The latest edition of “Architizer: The World’s Best Architecture” — a stunning, hardbound book celebrating the most inspiring contemporary architecture from around the globe — is now available. Order your copy today.  

I was twelve years old the first time I visited Ocean Beach III, a small neighborhood in the shore town of Lavallette, New Jersey. The densely packed one and two-bedroom houses made an immediate impression on me, as did the unpaved sandy roads. Without trees or even structures over one story, there was little shade in this neighborhood, and the streets were flooded with sunlight. This was long before Hurricane Sandy, which encouraged some residents to lift their houses several feet off their foundations, somewhat changing the character of the neighborhood.

It wasn’t often in my suburban childhood that I visited a neighborhood that felt so distinctive. I remember telling my mom and brother that I really liked these “Monopoly houses.” My mom called them “bungalows.” They came in just a few colors: white, gray, sky blue, pale yellow and mint green.

I liked these homes on the inside too. My mom’s cousins Jeanne and Kathy had a two bedroom bungalow, and I admired how condensed and efficient everything was. Unlike the larger houses I was familiar with, there was no room to waste space here, no extra closets or a garage to fill with trinkets. There also wasn’t a yard, just a small patio. You could sit here and talk to the next door neighbors on their patio, which was just a few feet away.

My family returned to Jeanne and Kathy’s house a few more times during my childhood, but I didn’t think much about Ocean Beach III until a few years ago when my parents bought their own house here. Their house is not one of the original midcentury homes, however. It is also raised, so it isn’t quite a “Monopoly” house — alas. There are some details, like a sun room and a cupola, that are cool but not quite in keeping with the Edward Scissorhands vibe of the original neighborhood. Still, the home is quite compact by American standards, with one floor and two bedrooms, and like all the other houses in Ocean Beach III, it stands on a tidy 1,500-square-foot (140-square-meter) lot. My parents really only use this house in the summer, but they have made closer friends with their neighbors here than they ever did at their year-round house on the mainland, which sits on a one-acre lot.

Since having children, I have spent more time at my parents’ house and have grown very attached to this beach community. It doesn’t feel quite like any other part of the Jersey shore. Despite the fact that this narrow stretch of the Barnegat peninsula is densely populated, there is no shortage of natural wonder here. My two year old son and I always see swans at the bay in the morning, and a few times we have even glimpsed dolphins in the ocean near the horizon line.

I have often wondered why more neighborhoods in America don’t have this unpretentious, egalitarian feel to them. Am I just picking up on a vacation vibe? Or is there something in the neighborhood’s history that has allowed it to remain an oasis of tiny houses in a state known for McMansions?

The story of Ocean Beach III begins after the end of World War II. As R.C. Staab reported in a 2023 article in New Jersey Monthly, the stretch of land between Point Pleasant and Seaside Heights was undeveloped at this time. Two businessmen, Fred Pearl and Ed Patnaude, had a vision to “turn sparsely developed ocean-view land into communities of vacation homes like the suburban tracts with modest, single-family homes springing up across the country.” The concept was never luxury development, but summer cottages for the working class people who were moving their families out to the suburbs. Home ownership had, at this time, become more accessible than ever before. Fred and Ed were betting on the fact that vacation homes would become more common too. While the duo at first had trouble securing loans for their project, they eventually found an investor in Ed’s brother-in-law.

Staab continues: “To make the economics work, the houses were basic: two bedrooms, a kitchen and living area, a very small bathroom with a shower and toilet, and a porch where a family could sit outside and hear the waves crashing along the beach. They divided up the land into 1,500-square-foot lots of stand-alone homes, side-by-side and back-to-back with enough room for a car (or two) to park and a small patio for barbecuing or taking in the early-morning sun.”

For $2,095, a family could purchase one of these 420-square-foot (40-square-meter) houses on cement slabs. These homes were basic: no heat, no insulation and no air-conditioning. “For showers,” Staab explains, “there was a tin bucket on the roof to collect rainwater that, weather permitting, would be heated by the sun. If a buyer wanted to splurge, a water heater cost $6.”

Fred and Ed’s development expanded quickly. Ocean Beach III was just one of four neighborhoods they created, but it arguably is the most distinctive due to its density. This neighborhood contains almost 1,000 houses in an area about one-third of a square mile. It is perhaps the densest area of single-family homes on the Jersey Shore.

