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Urban Planning as an Extension of War Planning: The Case of Shenyang, China, 1898-1966
Urban Planning as an Extension of War Planning: The Case of Shenyang, China, 1898-1966

War-city relationships had long been studied by scholars regarding wars’ sudden impact on cities. Studies typically focused on one specific event’s impact on urban military, politics, economy, or society. This approach, however, treated war’s impact on cities as only temporary, hindered opportunities to reveal multiple political regimes’ spatial competition through war-oriented city planning and construction, which is crucial for city development, and their resultant urban form changes through time. In response, this study has examined city planning and construction activities during the short time gaps between multiple military conflicts, with various military objectives, and conducted by different political regimes in Shenyang, China. In accordance with archival research, a space syntax axis analysis has been used to quantify spatial dynamics throughout war-peace-war cycles to explore the impact of military-oriented planning on city-scaled development. We have found these planning strategies, initiated by specific military goals, acted as extensions of war planning, segregating the city and causing urban fragmentation. They also acted as a driving factor which promoted modernization of the city in the early 20th century. We conclude that wars oriented planning can alter a city’s development track and impact its structure and form through the creation of internally connected but isolated urban districts. JOURNAL OF CONTEMPORARY URBAN AFFAIRS (2019), 3(1), 1-12. https://doi.org/10.25034/ijcua.2018.4677

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The Urban Microclimate as Artifact: Towards an Architectural Theory of Thermal Diversity
 3035615152, 9783035615159

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The Urban Microclimate as Artifact

Sascha Roesler↜/↜Madlen Kobi (eds.)

The Urban Microclimate as Artifact Towards an Architectural Theory of Thermal Diversity

Birkhäuser Basel

The publication was made possible by the kind support of:

Università della Svizzera italiana

12

Sascha Roesler and Madlen Kobi Microclimates and the City Towards an Architectural Theory of Thermal Diversity )>> )>> )>>

12)>> The Architecture of the City↜—↜and its Microclimates 14)>> Epistemological Premises 16)>> Urban Microclimates as Artifacts

26

Lisa Heschong, in Conversation with Sascha Roesler Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch Architecture and the Notion of Microclimate (USA ) )>> )>> )>> )>> )>>

26)>> 28)>> 35)>> 40)>> 42)>>

Thermal Imprints Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch The Agency of the Body Thermal Comfort versus Thermal Delight From Thermal Places to Urban Microclimates

44

Roberto Leggero Citizens and Climate Microclimatic Patterns in Medieval Cities (Northern Italy) )>> )>> )>> )>> )>>

48)>> 50)>> 54)>> 56)>> 59)>>

Entering a Medieval Italian City Microclimates within the Medieval City Fighting the Heat Fighting the Cold Conclusion: Microclimates and Political Power in Medieval Cities

64

Marlyne Sahakian Indoor Urbanism Air-Conditioned Microclimates in Metro Manila (The Philippines) )>> )>> )>> )>>

65)>> 68)>> 72)>> 78)>>

Air-Conditioning as a Form of Consumption Social Norms around Hygiene and Clothing Social Norms around Building Design and Construction Conclusion: Cool Air as Normality

82

Silvia Tavares Public Microclimates Thermal Outdoor Expectations in Post-Earthquake Christchurch (New Zealand) )>> )>> )>> )>> )>>

82)>> 83)>> 88)>> 92)>> 97)>>

The Symbolic Dimension of Public Open Spaces Methodology of the Study Urban Microclimate Experience and Natural Landscapes Microclimate Data and Adaptive Practices Recommendations for Outdoor Microclimate Design

102

Philippe Rahm, in Conversation with Sascha Roesler Thermal Sensations The Case of the Jade Eco Park in Taichung (Taiwan) )>> 102)>> Re-Interpreting Materiality )>> 105)>> Representing and Exhibiting Microclimates )>> 112)>> Simulating Urban Microclimates )>> 118)>> New Thermal Sensations 120

Francis Kéré, in Conversation with Madlen Kobi Thermal Layers The Case of the Lycée Schorge in Koudougou (Burkina Faso) )>> 120)>> Gravitating Towards Shaded Spaces )>> 122)>> Creating Microclimates Through Buffer Zones )>> 124)>> The Luxury of Passive Climate Control )>> 132)>> Transfer of Microclimate Knowledge 134

Ignacio Requena-Ruiz Building a Brazilian Climate The Case of the House of Brazil in Paris (France) )>> 135)>> A New Architecture for Brazil )>> 136)>> Building a Brazilian Climate in Paris )>> 139)>> Negotiating the Climate of Paris )>> 140)>> Methods of Climate Control )>> 147)>> Conclusion: Contrasting Climate Imaginaries in Architecture

152

Matthias Brunner Heating and Cooling the Desert The Case of the Kaufmann Desert House in Palm Springs (USA ) )>> 152)>> Palm Springs: A Favorable Microclimate for Settling, Health and Leisure )>> 155)>> The Kaufmann Desert House )>> 159)>> Pure Fresh Air and Thermal Comfort without Mechanical Ventilation )>> 162)>> Heating with Open Windows )>> 163)>> Conclusion: Radiant Cooling and Outdoor Conditioning

174

References 184

Contributors 187

Acknowledgments 188

Illustration Credits 191

Subject Index 195

Place Index 196

Name Index

San Francisco, USA Climate: Mediterranean (Csc) Average temperature: 14.1 °C Annual precipitation: 537 mm Palm Springs, USA Climate: Desert (BWh) Average temperature: 22.1 °C Annual precipitation: 131 mm

Paris, France Climate: Maritime (Cfb) Average temperature: 11.3 °C Annual precipitation: 637 mm Milan, Italy Climate: Mild temperate (Cfa) Average temperature: 13.1 °C Annual precipitation: 1013 mm

Koudougou, Burkina Faso Climate: Hot semi-arid (BSh) Average temperature: 28.1 °C Annual precipitation: 782 mm

Taichung, Taiwan Climate: Subtropical (Cwa) Average temperature: 22.1 °C Annual precipitation: 1700 mm

Metro Manila, Philippines Climate: Tropical savanna (Aw) Average temperature: 27.3 °C Annual precipitation: 2047 mm

Christchurch, New Zealand Climate: Maritime (Cfb) Average temperature: 11.9 °C Annual precipitation: 618 mm

Koudougou, Burkina Faso

F

M

A Christchurch, M J New J Zealand A S

O

J

F

M

A

O

J

A

S

N

J

D

J

40 30

22

22

21 18

22

22

12

12

12

12

15 21

12 18

10

8

15

5 10

11

12

11

2

2

13

13

3

15

15

5

8 5 2

2

3

5

17

17

7

7

19

19

9

9

21

30 20

21

11

11

20 10

10 0

0 400

F

36 Mean DailyMean Min /Daily Max Min Air Temperature (°C) / Max Air Temperature (°C)

Mean DailyMean Min /Daily Max Min Air Temperature (°C) / Max Air Temperature (°C)

40

F

36

38

M

AKoudougou, M J Burkina J Faso A

M 40

A 41

40

41

M 40

J

J

38

26

18

26

27

26

22

N

N

38 33

24

24

33

23

23

D

38

35

23

23

J

40 30

36

24

30 20

21 16

24

20 10

21

18

16

15

10

38

42

45

46

64

61

68

64

41

53

38

42

45

46

64

61

68

64

41

53

46

46

50

50

100 0

0

F

M

A

Manila, M J Philippines J A

S

O

J

F

M

A

M

S

O

34

33

34

33

23

24

31 25

24

25

A

300 200

200 100

1

0

0

1

5

5

22

22

53

53

95

95

101 107

101 107

86

86

30

30

1

1

0

100 0

0

0

N N

D

J

D

J

F F

M M

A A

Taichung, M J Taiwan J A M

J

J

A

S S

O O

N

30

32

20

20

21

20

20

21

23

31

30 30 24 24

29 29 24 24

29 29 24 24

30

30

30 23

30

23

22

22

29 29

21 21

40 30 30 20 20 10 10 0 0 400

N

129 287 354 474 401 182 114

13 diagrams 7 13 24 for 129 the 287 eight 354 474 401 studies 182 114 Climate case

63 63

33

32

32

30 27 32 32 24 23 30 30 22 22 25 25 28 24 24 27 22 21 24 23 19 22 22 18 24 25 25 24 16 22 14 21 13 12 19 18 16 14 12 13 28

30

32

32

33

40 30 30 20 20 10 10

0 0 400

300

100

24

1

12 9

8

25

26

26

J

D

300

100

13

12 9

8

J

400 300

200

7

23

21

25

400 300

200

13

Mean Daily MinDaily / Max Air/ Temperature (°C) Mean Min Max Air Temperature (°C)

29

30

2 26

16

16

0 0

F F

M M

40

Mean Monthly Rainfall Rainfall (mm) (mm) Mean Monthly

Mean Daily MinDaily / Max Air/ Temperature (°C) Mean Min Max Air Temperature (°C) Mean Monthly Rainfall Rainfall (mm) (mm) Mean Monthly

29

26 23

21

D

40 32

M

Taichung, Taiwan

J

J

F

M

400 300

Manila, Philippines

J

0

0 400

Mean Monthly MeanRainfall Monthly(mm) Rainfall (mm)

Mean Monthly MeanRainfall Monthly(mm) Rainfall (mm)

200 100

F

40

36

400 300

300 200

J

D

38

35 38

35

26

O

O

38

27

22 15

S

38 35

40

A

S

200 200

100 100

78 78

143 176 213 209 207 113 118 143 176 213 209 207 113 118

85 85

25 25

25 25

0

45 45

0

Mean Daily Min / Max Air Temperature (°C) Mean Daily Min / Max Air Temperature (°C)

J

D

Mean Monthly Rainfall (mm) Mean Monthly Rainfall (mm)

M

N

Mean Monthly Rainfall (mm) Mean Monthly Rainfall (mm)

J

Mean Daily Min / Max Air Temperature (°C) Mean Daily Min / Max Air Temperature (°C)

Christchurch, New Zealand

12

1

8

7

12

5

7 3 8 3 3

5

3

56 56

46 46

35 35

4

Palm Springs, USA

F

M

A

Palm M Springs, J J USAA

J

F

M

A

M

20 10

10 0

0 400

J 42

34

21

23

23

8

9

8

9

42

O

N

D

41

25

22 18

12

S

38

25

29

12

D

34

26 21

N

38

39

29 26

A 41

O

14

25

25

22

32

32

18

40 30 25 20

23

23

25 17

17

20 11

100 0

0

F

M

A

San M Francisco, J J USAA

S

O

N

D

J

F

M

A

M

S

O

N

D

11 7

20 10

10 0

0 400

300 200

200 100

25

26

16

3

3

2

6

9

9

11

14

22

25

26

16

3

3

2

6

9

9

11

14

22

40 30

14

14 8

16

17

16

17

8

17

17

18

18

8

9

10

9

10

11

100 0

0

J

F

M

A

M Paris, J France J A

S

O

N

D

J

F

M

A

M

S

O

N

D

J

J

A

40 30 23

12 7 73 3

8

83

3

12 5

5

23 19

16

25 21

19 16

25

14

25 16

25 15

11

7

14

16

15

11

30 20

16 21 13

11 8

16 10 11 6

13 10

7

83

100 0

0

21

21

30 20

17

19 12

20

21

21

12

13

13

12

12

13

13

14 17 12

14 8

12 8

20 10

10 0

9 0 400

300 200

200 100

114 113

83

37

18

4

0

2

5

28

80

116

114 113

83

37

18

4

0

2

5

28

80

116

J

F

M

A

M Milan, J Italy J

A

S

O

N

D

J

F

M

A

M

A

S

O

N

D

J

J

10 0

3

0 400

30 27

100 0

0

23 27

18 23

14 7

72

18

9

9 3

14 7

18

14

10

18

40 30

29 24

30

29

20

20

20

20

24 16

14

12

7 2

18 12

16

10

30 20

18 11

11 6

7

20 10

72

10 0

2

0 400

6

3

400 300 Mean Monthly MeanRainfall Monthly(mm) Rainfall (mm)

200 100

20 10

6

400 300

300 200

20

40 Mean Daily Min Daily / MaxMin Air Temperature (°C) Mean / Max Air Temperature (°C)

0 400

19

400 300

300 200

200 100

56

46

35

42

57

54

59

64

55

50

51

50

56

46

35

42

57

54

59

64

55

50

51

50

100 0

0

400 300 Mean Monthly MeanRainfall Monthly(mm) Rainfall (mm)

10 0

19 11

9 8

19

40 Mean Daily Min Daily / MaxMin Air Temperature (°C) Mean / Max Air Temperature (°C)

20 10

A

Milan, Italy

40

30 20

J

40

Paris, France

40 30

J

400 300 Mean Monthly MeanRainfall Monthly(mm) Rainfall (mm)

200 100

30 20

7

14

400 300

300 200

J

40

Mean Monthly MeanRainfall Monthly(mm) Rainfall (mm)

30 20

Mean Daily Min Daily / MaxMin Air Temperature (°C) Mean / Max Air Temperature (°C)

40 30

J 39

40

S

Mean Daily Min Daily / MaxMin Air Temperature (°C) Mean / Max Air Temperature (°C)

J

San Francisco, USA

300 200

200 100

68

77

100 106 132

93

67

98

73

107 106

55

68

77

100 106 132

93

67

98

73

107 106

55

100 0

0

Microclimates and the City Towards an Architectural Theory of Thermal Diversity Sascha Roesler and Madlen Kobi The term “microclimate” was coined by German and British meteorologists and geo­ graphers in the first half of the 20th century. Geiger↜1 and Kratzer↜2 realized that the climate in the air layer “two meters above the ground” differs considerably between rural and urban sites. Balchin and Pye↜3 proved that the urban climate within one city, Bath, was not homogenous, but rather, comprised a variety of microclimates. Manley↜4 distinguished three fundamental subjects of an urban microclimatology with compre­ hensive implications for architecture and landscape architecture: the microclimate of the plant cover, the microclimate of the topography and the microclimate of buildings. As interacting parameters, plant cover, topography and buildings shape the micro­ climates of cities, both in- and outside their buildings. Scientific research in the 20th century has thoroughly engaged with microclimates in their thermoÂ�dynamic profiles; among other parameters, temperature and humidity became central to how micro­ climates are measured and defined. By setting up a reciprocal relationship between Â�climate and architecture, between weather and human activities, city climate research both undermined and transformed the mono-causal approach of bio-Â�climaticÂ�archi­ tecture. Urban climate phenomena such as heat islands or air pollution are Â�strongly related to, and sometimes even intensified by, the built environment and its tech­ nologies. The Architecture of the City↜—↜and its Microclimates This publication aims at expanding these existing approaches from natural sciences and building science by emphasizing the man-made character of urban microÂ�climates. We depart from the idea that “it is no longer viable to think of climate as a subject of climate science only,”↜5 and conceive of microclimates, instead, as the result of, and unfolding within, human activities. Thus, the crucial task of today’s microclimate re­ search consists of understanding and describing the man-made materiality of the microÂ�climate as human artifact, even though it appears to be a natural, nonÂ�material and physical phenomenon. Urban microclimatology will remain an applied science without application (that is, without relevance to architecture) as long as local cli­ matic conditions are not attributed to their architectural origins. Sitting on comfort­ ably cooled park benches in subtropical Taichung, staying outdoors in a street café in Christchurch despite the cold sea wind, or strolling back and forth between radiant-Â� heated indoor and outdoor terraces in Palm Springs are all examples of locally-Â�created microclimates that are achieved through the purposeful design of spaces and the in­ stallation of technical appliances. As the microclimatic conditions of cities are more and more an outcome of their architecture and landscape architecture, a methodology is needed that re-interprets the plans, vedute and photographs, as highlighted, for in­ stance, in Steen Eiler Rasmussen’s Towns and Buildings↜6 and Aldo Rossi’s Architecture of the City,7 for their microclimatic implications. 12

With a theoretical approach mediating between architecture and the social scienc­ es, this publication explores how urban microclimates↜—↜outdoors and indoors↜—↜are a product of human engagements with the built environment of cities. In emphasizing the man-made nature of microclimates, we are inspired by Lisa Heschong’s publica­ tion, Thermal Delight in Architecture,8 which focuses on the social functions and gath­ ering power of “thermal places.” Both consciously and unconsciously, human beings Â�create a diversity of thermal places. Heschong’s collected examples↜—↜from the bath­ tubs in Japan to the Mediterranean plaza↜—↜underscore thermal places being closely linked to the daily activities of local community and family life. Heschong outlines that the creation of microclimates is not about implementing a norm in a closed and controlled space, but rather, that creating thermal comfort depends on the situations and needs of the people involved. Variability enhances the thermal quality of a place: “One factor Â� that can help us to appreciate the thermal function of a place or object is variability. We are more likely to notice the function of something if there are times when it is not in operation, to notice the significance of something’s presence if there are times when it is not there.”↜9 As natural or technical phenomena, microclimates are thermal zones with site-specific physical and thermodynamic characteristics. They are affected by temperatures, moisture, rain, wind, fog, snow, insolation, cloudiness, air quality and other factors.10 As man-made artifacts however, microclimates are fab­ ricated “thermal places” with various cultural, social and political meanings. In this publication, we consider microclimates to be a culturally and socially-shaped cÂ� ategory, with architecture, landscape architecture and urban planning as beacons signaling the way. The publication is a follow-up to the symposium, “The Urban Microclimate as Arti­ fact,” and the seminar, “Microclimate Ethnography,” which both took place in the fall semester 2016 at the Academy of Architecture in Mendrisio (Switzerland) (Figs.╃1 and╯2). The case studies herein provide a cross-cultural and cross-disciplinary view on the phenomenon of urban microclimates. They deal with the design of microclimates in different climatic contexts and different seasons of the year. From XL to S , the chap­ ters are arranged according to the physical sizes of their main spatial focus: territories (Heschong, Leggero), cities (Sahakian, Tavares), districts (Rahm, Kéré) and buildings (Requena-Ruiz, Brunner). Architect Lisa Heschong reports on the emergence of the no­ tion of microclimate in the 1970s (USA ); architectural historian Roberto Leggero high­ lights microclimatic patterns in Medieval cities (in northern Italy); sociologist Marlyne Sahakian addresses class-dependent forms of access to microclimates in Metro Manila (The Philippines); landscape architect Silvia Tavares highlights the use of public micro­

tect Francis Kéré explains passive strategies applied in the Lycée Schorge in Koudou­ gou (Burkina Faso); architectural historian Ignacio Requena-Ruiz presents the mixedmode use of active and passive climatization strategies in the Maison de Brésil, built by the atelier Le Corbusier in Paris (France); and architectural historian Matthias Brunner addresses the architectural and technical preconditions for a modern radiant-heated lifestyle indoors and outdoors, exemplified by the Richard Neutra-designed Kaufmann Desert House in Palm Springs (USA ).

Microclimates and the City

climates in post-earthquake Christchurch (New Zealand); architect Philippe Rahm presents the thermal diversity within the Jade Eco Park in Taichung (Taiwan); archi­

13

Epistemological Premises Although the size of the addressed subjects in this publication clearly changes with each chapter, only the (multi-)“scalar imagination”↜11 of the contributions provides an adequate access to microclimates. In all the chapters, microclimates are embedded in a scalar dynamic that transforms our understanding of physical context, and tran­ scends the conventional divide into inside and outside areas. This epistemological shift (identifying microclimates not only as outdoor phenomena) is manifested in the mu­ tual reactions between the urban climate, the built fabric of cities and the artificial control of climate within buildings.12 Urban microclimates can only be adequately Â� understood as elements of a mutually-interacting network of buildings and Â�exterior spaces, one created through linkages between indoor and outdoor climates that are too often separated into architecture (indoors) and climatology (outdoors). We are con­ vinced that in order to approach urban microclimates adequately, we must under­ stand microclimates as being embedded in larger urban and territorial settings. Thus, the case studies emphasize the linkages among projects of different scales↜—↜from the single house to the larger urban and territorial context. The thermal properties of a single apartment room in Manila, for instance, are related to the air-conditioned en­ vironment of large shopping malls inasmuch as residents move between these spaces. This anthology joins together case studies that consider thermal diversity within the analyzed settings, not only between climate zones. The diversity of microÂ�climates is created within complex place-making practices where local construction, architec­ tural knowledge and globally-shifting standards meet one another. All of the case stud­ ies demonstrate that microclimates are closely related to architecture, infrastructure and material culture at large. Through objects, technologies and buildings, coping with microclimates is materialized and visualized through a “system of thermal-Â�material culture.”↜13 A wide variety of actors is engaged in the creation of microÂ�climates. As will be elaborated, thermal comfort has often been assigned to architects and HVAC engineers (heating, ventilation, air conditioning), but it is clear that residents, plumb­ ers, trade-people and policy makers also intervene to transform the built environ­ ment with regard to climate-related aspects.14 The case studies highlight that micro­ climates are far more than physical-thermodynamic phenomena, offering manifold valuable insights into everyday culture, social conditions and political aspirations of energy-based and urbanized societies.15 It seems that to live a modern urban life, one has to be independent of weather,16 an assumption that led to the promotion of a homogenous indoor climate.17 Â�Laboratory experiments, as well as pressure from the industry, set indoor thermal comfort at a temperature between 20↜渀屮°C and 22↜渀屮°C with 50 % humidity, and a whole industry has evolved from the associated notions and technologies of this “mass-commodification of comfort.”↜18 It is in the interaction of objects and technologies that indoor micro­ climates are created: “In technical terms, indoor climates are outcomes of dynamic processes of heat transfer through and between air, people, furniture, fans, heaters, walls, objects, etc. and the components and molecules of which these are made.”↜19 Considering the different actors, scales and contexts, this publication challenges the standardized definition of thermal comfort which has dominated for far too long. The cases presented in this book, which span locations from Paris to Taichung, from Manila to Milan, underline the cross-cultural and historical variety of urban micro­ 14

climates. Beyond any moral attitude, this publication provides manifold historical and empirical insights into hybrid mixed-mode uses of active and passive climate control. In the 21st century, active and passive means of climate control are increasingly super­ imposed on one another, albeit unintentionally.20 The contributions outline that while passive climate control is rarely used alone in the construction of contemporary urban microclimates, active cooling and heating clearly intervene in the production of micro­ climates, especially in residential spaces.

Microclimates and the City

Fig.╃1╇ Poster of the research seminar “Urbanizing Passive Climatization Theory! Microclimate Ethnography,” fall semester 2016 , Academy of Architecture in Mendrisio (Università della Svizzera Italiana).

15

Urban Microclimates as Artifacts To look at the existing literature on microclimates (conceived as man-made artifacts), one gets the impression that this is still a purely scientific and technical subject, which has little to do with architecture, landscape architecture or material culture in general. Â� A large number of publications has been devoted to the subject without, however, tak­ ing into account that more and more, microclimates are man-made and architecture-Â� driven phenomena. Such publications and articles with a technical and practical ap­ proach to microclimatic design emphasize how wind channels, shadow areas or open squares produce urban microclimates.21 The publication in hand, however, aims to complement the architecture and design perspective that is lacking in those publi­ cations, and to do so by emphasizing the relevance of microclimatic considerations for the work of planners and architects. The still outstanding transfer from basic me­ teorological research to architectural application has already been examined from a Â�historical perspective: the anthology City Weathers by Hebbert, Jankovic and Webb (2011)↜22 discusses the (failed) application of climatology in urbanism in different geo­ graphical and historical contexts. Remarkably, the theoretical and epistemological challenges emerging from the increasingly man-made character of microclimates, as discussed above, have been widely ignored by architectural theorists and social sci­ entists to date, with only a few exceptions. In the anthology Environmental Diversity in Architecture by Steemers and Steane (2004),23 climate control and comfort (among other environmental aspects) are scrutinized from an urban perspective. From an ethnoÂ�graphic perspective, Van Leeuwen↜24 analyzed the symbolic interpretation of the air-conditioning system in Jakarta. In the 1990s, having an air-conditioning sys­ tem or being surrounded by it (in the mall, for example) became a way of obtaining gengsi (prestige). Being close to gengsi means being close to the center of power. The air conditioning system in Jakarta is also linked to the power relations of colonial times. Climate in contemporary societies is central in the anthologies by Strauss and Â�Orlove (Weather, Climate, Culture, 2003)↜25 as well as Jankovic and Barboza (Weather, Local Knowledge and Everyday Life. Issues in Integrated Climate Studies, 2009)↜26 which complement individual studies on particular sites.27 From the perspective of an ur­ ban political ecology,28 urban microclimates↜—↜as energy-consuming activities↜—↜have hidden environmental costs on the land and livelihoods of people living in the re­ source-extraction places outside urban areas.29 In the case of other environmental consequences, such as air pollution, urban residents feel the health impact from elec­ tricity-producing factory pollution directly. All these contributions show the variety of approaches towards the mitigation of climate through time and space, but often omit the architecture and landscape architecture so central to the design and production of urban microclimates. In this publication, the interviewed architects present various approaches towards the construction of microclimates: while Heschong and Kéré emphasize their inter­ est in finding solutions that mitigate climate conditions through passive climate con­ trol, Rahm experiments with a variety of technical devices. He combines passive and active means of climate control in the Jade Eco Park in Taichung. All three architects use their own internationally-acquired expertise, but their designs also reflect local knowledge. Kéré, for example, who grew up in the area of Lycée Schorge, benefits from his own personal history when exploring ways to cope with the arid climate through 16

architecture. Although their architectural projects unfold in local places, the archi­ tects’ ideas and designs result from constant exchanges with colleagues and experts all over the world. The microclimates presented in this volume are created through passive and active climate control means and related to mutual relations between in­ doors and outdoors, to the quality of life of urban residents and to city climates. Tying

Microclimates and the City

Fig.╃2╇ Poster of the international symposium “The Urban Microclimate as Artifact” which took place on October╯ 31, 2016, at the Academy of Architecture in Mendrisio Â�(Università della Svizzera Italiana).

17

in with the recent declaration that we live in the Anthropocene,30 the case studies re­ fer to the man-made character behind supposedly “natural” conditions. By recognizing urban microclimates as artifacts, the contributions remind us of three basic strategies of Â�negotiating and constructing thermal diversity, each one relying on the skills of ar­ chitects and landscape architects: 1. the agency of the body; 2. the provision of quality of life; and 3. the (re)connection of the inside and outside. The Agency of the Body Any research on microclimates must start by questioning the “nonmateriality” of micro­ climates by identifying their material aspects, without, however, succumbing once again to the primacy of the visual. In architecture, materiality is typically equated with visuality; an equalization that leads up the wrong path, however, since micro­ climates engage our other senses, too. “It is not enough to see architecture; you must experience it,” as the architectural theorist Steen Eiler Rasmussen proclaimed.31 An­ thropologist Daniel Miller emphasizes invisibility as “this somewhat unexpected ca­ pacity of objects to fade out of focus and remain peripheral to our vision and yet deter­ minant of our behavior and identity.”↜32 The central role of the body for the cognizance and design of microclimates is highlighted in all the contributions. The reinterpreta­ tion of the climate’s materiality, as this publication promotes, builds on the agency of the body, mediating between the old dualism of climate and architecture. Thermal perception, rationalized away by comfort research, reappears prominently in Hes­ chong’s notion of “thermal delight,” for example. The radical materialism of Rahm, Â�unintentionally mirroring the body-centered, feminist attitude of Heschong, inter­ prets microÂ�climates as physical and chemical entities always in close relation to the body’s physiology. His straightforward biological and chemical thinking extracts sur­ prising architectural results from climatology and meteorology alike. In the case of Jade Eco Park, thermal perception opens up a completely new field of experiencing microclimatic conditions. Rahm relies entirely on physiology, while Tavares refers to the metonymical game of meaning. Tavares addresses the “physiol­ ogy and thermal perception” as linked to “the cultural context.” Microclimates are as­ sociated, as Tavares shows, to other aspects of the environment: plant growing, farm­ ing and animals, for example. The often-emphasized importance of a close connection between town and countryside, and the perception of being “outdoors people” unites Christchurch residents of all social classes. The perception of microclimates is ulti­ mately Â�affected by prevailing fields of meaning. Requena-Ruiz, in the case study of the House of Brazil, also discusses thermo­ dynamic regulation in modern architecture. Among other citations, he refers to the thermo-regulating ideas of André Missenard, who suggested that the difference be­ tween outside and inside should not exceed 7↜渀屮°C to 8↜渀屮°C. Instead of decoupling indoor spaces from the climatic conditions outside, a mutual dependency enables a stimulat­ ing and healthy thermal diversity for the human body. The body, and its average nor­ mal temperature of around 37↜渀屮°C, serves both as starting point and receiving entity of all thermal interventions. The body not only reacts to the outside, but is itself a warm­ ing machine whose body temperature is used for forms of passive climate control. Clothing, as a way of protecting the body, was done consciously to create intimate microclimates in medieval Italy (Leggero), and it remains a high priority in those cit­ 18

ies even today (Sahakian). Leggero’s historical case study focuses primarily on pas­ sive climate control in medieval northern Italian cities, where, in summer, its various measures included periurban gardens, passageways under the arches, wine cellars and the house itself as offering shelter from the outside weather conditions. In winter, different layers of clothing and the fireplace mitigated the cold. Leggero’s contribution Â�clearly demonstrates that the medieval towns of Europe share an intangible heritage, one which, to date, has not been sufficiently explored. The buildings and public spaces of northern Italian cities have always had certain thermal implications for their residents. Yet since microclimates have both tangible and intangible aspects, they must be examined on many different levels. They are tan­ gible as physical objects, whether buildings, parks, heating systems or the thermal in­ frastructures involved in generating them; and they are intangible inasmuch as people and groups↜—↜t he way they behave, their institutions and their political directives↜—↜are involved. Microclimates are manifest in a constant interplay between visible and in­ visible materialities. Aspects of invisibility constitute, for example, the main quality of microclimate production, such as in the Kaufmann House in Palm Springs (Brunner) or in the rooms of the House of Brazil in Paris (Requena-Ruiz) where centrally-Â�controlled, radiant underfloor tube systems both heat and cool the rooms. Although the inhabi­ tants of these apartments know that materials and technologies are involved in reg­ ulating the microclimate of their residences, they forget their presence as the under­ floor infrastructure remains invisible. As long as the central heating and cooling is Â�functional, we are inclined to forget about the materials and technologies behind the creation of such microclimates. The Provision of Quality of Life Contradictions and conflicts around sustainability, economic development and social justice are mounting issues in residential urban life.33 While urbanization improved living conditions for many, rising individual wealth has also increased per-capita car­ bon emissions. Air pollution is among the greatest challenges for mega cities today, given its severe impact on inhabitants’ everyday lives and health. Mechanical indoor climate control creates “sealed” homes for the affluent and for select institutions in Â� urban areas. Where electricity prices are high, air-conditioning to mitigate heat is inÂ�accessible to some parts of the population. While people of different Â�social status breathe the same outdoor air, economically disadvantaged groups cannot afford to

global south, being able to afford an air-conditioning system or cooling fan is associ­ ated with higher status. The device itself becomes an ornamental object, much like a valuable piece of furniture that is proudly displayed to visitors. While it may not nec­ essarily be in service all the time, alone the ownership of such air-conditioning devices raises prestige. The status gained from “exhibiting” the technology can be even more important than the actual effect the device has on creating microclimates.34 Sahakian’s insights into cooling practices in Metro Manila highlight the way sta­ tus shapes social practices: the affluent adhere to Western-style seasonal clothing↜—

Microclimates and the City

move in such de-polluted indoor spaces and therefore suffer disproportionately more from air pollution’s effects. The affordability of technical devices that give access to different indoor micro­ climates also makes social differences more pronounced. Especially in cities in the

19

Fig. 3 Poster of the international symposium “Thermal Standards in Architecture. Reflecting on the Globalisation of Passive Climate Control” which took place on October 30 / 31, 2017, at the Academy of Architecture in Mendrisio (Università della Svizzera Italiana).

only possible given the cooled microclimates in which they live. In the interview in this volume, Kéré emphasizes that it should actually be the other way around; for him, passive means of climate control are the true luxury, not the mechanical air­condi­ tioning systems that make one dependent on electricity. In an economically poor con­ text such as Burkina Faso, Kéré explores traditional thermal knowledge and local ma­ 20

terials for creating cool spaces in a contemporary school building. Through his work, he underscores a democratic access to microclimate production even though social class and status still too often decide about available climate mitigation strategies. Even in the socio-economically less stratified regions of medieval Northern Italy, we learn from Leggero that while differences between districts were less pronounced, the poor population sojourned in other microclimatic environments. Dresses, for exam­ ple, were made out of different materials for different social classes. What’s more, the price of fuel determined the ways citizens could or could not improve thermal living standards in winter. When it comes to contemporary outdoor microclimates, we find aspects of both exclusivity and of democracy. We might speak of the class character of urban out­ door microclimates by correlating the social class of a district and its quality of life, Â�especially in emerging economies. People belonging to more affluent social classes of­ ten live in areas where more investment is made in creating favorable outdoor micro­ climates, e.g. through greening projects. In less stratified social contexts, democratic access to comfortable spaces seems to be characteristic of outdoor microclimates. In Christchurch, Tavares documents many residents’ desire to spend time in pleasant places that feature a benign microclimate: wind-sheltered cafés or green spaces, for example. Her case study on public urban microclimates in Christchurch highlights the relevance of the built environment as a passive structure that creates comfortable spaces. All social classes use greening and vegetable gardens for microclimatic regu­ lation. While indoor microclimates in mega-cities today depend increasingly on me­ chanical cooling or heating systems, the production of public microclimates still re­ lies largely on the alignment of houses, the available green spaces or the provision of shadow Â�spaces. Even if urban residents today spend more time indoors than outdoors, a city can actively encourage the creation of public microclimates for urban residents who enjoy being outdoors.

trol became standard, leading to the idea that people live in “encapsulated” or “isolated” worlds.35 However, contemporary cities are shaped by mutual reactions between in­ side and outside, anticipating an incremental, rather than bipolar connection between interior and exterior spaces. In order to achieve better results in creating comfortable microclimates, and also to enhance energy efficiency, “design strategies must reassert the links between the indoor and outdoor as part of a broader engagement with the urban climate.”↜36 Among the case studies presented, the most obvious example of the reconnection Â� of inside and outside is the case study of the Kaufmann Desert House, whose terrace becomes a semi-outdoor space through the radiant heating system hidden in the floor. As Brunner outlines, outdoor air was considered healthy and indoor air harmful in the first half of the 20th century. These premises influenced Richard Neutra to pro­ mote ventilation in his architecture as an element that contributes to comfort. In win­ ter, residents could comfortably breathe the fresh outside air while, at the same time,

Microclimates and the City

The (Re)-Connection of Inside and Outside By focusing on the stabilization of thermal conditions inside of buildings, comfort re­ search in the 20th century tended to neglect the empirical reality of interacting ther­ mal zones. Insulating walls and sealing indoor spaces for more effective climate con­

21

being warmed from below. Brunner emphasizes that through this construction, the Kaufmann house has no clear climatic and physical↜/↜material borders, but that the in­ doors extends to the outside of the architectural structure that usually delimits it. The outside only begins where the terrace ends, not with the terrace door. For Â�Neutra, the reconnection between indoors and outdoors was the most important aspect guiding his architectural designs. Although energy costs and environmental concerns were of lesser significance, the Kaufmann Desert House may serve as an inspiring example for combining indoor and outdoor spaces from a design, aesthetic and atmospheric per­ spective. Manipulating the outdoors is also possible through humidifying devices, as in the case of the Jade Eco Park. Rahm introduces a series of aesthetic cooling devices that provide unseen microclimate control: the large mushroom-like objects, artistic tubes and oversized umbrellas of the Jade Eco Park in Taichung almost seem to have come from outer space. The indoors have already been managed by microclimate devices for several decades, but there is still potential for new technological innovations for the creation of outdoor microclimates. In addition to the cooling and purifying effects of park greening, geothermal energy is used to run the dehumidifying and depolluting devices. In sharp contrast to these technology-driven solutions, Kéré explains how, at the Lycée Schorge, it was essential for him to implement buffer zones between the outside and the inside to mitigate the winds, and to create shaded spaces where school chil­ dren can play or eat. Such buffer zones not only create social interaction zones, they are also useful for the thermal insulation of buildings. A famous example of buffer zones is Lacaton and Vasall’s addition of winter gardens to the outside façade of Bois-le-Prêtre, an outdated apartment building in Paris. Instead of demolishing and rebuilding the entire house, these buffer zones were added to improve the insulation of the build­ ing. At the same time, they increased the living space of the apartments and opened up the view. While the spread of 20th-century building services has established a strictly com­ plementary relationship between indoor and outdoor areas, the connection between interior and exterior in passively controlled urban settings is incremental. The Â�interior (indoor climate) remains connected with the exterior (outdoor climate). In contrast to the modern bipolar thermal concept, which keeps the indoor climate constant at all costs, passively-controlled urban settings are marked by numerous superimposed thermal zones and layered microclimates. A livable environment with thermal diver­ sity offers overlapping and interacting thermal places. Rather than being simple me­ teorological phenomena, microclimates are the result of human interventions in the environment. It is under these premises that this anthology investigates the urban microclimate as artifact in different cultural, economic, political and social settings around the globe.

22

terdam: nai010 publishers.↜/↜Pijpers-van Esch, Marjolein. 2015. Designing the Urban Microclimate. A Framework for a Design-Decision Support Tool for the Dissemination of Knowledge on the Urban Microclimate to the Urban Design Process. PhD thesis, Delft: TU Delft, Architecture and the Built Environment.↜/↜Ng, Edward, and Chao Ren (Eds.). 2015. The Urban Climatic Map. A Methodology for Sustainable Urban Planning. London: Taylor and Francis.↜/↜Zakhour, Suhail. 2017. The Impact of Urban Form on Microclimate and Thermal Comfort. Simulation╃&╃Validation of Urban Microclimate Case Study of Aleppo City. LAP Lambert.╇↜22╇ Hebbert, Michael, Vladimir Jankovic, and Brian Webb (Eds.). 2011. City Weathers. Meteorology and Urban Design 1950↜–↜2010. Manchester: Manchester Architecture Research Centre.╇↜23╇ Steemers, Koen, and Mary Ann Steane (Eds.). 2004 . Environmental Diversity in Architecture. London: Spon Press.╇↜24╇ Van Leeuwen, Lizzy. 2011. Lost in Mall. An Ethnography of Middle-Class Jakarta in the 1990 s. Leiden: KITLV Press.╇↜25╇ Strauss, Sarah, and Ben Orlove (Eds.). 2003 . Weather, Climate, Culture. Oxford: Berg.╇↜26╇ Jankovic, Vladimir, and Christina Barboza (Eds.). 2009. Weather, Local Knowledge and Everyday Life. Issues in Integrated Climate Studies. Rio de Janeiro: MAST.╇↜27╇ For example the following studies: Hitchings, Russell, and Shun Jun Lee. 2008 . “Air Conditioning and the Material Culture of Routine Human Encasement. The Case of Young People in Contemporary Singapore.” Journal of Material Culture 13 (3): 251↜–↜65.↜/↜Vannini, Phillip, Dennis Waskul, Simon Gottschalk, and Toby Ellis-Newstead. 2012. “Making Sense of the Weather: Dwelling and Weathering on Canada’s Rain Coast.” Space and Culture 15 (4): 361↜–↜80.↜/↜Roesler, Sascha. 2013 . “On the Use of Slots and Shafts. Informal Cooling Strategies as Indicators for New Cooling Concepts↜—↜Microclimate Ethnography in the Ard El Lewa Informal Quarter of Cairo (Egypt).” FCL Magazine 1: 52↜–↜57.↜ /↜Jerstad, Heid. 2014 . “Damp Bodies and Smoky Firewood: Material Weather and Livelihood in Rural Himachal Pradesh.” Forum for Development Studies 41 (3): 399↜–↜414.↜/↜Hitchings, Russell, Gordon Waitt, Kate Roggeveen, and Catherine Chisholm. 2015. “Winter Cold in a Summer Place: Perceived Norms of Seasonal Adaptation and Cultures of Home Heating in Australia.” Energy Research╃& ╃Social Science 8: 162↜–↜72 .╇↜28╇ Kaika, Maria, and Erik Swyngedouw. 2006. “Urban Political Ecology: Politicizing the Production of Urban Natures.” In In the Nature of Cities. Urban Political Ecology and the Politics of Urban Metabolism, edited by Nik Heynen, Maria Kaika and Erik Swyngedouw. London: Routledge.╇↜29╇ Niederberger, Thomas, Tobias Haller, Helen Gambon, Madlen Kobi, and Irina Wenk (Eds.). 2016 . The Open Cut: Mining, Transnational Corporations and Local Populations. Action Anthropology Vol.╃2 .╯Vienna: Lit.╇↜30╇ Chakrabarty, Dipesh. 2009. “The Climate of History: Four Theses.” Critical Inquiry 35: 197↜–↜222 .╇↜31╇ Rasmussen, Steen Eiler.Â� 1959. Experiencing Architecture. London: Chapman &╃Hall, p.╃3 3 .╇↜32╇ Miller, Daniel (Ed.). 2005 . Materiality. Durham: Duke University Press, p.╃5 .╇↜33╇ Campbell, Scott. 1996. “Green Cities, Growing Cities, Just Cities? Urban Planning and the Contradictions of Sustainable Development.” Journal of the American Planning Association 62 (3): 296↜–↜312, p.╃298 .╇↜34╇ Sahakian, Marlyne. 2014 . Keep-

Microclimates and the City

1╇ Geiger, Rudolf. 1927. Das Klima der bodennahen LuftÂ�Â� schicht. Braunschweig: Vieweg.╇↜2╇ Kratzer, Albert. 1937. Das Stadtklima. Braunschweig: Vieweg.╇↜3╇ Balchin, W.↜ G .↜ V. , and Norman Pye. 1947. “A Micro-Climatological Investigation of Bath and the Surrounding District.” Quarterly Journal of the Royal Meteorological Society 73: 297↜–↜334 .╇↜4╇ Manley, Gordon. 1949. “MicroclimatoÂ� logy↜—↜Local Variations of Climate Likely to Affect the Design and Siting of Buildings.” The Journal of the Royal Institute of British Architects 56 (7 ): 317↜–↜22 , p.╃317.╇↜5╇ Fleming, James Roger, and Vladimir Jankovic. 2011. “Introduction: Revisiting Klima.” Osiris 26 (1): 1↜–↜15, p.╃14 .╇↜6╇ Rasmussen, Steen Eiler. 1951. Towns and Buildings. Described in Drawings and Words. Liverpool: The University Press. ↜7╇ Rossi, Aldo. 1966. L’architettura della città. Padova: Marsilio.╇↜8╇ Heschong, Lisa. 1979. Thermal Delight in Architecture. Cambridge (Mass.): MIT Press.╇↜9╇ Heschong (1979, 37 ).╇↜10╇ Erell, Evyatar, David Pearlmutter, and Terry Williamson. 2011. Urban Microclimate: Designing the Spaces between Buildings. London: Earthscan, p.╃5 .╇↜11╇ Coen, Deborah R.╃2016. “Seeing Planetary Change. Down to the Smallest Wildflower.” In Climates: Architecture and the Planetary Imaginary, edited by James Graham. Zürich: Lars Müller Publishers, p.╃35 .╇↜12╇ Roesler, Sascha (Ed.). 2015↜b. Natural Ventilation, Revisited. Pioneering a New Climatisation Culture. Future Cities Laboratories. Singapore: ETH Centre.╇↜13╇ Shove, Elizabeth, Gordon Walker, and Sam Brown. 2014 . “Material Culture, Room Temperature and the Social Organisation of Thermal Energy.” Journal of Material Culture 19 (2): 113↜–↜24 , p.╃118 .╇↜14╇ Henning, Annette. 2005. “Climate Change and Energy Use. The Role for Anthropological Research.” Anthropology Today 21 (3): 8↜–↜12.╇↜15╇ Roesler, Sascha. 2017. “The Urban Microclimate as Artefact: Reassessing Climate and Culture Studies in Architecture and Anthropology.” Architectural Theory Review 21 (1): 1↜–↜16.↜ /↜Shove, Elizabeth. 2012. “Energy Transitions in Practice: The Case of Global Indoor Climate Change.” In Governing the Energy Transition. Reality, IlluÂ� sion or Necessity?, edited by Geert Verbong and Derk Loorbach. New York: Routledge.╇↜16╇ Horn, Eva. 2016. “Air Conditioning: Taming the Climate as a Dream of Civilization.” In Climates: Architecture and the Planetary Imaginary, edited by James Graham. Zürich: Lars Müller Publishers.╇↜17╇ Healy, Stephen. 2008 . “Air-Conditioning and the ‘Homogenization’ of People and Built Environments.” Building Research╃&╃Information 36 (4): 312↜–↜22 .╇↜18╇ Chang, Â�Jiat-Hwee. 2016. “Thermal Comfort and Climatic Design in the Tropics: An Historical Critique.” The Journal of Architecture 21 (8): 1171↜–↜1202, p.╃1183 .╇↜19╇ Shove, Walker and Brown (2014 , 115).╇↜20╇ Roesler, Sascha. 2015↜a. “Entangled Ventilation Systems. The Superimposition of Natural Ventilation and Air Conditioning.” In Natural Ventilation, Revisited. Pioneering a New Climatisation Culture, edited by Sascha Roesler. Future Cities Laboratories. SingaÂ�pore: ETH Centre.╇↜21╇ Gartland, Lisa. 2008. Heat Islands. Understanding and Mitigating Heat in Urban Areas. London: Earthscan.↜/↜Brown, Robert D. 2010. Design with MicroÂ�climate: The Secret to Comfortable Outdoor Space. Washington D.↜C . : Island Press.↜/↜Erell, Pearlmutter and Williamson (2011).↜/↜Lenzholzer, Sanda. 2015. Weather in the City. How Design Shapes the Urban Climate. Rot-

23

ing Cool in Southeast Asia. Energy Consumption and yons: Different Perspectives on the Urban Climate.” In City Urban Air-Conditioning. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, Weathers. Meteorology and Urban Design 1950↜–↜2010, p.╃103↜–↜6 .╇↜35╇ Moe, Kiel. 2014 . Insulating Modernism. Iso- edited by Michael Hebbert, Vladimir Jankovic, and Brian Â� lated and Non-Isolated Thermodynamics in Architecture. Webb. Manchester: Manchester Architecture Research Basel: Birkhäuser.╇↜36╇ Mills, Gerald. 2011. “Cubes and Can- Centre, p.╃2 3.

