8-9-8-4-4-6-2. The aforementioned grand masters can do this for 10,000+ numbers, given the time.Ěý The details of the environment help paint a picture in your mind’s eye that is exponentially easier to remember than rote memorization. Herein lies the application to architecture.

If the human brain has an uncanny ability to instinctively recall buildings, streetscapes and the things we place in them (and is constantly subconsciously doing so), what does that have to say about the underlying importance of our built environment? To me, this shows that our buildings have a dramatic affect on our lives and our memories. The human brain drinks in our surroundings – are we giving it champagne or castor oil? Both have their functions, but the former is certainly more enjoyable than the latter.Ěý Let’s treat ourselves to some champagne and design beautiful buildings.Ěý It’s what your brain wants.

David Shaffer is a design professional at . Contact him at david.shaffer@zgf.com.Ěý

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