Discourse and Practice

While many today seek new ways to construct and express the ‘new epoch,’ it is important to consider whether sustainability is, and will be, a purely contemporary issue, and whether high-tech expressionism and experimentation are in fact appropriate – or most effective – in either the near term, as manifestations of a constantly changing condition, or in the long term, for the very same reason. Solutions that articulate our current “technicity” and ecological self-consciousness may not actually be nimble enough to address long-range, multi-faceted global issues. For as we advance novel methods, materials and technologies, the context within which we are working is simultaneously shifting to include all of the variables and intangibles that go hand-in-hand with the unknown.

The electric car, for example, may reduce our dependence on petroleum-based fuel, but widespread use of that technology will put greater pressure on an electric grid that – at the present time – is almost entirely fueled by non-renewable resources. Similarly, as we endeavor to produce new technologies and materials that will make our buildings more efficient while at the same time attempting to use less energy, our objectives – while admirable and certainly not divergent – may actually never meet the mark.

As we move towards finding objective, quantifiable outcomes and universal remedies, we prolong our dependence on the machine, expanding industrialization and the energy infrastructure that supports them. The result: an architecture of new materials and forms – a monoculture of environmentalism – that may do well to reflect our collective global reality but may also effectively sustain or prolong the challenges we already face. Perhaps our modern ambitions are, in fact, at odds with our modern reality.

In the short term, we need to achieve long-term solutions, solutions that will go the distance, recognizing that our condition – besides that of being human – is always changing. As it was with the ancients, we need to find solutions that look beyond the here and now. High-tech solutions that prioritize optimization and promote specialization aren’t necessarily accessible to all or appropriate in every context. Novel materials, methods, connections and principles of assembly are – by virtue of being new and in some cases experimental – unique, requiring specialized knowledge and proficiencies and are not typically found locally (i.e.: the newest widget, made from materials extracted here, processed abroad and returned once more for manufacturing and final, global distribution).

What are the real costs of these novel systems in expanded energy demands for manufacturing, production and transport; in embodied energy; to society; to the world?

Conversely, traditional construction methodologies and design principles – those that have been handed down through the generations – are inherently durable and sustainable solutions that are uniquely valuable in both the near term – they’re known, understood and immediately deployable – and in the long run. These methods and materials, which are generally low in embodied energy, have been vetted, refined and mastered over time; are climate and context specific in their selection and assembly and, when executed in conjunction with fundamental principles of design, have produced some of the most enduring, efficient, practical and beloved buildings standing today.

While a highly technical building may be energy efficient, if it is not loved, it will be abandoned.

Countless buildings have been demolished in a single generation because they were, while innovative, inhospitable.

If we are to effect true and lasting change on the built environment, we must thoroughly consider the impact of our designs - and our pursuit of progress – on the environment in both the present and the future, acknowledging fully the reality of long-term maintenance and the limitations of non-renewable resources, including – potentially – the loss of embodied knowledge, craft and cultural identity in the process.

Regardless of the idiom, approach or epoch, building sustainably means building smarter: building communities and structures that will outlive momentary fashion and technology-driven utilitarianism, buildings that people will nurture and maintain over time because they identify with them and can recognize in their surroundings aspects of their unique culture and traditions, and their place in this ever-changing world.

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The construction of an arch – regardless of its shape – is a rather simple, tectonic matter. Unless, of course, one does not understand the behavior of masonry when suspended over void-spaces, the fundamentals of materials in compression or the assembly of masonry components to create a load-supporting arch.

In this architect’s attempt at a collegiate Gothic building, hundreds of years of collective knowledge surrounding the construction of arched openings – including the 400-year reign of the Gothic tradition – are apparently lost. And it’s not just about material choice – using cast concrete in lieu of traditional masonry. A brief visual inspection of these artificial arches with their “guillotine keystones” – as a colleague of mine has so aptly dubbed them – reveals much about the loss of craft in the building arts today and, perhaps even more distressing, the level of care.

