News   GLOBAL  |  Apr 02, 2020
 8.6K     0 
News   GLOBAL  |  Apr 01, 2020
 39K     0 
News   GLOBAL  |  Apr 01, 2020
 4.8K     0 

W

wyliepoon

Guest
From Yahoo! News

Link to article

Mississippi rocks the boat with bold coastal designs

By Blair Kamin Tribune architecture critic
Tue Oct 18, 9:40 AM ET

Outside the gaudy, 12-story Isle of Capri casino and hotel, the signs linger of Hurricane Katrina's devastating wrath: mammoth casino barges shoved across a highway, the foundations of stately waterfront houses the storm rubbed out like an eraser from the sky.

Inside the casino, though, the scene was one of frenzied optimism: A room filled with architects from Illinois and elsewhere around the country, sketching a new future for the Mississippi Gulf Coast from morning till caffeine-wired midnight. Not the sophisticated planning effort you'd expect from the nation's poorest state.

"We can dream," said former Netscape CEO and Mississippi native Jim Barksdale, head of the governor's Commission on Recovery, Rebuilding and Renewal, which is backed by Mississippi Gov. Haley Barbour.

On Monday, just one week after arriving here, the designers and their outspoken leader, Miami-based architect Andres Duany, unveiled the fruits of their brainstorming sessions as Barbour and Barksdale looked on: Detailed plans for 11 cities and towns along an 80-mile stretch of coastline. There, Katrina battered thousands of properties, creating in some places a virtual clean slate.

The plans take advantage of that opportunity, presenting a bold antidote to the suburban sprawl that laid waste to Mississippi's front-porch culture and once-bustling downtowns long before the hurricane hit. They represent the latest shot fired by Duany and the organization he helped found, the Chicago-based Congress for the New Urbanism, at the strip malls, office parks and housing subdivisions the New Urbanists believe are despoiling the American landscape.

"This [region] was being eaten up by sprawl, not only the land but the cities," said Duany, 56, best known for co-designing the idyllic Florida Panhandle town of Seaside, which is the model for the compact, walkable neighborhoods the New Urbanists prefer to car-dominated suburbia.

No one but a cockeyed optimist expects the plans to be built just as the architects, planners, traffic engineers and other New Urbanist experts drew them. They have no statutory authority and likely will require extensive modifications to building codes, as well as millions of dollars in public and private investment.

Illuminating the choices

"Local people have to make the decision," Barbour said Monday. "The purpose of this commission is not to impose decisions on you. It's to illuminate the choices."

Nevertheless, the plans represent a clear signal that Mississippi intends not only to rebuild, but also to do things differently than before. Whether different will be better is a matter of debate.

Even before the end of the planning session, known as the Mississippi Renewal Forum, Eric Owen Moss, director of the Southern California Institute of Architecture, infuriated participants by telling The Washington Post that the New Urbanists would deliver a "canned response" to rebuilding the Mississippi coastline and that their traditional designs would appeal "to a kind of anachronistic Mississippi that yearns for the good old days of the Old South as slow and balanced and pleasing and breezy, and each person knew his or her role."

"How does he know? What does he know?" Barksdale snapped in an interview Sunday. "I thought it was a mean-spirited thing for him to say that we all want to go back and own slaves."

Sitting in the Bimini Bay Ballroom of the Isle of Capri, about 100 New Urbanists from around the country joined the planning effort with 130 local architects and officials. Leading them was Duany, the movement's general.

After fanning out Thursday to the 11 cities and towns--Waveland, Bay St. Louis, Pass Christian, Long Beach, Gulfport, Biloxi, D'Iberville, Ocean Springs, Gautier, Moss Point and Pascagoulaand meeting the residents who remain, the designers started their day-and-night sketching sessions, which are known as "charrettes," a word derived from the French word for "little cart." At the Ecoles des Beaux Arts in 19th Century Paris, professors would collect final drawings from students with little carts.

By Saturday, the architects were lining the ballroom's walls with preliminary sketches and presenting them to local officials who asked pointed questions but seemed, by and large, to like what they saw.

A team of regional planners suggested turning an old CSX railroad track to the north of the coastline into a light-rail line and parklike boulevard. That would let people take mass transit to their jobs in cities such as Biloxi and Gulfport and would relieve traffic-choked U.S. Highway 90 along the coast.