24

Sea Ranch N E VA D A San Francisco

Berkeley

CALIFORNIA

San Fernando Valley Los Angeles Palos Verdes San Diego 100 km

Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch Architecture and the Notion of Microclimate (USA ) Lisa Heschong, in Conversation with Sascha Roesler

Thermal Imprints Sascha Roesler: You wrote the book Thermal Delight in Architecture when you were still very young, in your twenties╃… Lisa Heschong: I didn’t know I was writing a book. I was writing a master’s thesis. MIT Press decided they liked it, and they published it (Fig.╃1). Were you surprised that they accepted it↜? It was a great privilege! Publishing student work wasn’t something the MIT Press did very of­ ten. I originally choose to go to MIT because Kevin Lynch was teaching there. And now my book is considered one of their classics, along with his books. I always call it my little ambas­ sador, because it has made so many friends for me over the years. I certainly would have never predicted that almost forty years later it would still be in print. Happily, Doug Kelbaugh did the first review in Progressive Architecture in 1981, in an edition fully devoted to the energy and oil crisis of the late 1970s. So the book got it its initial readership, and then those readers went on to teach and the book started to spread. Reading your book, I was wondering if some sort of extraordinary microclimatic surroundings, say in your childhood, inspired you to write it? I don’t think that my background or my physical environment was that unusual. Rather, it’s just that I thought about those experiences a lot. When I was a little girl, I lived in Palos Verdes, outside of Los Angeles. It’s right on the ocean, and it has this very benevolent, ocean-based 26

microclimate. Back then there were a couple of places on the Palos Verdes Peninsula that I just loved. And I only found out much Â�later that they were famous places, designed by famous architects. The first was the Wayfar­ ers’ Chapel, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright’s son, Lloyd Wright. It’s a Swedenborgian glass chapel set on the edge of the bluffs, looking out over the ocean. Another one was a Spanish plaza at Malaga Cove, with big, overhanging arched walkways, and a fountain in the mid­ dle. It had the ocean views and then a little

Fig.╃1╇ Book cover Thermal Delight in Architecture by Lisa Heschong, 1979.

town assembled around it: that was designed by Frederick Law Olmsted’s office. And, inter­ estingly, the schools in our area, newly built in the 1950s, were certainly influenced by Richard Neutra’s schools and his architectural concepts. Our elementary schools were of that ilk, being very much an indoor↜/↜outdoor kind of environment, with big view windows and outdoor passages. So there was a group of architects working in South­ ern California that were really interested in an integration of nature and building. I think that set the stage. Later, we moved to the San Fernando Valley when I was ten years old. My parents bought an older house, built in the 1920s for an old movie mag­ nate. It was built around the idea of the Spanish hacienda-type courtyard, a string of rooms shaped in a “U” with big overhanging verandas shaded by a huge oak tree in the center. And, very unusually for Los Angeles, we also had two small basements, which

did not think that air conditioning was necessary. Then I went to college at UC Berkeley, a campus rich in microclimates. The summer fog can be just below you, or above you (Fig.╃2). Trees grow better on the shady, moister side of the hills. Later, in order to go to MIT, I moved to New England and had to figure out how to live in a really cold place. I had no experience with snow and ice: that was a shock. I was fascinated to explore older homes in New England and learn about all their thermal coping mechanisms. Since it has a great relevance to your book, could you tell me more about your education↜? In junior high school I attended the so-called junior engineering and city planning courses. And that got me↜—↜that was really when I de­ cided that city planning was my calling. When I applied to Berkeley in 1969, there was no city planning for undergraduates, so I entered the architecture school. But the very rigid curric­ Fig.╃2╇ Summer fog in San Francisco.

ulum of the time required freshman to take statics and concrete structures, which seem­

Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch╃/╃California (USA )

meant that in the summer we could circulate cool air from below grade. We lived in the hot San Fernando Valley without any air conditioning all summer, and from my point of view, it was perfectly comfortable! So those experiences gave me an understanding that it was possible to have a microclimatically controlled environment where people

27

ingly had nothing to do with my idea of how to become a city planner. I discovered that I could have more freedom doing an indepen­ dent major. At the time, there was a new exper­ imental major just starting over in the Agricul­ tural School called “Conservation of Natural Resources.” Looking to recruit more students, they allowed me to design what I thought would be an ideal city-planning curriculum. I took a lot of biology, ecology and physiology classes in addition to land use, economics, an­ thropology and political sciences. I also took Fig.╃3╇ Rough shapes for different climates (Alexander, Ishikawa and Silverstein. 1977 ).

a number of advanced classes in journalism, which really taught me how to write and how

to do research in a very practical way. This wasn’t academic research, it was just go out and observe; go out and find somebody to interview; go figure out the story and make it coherent. So many different layers fed into my curriculum, so that I ended up with a weird, one-of-a-kind undergraduate degree that nobody had a clue what it meant. However, this was the seventies! And the experience made me fearless about inter­ disciplinary work.

That makes a lot of sense to me as a reader of your book. One can really feel these interdisciplinary interests. The book has several intellectual imprints … Yeah. After three years at Berkeley I went to India for three months. I had a very amaz­ ing, immersive experience, staying with families in seven major cities, plus a week in a nunnery in a small village. At this point, I’m all of twenty years old (laughter). India really cemented my interest in the thermal environment, because it was relentlessly hot; plus the deep cultural environment there challenged all my preconceptions. When I came back to Berkeley, the last set of architecture classes that I took was taught by a protégée of Christopher Alexander. I found the concept of “A Pattern Language” fas­ cinating, so he helped me get a job working for Alexander. Thus my first job out of college was a rather ludicrous experience working for Christopher Alexander and his crew Â�doing planning for a huge new resort in the Canary Islands to be designed by the flamboyant Spanish architect Cesar Manrique (it never got built). Our job was to go to Â�Morocco and Spain in order to get a deeper understanding of the cultural prototypes and climatic basis for design (Fig.╃3). It was a grand conceptual effort, with only tiny hints of professionalism. The experience taught me both how powerful grand visions can be, and how dramatically they can fail in the details. Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch After my brief stint with Alexander, I applied to MIT, even though I didn’t meet any of their admission criteria, such as having an undergraduate design portfolio. At the time, MIT was trying to recruit more women, so I guess I slipped in under the wire. When I got to Boston, I had no money and I needed a job. And here’s how my ca­ reer really starts transitioning into microclimate and thermal comfort. It turned out 28

A cluster of solar heated townhouses

Solar heated townhouses around a courtyard

Townhouses sharing a greenhouse system

Fig.╃4╇ Comparative performance of design.

MIT had just hired a landscape architect, Terry Schnadelbach, and a British architect, Â� Richard Brittain, who were going to collaborate on designing sustainable housing for the Pequannock Watershed in New Jersey (Fig.╃4). This project was funded and they needed somebody to help them with the ecological survey and to describe the biolog­ ical environment that they were going to put this housing in. So I thought, “Hey, I can do that!” I was the only graduate student around with any biological background, so they hired me as the ecologist to work on this project (Figs.╃5 and 6). Terry was study­ ing the hydroÂ�logy and the geomorphology and the plant communities, following ear­ lier work by Ian McHarg, on how to minimize impacts on the landscape. And Richard

Â� materials and some of the new heat mirror technologies. At the time, there was a lot of interest in solar history at MIT, and I provided some glue to take it up to an urban scale by looking at the landform and the microclimates. What was the official name for these microclimate classes↜? I think it was “Laboratories in Microclimate Studies.” MIT undergraduates are all re­ quired to take hands-on laboratory courses, so this class met that criteria for architec­ ture undergraduates. Their first task was to build a globe thermometer out of a copper toilet float. We sent students out to go measure microclimates and report back on how patterns of temperature, humidity and windspeed varied in time and space. We might have them design a pavilion to try to optimize microclimate, especially outdoor envi­ ronments↜—↜how could you take this space and make it a little bit more comfortable? We would have them use the water tables and the wind tunnels to validate their design. That hands-on focus migrated to UC Berkeley, via Cris Benton, who was with us as a grad student at MIT, then went to teach at Berkeley, where he helped start the SBSE , the So­ Â� ciety for Building Science Educators. That group in the U.S. , and now internationally,Â�

Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch╃/╃California (USA )

was studying the microclimate, using MIT ’s water tables and wind tunnels to study air movement and water movement (Figs.╃7, 8 and 9). Ultimately the work was published as a little book on “Design for Pequannock Watershed.” Tim Johnson soon took over the microclimate work, and also started a laboratory course on microclimatic design. For the next two years, I became Tim’s teaching assistant for these microclimate class­ es and the department’s resource ecologist. So that opened up a lot of opportunities for me. Tim wasn’t an architect; he was an electrical engineer. He later experimented with Solar Five, which was a demonstration house built on campus using phase change

29

Fig.╃5╇ Microclimate analysis.

Fig.╃6╇ Temperature and wind speed measurements.

30

LEFT: Fig.╃7╇ Sketch of a water table test. ABOVE : Fig.╃8╇ Sketch of a wind tunnel test.

shares teaching methods and supports professors who want to bring science into ar­ chitectural curriculums. For example, their Vital Signs program teaches students both how to measure environments and experience them directly. So there was quite a Berkeley↜/↜MIT nexus and a sort of Berkeley↜/↜Oregon nexus. There was a lot Â�going on in the 1970s about microclimate. Another colleague of ours was Ed Arens, who headed up building science at UC Berkeley. He’s emeritus now, but when we first got to know him he was doing wind studies in San Francisco on how to avoid creating wind tunnels with high-rise buildings, and how to understand the city’s wind patterns (Fig.╃10). He was consulting with the city and with architects in the early to mid-seventies. Those experiences in the lab were fundamental for your book, I guess↜? All that consolidated my interest in climate and landscape and urban design, and I thought I was going to do a thesis on urban scale microclimatic design. But I had Â�recently worked on a passive solar house design, and that prompted my thinking about

↜…╃although passive climate control is not the leading subject of the book. It’s about the experience of various microclimates, right↜? Well, that experience of working on the design of a solar passive house, incorporating novel technologies like water-tube thermal storage, and how it changed the thermal environment, was a big impetus to writing the book. And so that all came into Â�Thermal Delight. I tried to pull in as many cultural examples as I was aware of at the time. I also interviewed and wrote to people around the world↜—↜t his was, of course, pre-internet↜— asking them for examples. I remember corresponding with an architect in Japan. This exploration was also very much supported by Ed Allen, my thesis advisor, who also had a broad cultural understanding of architecture (Fig.╃11). Who are the most important modern and postmodern forerunners in promoting a particular sense for microclimates↜? I think that, in terms of Californian outposts, there were two groups: there’s the Bay Area architects, starting with Julia Morgan and Bernard Maybeck in the late 1800s, who helped develop a Northern Californian sensibility of using local materials, and

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cultural paradigms for this newly evolving design technique.

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Fig.╃9╇ Wind tunnel tests in the laboratory.

which progressed to the MLTW group that did Sea Ranch in the 1960s. Ed Allen, my thesis advisor, was part of MLTW, working on Sea Ranch along with Donlyn Lyndon, who was chair of the department at MIT at the time. Joseph Esherick solidified an understanding of a Northern Californian style of architecture respectful of the envi­ ronment. Reaching further back, William Wurster pioneered a very simple, naturalist style in the early 20th century. So there’s something about the Bay Area that gener­ ates this “go local” tendency, which was very important in helping to create a connec­ tion between the natural environment and the built environment. Then there’s the 32

Southern California group, especially Rudolph Schindler and Richard Neutra. Southern Cali­ fornia was always a hotbed for “healthy archi­ tecture,” with Greene & Greene developing the Gamble House in 1909 for a wealthy Cincinna­ ti couple who moved out to take in the fresh air in Southern California. People continued to move out to Hollywood or Pasadena in the 1920s and 30s, looking to live healthier lives in the California sunshine, so Schindler, and es­ pecially Neutra even more so, were really sup­ Fig.╃10╇ Environmental Simulation Laboratory porting that. Neutra’s father was a doctor back (UC   Berkeley) investigating the impact of new high-rise buildings in San Francisco on the wind profile. in Austria, and his son is now a Public Health Officer for the State of California, so their fam­ ily went back and forth between medicine and architecture, and between architecture and health. Richard Neutra wrote a passionate final manifesto the year before he died, in 1969, bemoaning the quality of urban life in Los Angeles and pleading for a more environmentally friendly architecture. You mentioned the Sea Ranch up in Northern California, a central project of American postmodernism. A lot of people who influenced me were involved heavily in the creation of this. Sea Ranch is about four hours north of San Francisco. There was a big stretch of the coast that had been sheep ranches: rolling meadowlands edged by redwoods climbing up steep mountains on one side, and dropping off along dramatic cliffs down to the ocean on the other side. It was bought by a developer back in the 1960s to turn it into a Â�second-Â�home community. Lawrence Halprin was the landscape architect who was given the first pass at “how do you lay this place out,” and as part of that he spent a lot of time thinking about microclimate, be­

and he wanted to make it a nice place for humans. One of the things the ranchers had done↜—↜just for elemen­ tary protection against the winds↜—↜is that they had set up dense hedgerows that broke the land up into slices. And the hedgerows were now all giant cypress trees, shaped by the wind. They had this wonderful little mi­ croclimate inside them. You’d get in amongst those trees, the wind would go over or around, and you’d be surrounded by this almost cathedral-like setting. Thus the hedgerows, with their natural wind-shear, created the basic design paradigm for the buildings. One of the wonderful things that Lawrence Halprin brought also, not only his understanding of the land and the climate, Fig.╃11╇ Professor Edward Allen with heliodon.

was choreography (Fig.╃1 3). He and his wife, a famous

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cause that coastline is just blasted by wind coming off the Pacific (Fig.╃1 2). It’s just cold and raw a lot of the time,

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Fig.╃12╇ The Sea Ranch Composite Map. 1)>> Caygill House 2)>> Sea Ranch Condominium 3)>> Store, Restaurant, Lodge and Sales Office 4)>> Sea Ranch Swim Tennis Facility No.╃1 5)>> Hines House 6)>> Sea Ranch Swim Tennis Facility No.╃2

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dancer, wanted to develop a design ethos for that place that also celebrated human movement. Here’s where Charles Moore, Donlyn Lyndon and MLTW came in, and our colleague Ed Allen. They developed an architectural style that was based on local barns and sheds, courtyards and outlooks (Figs.╃14 and 15). There was a lot of thought given to the climatic design, from master planning to architectural details. Pathways wan­ dered through the sheltered hedgerows and out to the rugged bluffs. The homes have sun-rooms, and sleeping porches, which are like Greene & Greene, but extended into a more modern vocabulary. Window-seats offered intimate, sheltered views, while out­ door decks facing the ocean were enclosed on two or three sides with maybe a glass railing, so they would be comfortable even when the wind was howling. However, the Sea Ranch is not a real social place; these are mostly vacation homes, prized for their isolation.

was a great upwelling of interest in protecting the environment and understanding the Earth as one place. “Ecology” was a new concept, at least as a political concept: it be­ came a stand-in for “taking care of the planet.” This environmental movement helped launch the new experimental college major which I joined, enabling me to study all these different subjects that I was interested in. And at that time, did you consider your thesis, or rather your book, in a certain way as a political publication↜? Not at all. Not in an obvious way, of course … Well, I think the only political part of Thermal Delight was that it was focused on indi­ vidual experience. It focused on the vernacular and common culture, as opposed to Grand Architectures as conceived of by the Great Man. So in that sense it was a kind of political statement; but not overtly, more just leaning on one side of a cultural divide. I didn’t think of Thermal Delight as a political statement, I thought of it as a resource for new design ideas↜—↜i.e. that you would read it and it might help you think about alter­ native design opportunities and solutions.

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The Agency of the Body You studied in the late 1960s and early 1970s in Berkeley. There was an emerging ecology movement in the U. S. ╯The Arab oil embargo and the international energy crisis were just happening. Please tell me more about the political situation in those times. Being at Berkeley in 1969 was a bit like living through a civil war. The Berkeley campus was a hotbed of protest, and we had riots and police and the National Guard on cam­ pus on a daily basis. I would go to class with tear gas wafting in: it was just part of the environment. I became very active in the anti-war movement, running teach-ins on non-violent protest and urging young men to resist the military draft. Despite being politically active, I managed to stay in school, unlike most of my friends. In addition to the anti-war movement, there was also a huge upsurge in feminism. There were a lot of women looking at women’s studies and women’s writings and women’s unique voices. That was part of the milieu. 1969 was also the start of, as you said, the environmental movement. That’s when we saw the first Apollo 13 picture of the Earth taken from out­ er space, and it really changed the way people thought about the environment. There

35

Fig.╃13╇ Sea Ranch, 1987.

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/ Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch

Fig.╃14╇ Sea Ranch, Condominium No.╃1, built 1965 by MLTW Architects (Moore Lyndon Turnbull Whitaker). Photo by André Corboz, 1987.

In your book is a bibliography indicating your intellectual influences. Would you mind Â�saying something about these kinds of people, how they influenced you and your work↜? I think my most fundamental motive as architect is taking advantage of natural forces Â� as much as possible. I perceived that all of these people were trying to find a way to do that. Lewis Mumford was one of my early heroes. Kevin Lynch and The Image of the City was a very important early influence for me. Two other books come to mind now. One was Topophilia, by Yi-Fu Tuan: a wonderful discourse on how cultures relate to landscape. The other was J.↜B .╃ Jackson, who was writing about the American land­ scape and how the landscape helped to form the culture, and vice versa. Also Bernard Rudofsky and Rayner Banham were very much part of the conversation, and I loved their books: Architecture without Architects and The Architecture of the Well-Tempered Environment. I didn’t know Ralph Knowles when I was in California. Olgyay’s book was very technical. Another one, Rudolf Geiger with his Climate Near the Ground, was the textbook for our microclimate laboratory. I practically memorized Geiger. His book be­ came very important to the lab. Geiger was amongst those German meteorologists who laid the ground for city climate Â�research. He is a cofounder of the notion of microclimate as scientific concept. Well, my understanding was that Geiger was basically an agricultural researcher. He was trying to understand vineyards and orchards, and maybe that was the source of his funding. I had no idea about his significent place within history, I just read his book.

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Fig.╃15╇ Sea Ranch, Condominium No.╃1, built 1965 by MLTW Architects (Moore Lyndon Turnbull Whitaker). Photo by André Corboz, 1987.

I think what your book brought into the debate, is the body and thermal perception as

From my perspective, you highlight the body, and particularly the brain, as a new agent for experiencing climate. So architecture isn’t in the center of interest anymore, right↜? It’s more about certain kinds of sensation. I think human experience is absolutely fundamental to architecture. I read everything I can find on cognitive sciences and physiology, and try to understand how those find­ ings play out in our relationship to the physical environment, especially the built envi­ ronment. And over time I’ve shifted to thinking primarily about the circadian system. So the body became a new agent in the relationship between architecture and climate. It wasn’t possible to find a similar approach before your book. Well, nobody let people like me into architecture schools before. I was pretty far off the mark in terms of what was acceptable. So I think it was rather experimental of MIT to let me in, because I certainly didn’t fit the standard mold.

Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch╃/╃California (USA )

part of the architectural experience. Nobody in this field managed like you to conceptualize Â� thermal perception and to describe it as a biological system relevant for architecture. Well, that comes from my biology background. I’d had a wonderful physiology class at Berkeley that had included temperature regulation of different animals—lizards and fish and mammals. I knew that there were plenty of engineering handbooks on how to maintain thermal comfort in buildings. And I thought to myself: “OK , that’s for the engineers. Somebody’s already done that. I’ll think about thermal comfort a different way, as a designer.”

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Thermal Comfort versus Thermal Delight Thermal perception is linked to other forms of perception. So it’s not only about thermal perception, but also about the visual aspect of it, the sound, etc. It’s a synesthetic experience … Yes, absolutely. It turns out that our circadian system, which is primarily controlled by our exposure to light, controls our metabolism and our metabolism affects our ther­ mal comfort. So they’re very tightly connected, physiologically, and that’s because our bodies and brains are the integrating mechanism. You know, our bodies don’t differ­ entiate: they take everything in and synthesize it into an understanding of the world. If we’re going to be, as architects, designing spaces, we have to understand all of those influences simultaneously, and get them all right. You can’t slice them, dice them, and cut responsibilities up into little bits for each specialty. I think part of what we at MIT felt was wrong with American architecture was that there was too much slicing and dicing, and not enough thinking about the whole experience. I agree. But it’s very challenging to consider all these aspects of microclimates as cultural and social entities. It’s really a multidisciplinary issue. One of the themes that runs through both thermal comfort issues and the Â�visual Â�environment is dealing with the variability of those environments, and how humans respond to that variability. For example: What kind of clothing you are wearing? And are you moving around, or are you sitting still? The engineering approach is trying to come up with a static environment in which people will be “officially” deemed com­ fortable; but in reality the environments that we find interesting and compelling are environments where temperature changes and wind changes and the sun moves around. Trying to deal with that variability vastly multiplies the design complexity, certainly at a technical level. But that’s why it’s so interesting and invigorating. If you get it right, people feel great. They love it. So what is thermal delight↜? Just pleasure in being alive. Noticing. Experiencing. Reacting. Just like you right now, sitting in the sunshine, with a breeze wafting over you. When you feel at home in a place and everything is going well, and is really buoyant and alive↜—↜it’s pretty nice. But I don’t need engineers and architects for this experience right now out on your patio. But you need engineers and architects, first of all, to not get it wrong. The fact that you’re sitting there in this chair, on this patio, with the sun from the west, is not co­ incidental: that’s how my husband and I designed this house. And you know, the fact that we chose to sit out here this afternoon is because we live in this gorgeous climate and it happens to be pretty nice out here right now. If it happened to be rainy or windy, we’d be back inside, and we’d still have a comfortable and interesting environment in there. But, back to the Bay Area or Los Angeles, naturalistic architecture is about taking advantage as much as possible of the site that you start with —don’t ruin it: enhance it. Make the natural environment as available as possible for human pleasure, and provide comfortable shelter as a back up when the natural world is not immediately available. Here is a quote from your book: “A comfort zone also varies enormously with each individÂ� ual and according to such factors as age, sex and acclimatization. Without standardized 40

light, clothing and low activity levels, one can assume that the range of thermal conditions within which a person can be comfortable is far greater. Despite this variation, the notion of a thermal optimum persists.” (p.╃17) Is “thermal delight” a counter-concept to thermal comfort? Or does it, at least, expand our notion of comfort↜? I think the engineering approach to thermal comfort was avoiding discomfort. It was defined as the absence of discomfort. So if you’re not noticing anything, nothing is go­ ing wrong, you’re not feeling stressed: you must have thermal comfort. Physiologically, thermal comfort means that you’re within the bounds where your body can normally maintain its homeostasis. But your body has a range↜—↜it’s dynamic. If you’re within those boundaries where your body can raise or lower your metabolism slightly, Â� you’re within your comfort zone. That’s thermal comfort. Thermal delight, on the other hand, is when you’re achieving this marvelous dynamic balance; a little bit of breeze or a Â�little bit of sun moving your body in the right direction. Richard de Dear is working on thermal alliesthesia. His definition is that thermal delight is moving your body ther­ mally in the appropriate direction, such that you are achieving your metabolic goals. I think that that is the fundamental physiological mechanism that produces this plea­ sure. Your body says, “Yes, please do more of that: we’re going the right way, this is good!” Our bodies reward us with pleasure for keeping this dynamic balance going. Evolutionarily we also have alarm bells built in to tell us↜—↜“No, you’ve gone too far; go back to your comfort zone, now!”↜—↜and those alarm bells are counter-balanced with this pleasure. There is both an emotional carrot and a stick, getting you to do the right thing physiologically.

Did other people ever explicitly use this concept of thermal delight, either in their work as architects or consultants, or their writings↜? From my perspective it has also practical implications: to design a building without homogenous climatic conditions. In the U.S. , there is this relatively new concept of “hoteling,” which our federal General Services Administration has now adopted as their standard, where people can choose the place where they want to work in an office building, as opposed to being assigned a permanent room, or cubicle, or seat. So they can choose to sit by the atrium, up on the roof or they can choose to sit in the dark interior of the building. And they may have choice in terms of daylight, a view, thermal comfort, noise level, whether the windows are open or not, the number of other people around. But also standing versus sitting desks, couches, chairs, group work tables, isolation rooms. The goal is to create a di­ versity of environments, and allow office workers to select according to their needs and preferences. They can sign up for an hour or a week to use a given spot. In terms of microclimate, I think one implication is that buildings can create interior micro­ climates which don’t need to have constant temperature and humidity. There can be transitional spaces that can take advantage of the sun and the breezes. Radiant heat­

Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch╃/╃California (USA )

Thermal delight promotes a constant change of sensations and highlights the thermal Â�diversity in our environment, right↜? Don’t remain in the comfort zone, with a constant Â�temperature╃ … Yes, because it’s stimulating. It’s more interesting. It’s more pleasurable. It’s about be­ ing alive. A good example of that is the sauna, out in the woods and in the middle of the snow. There you are playing with very big extremes of pleasure in both directions.

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ing and cooling also allow for more asymmetry. Personal heaters or fans, blinds and shades, task lights and floor vents allow occupants to make subtle adjustments within a small radius. I think the thermal-delight implications are to be smart enough to de­ sign a building where occupants have more direct access to some of the natural forces. From Thermal Places to Urban Microclimates A second aspect I found fascinating reading your book, beside the notion of thermal perception, is the notion of thermal places. I think you invented this term. You describe various thermal places, like the sauna for example, all of them with a certain tradition, or a partiÂ� cular cultural or social context. And the Islamic garden is sort of the prototype of all these thermal places. Could you say something about the Islamic garden, or the garden in general, as the mythic origin of microclimatic experiences. Well, when I traveled through Spain and Morocco while working with Christopher Alexander I got to experience the walled garden and the plaza first-hand and started seeing the historical progression and analogies that eventually ended up in my child­ hood in California. And then in India, on the other side of the world, there they were again, these Islamic walled gardens and the fountains. But I think really the most pro­ found thermal places I experienced were south Indian temples, because here you are in this incredibly hot, muggy environment, where it’s really hard to get comfortable, and then you walk into a temple and think, “Oh my goodness, this is a cool, wonderful, inviting place. How did they pull this off?” I was fascinated. I thought it was remark­ able, that the temples were clearly designed as a thermal experience. And the pleasure of coolness was reinforcing the religious experience. That inspired me probably more than any other experience that I had. In writing my book I assumed that if I collected enough cultural examples they would eventually all point to what is in common. I ex­ plored Finnish saunas, Japanese hot baths, Chinese Kang and Indian temples, all by way of trying to understand the universality of thermal experience. And what about contemporary examples of gardens↜? My husband and I just saw a wonderful range of gardens when we were in Adelaide, Australia. There’s a Royal Botanical Garden that’s just an encyclopedia of thermal microÂ�climates. The horticulturalists are trying to get a range of appropriate micro­ climates for their plants from all over the world: deserts, forests, marshes, bush land. They are really locked into the physiology of their plants, so to speak: and the human visitors benefit, because the humans get to move through the different environments and experience them too. So it’s unintentional, in a way, but very tangible because the garden designers are trying to make all this climatic variety happen with just land­ form and shade, ponds and greenhouses. Given that they are working outdoors, they have a heavily restricted palette and yet are accomplishing great things. Reading your book I had the impression that you’re not very concerned with urban conditions. You were talking more about buildings or places within buildings, or particular rooms, even. If you could rewrite this book, or continue to write this book, considering urban conditions today, as you experience them, travelling globally …╃what would emerge↜? I think the outdoor environment in the city is hugely important to public life. Having places where people can be outside and enjoy themselves outdoors and in public is the 42

sign of a great city. Most recently we were really impressed with Sydney and their pub­ lic spaces. A lot of attention is paid to what makes it comfortable for people to be out­ side and enjoying themselves and feeling festive, feeling comfortable at night and feel­ ing safe. Vancouver B.C. also has beautiful public spaces and parks, and knows how to get people outside. Of course they live in a cool cloudy place, so as soon as the sun is out everybody is outside enjoying it. Copenhagen is another example. I was really Â� impressed how they are actively trying to make every part of the city more public and more pedestrian, and make people comfortable with just being outside and being to­ gether. In the U.S. , New York is doing amazing things such as the Highline. After dark, I saw small groups of women sitting outside along the Highline in deep conversation. You would never have seen that in New York City twenty or thirty years ago. I think an excellent test of environmental success is: “Where and when do women feel safe and relaxed?” There are many other cities that are doing a good job on that front: there’s a lot more attention towards making cities more livable and healthy today. And not just talking about it, but trying to really understand the design criteria, and also trying to figure out how to get those criteria into regulations so that they become part of the requirements for developers. For example, Dr.╃R ichard Jackson, at the UCLA School of Public Health, is passionate about identifying how urban design decisions impact human health, and he started forming alliances with architects and planners. There’s been especially interesting research in the landscape architecture literature about how green places affect public health outcomes. The Harvard Chan School of Public Health is using LIDAR satellite images from space to identify where and when the greenery is, and correlating that with massive public health data sets, and finding really impres­ sive correlations between greenery and health. In our research, we conceive urban microclimates both as outside and inside phenomena. What about microclimates within buildings and in urbanized areas↜? The extreme example is probably Las Vegas. If you want to see how bad it can be, you’ve

cal environment would be the television studios I grew up with in Los Angeles. I refer here to these huge, black-out enclosures that create the illusion of real life. If you’re a good art director as my dad was, you know how to create the illusion of daylight, as if people are outside, but they’re not. So there’s intense artificiality in Hollywood. And now we also have the gaming industry, with video games and virtual reality. Silicon Valley is just a few miles from where I live now, and they are really busy at working on how to simulate life for you. So California is really good at artificiality too. In my darker moments I worry virtual reality is going to completely overtake any interest in natural environments.

Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch╃/╃California (USA )

got to go to Las Vegas, because it’s just a completely artificial environment. They have Venetian canals inside of buildings with clouds painted up on the ceilings. Las Vegas is in a big and dry desert, and yet there are fountains spraying water everywhere. It’s crazy. The energy use in Las Vegas is just mind-boggling. Another type of antitheti­

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Baden

GERMANY AUSTRIA

SWITZERLAND SLOVENIA

Nerviano Chieri

Milan Pavia Lodi River Po Piacenza Bologna

FRANCE

Florence

I TA LY

100 km

Citizens and Climate Microclimatic Patterns in Medieval Cities (Northern Italy) Roberto Leggero “A wise man should build rather for summer than for winter. We may easily arm our­ selves against the cold by making all close, and keeping good fires; but many more things are requisite against heat, and even all will sometimes be no great relief. Let winter rooms therefore be small, low and little windows, and summer ones, on the contrary, large, spacious, and open to cool breezes, but not to the sun or the hot air that comes from it. A great quantity of air enclosed in a large room, is like a great quantity of water, not easily heated.”↜1 The words of Leon Battista Alberti (1404↜–↜1472)↜—↜an import­ ant witness to the conditions and characteristics of medieval cities↜—↜raise a problem for which, he believes, there was only a partial solution for the houses of the affluent. Building a townhouse for more common people “for summer” was a completely dif­ ferent matter.2 In medieval times, the means to create favorable microclimates for ur­ ban living in the winter months were less effective, and as a result, the quality of life in urban districts at the time was less differentiated than it is today. While the qual­ ity of clothes and the quantity of purchasable heating fuel made some differences in heating saturation, there were also practices↜—↜such as the cultivation of vegetable gar­ dens↜—↜that promoted a more favorable microclimate for different population groups. The first step to creating a positive correlation between climate and the city is the choice of location for a new settlement. Historically, city-building was always relat­ ed to key natural factors; nevertheless, Alberti wrote that the possibility of choosing a site that could meet all architectural and urban requirements was very rare. Typi­ cally, climate was not the first factor to be considered; the more important parame­ ters were of a political nature. This chapter examines and analyzes the ways citizens 44

and political institutions created microclimates in medieval cities in northern Italy. Reference is made to the establishment of new cities such as Cuneo, Alessandria and Lodi (the latter being both a displacement and a reconstruction site), rather than the numerous villefranche, villenove (new settlements) or boroughs. The different sections highlight the importance of various means of passive climate control. Particular Â�attention is given to adaptations of the built environment↜—↜be they curved narrow al­ leys, arched colonnades, vegetable gardens, moats or public wells↜—↜and their relation to political decisions. Further, the focus on microclimates offers insights into every­ day living conditions and the quality of life with regard to thermal regulation in, and through, architecture. Medieval Northern Italy saw the founding of only a few new cities; the most im­ portant cities dating, however, back to the Roman era. Moreover, even in the Middle Ages, and just as it is today, the creation of a new city was a complex matter. There was a standard rule: the institutional foundation of a medieval city was always the bishop’s chair, and only the town that was the seat of a diocese was a “city” (civitas) in its own right. While there were, of course, other formal and informal elements that character­ ized a city, such as city walls, the market and various immaterial factors, a medieval city was basically “a state of mind.”↜3 Take the case of Milan, for example. Its foundation dates back to the pre-Roman era, but in the 13th century, when Bonvesin de la Riva wrote about the reasons of the success of the city, he drew readers’ attention to two peculiar features of the alluvial plane upon which Milan had been built (Fig.╃3): the abundance of water sources and the climate, which he cited as “temperate.” According to de la Riva, “The cold in winter is not intolerable, nor in summer does the excessive heat produce a rise of internal body temperature.” Moreover, the number of fresh water springs and the absence of swamps, ponds, fog or stinks were other important features for building the city there.4 De la Riva is not the only one who mentions water as fundamental element for city life. Opicino de Canistris (1296↜–↜1350↜/↜1352) also presents Pavia as a wonderful site of healthy flowing waters, fertile pastures, pro­ ductive fields, vineyards and woods.5 That

determining the city’s location, and applies to almost all the cities in Northern Italy, even where, nowadays, there are no rivers, such as in Milan. And clearly, the presence of water is an important element when inquiring into the production of microclimates (Fig.╃1). Another crucial factor connected to the construction of a city was its transportation networks.↜7 The reconstruction of one of Milan’s great enemies, the city of Lodi (some 20╯k ilo­ Fig.╃1╇ Public water source.

meters south of Milan), is a partial exception, since it was built in an area where vital trade

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

water was a fundamental element is obvious; the necessity to provide a constant and large amount of water for the population, granted by a river, for example,6 was instrumental in

45

Fig.╃2╇ Milan, Saint Tecla, the Baptistery of Saint John ad fontes and Saint Maria Maggiore, Milano Saint Tecla.

46

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

Fig.╃3╇ View of canal and Church of San Marco in Milan, 1835, Angelo Inganni.

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routes were still to be established. In fact, it was the control of communication routes that led to a conflict with Milan. Â�Originally built on the shore of Lambro River, Lodi was destroyed by Milan twice, first in 1111, then again in 1158. Lodi’s inhabitants asked Emperor Frederik I for permission to rebuild the city seven kilometers away from its previous site, in a place called Mount Ghezzone, a rocky spur near the Adda River. Ac­ cording to the key record of the events, a history of Lodi (De rebus Laudensibus) written by Ottone Morena↜—↜eyewitness to most of them↜—↜t he emperor decided to visit the new place before authorizing the location. Frederik arrived at Mount Ghezzone followed by his staff, his guards, and the citizens of Lodi in arms. While they were examining the site, the sunny weather suddenly Â� changed into a light rain that soon ceased. Everyone considered this an auspicious sign (bono est acceptum ab omnibus)↜—↜Ottone Morena wrote that it was a “miracle” (divinum miraculum)↜—↜and the emperor decided to give his approval to Lodi’s reconstruction.8 Despite the “miraculous” event, the local mi­ croclimate was likely not very pleasant; the city was built near swamplands, certainly not healthy but useful for its resources and for defense. The location and climate of cities are important, not only for the well-being of in­ habitants, but also for their agricultural activities. Medieval cities used to be agricul­ tural production centers. The name of the most important communal building, the broletto (city hall), comes from brolium or broglium, a generic term indicating a field where fruit trees are planted. Secondly, the brolium was used to describe the kitchen garden of the bishop.9 Entering a Medieval Italian City Travelers (pilgrims, merchants, students) who entered a medieval Italian city in the 12th or 13th century usually had to cross peri-urban vegetable gardens and moats (Fig.╃4). According to On the Marvels of Milan by de la Riva, Milan’s moat was rich of fish and shellfish.10 The moat was fed by two rivers and the channels that ran inside the city were also used by manufacturers and craftsmen. The presence of channels inside the city also had an impact on the microclimate. As public places, cathedrals and churches played the same role as the Roman basili­ cas had previously (Fig.╃2). Key business transactions were made in the cathedral’s side chapels, and decisions were often taken in the prestigious, neutral and serious location. Braziers created a quite comfortable microclimate even in the cold of winter. Travelers were sometimes eager to visit the cathedral, both to thank the Lord and to visit church relics. In Pavia, according to De Canistris, two cathedrals could be found up until the 14th century: one “summer cathedral” (estimali) “where the Canons [regu­ larly] officiate in summer,” and one “winter cathedral” (yemali) where “they officiate in winter.” The clergy primarily used the two churches for different liturgical events, but the structures’ different orientations also created different seasonal interior Â�climates.11 In some cities, such as Trier, Lion, Verona and Aosta, a hypocaust was used to heat up the presbytery or other parts of the churches.12 Hence, the interiors of the two build­ ings enabled citizens to escape from harsh outdoor weather conditions,13 shelter from rain, or summer sun. Citizens also used the cathedral and other churches as a meet­ ing place. In Boccaccio’s Decameron, we read of young Florentine women sitting on the floor of Saint Maria Novella and chatting about whether to leave the city because of the black plague.14 48

Fig.╃4╇ Map of Trento, woodcut, 1562.

ting. One of the Taccuinum Sanitatis miniatures shows an innkeeper offering a glass of wine to tired, red-faced and sweaty guests.15 The two men are travelling in different ways: one is riding a horse, the other is walking with a bundle. The rider is reaching out to accept the glass from the innkeeper, the walker likely has a flask at his belt. The innkeeper’s standing under the doorjamb waiting for his clients is remarkable; gener­ ally, it was forbidden for innkeepers or their procurers to move away from the tavern and seek out and chat with new clients. Just like today, the inns had bedrooms and beds, but sometimes travelers had to share the same bed with other guests: a simple and effective exploitation of body heat (Fig.╃5). More commonplace ways helped to tackle the hot weather. Vegetable gardens and small plantations were located both inside and outside the city walls.16 In large cities today, urban agricultural practices markedly enhance the urban environment and the quality of life, and also mitigate the climatic effects. In the past, however, the green zones outside and inside the city also had another effect: they served to dampen the idea that the walls could mark a clear-cut boundary between the countryside and the city.17 In medieval times, while private ornamental gardens were not among the status symbols of the most affluent, urban vegetable gardens were considered very useful for

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

Taverns and inns also offered travelers hospitality, refreshment and a warm set­

49

the household economy. The famous poet Francesco Petrarca (1304↜–↜1374), for example, was a devoted gardener who had a vegetable garden both in Parma and in Milan. Since the house that the Visconti made available to the poet had no outdoor space, Petrarca got authorization to use a part of Saint Ambrogio’s monastery garden↜—↜right next to his house↜—↜for his agricultural experiments. In 1353, he planted spinach, turnip, fennel, parsley and, few years later, six bay trees and a single olive tree.18 Grapevine was com­ monly cultivated inside and outside in many medieval cities. A paleo-botany analysis concerning the 8↜–↜9th centuries in Naples showed that grape, sloes, walnuts, hazelnuts, cabbages and spinach were all cultivated in urban vegetable gardens in central city ar­ eas, and both inside and outside the city walls (grapevine, primarily).19 Archeological analyses documented that between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance in Ferrara, cooks used more than 75 plants↜—↜most of which were grown in the city or in the prox­ imity.20 In Florence, prior to the 13th century, the streets were so far apart “especially in the areas closest to the last circle of walls” that “the buildings lining them consumed a very small part of the available ground.”↜21 In short, any free areas were used as gar­ den, farmland or working areas. Microclimates within the Medieval City Having visited the cathedral and wandering around in the streets, travelers were prob­ ably glad for the colonnade that shielded them from the heat of the summer sun and the cold winter rain. The portici (porches)↜—↜called coperta in Milan according to de la

Fig.╃5╇ Boccaccio, De Camerone, 16th century.

50

Fig.╃6╇ The Wooden Arcade of Palazzo Grassi, via Marsala, Bologna.

Fig.╃7╇ Structural detail of Bologna’s Â�portici.

Riva (1974)↜—↜and the evolution of the sporti↜—↜closed balconies on corbels born as a re­ sponse to the limited spaces of the walled city↜—↜were usually built on public ground.22 Starting in the 13th century, the communal authorities decided to regulate the situ­ ation, and ordered the colonnades to be built exclusively on private terrain to Â�limit the deterioration of public soil. Those arches were especially useful for craftsmen; now, they could work outdoors, and nevertheless enjoy protection from the natural Â�elements. At the same time, however, they were also highly practical for common Â� people. In fact, thanks to a low wall that usually linked the columns, the passageway

forbidden to dig up the ground to reach the distance between the floor and the top. The penalty for such an offence was three pounds of bolognini. In addition, the arcades of the city or urban neighborhoods had to be kept clear so that everyone could come and go through them.23 Planning to dominate the town, the Duke of Milan, Giovan­ ni Maria Visconti (1388↜–↜1412), heavily taxed the owners of “the columns of the portici and the balconies.”↜24 His successor, Ludovico Maria Sforza (1452↜–↜1508), planned an im­ portant regulatory intervention in 1493: “make the city more beautiful” by destroying the portici altogether. This decision was a real act of force. It was extremely costly for citizens and it violated the local traditions, so caused strong resistance and was ulti­ mately proven ineffective.25 These examples highlight the conviction that political initiative, even when aimed at other purposes↜—↜as in the case of the Duke of Milan↜—↜can measurably influence the

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

under the arches was protected both from the rain and from dirty water and mud (Figs.╃6 and 7). So while on rainy days, the streets might be muddy and uncomfortable, the soil under the arches stayed dry: important, given that this was before the days of water-�resistant shoes. City rules usually fixed the height of the colonnade in order to permit a man on a horse to pass under its arches (equitare) or find shelter there. The Statutes of Bologna (1250) dictated that all porches or porch beams of the city houses, or those in boroughs and outlying areas stand at least seven feet (about 2.66 meters) off the ground. It was

51

Fig.╃8╇ Section of Fonte Nuova public water source in Siena.

52

relationship between citizens and climate. In addition to the ways described above that mitigated the climate through the built environment, unpleasant urban micro­ climates were also employed politically as a kind of real “weapon” in power relations. To make someone wait for hours or days under the hot sun, or other adverse weather conditions to weaken him was a simple and effective way to demonstrate power. The famous episode of the Humiliation of Canossa shows it very effectively. The Â�Emperor Henry╯I V was forced to wait outside the Canossa Castle for no fewer than three days in harsh weather to meet the Pope in order to obtain the annulment of the excommu­ nication. If thirsty after wandering around in a medieval city, travelers took benefit from the civic water sources or public wells (putei vicinalis). Fountains, wells and public baths (stufe) were used to mitigate excess heat. In Milan in the 13th century, there were some 6,000 wells, both public and private. “Almost in every house there is a water source named ‘well’.”↜26 Sometimes the public sources were wonderful monuments. This was not the case for the water-abundant cities of Milan and Florence, but in water-poor Â� Siena, for example, monumental structures were built around the wells in every city district (Fig.╃8). This decision to do so emphasized the presence and the authority of a solid political power and pride in making the water widely accessible.27 These public wells were part of a political program, and specialized officers carried out the neces­ sary controls over water withdrawal usually in the warmer months between May to September.28 Crossing the city, travelers appreciated the narrow streets, built in a zigzag course to turn away the winter winds. Alberti wrote about the advantages of crooked city streets: in summer, they were always shady but, once a day, every house would catch the sun’s rays.29 Furthermore, crooked streets facilitated summer breezes, while pro­ tecting people from harmful winds in the cold season. Citing Tacitus, Alberti writes that when Emperor Nero decided to enlarge the streets of Rome, the city became warm­ er and more unhealthy. After the year 1282, however, the merchant government of Flor­ ence started an ambitious program of reconstruction and expansion of the urban en­ vironment: “Straight, wide streets were the primary instrument of change. The new roadways rationalized the city’s space and improved hygiene.”↜30 Of course, the new

starting in the 12th century, the public authorities modified the course of the streets by unbending them. The newly-built foundation boroughs (villenove, borghinuovi) were already organized around straight streets and regular lots. Sometimes, due to the high urban towers common to every medieval Italian city, narrow and angled streets failed to give enough protection from winds or heat (Fig.╃9). They caused well-known phenomena such as street canyons and the augmentation of wind at soil level, just we know around modern skyscrapers. Something of vertical city avant la lettre, these towers, both in Milan and Bologna, likely numbered more than one hundred, and they could reach an altitude of 95 meters. In addition to the private towers, there were the bell-towers, some 120 bell-towers in Milan alone.32

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

government wanted to improve its access and control of the streets inhabited by the more powerful families: “From a townscape of isolated neighborhoods shot through with back alleys” accessible only to local people and family members (the two groups often merged) “and dominated by the urban castle of the powerful extended families […] the government attempted to remake the city into a spatially unified whole.”↜31 Also

53

Fig.╃9╇ View of Pavia, 1550.

Fighting the Heat For the most part, ordinary rural and urban life in medieval Northern Italy took place outdoors. On working days, people usually were busy in front of their shops, men and women chatting on the doorsteps, the town criers wandering along the streets. Money exchange and financial services, sermons, markets, shows and performances were all taking place, too, both in the streets and on the squares. As the Goodman of Paris Â�cited: “The trouble and care of outside affairs lieth with men, so must husbands take heed, and go and come, and journey hither and thither, in rain and wind, in snow and hail, now drenched, now dry, now sweating, now shivering, ill-fed, ill-lodged, ill-warned and ill-bedded.”↜33 High temperatures in summer were not only unpleasant as such, but they also pro­ duced a whole gamut of putrid smells, whether from the organic waste from handcraft­ ed production (tanneries, slaughterhouses) or from human waste that was dumped and accumulated in the ritane, or very narrow passages between two houses. More than the narrow passages and streets could be obstructed, though. The 1311 Chieri’s Statute orders that there be no blockage of the cobbled roads with animal obstacles such as pigs, other impedimenta (obstacles) like the troughs used in feeding the pigs, manure, drainage ditches or toilets.34 All these items were not only obstacles to the free movement of people, but also the cause of rank odors. The importance of clear water as a tool to reduce unpleasant smells and refresh and cool down in the city is preserved in the Statutes of Ivrea, a city in Piedmont. The Stat­ utes order the owners of a house near the city’s main portal to cover the “little water source” used to wash out a toilet in the ritana near the house, thereby avoiding that any filth reach the public street. Moreover, the 14th century Statutes of Ivrea, Chieri and Casale ordered the closure of toilets near the public streets, of houses that had a cesspool near them, and of any dirty waters flowing out from the houses and along the streets. At the same time, the Statutes prescribe to cover and protect the main water 54

source by inhibiting street dirt from polluting the watercourse.35 In many cases, the privy shaft did not communicate with a pit. In London, along the waterfront, some privies “emptied directly into the river”↜36 preventing any problems linked to smells and relocating the waste.37 However, summer was a tough season for more than the reasons above. Alberti recommended that: “Account should […] be taken of the season, so that the rooms in­ tended for summer use should not be the same as those intended for use in winter, in that they should have different sizes and locations; summer rooms should be more open, nor is it amiss if winter ones are more closed in; summer ones require shade and draught, while winter ones need sunlight.”↜38 To avoid the summer heat, aristocrats in medieval Italian cities typically moved out of town to their country houses. Boccaccio’s Decamerone refers to this habit, even if the book contends that the young aristocrats were, in fact, escaping the Black plague, not the heat. However, the two phenomena were often linked.39 Alberti wrote about this issue too, explaining that country houses were useful during the summer months.40 To give just one example from the 15th century, Antoniolo Crivelli, a wealthy Milanese businessman, wrote in his will that he used to spend time in Nerviano, a small village in the northwestern part of the contado of Milan, approx. 15 kilometers northwest of downtown Milan. He did so “for pleasure” and to hunt. Nerviano was among those “beautiful and enjoyable places” of the contado.41 Crivelli hosted relatives and friends in his summer residence.42 Those who stayed in town protected themselves from the excessive heat by attaching curtains on the outside of their windows (Fig.╃10). Remov­ able sticks were passed through rings that were fixed in the buildings’ facades.43 In summer, thanks to the large number of water sources in Milan, people who could afford wine would plunge little glass bottles (ampulle vino pregnantes) into cold streams “to cool down the wine temperature” (unde ibi vinum refrigeretur).44 The 13th-century chronicler Salimbene de Adam wrote that the Apostolic legate Filippo da Pistoia, in his palace in Argenta, “in every corner of the building […] had a pitcher of exquisite wine that was merged in a container full of cold water.”↜45 It is peculiar, but hardly anything

about them. Agostino Gallo, in his 16th-cen­ tury tract The thirteen days of genuine agriculture,46 specifies that the cellar must be located underground and have a vaulted ceiling and thick walls to be dark, cold and dry.47 In fact, both in the countryside and in town, the cel­

Fig.╃10╇ Rings and curtain poles.

lars were simple buildings with a locked door, little windows and, where possible, located at some distance from stinky drains, wells and stables. In aristocratic buildings, cellars might

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

is known about medieval cellars, the most im­ portant architectural element in which to pre­ serve food and drink from cold or heat (and from thieves and disloyal servants) (Fig.╃11). They were called caneva or canipa in east Lom­ bardy, cella vinaria (wine cellar) in Milan. Ital­ ian sources and writers give little information

55

be located at the ground floor, near the kitchen.48 Only from the 15th century onwards did vaulted cellars in aristocratic, new buildings became commonplace for preserving fine wines and foodstuffs.49 The warm season amplified some problems, among them, the stink of waste materials and wastewaters that the various urban activities produced. Sometimes, waste material hindered the flow of dirty waters along the streets or in the sewers, and in case of prolonged or heavy rains, caused or contributed to the inundation of ground floors, stables or latrines.50 Because of this, and especially if the master of the house had a commer­ cial activity, or was part of a religious institution, the second floor (often called solarium) in two-story houses could be used as a storage room to preserve grains from humidity, floods and wastewaters that could affect the ground floor.51 A common way to cool one’s body during hot sum­ Fig.╃11╇ The cellar. Note the large key hanging mer seasons was to take a bath, especially for people from the belt of the cellar master, 14th or 15th century. of lower social status. Bathing traditions differed from place to place. In the 15th century, when Â�courtly habits were quite common among the intellectuals in Italy, Poggio Bracciolini described, in one of his most renowned letters, his utter astonishment at visiting the baths in Baden, Switzerland↜52 and finding that the Swiss were less ashamed than Italians were. They used to stay in public baths, men and women together, almost naked, all day long, eat­ ing, drinking, playing and chatting. According to Bracciolini’s description, the public baths in Baden were visited to cure female infertility and more for fun than for cool­ ing or heating bodies. Fighting the Cold In order to fight the winter cold, the windows were mostly closed due to the lack of windowpanes (Fig.╃1 2). Additionally, they were shut with parchments or tarp (waxed cloth) so that the light (but not the wind) could enter. As Hawkes notes for medieval England, the rooms, especially the bedrooms, were small, and the walls covered with tapestry and “whilst these would be primarily decorative and symbolic, they would have the effect of, in the parlance of modern building science, improving the thermal response of the chamber, enhancing the sense of warmth.”↜53 Just to underscore the cli­ matic conditions that could occur in winter: in 1318, the Po River froze and, according to a contemporary source, “You have to put the bread in front of the fire to be able to eat it.” In February 1319, Lombardy was hit by a heavy snowfall that left ice on the streets until mid-March.54 As Alberti commented: “For our houses, our cloaths, fires, and ex­ ercise, will easily overcome the cold” but there was a more insidious danger lurking: “It is held for certain, that all bodies corrupt with too much humidity.”↜55 Usually, the first floor of the aristocracy’s city houses had a room called the camera caminata or simply caminata meaning “room with a fireplace.” The evolution of the fireplace started with an open hearth, often without a chimney and located on the 56

ground floor (Fig.╃1 3). Some were limited by a simple frame of edging stones.56 A sec­ ond step in this evolution was the elevation of the fireplace onto a stone base with a hood to eliminate the smoke via holes opened in the walls. The last step was the con­ struction of exhaust pipes and chimneys.57 Archival sources also testify to the wide­ spread presence of fireplaces in the towns of the Po Valley, which is obvious because of its cold winter climate.58 Nevertheless, even near a fireplace, some additional pre­ cautions were taken to avoid the cold: winter dresses were usually long and covered the hands, leaving only the fingers exposed. Blankets were used to cover seats, and seats themselves usually had footrests in order to avoid direct contact with the floor for prolonged periods (Fig.╃1 2).

