The history of wavy buildings in New York is not one of great distinction. The short list includes a number designed by luminaries, and one can trace a theme of ‘genius’-driven arrogance to confound the grid formally while flaunting the economics that make it such a lucrative proposition.
Granted, FARs and setback requirements and air rights transfers make the undulations not so much a waste of buildable space as a demand that sums slightly greater than the absolute minimum be invested.
It is no small consideration to break the grid. Even though a few notable examples predate New York’s unrolling of its Euclidean masterstroke, the Manhattan grid is the tabula rasa of rectilinear American urbanity. Now the classic over-determined postmodern trope, it fits conveniently into any narrative (including lazy ones such as this). Even as we find alluring many of the neighborhoods that stand in contradiction to its unyielding geometry, several of our most commanding — and noted — vistas depend on its monumental monotony.
Perhaps noting the decided lack of success in many recent attempts, or perhaps only a result of a ‘luxury’ hotelier being maybe not so luxurious, Richard Gluckman’s new project, One Kenmare Square, serves up its undulations with far more restraint.
And speaking of restraint, why am I offering up comments on a building still some months from completion? Well, hyper-inflated real estate and the attendant fervid marketing efforts work to create an opinion and legitimation well in advance of construction. Add to that ready access to more detailed representations, and it seems that some level of critique can be offered to counter the manufacture of ‘buzz’. Any greater aspiration, such as the ability to attenuate the more dismal efforts through a welter of critical disdain, exists solely in my addled, design-schooled mind.
But, mostly, it was prompted by my discovery of the project in the usual manner, followed by an unexpected walk past soon after, and a lunchtime perusing the Herzog & de Meuron issue of El Croquis — which has two absolutely stunning mixed-use / apartment projects (though I didn’t read closely to find out if they are public or private). It’s hard to draw corollaries between housing in modern European and American cities, I know, so I fall back on the awkward but seemingly logical point that Manhattan is now overrun by what are endlessly touted as luxury dwellings, what standard is fair to apply? One would think condos that fetch near $1,500/sf should be able to compete fairly with government-sponsored housing in Europe, no?
Add to that an architect I typically admire, if not for his strikingly original forms, then at least for his sustaining a practice that has enforced a mandate with clientele that produces consistently impressive work, and one might have reason to work up a little more hope than usual. Which is any. At all.
There isn’t much in the plans, presentation, or completed work to indicate any exemplary success. Soon (well, once Winka Dubbeldam ever figures out how to install that last window), we will have enough name brand works to create a hierarchy or sorts. Of sorts, since it seems everyone will be lumped at the bottom, and victory means perhaps as little as rising incrementally above the rest. Using this tepid yardstick, One Kenmare Place fares, well, fairly.
The undulations featured in the lovely dbox renderings appear a fallacy compared to the current state. The windows look to be set in perpendicular to the floor plane, though the rendering seems to imply they will shift on two axes, if not three. The difference is subtle, and even sensible from an assembly standpoint, but given how much attention is lavished in the curve, it is also a little disappointing. And the operable window sections, which diminish the rhythm considerably, are absent altogether from the renderings.
The write-up on materials and finish hold some promise, though the interiors shown, not so much. There are few instances where the presence of the dominant, curved façade impacts the plan, but otherwise, they are an intelligent, but unexceptional, response to zoning and service requirements.
The website clumsily explicates a connection with the ‘Crosby House Residences’, which is a rather high-toned name for what will be the least attractive building on Crosby Street, a disappointing response to the residual standard width lot that came with the property (previously a parking lot with more frontage on Lafayette, and a pass through to Crosby). It eschews the expanses of glass typical in SoHo and TriBeCa for what appear to be contractor grade casement windows (and only three at that). The façade is finished in the same brick, which is promised to shift colors with changes in daylight, but in my visits has remained resolutely dull grey.
And though it is still months away from a form that will be close to finished, I can’t see it improving substantially. The curve that repeats itself, while sliding as it rises is interesting as an abstract idea. The presence of banded windows and a brick that will look like split-face CMU more often than isn’t going to appear to the casual viewer (or maybe even the uncasual) all that original. The archetype that one will recall upon seeing it will likely be any number of spec office parks found near freeway interchanges in anonymous suburbs in Atlanta or Dallas. If you peer closely, you might conclude that the subtle gradations in how that curve occurs indicate more investment, and you would be right. But you might also think it a rather timid investment, and perhaps a cynical gesture, a scrim of design fussiness masquerading as something more. Which, when you think about it, sums up what the ‘luxury hotelier’ role is all about.
But let’s be clear: this is not a Scarano or Kondylis project. It will no doubt be superior to that. Like the proverbial sports adage, it’s a game of inches. Gluckman didn’t move the ball that far, but it looks like he put his head down and ran with it. If the next one in the pipeline moves the sticks a little further, then perhaps it will be time for real excitement. But, like one of my most astute college professors pointed out, exasperated at another half-assed effort: “Everything is an attempt!”