For Biloxi, the designers advocated tearing down an elevated highway and replacing it with a ground-level boulevard that would feed traffic into the depressed downtown business district instead of bypassing it. They also would return two-way traffic to the downtown's forlorn pedestrian mall and encourage casinos, the engine of the city's economy, to have shops that face the street rather than turning inward, as suburban malls do.

Katrina isn't the only culprit

"We're not picking up after Katrina. We're picking up after urban planning disasters," said Pasadena, Calif., architect Elizabeth Moule, a member of the Biloxi planning team. "We're helping this town recover from the hurricane of the last 30 years."

As they designed, the planners were forced to improvise, reacting Saturday to the release of
Federal Emergency Management Agency flood advisory maps, which suggest that new buildings along the coast may have to be dramatically higher than those that were destroyed by the storm.

The planning team for tiny Waveland, where Katrina destroyed nearly all the main street business district south of the railroad tracks, quickly adjusted its plans, discarding a design that would have rebuilt the street where it used to be. Instead, the designers shifted the district 1,000 feet farther away from the gulf's threatening waters. At the tail end of their street, they inserted farmers market stalls and other open structures that could have water run through them without destroying them.

Along Biloxi's coastline of sandy white beaches, the architects ignored the vision of those who would keep the waterfront purely natural. Instead, across from the beach, they designed tiers of townhouses atop concrete parking garages that they expect to better weather future storms.

"There's a plot in charrettes," said Duany, who has conducted hundreds of them for New Urbanist towns, though never one of this size and scope. "There's the Thursday Night Massacre [when architects are forced to adjust to requirements they hadn't anticipated]. You pick yourself up. Eventually, you prevail."

Whether the New Urbanists will prevail will begin to become clear Tuesday when developers, who along with casino owners were excluded from the brainstorming sessions, get a first-hand look at the plans.

Even if the New Urbanists get their way, they--or, rather, some of the people who live here--may well face the problem of unintended consequences.

Seaside has proved so popular in the marketplace that it's become a victim of its own success. The poor and middle-class families have been priced out. Along the Mississippi coast, if a light-rail line were built and neighborhoods along the tracks gentrified, the poor black families that live there now could be displaced.

"That's what really plagues the New Urbanism--[the rap] that it's for wealthy folks," said Emily Talen, a professor of urban planning at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign who was at the sessions. "We have to make sure it doesn't happen here."
 
None of this matters at all. In the end eminent domain will be used, most of the land taken from the poor people of these areas, turned over to developers and cronies and turned into nothing more than gated costal playground for the rich.

New Orleans will become little more silghtly less fantasy oriented version of Disneyland shown off by corporate media as how wonderful the rebuilding of the city was after the hurricane, while the poor who were forced to leave, are once again abandoned by society. Its disgusting.
 
www.nytimes.com/2005/10/1...html?8hpib

October 18, 2005
Critic's Notebook
New Orleans Reborn: Theme Park vs. Cookie Cutter
By NICOLAI OUROUSSOFF
NEW ORLEANS - Optimism is in short supply here. And as people begin to sift through the wreckage left by Hurricane Katrina, there is a creeping sense that the final blow has yet to be struck - one that will irrevocably blot out the city's past.

The first premonition arose when Mayor C. Ray Nagin announced that the model for rebirth would be a pseudo-suburban development in the Lower Garden District called River Garden. The very suggestion alarmed preservationists, who pictured the remaking of historic neighborhoods into soulless subdivisions served by big-box stores.

More recently, Mr. Nagin contemplated suspending the city's historic preservation laws to make New Orleans more inviting to developers - evoking the possibility of architectural havoc and untrammeled greed.

But politicians and developers are not the only culprits here. For decades now, the architectural mainstream has accepted the premise that cities can exist in a fixed point in historical time. What results is a fairy tale version of history, and the consequences could be particularly harsh for New Orleans, which was well on its way to becoming a picture-postcard vision of the past before the hurricane struck.

Now, with the city at its most vulnerable, such voices threaten to drown out all others. A forum on Gulf Coast renewal held recently in Mississippi was dominated by champions of New Urbanism, a sentimental and historicist vision of how cities work. Meanwhile, those who favor a more complex reading of urban history - one that embraces 20th- and 21st-century realities as well as the 19th-century charms of New Orleans - risk being relegated to the margins.