One interesting feature of Ocean Beach III is that a number of homes are on leased land, so while the homeowners own the house they do not own the land. This arrangement keeps the housing prices low, but also allows the landowners to profit because the homeowners need to pay them an annual fee. Apparently, this was a plan of Fred and Ed, and they kept the deeds to a number of the plots. Their descendants still hold them, and thus make money from the development — even today.

The homeowner’s club at Ocean Beach III has made a point of maintaining the small scale of the development. “There are deed restrictions,” explains resident Kevin Iredell. “You can’t go up. You can’t put an addition on. You basically have to leave it the way it is. That keeps that old-school, 1950s kind of Jersey Shore feel.”

John McDonough, one of Fred Pearl’s grandsons, explains it this way: “These are small lots on small streets. [Fred and Ed] didn’t want big houses, tall houses, to create almost a tenement effect, which you have up in the big cities of North Jersey. Most everything is in a checkerboard pattern the way the houses are laid out, so it maximizes the space between each house. You can’t be closer than 10 feet to the rear lot line. You’ve got to be 20 feet minimum away from your neighbor. So there’s always at least 20 feet from all these little houses. You don’t feel like you’re cramped, like someone is right there.”

While many Ocean Beach III residents speak of the neighborhood as a throwback to the 1950s, a “simpler” time, I think of it as futuristic. In the 1950s, as people moved from tenements out to the suburbs, the trend was upsizing. More land, more space, and — for some people — even an extra little cottage out near the shore. This was the American Dream and, from the standpoint of the time, it had nothing to do with simplicity.

Today, however, there is a trend towards downsizing. The tiny house movement has taken off in the US starting in the 2010s as families across the country seek to reduce their energy footprints. While Ocean Beach III was not designed with these concerns in mind, architects can look to this community as a model for future construction. People are happy in Ocean Beach III, the community is walkable, and the population density does not take away from the residents’ ability to appreciate nature. To put it in urban studies terms, the model of detached but closely clustered single family homes on tiny plots might be a way to get the benefits of population density without the drawbacks.

I also think people are happier without attics and garages. There is just less temptation to hold onto junk. Although to be fair, if you look in the crawl spaces of these houses you will always find old surfboards and rusty crab traps.

The latest edition of “Architizer: The World’s Best Architecture” — a stunning, hardbound book celebrating the most inspiring contemporary architecture from around the globe — is now available. Order your copy today.  

The post The Tiny Houses of New Jersey: What Architects Can Learn from a Mid-Century Beach Community appeared first on Journal.

The latest edition of “Architizer: The World’s Best Architecture” — a stunning, hardbound book celebrating the most inspiring contemporary architecture from around the globe — is now available. Order your copy today.  

Once a niche field, architectural photography is now a crucial part of the design world. Today, it plays a key role in shaping global understandings of architecture and transforming how we perceive and engage with buildings.

That being said, in this day and age, architectural photography encompasses way more than simply capturing the physical structure of buildings. It has also become an essential tool for telling the story of a building, illustrating its design narrative and showcasing its unique qualities. In a sea of digital images, the job of today’s architectural photographer is also distinct from those of the film generation, who were producing work for print journals and books, as opposed to press releases and algorithms. Moreover, high-quality architectural photography is now a decisive component for winning architecture awards, gaining recognition and successfully promoting architectural projects.

As architectural tendencies have shifted towards more complex, dynamic and human-centered designs, the techniques and approaches in architectural photography have evolved to match. Photographers are pushing the boundaries of traditional techniques, embracing new technologies and creative approaches to capture the essence of these innovative designs. Looking at the highlights of this season’s A+Awards Winners, these tendencies are reflected in the works of architectural photographers who shot winning projects.

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1. Populated Places: Animating Architecture

One of the most significant shifts in photography lately has been the embrace of candid, real-life shots. Consider the average Instagram feed — there are probably a lot fewer over-planned, over-edited photos and instead, more and more photos that seem like they’ve effortlessly captured a moment.

This tendency translates into professional photography as well (architectural photography included). Instead of photographing empty buildings devoid of life, more architectural photographers choose to capture their subjects in use, with people interacting within and around them.