Traditional masonry arches are constructed with voussoirs; wedge-shaped segments of stone that spring from opposite imposts, ultimately meeting at the apex of the arch on either side of a keystone – the “locking device” for the completed arch. All of the components of an arch work in unison to transfer loads in compression over the span. However, these

arches weren’t “constructed” in the traditional sense; they’ve been cast into a monolithic concrete veneer sitting in front of the building’s super-structure. The arches serve no structural function; they transfer no loads. By virtue of the fabrication methodology, these arches are simply cut-outs in the skin of the building. Because, of course, a true masonry arch could never be constructed to perform in the way that this series of arches has been designed – those keystones would simply fall out. Absent are a relieving arch and any real sense of support at either “end” of the spandrel. And what happens in between the arches and spandrel – a most bizarre crisscrossing of lines – represents only more fully what these arches convey well on their own: a complete lack of understanding of tectonics (and gravity!).

The use of a modern material technology is not in dispute here. The fabrication process capable of producing arches such as these is equally capable of producing arches cast properly and inscribed with joint lines in logical locations, presuming, of course, that both the architect and fabricator have some working knowledge of traditional masonry construction. One would assume that shop drawings for these cast panels were produced – and ostensibly reviewed – but unfortunately, the built product of those efforts reveals that the only person on the project team who may have understood how masonry arches are constructed was the renderer.

What is clearly lacking in the design of this building, in its articulation, and – most importantly – in its execution is an understanding of or appreciation for the methods of construction being attempted and the structural members being represented. Is it artistic license at work; a post-modern take on the vestiges of load-bearing construction? I argue not. It is a superficial, unstudied attempt at the rich collegiate Gothic tradition and a frustrating – and PERMANENT – display of the lack of craft and consideration that is so prevalent in contemporary architecture. Either way, it begs the question: should an architect operating with such an apparent lack of basic structural understanding be operating at all?

Ironically – and perhaps most infuriatingly – this building is currently under construction on one of the nation’s most distinguished collegiate Gothic campuses, the University of Notre Dame – home also to the nation’s only School of Architecture dedicated to the study of the classical tradition and the craft of building.

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Several years ago, my husband and I were approached to design a summer home on the north shore of trout-rich Henry’s Lake in the northeastern corner of Idaho. Our client, an avid sports fisherman and North Countryman, had developed over the years a deep affection for the traditional log construction of the Big Sky region and hoped that we might realize for him a log home that was both beautiful and fit for its site but also low maintenance, low impact and energy efficient. His goal – and ours: to build an environmentally responsible log house. Could it be done?

Considering the extreme temperature shifts of the Henry’s Lake Plateau, where the house site is located (down to -30° F in winter to the upper 90s in summer); the characteristic shrinking, swelling and settling of natural log construction; the inherent inefficiencies of a wall system that requires a battery of shims and annual re-chinking to minimize air infiltration and the challenge of engineering a structure located within a level-four seismic zone (Old Faithful is 12 miles to the east), we were reluctant to advocate for traditional log construction, despite its rich history in the region.

Until, that is, we found an emerging technology that seemed to solve all of those problems: logs that wouldn’t shrink, swell or settle; logs that wouldn’t need to be shimmed, re-chinked or re-stained – ever; logs impervious to mold, rot, insects and woodpeckers; logs that, when assembled as a wall system, are – according to the National Center on Appropriate Technologies – six times more air tight than a traditional stick-framed building; logs with a three-hour fire rating. That’s right: logs that won’t burn.

How is this possible? Well, these logs (yes, the ones in the photo) are made of concrete.

As traditional architects and traditional methods “advocates,” we were immediately dubious, wondering if this novel material technology was akin to aluminum siding (which, instead of outperforming its traditional organic counterpart in weatherproofing a building, actually acts like plastic wrap and, in some cases, helps buildings to rot from the inside-out), the decorative “Shangle,” faux-stone veneer and other native material surrogates. However, unlike these and many other once novel building materials manufactured merely to simulate, these new concrete logs may actually be superior to their natural predecessors. And here’s why:

After a thorough shop drawing process, each log is cast to exact lengths and specifications, limiting, if not eliminating altogether, waste in production and assembly. Once all of the logs have been cast, they are trucked from the manufacturing facility in Missoula, MT, to the jobsite (248 miles in our case), where they are craned into place Lincoln Log-style, “chinked” and custom painted with a near-permanent finish.

