libeskind’s pre-fab villa: imitation architecture

When I first learned of Daniel Libeskind’s pre-fab house concept, three months ago, I hoped it would go away.  Apparently it didn’t.  Recently, it appeared again on DesignBoom, with the announcement that a prototype would be unveiled later this month.

Rendering of the Libeskind Villa. (Image from DesignBoom.)

The problem with the Libeskind Villa is that its dramatic, angular forms exist only for their own sake.  Since it is designed to be prefabricated, sold, and installed anywhere a client wants to put it, it is little more than a habitable piece of lavishly expensive, second-rate garden sculpture which mimics the appearance of architecture.

My interest in architecture developed through exposure to so-called “organic” architects like John Lautner, who believed that a building’s design must be generated by the unique, specific demands of its site and client.  When I look at Lautner buildings, which can be just as dramatic and “sculptural” as the Libeskind Villa, I know that every grand, gestural form actually has at least one specific, carefully considered purpose–to frame a particular view, to provide shade or privacy, or to reflect a particular angle of sunlight, for example.  This, largely, is what architecture is about: responding to the site.  A Lautner building cannot be transplanted to a different site, because it wouldn’t make any sense.

Ideally, pre-fab allows a client who cannot afford to commission an original architectural residence to at least reside in something that was thoughtfully designed by an architect.  With the cost of the Libeskind Villa estimated to range from 2.8 to 4.2 million USD, it misses this market entirely.  For $3 million, why on earth wouldn’t I simply hire an architect to design something that actually fits my needs and my site?  Really, there can’t be that many people who would pay such a premium just to be able to say that they own a house by the architect of the Jewish Museum Berlin and 1 World Trade Center (formerly called the Freedom Tower), a design which, if built, will actually redefine tragedy on what is already the most tragedy-identified site in the world.

d.w.r. goes wrong

It would be more accurate to say that DWR continues to go wrong, but that lacks concision.  Design Within Reach, as the reader is probably aware, has been having a lot of problems.  I am going to focus on the problem of the knock-offs.  Once upon a time, DWR was in the business of selling actual counterfeits.  That changed, and they started marketing themselves as a source for licensed, authentic, original products.  However, they have continued to push unoriginal, often shamelessly derivative designs.  One example is their American Modern Dining Bench, which they actually tell you is inspired by the George Nelson design, but this has been extensively ridiculed already (see link).  Today, I’m going to look at the Trestle Table, a 2009 design by… well, they don’t tell you who designed it.  That’s because it’s a shabby knock-off.  Here’s a tip: if you can’t find out who designed it, don’t buy it!

DWR's Trestle Table (2009), inspired by Castiglioni. "Designer" unnamed.

I suppose Achille Castiglioni wasn’t the first person to put a table top on two sawhorses, but as far as I’m concerned, he gets the credit for it.  His 1940 design, Leonardo, is the first such table to find its way out of the workshop and into the homes and offices of discerning, design-conscious consumers, thanks in part to its manufacturer, Zanotta.  DWR’s Trestle Table certainly isn’t the first product to take the idea down-market, but because it comes from DWR, the company that once championed “authentic, licensed classics” and pretended to educate its clients about important designs, it is perhaps the most upsetting.

Achille Castiglioni's Leonardo Table (1940), made by Zanotta.

DWR knows, of course, that they couldn’t sell the Zanotta product; it’s too expensive, and it’s not well-known enough in the United States.  The honorable thing to do would be to simply ignore it.  Instead, they have ripped it off, and they present it to their clients as though it were their idea to take this utilitarian, workshop concept into the office and dining room.  This table is not a product of design so much as market research.  DWR undoubtedly got the idea by visiting higher-end design shops where the Zanotta table would have been on display.

From a business standpoint, I can’t fault DWR for wanting to make a profit, and they undoubtedly make more money with their “DWR exclusive” products like the Trestle Table and Dining Bench than they do when they sell legitimate designs from license-holding manufacturers.  The problem is, they have undermined the idea that original designs matter, and that designers deserve credit for their work.  It seems inevitable that they will degenerate into a low-end knock-off shop, which, like Room & Board, attempts to legitimize itself by carrying a few recognized products like the Eames Lounge and Noguchi Table.  Design “within reach,” it seems, is mostly design that has been stolen from someone else.

welcome back

After almost eight weeks of absence, I have returned to St. Louis and to this blog.  Many adventures were had.  More on those later.