The fate threatening the city can be witnessed at River Garden, the mayor's favored model for the future. A few weeks after the storm, I drove through the development with Wayne Troyer, a local architect who opposes the mayor's vision. To evoke some of the qualities of a vintage New Orleans neighborhood, the houses are designed in a mix of traditional styles. A ribbon of row houses extends along Laurel Street, their wrought iron rails loose reproductions of those in the French Quarter. Nearby, larger two-family houses are modeled on traditional bungalows, with pitched roofs, shallow porches and shuttered windows decorated in pretty pink, yellow and blue hues. Traditional lampposts, evidently a mandatory feature of pseudo-historic developments, line the streets.

All the hallmarks of a conventional suburban subdivision are here. Telephone wires are buried out of sight, and houses are set slightly farther apart than their counterparts in the real New Orleans to make room for paved driveways. The distancing is meant to afford privacy but suggests wariness instead; the driveways keep people off the street, fostering a sense of isolation.

Yet the most obvious clue that we have entered a surreal world is the sight of empty shopping carts on the lawns. The carts are from the nearby Wal-Mart, which has long since replaced locally owned stores in much of the United States. Today, Wal-Mart's ubiquitous blank box and blue-and-white sign represent our withdrawal into a sealed, homogenized world.

What is missing from River Garden, of course, are the small-grained details of everyday life, built up over decades, that the development claims to honor.

For Mr. Troyer, the most telling reality is what it stands next to: five stoic brick buildings that are all that is left of the St. Thomas Hope project, affordable housing constructed in the early 1940's. Their simple forms, topped with slate tile roofs, are the kind of public housing that is typically reviled by public officials these days.

But for Mr. Troyer and many other architects of his generation, the simple three-story structures, set around a small central court, have a human scale that sets them apart from big developments. Whatever their flaws, they reflect a social pact - the promise of decent low-cost housing for every citizen - that was broken long ago, and is not likely to be repaired through a process of urban gentrification.

Yet River Garden is not the worst-case scenario. Driving along the industrial canal a few days later, I came across Abundance Square, a mixed-income residential development. Caked in mud, the development's barren roads are lined by rows of houses intended to evoke visions of a traditional community. Here, however, the result is the generic suburban formula: houses of identical cookie-cutter design neatly separated by driveways, empty lawns and a grid of privatized roads. The argument for such development, of course, will be that New Orleans needs to rebuild quickly, and standardized housing formulas are better than nothing at all. It is the argument of diminished expectations, one that serves the interests of developers while draining cities of their vibrancy.

The assumption at work here is that the only alternative is to do nothing. But in fact, the way architects think about cities has been evolving for some time now; the question is whether the city is willing to tap the intellectual resources at its disposal. Stephanie Bruno, for example, is the director of the Preservation Resource Center's Operation Comeback and one of the pre-Katrina heroes. Over the past decade, the center has been restoring early 19th-century vernacular shotgun houses and Creole bungalows in the city's poorest neighborhoods. The project, a rare mix of preservation values and social vision, was part of a broader strategy to resurrect poorer neighborhoods by helping low-income families obtain mortgages to buy the rebuilt homes.

By linking historical continuity to communal self-esteem, it demonstrates that urban revitalization efforts need not be reduced to dull formulas.

Just south of St. Claude Avenue in the Ninth Ward, many of the restored houses look relatively intact from the street, although they are heavily damaged within. Some were restored only recently; in one case a paint can still sits in the middle of a living room floor whose boards are stained by flood waters.

Hearing of the damage, Ms. Bruno says she was overcome by exhaustion. But many of these houses can still be saved. Rather than the softer, more absorbent woods used in newer construction, many of them were built out of cedar, a hardwood that is more likely to survive the flooding intact.

Identifying what can be restored will be painstaking work. It will require the kind of government support - tax incentives, adjustments in preservation and zoning laws - that has become a rarity in a country that tends to equate the interests of business with the public welfare. What Ms. Bruno and others fear most is that these houses will simply be bulldozed in the name of expediency to make way for large-scale development like Abundance Square. (Why, after all, develop a house or two here and there when you can wipe out an entire district, rebuild it, and reap enormous profits?)

