I initially felt some reassurance by the recent BLDGBLG entry on a record breaking artificial tornado created in the Mercedes Benz museum in Stuttgart.  Only to then find out that the motivation behind this vortex was not semiotic or representative at all, but the result of a pretty amazing fire strategy that allowed for an open floor design completely free of fire doors.

From Autoblog, via BLDGBLG:

“The twister takes around seven minutes to materialize and is generated by 144 jets and 28 tons of air. The low pressure area at the center of the tornado works to create a jet stream that draws smoke out of the building’s corridors and funnels it upwards and out an exhaust vent on the roof.”

The tornado fire strategy seems intrinsically linked to the morphological concept of the museum: an ascending double helix (The Mercedes DNA) spins and ramps the museum program continuously around the central atrium space, which is now revealed to us as the focus not only of of the building’s representative program and circulation, but also of it’s more utilitarian fire strategy. As so often the case,  this unintentional utilitarian detail, afterthought or interpretation provides an aspect of a building (the helix as a system of ordering) that is at least as interesting as the original and intentional design.

Tight æsthetic concept [Photo: Flickr user RobotSkirts]

The Sony Center is conceived as an ensemble of buildings surrounding an inner courtyard, and are topped by a roof which mimicks the profile of Mount Fuji. This is an impressive fabric construction, rather like a set of sails which radiate down from the summit like the spokes of a bicycle wheel. Although completely kitch in its approach (it’s dramatised at night with slow-mo disco floodlighting), it does mean that the elements gets in; snow, rain, wind and all. At night in wet weather, if you squint hard, it’s a bit like being in a Syd Mead rendering, which does lend the Center a smattering of grittyness. But let’s get back to those floor panels.

Caution! Danger of slippage on metal plates despite winter maintenance. [Click to enlarge]

Metal floor panels in a plaza? Excuse the parlance, but what in shit-fuckery were Murphy/Jahn Architects thinking? Here’s a little hint from your friends at SLAB, free of charge: metal is slippery when wet. That’s sound advice, write it down. Even in summer you have to watch how you go here with a pair of tread-worn sneakers on your feet, but in winter, after almost two months of snow and freezing weather, this is trecherous madness.

As a work-around, signs have been put up. Unfortunately they fall just short of blaming the architects directly for their misjudgement, stressing instead that extra care should be excersized, despite winter maintenance. Whether or not this constitutes a legal waiver remains to be seen, and as much as I find a litigious society loathsome, it might take a lawsuit or two before improvements are made.

Precariousness abounds. [Click to enlarge]

But I doubt that improvements will be made, because, like it or ot, the metal plates belong to a tight æsthetic concept which is obviously of more importance than Grandma’s shattered hip bone. Notice, then, the blue neon strips flush-fitted into the floor. They contribute much to the mysterious doctrine of low-friction surfacing, but also serve to dazzle the visitor from below. This is an important device since it directs attention upward towards the surrounding commercial propositions of beer, bratwurst and block-buster. Other important details include the steel-cage seating, the reflective black surface of the central fountain, the use of glass in exterior fittings and the red paneling on the courtyard façade of one of the buildings. It’s the æsthetic of the pre-pubescent boy’s bedroom translated into architecture: pimply proto-adult taste articulated through the careful hanging of a Ferrari Testarossa poster in a black varnished frame from IKEA.

This article ends as suddenly as the new Coen brothers film, which I saw in the Sony Center.

Over the last two weeks, a continuous cycle of thawing and refreezing has turned these glass ledges into a kind of slow-motion pasta machine for snow.

That was worth sharing with y’all now, right?

Nosferatu, hunched over his tax return? Glinkastraße [ Click to enlarge ]

But late last night, roaming around in the rain in search of a bar with fellow SLAB editor, Mr Miller, the right kind of light and the wrong kind of weather joined forces in casting two unwitting members of the Cookie Cutter Style in a gothic horror movie.

The sandstone horror! Villa Voss – Voßstraße 16 [ Click to enlarge ]

Why are architect’s so obsessed by photographing their work in bright sunlight, when a little cumulonimbus gloom works wonders for the blandest of archievements? Maybe it’s time to reappraise Stimmann-era architecture under the aspect of pending climate change and increased precipitation.

1200 meters up, extremely dense fog envelopes the town of Chania in Pilio, Greece. The beech and pine tree forest surrounding the village pins the fog in place. The atmosphere is eerie, and with visibility down to five meters, exterior space feels like interior space.