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More about yesterday's library expedition
Jun. 22nd, 2007 08:52 amThe Phoenix Public Library is currently my favorite among main branch public libraries in the United States.
Yesterday, at the Solstice event, the architect described some of the features of the building, and made it clear just how much careful thought went into the building's design. He recognized the building's importance both as art and as a public space, and had vision and foresight in designing it (twelve years later, over a thousand people showed up for the solstice event; twelve years later, it is still a marvel). For example, the top (fifth) floor is a great hall, with high ceilings (and the aforementioned sun-based features). The architect said that at the time the building was created, there were no public spaces at the top of any of the buildings in Phoenix, where people could go to look out over the Valley (I don't know if there's anywhere taller, still). Sure, there are mountaintops in the city that provide sweeping panoramas, but that's not the same as the view from the top of a building. Other top-of-building views are limited to the rich, and to businessmen.
So he created the top floor of the library with that in mind. Large windows in the building face north and south, and the southern face is shaded by a series of shades that rotate at different times of day to either let in light or block it out during the hottest part of the day. The northern windows are open and airy, and are reminiscent of sails. The eastern and western walls are built out of poured concrete, and banks of skylights run along the top surfaces of either edge. The ceiling is suspended from the pillars spread throughout the floor, and thus floats free of the walls. In Arizona, people have a very difficult relationship with light, but this building both protects people from harmful light and helps them enjoy its benefits.
The room is huge, and so the architect said he gets many questions about the expense of cooling such a giant space. However, he said, only about the lower twelve feet of the room is actually cooled; there's a thick layer of insulating air that's not cooled at all up above the level that people can reach.
When it comes to sun elements, he informed us that on Solstice, people would be celebrating the day at Stonehenge in the morning, and that others would also try to view a sun dagger at Chaco Canyon. So not only is the building visionary, it is also connected to many other people who have carefully and patiently tracked the movement of the sun. As James Turrell's efforts also show, it is both incredibly challenging and rewarding to try to capture the light-events of the sky. Watching the arrival of Solar Noon (12:29) was, as the architect described it, like watching a pot come to a boil. Slowly, lights shifted across the room, and then they were all in balance, and each pillar in the room was lit by a sun dagger (more subtly than I had imagined; the event does not photograph well at all, and a camera would probably prevent one from actually seeing it). It was a brief moment; an instant. And then it was over, the light continuing to shift. It's likely that the few days before and few days afterwards feature similar attractions. And yet--how would I have ever known, without Solstice for comparison?
So there it is--a building full of knowledge, with an awareness of the landscape it is in, with ties to the local community and to a much broader community. And with a recognition of much larger things and larger times.
Yesterday, at the Solstice event, the architect described some of the features of the building, and made it clear just how much careful thought went into the building's design. He recognized the building's importance both as art and as a public space, and had vision and foresight in designing it (twelve years later, over a thousand people showed up for the solstice event; twelve years later, it is still a marvel). For example, the top (fifth) floor is a great hall, with high ceilings (and the aforementioned sun-based features). The architect said that at the time the building was created, there were no public spaces at the top of any of the buildings in Phoenix, where people could go to look out over the Valley (I don't know if there's anywhere taller, still). Sure, there are mountaintops in the city that provide sweeping panoramas, but that's not the same as the view from the top of a building. Other top-of-building views are limited to the rich, and to businessmen.
So he created the top floor of the library with that in mind. Large windows in the building face north and south, and the southern face is shaded by a series of shades that rotate at different times of day to either let in light or block it out during the hottest part of the day. The northern windows are open and airy, and are reminiscent of sails. The eastern and western walls are built out of poured concrete, and banks of skylights run along the top surfaces of either edge. The ceiling is suspended from the pillars spread throughout the floor, and thus floats free of the walls. In Arizona, people have a very difficult relationship with light, but this building both protects people from harmful light and helps them enjoy its benefits.
The room is huge, and so the architect said he gets many questions about the expense of cooling such a giant space. However, he said, only about the lower twelve feet of the room is actually cooled; there's a thick layer of insulating air that's not cooled at all up above the level that people can reach.
When it comes to sun elements, he informed us that on Solstice, people would be celebrating the day at Stonehenge in the morning, and that others would also try to view a sun dagger at Chaco Canyon. So not only is the building visionary, it is also connected to many other people who have carefully and patiently tracked the movement of the sun. As James Turrell's efforts also show, it is both incredibly challenging and rewarding to try to capture the light-events of the sky. Watching the arrival of Solar Noon (12:29) was, as the architect described it, like watching a pot come to a boil. Slowly, lights shifted across the room, and then they were all in balance, and each pillar in the room was lit by a sun dagger (more subtly than I had imagined; the event does not photograph well at all, and a camera would probably prevent one from actually seeing it). It was a brief moment; an instant. And then it was over, the light continuing to shift. It's likely that the few days before and few days afterwards feature similar attractions. And yet--how would I have ever known, without Solstice for comparison?
So there it is--a building full of knowledge, with an awareness of the landscape it is in, with ties to the local community and to a much broader community. And with a recognition of much larger things and larger times.
