Last night, I went to that meeting where neighbors planned to storm in and convince the city to save the B & O building. When I arrived at the Seattle Central Community College meeting room, an architect was standing in front of 30 cross-armed neighbors and the Capitol Hill design review board, which oversees new construction. Easels held drawings of the building. The drawings looked terrible. The vibe was passively hostile.
But questions from the design-review board—for the portion of the meeting I attended—were typical. Board members will ask why an architect made certain choices, they might point out that design elements are incongruent, and then listen intently as the architect spews excuses for a design that sucks. But what the board members don’t say—what you’re gritting your teeth waiting for—is, “Look at these ugly drawings. Nobody wants to live near this pig. Here are some pictures of an excellent building; now come back with something that doesn’t suck.”
Vince Lyons, manager of the city's design review program, says the design review boards sometimes couch their criticisms in very tame language, in the name of maintaining a professional relationship with the architects. "Often, even downtown, what we generally would think of as the most elite board, we have board members who defer a little bit too much to the architect because they are high end architects and developers," he says.
In a post yesterday about the B & O building, I had defended a property owner's right to build—or demolish—whatever the hell they want on their own property (within reason, no 12-story swastikas or anything). I stand by that. However, I strongly harmonize with the widespread public resentment about ugly-ass buildings.
Buggy little windows, that weird textured shit on the exterior walls, mismatched cladding and brick and paneling thrown together slapdash like on the Mirabella (the picture to the right with dark brick, light brick, lighter brick, white bits, and blue bits), functionless narrow courtyards, balconettes, and shallow retail are all common cop outs. More than just eyesores, many relate poorly to the sidewalk because few tenants actually want to rent the retail spaces, and thus the buildings are bad for street activity and neighborhoods. And the design review board—and pro-density folks and anti-density folks alike—know these buildings are crappy.
We need templates for better buildings.
Design review boards should, from the outset, tell developers that we don’t want. Then they should provide examples of buildings that we do want, which function as flexible templates. Buildings with warehouse-style commercial space on the ground floor that opens to the sidewalk, windows that reach high or expand wide, broad sidewalks, finishes that are quirky or confident.
The city's Department of Planning and Development currently maintains a "Gallery of Great Examples" that developers can look at. But—unfortunately—some are god awful. The Great Examples should not include this dog.
If a developer can't imagine which buildings to emulate—at any price point—we have plenty of examples. Look, here to the right is a building on 13th and East Union. Or there's one below of the Pearl Apartments on 15th and East Madison Street. These aren't the best pictures. Hell, they're not even the best buildings. They're just what I saw as I walked to work this morning. But we can pick the best new buildings in Seattle and replicate them.
The city could even offer incentives, like an extra floor or a tax credit, for developers who go beyond the existing design guidelines—which clearly aren't guiding us away from crap—and construct these sorts of buildings. Sure, templates potentially lead to repetition of the same style of building. But we already have repetitive styles of ugly buildings—we should be repeating the sort of architecture that we like.
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