Want to build something? Fine. But please read this first.
John King, Chronicle Staff Writer
In my ideal architectural world, each new building would glow with timeless grace. The materials, the proportions, the craftsmanship and details -- all would be just so, whatever the architectural style.
As opposed to the real world, where too much of what goes up has all the presence of papier-mache.
True, not every project can claim an extravagant budget or a big-name architect. But there's no reason new buildings in suburban downtowns or big-city neighborhoods can't be modest triumphs of quality and care. The problem is when developers have formulas, communities have demands, architects have rent to pay and the actual building becomes an afterthought.
So consider today's column a manifesto of sorts -- or at least a checklist of what our priorities should be when the next multiuse building proposal comes around the bend.
Make the ground floor shine. Nothing counts like first impressions, and if a building meets the sidewalk with a spacious urbanity, people are bound to be impressed. There should be generous heights and lots of glass. "It makes all the difference on the street to have a tall, elegantly proportioned ground floor," says Berkeley architect Anne Phillips.
Be realistic. We don't build buildings like we used to for a reason: we can't. Building codes are different now. Goodies like thick granite or kiln-fired brick cost exponentially more than they once did. Wages are high and regulatory checklists are long.
So instead of starting with elaborate designs and lavish materials and dumbing them down each step of the way, understand the constraints and turn them into virtues. For instance, an architectural approach that sticks to clean lines and simple setbacks can come alive with the use of handsome tiles at pedestrian level, or nicely detailed windows up above.
Don't be fussy. This isn't aimed at developers or architects so much as at the folks they deal with: planners and commissions and residents who pop up at hearings to complain that a new condo complex doesn't look like it was designed by Thomas Jefferson in full classical mode.
Some of this is inevitable, to be sure -- but when a design is pulled apart and second-guessed at each step of the review process, because everyone has their own idea as to what architecture should be, the scenic quality can be diluted past the point of no return.
This kind of fiddling leads to modernish boxes with cornices that look like they were borrowed from an Old West stage set. Or the other extreme: those strange pastel-hued and red-tiled concoctions that one local architect calls "Neo-Mexiterranean." They try so hard to please that they just make you laugh. Or wince.
Amp up the colors. In line with the tendency to tone down designs to the point where one building blurs into the next, there's often a phobia about colors. Anything that seems bright or bold makes developers/planners/neighbors nervous. So we get pale peach or soft beige or muted-mustard yellow. Or, if there's aged masonry nearby, brick red (but not too red).
This palette is supposed to be a nod to California's Mission-flavored past, or something like that. But after a year of dust and grime, guess what? Everything looks the same.
There's a better approach: pick good strong colors and don't be shy. People might be startled at first, but in no time at all they'll enjoy the change of pace. Especially since our region's crisp sunlight is ideal for vibrant colors.
Make a few smart moves. One of the better buildings at Mission Bay in San Francisco is Mission Creek Senior Community, designed by Santos Prescott and HKI&T for Mercy Housing, a nonprofit developer that combined 140 apartments for low-income seniors with a branch library and a corner cafe.
What makes the building memorable isn't the overall design so much as how it engages the neighborhood. For instance, the cafe space pulls back from the corner of Fourth and Berry streets just enough to allow room for seating that's separated from the sidewalk by a metal overhang and round metal columns; the glass walls and slight setback let you contemplate going in without feeling exposed.
Voila! Instead of the fill-in-the-blank storefronts across the street, this corner has personality. (Having local roaster Philz Coffee inside instead of a big chain helps, too).
The other distinctive touch is on the western edge of the building along a pedestrian mews. Instead of simply filling in airspace to the property line, the upper-floor apartments pivot out to allow for a procession of pie-slice-shaped balconies.
Sounds simple, but that staccato procession breaks up the right-angled monotony of everything else so far in Mission Bay. You don't need to shatter the mold, just shake it a little bit.
Keep paying attention. The most dreaded phrase in architecture is "value-engineering." Developers decide after all the approvals that recessed windows cost too much. Or they decide that any material beyond spray-painted stucco is a frill. It happens all the time -- unless cities coordinate their planning and building departments to make sure late changes don't suck the life from what everyone thought they had agreed on.
Does any of this guarantee a masterpiece? Of course not.
But it might make things move more quickly. Planners might focus on big details that matter. Developers and architects might try to make something they'll be proud of, instead of just making a profit.
The result might even be buildings that neighbors embrace. Imagine that! Instead of being resented, growth and change can strike a positive chord.
Place appears on Tuesdays. E-mail John King at
jking@sfchronicle.com.