Iwan Baan is renowned for bringing this more documentary-like approach into the architectural mainstream beginning with his pioneering collaboration with Rem Koolhaas. The Dutch photographer’s most recent work for A+winning projects definitely upholds the high standards he has set. Baan is known for challenging the long-standing tradition of capturing buildings as isolated and static. Instead, he aims to showcase the activities taking place within and around the structures he shoots, portraying them in use.

Many photographers take this approach further by shooting in motion, resulting in images with blurry figures. This technique can make the architecture feel more three-dimensional and dynamic, adding a sense of depth and realism. While this style might not appeal to everyone, it offers a fresh perspective by emphasizing the lived experience within architectural spaces.

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2. Cinematic Photography: Embracing Distinct Moods

When browsing through Architizer’s A+Awards Winners Gallery, another pattern stands out: an increasing number of photos are embracing cinematic techniques. Cinematic photography aims to evoke emotional and sensory experiences, creating a specific atmosphere through lighting, color and composition. When the subject is architecture, it does much the same — capturing the mood and ambiance of a space.

A great example is The Hat House by Tina Bergman Architects, located in the calm forests of Sweden, captured by Jim Stephenson. He uses warm lighting and natural colors to evoke a sense of comfort and connection with nature. The photos capture the cozy and welcoming environment of the house, doing a great job of portraying what it would feel like to be there.

Similarly, Gensler’s YOFC Headquarters shot by RAWVISION Studio uses warm, golden illumination against the cool tones of the evening cityscape, highlighting the building amidst a quiet urban setting.

This tendency enriches our appreciation of architectural spaces, making them more relatable and memorable by telling the story of a building through its mood and atmosphere. Just by looking at a photo, you can practically feel what it’s like to be in a particular space or building.

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3. Organized Maximalism: Layered Compositions Over Minimalistic Details

You might have noticed the subtle (or on second thought, maybe not so subtle) resurgence of maximalism in design.

While minimalism definitely had its moment, it’s safe to say that ornament is no longer a crime (and hopefully awful puns aren’t either). As architects and designers welcome back color, texture and complexity, architectural photographers are embracing more complex, layered compositions as opposed to detail-focused shots.

In the past, we often saw close-up images highlighting simplicity and clean lines. These shots focused on a few select elements, isolating them to emphasize architectural purity and design precision. Nowadays, the so-called “organized maximalism” has reached architectural photography as well.

Instead of isolating details, photographers are capturing richer, more textured views by incorporating multiple layers and elements into the frame. This approach showcases the interplay between materials, forms, light and shadow, creating a dynamic and engaging visual narrative.

By including a variety of elements—like people, furnishings and natural features—these photos convey a sense of depth and complexity. It’s about showing how different parts of a building relate to each other and their surroundings, offering a more holistic view of the architecture.

Ema Peter captures this incredibly well in her winning shot for the cover of Architizer: The World’s Best Architecture this year. In the image, she balances architectural elements with natural features and human presence. The photo showcases the warm texture of the building materials, the play of light and shadow and the calming presence of water reflecting the surroundings. The inclusion of a person adds scale and a sense of life, while the carefully framed layers guide the viewer’s eye through the space, emphasizing the depth and richness of the design. This not only brings out the beauty of the architecture but also tells a story about how the space is used and experienced.

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4. Retro Revival: Embracing Vintage Aesthetics

One of the most memorable photos from this year’s A+Winners is Fernando Guerra’s shots for OODA’s Torre 15&1. Guerra uses high contrast to bring out the building’s repetitive patterns and clean lines. The deep shadows cast by the balconies create a sense of depth and rhythm, making the structure stand out dramatically.

There’s something distinctly retro about this approach. Perhaps it’s the way these photos evoke the graphic quality of classic poster art, where bold lines and stark contrasts were used to make powerful visual statements. Guerra’s style often leverages this high-contrast approach to make architectural forms pop, giving even the most rigid structures a sense of fluidity and dynamism. His work consistently showcases how light can transform buildings, making the mundane appear extraordinary.