Fig.╃12╇ Le Maître de Flémalle, L’Annonciation, 15th century.

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

A wonderful witness to all those tricks is the painting Saint Barbara (1438) by Â�Robert Campin, housed in the Museo del Prado in Madrid. Under a green blanket worn as a cloak, Saint Barbara wears a blue dress lined with fur and a golden petticoat. Another blanket has been placed on the bench. The seat-back can be reversed, permitting the sitter to settle down in front of the fireplace and heat up the back or the chest without moving the bench. There is also evidence↜—↜especially in later periods when the dimen­ sions of the living rooms were enlarged↜—↜that screens were used “to make smaller en­ closures within a room and, if placed close to fireplace, would have created a warmer

57

microclimate within the general environment of the room.”59 In winter, the drive to warm up was more important than any other consideration as we can see in one of the delightful miniatures of the 15th century manuscript, Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, February (Fig.╃14). Two figures in the left corner immodestly lift up their tunics in front of a fireplace.60 The min­ iature shows also different ways of dressing in winter, depending on activities the peas­ ant working class figures are carrying out. Because the manuscript comes from north­ ern Europe, the Â�miniature shows a sense of decency that likely differs from the Italian model. Also on Benedetto AnteÂ� lami’s 12th-Â� century representation of January (in his fa­ Fig.╃13╇ Sitting around the fire in winter. mous month-cycle intended for a portal on the facade of the Duomo in Parma), we can see an old man seated and trying to warm up in front of the fire. In fact, he is lifting up his overcoat, exposing the tunic.61 To fight the cold, a warm bath was also a common activity, and it could be taken at home or in a public bathhouse. Eventually, the caloric value of clean dress was clear: “To be unshod before a good fire, to have his feet washed and fresh shoes and hose […] and the next day fresh shirts and garnements.”↜62 Prior to the 11th century, furs were used to defer the cold. They were rarely precious or imported from distant countries. One of the characteristics of medieval dress was the overlapping of garments, both in summer and in winter. In winter, people might wear a fur-lined coat over other gar­ ments. Goat or sheep furs cost the same as more ordinary fabrics, and were bought by those without the means to acquire more beautiful↜—↜not necessarily more effi­ cient↜—↜aids in fighting the cold. Although water was vitally important for the cities, it could also cause natural di­ sasters: Giovanni Villani’s Nuova Cronica (XII , 1),63 described a catastrophic cloudburst that hit Florence in 1333, carrying on for four days and three nights. The Arno River flooded the city, causing building damages of 150 florins, and 300 deaths. The mills erected near the Arno were all destroyed, which led to a major shortage of flour and bread after the flood. On February 21, 1325, a lightning bolt hit and destroyed the bell tower of the ancient church, Saint Savino in Piacenza. Considering all the open fires that were used in a medieval city, the fear of conflagration was omnipresent, not owing only to lightning strike. From the 12th century onwards, authorities tried to avoid the problem of fire by prohibiting thatched roof. This kind of roof, in fact, was less expen­ sive, lighter and more efficient in terms of insulation and protection from drafts com­ pared to other types of more costly roofs. Fear of fire led builders to substitute the walls of buildings’ upper floors↜—↜hitherto set with plastered webs of branches↜—↜with brick walls. In spite of legal injunctions, roofs continued to be built with a wide range of ma­ terials for a long time.64 Thirteenth-century sources usually cite roof tiles as covering 58

the roof.65 Other materials used for roofing↜—↜such as lead↜—↜were even more expen­ sive, although, according to scholars, “no heavier than thatch and lighter than tiles.”↜66 Clearly, only select houses had this kind of covering, which was ordinarily Â�reserved for the richest residences or churches. Conclusion: Microclimates and Political Power in Medieval Cities In the preceding pages, I tried to give a general perspective of the problem of the rela­ tionship between cities and climate from a historical perspective on medieval cities in Northern Italy. The production of microclimates is the object of study in present-day cities, but the historical accounts show its diachronic and cross-cultural relevance. As

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

Fig.╃14╇ Les très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, February, 15th century.

59

a complement to the other contributions in this book, a main objective of this chapter, then, was to highlight the relationship between politics and urban microclimates. The attention given to the basic building structures, uses and family customs, or even to individual practices to help withstand the rigors of the climate does not mean to forget that the city is a political institution.67 In it↜—↜and through it↜—↜functions, procedures, and ways of life were developing as a result of a “proper urban way of thinking and representing” power.68 Power manifested spatially on the territory, as it were. We can approach this power through the study of the relationship between public and private spaces, the services provided by the city (e.g. fountains) and other services delegated to personal resources (e.g. private wells). The political character is manifest in Statutes, decrees and injunctions that regulate the built structures of these cities and emphasize the man-made and partly-planned character of microclimates. In fact, even if the social inequality related to climate was to some extent less Â� evident in medieval cities than today, the gap between the rich and the poor was especially present in summer. The former could enjoy shady gardens and well-Â� Â� ventilated houses and had the possibility to escape the heat by leaving the town for a while. As mentioned, the availability of green areas, fountains, gardens, access to open spaces in summer and closed and warm spaces in winter, changed the way of experiencing the city in relation to the climate. As outlined with the given examples, many changes in the built environment were connected to public decisions↜—↜and, as one moves towards the modern era, to the grace of the power↜— as a result of the trans­ formations of the institutional arrangements. I believe that there are three directions that future research could explore: first­ ly, the whole urban structure often results from decision-making about its location (such as being or not being crossed by rivers and channels, building or not building on hilly terrain) and that these decisions could be reconsidered as the preeminent micro­ climate building factor. Secondly, the climate has a powerful influence on agriculture. In the growing interest of scholars for urban agriculture, both within and outside of the walls, this factor might also be considered.69 Thirdly, another theme that deserves to be explored is the multiple use of ancient buildings to protect against the climate, by virtue of their multi-purpose character. We mentioned it considering the use of the churches, but it could also extend to other typologies of buildings, such as towers, warehouses or castles, and their uses. Finally, I agree with the critique that in the examination of the medieval works of art we often find an abuse of the concept of “symbolization,” extending improperly the idea that in the eyes of common people of that era, every object had a transcen­ dental meaning. This opinion certainly ought to be downsized.70 An assessment of the Â�representation of microclimates underlines that far from symbolical meaning, amend­ ments of the built environment were anchored in everyday needs to create comfort­ able microclimates.

60

different ways of access, for the easy bringing in all manner of necessaries, both by land carriage and water carriage, as well in winter as in summer.”╇↜8╇ Gütembork, FerdiÂ�nand (Ed.). 1930. Ottonis Morenae et continuatorum Historia Frederici I . Berlin: Widmann, p.╃51↜–↜52.╇↜9╇ Heers, Jacques. 1996 . La città nel medioevo in Occidente: paesaggi, poteri e conflitti. Milano: Jaca Book, p.╃4 59.╇↜10╇ De la Riva (1974, 4): “Eius fossatum admirande pulcritudinis et latitudinis, non paludem, non stagnum putridum, sed aquam fontium vivam, pissibus et cancris fertilem, continens.”╇↜11╇ De Canistris (1903 , 4): “In basilica enim estivali, que est sancti Stephani in aquilone, celebrant in estate Canonici. In basilica vero yemali sancte Marie in meridie, celebrant in yeme”. Pracchi refuses, due to technical reasons, the idea that there was a seasonal turnover linked to the climate, assigning the origin of twin cathedrals to theological and symbolic causes (Pracchi, Attilio. 1996 . La cattedrale antica di Milano. Il problema delle chiese doppie tra tarda antichità e medioevo. Roma: Laterza). Piva prefers another solution: the climate was not the reason for building double cathedrals but they can be useful to mitigate the harsh weather (Piva, Paolo. 1990↜a. Le cattedrali lombarde. Ricerche sulle “cattedrali doppie” da sant’Ambrogio all’età romanica. Quistello (MN ): Ceschi.↜/ Piva, Paolo. 1990↜b. La cattedrale doppia. Una tipologia architettonica e liturgica del Medioevo. Bologna: Patron). See also Testini, Pasquale. 1980. Archeologia cristiana. Nozioni generali dalle origini alla fine del sec.╃V I . Bari: Edipuglia, p.╃613 .╇↜12╇ Pracchi (1996, 63): “Espediente adatto ai grandi ambienti, e perciò tipico dei complessi termali, l’ipocausto era impiegato a volte nelle chiese, anche doppie. La sua presenza è accertata nella basilica meridionale di Treviri […] e in quella settentrionale di Lione […] nella chiesa più antica del gruppo episcopale di Verona (la chiesa A),” see also Pracchi (1996, 64 , note 43).╇↜13╇ Piva (1990↜a).↜ /↜Piva (1990↜b).╇↜14╇ Boccaccio, GioÂ� vanni. 1956. Decamerone. Torino: Einaudi, p.╃14: “Le quali, non già da alcuno proponimento tirate ma per caso in una delle parti della chiesa adunatesi, quasi in cerchio a seder postesi, dopo più sospiri lasciato stare il dir de’ paternostri, seco delle qualità del tempo molte e varie cose cominciarono a ragionare”, as shown by MS. ╃Holkham (in Boccaccio 1956, misc.╃49). The English translations sometimes forget the detail that the women were “sitting (on the floor)”: “‘Twas not of set purpose but by mere chance that these ladies met in the same part of the church; but at length grouping themselves into a sort of circle, after having a few sighs, they gave up saying paternosters, and began to converse (among other topics) on the times” (Brown University. 2014 . “Decameron Web.” Italian Studies Department’s Virtual Humanities Lab, Accessed on April 12, 2018 . http://www.brown.edu↜/↜Departments↜/↜Italian_Studies↜/↜dweb/).╇↜15╇ Ibn Butlân. 1887. “Tacuinum sanitatis.” Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Département des Manuscrits, Latin 6977. Accessed on April 12 , 2018 . http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148 /btv1b105072169/f1.image. r=butl%C3 %A2n.╇↜16╇ Friedman, David. 1988. Florentine New Towns: Urban Design in the Late Middle Ages. New York: Architectural History Foundation↜/↜MIT Press series, p.╃3 16↜–↜17: The “town council” of Scarperia assigns a garden plot outside the north gate of the castle to one of the

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

↜1╇ Alberti, Leon Battista. 1755 . The Ten Books of Architecture. London: Edward Owen, p.╃110.╇↜2╇ De Minicis, Elisabetta (Ed.). 1990. Atti del convegno. La città e le case. Centri fondati e tipi edilizi nell’Italia comunale (secc. XII↜–↜XV ). Roma: Aracne.↜/↜Brogiolo, Gian Pietro (Ed.). 1994 . Edilizia residenziale tra V e VIII secolo. Mantova: Società Archeologica Padana.↜/↜Schofield, John. 2003 . Medieval London Houses. New Haven: Yale University Press.↜/↜Mannoni, Tiziano. 2004 . “Case di città e case di campagna.” In Storia della cultura ligure, edited by Dino Puncuh. Genova: Atti della Società ligure di Storia Patria.↜/↜Augenti, Â�Andrea, Enrico Cirelli and Davide Marino. 2009. “Case e magazzini a Classe tra VII e VIII secolo: nuovi dati dal quartiere portuale.” In V ╯Congresso Nazionale di Archeologia Medievale, edited by Giuliano Volpe and Pasquale Favia. Firenze: All’insegna del Giglio.╇↜3╇ Bordone, Renato. 2002. Uno stato d’animo. Memoria del tempo e comportamenti urbani nel mondo comunale italiano. Firenze: Firenze University Press.╇↜4╇ De la Riva, Bonvesin. 1974. De magnalibus urbis Mediolani. (Edited by M.╃Corti.) Milano: Bompiani, p. 2: “Suntne ibi paludes aut lacus putride suis nebullis atque fetoribus aerem corrumpentes? non certe.” Despite what ancient historians claim, the reason that brought the bishop of Vercelli Uguccione to found a new town (Biella Piazzo) next to the old one (Biella) in the 12 th century was not connected to the climate. Aurelio Corbellini (a 17th century historian) wrote that one of the (most important) reasons was that Uguccione was delighted by the sweetness of the air. Very appropriately in the 18 th century Mullatera wrote that the real reason for the decision of the bishop to change the location of Biella, rebuilding it on the heights surrounding it, was the desire to regain control over Biella. (Mullatera, Tommaso. 1728 . Memorie cronologiche e corografiche della città di Biella. Biella: Antonio Caiani, p.╃28)╇↜5╇ De Canistris, Opicino. 1903 . Anonymus Ticinensis. Liber de laudibus civitatis ticinensis, (Edited by Rodolfo Maiocchi and Ferruccio Quintavalle.) Città di Castello: Lapi, p.╃3: “Hec quidem civitas aquis salubris irrigua, pascuis uberrima, agris, vineis et nemoribus fructifera, ac cunctis humane vite necessariis copiosa.”╇↜6╇ Quiney, Antony. 2003 . Town Houses of Medieval Britain. New Haven: Yale University Press, p.╃91: “Water supply and sanitation […] were harder to arrange in many towns than in the countryside by virtue of their dense populations. […] A clean water supply was crucial to health, but bacteria were unrecognized, and taste and smell were the only guides to hygiene. Rivers, stream and wells were customary sources of water, serving the needs of both drinking and washing as well as those of dissent when water was short.” In 1338 , the London Parliament passed a sanitation act “prohibiting the pollution of rivers and other watercourses, but this only gave ineffective national forces to what local by-laws already were failing to archive in most large towns” (De Canistris 1903 , 93). The Statutes of Chieri (Piedmont) of the year 1311, prohibit citizens to throw either manure or carrion into the city’s moat (Cibrario, Luigi. 1827. Statuti, capitoli ed ordinamenti del commune di Chieri, in Storie di Chieri. Libri quattro con documenti, Volume╯ II , edited by Luigi Cibrario. Torino: Regia Accademia delle Scienze, p.╃194).╇↜7╇ Alberti (1755 , 5): “I should rather choose a region that had many and

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settlers: “Capitanei populi [of Scarperia] […] concesserunt pro orto faciendo Iohanni quondam Becciardi de Rocca, terragini dicti castri [Scarperia was a castle not a town] […] uno stariorum terre […] posite extra portam Bononiensem, de retro ortis qui sunt iuxta stratam publicam.” ↜17╇ This was the side effect of agricultural practices but it was also a description of the political relationships that linked the countryside to the city (Wilkins, Ernst Hatch. 1961. Life of Petrarch. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, p.╃79).╇↜18╇ In Parma, Petrarca cultivated sage, hyssop and spearmint. In 1349, he decided to transform a part of his garden into a hayfield. Even the house in Padua, where he lived, had a small vegetable garden. He had also two gardens in Valchiusa.╇↜19╇ Rotili, Marcello. 2009. “Archeologia e storia dell’insediamento fra tarda antichità e medioevo.” In Trent’anni di studi sulla Tarda antichità: bilanci e prospettive, edited by Ugo Criscuolo and Lucio De Giovanni. Napoli: M.╃D’Auria editore.╇↜20╇ Bandini Mazzanti, Marta, and Giovanna Bosi. 2011. “Informazioni etnobotaniche dai rifiuti della Ferrara medievale-rinascimentale.” In Il paesaggio agrario italiano medievale. Storia e didattica, edited by Gabriella Bonini, Antonio Brusa, Rina Cervi and Emanuela Garimberti. Gattatico: Istituto Alcide Cervi.╇↜21╇ Friedman (1988 , 70).╇↜22╇ Salzman, Louis Francis. 1952. Building in England, Down to 1540. A Documentary History. Oxford: Clarendon, p.╃283 . Further: “In 1321 complaint was made that a lane called Ebbegate, in London, was blocked by people who had made overhanging latrines, ‘quarum putredo cadit super capita hominum transeutium’” a Latin fairly harsh expression that Quiney (2003, 93) translates “from which filth falls on the heads of passers-by.”╇↜23╇ Frati, Luigi (Ed.). 1869. Statuti di Bologna. Dall’anno 1245 all’anno 1267. Bologna: Regia Tipografia, p.╃188: “Et porticus omnes civitatis et suburbiorum sint altitudinis VII pedum a terra supra, ita quod quilibet possit sub eis equitare, et ille cuiius fuerit porticus teneatus ipsum elevare et non fodere et facere quod sit tante altitudinis […] in pena et banno trium libr. Bon.” See also Cerruti, Antonio (Ed.). 1879. Statuta Communitatis Novariae anno MCCLXXVII lata. Novara: Tip. Miglio, p.╃9, n.╃X XIV and XXV.╇↜24╇ Heers (1996 , 382; 511↜–↜12).╇↜25╇ De Finetti, Giuseppe. 2002. Milano: costruzione di una città, edited by Giovanni Cislaghi, Mara De Benedetti and Piergiorgio Marabelli. Milano: Hoepli, p.╃44.╇↜26╇ De la Riva (1974, 3): “In unaquaque fere domo decente sit fons, qui dicitur puteus.” See also Friedman (1988, 338) about the preparatory work for the foundation of Giglio Fiorentino (1350), a new settlement of Florence. Giglio Fiorentino was never built but the construction documents survived. The officials of Florence had ordered to build a great piazza and to dig a well in the middle of it: “And in this piazza shall be a well.” They also gave order to build a tower and to dig a well at the foot of it: “The tower shall be well founded and at the foot of the tower a well shall be made.”╇↜27╇ Heers (1996, 343↜–↜45).╇↜28╇ Heers (1996, 339↜–↜40).↜/↜Frugoni, Arsenio, and Frugoni, Chiara. 1997. Storia di un giorno in una città medievale. Rome-Bari: Laterza, p.╃168.╇↜29╇ Alberti, Leon Battista. 2010. L’arte di costruire. Torino: Bollati Boringhieri.╇↜30╇ Friedman (1988 , 8).╇↜31╇ Friedman (1988, 8).╇↜32╇ De la Riva (1974, 4): “Campanilia in civitate in modum turrium fabricate sunt circha

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CXX .” Some useful and interesting thoughts in the microphysics handbook for conservators and specialists (Camuffo, Dario. 2014. Microclimate for Cultural Heritage. Conservation and Restoration of Indoor and Outdoor Monuments. San Diego (CA ): Elsevier).╇↜33╇ Power, Eileen (Ed.). 2006 [1928]. The Goodman of Paris (Le Ménagier de Paris): A Treatise on Moral and Domestic Economy by a Citizen of Paris, c.╃1393 . Woolbridge: The Boydell Press, p.╃113.╇↜34╇ Cibrario (1827, 194).╇↜35╇ Datta, Pietro (Ed.). 1838 . “Statuta Civitatis Eporediae.” In Monumenta Historiae Patriae. Leges municipales. Torino: Bocca, p.╃1307↜– 08 .╇↜36╇ Schofield (2003).╇↜37╇ More on privies between the 12 th↜–↜15th centuries in London can be found in Schofield (2003).╇↜38╇ Alberti (2010, I ↜–↜9).╇↜39╇ Boccaccio (1956, 24).╇↜40╇ Alberti (2010).╇↜41╇ De la Riva (1974): “Sunt in comitatu loca amena, voluptuaria.”╇↜42╇ Montanari, Mirella. 2017. “‘La fabbrica’ del lignaggio. Il ruolo delle reti parentali aristocratiche urbane nella produzione di ricchezza (secc.╃X III↜–↜XV ).” In Lavoro e impresa nelle società preindustriali, edited by Roberto Leggero. Mendrisio: MAP. ↜43╇ Frugoni and Frugoni (1997, 54).↜/↜Gabbrielli, Fabio. 2010. Siena medievale. L’architettura civile. Siena: Protagon, p.╃6 6↜–↜68 .╇↜44╇ De la Riva (1974).╇↜45╇ Rossi, Bernardo (Ed.). 1987. Salimbene de Adam da Parma, Cronaca. Bologna: Radio Tau, p.╃592 .╇↜46╇ Gallo, Agostino. 1566. Le tredici giornate della vera agricoltura e de’ piaceri della villa. Venetia: Nicolò Bevilacqua, p.╃101.╇↜47╇ Archeology offers more information even if there are more interpretative problems. For instance see the paragraph “Gli edifici seminterrati altomedievali” in Augenti et al. (2009, 141↜–↜143) that discusses the functions of half-basement structures in the ancient town of Classe: “Per quanto riguarda gli edifici del secondo tipo, sembra piuttosto probabile invece l’utilizzo come magazzini per granaglie e altri alimenti, come dimostrano i reperti conservati all’interno dei riempimenti.”╇↜48╇ In Pavia, in the second half of the 10 th century, underground cellars were occasionally used to store death persons. In the 13 th century, the public authorities of Brescia ordered the closing of all cellar exits that directed towards public roads (Bettoni Cazzago, Francesco, and Luigi Francesco Fè d’Ostiani (Eds.). 1899. Liber potheris communis civitatis Brixiae. Torino: Bocca, p.╃870).╇↜49╇ Archetti, Gabriele. 2002 . “Là dove il vin si conserva e ripone.” In Le storie e la memoria. In onore di Arnold Esch, edited by Roberto Delle Donne and Andrea Zorzi. Florence: Firenze University Press, p.╃109↜–↜31. ↜50╇ About the situation of Florence see Heers (1996, 338); for Rome see Esposito, Anna. 2006. “Le inondazioni del Tevere tra tardo Medioevo e prima età moderna: leggende, racconti, testimonianze.” Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome. Italie et Méditerranée 118 (1): 7↜–↜12.↜/↜Megna, Laura. 2006. “‘Acque et immonditie del fiume.’ Inondazioni del Tevere e smaltimento dei rifiuti a Roma tra Cinque e Settecento.” In Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome. Italie et Méditerranée 118 (1): 21↜–↜34 .╇↜51╇ Gullino, Giuseppe. 1987. Uomini e spazio urbano. L’evoluzione topografica di Vercelli tra X e XIII secolo. Vercelli: Biblioteca della Società Storica Vercellese, p.╃100.╇↜52╇ May 18 , 1416 (Bracciolini, Poggio. 1984 . Lettere, 1. (Edited by Helen Harth.) Florence: Leo S.╃Olschki, p.╃134).╇↜53╇ Hawkes, Dean. 2012. Architecture and Climate. An Environmental

Citizens and Climate╃/╃Northern Italy

History of British Architecture, 1600↜–↜2000. London: front onto the main streets shall have at least one enRoutledge, p.╃4 8 .╇↜54╇ Ciucciovino, Carlo. 2012 . La cronaca closed upper story” and must be covered with tiles of terdel Trecento italiano [I↜–↜II ]. Rome: Universitalia, p.╃6 01; racotta or slate “when they are completed” and “tutte le 611.╇↜55╇ Alberti (1755, 37 ).╇↜56╇ Results from archeological case ch[e] riescono in su le vie maestre sieno al meno excavations in a rural community in Tremona (Martinelli, in╃–╃I╃–╃palco sfogato e coperte quando [s]ieno compiute Alfio (Ed.). 2008. Tremona Castello: dal V millennio a.↜C . a lastre e tegole” (Friedman 1988 , 339). In another one of al XIII secolo d.↜C.╃Borgo S.╃Lorenzo (FI ): All’Insegna del the Giglio Fiorentino’s documents, the Officials ordered to Giglio).╇↜57╇ A simplified but interesting “genealogy of cover the roofs of the new houses with tiles: “debeant fachimney” (at least for rural communities of the Swiss Alps) cere et edificare domos super ipsis plateis que saltem can be found in Buzzi, Giovanni (Ed.). 1995. Atlante habeant unum palcum integrum et [a]quarum stillicidia dell’edilizia rurale in Ticino. Valle Leventina. Locarno: distent a terra saltem per decem brachia. Et quod habent Ed. Scuola tecnica superiore del Cantone Ticino, murellas anteriores de lapidibus seu lateribus et coperp.╃78↜–↜79.╇↜58╇ See Gullino (1987, 102). The case of Vercel- turam de lastris tegolis seu docciis” (Friedman 1988 , li can be applied to all the other cities the Po Valley be- 345).╇↜66╇ Schofield (2003, 98).╇↜67╇ Rossi, Pietro. 1987. cause the climate is almost the same.╇↜59╇ Hawkes (2012 , “La città come istituzione politica: l’impostazione della 48).╇↜60╇ Cazelles, Raymond, and Johannes Rathofer (Eds.). ricerca.” In Modelli di città. Strutture e funzioni politiche, 1988 . Illuminations of Heaven and Heart. The Glories of edited by Pietro Rossi. Torino: Einaudi.╇↜ 68╇ Tabacco, the Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry. New York: Har- Giovanni. 1987. “La città vescovile nell’Alto Medioevo.” In ry N.╃Abrams Publishers, p.╃18 .╇↜61╇ Frugoni, Chiara. 1992. Modelli di città. Strutture e funzioni politiche, edited by I mesi antelamici del battistero di Parma. Parma: Bat- Pietro Rossi. Torino: Einaudi.╇↜69╇ Alberti, Leon Battista. tei.╇↜62╇ Power (2006 , 113).╇↜63╇ Villani, Giovanni. 1991. 1988. On the Art of Buildings in Ten Books. Cambridge Nuova Cronica. (Edited by G. Porta.) Parma: Fondazione (Mass.): MIT Press, p.╃9: “Who can have failed to notice the Pietro Bembo↜/↜Guanda. Accessed on April 12, 2018. www. extensive influence that climate has on generation, classicitaliani.it↜/↜index144 .htm.╇↜64╇ Cagnana, Aurora. 2000. growth, nourishment, and preservation?” ╇↜70╇ Tosco, CarArcheologia dei materiali da costruzione. Mantova: Soci- lo. 2003. Il castello, la casa, la chiesa. Architettura e età Archeologica Padana.╇ In mountain regions of Switzer- Â�società nel medioevo. Torino: Einaudi, p.╃9 9: “Nell’esame land, wooden shingles (scandole) were prohibited around delle opere medievali si è verificato un eccesso di ‘simthe end of the 19 th century (Buzzi 1995, 67, note 120). bolizzazione,’ estendendo in modo indebito l’idea che ↜65╇ In 1308 , the Officials of Florence assigned a house lot ogni oggetto del mondo materiale assumesse agli occhi in Scarperia to a settler with the promise that the man di un uomo dell’epoca un significato trascendente. Un would have covered the roofs with tiles: “ipsum casolare Â�ridimensionamento di queste enfatizzazioni sarebbe salincasare et cooperire de tegulis”. The orders for the cre- utare.” ation of Giglio Fiorentino claimed that “all the houses that

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Quezon City Tondo M A N I L A B AY

MANILA

Malate Makati

L A G U N A D E B AY 10 km

Indoor Urbanism Air-Conditioned Microclimates in Metro Manila (The Philippines) Marlyne Sahakian When cultural theorist Jean Baudrillard described the endless opportunities for shop­ ping in French air-conditioned department stores,1 he may not have imagined that some of the largest commercial centers in the world would come to be built in the Philippines. As a former United States colony, the Philippines was ripe terrain for the development of a consumer culture. The first air-conditioned shopping space appeared in Manila in the 1930s; since that date, shopping malls have proliferated in the mega-city of Metro­ politan Manila, including variants as diverse as the SM Mall of Asia covering 4.2 million square feet with a 20,000-person capacity, to the smaller and up-scale shopping center of Greenbelt Malls, at 250,000-square-metres and 2,000-person capacity. Contrary to what Baudrillard described, malls are not solely destinations for flirting with endless leisure Â�activities, consumer products and dining options: they also offer air-conditioned indoor spaces and unique microclimates in an otherwise tropical climate. The more up­ scale the venue, the colder the indoor temperatures. There is even a designated verb for this activity in the Philippines: people “go malling” to experience air-conditioning. While cool air is coveted by many, and increasingly seen as a necessity by some, for most people, artificially cooled indoor spaces remain a luxury. Even when fami­ lies can afford the cost of the air-conditioning unit, electricity is non-subsidized in the Philippines↜—↜making it among the most expensive kWh in the world↜—↜and one rea­ son why it is used sparingly. Air-conditioning is not a norm in Metro Manila, but it is fast Â�becoming normality: people expect artificially cool air in indoor commercial spac­ es, and air-conditioning is increasingly seen as the most desirable way of achieving a comfortable indoor microclimate. How normality over time evolves in relation to 64

air-conditioned microclimates has been explored in depth by Gail Cooper↜2 and M Â� arsha Â�Ackermann↜ 3 in the United States. In Metro Manila, expectations about the micro­ climate have changed over time in relation to social norms governing hygiene, com­ fort, fashion and building design↜—↜and in interrelation between norms, expectations and the Â�material dimensions of consumption, as described in this chapter. The focus is on air-conditioned microclimates in Metro Manila (Fig.╃1) and the re­ lated social practices in the home and workplace, drawing attention to how everyday practices shape and, in turn, are shaped by indoor cooling. The motivation for studying air-Â�conditioned microclimates is primarily environmental: in Luzon, for example, the northernmost island of the Philippines where Manila is located, these energy-Â�intensive devices require coal-based electricity generation, which impacts the depletion of fossil fuels, and local and global pollution involving climate change. An inter-related motiva­ tion is that of social equity, given that such resources are not used equally↜—↜large dis­ parities in air-conditioning consumption reflect the stratification of Philippine Â�society in the capital region. Through the lens of social practice, this chapter therefore aims to uncover the interaction of architecture, clothing fashions and microclimates among different socio-economic groups in Metro Manila, and to identify opportunities for more sustainable forms of consumption.

Fig.╃1╇ Emerging vertical neighborhoods that feature air-conditioned living spaces above air-conditioned commercial spaces, Metro Manila.

Indoor Urbanism╃/╃Metro Manila (The Philippines)

Air-Conditioning as a Form of Consumption The sociology of consumption has a rich history: cultural studies have served to Â�reveal the symbolic meanings associated with consumer goods.4 In Thornstein Veblen’s work

65

uncovering “conspicuous consumption” in the United States,5 and continuing with Pierre Bourdieu’s landmark study on consumer practices and taste in France,6 con­ sumption has also been linked to status and class distinctions. The problem with these frameworks is that they stop short of explaining much of our resource-intensive prac­ tices: the air-conditioning unit may be a status symbol for some people, particularly the rising middle classes in Metro Manila,7 but artificially cooled air is also associat­ ed with more mundane and habitual forms of consumption, such as sleeping or dress­ ing up. The dominant approach to consumption is one of individual rationalization, Â� namely, the idea that people can make informed choices. Concurrent with this per­ spective is the “technological fix” approach, or the idea that eco-friendly consumption requires the adoption of more efficient technologies. Thus far, the reliance on individ­ ual decision-makers and improved technologies has dominated the sustainable energy and environmental policy arenas,8 but they have as of yet proven insufficient. Social Practice Perspectives To address both the limits of cultural and symbolic understandings of consumption on the one hand, and the view of individual rational consumers and efficient technologies on the other, another approach is needed. Social practice theories (re)emerged in the early 2000s↜9 to apprehend resource-intensive practices that are not necessarily “con­ spicuous.”↜10 Studies have emerged on cleaning, showering, indoor comfort, eating and, more generally, all practices that involve the organization of daily life in relation to re­ source consumption.11 While the definition of what makes up a practice is not set in stone, this approach aims to shift the focus away from atomized people and technolo­ gies, and towards an understanding of consumption as made up of habitual, routinized activities. Three main elements come together in what has been called the “practice turn” in contemporary social theory:↜12 the material dimension↜—↜products, technol­ ogies and infrastructures; the social dimension↜—↜settings, social norms, guidelines and regulations; and people↜—↜beliefs, feelings, skills and attitudes.13 These three ele­ ments closely relate to what Shove and Pantzar succinctly termed “materials, images Â� and skills,”↜14 and which are integral elements in my analysis of air-Â�conditioning and associated practices below. While changes in practices can take place, these changes are typically slow and complex; there is no linear cause and effect, but rather shifts in elements of a prac­ tice. Indoor heating and cooling practices have changed over time, with the micro­ climate viewed as an outcome of a certain re-arrangement of elements (materials, im­ ages, skills), but also allowing for the reinforcement of practices that require artificial cooling. The microclimate, therefore, is both a dimension of a practice and the result of interrelated practices. When this interrelation is more fixed over time and space, the notion of “lock- in” is relevant. In the 1980s, “technological lock-in” was used to explain how, due to historical or economic factors,15 technological development paths can be difficult to change. In the 1990s, technological lock-in was placed in relation to envi­ ronmental considerations, to uncover the consequences of technological path depen­ dency on resource usage.16 I introduce the notion of “social lock-in” to describe how Â�social norms can be just as rigid in keeping certain practices in place, giving the exam­ ple of people’s expectations in relation to electricity consumption.17 For this chapter, I focus on an element of a practice: social norms, and specifically, how air-Â�conditioning 66

is constructed as normal over time. The material dimension of practices, as well as the role of people and their dispositions, are also made apparent. Fieldwork in Metro Manila The Republic of the Philippines↜—↜an archipelago of 7,107 islands in the Western Pacific just above the equa­ tor↜—↜was given the name of “Las Is­ las Filipinas” by Spanish explorers who claimed the islands for Spain in 1521 in honor of their king, Philip II . After over 300 years of colonial rule, by cross and by crown, the coun­ try became an American colony in

Fig.╃2╇ Moving on a handcar in front of newly-built apartment

1898. Following Japanese occupation Â�houses. The umbrella provides shading in Metro Manila’s hot during World War II , the Philippines Â�outdoor climate. gained its independence in 1946, yet United States’ military and commercial interests remained very much present. In the capital region of Metro Manila, temperatures range from 30↜渀屮°C to 37↜渀屮°C throughout the year (Fig.╃2), and are higher than in surrounding areas due to the urban heat island phenomenon.18 The cost of electricity in the Philippines remains among the highest in Asia, if not in the world. One of the main reasons electricity is so expensive is that it is not subsidized, as is the case in Indonesia and Thailand, for example. According to IBON , the average cost of electricity in 2007 was USD 0.17 per kWh, three times

mately 10 % of households had air-Â�conditioning in 2012, according to an interview with an air-conditioning manufacturer.20 The ethnographic data on which this chapter is based was gathered during field­ work over the course of several visits to the capital region of Metro Manila from 2006 to 2009, and then again between 2012 and 2013 during a one-year stay. Sixty-four indepth interviews took place with household members. Research was primarily con­ ducted in three neighborhoods, each one representative of a distinct social class: a low-income housing development directly adjacent to the former Smokey Mountain landfill in Tondo (Fig.╃3); middle class condominiums near the Manila Bay in Malate; and finally, the gated communities and luxury apartments of Makati City. Interviews were complemented by on-site observations, so as to go beyond discourse, represen­ tations and descriptions, and better understand “practice as entities”↜—↜shared tastes and meanings, knowledge and skills, and in relation to material dimensions of con­ sumption.21 In addition, a series of semi-structured interviews were conducted with air-conditioning manufacturers, engineers, architects, energy specialists and elected officials, among others.

Indoor Urbanism╃/╃Metro Manila (The Philippines)

higher than rates in Vietnam (USD 0.054 per kWh) and twice that of Thailand (USD 0.085 per kWh).19 Both the cost of purchasing air-Â�conditioning devices, and of running such devices, are the main reasons air-Â�conditioning is not found in all the country’s homes↜—↜with greater saturation in cities such as Metro Manila, where only approxi­

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Social Norms around Hygiene and Clothing Historian Gail Cooper outlines how air-conditioning transitioned from being a luxury to a necessity in the post-war period in the United States.22 Initially a means of regulating humidity, it then turned into a promise for “ideal” man-made weather. Air-Â�conditioning is by no means the norm in the Philippines↜—↜it is used sparingly by middle-Â�income groups, and little, if not at all, by lower-income groups. Even while more affluent groups may have come to expect air-conditioning in indoor spaces, local usage does not com­ pare in any way to the saturation of air-conditioning in the United States. Similar to the North American experience, the link between air-conditioning and bodily comfort and hygiene is related to norms that have been socially constructed over time. In one of the few books to provide a history of architecture in the Philippines, Â� Gerard Lico describes the start of the United States colonial era at the turn of the 19th century as a period when hygiene was given the utmost importance in a colony that was experiencing rampant epidemics at the time. “To put an end to the unsanitary practice of bathing and washing in the esteros (or waterways), the authorities estab­ lished a new type of communal architecture that combined the functions of Â�toilet, bath and laundry, with a continuous supply of clean water.”↜23 The practice of public bath­ ing had a long history in the Philippines as a recreational activity: men and Â�women would bathe in thin clothes in the city’s rivers.24 Perhaps the puritanical Americans were disturbed by this outdoor and public display. In any case, the first public bath and laundry facility was built by American architects in Manila in 1913, increasing washing frequency and heralding different perceptions of bodily hygiene. Today, cleanliness practices continue and are very much maintained: people can often be seen walking around the city with small towels tucked into t-shirts or shirts to absorb back sweat, or using bimpos, a damp face towel with soap that is carried in a small plastic bag. Supermarkets in Metro Manila also boast an endless array of skin-whitening creams, shampoos, colognes, sanitizers, wet wipes and deodorants. In the small sari sari stores, or convenience shops that are popular in the least affluent neighborhoods, personal hygiene products take the form of single-dose sachets that cost but a few pesos. The availability of air-conditioned spaces in the 1970s and 1980s cre­ ated a new service for staying dry, clean and odor-free  despite the out­ door tropÂ�ical climate and pollution in the city. As mentioned in the in­ troduction, air-conditioning is one of the reasons people enjoy shopping malls as leisure centers, not solely for shopping, but to experience what one woman referred to as the malamig ex­ perience, meaning “cool and refresh­ ing:” “People go to the mall to cool themselves down, too. Yeah, because it’s cooler. Malamig. It’s cooler. Be­ cause it’s air-conditioned, right? And 68

Fig.╃3╇ Aerial photo of the low-income housing development in �Tondo, next to the Smokey Mountain landfill.

it’s hot here in the Philippines especially in the summer. […] There are more people in a mall during the summer. […] I don’t do so much malling.”↜25 When I asked another interlocutor why going to malls is so popular in the Philippines, he responded: “A.╃A ir conditioning, B.╃A ir conditioning, C.╃A ir conditioning! And it’s a place where you can get your air conditioning for free. Right? You can meet your date there, and you don’t want to be sweaty. We don’t go there to buy anything.”↜26 Air-conditioning is an expen­ sive service for individuals at home, but becomes financially accessible in shopping malls. Cool air is also related to hygiene, as air-conditioning reduces perspiration, and allows certain clothes to be worn over others. Historically, clothing was politicized in the Philippines under the Spanish colonial period; groups of people wore different types of clothing as a demarcation of Â�social class and status. During the American colonial period, business attire was introduced to the archipelago: Filipinos working in administrative positions wore white clothes and black shoes to distinguish themselves from workers in the fields. Today, in the fi­ nancial district of Metro Manila, air-conditioned spaces are prevalent, and a certain type of office attire has also become the norm.27 While higher-level managers can

not always climate-controlled. She remarked on her discomfort at having to navigate between different microclimates in clothing best suited to artificially-cooled spaces, rather than the tropical outdoors. Besides clothing attached to workplace rules and regulations, there are also social norms for clothing that relate to fashion trends outside of the workplace, and these for the more affluent, in particular. As one man explained, people in the Philippines follow the fashion trends of those living in temperate climates. “I mean, you can only layer so much, and you can only be fashion-forward in the summer collection, right? You need seasons to be really fashion-forward.”↜28 He continued later with, “If you need to Â�express yourself, then you need to layer; you need a scarf, you need a blouse, you need a freaking Dakota jacket or whatever you call it.” At the opening of a museum in September 2008, I observed the attire of a group of people from the upper social class: one woman wearing black tights and a woolen tai­ lored suit; another, a sweater and vest; a third woman, high leather boots, items that would be appropriate in the Fall season in the northern hemisphere. All three women were following Western fashion trends, whose 2008 Fall↜/↜Winter season had just begun. Here, the museum doors were flung open onto a garden area, and mahogany-encased air-Â�conditioning units blew in cold air. The aesthetics of the machine are not pleasing, and the infrastructure required for it to been hidden (Fig.╃4). While this particular socio-Â� economic group may not like the way the air-conditioning units look, having cool air for comfort and cleanliness contributes to their own fashion sense of looking good.29 A fashion designer confirmed this observation in an interview: in both fabric type and color, clothes among a certain group of people in the Philippines reflect north­ ern hemisphere seasons. His clientele travels, and indeed choses their travel dates to experience the changing seasons and a diversity of microclimates↜—↜Switzerland in the Â�winter, Paris in the spring, London in the fall. At the same time, they display their

Indoor Urbanism╃/╃Metro Manila (The Philippines)

dress as they please, stockings are mandatory for female administrative staff in many offices. One woman interviewed, wearing a polyester suit with stockings and closed shoes, explained that this was her required office uniform. She does not change for her 45-minute commute, however, and travels either by car or by public transport, which is

69

Fig.╃4╇ Living room in an upper-class home in Metro Manila that offers a bright and air-conditioned residential space. The air-conditioning unit is hidden beneath the painting on the wall.

Fig.╃5╇ Living room in an upper-class home in Metro Manila. A �ceiling fan and air-conditioning unit deliver the service of cool air for those who can afford the high cost of electricity.

fashion sense in hot and humid Metro Manila. On the cover of a 2008 Town╃&╃Country Â�Philippine Edition, a woman poses in a cashmere sweater dress by Louis Vuitton, the Parisian fashion house and global brand. Only air-conditioned microclimates make such a shoot possible. In order to follow Fall↜/↜Winter fashion, as I observed during field­ work, air-conditioning is increased and microclimates are designed to mimic those in northern regions. Fashion trends from elsewhere “reflect” a certain local microÂ�climate, whose cooler temperatures allow such clothing to be worn comfortably indoors. Consumption of clothing trends is a social code, a way for people to fit into so­ cial norms. It might be an oversimplification to say that fashion-conscious Filipinos are imitating Western styles. Yet their active participation in the global markets and Â�adherence to certain Western fashion trends are determined by social factors that Â� include peer pressure, advertising and marketing. “Looking cool” as a sign of social status, and feeling cool in relation to bodily comfort are intertwined; both underline the significance of social norms around fashion and hygiene. Van Leeuwen made a similar observation in her study of air-conditioning in Jakarta in the 1990s: how hav­ ing a cool body is symbolically loaded with high gengsi (prestige) under the premise “the colder the better.”↜30 Social Norms around Building Design and Construction Historically, in Southeast Asia and the Pacific, homes were built in direct response to the climate, reflecting local resources and competencies developed over time, and tak­ ing heat, humidity and seasonal rains into account. The oldest form of housing in the Philippines, bahay kubo or nipa hut, gets its name from the type of palm cover used, or nipa. To allow for air circulation, this construction had neither fixed ceilings nor room divisions. Under Spanish colonial rule, the nipa huts around the City of Manila were 72

Fig.╃6╇ Children playing along the railroad tracks in front of an ad for interior furniture in the Bankal �settlement (Makati).

associated with poorer populations; Lico claims that, in official records, people living in such structures were described as “sickly, unhygienic, immoral, and rebellious.”↜31 During the 19th century, built for use by the upper class, the bahay na bato (stone

walas, an adjective which translates to spacious, bright and airy. The attraction of a maaliwalas home, and the use of the term itself continued up until after World War╯I I , when modernist homes were designed with passive air circulation and shading in mind. Inspired by Le Corbusier and Oscar Niemeyer, the brise soleil or sun shade over building facades was also popular. Built in 1961 by Filipino architect Carlos Arguelles, the Philamlife Tower used aluminum shading and gray-tinted glass to reduce indoor heat. While initially the addition of “sun breakers” was intended for the reduction of heat entering buildings, Filipino architect Angel Nakpil noted as early as the 1950s that they were increasingly being used not for a technical purpose, but as a design el­ ement.32 Form began to take precedence over function, a trend that would be further reinforced through the availability of air-conditioning. Once air-conditioning units became more readily available in Metro Manila, there was no longer a need to design homes in a climate-responsive manner. A steel and glass box unit would do the trick, as long as air-conditioning was available for the ar­ tificial cooling of that indoor space. To be bright and airy was no longer the goal; be­ ing bright and air-conditioned would suffice (Fig.╃5). The Ayala Land Dasmariñas Village gated community, developed in Makati in the 1960s by the private real-estate con­ glomerate, was allegedly among the first neighborhoods to integrate air-conditioning

Indoor Urbanism╃/╃Metro Manila (The Philippines)

house) was actually inspired by the nipa structure but put aside lighter Â�materials in favor of sturdier wood, bricks and stone. Today, the idea of building a nipa hut in Met­ ro Manila seems close to inconceivable. There is a Tagalog word used to describe a certain type of indoor comfort: maali-

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Fig.╃7╇ Housing development advertisement in Tagaytay, Philippines. 2013.

units into housing design. Ironically, these gated communities still remain among the greenest spaces in Metro Manila. Beyond the gated communities of the capital region, natural shading from trees is uncommon in the city. Today, architectural masterpieces of the post-war period are no longer seen as de­ sirable. One woman interviewed described a 1963 home in Forbes Park, designed by Leandro Locsin,33 one of the most famous architects of the period, as “too dark and dingy; really not very ecological.” In different interviews, people described “green and ecological homes” as homes that would be bright and airy, usually implying large glass windows and air-conditioning. In this context, a “green house” is tied up with aesthet­ ic notions of the “modern” as opposed to the “traditional” and, at the time of my field­ work, was unrelated to notions of energy efficiency for indoor comfort. Among the rising middle classes and what are known as “overseas Filipino workers” (OFWs), laborers who send remittances from their jobs overseas back home, building a concrete home in the Philippines is the ultimate goal of many (air-conditioning is of less importance than the permanence of a built structure). According to an architect, having a nipa hut is not the dream of OFWs. And a young woman who had lived and worked in the Middle East mentioned that there are people in Saudi Arabia who stay there longer because they have not made enough money yet to come back and buy the kind of house that everyone is expecting them to buy when they have been abroad that long. On the other hand, nipa huts are re-emerging as a trend among affluent families who might chose a nipa-style for their secondary homes. But the upkeep of these homes, and their openness to the outdoors is problematic for many (e.g. intruders, security is­ sues, dengue-carrying mosquitoes and other threats to health). Air-Â�conditioned micro­ climates with hermetically insulated walls are sealed off, not only from a seemingly unpleasant outdoor climate, but also from other comfort-Â�disturbing factors. 74

Fig.╃8╇ Façade of a new condominium.