Each log is cast around a rigid insulation panel that enhances the thermal mass of the 8-in.-thick log (overall thickness of material) and produces a base building envelope with an R-19 insulation rating. The logs are made of high-strength composite concrete manufactured with recycled coal fly ash in the cement mix and, unlike traditional hand-hewn logs, are reinforced vertically with steel, so the system can be engineered to perform in earthquake- and hurricane-prone areas.

Cast from molds created from actual timbers, the concrete logs bear the same surface qualities and texture as their natural predecessors with shocking verisimilitude. Even upon close inspection, it is difficult to detect the manufactured nature of the logs, except that, unlike logs cleaved from an old-growth forest, these tend to be surprisingly cool to the touch.

So we built the house – just the seventh structure of its kind – using local materials: fire-resistant, inorganic logs manufactured in neighboring Montana (versus timbers trucked from Canada); logs containing pre-consumer recycled material and rigid insulation with a one-time, custom-applied finish. The latter minimized the release of VOCs in the form of paints or stains related to the more typical annual maintenance of traditional log construction. And it didn’t involve clear-cutting a forest.

Today we have materials and methods – like the EverLog™ system – that extend, enhance and, in some cases, even exceed the durable qualities of traditional materials and methods. This new log system is a fair example of a material system that draws upon the embodied knowledge of a longstanding traditional material system – and improves upon it. And when used efficiently and effectively – as it was in this house – it creates an environmentally responsible and regionally appropriate structure. For, as the theorist Laugier posited, the solidity of a building – arguably its most important quality – distinctly depends on two things: both the choice of material and its efficient use.

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In the wake of the financial crisis resulting from the dubious practices of a large handful of financial institutions, we have witnessed the widespread failure of banks, the interrogation of chief executives and an unprecedented scrutiny of wealth.

Initially, instinctively, we focused our contempt on those closest to the cataclysmic financial misconduct: Wall Street, regulators, bank board members and executives – many of whom received astonishing performance bonuses while their companies dodged insolvency with government assistance. As our neighbors and colleagues were losing their jobs, their homes and their pensions, the unscrupulous pursuit of wealth by a few created a platform for the scrutiny of wealth and a distrust of individuals who have attained financial success – scrupulously or not. However, as we begin to question executive pay scales and those who may seem excessively compensated, it’s worthwhile to bear in mind that excess is not always a bad thing.

Consider excess in the context of the arts: the arts need surplus. Recall the great patrons of the past – the popes and nobility of Europe, the captains of early industry in the U.S. – and the buildings they have built, the centers of culture and edification that they (and their wealth) have helped to create. Consider Pius II, Leo X, King Louis XIV, the Rockefellers and Hannas of Cleveland, the de Menils of Houston, Isabella Stewart Gardner in Boston, the Vanderbilts and the Whitneys, among many, and the lasting impact of their largesse on the cities they patronized.

According to the renowned architect and urbanist Andres Duany, “A full society with a cultural component is only possible with wealth.” Duany posits that there are two types of small U.S. cities: cities that include (or once included) the address of a wealthy benefactor – a tycoon or factory owner – and cities that advanced without wealth, and of likely consequence, without culture. Duany’s point of view acknowledges not only the important role of the patron in the cultivation of culture and civic identity, but also the critical integration of income in creating vital urban centers. In the midst of the fairly universal discussion about the integration of low-income housing, Duany stresses income integration of all income classes. That is, it is equally important to integrate people of wealth and leisure in our cities. In his practice of creating new urban centers today, Duany finds evidence of this important socioeconomic factor in the patterns of existing cities; consider some of the world’s oldest surviving cities and the proximity of palaces and dwellings. (For this lecture and others in Duany’s nine-part series on urbanism, click here.)