This retro aesthetic in architectural photography taps into a sense of nostalgia, bringing a vintage feel to modern structures. By using techniques similar to classic film photography and poster art, photographers can evoke a timeless quality in their images. This style highlights the elegance and enduring appeal of architectural designs, making them feel both historic and contemporary. The vintage look adds visual interest and connects viewers to the past, creating a stronger emotional connection with the architecture.

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5. Contrast, Depth and Drama

In a market saturated with images, high-contrast photography is quickly gaining traction as a way to stand out.

In architectural photography, this translates to highlighting specific elements and structural details, creating striking silhouettes and a dynamic interplay of light and shadow. High-contrast photography brings the structural details and materials of buildings to life. Shadows carve out the textures and light defines the forms, adding a compelling visual narrative to the spaces. This approach works particularly well with monochromatic structures, where the absence of color makes the contrast even more pronounced.

Beautifully captured by on of China’s leading architectural photography firms, Arch-Exist, Mix Architecture’s A+Award-winning project is a great example of how contrast can do wonders for monochromatic spaces. The use of high contrast in these interior shots accentuates the rich textures and sharp lines of the red concrete, transforming the space into a scene with a cinematic quality. The shadows and light filtering through the perforations in the walls add depth and a touch of mystery, making the architecture feel alive, dynamic and far from two-dimensional.

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Framing the Future

The recent shifts in architectural photography bring a refreshing evolution, allowing photographers to portray buildings in more authentic and engaging ways. From capturing candid interactions to evoking the mood and atmosphere of a space, these new tendencies add depth and richness to architectural imagery. And as they continue to develop, we can’t help but feel excited about what the future holds for architectural photography.

The latest edition of “Architizer: The World’s Best Architecture” — a stunning, hardbound book celebrating the most inspiring contemporary architecture from around the globe — is now available. Order your copy today.  

The post The New Canon: 5 Standout Techniques that Dominate Contemporary Architectural Photography appeared first on Journal.

The jury and the public have had their say — feast your eyes on the winners of Architizer's 12th Annual A+Awards. Subscribe to our Awards Newsletter to receive future program updates.

Right now, the British Standards Institute (BSI), Colombia’s ICONTEC, and experts from around 170 national standards agencies have a huge job on their hands. An independently verifiable system for measuring net zero needs to be presented at COP30 next year, and the lay of the land today is a mixture of confusion, chaos and confidence tricks. At best, the ‘carbon market’ has had a turbulent time over the past decade. Meaningless credits have done enough to damage trust in a sector most people have never fully understood, and even buying legitimate offsets raises massive questions about overall legitimacy. 

How can we ever hope to rebalance our planet’s atmospheric content, necessary for it to continue supporting life over the coming millennia, if we’re not actually addressing the root cause? Instead, we’re paying into piecemeal projects as part of a broader corporate social responsibility directive, which is also part of a sales angle. Without sounding cynical, it’s easy to feel very cynical. 

However, a singular truth is always worth remembering — everything we build from here on should use as few resources as possible, using the most environmentally friendly materials and processes. This is an approach the famously climate-aligned MGA | Michael Green Architecture took for Google’s new home in Sunnyvale, California. A strikingly angular five-story office building, like the BSI, faced a monumental challenge helping bring down the sizeable footprint of a tech giant while also setting new standards in the architecture industry  — for biophilic and structural design, construction techniques, material sourcing and carbon reduction.

The pilot project is the fruit of five years of rigorous research and development alongside Google, in collaboration with SERA Architects and XL construction. A departure from its typical steel, glass and concrete neighbors in Silicon Valley, MGA has used mass timber, timber-glass, cross-laminated timber and glulam throughout their LEED Platinum structure (materials we’ve featured numerous times in projects boasting comparatively low embodied carbon). Overall, a whole-building life cycle analysis has shown that the project’s global warming potential is 47% lower than the baseline and 96% lower when biogenic carbon sequestration is accounted for.

An ‘envelope’ filter system featuring closed-cavity skin, wooden blinds and high performance glass means temperature and light levels are responsive and climate control comes with a reduced energy footprint. Analysis of energy and daylighting informed the building massing and façade at a 35% reduction from baseline. The amount of natural light flooding in also forms part of wider biophilic design principles primarily employed for staff welfare and wellbeing — another being the siting, in a quiet landscape of local fauna, with the intention of building a connection between employees and nature. Again, it’s a case of what’s better for the planet is better for us, too.

