This is part 2 in a series. Lost Lagoon Terrace at 845 Chilco in Vancouver, built in 1972, is another example of 1960s/70s modernist apartment architecture. The undulating patterned concrete tile extends the whole way up the front face. Whatever happened to patterned concrete, and why are the 1970s the most reviled of all decades, when the 1980s are so much more deserving of dislike? I realize not everyone likes it – my boyfriend included – but to me the patterned section has aged really well. This abstract ornamentation is typical of modernist concrete architecture from this era, which tended to be minimalist except for one or two subtle decorative features, often with this primitive look. Once affordable, 845 Chilco now contains million-dollar condos, one per floor.
This series is about a style of architecture that repelled me when I was growing up but that I now find strangely attractive. These examples of brutalist modernism are all from Vancouver, but there are equivalents all over North America. The brutalist hand-etched steel front door of this building is a classic in this style. I’ve always found it odd that concrete brutalism tends to be accompanied by this sort of medieval or Middle Earth/Lord of the Rings decorative treatment on metal (and in furniture), but it works. Is it concrete harking back to stone or what exactly? 815 Chilco Street, built in 1970, was designed by Vancouver’s “father of modern architecture,” Charles Burwell Kerrins van Norman (1907-1975).
The building of modernist lo-rise condos and apartments in the 70s was part of a deliberate move on the part of the city’s planning department to do away with a certain type of groovy downtown living in funky, sometimes decrepit (but affordable) Victorian and Edwardian houses. Read about the politics of this history in curator Scott Watson’s Urban Renewal: Ghost Traps, Collage, Condos and Squats. Despite the politics of their introduction into Vancouver, these buildings have the virtue of being solid and livable, and they’re now prized. This building, which sits right next to the large and beautiful Stanley Park, is particularly pricey these days. See the next post for another fantastic building, right next door at 845 Chilco Street. Vancouver, let’s not knock down any more 60s and 70s architecture.
Pardon my ignorance, but please educate me – is there a non-aesthetic purpose for this, or is it just cool? We don’t have this where I come from. Does it stop water from flowing quickly off the roof, or prevent something from running around up there, or discourage sunbathing, or what does it do, exactly? I want a white roof with little white rocks on it for myself.
I love this house in La Quinta. I asked my California friend Darren why the town is called La Quinta, which means “fifth” in Spanish, and he wrote: “It’s called that because in colonial times, there were haciendas along major commercial routes that were reached every fifth day of travel. As a result, “La Quinta” is actually a fairly common place name in California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas.” Those days are over, obviously, and this is not a hacienda, but it seems to fit into this landscape more perfectly than many of the reproduction Spanish colonial jobs that flank it.
The house is a three minute walk from here, at the foot of the Santa Rosa Mountains:
OK GO’s ‘This Too Shall Pass” was, I think, made for me. Thanks again to Jessica, via booooooom. See previous posts about marble runs on this blog here and here. I think the cocktail one may actually have influenced OK GO’s marble run.
This is a long, messy, eclectic photo essay about the strange, hybrid, and surprisingly impure histories of objects and buildings. It is skewed toward the ancient, the modern, the space-age, the 1960s and the 1970s, the adventurous, the unexpected, the ecological, the utopian and the anti-utopian, the unstuffy and the unstaid, design as making-do, the real, the lived in, and mixes of all kinds. Since design isn't divorced from other things, it's also about art, social issues, urban and community planning, technology, philosophy and anything else that intersects with design, which means everything. "ouno" is a name in both Finnish and Japanese, it's the same upside-down as right-side-up, it refers to both zeros and ones, and it is pronounced uno. My name is Lindsay and I'm open to your complaints, disagreement or general crankiness. Free free to comment or email. This is an anti-intellectualism-free zone and around here we don't try to dampen critique by calling it negativity or whining. We call it thought!