In the same way that clothing fashions are adopted from elsewhere, there are many

problem, it becomes a problem because we design our houses or buildings to fit what a foreign climate condition would be and the culture, a foreign culture. And then we put it here and market it like you know, ‘Live in Switzerland’ in Tagaytay Philippines or ‘Come live in Venice’ in the middle of the urban jungle in Quezon City [a city with­ in Metro Manila].”↜34 When it comes to air-conditioning consumption, the style of the home is not the is­ sue; regardless of style, the integration of passive cooling into housing is the key factor. There seems to be a general disregard for the climatic context and local competencies in developing climate-sensitive housing in Metro Manila,35 although this trend might change over time. I met a self-taught architect who is struggling to promote passive cooling in Metro Manila. While his building designs and plans for retrofitting public and residential buildings involve the use of shading and winds, he explained how he was constantly fighting against the trend, using the Tagalog word uso, which means to be stylish or in fashion: “Uso, fashion. You know the normal reaction in this country is that things are uso, in abroad they take it up. Once it is no longer uso, it will drop it.” He deplores the Western influence on housing, which he sees as a form of emulation. One main reason for the lack of interest in passive cooling may be what is termed the owner-tenant problem: the home developers, architects and builders are not the

Indoor Urbanism╃/╃Metro Manila (The Philippines)

references to foreign housing styles (Fig.╃6). During my fieldwork, I spotted a banner on the highway that invited prospective homeowners to “Come live in Switzerland,” or buy homes that make you feel like you are “Living in Brittany,” whether or not their designs were truly reflective of those styles (Fig.╃7). An architect explained this trend: “We have colonial mentality and basically the colonial mentality is that what is best is West. So we want everything that does not work locally. And this becomes a big

75

same actors who will actually end up using the homes, and paying the electricity bills for a cooler indoor microclimate. A vast majority of people living in Metro Manila are affected by high electricity prices, including the affluent population. In reality, peo­ ple have very little choice when it comes to the energy services of cooling↜—↜whether through fans or air-conditioning units↜—↜once the structural design elements of their homes are built. The design and structural aspects of the home “lock-in” the need for energy services to guarantee comfortable indoor microclimates for years to come.36 Since the 1980s, the densification of urban developments has resulted in buildings going up literally back to back, using all available lot space, with windows solely down the front of one facade↜—↜making cross-ventilation impossible (Fig.╃8). “It’s a luxury to have windows at the front and the rear,” explains an architect. Windows and other openings are designed for the installation of air-conditioning units by residents. As the president of a local air-conditioning manufacturing company explained, he thinks that air-conditioning in the Philippines is always an after-thought and he cannot un­ derstand how something so strategic is added only after a building is finished. In his opinion, the choice of air-conditioner type should be decided before construction of a building. Yet this is often left to the tenants in Â�individual units, rather than considered for the building as a whole. During fieldwork in Metro Manila, I observed only limited fan and air-conditioning Â� usage in houses that had some form of passive cooling, such as the ability to cross-Â� ventilate (Fig.╃9). However, when visiting the low-income housing apartments in Smo­ key Mountain in 2006, where extended families share very tight quarters, fans run continuously. When I returned in 2013, air-conditioning units were starting to appear thanks to funds from relatives work­ ing abroad, or OFWs (Fig.╃10). There are only two means of ventilation in the units↜—↜the front door, which opens into the building hallway, and a small window at the mezzanine level or sleeping area. Given the out­ door climate, the poor indoor micro­ climate makes living, worÂ�king and sleeping in these homes unbearable (Fig.╃1 1). The issue is critical Â� when it comes to energy poverty, or the high portion of revenues these families spend on energy bills↜—↜which can range from 12 % to 24 %.37 Less critical from a social perspec­ tive, but just as problematic from an environmental perspective, is the lack of passive ventilation in luxury apartments. During an interview in a unit of the high-end Rockwell apart­ Fig.╃9╇ Before air-conditioning became readily available, passive ventilation measures allowed people to gain relief from the heat.

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ments in Makati↜—↜a residential area spanning one million square meters

and designed by the US firm SOM in 1998↜—↜a resident proudly displayed the floor-to-ceiling bay windows over­ looking the cityscape from this glass tower. Only a single, small window in the kitchen area could actually be opened onto the outside. Air-condi­ tioning seeped in through a central­ ized system, with no other option for a cool indoor climate. In this particu­ lar case, the building owners are also the electricity distributors, as the Rockwell apartments are owned by Meralco↜—↜m aking the owner-tenant

Fig.╃10╇ Man with a new air-conditioning unit, Tondo, Metro Manila.

dilemma all the more unpalatable. Housing structures built today are an indicator of energy consumption tomorrow, and most of the buildings going up are condominiums for the growing middle class (Fig.╃1). While suburban developments were more popular in the early 2000s, the cur­ rent trend is towards developing condominiums in the city center to cope with the high costs of commuting, both in financial terms and in light of the grueling traffic conditions. Saloma and Akpedonu define the new condominium practices in Metro Manila as living in “vertical neighborhoods,”↜38 with air-conditioned living spaces just above air-conditioned commercial spaces. Opportunities to experience the outdoor climate are becoming more and more limited. Le Corbusier’s La Cité Radieuse had a similar ambition, namely to create a vertical village that would include living, work­ ing and social spaces, but with greater attention paid to greenery around the build­

spaces are restricted to certain socio-economic groups, promoting consumerism and spending. To date, the lack of energy building codes as a type of social norm that acts as a guideline towards residential or commercial building developments has left the ques­ tion of energy efficiency to the builders. The 1971 National Building Code of the Philip­ pines stops short of providing any standards for guaranteeing thermal quality. The 2008 Guidelines for Energy Conservation Design of Buildings is voluntary and solely ap­ plicable to the commercial sector. While the Philippine Green Building Council (Phil­ GBC) is pushing for voluntary guidelines, such as the “Building Ecologically Respon­ sive Design for Excellence” (BERDE , an acronym that also means “green” in Tagalog), these remain voluntary. If energy building codes for energy effiÂ�ciency were to be ap­ plied, many of these standards consider only the building unit, not the surrounding area↜—↜which would be a more holistic approach. For example, the Zuellig glass tower in Makati adheres to LEED s Platinum rating standard and uses low-emissivity glass to reduce the amount of heat entering the building. But this heat is simply deflected off the surface; a neighboring five-star hotel had to Â�increase its energy consumption for cooling the main lobby, as an interÂ�view with the hotel manager confirmed. Such a deflection creates hotter m Â� icroclimates elsewhere, thus merely displacing the problem.

Indoor Urbanism╃/╃Metro Manila (The Philippines)

ings. In the Metro Manila examples, air-conditioned microclimates are closely entan­ gled with the privatization and commercialization of spaces. These sealed housing

77

In short, the social norms around glass towers as the most desirable form of “modern and ecological” housing are well worth challenging. Conclusion: Cool Air as Normality Social norms regarding bodily comfort, fashion and housing design all lead to a spe­ cific kind of artificially cooled indoor climate↜—↜or an air-conditioned microclimate, by design. Just as housing is designed, social norms for hygiene, clothing and building styles end up “designing” the need for artificially cool air. We have seen how cool air is coveted for reasons of hygiene and cleanliness and how this relates to the kinds of clothes people wear. Influences from elsewhere play an important role in these prac­ tices: trends from temperate climates, in terms of building and clothing design, are transferred to this tropical climate, without much thought given to the energy Â�services needed for maintaining a comfortable indoor microclimate. There is also a social strat­ ification of how people pick up on these trends: upper class groups might be express­ ing cultural forms of consumption with their housing and clothing styles, but groups with little to no cultural capital or financial resources are locked into buildings and uniforms that make artificial cooling a necessity, despite the tremendous costs. Another issue relates to expectations for indoor climates. In Metro Manila, artifi­ cially cool air is increasingly becoming a normality. Different “materials, images and skills”↜39 come together to create these expectations and keep them in place, thereby in­ volving socio-technical regimes and power relations. Types of buildings and the availability of air-condition­ ing units, together with expectations and representations of what is “mod­ ern and ecological”, lead to practices that increasingly rely on artificially cool air. Efforts towards green build­ ing standards are a step in the right direction, but may not suffice↜—↜the Zuellig building is energy efficient, but nevertheless, still Â�promotes the controlled indoor climate as the most Â�desirable state. Long-term building usage must come before the interests of real estate developers, which en­ tails the major challenge of tackling power relations in the building sec­ tor. As new competencies are learned, architects and engineers are encour­

Fig.╃11╇ Where there is no air-conditioning, the lack of passive � ventilation and poor indoor microclimate makes living, working, and sleeping close to unbearable.

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aged to consider the microclimate an essential building feature, so that passive cooling becomes more than a mere afterthought. The most significant building trend in Metro Manila is the development of

Indoor Urbanism╃/╃Metro Manila (The Philippines)

air-conditioned “vertical neighborhoods,” which leave residents little opportunity to experience a diversity of microclimates. Towards that end, it would be critical for city planners to develop and improve infrastructure of, and access to, green public spaces, both for leisure and for forms of mobility that promote different microclimate experi­ ences (e.g., bike routes in the city, or developing transit on the many city canals as an alternative to overland traffic). As is the case in several other cities in South and South­ east Asia, air-conditioning is increasingly becoming the norm. There is an urgent need for actors who have a key stake in urban development↜—↜including citizens↜—↜to come together to imagine and design diverse microclimates. Urban microclimate diversity would require grappling with social norms and expectations, as well as the material dimensions of consumption, in earnest.

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↜1╇ Baudrillard, Jean. 1970. La société de consommation, ses mythes, ses structures. Paris: Denoël.╇↜2╇ Cooper, Gail. 1998. Air-Conditioning America: Engineers and the Controlled Environment, 1900↜–↜1960. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press.╇↜3╇ Ackermann, Marsha E. 2002. Cool Comfort. America’s Romance with Air-Conditioning. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press.╇↜4╇Baudrillard, Jean. 1968 . Le système des objets. Paris: Gallimard.↜/↜Douglas, Mary, and Baron Isherwood. 1979. The World of Goods: Towards an Anthropology of Consumption. New York: Basic Books.↜/↜Appadurai, Arjun. 1986. The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective. New York: Cambridge Studies in Social & Cultural Anthropology. ↜5╇ Veblen, Thorstein. 1994 [1899]. The Theory of the Leisure Class. New York: Penguin Group.╇↜6╇ Bourdieu, Pierre. 1979. La distinction critique sociale du jugement. Paris: Les Editions de Minuit.╇↜7╇ Sahakian, Marlyne, and Julia K. Steinberger. 2011. “Energy Reduction Through a Deeper Understanding of Household Consumption: Staying Cool in Metro Manila.” Journal of Industrial Ecology 15 (1): 31↜–↜4 8 .╇↜8╇ Maniates, Michael F. 2001. “Individualization: Plant a Tree, Buy a Bike, Save the World?” Global Â�Environmental Politics 1 (3): 31↜–↜52 .↜/↜Shove, Elizabeth. 2010. “Beyond the ABC : Climate Change Policy and Theories of Social Change.” Environment and Planning A 42: 1273↜–↜1285 .╇↜9╇ The first developments of a practice theory were by Pierre Bourdieu and Anthony Giddens, in an attempt to do away with the dichotomy between human subjectivity and social structure (Bourdieu (1979).↜/↜Giddens, Anthony. 1984 . The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration. Cambridge (UK ): Polity Press). Reckwitz built on these theories, integrating concepts by Taylor and later Foucault (Reckwitz, Andreas. 2002. “Toward a Theory of Social Practices: A Development in Culturalist Theorizing.” European Journal of Social Theory 5 (2): 243↜–↜263), while Schatzki’s interpretation of social practices is inspired by Wittgensteinian approaches (Schatzki, Theodore. R. 1996 . Social Practices: A Wittgensteinian Approach to Human Activity and the Social. Cambridge (UK ): Cambridge University Press). An excellent overview of these differences and their implications is provided by Dubuisson-Quellier, Sophie, and Marie Plessz. 2013 . “La thĕorie des pratiques: Quels apports pour l’ĕtude sociologique de la consommation?” Sociologie 4 (4). Accessed on April 15, 2018 . http://journals. openedition.org/sociologie/2030.╇↜10╇Shove, Elizabeth, and Alan Warde. 2002. “Inconspicuous Consumption: The Sociology of Consumption, Lifestyles and Environment.” In Sociological Theory and the Environment, edited by R.↜ E . Dunlap, F.↜ H . ╃Buttel, P.╃Dickens and A.╃Gijswijt. Lanham: Md, Rowman╃&╃Littlefield.╇↜11╇ Shove, Elizabeth. 2003. Comfort, Cleanliness and Convenience: The Social Organization of Normality. Oxford, New York: Berg.↜/↜Warde, Alan, Shu-Li Cheng, Wendy Olsen, and Dale Southerton. 2007. “Changes in the Practice of Eating: A Comparative Analysis of Time-Use.” Acta Sociologica 50 (4): 363↜–↜3 85.↜/↜Wilhite, Harold. 2008. Consumption and the Transformation of Everyday Life: A View from South India. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.╇↜12╇ Schatzki, Theodore R. 2001. “Introduction.” In: The Practice Turn in Contemporary Theory, edited by T.╃Schatzki, K.↜ K . ╃Cetina and E.↜v.╃Savigny. London:

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Routledge.╇↜13╇ Building on: Sahakian, Marlyne and Harold Wilhite. 2014. “Making Practice Theory Practicable: Towards More Sustainable Forms of Consumption.” Journal of Consumer Culture 14 (1): 25↜–↜4 4 .╇↜14╇ Shove, Elizabeth, and Mika Pantzar. 2005 . “Consumers, Producers and Practices: Understanding the Invention and Reinvention of Nordic Walking.” Journal of Consumer Culture 5 (1): 43↜–↜6 4.╇↜15╇ Arthur, William Brian. 1989. “Competing Technologies, Increasing Returns, and Lock-In by Historical Events.” The Economic Journal 99 (394): 116↜–↜131.╇↜16╇Rip, Arie, R.↜ P.↜ M . ╃Kemp, and René Kemp. 1998. “Technological Change.” In: Human Choice and Climate Change, edited by S.╃Rayner and E.↜ L . ╃Malone. Columbus (OH ): Battelle Press.╇↜17╇ Sahakian, Marlyne. 2017. “Constructing Normality Through Material and Social Lock-in: The Dynamics of Energy Consumption Among Geneva’s More Affluent Households.” In: Demanding Energy: Spaces, Temporalities and Change, edited by A.╃Hui, R.╃Day and G.╃Walker. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.╇↜18╇ The “urban heat island phenomenon” or “…╃effect” is a term used to describe how urban settings experience higher temperatures than rural areas do. This is attributed to population density, the built environment and heat storage capacity (asphalt, concrete, etc.), and other factors, including the number of motorized vehicles and air-conditioning units that also release heat into the city. For the situation in Manila see Estoque, M.↜ A . , and M.↜ V.↜ S . ╃Maria. 2000. Climate Changes Due to the Urbanization of Metro Manila. Technical Reports. Â�Manila: Manila Observatory.╇↜19╇ IBON . 2008. Facts and Figures Special Release. EPIRA : Tightening Monopoly in the Power Sector. 31 (11 and 12), June 15╃ & ╃3 0, p.╃7. ↜20╇ American air-conditioning manufacturers created alliances with families in the Philippines to manufacture air-conditioning units locally. Established in the 1950 s, Concepcion Industries was a leading distributor of brands such as Carrier and Kelvinator. In 1997, Concepcion merged with the U.↜ S . ╃giant, Carrier Corporation. The interview was conducted with Mr.╃Raul Joseph Concepcion, President of Concepcion Carrier on February 27, 2013. ↜21╇ Spurling, Nicola, Andrew McMeekin, Elizabeth Shove, Dale Southerton, and Daniel Welch. 2013. Interventions in Practice: Re-framing Policy Approaches to Consumer Behaviour. Sustainable Practices Research Group Report. Accessed on April 15 , 2018 . http://www.sprg.ac.uk/Â� uploads/sprg-report-sept-2013 .pdf.╇↜22╇Cooper (1998). ↜23╇ Lico, Gerard. 2008 . Arkitekturang Filipino: A History of Architecture and Urbanism in the Philippines. Diliman, Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, p.╃212 . ↜24╇ Zialcita, Fernando N. 2005. Authentic Though Not Exotic: Essays on Filipino Identity. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.╇↜25╇ Interview with CN , December╯18, 2008 .╇↜26╇Interview with CC , October 1, 2008 . ↜27╇ The relationship between office clothing and energy consumption has been explored in other contexts, such as the Cool Biz campaign in Japan (see Sahakian, Marlyne. 2014. Keeping Cool in Southeast Asia: Energy Use and Urban Air-Â�Conditioning. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, p.╃110↜–↜112). Launched by the Environmental Minister in the Summer of 2005, the campaign was about relaxing office attire standards particularly among men↜—↜removing the tie, wearing short sleeved shirts or removing the

Indoor Urbanism╃/╃Metro Manila (The Philippines)

Â�jacket↜—↜as a way to then increase indoor temperatures. It form of nation-Â�state building. But she also advanced techwas a successful campaign, which did not work as well in niques in the usage of coconut wood and other indigeother contexts: in Italy in 2007, a similar effort was ridi- nous products in building construction. The Coconut Palculed by the Italian press, under headlines such as, “As if ace, built in 1978 in the Cultural Center Complex of Metro a tie could help combat climate change!” The relaxing of Manila, was made from specially engineered coconut lumsocial norms around clothing is related to the cultural and ber and coconut shells (Lico 2008).╇↜34╇ Interview with political context, as these two examples demonstrate. AM , December 9, 2008.╇↜35╇ Influences can go both ways: ↜28╇Interview with CC , October 1, 2008 .╇↜29╇ Sahakian and some sources claim that American architect William Le Steinberger (2011).╇↜30╇ Van Leeuwen, Lizzy. 2011. Lost in Baron Jenney (1832↜–↜1907 ), who built one of the first skyMall. An Ethnography of Middle-Class Jakarta in the scrapers in 1884 , was influenced by Filipino housing styles 1990 s. Leiden: KITLV Press.╇↜3 1╇ Lico (2008 , 167 ).╇↜32╇Na- during three months spent in the Philippines during his kpil, Angel. 1956. Address on a Review of the Philippine youth. The strength and flexibility of the Filipino home, in Architecture. Manila: University of Santo Tomas Press. the face of tropical storms, inspired Le Barron Jenney to ↜33╇ Leandro V.╃Locsin was the favored architect of Imelda transfer the use of bamboo to that of steel frame, which Marcos, wife of former dictator Ferdinand Marcos (in of- would make high-rise buildings structurally possible (Benfice from 1965 to 1986), well-known for her famous shoe nett, Wells I. 1964. “William LeBaron Jenney.” Michigan collection, but less remembered for promoting the use of Quarterly Review 3 (1): 50↜–↜55.↜/↜Lico (2008)).╇↜36╇Sahakilocal materials and craftsmanship in the Philippines. an and Steinberger (2011).╇↜37╇ Sahakian (2014).╇↜38╇SaImelda Marco’s state Â�visit to the Metropolitan Opera House loma, Czarina, and Erik Akpedonu. 2016. “Eating in Vertiat New York’s Lincoln Center allegedly inspired her to cal Neighborhoods: Food Consumption Practices in Metro commission Locsin in the development of the Cultural Manila CondoÂ�miniums.” In: Food Consumption in the City: Centre of the Philippines (CCP ), an impressive modernist Practices and Patterns in Urban Asia and the Pacific, edstructure on the Manila╯Bay. Imelda Marcos supported the ited by M.╃Sahakian, C.╃Saloma, and S.╃Erkman. Oxon: Routdevelopment of Â�cement-based, modernist structures as a ledge.╇↜39╇ Shove and Pantzar (2005).

81

N O RT H ISLAND Wellington NEW ZEALAND Christchurch

SOUTH ISLAND

100 km

Public Microclimates Thermal Outdoor Expectations in Post-Earthquake Christchurch (New Zealand) Silvia Tavares While indoor microclimates are readily controllable by air conditioning, urban out­ door microclimates are often accepted as public open spaces with innate character­ istics. There are, however, psychological factors and cultural expectations that influ­ ence microÂ�climate experience in open spaces.1 As public open spaces are essentially congregational social spaces, social activity and accessibility influence people’s adap­ tation to the thermal conditions of the urban environment. The challenge, therefore, is to identify the place-based and local sociocultural values that shape the use of pub­ lic urban microclimates. Based upon the theory that physical and social landscapes co-constitute urban microclimates, this chapter approaches people’s response to out­ door microÂ�climates as a product of regional context. Thus, I consider the landscape to be one of the variables integrated into regional identities and responses to climate. The general adaptive capacity concept refers to the ability of systems and people to cope with external Â� stress factors.2 Adaptive capacity is used here as the capacity of humans to adjust to the existing thermal environment, even if the local conditions are outside the scientifically-defined comfort zone.3 In addition to the physiological perceptions, microclimates are embedded in socio-cultural practices and meanings. The Symbolic Dimension of Public Open Spaces Microclimate studies have traditionally adopted a positivist approach and focused upon biophysical aspects of the relationships between people, weather and climate.4 Aiming for a more holistic approach, and challenging the physiological research, Â�Andris Auliciems created adaptive models based on the idea that thermal comfort 82

should Â�include parameters of past experiences and expectations, as well as consider­ ing factors that extend beyond the interaction between physiology and thermal per­ ception to include the cultural context.5 While key progress has been made in the past 15╯years towards understanding the psychological factors that shape responses to climate, Â� these studies still approach the science from an individual perspective.6 Weather and city climate variations influence the activity and use patterns of streets, plazas, playgrounds and urban parks.7 From a user-centric design perspec­ tive, creating adaptive possibilities is important: the presence of people on the streets is fundamental to a functioning urban social system and economy. However, the rea­ sons why people of different backgrounds and experience decide to spend time in pub­ lic open spaces vary markedly. In some cultural contexts, for instance, vibrant spaces with a higher density of people and buildings are considered comfortable spaces; while in others, natural and peaceful spaces are held in greater esteem. These cultural prefer­ ences partly reflect regional identities↜8 and symbolic landscapes,9 factors which also play a role in thermal experience and adaptation. Clearly, however, regional demands for aesthetics, atmospheres and density all have an impact on human adaptive capac­ ity, and consequently on the use of public open spaces. Denis Cosgrove has suggested that landscape is an ideological concept, that “land­ scape is not merely the world as we see it, it is a construction, a composition of that world. Landscape is a way of seeing the world.”↜10 This way of “seeing” is dependent, both on experiences we have had, and on the habits we have developed as a result of the physical landscapes we inhabit,11 and which, in turn, help to shape the social

placed on contextual factors, such as the experience of severe earthquakes (2010↜–↜2012), the maritime climate and the strong Garden City image. Further, the analysis consid­ ers the pride that local inhabitants take in outdoor culture and their connections to nature. I adopt a regional context approach↜16 to urban microclimate experiences and adaptation in the city, considering the role the physical and social landscapes play in the Christchurch image and Cantabrians’↜17 experiences of comfortable spaces during the critical and unique time that followed the earthquakes (Fig.╃1). Based on two case studies from Christchurch, the significance of sociocultural practices in urban micro­ climates is discussed. The chapter concludes with a reflection on design interventions that influence the social use of urban microclimates. Methodology of the Study Temperate mid-latitude countries, such as New Zealand, are profoundly Â�affected by annual seasonality. While tropical latitudes have fewer defined seasons and a

Public Microclimates╃/╃Christchurch (New Zealand)

landscape. In this sense, human interaction lends symbolic meaning to landscapes. Herbert Blumer, who conceptualized this relationship as symbolic interactionism, in­ dicated that “the meaning of a thing for a person grows out of the way in which other persons act toward the person with regard to the thing.”↜12 Interpretations of what con­ stitutes a comfortable microclimate are part of such social interactions. In this chapter, adaptive capacity is explored from a cultural perspective↜13 in the specific case of Christchurch, New Zealand. The chapter discusses the use and percep­ tion of microclimates as part of the adaptive capacity of residents to urban public spac­ es. The analysis is based upon both the role of regional identity and culture↜14 and place experience↜15 in creating symbolic meanings and thermal experiences. Emphasis is

83

Fig.╃1╇ Christchurch Central City, as seen from Port Hills on the day of the February earthquake, February 22, 2011.

Â� predominance of warmer days, cold winters shape everyday lives in the subtropical and temperate latitudes. These rhythms become visible in both the biologically-chang­ ing landscapes (e.g. in botany or wildlife), and in the way social dynamics in urban Â�environments occur. In this sense, seasonal changes influence the practical use of public open spaces, as well as the meanings attributed to those places and activities.18 Outdoor activities—in and outside the city—define both what are considered to be thermally-Â�comfortable spaces and the locals’ responses to the climate. This investiga­ tion is based upon ethnographic methods—participant observation and semi-struc­ tured interviews—and microclimate data collection of specific sites, one marked by an integrative multi-method approach to microclimate. Based upon similar street typolo­ gy in important pre-earthquake areas of the city, and their post-earthquake condition (Figs.╃2 a and 2 b), two Christchurch case studies were chosen: Windmill Centre (Figs.╃3 and 4), an established landscape-defined commercial center hosting a popular café 84

Public Microclimates╃/╃Christchurch (New Zealand)

Â�facing a carpark; and Cashel Mall (Figs.╃5 and 6), an emerging building-defined eastwest street hosting the Re↜:↜START Mall, a new temporary container-based commercial area that was built after the earthquake to replace a number of collapsed buildings. Fieldwork for this study started in October 2011 and concluded in April 2013. Ethno­ graphic methods aimed at providing insights into the existing local values and prac­ tices, and how these values have in turn been influenced by the local physical land­ scape, were also evaluated. Participant observation of the case-study sites captured the general dynamics of each area’s usage.19 The discussion of cultural meanings with interviewees was complemented with quantitative data that served as a benchmark to understand what was meant by “pleasant,” “comfortable,” “cold” or “hot.” Micro­ climate data was collected using a La Crosse WS 2355 weather station placed on a tri­ pod at a height of approximately 1.2 meters from the ground in both case study sites. During the fieldwork, there was plenty of demolition and reconstruction work going

85

Figs.╃2↜a and 2↜b╇ Pre-earthquake (2010) and post-earthquake (2015) figure-ground maps.

on. The cityscape was characterized by empty, temporary and building sites. In order to include this transformative character of the built environment, I refer in the con­ clusion to the design opportunities that the post-earthquake situation has offered for shaping microclimates. The two case studies differ in various aspects: street typologies were identified and classified into “building-defined streets” and “landscape-defined streets.” The Wind­ mill Centre is a “landscape-defined street:” a wider and more flexible space that allows for the creation of public open spaces. In landscape-defined sites, the physical char­ acteristics of the site itself (i.e. microclimate, greenery, peaceful atmosphere, seating spaces) are a strong reason to choose the area, as they are spaces in which to retreat, and whose users—usually alone or in small groups—are looking for a space in which to read or have some quiet time. The Cashel Mall was chosen as a “building-defined street;” its street spaces are configured by building façades, and this typology offers little flexibility regarding urban design. Moreover, the street function is generally an­ chored in the social activity of the sidewalks, configuring social spaces. The Christchurch earthquakes resulted in the loss of some 1,240 buildings in the city center and another 10,000 suburban homes.20 Among demolition and rebuilding initiatives, temporary sites emerged to bring life back into the city core, while, at the same time, responding successfully to the local maritime and windy climate, since the local thermal comfort is largely influenced by its wind patterns. Northwesterlies can raise the temperature by 10↜–↜15↜渀屮°C within about an hour;↜21 southerlies are more preva­ lent during the winter, but frequently bring rain and significantly reduce air and radi­ ant temperature.22 Less extreme, but more frequent, are the cool northeasterlies that come from the sea. Christchurch has summer mean daily maximum air temperatures that range from 20↜渀屮°C to 22.5↜渀屮°C, but may reach higher than 30↜渀屮°C. Winter mean daily maximum air temperatures range from 11↜渀屮°C to 14↜渀屮°C. The average local relative humidi­ ty varies from a minimum of 71.5 % in December to a maximum of 87.3 % in July,23 and when humidity is low, spaces exposed to the sun can reach significantly higher tem­ peratures than surrounding areas.24 86

Fig.╃3╇ Windmill Centre, car park in front of the café.

Fig.╃5╇ Cashel Mall section of Cashel Street.

Fig.╃6╇ Aerial photo of Cashel Mall.

Public Microclimates╃/╃Christchurch (New Zealand)

Fig.╃4╇ Edward Hopper Café in Windmill Centre, view from the street.

87

Urban Microclimate Experience and Natural Landscapes The urban microclimate experienced by Christchurch residents is influenced by the physical landscape, and many Cantabrians enjoy a strong connection to the outdoors (Fig.╃7). This bond to regional identity, culture and the outdoors influences the local concept of livability accordingly. Results of this study show that people in Christ­ church prefer urban spaces with greenery, since it offers a peaceful atmosphere and low built density. These preferences are related to the Garden City principles, where the ideal urban space is not defined by vibrancy alone. A number of interviewees de­ scribed these preferences for city life as based upon a close relationship between town and country.25 Regarding their own identity, New Zealanders emphasize their close connection to the natural landscape, a connection expressed by enthusiasm for “getting away from the cities […] and getting into the countryside and the wilderness.”↜26 Andrew Craig et al. further explain: “One of the factors contributing strongly to Christchurch’s identity is the contrast between the specifically urban and cosmopolitan activities of the cen­ tral city, and the diverse range of outdoor activities a short distance away. Additionally, Christchurch serves as the gateway to many activities further afield, such as the Alps, the Lakes, the West Coast and the Antarctic.”↜27 This relationship to the surrounding area was also emphasized by many interview­ ees as being part of the local residents’ identity. In New Zealand and “especially in Christchurch, people are more outdoors and proud of that, it is all about the natural landscape” (E64).28 Moreover, in the country’s history, the native Maori tribes have a strong connection to the land↜29 and “when they introduce themselves to a public meeting, they go through things like which is their mountain, which is their river, what they identify with” (E79). This has been expressed as something that has been incorporated into pakehas’↜30 lives. The outdoor connection was also demonstrated through the practice of sports and recreational activities. As these sports are largely seasonal, climate and weather ex­ periences influence players’ activities. Interviewees indicated that “sports-wise” (E77), the climate shapes what they can or cannot do, therefore they “tailor their activities to the weather, so in the winter [they can] spend a lot of time snowboarding and in the summer, go to the beaches” (E75). Gardening activities have also been added as a sea­ sonal substitute for outdoor sports, and some interviewees cited that they “go skiing during the winter, and in the summer, [do] gardening” (E14). Farming has been the main economic activity of the country for generations, and the local farming identity also influences people’s understanding of, and adaptation to, the local climate. The ideal of living outside the city translated into the practice of maintaining a lifestyle block↜31 that sustains a country life by urban employment.32 This lifestyle preference has been mentioned as a factor affecting weather and climate experiences: “A lot of Kiwis↜33 especially in this place are used to be(ing) outside in the cold. […] A lot of our activities are based in the cold. You’re considered a bit of a wimp if you’re not going to go out and do the thing because it’s just not that hot. Just get out there and do it” (E79). Farming, home gardening and urban greenery are manifestations of that outdoor orientation, and all are strongly related to the changing seasons and influence mean­ ings associated with the regularity of daily lives and the perception of time. Kenneth 88

Fig.╃7╇ Christchurch City.

Fig.╃8╇ Avon River in the Central City of Christchurch (pre-earthquake).

both the vegetation and the related outdoor activities—as factors that underscore local people’s awareness of seasonal particularities. Especially those people whose farms are sensitive to rain, frost or wind, as one informant mentioned: “Farming makes a dif­ ference. There are two things: the animals and the vegetable garden. With the animals, I always need to know whether it’s going to rain, so the goats are in the paddock where they have shelter […]. I am [also] always watching through when the frosts begin […], it’s a big thing when we decide to cut the hay. […] Is it going to rain?! […] But you also don’t want really windy days until the grass is growing, and it’s always factors like that that have to be taken into account” (E74). The constant presence of discourses and practices around public and private gar­ dens influences experience and knowledge of local climate and seasonality: “It’s not so much a date, but it’s actually the climate patterns that change. It’s when you see the length of the days affecting the plants […]. And this last year, I got thrown out… You know they can chill daffodil bulbs and make them early-starters so you see it’s spring, daffodils are out, and then you realize that you have been tricked […]. The blossom trees around Hagley Park are [also] a gauge of what’s happening (Fig.╃9). You know what’s happening rather than bothering to work out when summer is. I don’t know when the summer actually starts, it’s all on the trees” (E76). A full understanding of local concepts of livability is fundamental when designing spaces to enhance urban comfort.35 Cantabrians’ strong connection with the Â�physical

Public Microclimates╃/╃Christchurch (New Zealand)

Olwig explores the way landscapes can be defined as places influenced by meanings of seasonality, rather than sites depending solely on geometric spaces and their mea­ surable characteristics (e.g. climate and topography): “The logic of the absolute geo­ metric space of the map and central-point perspective prospect, and the chronometric time of the calendar, is qualitatively different from the liminality of place and seasonal Â�holidays. In the latter case, it is the content that defines the seasons, not the regulari­ ties of a quantitative system of measurement.”↜34 This content defining the seasons has been identified by Cantabrians—through

89

Fig.╃9╇ Avon River in Hagley Park, Christchurch.

landscapes affects expectations for public urban spaces. The local concept of livabil­ ity╯including greenery, peaceful and low-density environments—is shaped by these interactions with seasonally-changing environments. As urban features that provide stimuli for adaptation vary across cultures, an assessment of local livability is import­ ant. Adaptive capacity to microclimate can be extended if people are given reasons to do so; in the case of Christchurch, this includes social spaces and their urban natural features. Urban natural features, such as urban greenery, assume a strong meaning in Can­ tabrians’ collective conscience, and the peaceful environments found in the outdoors are, to a certain extent, also expected within the Central City (Fig.╃8). The ideal city is described as one that has “lots of green, plants and grass, it can’t be a concrete jungle” (E31). Interviewees also highlighted the relevance of greenery to coping better with the perceived unpleasant climate: “[Christchurch weather is] a bit dull in the winter, it can be quite bleak, lots of cloud cover. So, I think it’s very important that we keep some of our gardens in the city, […] [because] it lifts you a little bit […] It’s not all concrete. [We need] at least some garden areas within the city […]. I think that’s really important, Â�especially in the middle of the winter” (E27). The idea of having more greenery was frequently associated with safety, dimin­ ishing earthquake-associated risks. One interviewee mentioned a preference for “not [having] so many high buildings after what we’ve been through [the earthquake], [so we should have] more greenery in the city” (E77). The wish for fewer people in the same place, i.e. lower density, was frequently cited as desirable, too: “To me as a Christ­ church person, quality of life includes having a bit of space, a bit of peace and quiet, ac­ cess to good housing, good facilities, amenities and public places. I think Christchurch has always been really good, and I think if you’d go to other cities, like bigger cities and more global cities, there are other aspects of quality of life that you gain, but you lose a lot of that stuff. Christchurch has by and large been reasonably clean […]” (E79). Christ­ church residents’ image of their city as a Garden City and the relevance they ascribe to outdoor culture has generated a desire for specific types of public urban microclimates. Microclimate Data and Adaptive Practices The study’s quantitative data shows that weather is inconsistent and unpredictable in Christchurch. Apart from daylight availability—longer in the summer, thereby heating up the air more than in the winter—some days have similar temperature and humidity values in both seasons. In addition, data also proves that even if the microclimatic con­ ditions in some public open spaces may seem unfavorable for outdoor activities, locals still use them for social activity. This is partly attributable to the predominant profile of New Zealanders as “outdoor people,” as discussed above. The case studies presented here refer to design solutions that essentially shape the use of microclimate at a street scale. Cantabrians often scan for places where one can enjoy the sun’s warmth and shelter from the wind, suggesting that sensitive microclimate design could help boost the success of streets and businesses. The potential impact of pleasant spaces, particularly the presence of greenery adapted to climate, was highlighted by an interviewee in Windmill Centre, who had chosen that site, both for its coffee and the chance to spend time in its benign micro­ climate, rather than for its aesthetic quality. The interviewee pointed out that “if there 92

was the same amount of wind [in Windmill Centre] as in town […] [I ] would proba­ bly prefer to be in town” (E08). This observation reflected this interviewee’s convic­ tion that Central City is more attractive and pleasant: a good reason to cope with any undesirable climatic conditions, in this case, the wind. On that occasion though, the restaurant in Windmill Centre apparently offered equally pleasant thermal conditions. Various qualities of urban public places contribute to the perception of micro­ climates. Besides vibrant social spaces, retreat spaces are also appreciated in Christ­ church. While in urban social spaces, such as Cashel Mall, vibrancy and people are essential components of the microclimate itself, in retreat spaces, such as Windmill Centre, the thermal properties of the microclimate are among the most important vari­ ables favoring the use of public open spaces. In other words, in urban retreat spaces, the reason to be in a place is the place itself, with all its inherent qualities, including microclimate. Here again, we find a link to the aforementioned pleasure of being out­ doors and↜/↜or close to green spaces. These differences in perceived and measured data highlight the advantage of com­ bining qualitative and quantitative microclimate data analysis. An interpretive strat­ egy can highlight people’s preferences and the types of spaces they require. The mea­ surements on site give insights into the substantive physical nature of microclimate experiences. To assess whether outdoor temperatures of 5↜渀屮°C or 25↜渀屮°C were considered comfortable, for example, our analysis made a link between the participants’ descrip­ tion of their climate experience, and the measured microclimatic data at the time of the interview. The integrative methodology adopted in this study allowed for this Â�exploration of meanings of comfort. In the 20 days of fieldwork, 20 quantitative data sets were collected (ten in Cashel Mall, and ten in Windmill Centre). These data sets included information regarding maximum and minimum outdoor temperatures, wind speed and direction and hours of sunlight. As for the production of public microclimates, humidity that had, at first, seemed the most innocuous climatic variable, proved a key factor. Given Christchurch’s

climate, as an interviewee described: “[This place] is a bit non-descriptive, sort of … featureless: all these single-story buildings without any great architecture […]. [But] I walked past this café a few times and I always thought it looked nice… But I’m sitting out here because it’s sunny and warm rather than [because of] the lovely view” (E64). Due to its northwest orientation and easterly wind protection, combined with the local low humidity, the on-site microclimate measurements consistently showed con­ siderably higher temperatures and lower wind speeds than NIWA ↜36 data. Data mea­ sured on-site between May and October 2012 averaged 10.5↜渀屮°C higher than NIWA mea­ surements (May: on-site: 28.3↜渀屮°C↜/↜NIWA : 15.2↜渀屮°C; October: on-site: 20.1↜渀屮°C↜/↜NIWA : 14↜渀屮°C), and on one winter day, the on-site temperature reached 24.4↜渀屮°C while the NIWA mea­ surements showed a maximum of 9↜渀屮°C. This microclimate is a consequence of a mod­ ified space layout where built structures shelter from prevailing easterly cold winds and, at the same time, open the space to the sun. In mid-season and summer, the area features an awning which offers protection at least up to the height of a seated

Public Microclimates╃/╃Christchurch (New Zealand)

low humidity, the temperatures rise quickly when the sun is shining, and even on sun­ ny days in winter, if it is possible to “step [out of] the wind and be in the sun […], you feel okay; if you can trap the wind out” (E44). This was particularly evident in Wind­ mill Centre, which, though an aesthetically unappealing place, has an attractive micro­

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Fig.╃10╇ Edward Hopper Café in Windmill Centre, café’s outdoor area.

Â�person’s head, especially in the afternoon. The area is exposed to the sun from 9↜:↜30 am during the winter and from 12 pm during the summer, making the setting warm in mid-Â�season, when the temperatures in Christchurch are not too high, and the sun is not too strong. On summer afternoons, however, “the overexposure to the sun can make the place unpleasant, and people don’t seem to stay outside because of the sun.”↜37 Christchurch has sunny winters, and the low sun’s rays reach the faces of restaurant customers eating outdoors, making it uncomfortable at times.38 The managers some­ times put tables closer to the car park, but most customers bring their tables closer to the wall, so their bodies are in the sun while their faces are in the shade (Fig.╃10). 94

the people using the café’s outdoor area, the measured microclimate was the same one they were experiencing. The comparison between the average variables measured onsite and the ones downloaded from NIWA’s CliFlo are evidence of the successful micro­ climatic design of this small, open area for social use of outdoor spaces. In the case of Cashel Mall, too, microclimate variables measured on-site showed consistently higher temperatures and lower wind speeds than data measured at NIWA . However, quick changes of weather caused significant changes in use patterns

on the site (e.g. a day when around lunchtime it became overcast, the wind increased,

Public Microclimates╃/╃Christchurch (New Zealand)

In Windmill Centre, since the weather station was located in close proximity to

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Fig.╃11╇ Wind-sheltered courtyard spaces in the Re: START courtyards, Cashel Mall.

and the temperature recorded in the research weather station decreased from 19.4↜渀屮°C at 11:50 am to 12.4↜渀屮°C at 2 pm). Interviewees at the site contended that the main feature making it attractive was the way the containers created sheltered courtyards, which had all-day sun and attractive plant and seating areas (Fig.╃11). Both the success of the temporary container installations at Cashel Mall and the provided social microclimates led to the creation of a policy regulating courtyards. The CER A (Canterbury Earthquake Â�Recovery Authority) made Re↜:↜START-like courtÂ�yards

a requirement to ensure that the new central city rebuilding activities incorporated sheltered outdoor spaces.↜39 The new courtyards were “small open spaces typically lo­ cated towards the interior of blocks and enclosed by buildings. Their small scale and inward location create sheltered and comfortable spaces […].40 The new regulation un­ derscored local residents’ preference for outdoor-oriented spaces. Although duplicat­ ing the outcomes of the temporary sites and spreading this new courtyard typology is planned, a corporate character has emerged in the city center itself. The small public spaces prioritized in the temporary sites, including Cashel Mall, have become private buildings’ courtyards, each one maintained by the buildings’ tenants and administra­ tion, and therefore essentially “pseudo-public” spaces↜41 despite their being referred to as “public” in the rebuilding process. Such pseudo-public spaces are less accessible due to tightened control strategies.42 These post-earthquake developments of public space control not only bring into question the access to social activity and peaceful retreat spaces that has long been taken for granted, they also hamper the unrestricted access to pleasant public microclimates that connect the urban spaces to the landscapes sur­ rounding the city.43 96

Recommendations for Outdoor Microclimate Design People’s responses to outdoor microclimates in Christchurch was approached in this study as being embedded in a regional socio-cultural context.44 Interviewees empha­ sized their connections with the outdoors, the ways they had grown up and how their collective sports activities had shaped the qualities they looked for in urban public open spaces. Results showed that both social and retreat spaces form part of the local values, and are enjoyed in different urban public places. The two case studies (Windmill Centre and Cashel Mall) refer to different types of public open spaces. The outdoor café space at Windmill Centre offers a warm and wind-protected space where people enjoy taking a break. Orientation of the building, the application of an awning, but also the mobile ad­ justment of furniture towards the wall space, are all material practices that contribute to the creation of a favorable microclimate. In Cashel Mall, it is the containers—meant to temporarily replace the earthquake-destroyed buildings of the public shopping area— that created new wind-protected courtyard spaces where visitors can enjoy the sun­ shine. The city’s massive rebuilding efforts after the earthquakes have changed the char­ acter of public open spaces in the city center. The microclimatic outdoor spaces made by the arrangement of temporary containers became popular places in which to spend time outdoors, and even triggered the outline of a new courtyard regulation. This regu­ lation, however, resulted in a shift of public open spaces towards pseudo-public spaces in the post-earthquake context. Both the character and microclimate of the public open spaces can be defined or modified through design, and the length of time locals stay in public open spaces can be increased through design interventions that modify wind and sunlight.45 Some established sites, such as Windmill Centre, and emerging sites in post-earthquake Christchurch, such as Cashel Mall, have been successful in creating be­ nign microclimates. Lessons learned include the following practical design strategies:

A favorable microclimate not only increases the use of certain public places over others, but also contributes to public vibrancy. Careful planning mitigates exces­ sive wind or sun exposure, especially in winter and summer, and enables people in Christchurch to fully enjoy their outdoor-oriented lifestyles in green and↜/↜or shel­ tered, open spaces. Besides vibrant spaces, urban residents also look for peaceful and comfortable retreat spaces where the place itself is the attraction. The design requirements of these spaces are finely calibrated, but likewise focus on creating a comfortable outdoor thermal environment. Scale of intervention. Strategies adopted both in urban retreat and urban social spaces should relate to the scale of intervention. In urban retreat spaces, the scale of intervention is more individual and easily amended with movable elements, such as wind screens. In urban social spaces, the appropriate microclimatic strat­ egies have to be drawn on a larger scale; their design, consider groups of buildings and containers; and their orientations—given the number of people—use the space optimally, taking the need to preserve social interaction into account. At any scale, a modification of the built environment leads to the desired effect, namely, creat­ ing livable outdoor microclimates.

Public Microclimates╃/╃Christchurch (New Zealand)

Spatial integration. Many public open spaces are based upon vibrancy. In urban social spaces, the users like to “see and be seen,” and people are the main attraction.

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Green spaces. Green elements can be used as design components to improve micro­ climatic conditions, and bring much-appreciated, restorative aspects of Â�nature into the city. Whenever possible, green elements for shade and windbreak should be used instead of man-made alternatives. In the case of Christchurch, public and pri­ vate green spaces have a symbolic meaning. Given that greenery is a welcome fea­ ture of the urban landscape, it is vital to plan and maintain green spaces, but also to intensify the use of green elements in urban design, tapping into strategies that reflect the local identity. This study outlined that urban public microclimates in Christchurch emerged in a va­ riety of settings, depending on the different interests of residents as to where and how they spend their time outdoors. In planning the right environment for each type of user, urban design has to consider that diversity, and create microclimatic solu­ tions to ameliorate place-based comfort through the built environment. The study of Christchurch has demonstrated how that adaptive capacity, in this specific case, can be extended Â� if the urban spaces offer qualities of the great outdoors, such as nature and peaceful surroundings. Preferences for these qualities are not only related to re­ gional identities and culture, but are loaded with symbolic meanings inherent to the inhabited landscapes themselves.

