A recent essay on Common Edge has raised the issue of why architects are so afraid of confronting the need for adaptive reuse as a primary design strategy for the current century and beyond. As someone who taught groundbreaking studios on the subject at Columbia and elsewhere (and was discouraged from doing so), I can shed some light on the subject. Indeed, my 1992 essay, â€śArchitecture for a Contingent Environment,â€ť documented some of that student work in one of the first issues of the Journal of Architectural Education to feature historic preservation as a theme.
As Vincent Scully and Stewart Brand have pointed out, historic preservation has fostered more urban revitalization and sustainable growth than any other strategy, and was the only popular architectural movement of the last century to garner support from virtually all citizensâ€”contrary to Koolhaasâ€™s false accusations of elitism. Part of the problem with architects embracing it was their own view of â€śdesignâ€ť as an elite artistic practice. Anyone working with a reverence and understanding of historic buildings and places was seen as a mere repairer, a tinkerer, a technical nerd. Frank Sanchis, one of the pioneering Columbia trained architects in conservation and preservation, once admitted that he went into the field â€śbecause I wasnâ€™t strong in design, and knew I could succeed. Preservation isnâ€™t about innovative design.â€ť How wrong he was, despite the sad commentary on the state of the profession in the 1960s. By their second or third year, architectural students falsely believe that they canâ€™t be â€ścreativeâ€ť if they are designing additions or renovations to old buildings. Only when they leave school do they think otherwiseâ€¦
That negative view of working with, not against, historic contexts has persisted in all but a few architectural programs. Several years ago, when I suggested to Deborah Berke, the incoming dean at Yale, that I offer a studio on adaptive reuse to her advanced students, she demurred. â€śStudents wonâ€™t sign up for that,â€ť she said, echoing a comment I also heard from her predecessor, Robert Stern. By their second or third year, architectural students falsely believe that they canâ€™t be â€ścreativeâ€ť if they are designing additions or renovations to old buildings. Only when they leave school do they think otherwise, and wish they had some experience with â€ślegacyâ€ť building technologies (to use a software term that would apply).
So, where does this leave professors and practitioners who want to teach students the subtle, difficult art of working with historic buildings? There are certainly books on the topic of additions, but they are often little help. Paul Byardâ€™s awful, historically blinkered tome has only perpetuated myths about making new pieces fit their time, but not their place. Stuart Cohen, now an emeritus professor in Chicago, wrote one of the most intelligent essays, â€śOn Adding On,â€ť in the 1980s, but it isnâ€™t consulted as often as Rudolfo Machadoâ€™s weaker piece cited by Amir Kripper. Few students in Ivy League programs have any idea that a literature exists on successful renovations and additions, because their professors are not interested in the subject. Much good writing by Beaux Artsâ€“trained architects was published in the early 20th century. Edwin Lutyens was a master of adaptive reuse, as many of his clients owned venerable houses and castles that needed upgrading.
Only programs at Notre Dame, Miami, Colorado, and Georgia Tech offer the kind of history-based training that might prepare young architects for these future challenges. They teach the classical language of a