I arrived at Lindell Terrace about an hour ago.  It was before midnight, so the Gateway Arch was still lit.  Entering my apartment, I approached the windows and pulled open the blinds.  I was awestruck.  The view… it’s absolutely phenomenal!  Yes!  Yes, I say.  The San Luis is gone, and I say, “yes!”

I knew this would happen.  Despite my feelings about the demolition of that building, I knew that once it was gone, I would be thrilled.  And, I am.  Right now, all that remains of the San Luis (at this height, anyway) is the elevator tower.  I actually like it, all by itself.  I wish they could leave it that way.  Perhaps I’ll take a picture tomorrow.  Anyway, the perfection of the view is now hindered only by the abominable Cathedral Basilica.  I’ll work on that next (or whenever I get around to abolishing Catholicism).

Welcome, St. Louis, welcome back.

the san luis at its end

When I came home this evening and looked down onto the west wing of the San Luis, I was profoundly saddened to see the markings of demolition on its roof.

The San Luis, marked for demolition.

It is really a great shame.  The demolition of almost any building is upsetting to me, but it is especially painful to see a thoughtful, modern building like this one brought down.  I don’t think it’s a great work of architecture, but at least it is architecture.  (Most buildings are not.)  It is a building that can be learned from; one can analyze the features of its design and understand the reasoning behind them.

Comic relief: this puny loader looks like it's trying to take on the building all by itself.

My self-interested desire for the destruction of the San Luis is known.  However, if they had been required to ask my permission before bringing it down, I would not have been able to give it to them.

The sun sets on the San Luis.

When I say this is painful for me, I am not exaggerating.  I find myself anxious about leaving the house tomorrow morning; what if I come home and it’s already gone?  I feel like I need to be here at the end.  I know, demolition takes time, but I want to see all of it.  A little over a year ago, I watched the Doctor’s Building come down with remarkable rapidity.  Though I did get some excellent photos of its demolition, I wish I had taken more.  As horrible as it is, demolition can be incredibly beautiful.  So, while I am dreading what tommorrow will bring for the San Luis, I’m looking forward to photographing the carnage.

opera theatre: video, alek shrader, and the young artists

I’ve made a thrilling discovery: in the 2009 season Opera Theatre of St. Louis produced a series of videos about each opera.  They are, in a word, magnificent.

When I think back to previous seaons, I often long for the ability to go back and review some of my favorite productions.  Starting with this season, I can!  I am really thrilled about this.  Part of what makes opera such a poignant experience is the knowledge that once it is over, it’s over.  You can’t rewind it, or put it on and watch it again later.  Still, it always seems like such a shame to produce something some beautiful, at such great expense, and be left with hardly any record of it, a token to remember it by.  Now, this will change.  I am thrilled because these videos are extending the period of elation I experience during and after every Opera Theater season, and because I will be able to look back on these first-rate productions in the future.  Also, I think these videos will be useful in my continuing efforts to persuade friends from around the country to come to St. Louis in June.

But, enough of my jibber-jabber, you now must go and watch the wonderful, wonderful Opera Theatre of St. Louis 2009 videos!

OTSL has my sincerest gratitude for producing these.

Alek Shrader

It recently came to my attention that tenor Alek Shrader, who was a big winner in the Met’s documentary The Audition (which is about the National Council Auditions) made his professional debut at Opera Theater as Almaviva in The Barber of Seville in 2006.  I was there on opening night, and I remember it vividly because it was my first opera in St. Louis, and because it is still one of my favorite productions.  He also returned to OTSL this year in Il Re Pastore.  I thought he looked familiar.  He is definitely one to watch.

Prior to his professional debut at OTSL, Shrader was actually a Gerdine Young Artist for two years.  It’s wonderful to see that the OTSL young artist program actually moves singers into professional prominence.