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additional notes were taken between interviews. Interviewees (n↜=↜4 0) were recruited on site without any previous arrangement, and under the condition that participants were over 16 years old (to comply with ethics requirements), and had been Christchurch residents for at least three years, so as to be acquainted with the change of seasons and the local way of life. With the intention of contextualising observations, a small group of key informants was drawn from café managers (n↜=↜2) and contacted prior to the interview.╇↜20╇ Gates, Charlie. 2015. “1240 Central Christchurch Buildings Demolished.” Accessed on April 12, 2018 . http://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/news/ christchurch-earthquake-2011/66290638 /1240 -centralChristchurch-buildings-demolished.╇↜21╇ McGann, R.↜ P. 1983. The Climate of Christchurch. Edited by the Ministry of Transport. Wellington: New Zealand Meteorological Service.╇↜22╇ ENZ . 2017. “Christchurch’s Climate.” Christchurch. Accessed on April 12, 2018 . http://www.enz.org/ christchurch-climate.html.╇↜2 3╇ NIWA . 2018 . “Climate Data and Activities.” Accessed on April 12, 2018. http://www. niwa.co.nz/education-and-training/schools/resources/ climate.╇↜24╇ Tavares, Silvia G., Simon Swaffield, and Emma J.╃Stewart. 2017. “A Case-Based Methodology for Investigating Urban Comfort through Interpretive Research and Microclimate Analysis in Post-Earthquake Christchurch, New Zealand.” Environment and Planning B: Urban Analytics and City Science: 1↜–↜33.╇↜25╇ Howard, Ebenezer, and Frederic J.╃Osborn. 1965. Garden Cities of To-Morrow. Cambridge: MIT Press.╇↜26╇ Clark, Nigel. 2004 . “Cultural Studies for Shaky Islands.” In Cultural Studies in Aotearoa New Zealand, edited by Claudia Bell and Steve Matthewman. Melbourne: Oxford University Press, p.╃8 .╇↜27╇ Craig, Andrew, H.╃Doeksen, and P.╃Lake. 1993. City Alive: A SketchÂ� book Study of the Place of Public Open Space in Central City Christchurch. Christchurch: Christchurch City Council Planning Policy Unit, p.╃4 3 .╇↜28╇ “E” followed by a number refers to the on-site recruited interviewees.╇↜29╇ Murton, Brian. 2012 . “Being in the Place World: Toward a Māori ‘Geographical Self.’” Journal of Cultural Geography 29 (1): 87↜–↜104 .╇↜30╇ Pakeha–Maori was the 19 th-century term used for Europeans living among Maori tribes (Derby, Mark. 2011. “Cultural Go-Betweens↜—↜Pākehā–Māori.” Te Ara↜—↜The Encyclopedia of New Zealand. Accessed on April 13, 2018. http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/culturalgo-Â�betweens/page-2). Today, the term “pakeha” designates European descendants.╇↜31╇ New Zealand’s lifestyle block (“hobby farm” in other countries) is a small farm or country home maintained for recreation without expectation of income.╇↜32╇ Fairweather, John R.╯ 1996. “We Don’t Want to See Our Neighbours’ Washing.” New Zealand Geographer 52 (2): 76↜–↜83.╇↜33╇ Kiwi is an informal term for “New Zealander.”╇↜34╇ Olwig, Kenneth R.╯2005. “Liminality, Seasonality and Landscape.” Landscape Research 30 (2): 259↜–↜71, p.╃269.╇↜35╇ Timmer, Vanessa, and Nola-Kate Seymoar. 2006. “The Liveable City.” The World Urban Forum 2006 . Vancouver: UN-HABITAT Publications.╇↜36╇ NIWA is the National Institute of Water and Atmospheric Research, a Crown Research Institute that undertakes scientific research and related activities (NIWA 2018).╇↜37╇ Field journal, December 5, 2012 .╇↜38╇ Field journal, May 4 , 2012.╇↜39╇ Harvie, Will. 2016. “Christchurch

Public Microclimates╃/╃Christchurch (New Zealand)

↜1╇Lenzholzer, Sanda. 2015. Weather in the City: How Design Shapes the Urban Climate. Rotterdam: nai010. ↜2╇ Denevan, William╯M. 1983 . “Adaptation, Variation, and Cultural Geography.” The Professional Geographer 35 (4): 399↜–↜407.╇↜3╇ “Comfort zone” refers to the range of temperatures where human beings are assumed to be in comfort, i.e. free from physical pain (ASHRAE . 1989. Fundamentals Handbook. New York: ASHRAE ). According to Olgyay and Olgyay’s studies and measurements, these comfortable biophysical temperatures range from around 18 to 25↜°C (Olgyay, Victor╯V., and A.╃Olgyay. 1963 . Design With Climate: Bioclimatic Approach to Architectural Regionalism. Princeton: Princeton University Press.)╇↜4╇ ASHRAE (1989).↜/↜Olgyay and Olgyay (1963).↜/↜Brown, Robert D., and Terry J.╃Gillespie. 1995. Microclimatic Landscape Design: Creating Thermal Comfort and Energy Efficiency. New York: John Wiley╃&╃Sons Inc.↜/↜Fanger, Povl Ole. 1970. Thermal Comfort: Analysis and Application in Environmental Engineering. Copenhagen: Danish Technical Press.↜/ Â�Mayer, Helmut, and Peter Höppe. 1987. “Thermal Comfort of Man in Different Urban Environments.” Theoretical and Applied Climatology 38 (1): 43↜–↜49.╇↜5╇ Auliciems, Andris. 1981. “Towards a Psycho-Physiological Model of Thermal Perception.” International Journal of Biometeorology 25 (2): 109↜–↜22.╇↜6╇ Knez, Igor, and Sofia Thorsson. 2008 . “Thermal, Emotional and Perceptual Evaluations of a Park: Cross-Cultural and Environmental Attitudes Comparisons.” Buildings and Environment 43: 1483↜–↜90.↜/ Nikolopoulou, Marialena, and Koen Steemers. 2003 . “Thermal Comfort and Psychological Adaptation as a Guide for Designing Urban Spaces.” Energy and Buildings 35: 95↜–↜101.╇↜7╇ Givoni, Baruch, Mikiko Noguchi, Hadas Saaroni, Oded Pochter, Yaron Yaacov, Noa Feller, and Stefan Â�Becker. 2003 . “Outdoor Comfort Research Issues.” Energy and Buildings 35 (1): 77↜–↜86 .╇↜8╇ Hough, Michael. 1990. Out of Place: Restoring Identity to the Regional Landscape. New Haven: Yale University Press.╇↜9╇ Cosgrove, Denis E. 1984 . Social Formation and Symbolic Landscape. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.╇↜10╇ Cosgrove (1984 , 13). ↜11╇ Gibson, James J.╯1986. The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Hillsdale: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc.↜/↜Norman, Don. 1999. “Affordance, Conventions and Design (Part 2).” Accessed on April 13 , 2018 . http:// www.jnd.org/dn.mss/affordance_conv.html.╇↜12╇ Blumer, Herbert. 1969. Symbolic Interactionism: Perspective and Method. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall Inc., p.╃4 . ↜13╇ Adger, W.╃Neil, Jon Barnett, Katrina Brown, N.↜ A . ╃Marshall, and Karen O’Brien. 2013. “Cultural Dimensions of Climate Change Impacts and Adaptation.” Nature Climate Change 3: 112↜–↜17.╇↜14╇ Hough (1990).╇↜15╇ Tuan, YiFu. 1977. Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.↜/↜Cresswell, Tim. 2009. “Place.” In International Encyclopedia of Human Geography, edited by Nigel Thrift and Rob Kitchen. Oxford: Elsevier.╇↜16╇ Hough (1990).╇↜17╇ Cantabrian refers to people from Christchurch.╇↜18╇ Cupples, Julie, Victoria Guyatt, and Jamie Pearce. 2007. “’Put on a Jacket, You Wuss’: Cultural Identities, Home Heating, and Air Pollution in Christchurch, New Zealand.” Environment and Planning A 39 (12): 2883↜–↜98 .╇↜19╇ Every fieldwork day started with taking notes during one hour prior to the interviews;

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Rebuild Â�Creates New Courtyards in City Centre.” Accessed on April 12, 2018 . https://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/business/the-rebuild/80116132 /christchurch-rebuild-createsnew-courtyards-in-city-centre.╇↜40╇ CERA . 2015 . “Streets and Spaces Design Guide.” Canterbury Earthquake Recovery Authority. Accessed on April 12, 2018. http://ceraarchive.dpmc.govt.nz/sites/default/files/Documents/ streets-and-spaces-design-guide-june-2015 -full-docuÂ� ment.pdf, p.╃68 .╇↜41╇ Carmona, Matthew. 2010↜a. “Contemporary Public Space, Part Two: Classification.” Journal of Urban Design 15 (2): 157↜–↜73.↜ /↜Carmona, Matthew.

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2010↜b. “Contemporary Public Space: Critique and Classification, Part One: Critique.” Journal of Urban Design 15 (1): 123↜–↜48 .╇↜42╇ Loukaitou-Sideris, Anastasia, and Tridib Banerjee. 1998 . Urban Design Downtown: Poetics and Politics of Form. Los Angeles: University of California Press.╇↜43╇ Tavares, Silvia G., and Simon Swaffield. 2017. “Urban Comfort in a Future Compact City: Analysis of Open Space Qualities in the Rebuilt Christchurch Central City.” Landscape Review 17 (2): 5↜–↜23.╇↜44╇ Hough (1990). ╇↜45╇ Brown and Gillespie (1995).↜ /↜Lenzholzer (2015).

Taipei

Taichung

TA I WA N

100 km

Thermal Sensations The Case of the Jade Eco Park in Taichung (Taiwan) Philippe Rahm, in Conversation with Sascha Roesler

Re-Interpreting Materiality Sascha Roesler: Before we discuss the Jade Eco Park project, I’d like to reconstruct your general ideas on climate and architecture. Very early on in your career, and with your former partner Jean-Gilles Décosterd, you began to raise questions related to climate. How did you decide on climate as a topic↜? Philippe Rahm: In the late 1980s and early 90s, the question of materials was really important. You can see this especially in the works of Herzog & de Meuron and Â�Peter Zumthor from that period. I studied under Miroslav Šik at the ETH Zurich for a se­ mester in 1991, at which time we students were asked to begin by choosing a Â�material, based on our vision of how a particular district should develop. There was a vital link between the material itself and its historical and cultural context. We realized very quickly that we weren’t interested in this link only as a visual one, but also as a kind of ecological one. In making a concrete project, for example, we also studied the Â�origin of the stones used in the concrete, and assuming that they came from the Alps, we quick­ ly realized the geological quality inherent to our material. Further, in our research, we established that concrete is made up of cement and other aggregates, and that the ag­ gregates derive from local stone that contains two chemical substances: potassium and phosphate. Given the erosion of the Alps and Jura mountains, these substanc­ es seep into the ground and provide nutrients to the vegetation, which explains why plants flourish so well in the flat fields of Switzerland. Taking the notion farther, we be­ gan to suspect that the rain washing the minerals in the concrete walls into the ground 102

might trigger something else, and after research, made a design proposal for a building. We calculated that after some 100 years of erosion, the minerals in the concrete that had ended up in the ground would permit the growth of trees there. We wanted to shift our perspective from a cultural-historical one to a natural-historical one, and our inter­ est in a scientific,Â�physical and chemical approach began with this project. While later projects were based on the physical and chemical qualities of things, our first research related more to the Â�contemporary Swiss concern towards materials. Looking back now, do you see this approach as part of a broader interest shared by your generation↜? Our generation of architects had this interest in materials in common. Jean-Gilles and I were searching for a radical position in this regard, and made a link to ecology through

Fig.╃1╇ Gilles Clément, Parc Matisse, Lille, L’île Derborence, built 1990. Being inaccessible, the Â�concrete plateau presents a kind of artificial biotope where ecological processes occur without any human Â�intervention.

Thermal Sensations╃/╃Taichung (Taiwan)

our interest in the work of Gilles Clément, a French landscape architect (Fig.╃1). We greatly admired his scientific way of thinking. But the shift towards the climate, atmo­ sphere and physiology occurred when, around 1998, we were selected to take part in the competition for Expo╯01, a major national exposition in Switzerland. We didn’t win the competition, but from that moment on, we were sure that it would be wise to look more closely at the chemical and ecological connection between weather, Â�materials, soil and geology. But where do human beings fit into this picture? The first insight we had related to light. At the time, we were interested in light in regard to plants and photosynthesis, but also in the link light has to ecology and to ecosystems. Light is, of course, a very traditional aspect of architecture: modern architects talk about it con­ stantly, just as Louis Kahn and Le Corbusier did before them.

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You mentioned the Expo.01 (later renamed Expo.02). What did you think about the Blur Building by Diller & Scofidio (the so-called “cloud”)? Did it address issues similar to those that interested you at the time↜? Well, when the competition took place in 1998, we weren’t yet aware of Diller & Scofi­ dio’s work (Figs.╃2 and 3). In developing our proposal, we were thinking foremost about light, and hoping to discover all its potential. We learned all about the relevance of mel­ atonin, the relationship between our eyes, light, need for sleep and how we awaken being strongly linked to the quantity, the temperature and the color of light. For me, these discoveries were extraordinary because they connected the physiology of the body to sunlight. In designing architecture, you are not only designing a non-human, non-organic space; you are also dealing with a physiological, biological space. The inte­ rior atmosphere of a space affects us greatly, and if we don’t get enough light, we fall ill. Our intention for the project was to shift our view of architecture from a non-organic, almost Cartesian one, to something more atmospheric. Anyone inside a given space is biologically entangled in that surrounding. Our starting point is that space isn’t Â�empty at all, but, invariably, has a particular atmosphere with its own biological, electromag­ netic and chemical qualities. One could say that you put human beings, with all their nervous systems and physiology, into the middle of the relationship between climate and architecture. Usually, bio-climatic architecture skirts any dealings with such bodily sensations. We are used to thinking abstractly about architecture: while made of solids and voids, we know that space is never really empty. The importance of the voids is hard to over­ emphasize. To design a successful space, you also have to design the light and the air in and around it. In the early days of our practice, people had begun to use mobile phones, and architects began to draw with computers, such that we became increas­ ingly aware of issues such as electromagnetic pollution, and the effects of staring at screens all day. This created a new field of research for us. At the time, we were less

Fig.╃2╇ Visitors immersed in fog in the Blur Building at the Swiss Expo 2002. Design of the building by Diller Scofidio╃+╃Renfro.

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Fig.╃3╇ Aerial view of the “Blur Building” at the Swiss Expo 2002. Design of the building by Diller Scofidio╃+╃Renfro.

Fig.╃4╇ Impression of Jade Eco Park by night.

Representing and Exhibiting Microclimates Alongside this interest in scientific questions relating to architecture, you also were able to exhibit your work in a contemporary art context. The way you entered the scene with your work remains quite unique↜—↜it’s not typical for a Swiss architect to experiment in such a setting. How did this come about↜? It was ultimately thanks to Hans Ulrich Obrist, who was always looking out for new ideas that had been drawn from all disciplines and fields. He discovered our work, and was interested in the new ideas the work represented. As a result, he invited us many times to participate in exhibitions he curated. And Aaron Betsky was a key promot­ er of our work too. Following exhibitions in the USA and Europe, we were selected in 2002, to represent Switzerland in the Swiss Pavilion at the Venice Biennale. The moti­ vation for us wasn’t to make artworks per se, but that these exhibitions gave us the opportunity and the space, quite literally, to continue our research on architecture. In the end, the exhibition is just another way to open a new door in the field of architec­ ture, much like writing, or taking part in competitions. Our aim was to invent some­ thing by ourselves. In some respects, your exhibition projects resemble stage-sets for sci-fi films; they appear high-tech rather than low-tech, and more like an architecture of the 22nd century than the

Thermal Sensations╃/╃Taichung (Taiwan)

interested in the ecological side of architecture than we were in the nature of archi­ tecture as a discipline. There was always a tangential connection to ecology, but we began only in 2005 to connect our work on atmosphere and physiology to sustainabil­ ity or green building.

105

Fig.╃5╇ General view of Central Park Taichung.

20th century. Were you consciously playing with the aesthetic, or did you really have complete faith in technology to create certain thermal sensations↜? You have to remember that the period in which we were developing these projects↜— the late 1990s↜—↜was somehow highly infused with digital technology and its aes­ thetics: the explosion of the internet, computer-driven graphic design and, of course, techno music (Fig.╃4). And we were immersed in it all. For architecture, this implied a radical new ecological approach, which seduced me personally: an ecological building, for example, could suddenly be made from aluminum. It would look very artificial, but could, in fact, be greener than a wooden cabin! Did any one of your projects explicitly deal with this↜? Well, there is an unbuilt project for a house in Vendée, France that we made in 2001 for the French artist, Fabrice Hybert, which was later exhibited at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. It was the first project we ever made that dealt explicitly with climate. While de­ signing the house, we began to think about the seasons and their relation to the inte­ rior. When you heat the interior of your house in winter, you are creating a summer cli­ mate. When you come in from outside, you take off your jacket and shoes. We thought that it was almost like simulating another season or a tropical climate such as Tahiti’s, 106

where the temperature is always about 24↜渀屮°C and the relative humidity isn’t too high to be uncomfortable. For the house, we proposed a small room full of tropical plants indig­ enous to Tahiti. The atmosphere would be reversed in a way, in that the interior climate would be directly controlled to reproduce, in real time, the Â�actual temperature and hu­ midity of the tropical climate of Tahiti, the island which the French think has the ide­ al climate. In our book Physiological Architecture, we also use the words “paradise” or the lost “Eden,” having thought about recreating the Ethiopian Â� climate because of its strong bearing on the history of humankind, as the first human beings came from the mountains of Ethiopia. What we wanted to convey is this: in architecture, we always design a climate. The connection to technology was that we were trying to create an ideal climate. Architecture always creates artificial climates such as those in Tahiti and Ethiopia: something like an endless summer that disregards the natural outdoor sea­ sons. In this sense, we can say that architecture creates an Eden-like climate. Since your project simulated the temperature curve of Tahiti during both day and night, you also could have related the project to another place in the world, to Brazil, for instance, and it would work the same way. I guess it was an important step towards the project you did in Taiwan, the Jade Eco Park↜? 107

108 cool

cool humid polluted

cool dry polluted

cool dry polluted

cool dry polluted

cool dry clean

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warm dry polluted

warm humid clean

warm dry polluted warm humid clean

cool humid polluted

cool humid clean

cool humid polluted

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Thermal Sensations / Taichung (Taiwan)

humid polluted Fig. 6 Overall design of Jade Eco Park in Taichung. On different colored paths throughout the park, visitors can explore diverse thermal experiences (red — heat design / blue — humidity design / grey — pollution design).

109

Fig.╃7╇ Impressions of the different thermal areas designed for Jade Eco Park.

110

111

Thermal Sensations╃/╃Taichung (Taiwan)

Yes. Until now, I’ve talked about the background of this project and tried to explain my shift from the tectonic to the climatic. From 2005 to 2010, I became more and more Â�interested in thermal gradation. In the project where I wanted to represent Tahiti’s cli­ mate, for example, the idea wasn’t just to recreate the same temperature but to repro­ duce different sensations. I wanted to switch from the engineering point of view to an architectural point of view, so I started exploring the new spatial qualities of thermal regulations. I wanted to better understand the new thermal standards, such as the “Minergie” standard in Switzerland, to accept it, and possibly even invent a new design based on part of it. For example, according to the standard, you need ventilation con­ duits in a building↜—↜but we could increase the size of those conduits and create a new space inside them. So in effect, the idea was to stop following the engineering regu­ lations, and to think about how they could change the quality of life or the quality of space within a building. I wasn’t interested in creating one single climate, but more, aimed to design different spaces with a variety of microclimates, and also wanted to challenge the architectural forms those had already taken. It’s interesting that you avoid using the classic architectural manner of drawing, in favor of a diagrammatic one. Your colors are important, too, ranging from blue to red with yellow in between. For the book Physiological Architecture, you collaborated with the Swiss graphic designers “Norm.” Do diagrams have a central role in representing your ideas↜? The diagrams come directly from the scientists with whom I collaborated on the book. It’s difficult to represent a climate using an image because it’s more thermographic than visual. The diagrams, though, are necessarily central in the representation. The discussions around physiology are a way of taking a position against the governing cultural viewpoint by introducing a new form of materiality. In the 1980s and 90s, everyÂ�thing revolved around culture, semantics or politics. Today, our way of think­ ing has changed completely; people are more attuned to crucial topics, such as health, pollution or science. To my way of thinking, physiology refers to the body, while me­ teorology refers to the space. Simulating Urban Microclimates How were you commissioned to develop the park in Taichung, Taiwan↜? I met the landscape architect Catherine Mosbach at a dinner in Paris, where I suggest­ ed that we apply jointly for the open international competition on Taichung’s Central Park (Fig.╃5). Why do you think the jury chose your project↜? Likely because we focused on the current climate issue, and because the mayor want­ ed the most contemporary landscape project. The international jury wanted a 21st cen­ tury park. Some projects focused on water, which was a good starting point, but we already know how to ecologically deal with water. What is Taichung’s climate like↜? It’s a subtropical climate. The winters are very mild, with temperatures between 16↜渀屮°C and 22↜渀屮°C. The summers are hot and humid. Pollution is a pressing issue, although less so than in Beijing; in fact, the level of pollution in Taichung is rather typical of any city 112

in the world. Various aspects of the city’s climate, however, made us consider design­ ing a space which would be less warm and humid, and would cleanse and cool the city, much like Central Park does in New York City, or the parks that landscape archi­ tect Jean-Charles Alphand proposed for Paris in the 19th century should have done. But we didn’t want just one climate, nor did we want to cool down all the climate in the area, so we accepted and worked with thermal gradations which would be cooler than others in some parts. And we worked on three levels: one map on heat; another, on humidity; and the third, on pollution (Fig.╃6). We then superimposed the maps one over the other to reveal the diversity of microclimates. This proved highly important because it stated strongly that we were no longer party to the 19th-century engineer­ ing mentality that had argued for a single correct solution. Our proposal was based on the underlying assumption of a diversity of microclimates (Fig.╃7). You mentioned that you were simulating pollution, wind flows and heat distribution. How did you do that↜? Did you involve select experts to help you↜? For the competition itself, we did everything ourselves. But for the actual project we worked with Transsolar Energietechnik, our engineers in Germany. They started by analyzing the wind with a specialized program that could simulate computational fluid dynamics. We discovered that the wind in Taiwan comes from the north: a cool­ ing wind even in summer, since its temperature stays below 30↜渀屮°C. Had it come from the south, however, the wind temperature of 32↜渀屮°C would render it useless for cooling. Transsolar made the wind map to determine the wind’s entry point on the competi­ tion site. With that map in hand, we started designing our master plan according to the direction the wind came from; acknowledging that the area would be cooler than the others. In those cooler areas, we proposed planting trees with a lot of fleshy leaves to create large, shaded areas, and explored different ways to cool the area, such as by adding a fountain. The pollution analysis was easy; we simply referred to the city map and circled areas close to the roads; obviously they would be more polluted. Â� In less pol­ luted areas, we proposed both having some “hairy” trees whose porous trunks could absorb the pollution, and using acoustic walls as pavilions to shield the park from

What do you think is the unique relationship between the city and the new park↜? There are no fewer than 15,000╯t rees and 230╯artificial thermal devices that provide moisture in the park, which obviously have an effect on the city overall. While the Â�former mayor wanted to change the climate of the city, our idea was to just positively affect the city’s climate, not change it entirely. I think we’ve achieved that. What main energy source runs those thermal devices↜? We wanted to see the park use green renewable energy only, so decided to use solar energy for electricity and thermal energy, exclusively, for cooling. The solar panels are part of the park. We currently have 7,000 m 2 in its northern part, and another 5,000 m 2 in its southern areas. The park is large enough to easily accommodate these. The pan­ els are designed as 5-meter-high canopies, meaning that the landscape is still present

Thermal Sensations╃/╃Taichung (Taiwan)

street noise. Finally, for humidity, we analyzed the very moist southwesterly wind, as well as the influence of the existing pond in the park. We also considered adding rain shelters to prevent humidity.

113

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Fig. 8 Cirrus Cloud design for Jade Eco Park. Fig. 8 a (upper left): Cirrus clouds release small water droplets and create misty clouds. The Cool Resorts provide a comfortable cooling environment in which visitors can enjoy picnicking, reading, online surfing and chit-chatting. Figs. 8 b and 8 c (middle left): Effects of the Cirrus Cloud on the human body: The mist has a cooling effect when it evaporates and absorbs latent heat. This cools the overall air temperature, creating a more comfortable, relaxing environment for the human body. Too much heat can cause the body problems: the immediate effects will be for the hypothalamus to react by vasolidation, causing expansion of the veins and more blood flow to the skin surface, in turn causing redness. Fig. 8 d (lower left corner). Cirrus clouds can be found in Cool Resorts by walking along the Cool Path. Fig. 8 e (right): Cooling climatic device. Water input through a stainless steel water pipe from the climatic plant.

Thermal Sensations / Taichung (Taiwan)

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Fig. 9 Clearia design for Jade Eco Park. Fig. 9 a (upper left): Air pollution in cities is problematic for the inhabitants as it may make them hesitate to spend time outdoors. Philippe Rahm and his team analyzed north wind velocity to determine the park’s most polluted areas. This influenced the location of the 3614 Depolluting Plantations and 97 Depolluting Climatic Devices. Maps from left to right: North Wind Velocity and Vector Simulation / Influence of North Winds and Surrounding Roads on Simulation / Depolluting Devices Location Plan / Cooling Plantations Figs. 9 b, 9 c and 9 d (upper right): Depolluting Climatic Plant. Clean air is produced in the depollution plant, then transported via ducts to the clean air output device. One plant delivers clean air to several devices. Fig. 9 e (bottom): Visualization of clean resorts with depollution devices and trees. The cleanest area is marked by the largest quantities of devices.

Thermal Sensations / Taichung (Taiwan)

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and visible beneath the structure. The project has a roof of 7,000 m 2 made of Â�perforated solar panels, a sort of mashrabiya that varies the light intensity according to the pat­ tern of the openings. The cooling air we use in the building and devices is made by geo­ thermal ducts dug 5 meters underground. What were the main references you had for designing the park↜? At the time that the park was designed, I was interested in spectral music composers such as Gérard Grisey and in both the Impressionist and Post-impressionist painters. I had recently rediscovered Claude Monet, Georges-Pierre Seurat and Giovanni Seganti­ ni, painters who used the technique of applying dots of fairly intense color to the can­ vas. I remember being particularly impressed by a Segantini I saw in Zurich at the time. He had painted a blue sky by using pure white dots among the colored dots, lighting up the whole painting. So the intensity of the dots in my drawings comes from the Impressionists’ technique. As for construction, it was all very pragmatic. We couldn’t build underground spaces because of the rain and flooding, so everything, even the devices we made, had to be built above ground. As for the design, we chose galvanized steel as our material, which we then had painted white to reflect the heat coming from the sunlight. Finally, the structure was built according to a grid that always has three supporting points. The evaporating, cooling devices were the only strong reference, and we decided to represent them by citing cumulus or stratus (clouds) (Fig.╃8). So there’ll be lots of small clouds in the park, like there were at the Expo.02 in Switzerland in 2002↜? That will depend on the wind, because sometimes it’s weaker than at other times. A small water surface evaporates quickly, and when the liquid enters the gas phase, the temperature lowers because the process consumes energy. At this point, the cooling Â� ffect is evident. I try to avoid references to images, and try to work more readily from a e scientific and technical point of view. Therefore, the result might appear more random as it follows a particular scientific process. It’s a bit like listening to a piece by Claude Debussy. One’s impression comes from the process of listening to the whole piece; un­ til you’ve heard it in its entirety, you don’t really know how to access it. The purpose of our devices isn’t as much to represent the image of a cloud as it is to provide a variety of thermal sensations. New Thermal Sensations I think the project’s innovation is the combination of passive and active strategies; the way you use them in a public park to provide particular microclimates. The park has both an Â�experimental and a pedagogical side. Who introduced that pedagogical aspect↜? It was given by the government. We had to explain our intervention; given, of course, that there was a pedagogical value concerning the cooling process, changing micro­ climates and sustainability in general. My architectural projects always respond to some theoretical issue I am working on. This is why they, too, always contain a ped­ agogical value. As I see it, it’s a very uncommon mixture of pedagogical ecology with an allocation of new thermal sensations. 118

At the beginning of the project, in the polluted area, we suggested having barbecue grills and even a smoking area. But these were immediately rejected; the government refused to pay for anything that polluted the air (Fig.╃9). We weren’t arguing that our polluted area would be less a health hazard than the one on the street, but in those kind of projects, such questions typically become very political. I think the aim of the com­ petition was to find an innovative approach to landscape design that would address actual climate issues rather than concern itself with shape and geometrical form alone. Both the strategy of designing the master plan with a climate computer model, and analyzing the wind flows with computer programs were something new, and likely, I believe, the reasons why we were selected. But analyzing the wind flow is a traditional bio-climatic architecture and landscape design strategy. Of course, you used advanced technologies, but already in the 20th century, Â�colonial city plans were often built according to wind flows and other climatic requirements. In the 1950s, for example, Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew wrote an entire book on tropical architecture, and they built extensively both in Africa and in India. Okay, in the 1950s, yes, but during the period between 1980 and 2000 climate was not an issue at all; think of Qatar and Abu Dhabi! Ten years ago, you couldn’t even talk about the relationship between health and climate because you’d seem a naive mod­ ernist. But today, all this has changed. How did you feel about the scale of the project↜? Compared to your small-scale exhibition work and↜/↜or interior design, it’s quite gigantic. I can only say that the exhibition format wasn’t about a certain scale or dimension,

Thermal Sensations╃/╃Taichung (Taiwan)

but rather about framing and expressing my ideas on climate. I’d also like to design regular buildings today, but what I’ve done in the past was never determined by scale.

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MALI

NIGER B U R K I N A FA S O Koudougou

Ouagadougou

BENIN GHANA TOGO COTE D’IVOIRE 100 km

Thermal Layers The Case of the Lycée Schorge in Koudougou (Burkina Faso) Francis Diébédo Kéré, in Conversation with Madlen Kobi

Gravitating Towards Shaded Spaces Madlen Kobi: Let’s start with some questions about the city of Koudougou in Burkina Faso, where you are working. As I understand it, the area has rapidly urbanized in recent times. In what ways is the local climate (e.g. pollution, rain, aridity) related to the expansion of the built environment and to your own architectural practice↜? Francis Diébédo Kéré: In general, the climate in Burkina Faso is very hot and dry with a short, but very intense, rainy season (Figs.╃1 and 2). Since it is so hot, people naturally gravitate towards shaded areas. This is the general issue in Burkina Faso. Urbanization in the city of Koudougou is horizontal (Fig.╃3). There is no urban density in that area, so little shade. We have some pollution due to the use of simple motorcycles and the little bit of smoke they cause, but pollution is not as dramatic as elsewhere. The important thing, though, is that due to the lack of financial means, the roads are unpaved, and they become a source of dust that affects air quality. Koudougou and the other cities in Burkina Faso are characterized by these conditions. Building in the age of fast-Â�growing urbanization means that you have to deal with cities eating away at the surrounding land, which can trigger certain conflicts, also from the climate and weather point of view. These are the conditions we have to deal with when building in Koudougou. You mentioned that people are looking for shady places. Where would one stay in this hot climate↜? Mainly, people gravitate to spots under the trees during the day, or to beneath manmade shelters. In these conditions, the trees act as protection against the elements 120

Fig.╃1╇ Dwellings and trees provide shaded spaces for residents in rural � areas, as here in Gando village in Burkina Faso.

Fig.╃2╇ Aerial image of informal settlements in Ougadougou. �

Fig.╃3╇ Main road of Koudougou in the city center.

trees or man-made temporary shelters since staying inside the rooms during the day is hardly bearable. They are not well built, and since most buildings have one storey only, there is almost no shade, and you are constantly exposed to the sun. In order to survive and to live well, people mainly gather in shady places. Actually, you took the element of the tree and integrated it into the architectural project that we would like to discuss here. Can you elaborate on the role of trees in the building of the Â�Lycée Schorge Secondary School (Figs.╃4 and 5)↜? I didn’t limit the project to this, but I also tried to create a more comfortable environ­ ment by planting more than 1,000 trees around the boundary of the school site and building. The idea was to support the microclimates in the building by creating oth­ er microclimates through the trees outside the building. This was a fundamental part

Thermal Layers╃/╃Koudougou (Burkina Faso)

without completely shutting you off from the outside world. People move towards

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Fig.╃4╇ Lycée Schorge with trees planted in the foreground to improve the microclimate on site.

of the project for me: to improve the microclimate inside the site and, in the end, the classrooms, thus creating comfort with the help of nature by planting trees. The site was a desert before we started working on it, and no plants could grow in that area. To promote tree growth, I developed a simple system of using pots to carry water be­ cause the pots themselves, through their porosity and contact with the air, create a cooling system which reduces the water’s evaporation. I tried to save the water and use it for the trees to create a sort of cool microclimate around them. This is how I tried to improve the microclimate in the Lycée Schorge project: create an architecture that responded to this need for Â�cooler temperatures, but equally provided bright spaces. The first thing is that you have to create the shelter, the school, the project itself, but I did not limit my efforts to simply creating classrooms. I tried to create shared buffers around the classrooms, a transitional area between the outside climate and inside cli­ mates. Those shaded areas are gathering spaces for the kids, and every classroom has its own shaded space. You refer here to the special brise-soleils that you implemented↜? Yes, I created these shaded spaces by using eucalyptus wood. In Burkina Faso, this wood is usually used for scaffolding and construction work only, and is burned after­ wards. I wanted to give it a more meaningful use, and therefore used it as a building material (Fig.╃1 2). I integrated a ventilation system that is based on the idea of the wind tower to improve the indoor conditions of the classrooms. The hot air inside is sucked through a chimney to the outside of the building. Creating Microclimates Through Buffer Zones When I hear you talking about the inclusion of the environment around the building, I see a kind of buffer zone system: first the buffer with the trees, then the buffer zone of the Â�shaded veranda, and finally, the interior of the building. Could we say it is like a layered microÂ� climate system↜? 122

Yes, instead of having one wall, the boundar­ ies to the outside climate are made of a green belt of dense trees followed by a series of more planted trees. Going towards the build­ ing itself, you find the buffer zone of the ve­ randa, a terrace that is screened by eucalyp­ tus wood logs, and finally, the walls which enclose the classrooms on both sides. On the outside of the building, there’s a screen made of eucalyptus wood. On the inside, I created a compound-like structure, a sort of enclosure (Figs.╃6 and 7). The building itself is a reference to the traditional compound where houses are arranged around a courtyard. I’ve created a microclimate inside the courtyard where stu­ dents can gather for larger events. At the same time, little groups can gather at the rear of the school on those intimate spaces of verandas

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which are, in rÂ� eality, a buffer to the classrooms. Fig.╃5╇ Lycée Schorge Secondary School, Plan 1↜:↜500. So, the design consists of a courtyard and a Â�series of belts made of trees, each one improves the microÂ�climate inside the class­ room and in other spaces related to it. You mentioned in your presentation that there is a lot of wind in the area. How did you take wind into account in this project↜? The wind is an element that I use consciously. First, the canopy of the growing trees will weaken and filter the wind coming from the East, almost as far as from the Saha­ ra, so it is very strong and dusty. The trees are not just a green belt to cool the spaces; they are also a filter to control the wind. Afterwards, you have this curtain-like belt made of eucalyptus wood, which further weakens the wind (Fig.╃9). Finally, the wind

and students alike. Besides the cooling effect, does your building also filter sand and dust from the entering air? I remember reading about another of your projects in which you considered filtering the air through a tunneling system. Yes. In that project, we put a bucket of water inside the lower window part to create a sort of cooling effect when the air enters the building (Fig.╃8). In addition, the water in­ creases humidity in the dry air and improves the inside climate. The planted trees and creation of buffer zones both help filter the air and control the wind. In the end, the air that is entering the classrooms is also cooled through water evaporation. These are the applied elements, all of them based on very simple ideas to create a cool indoor micro­ climate without a mechanical climate control.

Thermal Layers╃/╃Koudougou (Burkina Faso)

enters the classrooms, whose lamella windows control its speed and let it enter in such a way that it has a cooling effect. Together, the trees and the buffer zone already create a cool space since the sun cannot enter the building directly, so when the wind goes through, the cooling effect creates a comfortable learning environment for teachers

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Fig.╃6╇ Courtyard of Lycée Schorge.

Fig.╃7╇ The courtyard of Lycée Schorge offers a sheltered space for communal events. It is a reference to the traditional Â� compound structure in local villages.

The Luxury of Passive Climate Control And do you use technical, energy-using devices such as air-conditioning systems in some of your buildings↜? No, I generally try to avoid that. According to the World Bank, that area belongs to the poorest in the world. In terms of affordability, putting air-conditioning systems every­ where is a crime in my thinking. In Burkina Faso, we know how to cool a room without air-conditioning, so it would be irresponsible not to use that knowledge. While it is a hard assignment, we should make an effort to use and deal with the elements in order to create comfort inside a classroom or other indoor spaces. Passive means of climate control are a luxury in terms of making a “wow” sensation available for everyone. It is luxury in terms of comfort, in the sense that it is so great, because it can be realized without any mechanical systems: that’s the luxury I’m talking about. It is not a low quality solution only for poor people, but its luxurious aspect comes down to the effort 124

put in to overcome the mechanical control. So being able to create that kind of archi­ tecture is highly satisfying to me. You mention thermal knowledge. Was your building project inspired by local skills or techniques that you could adapt ? Or did you develop entirely new ways to mitigate local climate through architecture ? I have, of course, access to information — already a big advantage and privilege com­ pared to people in Burkina Faso whose education is often limited to primary school. Some people don’t even have access to primary school. Th is access to information helped me discover and learn about the functioning of the Qanat system used in Per­ sia, Asia and the Middle East. In the past, people were able to make ice with the help of this system of ventilation and wind towers. Inspired by that, I wanted to interpret it inside classrooms in the form of a high tower that would suck the hot air out of the building (Figs. 10 and 11). I also use a massive double­roofi ng system, one perforated under a tin metal roof. The air heats up between the layers before escaping, helping to suck the hot air out of the building. Another inspiration was just to look at how people in the area use the trees and the temporary shelters, to see, for example, that a canopy is more useful than a wall. Further, in trying to learn from physics, I developed a kind of Venturi system, and used very simple elements to achieve comfort. For me, learning from traditions means learning how to use very simple materials to achieve my objec­ tives. For example, while people in the area use eucalyptus wood only temporarily, I transformed the material into an element with greater longevity. In that context, could you say a few words about the material you used in this project ? I understand that you used a lot of local materials, and also tried to integrate local techniques. An important part of this building project was fi nding suitable and available materials with which to build. Laterite is one of those in

sites with a pick and cut it out of the soil. In the ground, laterite is soft, but it contains iron, so as soon as it comes into contact with air, it oxidizes, and the material hardens. Once we’d extracted it, we improved its quality by cut­ ting it with a machine. The idea was to give it modularity, since standardized blocks would enable us to build a bigger and more homoge­ nous façade and to work very fast. In addition, I used cement as a mortar to connect these el­ Fig. 8 Creating a pleasant indoor climate without mechanical climate control: before entering the building, the dry and hot desert air is cooled and humidified through water buckets under the window’s lower part.

ements, and concrete ring beams because I wanted to have a durable building, a key part of my thinking and my methodology in archi­ tecture.

Thermal Layers / Koudougou (Burkina Faso)

Koudougou. We extracted it in the tradition­ al way, like the people who go to designated

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Fig.╃9╇ The eucalyptus wood screen that breaks the wind speed and provides shaded veranda spaces.

Fig. 10 Lycée Schorge climate diagram. The hot air is emitted through towers.

Fig. 11 Construction site of Lycée Schorge.

Does the dry local climate destroy those materials quickly ? How are the weathering processes ? The climate is dry, but we tried, as with the school, to put all the elements beneath the big overhanging roof, which protects them from the rain and sun, so the materials are protected from weathering. Do people who live in the settlements around the school get inspired by your architecture, do you think, or try to adapt similar constructions in their own dwellings ? Oh yes, of course, people are inspired, and I can see month by month how the settle­ ments around my structure are growing. It’s inspiring to see that you can use the same materials that people used traditionally, but adapt and create something that appears new and innovative to them. There is a spirit of real “transmission” going on. 128

What exactly are the elements they adapt↜? Trying to cut the laterite bricks more effec­ tively, for example. Further, some try to use the eucalyptus wood in a better way to cre­ ate temporary shelters. Others Â� are already planting trees, as I did. One guy was much more receptive: when we created the vege­ table garden, he said our team had showed him a new method to grow plants. Even if he lacked the skills that we had for the provision of water, he tried it in his own way and dug a deep well which made a sensation: every­ body now goes to see him vigorously digging this well to get groundwater. All this happens Fig.╃12╇ Double-roofing system with eucalyptus wood. because of the inspiration of trying to do things differently, to evolve from an ancient method, and deal with common mate­ rials in an easier way. This is what we tried to do and apparently, Â� people have taken notice of it. It is interesting that people are inspired and try to adapt these different methods to create microclimates. What about the wind towers↜? Are there any local copies of those↜? People love them but yet it is quite early to say whether they will be copied. But my people are part of an amazing story, they feel that we can definitely do things different­ ly than they used to be done. Most of them were part of the building process. They were personally engaged, which was highly respected. The buildings in the project keep growing. Our client now wants to have a large kitchen extension, so we are building one in the same spirit as the main school building and we are also putting up a bicycle Â� parking lot. The structure is growing very fast. But apparently the area, which looks very rural, is located at the edge of urbanization

Most of the material used in the project of the Lycée Schorge comes from the surrounding area, is that right↜? Yes, excepting the cement which we bought in the city, the material comes from around the building project itself. And with no electricity in the area, you installed solar panels, is that correct↜? Yes, in order to have electricity for the light and internet, we installed passive so­ lar panels. We use the energy source that already exists. So far, the solar system we Â�installed has worked very well. Of course, I would prefer that the solar panels were built in Burkina Faso, but I don’t have the power to change that. As such, we just get them from the global market, but we buy it from a Burkinabè provider in Ouagadougou.

Thermal Layers╃/╃Koudougou (Burkina Faso)

(Fig.╃13). How do you expect it will develop↜? We see that people are running to buy land around our plot: teachers, of course, but also other people who live around here and want to try to save it for themselves. Due to urbanization, the settlements around the school will be increasing very rapidly.

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Fig.╃13╇ Aerial image of formal and informal settlements, Ougadougou.

The school was opened last year. What have the reactions of the people who work in the school or the students been to the building↜? They really love it! And they feel proud; I can see that in the reaction of people passing by. They’ve never seen anything like it, and they tell a lot of stories about it. Further, they never believed that we could use our own materials to create something like this. There are lots of comments, but mainly, admiration for the building. Both teachers and students are really enthusiastic about it. 130

about dealing with climatic challenges. A major adjustment we envision is the con­

Thermal Layers╃/╃Koudougou (Burkina Faso)

Have there been no critical voices↜? Or small adjustments you had to make↜? Sometimes the teachers exaggerate, saying that you need a glass window where the computer is located in order to reduce the dust, but I prefer to have it open, because that’s the environment they live in when they go home. Simplicity is a key feature of the architecture. Even if there are objections to that, I wouldn’t be willing to change it and put in air conditioning, because I believe we should also be able to educate people

131

struction of a dormitory. We have people from near and far who’d like to bring their kids to our school, but some live 200 kilometers away from the school and have no rel­ atives in the city. So a dormitory would make sense, and the land plot of the school is big enough for additional construction. Did you ever think about measuring temperature or humidity inside and outside of the building to clearly demonstrate the cooling effect, or do you just rely on your feeling that it is comfortable↜? Have you ever worked with a physical engineer↜ to such an end? Actually, an institution from England once came and measured temperature and hu­ midity over three days and nights and compared the quality of the indoor environ­ ment. They told me to be proud of my buildings. During the day, the building per­ formed very well because of the thickness of the wall and the ventilation system, both of which prevent the hot air outside from entering the building. For a few years, I’ve also tried to enhance comfort in my buildings by introducing humidity. I was amazed to see how well the building worked during the day. Towards the afternoon, when classes are ending, the outside temperature can enter the building. But if you keep the openings closed during the day and just use the ventilation system, it works very well. I was very surprised to see these positive results. Transfer of Microclimate Knowledge Let’s talk a bit about the transfer of construction knowledge with regard to climate. Over and beyond Burkina Faso, you’ve designed many buildings in Germany and other countries. How do you transfer the architectural knowledge and experience you gained in regard to climate to these other projects and sites↜? Doing what I am doing is a sort of attitude: trying to create comfort and better Â�spaces in architecture being the bottom line. I am definitely working now in different econ­ omies from the global South to the industrialized West. The only difference is the lev­ el of technology and the different tools used. Yet, in a highly technologized world, there are different ways to build buildings. In my projects, I try to stay focused on the most available material. Undoubtedly, you can save money through transport or other means, but I focus on the quality of the material, and try to use those whose employ­ ment doesn’t consume too much energy. Of course, I compare the value of the different materials in terms of economy and costs, but I want people to know that we shouldn’t take everything that we have here for granted. Nowadays, we have to be aware that we cannot do what we used to do in the past. Conflicts are becoming more aggressive and intense because of the distribution of resources. We have to care for the environ­ ment because resources are not inexhaustible. And our goal, as architects, is to show a new way to build: invest less money, but get more out of it. We should focus on using Â�fewer Â�resources in order to achieve more quality for people. And even if I work in the West, I will not lose this attitude. But in Germany, clients will want air conditioning or heating systems in their houses. Heating is probably not a topic in Burkina Faso but╃… It’s all about climate. When working in a hot region, you have to work on ways to cool and in Europe, how to heat, but sometimes it’s also hot in Europe. The objective is to achieve comfortable living environments despite low financial resources. Using that 132

universal guideline, I just try to create comfort for people while using the fewest pos­ sible resources, thereby doing the best for our environment. Do you often use the term “microclimate” in your work↜? Before our conference, I didn’t care much about the exact terminology for my practice. My schedule was rather to make things happen. But since I’m a maker, I was happy to introduce my work there. From now on, I’ll be more alerted to how to describe what I am doing and will talk about all the impacts around that building.

Thermal Layers╃/╃Koudougou (Burkina Faso)

Yes, I think the term “microclimate” fits the way you work and create indoor spaces quite well; we want to emphasize that actually microclimates are human-made and can be Â�created through architecture. But are there any other aspects about your project, or climate and architecture, that we have not addressed sufficiently↜? Well, the construction process has just come to an end. I’m curious to see the building take on its patina and carry the traces of its users. I’d love to see the trees growing be­ cause they’ll still need six years for maturation, and am keen to see how all of these things work together. I’d also be keen to measure the quality of the space in terms of technical aspects such as the temperature inside and outside to compare it with neigh­ boring buildings, for example. Further, I’d love to see how the climatic comfort influ­ ences local learning and teaching. I’d also love to see how a community grows around this building, and whether the people who settle around the school will directly ben­ efit from the building by sending their kids there to get an education. Finally, I’ll hope to see people adapting the ideas of the project to their own houses, whether the plant­ ing of the trees or using the water to cool their own living spaces. It may have already happened indirectly, but with this project they can see that these methods are also successfully being used in public buildings.

