In any public place where people loiter, add a few steps at the edge where stairs come down or where there is a change of level. Make these raised areas immediately accessible from below, so that people may congregate and sit to watch the goings-on.
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Give the stair seats the same orientation as seat spots (24.1). Make the steps out of wood or tile or brick so that they wear with time, and show the marks of feet, and are soft to the touch for people sitting on them—soft tile and brick (24.8) ; and make the steps connect directly to surrounding buildings—connection TO THE EARTH ( 168) . . . .
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2 I
126 SOMETHING ROUGHLY IN THE MIDDLE
. . . SMALT. PUBLIC SQUARES (6 I ) , COMMON LAND (67), COURTYARDS WHICH live (115), path shape (121) all draw their life from the activities around their edges—activity pockets (124) and stair seats (125). But even then, the middle is still empty, and it needs embellishment.
A public space without a middle is quite likely to stay empty.
We have discussed the fact that people tend to take up positions from which they are protected, partly, at their backs—hierarchy of open space (114), and the way this fact tends to make the action grow around the edge of public squares—activity pockets (124), stair seats (125). If the space is a tiny one, there is no need for anything beyond an edge. But if there is a reasonable area in the middle, intended for public use, it will be wasted unless there are trees, monuments, scats, fountains—a place where people can protect their backs, as easily as they can around the edge. This reason for setting something roughly in the middle of a square is obvious and practical. But perhaps there is an even more primitive instinct at work.
Imagine a bare table in your house. Think of the power of the instinct which tells you to put a candle or a bowl of flowers in the middle. And think of the power of the effect once you have done it. Obviously, it is an act of great significance; yet clearly it has nothing to do with activities at the edge or in the center.
Apparently the effect is purely geometrical. Perhaps it is the sheer fact that the space of the table is given a center, and the point at the center then organizes the space around it, and makes it clear, and puts it roughly at rest. The same thing happens in a courtyard or a public square. It is perhaps related to the man-
dala instinct, which finds in any centrally symmetric figure a powerful receptacle for dreams and images and for conjugations of the self.
We believe that this instinct is at work in every courtyard and every square. Even in the Piazza San Marco, one of the few squares without an obvious center piece, the campanile juts out and creates an off beat center to the two plazas together.
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| The caynpanile forms a rough center to the two -piazzas. |
Camillo Sitte, the great Italian planner, describes the evolution of such focal points and their functional significance in his book City Planning According to Artistic Principles (New York: Random House, 1965, pp. 20-31). But interestingly, he claims that the impulse to center something perfectly in a square is an “affliction” of modern times.
Imagine the open square of a small market town in the country, covered with deep snow and criss-crossed by several roads and paths that, shaped by the traffic, form the natural lines of communication. Between them are left irregularly distributed patches untouched by traffic. . . .
On exactly such spots, undisturbed by the flow of vehicles, rose the fountains and monuments of old communities. . . .
Therefore:
Between the natural paths which cross a public square or courtyard or a piece of common land choose something to stand roughly in the middle: a fountain, a tree, a statue, a clock-tower with seats, a windmill, a bandstand. Make
BUILDINGS
it something which gives a strong and steady pulse to the square, drawing people in toward the center. Leave it exactly where it falls between the paths; resist the impulse to put it exactly in the middle.
Connect the different “somethings” to one another with the path system—paths and goals (120). They may include HIGH PLACES (62), DANCING IN THE STREETS (63), POOLS AND STREAMS (64), PUBLIC OUTDOOR ROOM (69), STILL WATER (71), tree places (171) > make sure that each one has a sitting wall (243) around it. . . .
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Now} with the paths fixed; we come back to the building: Within the various wings of any one building> work out the fundamental gradients of space} and decide how the movement will connect the spaces in the gradients;
127. INTIMACY GRADIENT
128. INDOOR SUNLIGHT
129. COMMON AREAS AT THE HEART
130. ENTRANCE ROOM
13 I. THE FLOW THROUGH ROOMS
132. SHORT PASSAGES
133. STAIRCASE AS A STAGE
134. ZEN VIEW
135. TAPESTRY OF LIGHT AND DARK
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127 INTIMACY gradient**
. . . if you know roughly where you intend to place the building wings—wings of light (107), and how many stories they will have—number of stories (96), and where the main entrance (iio) is, it is time to work out the rough disposition of the major areas on every floor. In every building the relationship between the public areas and private areas is most important.
•J* v v
Unless the spaces in a building are arranged in a sequence which corresponds to their degrees of privateness, the visits made by strangers, friends, guests, clients, family, will always be a little awkward.
In any building—house, office, public building, summer cottage—people need a gradient of settings, which have different degrees of intimacy. A bedroom or boudoir is most intimate; a back sitting room or study less so; a common area or kitchen more public still; a front porch or entrance room most public of all. When there is a gradient of this kind, people can give each encounter different shades of meaning, by choosing its position on the gradient very carefully. In a building which has its rooms so interlaced that there is no clearly defined gradient of intimacy, it is not possible to choose the spot for any particular encounter so carefully; and it is therefore impossible to give the encounter this dimension of added meaning by the choice of space. This homogeneity of space, where every room has a similar degree of intimacy, rubs out all possible subtlety of social interaction in the building.
We illustrate this general fact by giving an example from Peru—a case which we have studied in detail. In Peru, friendship is taken very seriously and exists at a number of levels. Casual neighborhood friends will probably never enter the house at all.
6iO 127 INTIMACY gradient
Formal friends, such as the priest, the daughter’s boyfriend, and friends from work may be invited in, but tend to be limited to a well-furnished and maintained part of the house, the sala. This room is sheltered from the clutter and more obvious informality of the rest of the house. Relatives and intimate friends may be made to feel at home in the family room (comedor-estar), where the family is likely to spend much of its time. A few relatives and friends, particularly women, will be allowed into the kitchen, other workspaces, and, perhaps, the bedrooms of the house. In this way, the family maintains both privacy and pride.