Even if many of Ms. Bruno's humble shotgun houses are saved, the city's 20th-century landscape - the kind of neighborhoods that mainstream preservationists tend to ignore - is unlikely to find defenders. Built in the city's bowl, an area that was drained during the city's expansion in the 1920's, the Mid City area symbolized the city's embrace of modernity. Its mix of California-style bungalows and late Victorian houses, now severely damaged, has more in common with the sweeping landscapes of Los Angeles than with the romantic images of the city's European roots. As such, it is likely to be ignored by local custodians of the architectural past.

To suggest, meanwhile, that the city's neatly compartmentalized historical styles - shotgun house, Camelback, Creole cottage - can be reconstituted in wholly rebuilt neighborhoods is to endorse a theme park version of the past. It reflects an absurdly reductive historical narrative, one that ignores the reality that conflicting historical strands are what give great cities their vitality.

Doubtless large parts of New Orleans will have to be rebuilt from the ground up. But the best architects working today are as likely to turn to the cavernous Superdome for inspiration as to the spires of St. Louis Cathedral. They understand that a city's 20th-century inventions - from the bungalows to the canals to the freeways - are as integral to its identity as the 19th-century vernacular.

That insight leaves us better equipped to cope with the issues facing New Orleans in the 21st century. Past and future must learn to live together.
 
However it turns out, it will most likely lack architectural character, be unispiring, and whether it turns into a 19th century southern fantasy world, or another banal North American suburb, or a resort town closer to Miami than New Orleans, the whole point of rebuilding, to reconstruct the homes and lives of those who lost everything in the hurricane, no matter what their socio-economic status, while be a failure.

Im sure almost everyone will love the New Orleans and think its great and lovely and people will flock to visit it and praise and call it a triumph of architecture and the can do spirit of the United States.

I still see it as little more than an opportunity for large scale gentrification on the part of developers, corporations, and other elements of the upper class to grab prime land, get rid if the undesireables, and return it to a fine example of southern plantation, on a grand, urban scale.
 
I wish that Ray Nagin would wake up to reality and accept defeat. A city below sea level on the gulf coast really shouldn't be there in the first place. Now that it's been almost completely destroyed, I think that rebuilding should be outlawed. The city must be closed down for good so that this never happens again. We all know that this is going to happen again, it's just a matter of when.

Can you imagine how much home and auto insurance must cost down there post Katrina?
 
Chuck:

By the same token of risk, cities like Venice, Amsterdam (heck, half of the Netherlands), San Francisco, Los Angeles, Miami, Rome, Cairo, Mexico City, Vancouver, Tokyo (and more of less all of Japan) should not exist.

GB
 
Much of the Netherlands may be below sea level, but how often do they get catastrophic hurricanes? Not very. It's completely different than the situation on the Gulf coast.
 
And new Orleans would have been in much better shape had the levee's been properly taken care of the wetlands, which act as a buffer for storm surges, not been destroyed by development.
 
DeadlyChiapet:

Actually, the Netherlands do not get hurricanes but they do have powerful North Sea storms, the worst of which killed about 2000 in 1953 (en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nor..._of_1953). A bit more than Katrina it seems. Why did you think they had an elaborate system of dykes and seawalls, do you think?

And even taking away THIS particular example, what about the rest of the cities I've mentioned? They are hardly in low risk areas.

The problem is not so much so building in dangerous areas - but doing so without taking measures to mitigate the risks.

GB
 
"By the same token of risk, cities like Venice, Amsterdam (heck, half of the Netherlands), San Francisco, Los Angeles, Miami, Rome, Cairo, Mexico City, Vancouver, Tokyo (and more of less all of Japan) should not exist."

By the same token of risk, all structures on earth can be damaged in earthquakes, so we should abandon all cities and move into caves or yurts.
 
By the same token of risk, all structures on earth can be damaged in earthquakes, so we should abandon all cities and move into caves or yurts.

If you've read your history on deadly earthquakes in China, you'll notice that a lot of the victims lived in caves and yurts.
 
Well then we're just going to have to sleep outside on mats and hope there's no lightning or carnivores.
 

Back
Top