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Entasis: Just a fancy name for a bulge.
The history of wavy buildings in New York is not one of great distinction. The short list includes a number designed by luminaries, and one can trace a theme of ‘genius’-driven arrogance to confound the grid formally while flaunting the economics that make it such a lucrative proposition.
Granted, FARs and setback requirements and air rights transfers make the undulations not so much a waste of buildable space as a demand that sums slightly greater than the absolute minimum be invested.
It is no small consideration to break the grid. Even though a few notable examples predate New York’s unrolling of its Euclidean masterstroke, the Manhattan grid is the tabula rasa of rectilinear American urbanity. Now the classic over-determined postmodern trope, it fits conveniently into any narrative (including lazy ones such as this). Even as we find alluring many of the neighborhoods that stand in contradiction to its unyielding geometry, several of our most commanding — and noted — vistas depend on its monumental monotony.
Perhaps noting the decided lack of success in many recent attempts, or perhaps only a result of a ‘luxury’ hotelier being maybe not so luxurious, Richard Gluckman’s new project, One Kenmare Square, serves up its undulations with far more restraint.
And speaking of restraint, why am I offering up comments on a building still some months from completion? Well, hyper-inflated real estate and the attendant fervid marketing efforts work to create an opinion and legitimation well in advance of construction. Add to that ready access to more detailed representations, and it seems that some level of critique can be offered to counter the manufacture of ‘buzz’. Any greater aspiration, such as the ability to attenuate the more dismal efforts through a welter of critical disdain, exists solely in my addled, design-schooled mind.
But, mostly, it was prompted by my discovery of the project in the usual manner, followed by an unexpected walk past soon after, and a lunchtime perusing the Herzog & de Meuron issue of El Croquis — which has two absolutely stunning mixed-use / apartment projects (though I didn’t read closely to find out if they are public or private). It’s hard to draw corollaries between housing in modern European and American cities, I know, so I fall back on the awkward but seemingly logical point that Manhattan is now overrun by what are endlessly touted as luxury dwellings, what standard is fair to apply? One would think condos that fetch near $1,500/sf should be able to compete fairly with government-sponsored housing in Europe, no?
Add to that an architect I typically admire, if not for his strikingly original forms, then at least for his sustaining a practice that has enforced a mandate with clientele that produces consistently impressive work, and one might have reason to work up a little more hope than usual. Which is any. At all.
There isn’t much in the plans, presentation, or completed work to indicate any exemplary success. Soon (well, once Winka Dubbeldam ever figures out how to install that last window), we will have enough name brand works to create a hierarchy or sorts. Of sorts, since it seems everyone will be lumped at the bottom, and victory means perhaps as little as rising incrementally above the rest. Using this tepid yardstick, One Kenmare Place fares, well, fairly.
The undulations featured in the lovely dbox renderings appear a fallacy compared to the current state. The windows look to be set in perpendicular to the floor plane, though the rendering seems to imply they will shift on two axes, if not three. The difference is subtle, and even sensible from an assembly standpoint, but given how much attention is lavished in the curve, it is also a little disappointing. And the operable window sections, which diminish the rhythm considerably, are absent altogether from the renderings.
The write-up on materials and finish hold some promise, though the interiors shown, not so much. There are few instances where the presence of the dominant, curved façade impacts the plan, but otherwise, they are an intelligent, but unexceptional, response to zoning and service requirements.
The website clumsily explicates a connection with the ‘Crosby House Residences’, which is a rather high-toned name for what will be the least attractive building on Crosby Street, a disappointing response to the residual standard width lot that came with the property (previously a parking lot with more frontage on Lafayette, and a pass through to Crosby). It eschews the expanses of glass typical in SoHo and TriBeCa for what appear to be contractor grade casement windows (and only three at that). The façade is finished in the same brick, which is promised to shift colors with changes in daylight, but in my visits has remained resolutely dull grey.
And though it is still months away from a form that will be close to finished, I can’t see it improving substantially. The curve that repeats itself, while sliding as it rises is interesting as an abstract idea. The presence of banded windows and a brick that will look like split-face CMU more often than isn’t going to appear to the casual viewer (or maybe even the uncasual) all that original. The archetype that one will recall upon seeing it will likely be any number of spec office parks found near freeway interchanges in anonymous suburbs in Atlanta or Dallas. If you peer closely, you might conclude that the subtle gradations in how that curve occurs indicate more investment, and you would be right. But you might also think it a rather timid investment, and perhaps a cynical gesture, a scrim of design fussiness masquerading as something more. Which, when you think about it, sums up what the ‘luxury hotelier’ role is all about.
But let’s be clear: this is not a Scarano or Kondylis project. It will no doubt be superior to that. Like the proverbial sports adage, it’s a game of inches. Gluckman didn’t move the ball that far, but it looks like he put his head down and ran with it. If the next one in the pipeline moves the sticks a little further, then perhaps it will be time for real excitement. But, like one of my most astute college professors pointed out, exasperated at another half-assed effort: “Everything is an attempt!”