Two juries have deliberated but their verdicts are not yet known. The Seattle Chapter of the American Institute of Architects is sponsoring a program called FutureShack which invited Washington state architects to submit recent residential projects, from bungalows to lofts to high rises, for judging by two panels, one of professional architects and planners, the other of lay people. I was on the citizen's panel. Over 70 projects were submitted. Each jury had to pick five winners. Our verdicts will be announced in the Seattle Times on September 13, followed by a public discussion.
The idea is to acknowledge architecture that addresses issues the whole region is facing in the 21st century, and that are in some combination forward thinking, economically inclusive, adaptable, aware of neighborhood or historic contexts. This isn't, however, a look at a Jetsons-like future a la Seattle's Century 21 World's Fair with atomic cars and Space Needles. It's a look at the future, meaning what's being built now that's headed in (arguably) the right direction for the next five, 10, 20 years. By definition, FutureShacks are NowShacks in that they already exist.
Sustainability was never mentioned as a specific criteria but assumed: it's hard to define, but our jury certainly wanted to see what kinds of efforts were being made to design and build with more environmental sensitivity. But sustainability is difficult to assess without real criteria. Is a high-density block of condos sustainable if no one wants to live there? Is a home built with recycled materials sustainable if it will fall apart in 15 years? Is a fancy remodel of an old Seattle box house an example of making an older home more green, or a case of wealthy people making it less affordable? Is it more sustainable to build a detached dwelling unit, or better to keep a bigger yard and more trees? Without measures, you can recycle arguments on this stuff forever.
Like real trial juries, ours had to deal with the facts as presented and wrestle with the intangibles in our own way. Even our interpretations of the guidelines varied. Good architectural design for us citizens is a bit like art or pornography: You think you know it when you see it. A question it was tempting for us citizens to come back to was a very non-academic one: Would you want to live there? Or would you want your mother/daughter/grand children to live there? In the end, I voted for projects that I would never want to live in, but I could see why others might, or might have to. In some cases, my biases guided my vote. This jury was selected because we had opinions, not because we didn't.
While personal tastes didn't necessarily rule, they did play a factor, especially at the beginning. Each jury member had to whittle over 70 projects down to a list of 10, then collectively to five. There were three people on our panel: me, Kent Kammerer of the Seattle Neighborhood Coalition, and Bob Melvey, a longtime Seattle real estate professional with Windermere. Our three lists were combined and it turned out that the merged list had about 30 different projects on it. In other words, there was almost no overlap. So we began our deliberations with very little consensus, at least on the surface. We spent a half-day intensively reviewing each project in detail, categorizing some of them as exemplars (or not) of trends or styles that we thought were important, or ubiquitous.
For example, we debated the merits of all manner of townhouse developments, considered very problematic all over Seattle. They offer density but are often too dominated by garages and driveways to meet city codes. Indeed, many seem built more for cars than people. How can the four-pack or six-pack be improved? Or can we build townhouses without parking and let the buyers decide if they want to fight for street parking or ride the bus? Can Seattle develop a liking for the front-stoop urban culture of East Coast brownstone neighborhoods, or will such a thing be anathema in privacy-loving Seattle? We even learned new terms, such a "woonerf," which is a Dutch alley that gives pedestrians the right of way. I decided the name was derived from the sounds pedestrians make when they're hit by a car.
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