Setting aside model patterns of urbanism, simple economics advocates for the positive side of surplus. Most simply, those who have means can pay for the making of things, which in turn enables the makers of things to make more things and pay for the making of other things, which furthermore supports the makers of other things, and so on. We all have a stake in it. Architects provide services that, ideally, lead to the making of spaces, places and buildings – all of which require both craftspeople and capital, artisans and visionaries. Continued support of the craft of building sustains not only the livelihood of those “makers,” but also the continued prosperity of the trades and traditions that have been practiced for generations – and without which much local, regional and civic identity could stand to be lost.

While our contempt for the recent unscrupulous practices of the financial industry may be justified, a scrutiny of wealth, in general, may have unintended consequences on the arts. Each of us in the building and decorative arts knows this well. Throughout history, the citizens of cities large and small have benefited from the generosity and disproportionate success of a few. What would Florence be without the Medici? What could happen to the arts and architecture in the absence of excess?

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“Architects who have aimed at acquiring manual skill without scholarship have never been able to reach a position of authority to correspond with their pains, while those who relied only upon theories and scholarship were obviously hunting the shadow, not the substance. But those who have a thorough knowledge of both, like men armed at all points, have sooner attained their object and carried authority with them.” – Morris Hickey Morgan translation of Vitruvius, Dover Press, NYC, 1960

According to Vitruvius, architects should receive, from a very early age, instruction in various kinds of learning. The pursuit of a liberal education, including the subjects of geometry and arithmetic, history and ethics, music and astronomy, philosophy and drawing, provides the architect with intellect necessary for both the theory and the practice of architecture. For Vitruvius, “knowledge is the child of practice and theory,” or that which is produced when one has a good grasp of both the practical and theoretical aspects of architecture.

Alberti considered the architect to be the “greatest exponent” of other disciplines. The person who calls himself an architect must be able to carry out not only the construction of a work, but must also have the ability to devise by sure reason and method – and with his own mind and talents – structures both beautiful and useful for the needs of man. To do this, Alberti contends, the architect must be of sound judgment and good counsel, possess the widest of experience, and have an understanding of all the highest and most noble disciplines. Consequently, the architect who lacks sufficient experience, prudence, and consideration will, by the nature of his work, leave a lasting physical reminder of his carelessness.

But are the treatises of Alberti and Vitruvius still relevant to the way we think about the education of the architect today? Do our institutions of higher learning and schools of architecture and design still value well-rounded education? Or do architects have different responsibilities today that challenge the necessity for architects to acquire the sorts of knowledge that Vitruvius described?

It can be argued that over time the intellectual responsibility of the architect as designer, master coordinator, and construction administrator has grown to include not only those subjects which Vitruvius required, but also those that govern the vast number of new mechanical, structural, electrical, and plumbing systems in use today, along with a magnitude of new materials and building technologies. Not only must the architect possess an ability to masterfully render one’s design for client approval and construction documentation, but he or she must also keep abreast of emerging building materials and technologies and be able to comprehend the impact of those technologies on their designs.

This is not to suggest that Alberti’s convictions about sure reasoning, prudence, and consideration should be sidelined to make way for the influx of necessary technical know-how; certainly, as building becomes more complex, there is even more compelling reason for institutions that educate architects to emphasize well-rounded understanding and a balance of theoretical and practical knowledge.

Beyond the guidelines established by the National Architectural Accreditation Board (NAAB), the curriculum fostered at individual institutions can vary widely in focus, and therefore the education of the architect can be influenced differently from one institution to the next. Although this may not be an altogether unfortunate loophole in the accreditation process – and certainly may directly impact the texture of the built world and lively discourse among architects – it allows for architecture schools to individually decide what is more important – theory or practice. Only in the most favorable of situations, are both regarded equally. However, in the interest of the client and with public safety foremost, the education of the architect must be both standard – although not necessarily pedagogically – and transparent to prevent the potential misrepresentation of the practice and profession of architecture.

Architecture is an art of synthesis: students of the discipline of architecture must be capable of contributing viable solutions to real architectural problems (beyond an understanding of modern theory and criticism about architectural problems). The education of the architect cannot merely be a means to its own end. It must be an education that prepares the architect to engage not only in discourse about the built world, but, more important, in its actual conception.

