Trying to do three things at once is complicated. When two of them seem totally unconnected, and the third a dubious connection at best, form has a tough time catching up.
I found the thing while flipping through a local publication. An advertisement proudly displayed something resembling a luxury chateau crossed with a high security prison, with a large heap of tract home thrown in. Lines, planes, materials and forms run everywhere, with nowhere for the eye to rest. Four or five materials all clamor for attention, and that’s just the front elevation. The text proclaims this a luxury design, the place to be, where you want to go, etc. etc.
Sometimes more is too much.
I can’t show you the project, nor indicate where it’s located. Unless you somehow recognize it from the completely transformed design below, its true identity will remain a mystery.
If this place were a Ferrari, it would have a seven color paint job using a mix of gloss, flat and semi-gloss paint. It would boast gold and red wire rims with whitewall tires, a chrome chain steering wheel, shiny metallic objects hanging from the rear view mirror, carriage lanterns on the B pillars and little models of Italian architecture glued to the dashboard. It’s quite likely that the metal on the bumpers, trim and wheels would not match. It would certainly stand out; I just as certainly would not want to be caught driving it.
My interest is de-uglification. It’s good just to imagine what this space could have been, how it might have been classy, elegant and even wonderful. How could this difficult challenge have been met with dignity, beauty and elegance? Could this space have become that tasteful paragon of wonder that the advertisements proclaim, or did the project parameters doom it to dysfunction?
Good design tends to tie elements together, bringing harmony out of chaos and creating an atmosphere of luxurious elegance. Think of a real Ferrari: solid color, matching metal, fluid lines that flow together. This is true for most classic cars. It’s also true for a lot of architectural icons. One metal and a simple outline for the Eiffel Tower; repeated forms for the Chrysler building. Even ornate buildings like a Duomo in Italy apply color according to some scheme, and the other parts – the stone for example, either match or form a pattern that repeats throughout the building.
I can’t show you photos of the thing (they’re copyrighted). However, I can list the materials they threw together in this hodgepodge:
- red ceramic (or is that red concrete?)
- warm brown cast concrete
- ochre cast concrete
- rusty stamped concrete
- white metal or plastic
- kinda shiny copper
- rust finish metal
- black wrought iron
- oxidized metal
- oxidized copper (I think)
- clear, glassy beads (lanterns)
- white wire (lanterns)
- stainless steel
- chain link (galvanized steel)
- stucco columns, round
- brown wood columns, square
- wood arches
- wood beams & joists (no arches)
- three rivers (or similar) stone
- moss rock
- grayed wood
- fake wood that’s really metal (I think, hard to see)
- sanded wood (butcher block)
- painted metal (the dumpster behind the chain link)
- tan-ochre plaster, rough finish
- tan-ochre plaster, moldings
- a mind-numbing assortment of squares, arcs, circles, arches, ovals, finials, rocks, caps, flagstone, metal rods, bannisters, lamps, rails, bark, river cobble, lights, signage…
To give them the benefit of doubt, this was not an easy project. There is a bare minimum of space, into which they squeezed a major water feature, dining tables, outdoor kitchen, fire pit and circulation. However, the fire pit is in a circulation zone; there’s nowhere to sit nearby. I don’t know what’s happening in another area, since they never photographed it. It looks like it could have been made into useable space, though. So what happened?
All that fuss to design The Place to Be, yet there is a dumpster right at eye level near the dining area. It looms above the patio, lid open, behind a rust finish metal fence that overlaps a chain link fence. Hiding the view of an adjacent dumpster is known in design terms as “taking care of the basics”. You make sure everything is functional and bad sight lines are blocked before you run around giving a different finish to virtually every item in the design. Get the Big Stuff right and everything else has a much better chance of falling into place.
This project, inexplicably, is the kind we never get. Although we do occasional studies of hospitality industry facilities like hotels, restaurants and vineyards, we’ve never gotten past the “fancy scribbles on napkins” stage. Perhaps it’s because we never seem to be able to figure out who’s really in charge among all the flunkies. Still, all is not lost: our ideas migrate over to the Luciole Labs to join their brethren like the Chef’s Playground, the park in Ethiopia or the Mental Health Facility.
I started wondering what we would do with this space. I grabbed a satellite photo off the Internet and tried to figure out how everything was laid out by comparing it to the numerous promotional photos of the site. I drew some lines, added a few more, came up with a concept. I threw the concept into the computer for a bit of 3D modeling. It’s not the real site, since I don’t have enough information and this is after all just something as a “what if” exercise.
The design that grew in the computer had cleaner divisions of space, a smaller water feature that left more floor space for events and used but a limited number of materials. Instead of a fire pit plunked down in a circulation area near an entry door, it had a glowing glass block table in a separate space where people could actually sit and converse. Gone were the two non-matching structures, replaced with nothing but some planting to green everything up and make it more inviting.
This simplified entry directs visitors to the upper or lower level. Below grade to the right is a quiet sitting area surrounded by green walls. To the left, the stair directs people past a water feature – clad in glasstiles to match the “table” in the seating area. Continuing toward the rear of the property on the left, visitors pass into a small outdoor dining area, beyond which is a small outdoor kitchen. All the walls are the same material, same finish. Ditto for all the metal. Three different paving materials clad the ground, all with similar colors. Planting is likewise minimalist, since the small spaces need tranquility over confusion.
Rust finish custom metal grates, understated signage (not shown), and clean, locally-adapted plant massings front the street. The balcony guard rail would have wires running through it, or metal rods – that would make it to code, but slow down the rendering – so I left it out.
The intimate seating area could have a fire pit, but this would be more fun. The idea is to create a multicolored cube table that could be clad in glass tiles and lit from within. Very chic! A bit of art that’s also functional goes a long way toward creating something special.
Screens better define spaces. Here, the arrival patio to outdoor dining area transitions through wood and ornamental metal screens. A mix of taller plants to arch overhead and structural plants that work well with dramatic lighting softens the hard edges.
Although it didn’t appear to be used in the real design, I decided that the space under the upper floor deck should be used. It’s big enough for some more seating, and leads to the intimate seating area.