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Paris

Rezé FRANCE

Marseilles 100 km

Building a Brazilian Climate The Case of the House of Brazil in Paris (France) Ignacio Requena-Ruiz The relationship between climate and the built environment has been a matter of Â�intense debate in architectural theory. Starting from the early theories of climatic con­ trol through greenhouse structures in the 18th century, up to the contextualist turn of Modernism with the so-called Critical Regionalism in the 1950s,1 controversy concern­ ing architecture and climate has influenced cultural, political and scientific spheres.2 By examining the discussions around the material production of microÂ�climates in the design phases of one modernist case study, the Maison du Brésil, or House of Brazil, in Paris (1952↜–↜1959), this chapter examines the manifold ways in which the notion of Â� climate either directly or indirectly intervened in the discussions between the build­ ing’s two main architects, Lucio Costa (1902↜–↜1998) and Le Corbusier (1887↜–↜1965). This research is based on the analysis of professional and personal letters, books, note­ books, plans and reports from the archives of the Fondation Le Â�Corbusier, the Acervo Lucio Costa and the French National Library.3 The results show, on the one hand, the differing ideas on how to produce microclimates in architecture, as well as their influ­ ence in the design process: Le Corbusier understood climate control as a representation of human independence; whereas Costa explored climate as a representation of Bra­ zilian traditions. This helps put our understanding of how 20th-century climate ideol­ ogies interfered with Â�architectural discourse into a broader perspective. At the same time, this chapter addresses the Â�architectural means used to interact with climate Â� in light of their theoretical and material aspects. In the House of Brazil, the architectural expression suggests a modern sensitivity to climate inspired by previous experiments in geographical contexts such as India Â�(Chandigarh) and France (Marseilles, Rezé).4 A 134

long time after the building’s erection, the anthropologist Ceres Karam Brum stud­ ied the community of the House of Brazil, raising interesting questions on cultural reÂ�presentativeness and the sensation of hominess through architecture.5 Her work reminds us that ultimately, the House of Brazil became, not least via the construction of microclimates, “a metaphorical machine that evokes the places of origin of the stu­ dents.”↜6 A New Architecture for Brazil In the 1940s, the new Brazilian regime embraced architecture as an instrument of pro­ paganda to underpin the modern Brazilian identity. The country’s social and political conditions made it particularly sensitive to a process of metabolization of the mod­ ernist principles.7 At that time, politics were closely intertwined with architectural Â�expression and ideology. The colonial past was integrated into the definition of the new nation and a “national style of modern architecture” was promoted.8 Just as colonial architecture had done, the modern codification of Brazilian architectural atmospheres naturally took its cues from climate conditions and cultural traditions.9 Brazilian modernists also assimilated the theories of the Homme Nouveau of the Global North countries.10 Minister Gustavo Capanema, for instance, claimed that the goal of the new Ministry of Education and Health was “to prepare, to compose and to perfect the man of Brazil.”↜11 Accordingly, the new ministry building represented something “monumental, without any shadows, deep, bright, strong, and decisive.”↜12 The modernist architectural expression of sun­ light and open air in Brazil stood as the ac­ complishment of the modernization promise (Fig.╃1). Generally speaking, the transforma­ tion of modern architecture into the Brazilian paradigm passed through a special focus on topography, harsh light and a warm, humid climate. Brazilian architects revisited brisesoleils, pilotis, free-plans and rooftop terraces

regulation and cross-ventilation.13 The Brazilian architect Lucio Costa involved himself in this modernization by way of an ex­ tensive investigation of colonial architecture. His interest was neither to preserve nor make populist allusions; rather, he aimed at natu­

Fig.╃1╇ Façade with brise-soleil at the Ministry of Education and Health in Rio de Janeiro. The project involved Le Corbusier in the early design phase (1936), together with a Brazilian design team that was headed by L.╃Costa and included O.╃Niemeyer.

ralizing the ties between colonial and mod­ ern architecture by placing Modernism in the historical continuity of traditional archi­ tecture. Costa described Le Corbusier’s rib­ bon windows, for instance, as a progression towards an increasingly open façade: “In the

Building a Brazilian Climate╃/╃Paris (France)

to incorporate features of climate-responsive design inherited from colonial architecture: blinds, lattices, wood screens and ceramic tiles allowed sunlight control, hygrothermal

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18th Â�century, the voids and solids remained in equilibrium, and in the early 19th the voids frankly predominated. […] After 1900 the façade is almost wholly open.”↜14 Â�Costa’s Brazilian Pavilion for the New York World’s Fair (1939), which he designed in collab­ oration with Oscar Niemeyer, enhanced architectural openness that blurred internal and exterior spaces, creating a connection to climate that was essential for the Brazil­ ian atmosphere. Building a Brazilian Climate in Paris A few years later, Costa again explored the representation of Brazilian modernity through architecture in the project for the House of Brazil in Paris. In 1952, he was man­ dated by the Brazilian Heritage and National Artist Service (SPHAN )↜15 to design the building for the new Brazilian Pavilion at the International University Campus of Paris. At the time, and as a member of the Committee of Five, the architect was also involved in the preliminary design of the UNESCO Headquarters in the French capital.16 By the end of 1952, he sent the project statement in a personal letter to his friend Rodrigo de Andrade (1898↜–↜1969),17 director of SPHAN , in which he describes his expectations concerning the relationship between climate and architecture for the House of Brazil. Costa’s letter began by arguing in favor of changing the original name Brazilian Â� Pavilion to “House of Brazilian Students” or to “House of Brazil.”↜18 He believed the term “pavilion” was unpleasant and inappropriate, whereas the term “house” would inspire both a feeling of hominess for students and an image of an open institution that was exploring Brazilian culture in Paris. Costa said that the building showed Brazilian modernization through an architectural expression of regularity and light­ ness. The building materials would create a dialogue between modernity and tradi­ tion, inasmuch as iron, glass or concrete were mixed with a cladding façade on the ground floor and with walls painted in “Brazilian col­ ors”↜19 (Fig.╃2). Surprisingly, the formalization of this Brazilian identity strongly recalled the image of Le Corbusier’s neighboring Swiss Pa­ vilion (1928↜–↜1931). The set of preliminary plans attached to the letter is evidence of such sim­ ilarity, particularly notable in the elevations and exterior views. This project could be con­ sidered “a Brazilian version of the Swiss Pa­ vilion, but it would be one that at least values and confronts it, rejecting the quota of Brutal­ ist anticipation.”↜20 Yet the Brazilian building was bigger: 103╯rooms, 56╯meters long, 21╯me­ ters high and from 12 to 17╯meters wide (Fig.╃3). Costa’s preliminary design reveals his ap­ proach to the notion of climate, which would

Fig.╃2╇ Detailed view of the brise-soleil Â� of the House of Brazil at the south-east façade in 2010.

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be directly or indirectly present in a number of subsequent discussions throughout the Â�design phase. Apparently, he interpreted cli­ mate in two ways: on the one hand, it was the

Fig.╃3╇ South view of the House of Brazil in 1959.

it; south, good in winter, but very hot in summer; west, windy with rain; south-east iÂ� deal.”↜21 Although his proposal neglected the street alignments of the master plan, the local climate experience of the students counted more for him. Describing the interior of the students’ rooms, Costa’s report also took climate into account. He designed hor­ izontal ribbon windows of 1.05 meters in height that would be divided into two halves, one of them sliding and of transparent glass, the other fixed and of opaque glass. For daylight control, the architect suggested installing external roller blinds in front of the sliding windows: a functional and cost-effective solution inspired by the traditional blinds he had seen on his trip to Lisbon in 1952. For the fixed half, he proposed install­ ing an indoor curtain. Lastly, Costa explained the rooms’ heating system: a radiator in­ stallation integrated in the parapets of the aforementioned windows. He argued that a radiator system was simple and practical: “From my experience I know that it is very convenient when you arrive wet from the street to have a place to put coats and shoes to dry.”↜22 This preference was at odds with the radiant heating systems that prevailed in the European modernist discourse from the late 1930s onwards.23 At the beginning of 1953, Costa entrusted André Wogenscky (1916↜–↜2004), chief Â�assistant of the Atelier Le Corbusier (L.↜ C .), with both the development of the construc­ tion project and management of the construction works. Le Corbusier’s Â�intervention in

Building a Brazilian Climate╃/╃Paris (France)

functional interÂ�action of the building with the French climate; on the other, the repre­ sentation of Brazilian identity via indoor microclimates for both students and visitors. Costa evaluated the orientation of the building in great detail, explaining that he could only decide on the orientation of the students’ rooms after discussion with res­ idents in other houses on campus. As he said: “They were unanimous: north, forget

137

Fig.╃4╇ Final project drawing of the ground floor and dormitory floors. 1 Entrance, 2 Hall, 3 Cafeteria, 4 Concierge quarters, 5 Loge, 6 Toilets, 7 Theater, 8 Game area, 9 Cloakroom, 10 Elevator, 11 Director’s quarters, 12 Director’s office, 13 Administration, 14 Library, 15 Single student room, 16 Double student room, 17 Music hall, 18 Shared kitchen, 19 Toilets, 20 Atelier, 21 Study room, 22 Elevator

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the design was unexpected because at the time, he was focused on projects in Chan­ digarh, Ahmedabad and Ronchamp.24 However, the opinion of Le Corbusier and his collaborators imposed several modifications on the preliminary design up until the end of construction in 1959. Finally, political pressure to start construction led Costa to approve the plans without restrictions in January 1956, even though he no longer Â�considered himself the project’s author. The final design (Fig.╃4) was neither a Costa project nor a creation of the Atelier L.↜ C .; instead, it was something of a “palimpsest written with several hands.”↜25 Negotiating the Climate of Paris By the end of 1953, the Atelier L.↜ C . had taken over the direction of the project, although Le Corbusier’s first intervention was not until March 1954.26 While he had been faithful to the original project hitherto, his initial commentary on the finalized plans stressed a different understanding of the interaction between architecture and climate. The Ate­ lier L.↜ C . drew up a new version that preserved the siting, the building orientation and the overall shape; yet the original glazed façade (S-SE ) was replaced by a loggia brisesoleil, or sun-breaker, inspired by the one at the Unité d’habitation of Marseilles. Accord­ ing to Le Corbusier, the brise-soleil loggias were “justified in Paris, and they also have the considerable advantage of serving as a rain barrier (brise-pluie) for the façade.”↜27 In November 1955, the assistant André Maisonnier drew up a new version of the project, adding a long balcony to the central part of the campus façade (W-NW ). By the end of the year, the architects finished the third version of the project along with the techni­ cal sections and sent it to Costa for approval. This triggered an epistolary debate Â� that highlighted their differences, including in their rhetoric on climate. In February 1956,28

the start. On the contrary, his thesis for the new Brazilian architecture focused on the link between inhabitants and sunlight through architectural devices, such as balco­ nies or brise-soleils;↜31 as Costa framed it: “With our climate […] the fact is that balconies, when properly oriented, are the best place to stand; and what is a balcony, after all, if not a room completely out of doors?”↜32 Indeed, Costa’s housing projects in Brasilia and Rio de Janeiro, similar to those of other Brazilian architects, employed Le Corbusier’s brise-soleil as a modernist inter­ pretation of the traditional verandas and mashrabiya. Meanwhile, Le Corbusier insist­ ed on the necessity of the brise-soleil in the Parisian climate to moderate the weather­ ing of the façades. This awareness had resulted from his problems with the façades of the building for the Salvation Army and the Swiss Pavilion, both in Paris. He clarified that “the climate in Paris is not that of the tropics; it is treacherous. It freezes and it rains in this country and the sky of the Ile-de-France is beautiful when it is blue, but it is not every day.”↜33 Le Corbusier also took umbrage with Costa’s lack of criticism about the International University’s approach, which promoted national pavilions copying

Building a Brazilian Climate╃/╃Paris (France)

Costa explained his dissatisfaction with the final project of the Atelier L.↜ C . He stressed the importance of designing a building in which Brazilian students “would feel com­ fortable, at home;”↜29 but he felt it should also represent Brazilian culture despite being subject to the climate of Paris: “It is a house for Paris, no doubt, but it is addressed to the Brazilian government and for Brazilian people. […] It should neither be designed nor built by translating a spirit and an intention that could be considered anti-Â�Brazilian.”↜30 Costa especially refused the loggia brise-soleil designed by the Atelier L.↜ C . right from

139

the architectural style of each respective country. For that reason, he continued, most of them did not fit into the Parisian climatic context: “Despite the particular tastes of each nation, the climate of Paris is imperative and my building, which is intended to stay up, should be constructed to stay up.”↜34 Finally, Le Corbusier disapproved of the creation of a Brazilian atmosphere to accommodate Brazilian students in France; Â�rather, he argued in favor of accommodating Brazilian students in the local way of life. In May 1956, Costa wrote a letter to Le Corbusier, both to calm tempers and facilitate the beginning of construction.35 It was to be the last exchange between the two on the House of Brazil. Methods of Climate Control The construction of the House of Brazil relied a great deal on the experience of Atelier L.↜ C . in residential buildings after World War II , and in particular, on the Unité d’habitation of Rezé (1953↜–↜1956), which reviewed the early experi­ ment of Marseilles (1946↜–↜1952) in line with the economic constraints of a private commis­ sion for social housing. The Rezé project estab­ lished a feasible model that would be repeat­ ed in Le Corbusier’s residential works↜—↜the designs for the structure, windows or heating systems, for instance, were permanent. Micro­ climate control in the House of Brazil repli­ cated the way of life that Le Corbusier imag­ ined for the Unité d’habitation, idealizing life

Fig.╃5╇ Cross-ventilation solution attached to the Climatic Grid file.

under the sun on the French Riviera. Howev­ er, the Brazilian building revisited that model through the lens of a renewed climatic aware­ ness that was raised after the Indian works. In fact, the project represented Le Corbusier’s early attempt to translate into the European context the knowledge developed for the Cli­ matic Grid (grille climatique), a climate-inclu­ sive design method tested in Chandigarh (In­ dia).36 Although the method disappeared from the works of the Atelier L .↜ C . in 1952, the at­ tached architectural design guidelines ori­ ented the climatic approach of his successive works (Fig.╃5). The Climatic Grid was part of a wider framework that renewed the hygienic ideas of early Modernism. By the mid-1930s, new re­ search on occupational medicine and environ­ mental control systems aimed at rationalizing individuals’ environment in order to control 140

Fig.╃6╇ Commercial leaflet of Missenard’s company, Ets Missenard-Quint (1957 ).

health and social productivity.37 Environmental control systems made it feasible to bring order to climatic anarchy by maintaining perpetual spring conditions indoors and assuring a feeling of thermal neutrality all year round. Physicians and engineers sought to create indoor microclimates where inhabitants “do not experience any un­ pleasant thermal sensation (neither too hot, nor too cold), and live under conditions more favorable to the normal exercise of their activity and the maintenance of their health.”↜38 In general terms, two major approaches prevailed: the production of im­ mutable indoor microclimates and the creation of perfect natural microclimates in­ doors. Even if the first has been largely studied,39 the second approach was crucial to understanding the European architects’ point of view. Two outstanding engineers supported it, namely André Missenard (1901↜–↜1989), founder of the “Science of Artifi­ cial Climates” (Fig.╃6) and collaborator of Le Corbusier, and Ernest Tunzini (n. d.↜–↜1976), the French pioneer of Â�“Atmosphere by Air-Conditioning” according to L’Architecture d’Aujourd’hui (1935). Both engineers argued in favor of applying modern techniques to reproduce nat­ ural climatic conditions indoors, or even improve them.40 According to them, indoor

ed in a lecture at the Faculty of Medicine of Paris that architecture should respect the natural rhythms of life, adaptive and variable, which contrast with the mono­ tonous rhythms imposed by the machine age. “All that is human alternates: walk­ ing, eyes flickering, talking, the lips that speak, whatever you want, I do not care, it is Â�alternating, whereas the machine, it is continuous.”↜44 The interest in restoring the conditions of nature did not refer to naturalist, moral or hygienist values;↜45 rather, it responded to the modernist aspiration for returning to an idealistic relationship with nature through the use of the machine. Since the publication of Man and Climate, Missenard had collated climatic studies with the study of modern environmental control techniques to create the basis for his “Science of Artificial Climates”. As mentioned above, the engineer thought that indoor microclimates, by controlling air quality and temperature, should stimulate inhab­ itants’ bodies to promote active health. To do so, Missenard suggested some determin­ ing characteristics for indoor microclimates. First among them was to maintain inhab­ itants’ living conditions close to those of their natural climate, which would prompt the best physiological performance of their vital and social tasks. Le Corbusier’s notes in Man and Climate contextualized this assertion: “To return to the wild state and to sleep in a cave? Or, then, create the compensations nevertheless, by a reinforcement of the active life, oscillating, anti-sedentary. Conditions for the VR (Ville Radieuse)? To achieve the natural conditions.”↜46 Secondly, Missenard argued that artificial cli­

Building a Brazilian Climate╃/╃Paris (France)

Â� microclimates had to prevent thermal neutrality and recreate the natural hetero­ geneity, which would contribute to training the human thermoregulatory system and strengthening the body’s immune system. In Missenard’s words: “We expect to cre­ ate artificial conditions to replace the natural climate.”↜41 Such a preventive hygienic approach, which focused on environmental determinants, was disseminated among the French elite as characterizing eugenics in France.42 Le Corbusier had been famil­ iar with this theory since the publication of Missenard’s manifesto Man and Climate (L’homme et le climat, 1937). Indeed, the architect’s library included a copy of the book with a number of handwritten notes that linked the engineer’s assertions to his own urban theory, The Radiant City (La Ville radieuse, 1934).43 In July 1961, Le Corbusier stat­

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Fig.╃7╇ Plan of Ets Missenard-Quint for the rooms’ heating floor ducts.

Fig.╃8╇ Technical section of the heating floor patent, Système Missenard.

mates should break with the trend of sensory neutrality disseminated by the thermal comfort standards of air-conditioning, which would weaken the human immune sys­ tem.47 Thirdly, the “Science of Artificial Climates” aimed at strengthening inhabitants’ thermo-regulatory systems via continuous and unconscious thermal training all day through and across the building. Indoor temperatures should be coupled with those outdoors to maintain the natural thermo-regulatory adaption. In addition, thermal con­ ditions had to be adapted to the function of the space and the metabolic needs of in­ habitants, resulting in bodies that would have been in a state of continuous reaction. Although Missenard did not mention the transfer of the “Science of Artificial Climates” to his projects, the technical projects for the House of Brazil reveal a number of interfer­ ences with Atelier L .C.’s design methods. Three main issues deserve to be highlighted: the environmental control systems, the regulation of sunlight and the openness to air. Environmental Control Systems The design of the heating system for the House of Brazil can be seen as an attempt by Missenard to integrate the “Science of Artificial Climates” into architecture. Misse­ nard’s company (Ets.╃M issenard-Quint) joined the design and construction team in July 1957. At that time, they sent the document “Description of Works” to the Atelier L.↜ C .╯with their proposal for heating and ventilation systems—never, in fact, consider­ ing the radiator system suggested by Costa.48 According to the document, the heat­ ing system adopted three complementary strategies. The first was to heat the building up to a base temperature using their own heated-slab system. Missenard’s patent,49 granted in 1953, guided the design for a “floor heating system at a normal tempera­ ture and with a heterogeneous coating”↜50 (Figs.╃7 and 8). It would operate with two different circuits↜—↜one for the rooms, the other for the ground floor. For those spaces with greater heat loss, such as the ground and top floors, the engineers designed a net­ work of convectors installed in the room partitions with special yellow niches. For the ground floor theater, with intermittent use, they decided to install a blown-air heater, which would not go into operation until November 1961, due to electrical Â�problems.51 142

Aside from natural ventilation, the system also permitted mechanical ventilation of the space during warm periods. Lastly, the technical spaces of the basement floor were heated by normal radiator installations. The temperature of each space appears to be adapted to the activity, and a thermal transition takes place between the inside and outside. The engineers’ report shows the gradient: the room floors with 18↜渀屮°C; the indoor corridors with no heating at a slightly lower temperature; the ground floor with 15↜渀屮°C; lastly, the small glazed entry box that finishes the transition towards outdoors; the theater, considered independent, would be heated to 18↜渀屮°C. The report also explains that the engineers designed a thermal sen­ sor to control the operational temperature of the system, depending on the outdoor temperature. Engineers did not anticipate any intervention by inhabitants, since the system would automatically regulate indoor temperatures depending on outdoor ones. In the House of Brazil, as well as in other of Le Corbusier’s projects of the same pe­ riod, the floor assumed a special relevance. If it was already important from structural and aesthetic points of view, Missenard’s floor heating system also enhanced the sense of touch and the thermal sensation in general, leading to a different sensory percep­ tion of the space. Accordingly, the architects unveiled this complexity by studying the singularity of flooring aesthetics. For the dormitory levels, they chose a modern vi­ nyl flooring of Bulgomme with fake marble grain. For the ground floor, they designed a composition in strips of black slate sheets in different sizes, punctuated by the grey cement of the thick joints (Fig.╃9). The Bertocchi company installed the slate sheets, as they did at the same time for the chapel flooring at the Convent of La Tourette, built in 1959.52

loggia brise-soleil applied in housing projects, on the other hand, aimed at “enter[ing] the sun in the dwelling”↜55 so that inhabitants would have additional spaces to live in under the sun.56 The material aspects of both devices were crucial in the thermal re­ sponse of architecture. In the House of Brazil, the loggia brise-soleil reproduced the same form and material­ ity as in the Unités d’habitation. Built with a reinforced concrete framework 1.46╯meters deep, its lattices, jambs and head were made in pre-cast concrete finished in gravel. By contrast, instead of facing east or west, the one in Paris faced southeast and achieved greater efficiency in sunlight control. The exposure of the concrete framework with high thermal inertia to the sun produces the indoor microclimate of the House of Brazil: it acquires and preserves the solar heat energy, which is later transmitted inside, heat­ ing passively during winter days, but at the same time inhibiting comfort in summer.

Building a Brazilian Climate╃/╃Paris (France)

Regulation of Sunlight Several publications have discussed in detail how, from the 1930s onwards, Le Corbus­ ier paid special attention to the interaction of sunlight with architecture and society.53 In the Radiant City,54 his manifesto for a modern urbanism, he introduced the three­ fold strategy of “sunlight, fresh air and greenery” and promoted a way of life regulated by the “Twenty-Four Solar Hours” theory. In this regard, the brise-soleil became an ar­ chitectural device through which the building could interact technically, aesthetically and functionally with sunlight. Le Corbusier developed two proposals with different objectives: the regular brise-soleil implemented primarily in non-residential buildings, aimed at providing protection from sunlight and controlling daylight level indoors; the

143

Fig.╃9╇ Plan for the ground floor slate flooring.

144

145

Fig.╃10╇ Technical details of the ground floor aerator.

The choice of the type of windows was crucial to achieving a sense of living out­ doors. The loggia brise-soleil in Marseilles enhanced the connection between indoors and outdoors through a system of full-length folding windows that fully opened up the façade of the apartments. Economic and climatic constraints in the House of Bra­ zil led the architects to a different solution. The new façade design of Wogenscky, Bar­ beris (carpenter) and Alazard (glazier) was called the Fourth Wall. It consisted of a yellow-Â�painted wooden frame 32 centimeters deep, and compartments for two fixed windows, each of which used the patented Thermopane double glazing and two piv­ oted wooden panels: one to reach the loggia, the other to ventilate the space. It seems clear that such a solution simplified the construction procedure, and guaranteed a re­ duction in air leaks, but fell short of satisfying the aspiration of connecting the loggias with the indoor space. Paradoxically, during the design phase, the architects of the House of Brazil never explained the necessity of the loggia brise-soleil in sunlight control or aesthetic terms. As mentioned above, Le Corbusier argued for the brise-soleil primarily to protect the building from the weatherizing of the rain. Likewise, as Wogenscky explained for Ber­ lin, the brise-soleil “stops very little sunlight in reality […]” but it is useful for “protect­ ing the whole façade and the windows from rain.”↜57 The controversy on the Marseilles device’s efficiency in protecting from sunlight seemed to push the architects to find new reasons to justify it. 146

Openness to Air In addition to sunlight exposure, reflections on the buildings’ openness to air appeared in Le Corbusier’s works from the mid-1930s onwards. The early hygienic struggles on air renovation mutated in this period into a more complex imbrication of Â�architectural form and air. According to the architect, the ventilation strategies ameliorated indoor microclimates; buildings had to be ready “to receive any diagonal air current going from cold to hot”↜58 allowing “the free passage of air.”↜59 The Climatic Grid promoted architectural strategies attentive to the “careful orientation of openings according to prevalent winds”↜60 and to the “establishment or suppression of air circulation depend­ ing on sunny weather.”↜61 Even for the Unité d’habitation in Marseilles, the Atelier L.↜ C . explained that the “natural freshness” of the apartments was a “consequence of the tubular form.”↜62 Despite the fact that Parisian climate differed from that of the Asian subcontinent, the House of Brazil benefited from Le Corbusier’s experience with natural ventilation in North India. The façade design integrated a set of narrow ventilation doors along the entire surface of the building: the aerator (aèrateur). Carefully designed by Missenard, the aerator consisted of metallic and wooden panels 27 centimeters wide from floor to ceiling, resulting in a reduced surface exposed to the wind. This shape accelerated the air velocity and created what Missenard called the effect of a vertical blade of air. “De­ pending on the season, the flow of this blade will be low or high. […] This blade must act from floor to ceiling simultaneously. […] Ventilation of pure air operates perfectly on both sides of the blade, crossing the room.”↜63 Furthermore, the aerators were posi­ tioned to obtain “ventilation at a human height,”↜64 which improved thermal comfort

tectural envelope created a dynamic effect with sunlight, shadows, glares and air­ flows changing all day long. One could say that it connected the indoor space to the outdoor rhythms, capturing breezes and following the sun’s movement in an aesthetic Â� and multisensorial approach (Fig.╃11). For the dormitory levels (Fig.╃1 2), the university’s technical services staff rejected the natural cross-ventilation. They contended that the air running freely across rooms, corridors and kitchens would represent a fire risk.65 Consequently, the rooms were equipped with a different ventilation system that had already been tested in the Chandigarh Secretary. A single wooden aerator was inte­ grated in the Fourth Wall façade of each room to allow the entry of air. Then, to permit the release of stale air, a second aerator was installed near the shower. The air was ex­ pelled through vertical ducts placed along the corridor walls, which drew air upwards due to the thermal chimney effect and was boosted by a mechanical exhaust system. Conclusion: Contrasting Climate Imaginaries in Architecture This chapter has analyzed the design process of a modernist building while focusing on climate-relevant aspects of architecture. The analysis of the House of Brazil shows that the understanding of microclimates in Modern architecture cannot be considered Â�univocal; rather, the comments and design criteria of Le Corbusier and Costa reveal Â�

Building a Brazilian Climate╃/╃Paris (France)

and allowed inhabitants to manage the indoor air flows (Fig.╃10). For the ground floor’s public spaces, the aerators were fitted into opposing walls to trigger a cross-ventilation effect for the open space. The architects installed eight Â�colored metallic aerators into the façade system designed by Xenakis, a wavy glass pane (pan de verre ondulatoire). Together with windows of various widths, this archi­

147

Fig.╃11╇ Ground floor of the House of Brazil.

148

different approaches. Le Corbusier aimed at manufacturing indoor mi­ croclimates that would restore nat­ ural climatic conditions in architec­ ture. To do so, he integrated passive and active environmental control techniques that he had employed in his previous works in India and Marseilles. By contrast, Costa aimed at creating an architectural expres­ sion that represented the unique ties of culture and climate in the Brazil­ ian tradition. Two main aspects cat­ alyzed the debate on microclimates: Fig.╃12╇ Interior view (2010) of the rooms after refurbishment in the mechanization of indoor atmo­ 1996. spheres using environmental control systems (heated slabs, radiators, blown-air systems) and the regulation of indoor con­ ditions by sunlight and wind control (brise-soleil, windows, curtains, aerators). In the case of the House of Brazil, the designers’ climatic imaginary referred to a number of material and immaterial issues. Firstly, indoor microclimates established an intimate link with outdoors climate through architectural devices for sunlight (loggia brise-soleil and wavy glass panes) and air (aerators). These microclimatic materialities intermingle architectural expression, both by sublimating climatic phenomena and inhabitants’ practices and permitting a moderate adjustment of indoor microÂ�climates. Secondly, the microclimate design aimed to interact with the Â�physiological dimen­ sion of the human body. According to Missenard’s “Science of Artificial Climates,” the active and passive methods for environmental control in the House of Brazil offered microclimates that created a state of continuous thermal reaction. Lastly, the cultural understanding of the notion of climate influenced the way in which designers and in­ habitants handled daylight, colors, textures, temperatures and air movements. Even nowadays, these characteristics are a matter of contention between the European and Brazilian approaches of both visitors and residents.

cent great country that invented this beautiful flag in green, yellow and blue: nature, the sun, the sky of the tropics.”↜66 This symbolism and the material manifestation of culture and climate influenced the design process of the House of Brazil. At a time when climatic rhetoric and architecture were deeply connected to politics, the select­ ed case study reveals various approaches to the modernist project in the 1950s. Such controversy anticipates the divergent climatic discourses in the architecture of the 1960s and 1970s↜—↜e.g., air-conditioned domes or bioclimatic autonomous houses. Con­ sequently, the final project of the House of Brazil in Paris must be considered, rather than a confrontation of climatic paradigms, a synthesis of debates on architectural microÂ�climates.

Building a Brazilian Climate╃/╃Paris (France)

Le Corbusier, during his inaugural address for the House of Brazil in June 1959, Â�remembered the link between Brazilian identity and climate, stating: “This magnifi­

149

↜1╇ Frampton, Kenneth. 1998 . “Towards a Critical Regionalism: Six Points for an Architecture of Resistance.” In The Anti-Aesthetic: Essays on Postmodern Culture, edited by Hal Foster. New York: New Press.╇↜2╇ Jankovic, Vladimir. 2010. Confronting the Climate: British Airs and the Making of Environmental Medicine. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.╇↜3╇ I gratefully acknowledge the support and generosity of the Fondation Le Corbusier for the access to their documentary resources. I also extend my thanks to Ivania West for her Portuguese-English translations.╇↜4╇ Up to now, architectural historians have considered the House of Brazil one of Le Corbusier’s minor works. Various articles have addressed the history of the works (Puppi, Marcelo. 2008 . “Unfinished Spaces: Le Corbusier, Lucio Costa and the Brazil House Saga, 1953↜–↜56.” ArqTexto 12: 160↜–↜203 .↜/↜Demillac, Lea. 2011. “1956 Maison du Brésil.” In Le Corbusier Plans v.↜13 [DVD ]. Paris: Echelle-1╃ & ╃Fondation Le Corbusier), the authorship issue and design negotiations between Costa and Le Corbusier (Choay, Françoise. 1959. “Le Pavillon du Brésil à la Cité Universitaire de Paris.” L’Oeil 57: 54↜–↜59.↜/↜Joly, Pierre. 1987. “Le Pavillon du Brésil à la Cité Universitaire de Paris: un dialogue difficile.” In Le Corbusier à Paris: Essai sur une esthétique de l’architecture, edited by Pierre Joly and Vera Cardot. Paris: La ManuÂ�facture), as well as the refurbishment works of the building in 1996 (Toulier, Bernard. 1999. “La Cité Internationale Universitaire de Paris: La réhabilitation de la Maison du Brésil.” In Architecture et patrimoine du XX e siècle en France. Paris: Editions du Patrimoine.↜/↜Bauchet, Bernard, and Hubert Rio. 2001. “La Maison du Brésil à la Cité Universitaire de Paris.” Monumental 1: 184↜–↜91). ↜5╇ Brum, Ceres Karam. 2011. “Maison du Brésil: A Student Residence for the Brazilian Elite in Paris.” Sociology Study 1 (1): 31↜–↜4 8 .╇↜6╇ Gargiani, Roberto, and Anna Rosellini. 2011. Le Corbusier. Béton Brut and Ineffable Space, 1940↜–↜1965 . Surface Materials and Psychophysiology of Vision. Lausanne: EPFL Press, p.╃119.╇↜7╇ Le Roux, Hannah. 2004 . “Building on the Boundary. Modern Architecture in the Tropics.” Social Identities 10 (4): 439↜–↜53.╇↜8╇ Banham, Reyner. 1962. Guide to Modern Architecture. London: Architectural Press.╇↜9╇ In 1943 , the exhibition at the MOMA “Brazil Builds: Architecture New and Old, 1652↜–↜1942 ” emphasized this exploration for connecting new and old. (Del Real, Patricio. 2012 . Building a Continent: The Idea of Latin American Architecture in the Early Postwar. PhD thesis, New York: Columbia University.)╇↜10╇ Guillén, Mauro F.╯2004 . “Modernism without Modernity: The Rise of Modernist Architecture in Mexico, Brazil, and Argentina, 1890↜–↜1940.” Latin American Research Review 39 (2): 6↜–↜34 .╇↜11╇ Lissovsky, Mauricio, and Paulo Sergio Sá. 1996 . Colunas da educaçao: A construçao do Ministério de Educaçao e Saúde (1935↜–↜ 1945). Rio de Janeiro: MCÂ� lPHAN , Ediçoes do Património, p.╃230.╇↜12╇ Speech by G.╃Capanema at the opening of the MESP (Ministério da Educação e Saúde), October 3 , 1945 in Gonçalves Quintil, Maria M.╯ 2016. “Le Ministère de l’Education et de la Santé Publique à Rio de Janeiro: Patrimoine moderne et adéÂ� quation avec le climat local.” In Les dispositifs du confort dans l’architecture du XX e siècle: connaissance et stratégies de sauvegarde, edited by Giulia Marino and Franz Graf. Lausanne: Presses polytechniques et universitaires

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romandes, p.╃2 57.╇↜13╇ Lehmann, Steffen. 2016. “An Environmental and Social Approach in the Modern Architecture of Brazil: The Work of Lina Bo Bardi.” City, Culture and Society 7 (3): 169↜–↜85.╇↜14╇ Costa, Lucio. 1939. “Documentação Necesária.” SPHAN Bulletin. English translation by Gonçalves Quintil (2016 , 258).╇↜15╇ SPHAN (Serviço do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional).╇↜16╇ Costa, Â�Lucio. 1995. “Casa do estudante. Cité Universitaire, Paris.” In Registro de uma vivencia. São Paulo: Empresa das Artes, p.╃103 .╇↜17╇ L.╃Costa, Letter to Rodrigo No.╃17, 1952 , Archive Casa Lucio Costa, VI.A.03↜–↜0 1754 .╇↜18╇ Casa do estudante brasileiro or Casa do Brasil.╇↜19╇ Colors for the façade: grey, blue, red and white. Colors for interior walls: blue, pink, aqua green and lemon yellow.╇↜20╇ Puppi (2008 , 163).╇↜21╇ L.╃Costa, Letter to Rodrigo, op. cit., (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜22╇ Ibid., (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz). ↜2 3╇ The radiant heating systems represented modernity in environmental control: they were invisible, or totally integrated, in architectural design, and regulated indoor climates in the healthiest possible way, transmitting heat to bodies by keeping the air in the room still and cold (Marino, Giulia. 2014 . “Some Like It Hot!” Le confort physiologique et ses dispositifs dans l’architecture du XX e siècle: histoire et devenir d’un enjeu majeur. PhD thesis, Lausanne: EPFL , ENAC ).╇↜24╇ L.╃Costa, Letter to Rodrigo, op.╃cit.╇↜25╇ Puppi (2008 , 192). Le Corbusier recognized the shared authorship in his Complete Works. He added to the title the note, “in accordance with Lucio Costa” and explained that “the first plans were designed by Mr.╃Lucio Costa, Arch., Rio de Janeiro, but the final project was carried out by the Le Corbusier staff” (Le Corbusier. 1965. Œuvre Complète 1957↜–↜ 1965 . Edited by Willy Boesiger. (3 rd ed., 1977.) Zurich: Editions GirsbergerÂ�↜—↜Les Editions d’Architecture.↜/↜Le Corbusier. 1957. Œuvre Complète 1952↜–↜1957. Edited by Willy Boesiger. (6th ed., 1977.) Zurich: Editions Girsberger). The House of Brazil went slightly unnoticed in both volumes, being accorded two pages (6th) and nine pages (7th), respectively.╇↜26╇ A. Wogenscky, letter to L.╃Costa, March 19, 1954 , FLC K1 .8 .197. ↜27╇ Ibid., (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜28╇ L.╃Costa, letter to Le Corbusier, February 7, 1956, FLC K1.8 .199.╇↜29╇ Ibid., (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜30╇ Ibid., (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜31╇ Del Real (2012 , 140).╇↜32╇ Costa (1939). ↜33╇ Le Corbusier, letter to L.╃Costa, February 23 , 1956, FLC K1.8 .202., (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜3 4╇ Ibid., (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜35╇ L.╃Costa, letter to Le Corbusier, May 14, 1956, FLC K1.8 .232.╇↜36╇ In November 1951, Le Corbusier sent a letter to Missenard explaining that for him, Chandigarh was the opportunity to investigate experimental procedures without the constraints of European laws. He asked for the engineer’s advice on developing a design method that could operate under any particular set of climatic conditions. From December 1951 to February 1952 , an intensive exchange resulted in a design method called the Climatic Grid (Siret, Daniel. 2005. “1951 Grille Climatique.” In Le Corbusier Plans v.↜11 [ DVD ]. Paris: Â�Echelle-1╃& ╃Fondation Le Corbusier). It was “a graphical means of presentation which permits the enumeration, coordination and analysis of the climatic conditions of a place in order to direct architectural research towards solutions in accordance with human biology.” It dealt with

reception definitive, October 6, 1961, FLC K1.16.331 . ↜52╇ F.╃Gardien╃ &╃ G. ↜M. ╃Prĕsente, letter to Ateliers d’Ardoiserie d’Angers, April 21, 1960, FLC K3.13 .88. ╇↜53╇ Barber, Daniel. 2012. “Le Corbusier, the Brise-Soleil, and the Socio-Climatic Project of Modern Architecture, 1929↜–↜1963.” Thresholds 40: 21↜–↜32.↜ /↜Siret, Daniel. 2012. “Soleil, lumière et chaleur dans l’architecture moderne: excursions dans l’oeuvre de Le Corbusier.” L’Emoi de l’historie 34: 177↜–↜93. ↜5 4╇ Le Corbusier (1934).╇↜55╇ Le Corbusier. 1946. Œuvre Complète 1938↜–↜1946. Edited by Willy Boesiger. (7 th ed., 1977.) Zurich: Editions Girsberger, p.╃109.╇↜56╇ With regard to the brise-soleil, Le Corbusier wrote: “A range of small successive discoveries that allowed me to become and remain a friend of the sun and to bring, even to certain countries like Brazil and under the tropical sun, solutions that are the first to allow one to open up modern life” (Le Corbusier 1946, 103, transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜57╇ A.╃Wogenscky, letter to F.↜W. ╃Müller-Reppen, October 2, 1956, FLC M3.13 .144.╇↜58╇ Le Corbusier, letter to P.↜ L . ↜Varma, May 22, 1956, FLC P1.10.301.╇↜59╇ Atelier L.↜ C . , “Grille climatique C,” FLC , 5627f. Handwritten note on the plan, (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜60╇ Atelier L.↜ C . , “Grille climatique C,” 1952, FLC , 5607.╇↜61╇ Atelier L.↜ C . , “Grille climatique C,” 1952, FLC , 5602 .╇↜62╇ Le Corbusier. 1953. Œuvre Complète 1946↜–↜1952. Edited by Willy Boesiger. (7th ed., 1976). Zurich: Editions Girsberger. The Atelier L.↜ C . promoted in India a way of life in contact with the climate through architectural strategies: “The architecture that we do over there is to make shadows, freshness of air currents and contact with natural beauty” (Chereau, Agnes. Interview Le Corbusier, March╯2 , 1953, FLC , U3 .7.362).╇↜63╇ Le Corbusier, letter to P.↜ L .╃Varma, May 22 , 1956, FLC P1.10.301, (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜64╇ Ibid., (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜65╇ A. Wogenscky, letter to L.╃Costa, March 19, 1954 , FLC , K1.8 .197.╇↜66╇ Quoted in Demillac (2011, 5).

Building a Brazilian Climate╃/╃Paris (France)

“the rectification and setting in order of the excesses of extreme climates in order to achieve, by means of architectural dispositions, conditions capable of assuring comfort and well-being.”╇↜37╇ The modern environmental control systems made it possible to standardize the rhythms of life and production of modern society. Indeed, by controlling individuals’ bodies through environmental regulation, the air conditioning disciplined human beings and influenced the social order (Mumford, Lewis. 2010 [1934]. Technics and Civilization. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. [Original printed by Harcourt, Brace and Co., New York]).╇↜38╇ Ghilardi, F. 1939. “Le conditionnement de l’air. Conditions physiques du confort.” L’Architecture╯d’Aujourd’hui 9: 52↜–↜59, (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz). ↜39╇ Ackermann, Marsha E. 2002. Cool Comfort: America’s Romance with Air-Conditioning. Washington: SmithÂ� sonian Institution Press.╇↜40╇ Missenard, André. 1937. L’homme et le climat. Paris: Librairie Plon.╇↜41╇ Missenard (1937, 253), (transl.╯by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜42╇ Rosental, Paul-André. 2016. Destins de l’eugénisme. Paris: Editions du Seuil.╇↜43╇ Le Corbusier. 1964 [1934]. La ville radieuse: éléments d’une doctrine d’urbanisme pour l’équipement de la civilisation machiniste. Paris: Vincent Fréal. [Original printed by L’Architecture d’Aujourd’hui, Boulogne-surSeine].╇↜44╇ Le Corbusier, Lecture at the Faculty of MeÂ� dicine of Paris, July 1961, FLC , C3 .10.46., (transl. by I. Requena-Ruiz).╇↜45╇ Rouillard, Dominique. 2004 . SuperÂ� architecture. Paris: Éditions de la Villette.╇↜46╇ Le Corbusier’s personal copy of Missenard’s L’homme et le climat, FLC , p.╃253 , (transl. by I.╃Requena-Ruiz).╇↜47╇ Missenard, André. 1940. A la recherche du temps et du rythme. Â�Paris: Plon.╇↜48╇ Ets Missenard-Quint, Devis descriptif des traÂ� vaux, July 25, 1957, FLC K1.5.277.╇↜49╇ Ets Missenard-Quint, Panneau rayonnant de sol. Brevété A. Missenard, February 11, 1953, FLC K2.6 .296.╇↜50╇ Ets Missenard-Quint, Devis descriptif des travaux, op. cit.╇ ↜51╇ F.╃Gardien, Certificat de

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Heating and Cooling the Desert The Case of the Kaufmann Desert House in Palm Springs (USA ) Matthias Brunner Modern heating, ventilating and air-conditioning systems are mostly based on sepa­ rating indoor and outdoor climates hermetically by an airtight membrane. Since about 1910, this concept has been challenged by fundamental doubts about the healthiness of mechanical ventilation. But with conventional heating systems, simply replacing mechanical ventilation by permanently open windows was impossible without com­ promising thermal comfort. For a relatively small group, which included a few lead­ ing architects of the modern movement, radiant heating seemed to solve that prob­ lem. Moreover, since to some extent, radiant heating is also effective outdoors, part of the group intended to push the climatic boundary beyond the façade, and even re­ garded heating entire regions conceivable. The Kaufmann Desert House, built 1946↜–↜47 by Â�Richard J.╃Neutra for Edgar J. and Liliane Kaufmann in Palm Springs, California, is a perfect case study for discussing these issues, since its climate control system was supposed to operate with open windows and to condition outdoor spaces. Palm Springs: A Favorable Microclimate for Settling, Health and Leisure The first people living in the oasis that was to become Palm Springs were the Agua Cali­ entes, a band of Cahuilla Indians. A key reason they settled there was the local micro­ climate. The San Jacinto Mountains protected it from violent winds and sandstorms. A hot spring allowed palm trees to grow, which, in turn, provided shade otherwise rare in the desert.1 In 1884, the first white settlers, John Guthrie McCallum and his Â�family, arrived in Palm Springs. Intending to develop the place into an agricultural center, Â� cCallum bought land, built an irrigation system and resold some parcels to interested M 152

farmers (Fig.╃1). He decided to settle in the location because of its hot and dry climate, hoping it would allow him to harvest his citrus fruits earlier than his competitors, and would cure his son, who was suffering from tuberculosis. However, all his expecta­ tions were disappointed. His son died in 1891, the irrigation system did not work satis­ factorily, and the climate occasionally proved to be harsh: he and his buyers endured intense heat, droughts and floods.2 Only a few years after McCallum’s arrival, in 1888, the first hotel opened in Palm Springs. By that time, the arid Southwest had acquired a reputation for offering the most favorable climate to consumptives. Correspondingly, the majority of the guests who arrived in Palm Springs suffered from tuberculosis, and hoped that the desert

Fig.╃1╇ McCallum groves and mountainside house, Palm Springs, photo ca.╃1901.

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

climate would cure them. The crucial factor in tuberculosis treatments was pure dry desert air; sunlight was not yet believed to play a major role: “After a delicious sleep, with the sides of our cottage completely opened to the refreshing cool desert air, we look around the village. […] The average relative humidity is but fifteen per cent. The importance of these tersely stated facts is at once apparent to those conversant with the effect of moisture on the development of disease. When, with the absence of in­ jurious conditions, one remembers the superlative beneficial conditions of antiseptic Â�atmosphere, completely purified in nature’s own great laboratory, the desert; the vivi­ fying power of direct sunlight; the balsamic and healing odors of the mountain forests which gently breathe down upon this valley every night in the year; the perfect quiet; the pure water from the near-by mountain springs, it is readily apparent what advan­ tages Palm Springs possesses as a natural sanitarium.”↜3

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Furthermore, it was believed that the air ought to be cold for the most beneficial effect Â� on the respiratory system. But since tubercular patients were required to stay outside day and night, summer and winter, truly cold air was unacceptable nonethe­ less. Thus, moderate air temperatuÂ�res were preferred. Correspondingly, most of the hotels in Palm Springs opened just in winter↜—↜the only season with moderate temperatures: “The favor­ able atmosphere is comfortably cool. It must not be hot. Moderately cool air is invigorating. A hot atmosphere is debilitating. Very cold weather is uncomfortable and is likely to drive one indoors.”↜4 In 1915, the Desert Inn, which was the finest hotel in Palm Springs at that time, stopped receiving tubercu­ lar patients, fearing that they would Fig.╃2╇ Man relaxing in a Palm Springs pool, reading a newspaper report of an East Coast blizzard. Cover of Palm Springs Life, 11 January 1961.

hamper business with healthy guests. At the same time, many doctors start­ ed to doubt the benefits of disÂ�locating patients to the desert. Still consider­

ing pure fresh air crucial, they did not insist on desert air any longer, but generally believed that any place sufficiently iso­ lated from the large cities and their industries could provide it. Furthermore, they ac­ knowledged that remote desert locations were problematic because they prevented frequent visits from friends and relatives.5 Until about 1930, Palm Springs had developed from a small health resort for tuber­ culosis patients into a place where the rich and famous mingled. While outdoor living around the clock was no longer the primary goal, outdoor activities remained essential for most visitors. Sunbathing, swimming, tennis, golf, hiking, botanizing, horse-rid­ ing and excursions were the most popular (Fig.╃2). The desert climate was crucial: the guests benefitted from the mild winter temperatures, the almost complete absence of rain and, most importantly, the sun, which, meantime, had replaced the air as the most important attribute of the desert climate: “Here is Palm Springs, where some people go to enjoy the desert in comfort, others to hunt celebrities. […] Palm Springs pamper­ ing its habitues with brilliant sun, the temple of modern sun worship, the capital of the cult of the desert.”↜6 Only a little later, in the first half of the 1930s, did air conditioning of commercial structures,7 private houses↜8 and transcontinental trains↜9 start to be introduced (Fig.╃8). This made Palm Springs’ hot spring, summer and autumn weather acceptable for tour­ ists. Accordingly, the season was extended from winter to the whole year. 154

Today, a considerable share of the valley bottom is covered by lush vegetation, which is entirely dependent on artificial irrigation except for a few plants on the can­ yon grounds (Fig.╃3). The largest planted areas are the golf courses, introduced as early as in the 1920s, and the gardens of the vacation homes, whose construction began in great numbers after World War II . The water for irrigation, which is largely channeled from afar or pumped up from down deep, increases the atmospheric humidity, and thus often reduces the range of vision. It changed the climate of the entire region. Â� 10 The Kaufmann Desert House From the 1920s, Edgar J. and Liliane Kaufmann used to leave their home in cold and wet Pittsburg to spend their winter holidays in sunny Palm Springs, where they en­ joyed its sporting opportunities, social life and healthy climate.11 For their summer holidays, they preferred cooler places. In 1946, for example, they went fishing in Can­ ada.12 The Kaufmanns usually stayed at El Mirador, one of the best hotels in town, which was famous for hosting numerous celebrities, and offering the most refined en­ tertainments. Furthermore, compared to the other high-class hotels, it was less dis­ criminatory towards Jewish guests like the Kaufmanns.13 After having spent many seasons in the hotel, they decided to build a vacation home in the area, and commis­ sioned the architect Richard J. Neutra. A little more than a year later, in spring 1947, the house was ready to move in (Fig.╃4).14

Fig.╃3╇ Aerial view of Palm Springs, 2011.

