The last few decades of architectural practice in the US and elsewhere have often been characterized by a kind of explicit demonstration of environmental concerns. Swedish architect Michael Diamant recently acerbically remarked that by all popular appearances we are counting on architects to solve the climate crisis. To be sure, buildings are responsible for a large amount of our carbon output, and the recent ideals of popular design often find architects designing highly engineered, LEED-approved buildings that have a conspicuous complexity. This is done in the name of reducing carbon emissions (among other laudable environmental ideals).
The irony of these buildings is the relatively short lifespan that accompanies most of these complex endeavors. For something that lasts a relatively short time, these building possess a great deal of “embodied energy”. To put it in less jargony terms one might say these buildings, like some foods, are highly processed. Handmade stone buildings that last for centuries offer no reasonable comparison in terms of industrial energy consumption. In response to all this modern silliness, one might see a return to the kind of simple and beautiful buildings that are associated with antiquity. I agree with Michael Diamant that truly sustainable buildings are the ones that are effective enough that people want to keep them around. In the Far West of the United States, it is hard to draw the same conclusions about the merits of heavy monumental buildings.
In the Far West, despite the reality of our gold rushes and dot-com booms, we like to entertain the myth that a building’s use, and its correlated design, is sufficiently immortal to justify a highly engineered solution with lots of embodied energy. Because modern buildings in Europe, US and elsewhere suffer from a similar modern ecological malaise that stears them towards complicated environmental solutions, it is easy to think there is a shared solution to these different regions. Conversely it would be more accurate to ascribe the current misguided “ecological” architectural approach seen in so many locations around the world, as a reaction to the placelessness associated with industrialism.
Contrary to the best European solutions, the freewheeling American character is very often marked by mercurial, entrepreneurial, and frequently temporary, use patterns. It would be silly to moralize about this, or treat this as a situation larger than the area where I live. It is an anthropological fact that simply exists in my specific environment. As an environmental designer, I should respond to it as a reality. It is for better or worse, my culture and something I should resonate with, accommodate and respect. It is probably fair to say Western music is less monumental than the classical music of Europe as well. Different lands require different approaches. This is not a provincial statement, but more a regional one.
The Far Western reality strongly supports a kind of well-crafted, yet light, building form that, at its best, is more akin to origami than stonework. Waterproofing is a more important study with this approach than in might be with more primordial materials like stone. This focus on waterproofing can bring nobility and focus to a cultural approach that is often faulted for its impermanence. More permanent design solutions can justifiably be called a conceit. As Diamant states: “A building is ecological when people want to preserve it”. Focusing on the first principles of craft and functionality is a good approach. A building that “works” is like a thriving child. Ultimately, it is this act of nurturing and the connection between parent and child that preserves it.