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A couple of years ago a friend’s mother introduced me to the clever website walkscore.com. She and her husband were in the process of relocating from the Dallas suburb where they had raised their children back into the city and happened upon Walk Score while searching for property downtown. Although the site promotes itself as a tool for those looking for new real estate – like these recent empty-nesters – the underlying premise of Walk Score is to help people in search of a new address find walkable places to live.

The site currently ranks 2,508 neighborhoods in the nation’s 40 largest cities for their walkability. Using its “patent-pending” system, Walk Score calculates (on a scale of 0 to 100, “Drivers Only” to “Walkers’ Paradise”) the walkability of an address or neighborhood according to the proximity of pedestrian-accessible amenities like schools, stores, restaurants and services. Not surprisingly, San Francisco, New York City and Boston top the list as our nation’s most walkable cities, with New York City alone boasting over 30 “Walkers’ Paradises,” or neighborhoods – like Tribeca (100), SoHo (100) and Park Slope (94) – with Walk Scores of 90 or higher. But you don’t have to move to the Big Apple to live a walkable life; according to Walk Score, 22 U.S. cities (in 18 different states) have “Walkers’ Paradises,” or almost completely car-independent communities.

Creating, living in and sustaining walkable communities are critical for our wallets, our waistlines and our planet. Among the benefits listed on the website, walkable neighborhoods lead to better health, fostering regular daily activity and residents who, according to one Seattle-based study, are an average of seven pounds slimmer than their suburban counterparts. When people live within walking distance of most major amenities, they are less likely to use (or even own) a car, so these ped-friendly neighborhoods contribute to the reduction of greenhouse gases, fossil fuel consumption and dependence on single-occupancy vehicles, which turns out to be a boon for our health in more ways than one: fewer cars on the road mean fewer traffic-related injuries and deaths.

The neighborhoods that Walk Score ranks are characteristically high-density communities with a range of transportation options and pedestrian-friendly infrastructure. Since residents spend less time isolated in their cars, they are more likely to engage – face-to-face – with members of the community – neighbor to neighbor, neighbor to shop keeper, etc. Of course, these are not novel ideas or a recently discovered guide to the good life. It’s what New Urbanists have been prescribing for years (and what our good common sense tells us): walkable communities are healthier. Biped is better.

In a recent lecture, New Urban Guild President Steve Mouzon spoke about what he calls the “fallacy of efficiency.” For those hoping to reduce their carbon footprint, fuel-efficient cars are among the most readily available “green gizmos” today. However, as Steve articulated, a fuel-efficient car cannot compete with a fuel-efficient place. If, for example, you live in a neighborhood that requires you to drive 40 miles to work each day, each way (or about 22,000 miles per year), versus living in a walkable community where one’s average miles driven per year is much lower, like 6,000 miles, Steve posits that a car would need to be 400% more fuel efficient than the average car to offset the suburban commute. Does such a vehicle even exist?

I have to admit that this sound reasoning – and the Walk Score data that support it – are a bit hard to swallow considering that my husband and I recently moved from the “Very Walkable” city of Hoboken, New Jersey, with a Walk Score of 89 – and just a single stop on the PATH train to New York City where we worked – to South Bend, Indiana, a “Car Dependent” city with a Walk Score of 45. Despite our relocation, we do still try to live an “urban lifestyle.” (Quotations are mine.) We share one car and use our feet whenever we can: weather permitting, we take regular walks to our local park, zoo and farmer’s market; we live within a mile of downtown South Bend where we walk to get fresh beignets (yes, beignets in Northern Indiana!) and coffee on weekends and a walkable two miles south of Notre Dame’s campus where we work.

Whether you’re looking for a change of address and a “car-lite” life or you just want to see how your current neighborhood measures up, Walk Score is a fun – and somewhat addictive – source for comparing patterns of urbanism and what makes a place walkable. (For instance, my family home in rural northern California scores a 0 on the walkability scale, compared to my office on Notre Dame’s campus, which scores a 22.)

