Trailwood Village greenbelt system, Kingwood, Charles Tapley and his associates. Photo: Courtesy of the architect.
In the latest edition of Cite, while discussing perceptions of suburbs, Susan Rogers writes, “Big changes have occurred in this landscape of strip centers, shopping malls, subdivisions, and apartment complexes—change big enough to completely eradicate labels, yet somehow they hold.” The enclaves that ring Houston have developed into multi-ethnic areas with their own industries and cultural attractions, both inside Beltway 8 and beyond. The Woodlands is dealing with the issues of a full-fledged city, as a recent article in the Houston Chronicle made clear. Yet Kingwood prevails as an exception, remaining true to its initial design as a secluded White middle-class sleeper community. The reasons are varied, but it would appear that Kingwood’s location, structure, and attachment to Houston keep it a master-planned microcosm.
Shaun Gladwell, Pataphysical Man, 2005.
Buildering: Misbehaving the City looks into our shared spaces. With very few exceptions, the works are set in cities — specifically, city streets. A wall text opening the show mentions “modernist architecture’s mechanical segregation of work and play” (ref. Alison and Peter Smithson). A touchpoint for me in the show is Bernard Rudofsky’s 1969 book, Streets For People. He critiques the American city for what it isn’t: human-scaled, inhabitable. Rudofsky sees an American society, going back to the 1700s, in which “our streets have become roads.” My medicine in childhood for the condition Rudofsky describes was Martha and the Vandellas’ “Dancing in the Streets.” The song took off with an ecstatic roar and promised freedom. Very meaningful in 1964, when the American city street was the scene of riot and fear. The song offered a big reconciliation.
A thread throughout Buildering is play. The tools are disruption, rearrangement of attention, and surprise. Creative play emerges as a way of re-entering our shared space on our own terms. The international artists of Buildering find the human form, the space one takes up, the finger’s touch, in the vacant space around us. They repopulate our city world with relationships that we hunger for.
Cheong Gye Cheon. Photos: Christine Medina.
I recently traveled to Seoul, Korea, for work and wasn’t really prepared for what to expect from the second-largest metropolitan area in the world (more than 25 million people, which makes Houston seem like a provincial village in comparison). Seoul is a bustling city, huge and sprawling with lots of traffic. Smack-dab in the middle is Cheonggyecheon, a stream that runs through the center of town, not unlike Houston’s bayous. And, not unlike Houston’s bayous, Cheonggyecheon received an tremendous application of concrete in the 1950s. In another grand Houston tradition, an elevated highway was then built on top of it.
Eventually Seoul leaders were faced with “such grave issues as the decreased aesthetic value of the city coupled with concerns for safety and security,” states a nearby plaque. And “citizens of Seoul who were more sensitive to environmental-friendly ways of thinking agreed that it should be restored as a clean stream.” The story of the restoration is remarkable in its own right. Below is a photoessay documenting my experience of the place.
Photo: City of Houston.
“Thousands flock to Sunday Streets in the Heights” reads the headline for Michelle Iracheta’s report for the Houston Chronicle on October 12. The event started off strong at noon. Around 2:30 pm, a pleasurable on-and-off sprinkle turned into a deluge. The stores along 19th Street filled with customers. Iracheta writes, “Dale Johnson and Colby Weems, owners of the Eclectic Home and Coda stores on 19th Street, said they’ve never seen as many people in their stores as they did Sunday.”
Angela Hilton, 46, who said she always drives down 19th Street, was among his first-time visitors. “This is my first Sunday Streets I’ve done,” she told the Chronicle. “It’s a great thing that they’re getting everybody out and onto the street and involved. It gives you time to just stop and look. You’re not so busy driving down and thinking you want to stop but can’t.”
Below is a selection of photographs from the event. Enjoy! And mark your calendars for the November 2 route through the Greater Third Ward and the December 7 route in the East End and Fifth Ward. Please share the Facebook events here and here with your friends.
Anderson-Clarke Center. Photos: Allyn West.
Overland Partners, the San Antonio-based firm, faced a complex task with the Anderson-Clarke Center, the newest building at Rice University. First, it would have to serve more than 20,000 Susanne M. Glasscock School of Continuing Studies students who come to campus to learn languages and practice iPhone photography and brush up on the brief history of the soul.
