CREJ

/ BUILDING DIALOGUE / SEPTEMBER 2017

The City is the Canvas, and Buildings the Art

ears ago, while walking through the

Art Institute of Chicago, I saw a piece

by Chuck Close at the other end of a

long corridor. Perhaps you have seen his work

as well, which is famous for its realism – so

you know that from such a long distance each

piece clearly seems to be a photograph. You may

also know, then, that when you walk closer and

stand in the same room, the work reveals itself

as a painting. Stepping even closer, however, get-

ting into the work’s personal space and standing

face-to-face with the canvas, you see the intricacy

and complexity of the gridded, almost pointillist,

style of this work from this period. This perspec-

tive is vastly different than what we expected to

see when standing at the end of the corridor. Each

experience of the work of art has its own visu-

al character – each valid, each distinct and each

worthwhile.

We all perceive the world around us from dif-

ferent vantage points, but whether we generally

zoom out to see the panoramic face in the painting

or zoom in to glimpse the richness of the brush

strokes, a full experience can be appreciated when

we pause to find a different perspective. If you al-

ways stay at a comfortable distance from the Chuck

Close painting, then it is always going to look ba-

sically the same whether you stand or sit, or move

a bit more to the left or right. The magic happens

when you choose to stick your nose right up to the

painting and stare, or walk to the other end of the

museum and squint, focusing on it as you look past

every other gallery.

What happens if we look at our buildings the

same way? If we start with a skyline view, zoomed

out, it is easy to lose the individual buildings to the

cityscape. Much like the painting at the other end

of the museumwas “just a face,” the buildings in the

midst of the city are often “just buildings.” However,

if we begin to change our focus, we may start to see

more, even at this distance. Take, for example, the

Wells Fargo Center by Philip Johnson, which could

be viewed as just another high-rise in Denver. Still,

it is iconic, in part, because when you pause and

take note of its unique shape, you promptly realize

it looks like an old-fashioned cash register. Love it

or hate it, it is a distinctive marker that works at the

scale of the city. Another building that makes its

mark at the urban scale is the Sugar Cube Building

by KPMG, which distinctly overlaps light and dark

cubes to create a landmark in LoDo, clearly separate

from the skyline. It uses clarity and massing where-

as the Cash Register uses form and height.

Recall the Chuck Close painting. There was a mo-

ment of surprise when our brains made the switch

from “photograph” to “painting.” Hopefully you can

think of buildings that have done the same thing

for you, providing that ah-ha moment as they

transformed from “building” to “architecture.” At

this middle scale, you notice the way that a form

manipulates light and shadow to create space. You

see the way that the materiality, pattern and lay-

ers of the facade tell a story. When speaking of the

conceptual relationship between the exterior and

interior layers of a building, architects sometimes

draw a comparison between “watermelon” build-

ings and “carrot” buildings. When you “cut” a wa-

termelon building, you see the various green and

white layers of the rind protecting the juicy red

center. Watermelon buildings reveal themselves

layer by layer and are often about the story of craft-

ing the components of the facade and inside spac-

es in demonstrative ways. These are the buildings

that revel in exposed bolts and expressive materials.

Whereas watermelon buildings are all about tell-

ing you how they are put together, carrot buildings

are about hiding the pieces and parts to empha-

size the whole. When you cut a carrot, the layers are

all the same color and you need to look closely to

see the subtle patterns. Carrot buildings often have

narratives of carving and sculpting or museum-like

austerity that shifts the focus from the building to

the actions and objects inside. Next time you visit

a museum, consider how it is analogous to a giant,

white carrot. In essence, this medium scale narrates

the story and purpose of the tangible building.

How close is too close to look at a building: Feet?

Inches? Perhaps there is no such thing as “too close.”

When you come face-to-face with architecture, you

enter the world of craftspeople, designers and mak-

ers. Look around you, right now, and take a moment

to observe the grain of the wood a carpenter chose,

or the pattern of a fabric that a designer drew. Feel

the difference between a metal doorknob and a

wooden handrail. Like the watermelon and the

carrot, the brush strokes of a building can be used

Andre LH

Baros, AIA

Architect,

Shears

Adkins

Rockmore

In the Details

Watermelon buildings reveal themselves layer by

layer.