What’s your Walk Score?

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“The work we do is no longer mutually reinforcing, but I would say that any accumulation is counterproductive to the point that each new addition reduces the sum’s value.”

Sound familiar? Are these the words of Alberti resurrected – an important figure from our past waving a knowing finger? No, in fact, these are the words of renowned Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas, who is arguably known more for his avant-garde skyscrapers than his sympathy for Renaissance concepts of composition, unity and collective value.

Are Koolhaas and Alberti long-lost minds or is Koolhaas’ acknowledgment of the state of mainstream architectural thought/discourse/expression an inevitable progress of thought?

In his Renaissance treatise on architecture, Alberti asserts that our art – our architecture – is about the synthesis and consonance of parts to create a unified whole such that no one part may be added or taken away without detriment to the overall composition. Rooted in his observations of the remarkable advances in composition in representational art and architecture of the early Renaissance, Alberti’s principles of composition remain relevant today and reinforce the idea that all parts – including the significant challenges of our age – must be considered as part of the larger composition.

But is the architecture of spectacle finally over? In his critical evaluation of the status quo, is Koolhaas merely questioning contemporary architectural discourse and the prevailing aesthetic (or lack thereof), or can his words be tied to the critical circumstances of our modern age? (Or, more pessimistically, is he just articulating the next fashionable stance?)

What is the value of novelty for novelty’s sake – whether the discussion of it or its manifestation in built form – in an age when experts suggest that we have reached – or exceeded – peak petroleum consumption, and conservative estimates project that our global population will exceed 8.9 billion (an increase of 47 percent) in 2050? These are critical times ahead. Can we really afford to be capricious with our resources? Can we really justify more ego-driven architecture and uninhibited urbanism?

Why is it that the architectural community at large continues to fret about the figural and not the fundamental? Many remain mired in frustration that we have not yet achieved a “new paradigm” in architecture instead of focusing on the universal need to find better solutions to our most pressing – and mounting – global problems, problems that, incidentally, are not going to be solved by signature buildings or the Sisyphean quest for a “new” aesthetic. Great emphasis continues to be placed – particularly by those in the academy (although not the one I work for) – on the search for “new meaning” in the culture and discipline of architecture, rather than in the pursuit of building better communities and durable, contributing structures.

While many perpetuate the blanket exclusion of thousands of years of collective knowledge and countless living examples of lasting, durable architecture and urbanism, remaining steadfastly committed to the search for a 21st-century global paradigm shift in architectural expression, construction is underway on projects like Eisenman’s City of Culture in Spain, a new cultural/ research campus. Here’s how Eisenman describes the project: each building is overloaded with recorded information that is not supposed to be intelligible or reducible to a single idea but represents fragments of many ideas that are constantly unfolding as you experience the buildings. (CCA Conference, June 2007).

O.K. But do the buildings contribute? Are our dwindling resources being well spent in their realization, or are they just another grouping of glass boxes built in the desert? What are these buildings as individual and collective structures intended to do? Is the expectation that they will always serve the same function over their lifetime – whatever that may be – or can they be adapted to other, future needs? In other words, ought we create any more single-function buildings?

From their very different vantage points, Alberti and Koolhaas might well both ask: how do these buildings contribute to their local context, to the community, to the composition of the larger whole? If a building – or a collection of them – cannot clearly demonstrate that it is part of the solution, isn’t it quite simply just perpetuating the problem? In this day and age, can we continue to patronize architecture that is based in theory and spectacle and not on substance? The question of whether we can carry on this sort of idealism is mute: it simply isn’t sustainable.

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In a recent edition of Time magazine, Michael Grunwald poses that the near-term solution to our energy crisis doesn’t involve new drilling, new power plants, a “nuclear renaissance” or a high-tech, green-tech economy (January 12, 2009, “Wasting Our Watts”). In fact, it’s far more low-tech than most of us can imagine: we need to stop “wasting our watts.”