And it would also have to serve as the first building on a side of campus that’s set to grow, as the 2004 Michael Graves master plan shows. That plan — and, indeed, the need for a bigger building for the Glasscock School in the first place — coincides with the decade-long tenure of President David Leebron. Benjamin Wermund writes in the Houston Chronicle, “Just about everything about Rice has grown, from its physical boundaries to its student body and its art collection … . [President Leebron has] worked to connect Rice to the surrounding community.”
Is car sharing reaching a tipping point in Houston and other cities in the U.S.? What is the effect of gentrification on low-income students? Is it possible to have stable, mixed-class neighborhoods?
These questions were among many more posed to or by Alan Ehrenhalt during a roundtable discussion hosted by Bill Fulton, Director of the Kinder Institute for Urban Research, at Rice University. Ehrenhalt is Senior Editor of Governing Magazine and author of The Great Inversion (read Terrence Doody’s book review from Cite 90), and came to Houston to speak at Central Houston’s annual luncheon. I participated in the discussion at Rice and summarize below some of the debates that most animated the participants.
Illustration by R.L. Isern and R.E. Harris for Houston Traffic and some Short Cuts for Avoiding it, or the Confessions of a Short Cut Artist , 1983.
In November 1980, Houston Post editorial writer Lynn Ashby asked readers if Houston traffic ever made them panic. Not a case of “mild terror,” mind you, but “a major case of panic to the point where you simply will not drive around Houston.” Ashby reassured those who answered yes that they were far from alone. He noted that in 1980 at least two overwhelmed drivers had “passed out on [city] freeways.”
The city’s success amid the national recession of the 1970s drew an influx of migrants to Houston during the decade. Area roads bore the evidence of this migration by the early 1980s. Traffic conditions deteriorated and congestion reached its highest-ever point in 1984. In 1970, stop-and-go conditions occurred for about 90 minutes per day. By 1982, the city faced more than seven hours of daily bumper-to-bumper traffic. The Houston Chamber of Commerce estimated that congestion cost the city roughly $1.9 billion ($5.4 billion in 2014) per year, more than double its cost in 1975.
After a successful pilot project last spring, Mayor Annise Parker has brought back Sunday Streets HTX. The three routes this fall are October 12 in the Heights along 19th Street; November 2 in the Greater Third Ward along Dowling, West Alabama, and Almeda; and December 7 in the East End and Fifth Ward along Navigation and York. These streets will be open to pedestrians and bicyclists from noon to 4 pm to encourage walking, running, dancing, or riding with friends and family.
Brio and Dixie Oil Processing and Southbend subdivision. Photo: South Belt-Ellington Leader via South Belt Houston Digital History Archive.
The suburbs are supposed to be safe. It’s only inside the city, we hear, where you’ll find crime. Drugs. Addiction. Corruption. Pollution. Hypocrisy. Assault. Rape. Not, as least as they are bought and sold, in the subdivisions in the suburbs — that’s where you move to escape. That’s where you raise your family among families that share your values, among neighbors who look out for you. Not so in René Steinke’s new novel Friendswood (Riverhead Books, 2014, 350 pages).
The novel is based on the real Friendswood, of course, a suburb about 20 miles southeast of Downtown Houston. But the novel focuses even further in on a real place in Friendswood — the Brio Superfund site on Dixie Farm Road, where a succession of companies starting in 1956 processed and recycled chemical waste, until the last one, Brio Refining Inc., went bankrupt in 1982. These companies used the 58-acre site near Clear Creek to store in earthen pits both known and suspected carcinogenic byproducts, like styrene tars and vinyl chloride sludges, whose very names make you nauseated.
Justin Smith and Mary Beth Woiccak at PARK(ing) Day. Photo: Allyn West.
“What is this? What’s your message?” asked the woman walking back to her apartment in the Hanover Rice Village development. I’d seen her about an hour earlier crossing the street to the 24 Hour Fitness at the corner of Kelvin and Dunstan.
Justin Smith of Walter P Moore, Mary Beth Woiccak (a colleague of mine at the Rice Design Alliance, which publishes this blog), and I had been relaxing and talking for the better part of the morning. It was the third Friday in September, or PARK(ing) Day, and we had paid $16 to occupy a parking spot from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Earlier that morning — as the rain soaked us — we’d rolled out a 240-square-foot hunk of artificial turf that we’d found at the City of Houston Building Materials ReUse Warehouse and laid down a few stone pavers, set up plants and furniture we had brought from home or had had donated. And — voilà — a park!