The Beauty of Looking Forward

The majority of New Orleans’ residents want a vision from the past in order to face the future.  Since Hurricane Katrina damaged so much of the historic building stock of the city, it seems only the purest forms of heritage are acceptable in new civic structures and houses.

Architecture produced under an idealizing theme is a form of propaganda – the promotion of a doctrine or set of beliefs.  In the case of New Orleans, it is a set of beliefs that exaggerate the influence of one period – the late-1800’s to early-1900’s shotgun house – to the exclusion of all other types and immigrants and periods of occupation.  Initially, these modest houses were not highly regarded as masterpieces, but economy of construction led to their proliferation in the last half of the 1900’s, and resulted in rows of cottages with a rhythm of projecting steps and porch overhangs, shutters and brackets in a wild profusion of colors.  They were built on narrow lots for with pre-manufactured pieces, and often replaced hand-built cottages.

Now, the city seems to be a factory intent on mass production of these replicas from the past.  In the current rebuilding, the nature of the propaganda becomes muddied and unclear: are the new builders romanticizing a past in which classes and races were segregated?  Does it mark a desire to return to a hallowed time without motorcars (since there is no room on the tiny lot for a car) and without electricity, a time when the porch was the living room on a street of neighbors, and all the fans were self-powered?  (The percentage of space devoted to plumbing in bathrooms and fitted kitchens precludes a desire to return to the days of the privy in the garden.)

Architecture embodies our hopes and aspirations.  How stunted, this society, acknowledging publicly that their best days are past, their glories behind them; that no measure of inventiveness can spark creative adaptation of these stable forms.  Architecture could instead reflect possibility, creating a direction for a society sensitive to issues of resource use, social justice, and human kindness.

“It is perhaps when our lives are at their most problematic that we are likely to be most receptive to beautiful things.” – Alain de Botton, The Architecture of Happiness

The single and double shotgun houses and camelbacks that make up the fabric of this city are widely acknowledged as beautiful.  In the darkest days of the city, it is not surprising that people turned to these survivors as precedents for the grand revival of their culture.  Now, the deepest fears – the managed retreats, the “green dot”, crime, lack of infrastructure – have receded.  Perhaps it is time to take up the challenge of building authentically for this time, in ways representative of our ideals and our values, rather than the pale pastel replicas of another time.  It is this story, written in the bricks and boards of centuries, that may inspire future generations to innovation when their own dark times descend.

Desert Island Survivors

I have always loved adventure books.  My favorite story as a child was about a family on a car trip in the desert.  The un/expected happened – they had a breakdown on a lonely road, and were reduced to eating white glue and collecting dew in a tin can… powerful stuff to a 9-year old.  The Worst-Case Scenario books came too late for me; I was already an avid collector of bizarre tricks for survival.

We have all imagined being adrift in a world with few remaining people.  The circumstances may change – nuclear war, shipwreck, zombies – but the story doesn’t vary.  There will be survivors, and you are one.  Who else do you want with you, and what tools do you have in your possession?  (Rolling Stone asks what music you would take, book journals ask what books you would carry, but these luxuries won’t feed you.)

Survivors must have skills.  To build a shelter, you need a Carpenter.  To clothe the few, there must be a Tailor (or Seamstress).  To feed the hungry, there will be many Farmers, and maybe some Hunters.  But before everyone in Mississippi applies for that job, remember there won’t be much ammunition.  At least, not until the next industrial revolution.  So the Hunter must be really, really accurate, and use renewable killing methods – spear, bow, and trap.

Your band of survivors must have more than skills, they must be planners.  They must look ahead to the days when the fish don’t come near shore, and find a way to follow the fish.  They must find a way to preserve food for times of bad weather which inevitably arrives.  They must develop a reliable source of fresh water, preferably multiple sources and a storage system.

Food, clothing, and shelter.  These stymied the children in Lord of the Flies, and so they turned to other pursuits.  Other dystopian fictions follow the same pattern – resources become scarce and humans turn upon each other.  There must be an Ambassador, one who can evaluate individual arguments and determine the best course of action for the group.  There is also a job for a Gleaner, who will sift through the wreckage or the abandoned settlements or the forest, and return with useful bits and pieces for the Carpenter or Water Resources Manager or Boatbuilder. 

In this society, everyone would have multiple jobs, and everyone would learn many skills.  The cult of specialization has reduced our ability to survive.  The Architect is no longer the builder; the Engineer cannot find water.  To feed and clothe ourselves, to build and maintain a roof over our heads sounds less like utopia than like a hard slog, with endless work and few rewards.  Maybe our great-grandparents did it, but we expected that the world had changed; we could spend our time in loftier pursuits and simply purchase the essentials without the backbreaking labor of production.  Without machines we are helpless to transport goods or do the work of construction.  And without fuel, machines will be simply ornamental.

We are less fit for survival than ever before.  We are overweight, overdiagnosed, and overmedicated.  Most of us do not spend many days out of doors, and are unfit to meet the daily challenges of the climate.  We do not walk long distances, or plow, or climb.  Our children have a lower life expectancy than their parents for the first time in history.  Start compiling your list of friends for your desert island survival team… and then consider your own contribution to the continuation of the species.  Are you ready?