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

At the Kaufmann Desert House, a great deal of thought was given to climate con­ trol. In order to protect his clients from wind, sun, heat, cold and aridity, Neutra used walls, roof overhangs, custom-designed louvers, reflective surfaces, different types

155

Fig.╃4╇ Richard Neutra, Kaufmann Desert House, Palm Springs, 1946↜–↜47.

of insulation, a pool and an irrigation system. In addition, he proposed to design roof overhangs to shade the huge windows of the south façade. The Kaufmanns disagreed, however. All that mattered to them was to have sunny rooms in wintertime, since they did not intend to Â�inhabit the house in any other season.15 Notwithstanding their locations, most of Neutra’s buildings↜—↜including the Kauf­ mann Desert House↜—↜correspond more with the design strategies that experts recom­ mended since the first half of the 1950s for warm, humid climates than to those for hot and dry climates. While Neutra made “provision for full air movement,”↜16 his build­ ings are all but “heavy-weight high-thermal capacity construction[s]”↜17 with small windows. Similarly, his theories made no clear distinction between buildings for dry climates and those for humid climates, and instead, promoted a generally Â�valid “mild-Â� climate shelter.”↜18 He probably did not adopt the recommendations because he op­ posed heavy walls with small windows for a reason not directly related to the climate: Â� he refused to separate the indoors from the outdoors in the most Â�general sense. The Kaufmann Desert House was warmed by radiant heating, a method that favors heat transmittal by radiation (as opposed to heat transmittal by conduction or convec­ tion).19 The majority of residential radiant-heating systems is based on the tempering of large surfaces, such as floors, ceilings or walls, by embedded low-pressure hot wa­ ter pipes (Fig.╃5). From 1930 until at least 1952, Neutra considered this method Â� of ac­ tive climate control the healthiest, most comfortable and most natural↜—↜i.e. the best.20 Â� Neutra experienced several seminal developments in radiant heating from up close.21 In 1924↜–↜25, he worked for Frank Lloyd Wright, when Wright just had finished his first building with a few radiant-heated rooms, the Imperial Hotel, Tokyo, 1919↜–↜23,22 and had also just designed his first project that was to be warmed entirely by radiant heat­ ing, the unrealized Nakoma Country Club, Madison, Wisconsin, 1923.23 In 1926, when 156

Rudolph M. Schindler published an important article about radiant heating,24 Neu­ tra shared with him the Kings Road House in Los Angeles. And in 1930, Neutra visit­ ed Johannes Â� Duiker’s recently finished open-air school in Amsterdam, paying partic­ ular attention to its radiant-heating equipment.25 It is distinguished by being one of the first, if not the first, installation of a modern radiant-heating system in mainland Europe.26 Right after his return from Europe, Neutra designed his first theoretical projects with radiant heating: the 1932 Ring Plan School↜27 and the 1933 “One-Plus-Two” Diatom House.28 A little later, but still quite some time before Wright set his first American radiant-heating installation into practice,29 Neutra managed to carry out his first ra­ diant-heated project, the 1934 Beard House in Altadena, California. Like Wright’s de­ sign and a couple of other American projects, but unlike the open-air school in Amster­ dam, it is not yet based on an established system.30 In the United States, such systems spread slower than in Europe; and radiant heating lost its status as a European curios­ ity towards the end of the 1930s only.31 In the immediate post-war era, from about 1945 to 1952, radiant heating was more popular in the United States than ever before (Fig.╃6). It was no longer used only by pro­ gressive architects interested in technical experiments, but also by builders of specu­ lative tract houses.32 During this period, roughly 4 % of new houses were heated using this method.33 Also almost all of Neutra’s buildings with radiant heating, including the Kaufmann Desert House, date from this time: the Houses Sinay (1947),34 Atwell (1948),35 Tremaine (1948),36 Freedman (1949),37 Moore (1950),38 Brod (1951),39 Price (1951)↜40 and

Fig.╃5╇ Heating coil arrangement, home of J.↜T. ↜Kelley, Barrington, �Illinois, ca.╃1950.

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

Auerbacher (1952).41 After 1952, excepting the Bucerius House (1966),42 Neutra probably never used radiant heating inside a building again.

157

Fig.╃6╇ Cover of a radiant-heating brochure, 1950 s.

158

At the Kaufmann Desert House, bids for both radiant and air heating were asked for, probably because Neutra insisted on radiant heating, while the owners knew that form of heating was often more expensive. Since the offer for radiant heating turned out to be less costly, however, the decision was taken to install it.43 Obviously mistrust­ ing it to a certain extent nonetheless, Kaufmann decided to add Â�supplementary elec­ tric heaters in almost all rooms. They were waived subsequently, but the correspond­ ing conduits were kept to stay on the safe side.44 Once the radiant-heating system Â� was Â�installed, and its initial teething troubles were overcome, Kaufmann was Â�entirely Â�satisfied.45 While the public was made to believe that the Kaufmann Desert House was Â�fully equipped with radiant heating and cooling,46 astonishingly, the guest quarters and the entrance hall were furnished with electric heaters.47 It is highly likely that they were introduced as a cost-cutting measure, one by which, for once, not the domestics, but the guests were affected (Fig.╃7). Five zones of radiant heating and cooling were defined. Three of them conditioned interior spaces: the social quarters (A), the masters’ suite (B) and the service quarters (C). The remaining two areas heated and cooled spaces outside the building perimeter: the dining terrace (D) and the pool terrace (E) (Fig.╃7).48 Depend­ ing on whether heating or Â�cooling was required, an electrical pump circulated heat­ ed or cooled water, which was produced by a gas-fired, hot-water heat generator and a cooling compressor. The conditioned water flew through soft copper coils produced by Chase Copper╃&╃Brass, which were embedded in the plaster of the ceilings and in the upper concrete layer of the floors and terraces.49 The hot water generator was activated as soon as the outside temperature fell below 65↜渀屮°F (18↜渀屮°C); the refrigeration equipment was kicked into action when it reached 75↜渀屮°F (24↜渀屮°C) (Fig.╃9). The temperature of the interior spaces was regulated fully automatical­ ly by interior thermostats that adjusted the amount of heating water flowing through

When the system had already been installed, Kaufmann came to the conclusion that heating at night was dispensable. Therefore, he intended to add a regulating clock that switched the heating off between 10 pm and 5 am.↜51 Between 1993 and 1997, the Kaufmann Desert House was freed from insensible addi­ tions and restored. On the one hand, every effort was made to recover the original opti­ cal appearance, as it was recorded by photographer Julius Shulman. On the other hand, reclaiming the original climatic experience was not even discussed, and new conven­ tional air conditioning was installed↜—↜exactly what Neutra had wanted to avoid.52 Pure Fresh Air and Thermal Comfort without Mechanical Ventilation Neutra’s preference for radiant heating was largely influenced by his ideas about prop­ er ventilation. During the first decades of the 20th century, it was commonly believed that the more ventilation, the better for health. But there was dissent over several other issues related to ventilation. How is ventilation best provided: by mechanical equipment, by windows or by staying outdoors? Is it legitimate to compromise on the

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

the pipes. By contrast, the temperature of the terraces was adjusted manually. The heating system was designed to provide an inside temperature of 70↜渀屮°F (21↜渀屮°C) no matter how cold it was outside. The cooling system was powerful enough to cool the ceilings to 15↜渀屮°F (8↜渀屮°C) below ambient temperature. In winter, the ceiling surface temperature was at approximately 110↜渀屮°F (43↜渀屮°C) and the floor surface temperature at 80↜渀屮°F (27↜渀屮°C).50

159

Fig.╃7╇ Heating zones of the Kaufmann Desert House, Palm Springs, 1946↜–↜47.

ventilation rate for the sake of thermal comfort? Is humidity control required? Advo­ cates of the open airs considered outdoor air healthy, and indoor air harmful. They be­ lieved that one should be exposed to the outdoor air as permanently as possible↜—↜each hour of the day, every day of the year↜—, mainly to prevent and treat tuberculosis. Â� Accordingly, between 1904 and 1935, the official publication of the National Tuber­ culosis Association Â� was called Journal of the Outdoor Life. Particular structures such as open-air schools were developed so that people could stay outdoors all day. For sleeping outside in pure fresh air, sleeping porches, tent cabins and window tents were used, or, if not affordable, the windows were at least opened widely. In Palm Springs, mainly two building types served tubercular patients’ need for freely circulating fresh air: tent cabins and ramadas, which were shelters of indigenous origin with a roof, but no walls (Fig.╃10). Neutra and his family also tried to stay outdoors as often as possible. When they were living at Schindler’s Kings Road House in Los Angeles, Neutra’s wife, Dione, wrote to her mother that they passed ev­ ery night on the sleeping porch in any wind and weather: “[We sleep] on our sleep­ 160

ing porch, surrounded by water, but delighted on our dry island. We are so used to the fresh air wafting across our noses that we cannot dismiss it anymore. […] Â�Richard covered his face [against the light drizzle] with the bed­ sheet, I could not decide to renounce the fresh air. Shall I ever have my own house in Europe, I absolutely would sleep outdoors throughout the whole year […]. Perhaps one could even have a very weak heater in bed.”↜53 Many supporters of the open airs regard­ ed pure fresh air more important than ther­ mal comfort. For example, the children of Chi­ cago’s open-air schools used to stay outdoors even in deep winter (Fig.╃11).54 Although often in line with the open-air movement, Neutra was far from being a “shivering fanatic.”↜55 In­ stead, he was convinced that the mild climates

Fig.╃8╇ Instructions for how to clean a desert cooler, Palm Springs, 1938 .

of the south, where human evolution took place, are most beneficial to us, and that ac­ cordingly, we yearn for southern landscapes: “Like all nordic [sic] barbarians, we want to go to sunny Hellas Â� or to the land where the lem­ ons bloom and no icy storms trouble us. […] Cold is a terrible remembrance Â� and it clings to Â�people for life.”↜56 Among the most convincing arguments for mechanical ventilation was its ability to con­ trol relative humidity.57 But since Neutra did not care much about humidity, that argument

some reservations about mechanical ventila­ tion, mainly because it required sealing the building shell. It was important for him that the cooling devices of the Kaufmann Desert House “all despise hermetical closing against welcome breezes and any unnatural air condi­ tioning.”↜59 His intention, instead, was to keep the windows permanently open for optiÂ�mal ventilation. He continued later, for the most part, to opt for window ventilation, but for Fig.╃9╇ As it is impossible to represent the climate Â� directly in images, Richard Neutra Â�ordered photographs of the heating and cooling installations of the Kaufmann Desert House.

extreme climates, such as for hot and humid Guam, or sites affected heavily by noise or air pollution, he recommended air conditioning without hesitation.60

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

had little significance for him.58 At the time he built the Kaufmann Desert House, he had

161

Heating with Open Windows The heating system that Neutra believed met his conditions best was radiant heating combined with generous window ventilation, which, taken together, seemed to pro­ vide both large air change rates and thermal comfort without mechanical ventilation. As a matter of fact, however, radiant heating does not allow windows to stay wide open in cold weather without causing discomfort and wasting energy. Neutra’s idea that radiant heating permits window ventilation of any volume was based mainly on the incorrect assumption that in radiant-heated interior spaces, heat is almost exclusively transferred by radiation.61 But actually, convection matters as well. All the elements that send off heat rays also warm the air and cause it to convect. As a result, any occupants are not exclusively warmed by radiation, but also by con­ vection. If the windows are opened widely in such a space, the air temperature falls, the energy spent to heat the air is lost, and heat transfer by convection becomes negli­ gible. Under these conditions, it is indeed possible to substitute the energy usually re­ ceived via convection by additional radiation, and thus to provide the same amount of energy to the human body in total, but comfort is impaired. Surrounded by surÂ�faces of considerably different temperatures, such as an open window and a Â�heated floor, most people feel uneasy. Before 1945, Neutra’s contention that heat transfer other than by radiation is neg­ ligible in radiant heating, and that radiant heating allows opening the windows per­ manently without causing discomfort and wasting energy, was one shared by a ma­ jority of the involved people, notwithstanding that it had already been falsified.62 For example, the 1934 American Society of Heating and Ventilating Engineers Guide stated that “the primary object of radiant heating is to warm the occupant directly without heating the air to any extent.”↜63 And in Architectural Record, one could read in 1940 that “[…] one of the principal advantages claimed for the radiant method [is] […] that comfort can be maintained regardless of open doors and windows.”↜64 The opinion that radiant heating works by radiation only was also fostered by the way the effect of heat rays was demonstrated. For didactical reasons, samples were chosen where heat transfer by convection was insignificant, most often the open campfire or the winter sun. Â�Accordingly, one of the first articles about radiant heating in Architectural Forum Â�started with both an illustration of a lightly-clad woman in a snowscape, who is warmed by sunbeams only, and the following text: “The attractive young woman at the right is not a ‘snow bird’ nor any sort of faddist, but merely a perfectly normal per­ son who is quite comfortable in her bathing suit despite the snow and a thermometer below freezing. She is kept so by radiant heat, reaching her both by way of the sun’s direct rays and by reflection from the snow-covered ground […].”↜65 Most susceptible to the argument that radiant heating enabled permanent ventilation without compro­ mising comfort were places where the treatment and prevention of tuberculosis was particularly important: hospitals and schools.66 After 1945, it was no longer common to justify the choice of radiant heating by its ability to heat while the windows were open.67 Now, the most important argument for radiant heating was that it would provide more comfortable heat. According to a survey conducted by the Architectural Forum in 1949, additional advantages were bet­ ter heat distribution, the adaptability to slab-on-ground construction, lower operating costs, less dust, the suitability to play on the floor and ease to arrange furniture with­ 162

Fig.╃10╇ Ramada, Desert Inn, Palm Springs, photo ca. 1911.

Fig.╃11╇ Elizabeth McCormick Open Air School, Chicago, ca.╃1910. Original caption: “Open Air↜—↜Open Minds.”

out radiators or grilles↜—↜but not better ventilation.68 After the war, the discourse on radiant heating obviously had shifted from hygiene to comfort. The Kaufmann Desert House did not entirely follow this tendency. Although it was built after the war, its radiant-heating system was still largely motivated by the inten­ tion to open the windows permanently. But insofar as the key function of the open windows was less to provide the most hygienic ventilation, than to dissolve all sorts of boundaries between the indoors and the outdoors (physical, climatic, acoustical, Â�olfactory, psychological and visual), it also differed from most prewar projects (Fig.╃1 2). Kaufmann and his maintenance manager and consultant, Roy M.╃Oliver, did not share Neutra’s trust in heating and cooling with open windows.69 Nonetheless, they did not intervene↜—↜probably because they could take it for granted that the climate control system would work satisfactorily as soon as the windows were closed. Conclusion: Radiant Cooling and Outdoor Conditioning Although already in 1907, at the very beginning of modern radiant heating, Arthur Henry Barker had stated that his water pipe system was also suitable for cooling,70 Â�radiant cooling remained very rare. Correspondingly, the Kaufmann Desert House

with it than with air conditioning. Radiant cooling requires either a restriction of the cooling capacity to an amount depending on the external humidity, or a hermetical sealing of the building envelope and a dehumidification of the supply air.71 In the lat­ ter case, radiant cooling loses just that quality that Neutra considered most important: that it still works with open windows. Consequently, the first strategy was pursued at the Kaufmann Desert House and cooling equipment of limited capacity was chosen.72 Palm Springs is a particularly suitable place for adopting this strategy because of its dry desert air, which allows cooling the ambient air down to relatively low tempera­ tures before condensation occurs. Another outstanding feature of the Kaufmann Desert House is its attempt to con­ trol the outdoor climate. While the technical challenge is largely similar to that of conditioning the interiors with widely-open windows, the option to close the win­ dows in case the system fails is lacking here. Accordingly, the heating contractor of the Kaufmann Desert House, Franklyn L.╃Webb, regarded this feature as Â�problematic

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

Â� remained Neutra’s only building with radiant cooling. Radiant cooling was probably not used more often because the prevention of condensation is much more difficult

163

Fig.╃12╇ Richard Neutra, Kaufmann Desert House, Palm Springs, 1946↜–↜47.

164

165

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

and thought that “only by trial and error will we be able to arrive at the answer to this portion of the job.”↜73 Moreover, considering that Kaufmann’s consultant assumed “that the piping in the terrace will never have any appreciable cooling effect,”↜74 it is surprising that no serious opposition arose. The goal Neutra pursued by expanding the “climate control beyond the ‘four walls’”↜75 was to eliminate “any demarcation line be­ tween interior and exterior use of space.”↜76 Explaining other projects, he and his col­ laborators sometimes also justified that pursuit by calling it an “extension of the liv­ ing space”↜77 and to prolong the usability of the terrace on chilly evenings and during the cooler seasons (Fig.╃1 3).78 In order to stress his capability to adapt to any exterior climate, Neutra used to describe the climate of Palm Springs as hostile, despite the actual fact that most peo­ ple came to Palm Springs because they considered its climate beneficial. Moreover, he regarded the Kaufmann Desert House as a prototype for a new kind of building that would render the whole world inhabitable and enjoyable, from hot deserts to sites in perpetual ice. For every place on earth, indoors and outdoors, he aimed at creating a similar balmy climate, modeled on southern samples, but without extreme heat: “The Arctic, in itself so beautiful, the Yukon, the Canadian Northwest can be made very southerly and comfortable. We have the latest means to improve climate as we please […]. Courts, terraces, arcades, balconies can have their snowmelting radiant heating and summer cooling without any solid enclosure walls.”↜79 In addition to the Kaufmann Desert House, several other of Neutra’s projects include conditioned Â�exterior spaces, for example the Sinay (1947),80 Tremaine (1948),81 Rados (1958),82 SingleÂ�ton (1959),83 Bucerius (1966),84 Kemper (1967)↜85 and Pescher (1969)↜86 Houses. While that list rep­ resents only a fraction of his buildings, it is considerable, given how rarely his col­ leagues intended Â� to influence the outdoor climate.87 The radiant heating and cooling system of the Kaufmann Desert House differs from common installations of its time by three characteristics: it is conceived for be­ ing Â�operated with open windows, it conditions the outdoors and it cools. Â�Accordingly, Â�although radiant heating was an established system at the peak of its popularity, the way Neutra used it was experimental. Neutra aimed at providing both pure fresh air and thermal comfort, while avoiding mechanical ventilation↜—↜an idea Â�rather Â�related to prewar radiant heating and tuberculosis control than to contemporary practice. FurtherÂ�more, and more importantly, he intended to establish a continuous micro­ climate that would link interior and exterior spaces and thus connect man with nature. These aims were only partially achieved, since comfort was impaired when the win­ dows were opened in very hot or cold weather. Nevertheless, as soon as the windows were closed, the system was as efficient and as comfortable as any conventional instal­ lation. Moreover, when the ambient temperatures were moderate, the Â�intended assim­ ilation of indoor and outdoor climates must have been achieved. Hence, the Kaufmann Desert House is much more closely related to the exterior climate↜—↜the local climate of Palm Springs↜—↜than air-conditioned buildings are. Unintentionally, it even resem­ bles local pre-air-conditioning building types such as the ramadas, since it, too, opens to the winds. However, Neutra was not interested in a purely local solution, but was searching for a universal approach to climate control, one which would be adaptable to every place on earth.

166

Fig.╃13╇ Staged poolside party at the Kaufmann Desert House, January 1970. Former fashion model Helen Dzo Dzo Kaptur (in white lace), Nelda Linsk (in yellow), wife of art dealer Joseph Linsk, and other guests. At that time, the Linsks were the owners of the house.

↜1╇ For a brief history of Palm Springs and a discussion of its historiography, see Culver, Lawrence. 2010. The Frontier of Leisure: Southern California and the Shaping of Modern America. New York: Oxford University Press, p.╃139↜–↜97.╇↜2╇ Culver (2010, 142↜–↜ 4 6).╇↜3╇ James, George W. 1906. The Wonders of the Colorado Desert (Southern California): Its Rivers and its Mountains, its Canyons and its Springs, its Life and its History, Pictured and Â�Described. Vol.╃2. Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, p.╃280↜ – ↜ 8 1; about Palm Springs as a health resort, see Culver (2010, 150 ↜–↜5 4). About the Southwest as a beneficial place for consumptives, see Jones, Burle J. 1910. “Health in the Southwest: What the Patient Encounters and Accomplishes in the Dryer Sections.” Journal of the Outdoor Life╯7 (12): 349↜–↜5 4 .↜/↜Trask, John W.╯ 1917. “Climate and TuberÂ� culosis: The Relation of Climate to Recovery.” Journal of the Outdoor Life 14 (6): 161↜–↜ 63, 191, viii.╇↜4╇ Trask (1917, 162).╇↜5╇ Trask (1917, viii).↜/↜Journal of the Outdoor Life. 1922 . “Tuberculosis Sanatoriums Near Large Cities.” Reprinted from the Journal American Medical Association, August╯ 27, 1921. 19 (1): 16↜–↜17.╇↜6╇ Malling, John. 1938 . Â�“Escape to the Desert.” California Arts╃&╃Architecture 54 (November): 15 , 40, here p.╃15 .╇↜7╇ Desert Sun. 1935↜b. “Palm Springs Drug Store to be Telegraph Summer Headquarters.” May 3.↜/↜Desert Sun. 1935↜d. “Air-Cooling Unit at Dunes Club.” September 20.↜/↜Desert Sun. 1937↜a. “Sheptenko Sees Year ’Round Resort.” June╯18 .↜/↜Desert Sun. 1937↜b. “Air Conditioning Boon to Business.” July 16 . ↜8╇ About residential air conditioning in general, see Architectural Forum. 1933. “Heating and Air Conditioning.” 58 (3): 235 ↜–↜4 0.↜/↜Architectural Forum. 1935↜b. “Air Conditioning.” In “The 1936 House: New Construction Methods, Materials and Equipment.” 63 (6): 577↜–↜6 00↜/↜Cooper, Gail. 1998. Air-Â�Conditioning America: Engineers and the Controlled Environment, 1900↜–↜1960. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, p.╃110↜–↜39. About residential air conditioning in Palm Springs, see Desert Sun. 1936. “Air Cooled Homes.” October 9.↜/↜Desert Sun. 1937↜c. “Air Conditioning is Becoming Popular.” September 17.↜/↜Desert Sun. 1938. “Efficient Desert Air-Conditioning.” April 22 . ↜9╇ For example, since May 15, 1935, the Golden State Limited and Sunset Limited trains, which connected Palm Springs directly with Chicago and New Orleans, were fully air-conditioned (Desert Sun. 1935↜a. “New Air-Cooled Trains Seen as Traveling Boon.” April 12.↜/↜Desert Sun. 1935↜c. “Air-Cooled Trains Make Travel Pleasure on Southern Pacific.” May 10).╇↜10╇ Culver (2010, 186, 196).╇↜11╇ For Kaufmann’s view about the climate, see Kaufmann to Richard and Dione Neutra, January 7, 1953 , Richard and Dion Neutra Papers (Collection Number 1179), Charles E. Young Research Library, University of California, Los Angeles (hereafter cited as UCLA ), box 120, f.╃5.╇↜12╇ Kaufmann to Neutra, August╯2 , 1946, UCLA , box 119, f.╃3.╇↜13╇ Toker, Franklin. 2003. Fallingwater Rising: Frank Lloyd Wright, E.↜ J . ↜Kaufmann, and America’s Most Extraordinary House. New York: Knopf, p.╃60.↜/↜Culver (2010, 157 ).╇↜14╇ For a Â�detailed chronology of the Kaufmann Desert House, see Brunner, Matthias. 2016 . Essential Sensations: Richard Neutra und das Licht. PhD thesis, Mendrisio: UniverÂ� sità╯della Svizzera italiana, Accademia di Architettura, p.╃3 45↜–↜53. (Unpublished document.)╇↜15╇ Neutra to Liliane

170

and Edgar Kaufmann, February 12, 1946, UCLA , box 119, f.↜2 . For a more detailed discussion of the passive climate control systems of the Kaufmann Desert House, see Brunner (2016, 251↜–↜ 6 4).╇↜16╇ Oakley, David. 1961. Tropical Houses: A Guide to Their Design. London: Batsford, p.╃4 6.╇↜17╇ Oakley (1961, 50).╇↜18╇ Neutra, Richard J.╯1953. “Housing in Mild Climates.” Progressive Architecture 34 (10): 18 ,  20, 203↜–↜0 4 , 206 , 208 , 210, 212 , 214 , here p.╃203.╇↜19╇ This and the following descriptions are not always physically correct; they largely follow the wording utilized in the context of the building industry.╇↜20╇ Neutra, Richard J. 1935 . “New Elementary Schools for America.” Architectural Forum 62 (1): 24↜–↜35., p.╃30; almost identically republished as Neutra, Richard J. 1936. “Nouvelles écoles élémentaires pour l’Amérique.” Architecture d’aujourd’hui 7 (5): 49↜–↜55 .↜/↜Neutra, Richard J. 1937↜a. “The Home To-Day: Design for Modern Living.” Architectural Record of Design╃&╃Construction 7 (10): 381↜–↜ 8 3 , p.╃3 81. Neutra’s preference for radiant heating was shared by Architectural Forum. 1939. “Radiant Heating.” 70 (1): 55↜–↜6 0, p.╃55 .↜/↜Gillies, Mary D. 1951. McCall’s Book of Modern Houses. New York: Simon and Schuster, 184.╇↜21╇ A reliable history of radiant heating still seems to be missing. The following text is therefore based on primary sources, short historical introductions to reference works and articles about radiant heating, for example Heid, Hermann, and Albrecht Kollmar. 1939. Die Strahlungsheizung: Leitfaden über Theorie, Berechnung u.╯Ausführung. Halle a.↜S: Marhold.↜/↜Adlam, Thomas N. 1947. Radiant Heating: A Practical Treatise on American and European Practices in the Design and Installation of Systems for Radiant, Panel, or Infrared Heating, Snow Melting and Radiant Cooling, Including Step-by-Step Procedure, with Typical Problems Solved by the Application of Simplified Working Data, Charts and Tables. New York: Industrial Press.↜/↜Giesecke, F.↜ E . 1947. Hot-Water Heating and Radiant Heating and Radiant Cooling. Austin: Technical Book Company.↜/↜Shoemaker, Richard W. 1948 . Radiant Heating. New York: Â�McGraw-Hill.↜/↜Moe, Kiel. 2010. Thermally Active Surfaces in Architecture. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, and on studies about the history of heating in general, for example, Billington, Â�Neville S., and Brian M. Roberts. 1982. Building Services Engineering: A Review of Its Development. International Series on Building Environmental Engineering 1. Oxford: Pergamon Press, p.╃156↜–↜63.↜/↜Irion, Guido, and Peter Â�Brügger. 1991. Wie die Heizung Karriere machte: 150╯ JahÂ�re Sulzer-Heizungstechnik↜/↜Technik, GeÂ� schichte, Kultur. WinterÂ�thur: Sulzer Infra AG .↜/↜Donaldson, Barry, and Bernard Nagengast. 1994 . Heat and Cold: Mastering the Great Indoors. A Selective History of Heating, Ventilation, Air-Conditioning and Refrigeration from the Ancients to the 1930 s. Atlanta: American Society for Heating, Refrigerating and Air-Conditioning Engineers.↜/↜Gallo, Emmanuelle. 2006. “Modern Movement Architecture and Heating Innovations in France 1900↜–↜1939.” In Climate and Building Physics in the Modern Movement, edited by Jos Tomlow. Copenhagen: Docomomo International.↜/↜Bean, Robert, Bjarne W.╃Olesen, and Woo K.╃Kwang. 2010. “History of Radiant Heating╃&╃Cooling Systems: Part╯2 .” Â� ASHRAE Journal 52 (February): 50↜–↜55 .↜/↜Marino, Giulia. 2014. “Some Like It Hot!” Le confort physiologique et ses

Books.↜/↜Kalec, Donald G. 1990. “The Jacobs House I.” In Frank Lloyd Wright and Madison: Eight Decades of Artistic and Social Interaction, edited by Paul E. Sprague. Madison: Elvehjem Museum of Art, University of Wisconsin-Â� Madison).╇↜30╇ Instead, it was an improvised hypocaust. For more examples of American hypocausts, see Architectural Forum (1939, 60).↜/↜Architectural Forum. 1942 . “The New House 194↜X .” 77 (3), 133 , 147.╇↜31╇ Architectural Forum (1939, 55).↜/↜Hutchinson, F.↜W. 1941. “Panel Heating With Hot Air.” Architect and Engineer 146 (3): 43↜–↜ 4 6 , p.╃4 3 .↜/↜Giesecke (1947, 20.1).╇↜32╇ Between 1947 and 1951, Levitt & Sons, for example, constructed more than 17,500 houses with radiant heating in Levittown, NY (Architectural Forum. 1949. “Panel Heating Survey.” 91 (5): 100↜–↜0 1, 118, 120, 122, here p. 122.↜/↜Kelly, Barbara M. 1993. Expanding the American Dream: Building and Rebuilding Levittown. SUNY Series in the New Cultural History. Albany: State University of New York Press).╇↜33╇ Architectural Forum (1949, 118).╇↜34╇ House╃&╃Garden. 1949. “Focus on Fresh Ideas: Five Small Houses.” 95 (May): 124↜–↜37, p.╃124. ↜35╇ “Residence for: Mr. and Mrs. William H. Atwell, El Cerrito, California, Specifications, Schedules and Construction Details,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 20, f.↜12.╇↜36╇ Franklyn L.╃Webb, “Radiant Heat System for Mr and Mrs Warren D.╃Tremaine, Montecito, California,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 1491, f.↜4 .╇↜37╇ “List of Fixtures and Special Installations, Residence for Mr.╃&╃Mrs.╃Benedict Freedman,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 55, f.↜11. ↜38╇ “List of Fixtures & Special Installations, Residence for Mr.╃&╃Mrs.╃James D.╃Moore, Foothill Park Rancho, Ojai, CaliÂ� fornia,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 87, f.↜7.╇↜39╇ Construction outline, n.↜d., UCLA , box 28 , f.↜4.╇↜40╇ Neutra, Richard J.╯ 1956↜a. Life and Human Habitat: Mensch und Wohnen. Stuttgart: Koch, p.╃232.╇↜41╇ “Description↜—↜Residence in Redlands, California↜—↜Built 1952,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 21, f.↜4 .╇↜42╇ Bruno Honegger to Gerd Bucerius, June 3 , 1964, Nachlass Gerd Bucerius, Zeit-Stiftung Ebelin und Gerd Bucerius, Hamburg (hereafter cited as NL Bucerius), box 395 .╇↜43╇ Neutra to Kaufmann, March 9, 1946 , UCLA , box╯119, f.↜2. For general statements about the costs of radiant heating, see Blanchard, Harold F. 1930. “First United States Installation of Panel Heating.” American Architect 138 (2589), Â�(November): 32↜–↜33, 90, 92, 94 , 96 , 98 , here p.╃92.↜/↜Architectural Forum. 1935↜a. “New Techniques [for Schools].” 62 (1): 91↜–↜9 6, p.╃91.↜/↜Architectural Forum (1949, 118). ↜4 4╇ Neutra to Robert Miller, September 28 , 1946, UCLA , box 119, f.↜6.╇↜45╇ Kaufmann to Neutra, March 25, 1948 , UCLA , box 120, f.↜5 .╇↜46╇ In none of Neutra’s seven project descriptions, which were designated for publication and can be found in folder 9 of box 121 at UCLA , are the electric heaters mentioned.╇↜47╇ Neutra to Robert Miller, September 28, 1946, UCLA , box 119, f.↜6 .╇↜48╇ “Radiant Heating and Cooling,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 121, f.↜7.╇↜49╇ Franklyn L.╃Webb, “Heating and Cooling of the Edgar Kaufmann Desert House, Palm Springs, Calif.,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 121, f.↜7.↜/↜Neutra to Roy M. Oliver, October╯1, 1946, UCLA , box 119, f.↜7.╇↜50╇ Franklyn L. Webb, “Heating and Cooling of the Edgar Kaufmann Desert House, Palm Springs Calif.,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 121, f.↜7.↜/↜“Radiant Heating and Cooling,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 121, f.↜7.╇↜51╇ Kaufmann to Neutra, March 25 , 1948 , UCLA , box 120, f.↜5.╇↜52╇ Hay, Â�David. 1999. “A Modernist Masterpiece in the Desert Is Reborn.” Â� Architec-

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

Â�dispositifs dans l’architecture du XX e siècle: histoire et devenir d’un enjeu majeur. PhD thesis, Lausanne: EPFL , ENAC , p.╃372↜–↜429.╇↜22╇ Wright, Frank L.╯ 1992↜–↜ 95↜a [1924]. “In the Cause of Architecture: In the Wake of the Quake↜— Concerning the Imperial Hotel, Tokio.” In Collected Writings, edited by Bruce B.╃Pfeiffer. New York: Rizzoli, p.╃188 .↜/ Wright, Frank L.╯ 1992↜–↜95↜b [1932]. “An Autobiography.” In Collected Writings, edited by Bruce B. Pfeiffer. New York: Rizzoli, p. 245↜–↜4 6.↜/↜Wright, Frank L.╯ 1992↜–↜9 5↜c [1943]. “An Autobiography Book Five: Form.” In Collected Writings, edited by Bruce B.╃Pfeiffer. New York: Rizzoli, p.╃195↜–↜9 6 . ↜2 3╇ Madison Wisconsin State Journal. 1924 . “Unique Lodge Plan in Nakoma.” August 4, p.╃2.↜/↜Wright (1992↜–↜95↜c, 196).↜/↜Hamilton, Mary J. 1990. “The Nakoma Country Club.” In Frank Lloyd Wright and Madison: Eight Decades of Artistic and Social Interaction, edited by Paul E.╃Sprague. Madison: Elvehjem Museum of Art, University of WisÂ� consin-Madison.╇↜24╇ Schindler, Rudolph M., and Philip M.╃Lovell. 1926. “Care of the Body [About Heating].” Los Angeles Times, April╯ 4 , p.╃2 5↜–↜26 .╇↜25╇ Neutra (1935 , 30). It is very likely that Neutra’s thinking about radiant heating was influenced by Duiker. For example, he shared Duiker’s idea that only the leeside windows of radiant-heated spaces should be opened↜—↜an idea otherwise rare (Duiker, Johannes. 1931. “Die Freiluftschule”. In Die Freischulbewegung: Versuch einer Darstellung ihres gegenwärtigen Â�internationalen Standes; dargebracht dem 2.╃Internationalen Kongress für Freiluftschulen, Brussels, Ostern, 1931, edited by Karl Triebold. Berlin: Schoetz. p.╃200.↜/↜Neutra (1935 , 30).↜/↜Neutra, Richard J. 1937↜b. “Landscaping: A New Issue.” In Contemporary Landscape Architecture and Its Sources, edited by Grace Morley. San Francisco: San Francisco Museum of Art, p.╃22.↜/↜Neutra, Richard J. 1943 . “Index of Livability.” Sunset (November): 14↜–↜17, p.╃16).╇↜26╇ Schweizerische BauÂ�zeitung. 1937. “Deckenheizung mit Heissluft.” 109 (19): 233↜–↜3 4 , p.╃2 33.↜/↜Heid and Kollmar (1939, 130).↜/↜Giesecke (1947, 20 ↜–↜7 ). Modern radiant-heating systems were first developed in Great Britain (Barker, Arthur H. 1907. New or Improved Means for Heating and Cooling the Rooms, Halls, and other Parts of Buildings. British Patent 28 ,477, filed December 27, 1907, and issued December 17, 1908 .↜/↜Architectural Forum (1939, 56).↜/↜Heid and Kollmar (1939, 129)).╇↜27╇ Although the first design for the Ring Plan School probably dates back to 1928 (Neutra, Richard J. 1930. Amerika: Die Stilbildung des Neuen Bauens in den Vereinigten Staaten. Neues Bauen in der Welt 2 . Vienna: Schroll, p.╃8 0), it is likely that Neutra did not introduce radiant heating before he revised it for the MoMA exhibit of 1932 . Most probably, the oldest publication that mentions its radiant-heating system dates from 1932 (Neutra, Richard J. 1932. “Industriell hergestellte Schulgebäude.” Die Form 7 (4): 126↜–↜28 , p.╃127 ). See also Neutra, Richard J. 1934 . “Rush City Reformed.” La Cité 12 (5): 71↜–↜82 , p.╃7 7.╇↜28╇ Bemis, Â�Albert F. 1933 . Rational Design. The Evolving House╯3 . Cambridge: The Technology Press, p. 484.↜/↜Larson, Theodore. 1934 . “New Housing Design and Construction Systems.” Architectural Record 75 (1): 1↜–↜36, p.╃32 .╇↜29╇ At the Jacobs House I, 1936↜–↜37, Madison, WI (Wright (1992↜–↜95↜c, 196).↜/↜Jacobs, Herbert A. 1978 . Building with Frank Lloyd Wright: An Illustrated Memoir. San Francisco: Chronicle

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tural Record 187 (9): 92↜–↜98 .↜/↜Webb, Michael. 2001. Modernism Reborn: Mid-Century American Houses. New York: Universe, p.╃162↜–↜7 1 .↜/↜Marmol, Leo, and Ron Radziner. 2008. Marmol Radziner╃+╃Associates: Between Architecture and Construction. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, p.╃28↜–↜41.╇↜53╇ Dione Neutra to Mütterli [Lilly NiederÂ� mann], January╯ 15, 1930, Richard J. Neutra Collection, College of Environmental Design (ENV ), Cal Poly Pomona (hereafter cited as Pomona) (transl. by M.╃Brunner). ↜5 4╇ Kingsley, Sherman C. 1910. Open Air Crusaders: A Â�Report of the Elizabeth McCormick Open Air School, Together with a General Account of Open Air School Work in Chicago and a Chapter on School Ventilation. ChiÂ� cago╯United Charities of Chicago.╇↜55╇ Neutra (1943 , 16). ↜56╇ Neutra (1956↜a, 287). See also Brunner (2016, 48↜–↜57 ). ↜57╇ Fisher, Howard T. 1930. “The Country House.” Architectural Record 68 (5): 363↜–↜8 5, p.╃372↜–↜76.╇↜58╇ Accordingly, in contrast to the majority, Neutra assumed that respiratory diseases are more likely caused by excessive climate contrasts between the indoors and the outdoors than by dry air (Neutra (1935, 30).↜/↜Neutra (1937↜a, 381)). This opinion was shared by Architectural Forum (1939, 55).↜/↜Architectural Record. 1940. “A Progress Report on Radiant Heating and Cooling.” 88 (3): 67↜–↜7 3 , p.╃69. ↜59╇ “The Desert House Designed by Richard Neutra,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 121, f.↜9.╇↜60╇ [Neutra], “Climate Considerations for Buildings on Guam,” [1953], CIAM archive, gta Archiv, ETH Zürich, (hereafter cited as CIAM ), 42-JLS -31, 11. / “Appeal for Modification of Building Ordinances,” January 9, 1964 , UCLA , box 1448 , f.↜4 .↜/↜“VDL -House Tour↜—↜Dion Neutra’s Comments,” January 17, 1969, UCLA , box 1448, f.↜2,╃2 . ↜61╇ About convection in radiant-heated spaces, Neutra wrote accordingly: “In such a set-up warmed air is only a minor by-product.” (Neutra 1935, 30).╇↜62╇ Heid and Kollmar (1939, 136↜–↜3 8). Chapman and Fischer stressed that “[i]t is not true […] that a large ventilation rate poses no problem for radiant heating design” (Chapman, W.↜P. , and R.↜ E . Fischer. 1949. “Second Thoughts on Radiant Heating: Some Do’s and Don’ts to Insure Good Performance.” Â�Architectural Record 105 (3): 133↜–↜3 5, 176, 178 , here p.╃134).╇↜63╇ American Society of Heating and Ventilating Engineers. 1934. American Society of Heating and Ventilating Engineers Guide. (12 th ed.) New York, p.╃533 . ↜6 4╇ Architectural Record (1940, 71). ╇ Radiant heating was often related to open windows, for example by Fisher (1930, 376).↜/↜Schneckenberg, E. 1931. “Die Deckenheizung in der Britischen Botschaft in Washington.” Gesundheits-Â� Ingenieur 54 (5): 65↜–↜70, p.╃65 .↜/↜Fitch, James M. 1948 . American Building: The Forces that Shape it. Boston: Houghton Mifflin; Cambridge: Riverside Press, p.╃204 . ↜65╇ Architectural Forum (1939, 55). See also Schindler and Lovell (1926, 26).↜/↜Winslow, C.-E.↜ A . , and L.↜ P. ╃Herrington. 1949. Temperature and Human Life. Princeton: Princeton University Press, p.╃115 , quoted in Neutra, “Quotations from Temperature and Human Life by C.-E.↜ A . ╃Winslow and L.↜ P. ╃Herrington,” February 22 , 1954 , Pomona, 8 . ↜66╇ Roth, Alfred. 1933. “Die Paneel- oder Deckenheizung (Chauffage par panneaux).” Schweizerische Bauzeitung 102 (13): 153↜–↜57, p.╃155.↜/↜American Society of Heating and Ventilating Engineers. 1945. Heating, Ventilating, Air Conditioning Guide. (23rd ed.) New York, p.╃7 70↜–↜72.↜/↜Adlam

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(1947, 65).↜/↜Shoemaker (1948 , 27↜–↜28). Among the most discussed samples count the open-air schools built by George H.╃Widdows in Derbyshire between 1910 and 1935 (Widdows, George H. 1921. “School Design.” RIBA Journal 29 (2): 33↜–↜4 5.↜/↜Widdows, George H. 1931. “The Development of School Design in England.” In Die Freiluftschulbewegung: Versuch einer Darstellung ihres gegenÂ� wärtigen internationalen Standes; dargebracht dem 2.╃InterÂ�nationalen Kongress für Freiluftschulen, Brüssel, Ostern 1931, edited by Karl Triebold. Berlin: Schoetz.↜/ Meyer, Peter. 1932 . “Die Ausstellung ‘Der neue Schulbau’ im Kunstgewerbemuseum Zürich.” Werk 19 (5): 129↜–↜59, p.╃138) and Johannes Duiker’s open-air school in Amsterdam, constructed in 1929↜–↜3 0 (Duiker (1931).↜/↜Rü. 1933 . “Moderner Krankenhausbau.” Illustrierte schweizerische Handwerker-Zeitung 49 (42): 493↜–↜9 4.↜/↜Duiker, Johannes. 1976 [1932]. “The New Functionalism in Summer and Winter.” In Duiker, 1890↜–↜1935, edited by E.↜ J . ╃Jelles and C.↜ A . Alberts. Amsterdam: Architectura et amicitia).╇↜67╇ Adlam (1947 )↜/↜Giesecke (1947 )↜/↜Chapman and Fischer (1949). ↜68╇ Architectural Forum (1949, 100↜–↜01).╇↜69╇ Roy M.╃Oliver to Neutra, May 7, 1946 , UCLA , box 119, f.↜2.╇↜70╇ Barker (1907 ). About early radiant-cooling installations in EngÂ� land, see Heating and Ventilating. 1930. “American Society of Heating and Ventilating Engineers: Proceedings of 36 th Annual Meeting at Philadelphia, January 27↜–↜ 3 1, 1930.” 27 (2): 93↜–↜112 , p.╃104.↜/↜Musgrave, Joseph L. 1933. “Recent Developments in the Heating and Ventilation of Buildings.” Journal of the Royal Society of Arts 81 (4195): 503↜–↜24 , p.╃508 . Among the first installations on continental Europe was the Jelmoli department store in Zürich (Hottinger, Max. 1938 . “Strahlungsheizung, Lüftung und Kühlung eines grossen Warenhauses.” Gesundheits-Ingenieur 61 (9): 117↜–↜2 1; 61 (10): 129↜–↜3 4 .↜/↜Wirth, E. 1938. “Umkehrung der Deckenheizung zur Raumkühlung.” Schweizerische Bauzeitung 112 (20): 237↜–↜39).╇↜71╇ Wirth (1938).↜/ Architectural Record (1940, 69↜–↜7 1).↜/↜Giesecke (1947, 24↜–↜11, 24↜–↜12).↜/↜Fitch (1948 , 203).╇↜72╇ Franklyn L.╃Webb to Roy M. Oliver, July 31, 1946 , UCLA , box 119, f.↜3 .↜/ Kaufmann to Neutra, August 5 , 1946, UCLA , box 119, f.↜3 . ↜7 3╇ Franklyn L.╃Webb to Roy M.╃Oliver, July 31, 1946, UCLA , box 119, f.↜3.╇↜74╇ Roy M.╃Oliver to Neutra, July 26, 1946, UCLA , box 119, f.↜3 .╇↜75╇ Neutra, Richard J. 1956↜b. “The Patio House.” House╃& Home 10 (2): 127, 196↜–↜97, p.╃197. ↜76╇ File card with captions, “Exterior #↜21, Shulman Photo #↜2,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 827, f.↜1.╇↜77╇ Bruno Honegger to Alberto Märki, June 1, 1964, NL Bucerius, box 395 (transl.╃by M.╃Brunner).╇↜78╇ See Neutra, Richard J. 1951. On Building: Mystery and Realities of the Site. Scarsdale: Morgan╃& Morgan, p.╃2 1.↜/↜Dion Neutra to Günter and Anita Pescher, February 23, 1968 , UCLA , box 97, f.↜1.╇↜79╇ Neutra (1956↜a, 287). See also Neutra to Bernard of Hollywood, May 29, 1947, UCLA , box 120, f.↜4.↜/↜Dione Neutra, “My Life with Richard Neutra. 1933 to 1970 and Beyond,” unpublished typescript, Pomona, 183 .↜/↜Neutra, “U.S.A. , Architecture, and CIAM . Brief General Report to the Congress in Bergamo”, 1949, CIAM , 42-JT -17↜–↜2 34↜/↜238 , 4↜–↜5.↜/↜Neutra, “CaliÂ� fornia and Architecture of Mild Regions,” 1955, UCLA , box 157, f.↜19, 5.╇↜80╇ House & Garden (1949, 124).╇↜81╇ Franklyn L.╃Webb, “Radiant Heat System for Mr and Mrs Warren D.╃Tremaine, Montecito, California,” n.↜d., UCLA , box 1491,

23 , 1968 , UCLA , box 97, f.↜1.╇↜87╇ For unrealized examples, see Bruce, Alfred. 1938 . “Black Magic.” In “Home of Â�Tomorrow.” House╃&╃Garden 74 (November, Section II ): 32↜–↜3 3 , 40, p.╃40.↜/↜A rchitectural Forum (1942 , 116).↜/ Â�Adamson, Paul, Marty Arbunich, and Ernest Braun. 2002. Eichler: Modernism Rebuilds the American Dream. Layton: Gibbs Smith, p.╃65.