Essentially, we need to consume less by using more efficiently what we already have – and there is great promise in this: citing a recent study by McKinsey and Company, Grunwald points out that a global effort to boost efficiency with existing technologies could eliminate more than 20 percent of world energy demand by 2020. And we wouldn’t even need to change our behavior to achieve it (ie: conservation); we just need to do better with what we have.

Using technology that is already available, like more fuel-efficient cars, compact-fluorescent light bulbs, energy-efficient appliances, proper insulation and programmable thermostats, we can consume less energy, wean ourselves from dependence on foreign oil and slow our acceleration towards what many have already forecasted: an inevitable global climate crisis.

In my opinion, this is a very welcome perspective circulating among the numerous – and seemingly more popular – high-tech proposals for curbing our current energy, resource, and climate crises. As a global citizen, a consumer of energy and oxygen, I’m committed to doing my part to curb energy waste. As an architect, however, I feel an even greater responsibility. After all, for architects and building professionals, the challenge of our generation is perhaps even more daunting, as our life’s work – that of building – contributes to the consumption of two-thirds of our domestic power, most of which we are apparently squandering: the amount of energy wasted in the US annually is enough to power Japan.

The good thing is we already possess the knowledge, technologies and capabilities to build well and to build sustainably. We just need to do vastly better with what we have and what we already know.

Unfortunately, sustainable building is more often than not described (and illustrated) using novel, high-tech solutions that often seem absolutely contrary to the raison d’être of sustainability. If we accept that sustainability means using building systems and materials that have less of an impact on the environment, then by principle, the use, manufacture, and implementation of these systems and materials should be of less consequence to the environment than any potential gains to be had in their utilization. However, many unfortunately overlook truly sustainable design and construction methodologies and materials – those which have been handed-down to us generation after generation, and which happen to be readily available – in favor of techno-gadgetry and novelty.

For example, today we still find more architects interested in exploiting the possibilities of a triple glass curtain wall in lieu of passive energy design, or simply orienting a building properly on its site to take best advantage of (or protection against) solar gains and prevailing wind patterns. And although we now have guidelines to aspire to and building codes that regulate, along with specifying Energy Star appliances and high-efficiency organic insulation (in addition to recycling, car-pooling and turning down our thermostats), we need to commit ourselves – whether in our practices or as vocal advocates – to the preservation and conservation of existing durable construction, because extending the life of materials and resources that have already been dedicated means doing more with what we’ve got (and certainly better than with a potentially inferior surrogate). After all, as the theologian and theorist Laugier wrote: solidity is the first quality a building must have; frequent reconstruction of a building is too expensive and too disturbing to allow neglect of any precaution capable of assuring the longest possible life.

Throughout time, systems of construction have been born out of what was readily available: local resources, skilled labor, economics, climate, and ultimately, the combination of necessity and beauty. Building sustainably and efficiently today essentially means implementing well what we already know:

• Designing with traditional construction methodologies and design principles, using locally obtained materials and labor sources (which promotes efficient transportation of materials that are appropriate to the region and that local labor sources are already proficient and presumably effective in using)
• Using salvaged, minimally processed, natural materials whenever possible to reduce the impact of energy use and chemicals in manufacturing
• Designing for material efficiency and conservation (reduce construction waste and unnecessary labor) and durability at all stages of design and construction to create structures with the longest possible lifespan and functionality
• Understanding the impact of one’s design on the environment in the present and the future, acknowledging the reality of long-term maintenance and the limitations of non-renewable resources

Of course, today we have emerging technologies that enhance or extend the already durable qualities of traditional design and construction methodologies. However, these technologies do not necessarily merit praise on their own; innovation alone does not necessarily make a better, more sustainable building.

In addition to the knowledge and means that we already possess, we will need BIG solutions to course-correct the unsustainable world we have created – and we will likely see the advent of many in the decades to come: cleaner fuel technologies, a super-intelligent energy grid, truly accessible alternative fuels and power production. In the interim, many will dismiss the low-tech solutions we already possess as not being serious enough, but we need to start somewhere and we certainly need to start now. Before we wait for the full advent of the “green-tech revolution,” we need to (and we can) do better with what we have.

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