Heating and Cooling the Desert╃/╃Palm Springs (USA )

f.↜4 .↜/↜Neutra (1951, 21).↜/↜Neutra (1956↜a, 138).╇↜82╇ Neutra, Richard J. 1962 . Welt und Wohnung. Stuttgart: Alexander Koch, p.╃63.╇↜83╇ Neutra (1962, 151).╇↜84╇ Bruno Honegger, “Aktennotiz Besprechungen in Hamburg vom 17., 18 . und 19. November 1964 ,” November 23, 1964 , NL Bucerius, box 396.╇↜85╇ Neutra, Richard J., and Dion Neutra. 1974 . Pflanzen, Wasser, Steine, Licht. Berlin: Parey, p.╃103 . ↜86╇ Dion Neutra to Günter and Anita Pescher, February

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Contributors Matthias Brunner (*1975, Zug, Switzerland) is a postdoctoral researcher and lecturer at the Academy of Architecture in Mendrisio. He earned a PhD for his dissertation on light in Richard Neutra’s œuvre (Mendrisio Academy of Architecture, 2016). He was a Visiting Graduate Researcher at UCLA , supported by a SNSF Mobility Grant. Addi­ tionally, he collaborated on From Ravenna to Vals. Light and Darkness in Architecture from the Middle Ages to the Present, the SNSF research project that was directed by Prof. Â� Daniela Mondini. He worked both for Galli Rudolf Architects, Zürich, and for Hans Â� Peter Wörndl, Vienna, having studied architecture at the ETH Zürich and the Univer­ sity of Strathclyde, Glasgow. His current research focuses on light, windows, climate, photoÂ�graphy and transatlantic transfer in architectural culture since the year 1900. Lisa Heschong (*1952, New York City), author of Thermal Delight in Architecture (MIT Press 1979), was a licensed architect for 30 years, and a founding Principal of the Hes­ chong Mahone Group (HMG ) consulting firm for 25 years, where she led groundbreak­ ing research on daylighting and human factors. A Fellow of the Illuminating Engineer­ ing Society (IES ), Heschong has also served on the Board of Directors of IES and other professional groups. She has officiated as an AIA COTE Building Awards judge, and held the position of Chair of the IES Daylight Metrics Committee. She was awarded her B.Sc. at UC Berkeley, summa cum laude, and her Master of Architecture degree at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with the AIA Medal. In 2011, she was awarded the Haecker Award for lifetime achievement from the Architectural Research Centers Consortium. Having recently relocated to Santa Cruz, California, with her husband, sailboat and two horses, she happily hosts many visitors, especially her grandchildren. Diébédo Francis Kéré (*1965, Gando, Burkina Faso) studied at the Technical Univer­ sity of Berlin. Parallel to his studies, he established the Kéré Foundation e.V., and he Â�founded Kéré Architecture in 2005. His architectural practice has been recognized both nationally and internationally with awards that include the Aga Khan Award for Architecture (2004) for his first building, the Gando Primary School in Burkina Faso, and the BSI Swiss Architectural Award (2010), among others. Kéré has developed inno­ vative construction strategies that combine traditional building techniques and mate­ rials with modern engineering methods. By using local materials, local knowledge and local technologies, he creates holistic and sustainable design solutions. Kéré contin­ ues to reinvest knowledge back into Burkina Faso and other sites across four different continents. He has held professorships at the Harvard Graduate School of Design, the Swiss Accademia di Architettura di Mendrisio and TU München (Germany). Madlen Kobi (*1982, Jegenstorf, Switzerland) is a postdoctoral researcher at the Acad­ emy of Architecture in Mendrisio, Switzerland (Università della Svizzera Italiana). She obtained her PhD from the Institute of Social Anthropology at the University of Bern in 2014, and worked subsequently as a postdoctoral researcher and lecturer at the Ethnographic Â� Museum↜/↜Institute of Social Anthropology and Empirical Cultural Studies at the University of Zürich. Her PhD Constructing, Creating and Contesting City184

scapes. A Socio-Anthropological Approach to Urban Transformation in Southern Xinjiang, P.↜R . ╃China was published in 2016 by Harrassowitz Publishing House. Kobi’s research and teaching interests include urban anthropology, architectural anthropology and the anthropology of waste and urban space use with a regional focus on China and its northwestern region of Xinjiang. In her current research project at the chair of Prof. Sascha Roesler, she is investigating thermal-material culture and everyday climate-Â� related practices in residential spaces in Chongqing, China. Roberto Leggero (*1963, Busto Arsizio, Italy) is a researcher at Laboratorio di Storia delle Alpi (LabiSA lp), Università della Svizzera Italiana. His speciality is medieval his­ tory, and his research interests include commons and settlements in alpine regions, the social and cultural history of those regions and the history of towns. Among his recent publications are Montagne, comunità e lavoro tra XIV e XVIII secolo (R. Â�Leggero, ed., 2015, M AP, Mendrisio), Die kollektive Nutzung der Allmenden in der italienischen Â�Schweiz im Mittelalter. Drei verschiedene Ansätze (in R.╃Leggero, 2017, “Histoire des Alpes-Â� Storia delle Alpi-Geschichte der Alpen,” 22, pp.╃211↜–↜229) and Lavoro e impresa nelle società preindustriali - Labour and business in pre-industrial societies (R.╃Leggero, ed., 2017, MAP, Mendrisio). Philippe Rahm (*1967, Pully, Switzerland) is a Swiss architect and principal in the Â� office of “Philippe Rahm architectes,” which is based in Paris, France. A 1993 graduate of the EPFL Lausanne, Rahm has completed work that extends the field of architecture from the physiological to the meteorological, and has received an international audi­ ence in the context of sustainability. His recent work includes a 2700-m 2 exhibition ar­ chitecture for the Luma Foundation in Arles, France, completed in 2016; the 70-hectare Central Park in Taichung, Taiwan, slated to open in August 2018; and the Agora of the French National Radio in Paris, which will open in 2019. A former visiting professor at GSD Harvard University, Rahm also exhibited in 2017 at both the Chicago and the Seoul Architecture Biennales. Ignacio Requena-Ruiz (*1982, Albacete, Spain) is a PhD architect by training, and an Associate Professor at ENSA Nantes, where he conducts research at UMR CNRS Ambi­ ances Architectures Urbanités↜—↜CRENAU . His work focuses on the technical, Â�sensory and cultural dimensions of architectural climates from the early 20th century to the present day, and he is involved in a number of collaborative and interdisciplinary initiatives and projects around these topics. His essays have appeared in various re­ search journals, including: Informes de la construcción, Ambiances Review, Frontiers of Architectural Research and Dearq Journal of Architecture. He has been awarded research Â�fellowships from both the Fondation Le Corbusier (2014) and the Region Pays de la Loire (2013). Further, he serves as an Editor of the Ambiances Review and as a reviewer for the

Sascha Roesler (*1971, Zurich) is the Swiss National Science Foundation Professor of Architecture and Theory at the Academy of Architecture in Mendrisio, Switzerland (Università della Svizzera Italiana). Roesler was mandated by SNSF to set up a new

Contributors

Journal of Architecture and Urbanism. He is a member of the International Ambiances � Network and the European Architectural History Network.

185

Â� special research field on “passive climate control and the city;” within that framework, he leads a group of doctoral and postdoctoral researchers. With the underlying ratio­ nale of the city as political ecology, the project combines microscale investigations of local thermal practices, the use of energy commons and the political regulations of climate control. Roesler, who holds a doctorate from the ETH Zurich, has published widely on issues of global architecture, sustainability and relocation. His publications comprise the first intellectual history of ethnographic research conducted by mod­ ern architects: Weltkonstruktion (Berlin 2013), and Habitat Marocain Documents (Zurich 2015), a volume on a colonial settlement in Casablanca. The latter was awarded the DAM architectural book award in 2016 as one of the year’s ten outstanding architec­

tural publications. Marlyne Sahakian (*1975, Geneva) is Assistant Professor of Sociology at the Univer­ sity of Geneva, specialized in consumption studies. Her research interest is in natural resource consumption patterns and practices as they relate to environmental promo­ tion and social equity, and identifying opportunities for transitions towards more sus­ tainable societies. Working with interdisciplinary teams, she is currently coordinating national and international research projects on household energy and food consump­ tion. Sahakian writes regularly for journals in the fields of sociology, sustainability as well as food and energy consumption. Her recent work includes a book Keeping Cool in Southeast Asia: Energy Consumption and Urban Air-Conditioning (Palgrave Macmil­ lan, 2014), and an edited volume, Food Consumption in the City: Practices and Patterns in Â�Urban Asia and the Pacific (Routledge Studies in Food, Society & the Environment, 2016). She is also a founding member of SCOR AI Europe, a network in the field of sustainable consumption research and action. Silvia Tavares (*1981, Pelotas, Brazil) has a PhD in Urban Landscapes (Lincoln Univer­ sity, New Zealand), a Masters in Building Science (UFRGS , Brazil), and a Bachelor of Architecture and Urbanism (UFP el, Brazil). She is currently a Lecturer in Urban Design at James Cook University (JCU ), in Cairns, Australia. Prior to starting at JCU , Tavares worked for six years as an Assistant Lecturer in the School of Landscape Architecture at Lincoln University, New Zealand; as a visiting researcher at the ILS (Institut für Lan­ des- und Stadtentwicklungsforschung gGmbH) in Aachen, Germany; and at the Uni­ versidade Federal do Tocantins (UFT ), in Palmas, Brazil, where she lectured for three years. Her research interests include urban microclimate, cultural landscapes, climate change and post-disaster recovery.

186

Acknowledgments This publication would not have been possible without the stimulating input of the invited speakers at the “The Urban Microclimate as Artifact” symposium which took place on October 31, 2016 at the Academy of Architecture in Mendrisio, Switzerland. We extend our heartfelt thanks to all those who made valuable intellectual contributions to this project: the authors of the chapters herein (Matthias Brunner, Roberto Â�Leggero, Ignacio Requena-Ruiz, Marlyne Sahakian, Silvia Tavares), the architects whom we interÂ�viewed (Lisa Heschong, Francis Kéré, Philippe Rahm), and Lizzy van Leeuwen. For the enthusiastic supervision and coordination of the publication process with Birkhäuser, we would also like to thank Henriette Mueller-Stahl, whose astute suggestions throughout production helped to hone the final product. Our thanks, too, go to all the team members at Birkhäuser who managed the production, publication and marketing processes. We appreciate and took benefit from the engagement of Ludovica Giangrossi and Laura Bonalume, the two graduate assistants involved in the design of diagrams and transcription of the interviews. Our thanks, too, to architect Philip Shelley for his transcription of one of the interviews and his drawings of maps and climatic diagrams. For the preparation of the heterogenous illustration material, we are gratefully indebted to lithographer Marjeta Morinc. The figures included in the publication were provided by the authors, but numerous institutions and photographers also supplemented and enriched our book with their photo materials, as acknowledged in the illustration credits. Finally, we appreciate the work both Sarah Batschelet and Thomas Skelton-Robinson did in copyediting all the contributions. This publication originated in “A Cross-Cultural Theory of the Urban Passive House,” a research project by Prof. Dr. Sascha Roesler that was funded by the Swiss National Â�Science Foundation. Our publication costs were covered by generous funding from the Università della Svizzera italiana, and in particular, the Institute for the History and Theory of Art and Architecture of the Academy of Architecture.

Acknowledgments

Sascha Roesler Madlen Kobi July 2018

187

Illustration Credits The editors would like to thank the authors of individual chapters and all institutions and photographers who have made their work available for this publication. The editors have made every effort to ensure the accuracy of the figure sources at time of publication and to find the copyrights of external illustrations. In the unlikely event that copyright owners have been overlooked we kindly ask them to let the editors know in order to insert the appropriate acknowledgment in any subsequent edition of the book. All illustrations not mentioned below were provided by the editors. Cover illustration

Based on an illustration by Philippe Rahm architectes, Mosbach paysagistes, Ricky Liu╃&╃Associates Between Laboratory and Sea Ranch

Fig.╃1╇ Book cover of “Thermal Delight in Architecture,” (Lisa Heschong). Fig.╃2╇ Coven, Riley. ‘A Local’s Guide to the Real San Â�Francisco Summer.’ Accessed on July 18, 2018 . http://dothebay.com/p/a-locals-guide-to-a-sanfrancisco-summer Fig.╃3╇ Published in: Alexander, Christopher, Sara Ishikawa, and Murray Silverstein. 1977. A Pattern Language. Towns, Buildings, Construction. New York: Oxford University Press, p.╃616. Figs.╃4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9╇ Pequannock Watershed in New Jersey. Printed in: Massachusetts Institute of Technology. 1976. Housing for the Pequannock Watershed: An Analysis of Its Ecology, An Analysis of its Microclimate, Designs for Energy Saving Houses. Cambridge (Mass.): M IT , Laboratory of Architecture and Planning. Fig.╃10╇ Environmental Simulation Laboratory, UC Berkeley. Printed in: Eran, Ben-Joseph. 2005. The Code of the City. Standards and the Hidden Language of Place Making. Cambridge (Mass.): MIT Press. Fig.╃11╇ Roger Goldstein’s photos of MIT Architecture Â�Department, 1972↜–↜76. Fig.╃12╇ Printed in: Futagawa, Yukio (Ed.). 1975. “MLTW ↜/ Moore, Lyndon, Turnbull and Whitaker. The Sea Ranch, California.” GA Global Architecture 3 . Figs.╃13, 14 , 15╇ Photos by André Corboz, Mendrisio, Biblioteca dell’Accademia di architettura, Fondo Â�Corboz, 1.19; 1.3; 1.7.

188

Citizens and Climate

Fig.╃1╇ Ibn Butlân, Tacuinum sanitatis, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département des manuscrits, Latin 9333. Accessed on July 18, 2018. http://gallica.bnf.fr/ ark:/12148/btv1b105072169/f186.image Fig.╃2╇ Caporusso, Donatella, Civico Museo Archeologico (Milano). 2012. Immagini di Mediolanum: Archeologia e Storia di Milano dal 5 . Secolo a.↜C. al 5 Secolo d.↜C. Milano: Edizioni ET , p.╃19. Fig.╃3╇ By Angelo Inganni↜—↜collezione mediocredito, Public Domain. Accessed on July 18 , 2018. https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid= 31193422. Fig.╃4╇ Historic Cities Project, Historic Cities Center of the Department of Geography, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Jewish National and University Library, Braun and Hogenberg, Civitates Orbis Terrarum III , 1581, Woodcut by Giovanni Andrea Vavassore 1562, courtesy by Özgür Tufekci. Accessed on July╯18 , 2018 . http://historic-cities.huji.ac.il/italy/trento/ maps/braun_hogenberg_III _48_b.jpg Fig.╃5╇ Bibliothèque nationale de France (Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, Ms-5070 réserve). Accessed on July 18, 2018 . http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b7100018 t/ f59.item.r=Decameron Fig.╃6╇ Photo by Tiberio Frascari. Accessed on July 18, 2018 . https://www.flickr.com/photos/tango-/18899359286 Fig.╃7╇ Bocchi, Francesca and Amedeo Benati, 1990, I portici di Bologna e l’edilizia civile medievale. Â�Grafis: Bologna, p.╃195. Fig.╃8╇ Gabbrielli, Fabio. 2010. Siena Medievale. Â�L’architettura civile. Siena: Protagon, p.╃219. Fig.╃9╇ Historic Cities Project, Historic Cities Center of the Department of Geography, the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and the Jewish National and University Library, Sebastian Munster in Id, Cosmographiae Universalis, Basel, 1550. Accessed on July 18 , 2018. http://historic-cities.huji.ac.il/italy/pavia/maps/ munster_lat_1550_181.html Fig.╃10╇ E.╃Viollet-le-Duc, Dictionnaire Raisonné de L’Architecture Française du XI e au XVI e siècle, A. Morel editor, Paris, 1868 , p.╃229. Fig.╃11╇ Hausbuch der Nürnberger Zwölfbrüderstiftungen, 1426↜–↜1549, Mendel 1.╃Stadtbibliothek im Bildungscampus Nürnberg, Amb.317.2 °, f.91r. Fig.╃12╇ © Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Â�Brussels↜/↜photo: J.╃Geleyns - Art Photography. Fig.╃13╇Plate Confabulator↜/↜Das Gespräch, in Ibn Butlân, Tacuinum sanitatis, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département des manuscrits, Latin 9333. Accessed on July 18 , 2018. http://gallica.bnf.fr/ ark:/12148 /btv1b105072169/f210.image

Indoor Urbanism

Figs.╃1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8 , 9, 11╇ Photos by Neal Oshima. Fig.╃7╇ Photo by Marlyne Sahakian. Published in: Sahakian, Marlyne. 2014. Keeping Cool in Southeast Asia: Energy Use and Urban Air-Conditioning. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, p.╃127. Fig.╃10╇ Photo by Marlyne Sahakian. Published in: Sahakian, Marlyne. 2014. Keeping Cool in Southeast Asia: Energy Use and Urban Air-Conditioning. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, p.╃75. Public Microclimates

Fig.╃1╇ Photo by Gillian Needham. Figs.╃2↜a and 2↜b╇ CC BY 4.0 NZ , Base maps: CERA (2010) CERA↜/↜Christchurch_Aerial_preSept2010 (MapServer), ArcGIS REST Services Directory. Accessed 16 October 2016, https://goo.gl/KPAOlh, CERA (2015) CERA↜/ Christchurch_Aerial_20111224 (MapServer). ArcGIS REST Services Directory. Accessed on October 16, 2016, https://goo.gl/uzYtkt Fig.╃3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 10, 11╇ Silvia Tavares Fig.╃6╇ Stuff↜ /↜The Press Fig.╃7╇ P.╃ Stalder↜—↜Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0. Accessed on July 18, 2018. https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/ index.php?curid=2543660

Fig.╃6╇ Susanne Pertl, Kéré Architecture Fig.╃12╇ Jaime Herraiz, Kéré Architecture Building a Brazilian Climate

Fig.╃1╇ Hitchcock, Henry-Russell. 1977. Architecture: Â�Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. (4th ed.) New Haven: Yale University Press, p.╃520. Figs.╃2, 12╇ Photo by Ignacio Requena Ruiz. (Fig.╃12, Â�interior view © FLC ↜/↜2018, ProLitteris, Zurich.) Fig.╃3╇ Le Corbusier. 1965. Œuvre Complète 1957↜–↜1965. Edited by Willy Boesiger. (3rd ed., 1977.) Zurich: Editions Girsberger↜—↜Les Editions d’Architecture, p.╃194 . © FLC ↜/↜2018 , ProLitteris, Zurich. Fig.╃4╇ Le Corbusier. 1965. Œuvre Complète 1957↜–↜1965. Edited by Willy Boesiger. (3rd ed., 1977.) Zurich: Â�Editions Girsberger↜—↜Les Editions d’Architecture, p.╃192. © FLC ↜/↜2018, ProLitteris, Zurich. Fig.╃5╇ Archives of the Fondation Le Corbusier (FLC 5611). © FLC ↜/↜2018, ProLitteris, Zurich. Fig.╃6╇ Archives of the Fondation Le Corbusier (FLC Q1.15.259). © FLC ↜/↜2018 , ProLitteris, Zurich. Fig.╃7╇ Archives of the Fondation Le Corbusier (FLC K1.9.11). © FLC ↜/↜2018 , ProLitteris, Zurich. Fig.╃8╇ Archives of the Fondation Le Corbusier (FLC K2.6.296). © FLC ↜/↜2018, ProLitteris, Zurich. Fig.╃9╇ Archives of the Fondation Le Corbusier (FLC 12630). © FLC ↜/↜2018, ProLitteris, Zurich. Fig.╃10╇ Archives of the Fondation Le Corbusier (FLC 12596). © FLC↜/↜2018, ProLitteris, Zurich. Fig.╃11╇ Archives of the Fondation Le Corbusier (FLC L2.7.10) © FLC ↜/↜2018, ProLitteris, Zurich.

Thermal Sensations

Heating and Cooling the Desert

Fig.╃1╇ Copyleft, Licence Art Libre (http://www.artlibre.org). Accessed on July 18, 2018. http://www.gillesclement. com/cat-banqueimages-matisse-tit-Parc-Matisse-Lillle

Fig.╃1╇ California Historical Society Collection, photographer unknown↜—↜Public Domain. Accessed on July 18, 2018. https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index. php?curid=30890766

Fig.╃2╇ Accessed on July 18 , 2018. https://theredlist.com/ wiki-2-19 -879 -606 -228825 -view-diller-scofidiorenfro-profile-diller-scofidio-renfro-blur-building.html Fig.╃3╇ Photo by Beat Widmer, courtesy of Diller Scofidio╃+ Renfro Figs.╃4, 5, 6, 7, 8 , 9╇ Jade Eco Park, Taichung, Taiwan, 2012-2016, Philippe Rahm architectes, Mosbach paysagistes, Ricky Liu╃&╃Associates Thermal Layers

Figs.╃1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8 , 9, 10, 11, 13╇ Kéré Architecture Fig.╃3╇ Photo by Julien Chiaretto, own work, CC BY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons, 2008 . Accessed on July 18, 2018. https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index. php?curid=9318309

Fig.╃2╇ Photo courtesy of Palm Springs Life magazine. Fig.╃3╇ Source: unknown Fig.╃4╇ Photo by Julius Shulman, job 093 -06, © J.╃Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles, 2004 .R.10. Fig.╃5╇ Radiant Heating with National Pipe. 1951. Bulletin no.╃19. Pittsburgh: National Tube Company, p.╃15. Fig.╃6╇Hydro-Flo Radiant Heating. 1950 s. Morton Grove: Bell╃& ╃Gossett. Fig.╃7╇ Coloring of radiant heated and cooled spaces on Richard Neutra’s publication plan, permission Â�courtesy Dion Neutra, architect. Fig.╃8╇ Desert Sun April 22 , 1938 , p.╃6 .

Illustration Credits

Fig.╃14╇ Cazelles, Raymond and Johannes Rathofer, 2001[1988], Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Â�Berry, Tournai: La Renaissance du Livre, p.╃18. By Limbourg brothers↜—↜R.↜ M .↜ N . ↜/↜R .-G. ╃Ojéda, Public Domain. Accessed on July 18, 2018. https:// commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=108562

189

Fig.╃9╇ Photo by Julius Shulman, job 093 -36, © J.╃Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles, 2004 .R.10.

Fig.╃12╇ Photo by Julius Shulman, job 093 -31, © J. Paul Getty Trust. Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles, 2004 .R.10.

Fig.╃10╇ Postcard, Photo by W.↜W. ╃Lockwood.

Fig.╃13╇ © Slim Aarons↜/↜Getty Images.

Fig.╃11╇ Published in: Kingsley, Sherman C. 1910. Open Air Crusaders: A Report of the Elizabeth McCormick Open Air School, Together with a General Account of Open Air School Work in Chicago and a Chapter on School Ventilation. Chicago: United Charities of Chicago, p.╃14 .

190

Subject Index aerator╇ 146, 147, 149 aesthetic (aesthetics)╇ 22, 69, 83, 92 , 106, 146↜–↜147 agriculture (agricultural), see farming╇ 38, 48↜–↜50, 60, 88↜–↜89, 152↜–↜153 air conditioning (air-conditioning devices)╇ 14 , 16, 19, 27, 64↜–↜79, 124↜–↜125, 131↜–↜133, 142, 152, 154 , 159, 161, 163, 166 air pollution, see pollution╇ 12, 16, 19, 113, 116↜–↜117, 120, 161 air quality (dust, fresh air)╇ 13, 19, 120, 141 Atelier Le Corbusier╇ 137↜–↜149 atmosphere╇ 83, 86, 88 , 104↜–↜106, 114, 116, 135↜–↜136, 140, 153↜–↜154 balcony (terrace), see loggia, sleeping porch, terrace, veranda╇ 21↜–↜22, 123 , 135, 139, 159, 166 Bay Area╇ 31↜–↜32, 40 body, see health agency of the body╇ 18, 35 alliesthesia╇ 41 physiology (biology)╇ 18, 28, 39, 83, 103↜–↜105, )>> 112, 149 bodily comfort╇ 68 , 72 , 78 body temperature (body heat)╇ 18, 39, 41, 45, 49, )>> 56, 72, 114, 162 circadian system╇ 39↜–↜4 0 thermal training (body stimulation)╇ 18, 41, 141↜–↜142 )>> thermoregulatory system (homeostasis)╇ 41, 114, )>> 141

climate arid climate (dry climate, desert climate)╇ 43, 120, 122↜–↜123, 125, 128, 152↜–↜156, 163 )>> climate change (Anthropocene)╇ 18 , 65, 155 climate control╇ 14↜–↜22, 31, 45, 69, 78 , 82, 106↜–↜107, 123↜–↜125, 134 , 140↜–↜143, 146↜–↜149, 152 , 156, )>> )>> 163, 166 climatology (meteorology)╇ 12, 14 , 16, 38 humid climate, see humidity╇ 112↜–↜113, 135, 156, 161 ocean-based microclimate (maritime climate) 26↜–↜27, 33 , 86 )>> temperate climate╇ 45, 69, 78, 83↜–↜8 4 tropical climate (tropical latitude)╇ 64, 68↜–↜69, 78, 83↜–↜8 4, 106↜–↜107, 119 )>> seasonality (seasonal change)╇ 48 , 55, 69, 83↜–↜8 4 , )>> 88↜–↜89, 92↜–↜94, 106↜–↜107, 154 subtropical climate╇ 84 , 112 windy climate, see wind╇ 40, 86, 89, 137 Climatic Grid╇ 140, 147 clothing╇ 18↜–↜19, 21, 40, 68↜–↜69, 78 business attire (office uniform, suit)╇ 69 seasonal clothing╇ 57↜–↜5 8, 72 Western fashion╇ 69, 72, 75 clouds (cumulus, stratus)╇ 43, 104, 114↜–↜115, 118 colonialism (colonial)╇ 68↜–↜69, 72, 75 , 119, 135 colonnade (column, arcade)╇ 45, 50↜–↜51, 166 comfort bodily comfort╇ 68 , 72 , 78 indoor comfort╇ 14 , 21, 64↜–↜79, 122↜–↜125, 132↜–↜133, )>> 143, 147, 152↜–↜166 thermal comfort╇ 13↜–↜14, 28, 39↜–↜41, 82↜–↜83, 86, )>> 142, 147, 152, 159↜–↜162, 166 thermal training╇ 18 , 41, 141↜–↜142

Brazilian Heritage and National Artist Service (SPHAN ) 136

concrete (pre-cast concrete)╇ 74, 92, 102↜–↜103, 125, 136, 143 , 159

Brazilian identity╇ 135, 137, 149

condensation╇ 114, 163

brise-pluie╇ 139

consumerism╇ 64↜–↜66

brise-soleil╇ 73, 122, 135↜–↜136, 139, 143, 146, 149

construction (reconstruction)╇ 14↜–↜16, 21, 45, 48 , 53, 72↜–↜7 7, 85↜–↜86, 118 , 122 , 128↜–↜129, 132↜–↜133, 137, 139↜–↜140, 142, 146, 155↜–↜156, 162

Brutalism╇ 136 buffer zone (buffer)╇ 22 , 122↜–↜123 cabin (cottage)╇ 106, 153, 160 Cantabrian╇ 83, 88↜–↜89, 92 cathedral (church)╇ 47↜–↜4 8, 50, 59↜–↜60 cellar╇ 55↜–↜56

cooling air-conditioning╇ 14 , 16, 19, 27, 64↜–↜79, 124↜–↜125, 131↜–↜133, 142, 152, 154 , 159, 161, 163, 166 )>> cooling devices╇ 19, 22, 65 , 113↜–↜114 , 118 , 161 radiant cooling╇ 152↜–↜166 countryside (country house), see cabin (cottage)╇ 18 , 49, 55, 88

cement╇ 102, 125, 129, 143

courtyard╇ 27, 29, 35, 96↜–↜97, 123↜–↜124

CERA (Canterbury Earthquake Recovery Authority)╇ 96

Critical Regionalism╇ 134

Subject Index

adaptive capacity╇ 82, 83, 92, 98

191

culture (cultural tradition)╇ 13, 15, 18, 28 , 31, 35, 38, 40, 42, 64↜–↜66, 75, 78 , 82↜–↜83, 88 , 92 , 97, 103, 112, 134↜–↜136, 139, 149 curtain╇ 55, 123, 137, 149 design building design╇ 16, 22, 72↜–↜7 7 climate-responsive design╇ 73, 77, 135 garden design╇ 42, 92 , 155 landscape design╇ 16, 29, 31, 33 , 43, 86, 89, 92, )>> 103, 112↜–↜113, 118↜–↜119 urban design╇ 31, 89, 92 , 97↜–↜98 , 112↜–↜113 user-centric design (customer-designed)╇ 83, 86, )>> 97↜–↜98, 123, 155 earthquake╇ 82↜–↜98 ecology, see environment╇ 16, 28, 35, 103, 105, 118 , 132 electricity (energy use)╇ 19↜–↜20, 43, 64↜–↜67, 76↜–↜7 7, 113, 124, 129, 132, 162 energy crisis╇ 26, 35 energy efficiency╇ 21↜–↜22, 74 , 77↜–↜78, 143, 146, 162 environment, see ecology╇ 16, 18 , 22 , 26↜–↜27, 29, 32↜–↜33, 35 , 40, 42-43, 65↜–↜66, 76, 82, 84 , 92 , 114, )>> )>> 122↜–↜123, 131↜–↜133, 140↜–↜142 environmental control╇ 141↜–↜143, 146↜–↜147, 149 Environmental Simulation Laboratory╇ 33

greening (greenery) green belt╇ 49, 123 green public space╇ 21, 60, 78↜–↜79, 86, 88 , 92↜–↜93, )>> 97↜–↜98 vegetation╇ 89, 102, 155 guidelines, see regulations, standards╇ 66, 140 National Building Code of the Philippines╇ 77 Building Ecologically Responsive Design for )>> Excellence (BERDE )╇ 77 health (immune system)╇ 16, 18↜–↜19, 21, 33 , 43, 48 , 53, 74, 112, 118↜–↜119, 135, 141↜–↜142, 152↜–↜156, 159↜–↜160 heat transfer (heat ray)╇ 14 , 142, 162 heating╇ 19, 21, 44 , 132↜–↜133, 137, 140, 142↜–↜143, 152↜–↜166 electric heater╇ 142, 159 fireplace (brazier)╇ 19, 44 , 48, 56↜–↜5 8, 147, 162 floor↜/↜underfloor heating (hypocaust)╇ 19, 21, 48 )>> 142↜–↜143, 156 , 159, 162 fuel╇ 21, 44 , 65 heated-slab system╇ 142, 149, 162 radiant heating╇ 19, 21, 137, 152↜–↜166 radiator╇ 137, 142↜–↜143, 149, 162↜–↜163 hermetical sealing╇ 74 , 152, 161, 163 humidity╇ 12 , 14 , 22 , 29, 41, 56, 68, 72, 86, 92↜–↜93, 106↜–↜109, 112↜–↜115, 123, 125, 135, 153, 155↜–↜156, 160↜–↜161, 163 hygiene╇ 53, 65 , 68↜–↜69, 72↜–↜7 3, 78 , 140↜–↜141, 147, 163

ETH Zurich╇ 102

ethnographic method╇ 16, 67, 84

ice╇ 27, 56, 166

Ets.╃Missenard-Quint╇ 140, 142

Impressionist painting╇ 113 , 118

evaporation╇ 114↜–↜115, 118 , 122↜–↜123

infrastructure╇ 14 , 19, 66, 69, 78

Expo.02 (Expo.01)╇ 103↜–↜104, 118

insulation╇ 21↜–↜22, 58 , 74 , 155↜–↜156

eucalyptus wood╇ 122↜–↜123, 125↜–↜127, 129 laboratory╇ 14 , 29↜–↜33, 38 fan╇ 14, 42, 76 farming (farmland), see agriculture╇ 50, 88↜–↜89 fashion trends (uso)╇ 65 , 69, 72, 75 fieldwork╇ 67, 75, 76, 85, 93 fire (fireplace)╇ 19, 44, 56↜–↜5 8, 147, 162

laterite╇ 125, 129

fountain╇ 27, 42↜–↜43, 53, 60, 113

LEED ╇ 77

light (daylight, sunlight)╇ 40↜–↜43 , 55↜–↜56, 92↜–↜93, 97, 103↜–↜104 , 113, 118 , 135, 137, 139, 142↜–↜143, 146↜–↜147, 149, 153

garden Garden City╇ 83, 88, 92 Islamic Garden╇ 42 private garden (ornamental garden)╇ 42, 49↜–↜50, 89, 155 )>> vegetable garden╇ 21, 45, 48↜–↜50, 60, 88↜–↜89, 129 vineyard╇ 38 , 45 winter garden╇ 22

mashrabiya╇ 113, 139

gated community╇ 67, 73↜–↜74

material culture╇ 14, 16

glass╇ 27, 35, 73↜–↜74 , 77, 131, 136↜–↜137, 147, 149

material practice╇ 66↜–↜67, 97

green building standards, see standard╇ 77↜–↜78

192

landscape╇ 82↜–↜92, 96, 98, 161 landscape architecture╇ 12 , 13, 16, 29, 33 , 43, 103, 112↜–↜113, 118↜–↜119 )>> landscape design╇ 16, 29, 31, 33 , 43, 86, 89, 92 , )>> 103, 112↜–↜113, 118↜–↜119

loggia, see balcony, sleeping porch, terrace, veranda 139, 143, 146, 149 luxury 20, 64, 67↜–↜6 8, 76, 124

materials (materiality)╇ 12 , 18↜–↜19, 29, 31↜–↜32, 59, 65↜–↜67, 97, 102↜–↜105, 112, 118, 122 , 125, 128↜–↜132 , 134 , 136, 143, 149

public place (public space)╇ 19, 21, 42↜–↜43, 48 , 51, 45, 60, 78↜–↜79, 82↜–↜98 , 147

mechanical climate control (exhaust system)╇ 19↜–↜20, 123↜–↜125, 143, 152, 166

Qanat system╇ 125

Minergie╇ 112 MIT ╇ 26↜–↜32, 39↜–↜4 0 MLTW group╇ 32 , 35, 38, 39

Modernism (Modern architecture, Modern architects)╇ 22, 31-33, 35, 73, 103, 134↜–↜137, 139↜–↜141, 143, 147, 149, 152, 157 mutual relations between indoors and outdoors, see thermal transition between indoors and Â�outdoors╇ 17, 18, 21, 41↜–↜42, 122, 143 nipa hut╇ 72↜–↜74 Northwesterlies╇ 86 open-air schools╇ 161↜–↜163 outdoor microclimate╇ 82↜–↜98 outdoor activities╇ 13, 84 , 88↜–↜89, 92, 97, 154 Overseas Filipino Workers (OFW )╇ 74 , 76 owner-tenant problem╇ 75↜–↜7 7 passive climate control arched colonnades╇ 27, 45, 50↜–↜51, 166 building orientation╇ 48, 93, 97, 137, 139, 147 cross-ventilation╇ 76, 135, 140, 147 daylight control, see light╇ 40↜–↜43, 55↜–↜56, 92↜–↜93, )>> 97, 103↜–↜104, 113, 118 , 135, 137, 139, 142↜–↜143, )>> 146↜–↜147, 149, 153 passive air circulation (openness to air, ventilation), see ventilation╇ 21, 72↜–↜7 3, 78, 122, 125, 132, 143 , 147, 159↜–↜166 passive solar house (solar heat energy)╇ 29, 31, 113, )>> 129, 143 roof overhang (awning)╇ 27, 93, 97, 128, 155↜–↜156 shading╇ 27, 42, 55, 67, 73↜–↜75, 94, 120↜–↜122 , )>> 126↜–↜127, 152, 156 wall╇ 21, 42, 49, 51, 55↜–↜5 8, 94 , 123, 132 , 136, 147, )>> 155↜–↜156, 160, 166 peaceful atmosphere╇ 83, 86, 88 , 92 , 96↜–↜98

quality of life╇ 17↜–↜21, 33, 45↜–↜45, 49, 92 , 112 radiant heating, see heating╇ 19, 21, 137, 152↜–↜166 radiator, see heating╇ 137, 142↜–↜143, 149, 162↜–↜163 ramada╇ 160, 163 , 166 reconstruction╇ 45, 48, 53, 85↜–↜86 regional identity╇ 83, 88 regulations, see guidelines, standard╇ 43, 66, 69, 96↜–↜97 resources (resource conflicts)╇ 65↜–↜66, 132↜–↜133 retreat space╇ 86, 93, 96, 97 sauna╇ 41↜–↜42 seasonality (seasonal change)╇ 48 , 55, 69, 83↜–↜8 4, 88↜–↜89, 92↜–↜94, 106↜–↜107, 154 shading╇ 27, 42, 55, 67, 73↜–↜75, 94, 120↜–↜122, 126↜–↜127, 152 , 156 shelter╇ 19, 35, 40, 48, 51, 89, 92↜–↜93, 96, 113, 120↜–↜122, 124↜–↜125, 129, 156, 160 shopping mall╇ 64, 68↜–↜69 SM Mall of Asia╇ 64 sleeping porch, see balcony, loggia, terrace, veranda 35, 160 snow╇ 13, 27, 41, 54, 56, 88, 162 , 166 social class (social status, social stratification, social difference)╇ 21, 56, 65↜–↜67, 69, 72, 78 social norms╇ 68↜–↜7 7 social practices╇ 60, 66↜–↜67, 82↜–↜83 , 88↜–↜89, 149 Society for Building Science Educators╇ 29 solar energy╇ 29, 31, 113, 129, 143 spring╇ 69, 89, 141 sports (sporting opportunities)╇ 88, 97, 155 standard╇ 14, 20↜–↜21, 40↜–↜41, 77↜–↜78 , 107, 112, 125, 142 status symbol╇ 49, 56, 65↜–↜66

pollution (electromagnetic pollution), see air pollution 16, 65, 68 , 109, 112↜–↜113, 116↜–↜117, 120, 161

summer╇ 27, 44↜–↜45, 48, 53↜–↜55, 60, 69, 88↜–↜89, 92↜–↜94, 106↜–↜107, 112↜–↜113, 137, 143, 155 summer residence (summer house)╇ 55

political ecology, see ecology╇ 16

sweat╇ 49, 68↜–↜69, 72

politics╇ 35, 44↜–↜45, 51, 53, 59↜–↜60, 135

symbolic interactionism╇ 83

practices adaptive practices╇ 92↜–↜96 cooling practices╇ 19, 65↜–↜66, 68 material practices╇ 49, 66↜–↜67, 97 social practices╇ 60, 66↜–↜67, 82↜–↜83, 88↜–↜89, 149

technologies╇ 14 , 19, 29, 31, 66 technical appliances (technical devices)╇ 12 , 16, )>> 19, 114↜–↜117, 124, 140↜–↜147, 157, 163 “technological fix”╇ 66

Subject Index

post-modernism╇ 31, 33

193

temperature body temperature╇ 18 , 39, 41, 45, 49, 56, 72, )>> 114, 162 indoor temperature╇ 14 , 18, 64, 72, 122, 132↜–↜133, 141↜–↜143, 149, 159 )>> outdoor temperature╇ 18 , 54 , 92↜–↜93, 95↜–↜96, 142↜–↜143, 149, 154 )>> terrace (balcony), see loggia, sleeping porch, veranda 21↜–↜22 , 123, 135, 139, 159, 166 thermal comfort╇ 13↜–↜14 , 28, 39↜–↜41, 82↜–↜83, 86, 142, 147, 152, 159↜–↜162, 166 thermal coping╇ 14 , 27 thermal delight╇ 13, 18, 26↜–↜27, 31, 35, 40↜–↜42 thermal diversity (thermal variability, thermal variation, thermal gradation)╇ 13↜–↜14, 18, 40↜–↜41, 69, 78↜–↜79, 83, 98, 107, 112↜–↜113 thermal knowledge╇ 20, 89, 124↜–↜125, 132↜–↜133, 140 thermal places╇ 13, 22, 27, 42↜–↜45, 83↜–↜8 4, 97↜–↜98 thermal perception (thermal experience, thermal sensation)╇ 18, 26↜–↜28, 39↜–↜42, 82↜–↜83, 93, 106↜–↜112 , 118↜–↜119, 141, 143 thermal regulation╇ 18, 39, 45, 107, 135, 142↜–↜143 thermal standard╇ 14 , 21, 41, 77, 107, 112, 142 thermal training╇ 18, 41, 141↜–↜142 thermal transition between indoors and outdoors (link interior and exterior spaces), see mutual relations between indoors and outdoors╇ 17, 18, 21, 41↜–↜42, 122 , 143 topography╇ 12, 89, 135 transitional spaces, see thermal transition between indoors and outdoors Transsolar Energietechnik╇ 113 tree (trees)╇ 27, 33, 48 , 50, 74, 89, 103, 113, 120↜–↜123, 125, 129, 133, 152 tuberculosis (consumptive)╇ 153, 160, 162, 166

urban (wind) tower, see wind tower╇ 53, 60, 73, 77, 120 urbanism╇ 16, 64↜–↜79, 143 Venice Biennale╇ 105 ventilation, see passive climate control╇ 21, 72↜–↜7 3, 78 , 122, 125, 132, 143, 147, 159↜–↜166 cross-ventilation╇ 76, 135, 140, 147 mechanical ventilation╇ 112, 125, 143, 147, 152, 161 ventilation door (aerator)╇ 146, 147, 149 Venturi system╇ 125 veranda (outdoor deck), see balcony, loggia, sleeping porch╇ 27, 35, 122↜–↜123, 126↜–↜127, 139 water╇ 43, 45, 58, 68 , 112, 114↜–↜115, 129, 133, 159 evaporation╇ 114↜–↜115, 118 , 122↜–↜123, 125 irrigation╇ 152↜–↜153, 155↜–↜156 public well (public bathing)╇ 45, 52↜–↜53, 56, 68 , 154 spring water (water source)╇ 45, 53↜–↜55, 153 water pipe system╇ 114↜–↜115, 159, 163 water table╇ 29, 31 wastewater (dirty water)╇ 51, 54, 56 weather╇ 12 , 14 , 19, 49, 53 , 82↜–↜83 , 85, 88, 92, 103, 120, 128, 154 , 160, 166 weather station╇ 95↜–↜96 wind╇ 16, 22, 31, 33 , 35, 40, 53↜–↜5 4, 75 , 86, 89, 93, 97, 113, 116, 118↜–↜119, 123, 137, 147, 149, 152, 155, 160, 166 wind filter╇ 56, 123 wind shelter (wind break, wind protection)╇ 21, 92 , )>> 93, 96↜–↜98 , 123 wind speed╇ 29↜–↜30, 93, 95, 126↜–↜127 wind tower╇ 53, 122, 125, 129 wind tunnel╇ 29, 31↜–↜32 window╇ 27, 35, 41, 44 , 55↜–↜56, 74, 76↜–↜7 7, 123, 131, 137, 140, 146↜–↜147, 149, 152, 156, 160↜–↜166 winter╇ 19, 21, 44↜–↜45, 48 , 56↜–↜59, 69, 72, 84, 86, 88, 92↜–↜94, 106, 112, 137, 143, 154↜–↜155, 161↜–↜162 winter room╇ 44 , 55↜–↜5 8 World War II ╇ 67, 73, 140, 155

urban development (urbanization)╇ 19, 67, 76↜–↜7 7, 79, 96 urban heat island╇ 12 , 67

194

Place Index Australia Adelaide╇ 42 Sydney╇ 43 Brazil╇ 107, 134↜–↜149 Rio de Janeiro╇ 135, 139

New Zealand Christchurch╇ 21, 82↜–↜98 )>> Cashel Mall╇ 85↜–↜87, 93, 95↜–↜97 )>> Hagley Park╇ 89↜–↜91 )>> Windmill Centre╇ 84, 87, 92↜–↜95, 97

Canada Vancouver B.C. ╇ 43

Philippines Metro Manila╇ 64↜–↜79 )>>Makati╇ 67, 73, 76↜–↜7 7 )>>Malate╇ 67 )>> Philamlife Tower╇ 73 )>> Rockwell apartments╇ 76↜–↜7 7 67↜–↜6 8 , 77 )>>Tondo╇ )>> Zuellig glass tower╇ 77↜–↜78

Denmark Copenhagen╇ 43

Spain╇ 28, 42, 67 Canary Island╇ 28

Burkina Faso╇ 120 -133 Koudougou╇ 120 -133 Lycée Schorge╇ 120 -133 Ouagadougou╇ 129↜–↜131

Switzerland╇ 56, 69, 74↜–↜75, 102↜–↜103, 105, 112, 118 Ethiopia╇107

French Polynesia Tahiti╇ 106↜–↜107 India╇ 28, 42, 119, 134, 140, 147, 149 Ahmedabad╇ 139 Chandigarh╇ 134, 140, 147 Indonesia╇ 67 Jakarta╇ 16, 72 Italy╇ 44↜–↜60 Bologna╇ 44 , 51, 53 Ivrea╇ 54 Lodi╇ 45, 48 Milan╇ 45↜–↜4 8, 50↜–↜51, 53 , 55 Nerviano╇ 55 Pavia╇ 45, 48 , 54 Rome╇ 53 Siena╇ 52↜–↜53 Marocco╇ 28, 42

Taiwan Taichung╇ 102↜–↜119 )>> Jade Eco Park╇ 102↜–↜119 Thailand╇ 67 United States╇ 64↜–↜6 8, 157 Boston╇ 28 California╇ 26, 27, 31↜–↜33, 38, 42↜–↜43, 152↜–↜166 )>>Altadena╇ 157 )>> Bay Area╇ 31↜–↜32, 40 26↜–↜29, 31, 33, 35, 39 )>>Berkeley╇ )>> Gamble House╇ 33 33 , 43 )>>Hollywood╇ )>> Kaufmann Desert House╇ 152↜–↜166 )>> Kings Road House╇ 157, 160 )>> Los Angeles╇ 26↜–↜27, 33 , 40, 43, 157, 160 )>> Palm Springs╇ 152↜–↜166 )>> Palos Verdes╇ 26↜–↜27 155 )>>Pittsburg╇ )>> San Fernando Valley╇ 27 )>> Sea Ranch╇ 26, 28, 32↜–↜39 )>> Silicon Valley╇ 43 )>> Wayfarers’ Chapel╇ 27 Las Vegas╇ 43 New England╇ 27 New Jersey╇ 29 )>> Peaquannock Watershed╇ 29 New York╇ 43, 112, 136 New York Highline╇ 43 Vietnam╇ 67

Place Index

France╇ 66, 106, 134 -149 Convent of La Tourette╇ 143 House of Brazil╇ 134 -149 Marseilles╇ 134, 139, 140, 146↜–↜147, 149 Paris╇ 69, 106, 112, 134↜–↜149 Rezé╇ 134 , 140 Ronchamp╇ 136

195

Name Index Ackermann, Marsha╇ 65

Esherick, Joseph╇ 32

Alberti, Leon Battista╇ 44 , 53, 55↜–↜56 Alexander, Christopher╇ 28, 42

Fry, Maxwell╇ 119

Allen, Ed╇ 31↜–↜33, 35 Alphand, Jean-Charles╇ 112

Gallo, Agostino╇ 55

Antelami, Benedetto╇ 58

Geiger, Rudolf╇ 12 , 38

Arens, Ed╇ 31

Greene & Greene╇ 33

Arguelles, Carlos╇ 73

Grisey, Gérard╇ 113

Auliciems, Andris╇ 82 Halprin, Lawrence╇ 33 Balchin, W.↜ G .↜ V. ╇ 12

Hebbert, Michael╇ 16

Banham, Rayner╇ 38

Herzog╃&╃de Meuron╇ 102

Barboza, Christina╇ 16

Heschong, Lisa╇ 13, 16, 18

Barker, Arthur Henry╇ 163

Hybert, Fabrice╇ 106

Baudrillard, Jean╇ 64 Benton, Cris╇ 29

Jackson, J.↜ B . ╇ 38

Betsky, Aaron╇ 105

Jackson, Richard╇ 43

Blumer, Herbert╇ 83

Jankovic, Vladimir╇ 16

Bourdieu, Pierre╇ 66

Johnson, Tim╇ 29

Bracciolini, Poggio╇ 56 Brittain, Richard╇ 29

Kahn, Louis╇ 103

Brum, Ceres Karam╇ 135

Kaufmann, Edgar and Liliane╇ 152, 155↜–↜156, 159, 163 , 166 Kelbaugh, Doug╇ 26

Capanema, Gustavo╇ 135

Knowles, Ralph╇ 38

Clément, Gilles╇ 103

Kratzer, Albert╇ 12

Cooper, Gail╇ 65 , 68 Cosgrove, Denis╇ 83

Lacaton and Vasall╇ 22

Costa, Lucio╇ 134↜–↜136, 137, 139↜–↜140, 142, 147, 149

Le Corbusier╇ 73, 77, 103, 134↜–↜149

Craig, Andrew╇ 88

Lico, Gerard╇ 68, 73

Crivelli, Antoniolo╇ 55

Locsin, Leandro╇ 74 Lynch, Kevin╇ 26, 38

Da Pistoia, Filippo╇ 55

Lyndon, Donlyn╇ 32 , 35, 38↜–↜39

De Adam, Salimbene╇ 55 De Andrade, Rodrigo╇ 136

Maisonnier, André╇ 139

De Canistris, Opicino╇ 45

Manley, Gordon╇ 12

De Dear, Richard╇ 41

Manrique, Cesar╇ 28

De La Riva, Bonvesin╇ 45, 48, 51

Maybeck, Bernard╇ 31

Debussy, Claude╇ 118

McCallum, John Guthrie╇ 152↜–↜153

Décosterd, Jean-Gilles╇ 102↜–↜103

McHarg, Ian╇ 29

Diller, Scofidio╃+╃Renfro↜/↜Diller╃&╃Scofidio╇ 104

Miller, Daniel╇ 18

Drew, Jane╇ 119

Missenard, André╇ 18, 140↜–↜143, 147, 149

Duiker, Johannes╇ 157

Monet, Claude╇ 118 Moore, Charles╇ 35, 38↜–↜39

196

Morena, Ottone╇ 48

Segantini, Giovanni╇ 118

Morgan, Julia╇ 31

Seurat, Georges-Pierre╇ 118

Mosbach, Catherine╇ 112

Sforza, Ludovico Maria╇ 51

Mumford, Lewis╇ 38

Shove, Elizabeth╇ 66 Shulman, Julius╇ 158

Nakpil, Angel╇ 73

Šik, Miroslav╇ 102

Neutra, Dione╇ 160

Steane, Mary Ann╇ 16

Neutra, Richard╇ 21↜–↜22, 27, 33, 152, 155↜–↜166

Steemers, Koen╇ 16

Niemeyer, Oscar╇ 73, 135, 136

Strauss, Sarah╇ 16

Obrist, Hans Ulrich╇ 105

Tuan, Yi-Fu╇ 38

Olgyay, Victor╇ 38

Tunzini, Ernest╇ 141

Oliver, Roy M.╇ 163 Olmsted, Frederick Law╇ 27

Van Leeuwen, Lizzy╇ 16, 72

Olwig, Kenneth╇ 89

Veblen, Thornstein╇ 65

Orlove, Ben╇ 16

Visconti, Giovanni Maria╇ 50↜–↜51

Petrarca, Francesco╇ 50

Webb, Brian╇ 16

Pye, Norman╇ 12

Webb, Franklyn L.╇ 163 Wogensczky, André╇ 137, 146

Rasmussen, Steen Eiler╇ 12 , 18

Wright, Frank Lloyd╇ 27, 156↜–↜157

Rossi, Aldo╇ 12

Wright, Lloyd╇ 27

Rudofsky, Bernard╇ 38

Wurster, William╇ 32

Schindler, Rudolph M.╇ 33, 157, 160

Zumthor, Peter╇ 102

Name Index

Schnadelbach, Terry╇ 29

197

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