As MGA Principal Natalie Telewiak put it, the project “promotes health, connects to nature, and addresses the global need for repeatable, affordable, and sustainable new buildings.” This scalable solution is an ambitious effort on the part of the Vancouver-based firm to create a prototype for more sustainable — in an expanded and conscientious use of the term — workplaces in the future.

Natural materials are blended perfectly with views over surrounding landscapes the building actively complements with its earthy, timber look and feel. Cantilevers create covered areas, speaking to the less uniform aesthetics we find everyday in nature. This variety is mirrored on the inside, where mixed single and double height areas connect through a four story atrium. Here, daylight is again used to maximum effect with a timber-glass skylight accentuating the feeling of not quite being indoors.

Reuse and circularity are also high on the agenda, serving as a reminder that redesigning, redeveloping and renovating alone are not enough to redeem a carbon-addicted industry; while better than demolition, an entirely new way of thinking about sustainability is required. So many buildings desperately need bringing up to modern efficiency and sustainability standards, and if not done in a future-oriented manner, retrofitting will surely be required again later on. Not so at Google Borregas; the tech company’s commercial flagship has essentially been future-proofed.

Floor plans are made to be fully reconfigured and so can be adapted to suit myriad purposes and phases of the business cycle, a decision that speaks to the green agenda as much as an understanding that in industries like tech staffing levels can fluctuate wildly. New departments will be born, deep recessions will hit again in the future.

There are greater challenges at play here, too. MGA’s blueprint reflects a major corporation taking responsibility for the footprint of its estate, and the mental and physical health of staff — values that are both symbolized and enacted in the building’s plan and functions. Of course, the fusing of nature with technology is also symbolic. These ideas can sometimes feel at odds with multinational globalized business culture as a whole, and if there’s a lot of ground to make up in the court of public opinion for companies with more GDP than entire nations, there’s an even bigger hill to climb in terms of perceptions of environmental accountability.

At Google, this is particularity pronounced. The onset of AI has sent energy consumption soaring across the sector, and according to Bloomberg the company is now warming the planet 48 times faster than it was in 2019 — a rate which, without serious interventions, is only going to increase exponentially as a relativity nascent tech field becomes increasingly mainstream and widely used. The firm’s plan to run on 100% green energy by 2030 is just one example of steps being taken, as is the new approach to carbon budgeting.

Yet, this year, for the first time since 2007, Google is no longer carbon neutral. Given the rapid rise in its energy use, it’s alarming to think the company could have claimed such status until this year, emphasizing how skewed current net zero measurements can be. The decision at board level to stop using offsets and instead deal with actual emissions, with Google Borregas contributing to this reduction, definitely isn’t the norm. But it is also a shrewd move.

One of the reasons the BSI and its affiliates are working on a net zero standardization is because of the complexity of gauging corporate impact. Without a standard we will never accurately set targets. And if that standard is fit for purpose, once it has been adopted there will be few options left for companies other than direct reduction.

Though MGA has long been a leader in addressing architecture’s green shortcomings, by taking a holistic approach to sustainability by addressing embodied and operational carbon, energy reduction and renewables, Google Borregas provides a repeatable template for flexibility and long life that, just like the tech giant whose headquarters it houses, also sets new standards for their peers in the architecture industry.

The jury and the public have had their say — feast your eyes on the winners of Architizer's 12th Annual A+Awards. Subscribe to our Awards Newsletter to receive future program updates.

The post Timber Tech: MGA’s Google HQ Offers a Total Vision for New Green Architecture appeared first on Journal.

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As a kid, all the buildings I loved were old. I grew up in Cranbury, New Jersey, a small town best known for its Rockwellesque Main Street lined with historic homes. Think white colonials with wrap-around porches adorned with patriotic bunting, wooden churches with dramatic steeples, and bronze placards from the local historical society indicating where the local mill, general store, and cinema once stood.  

Many of my friends lived in homes built in the 19th century, which might not seem like a big deal to our European readers, but for an American child, this was enough to convey an Aura of History. I loved these houses, with their scratched hardwood floors, crooked ceilings and doors that never quite closed. Teachers at Cranbury School told us how George Washington once enjoyed a meal at the still-operational Cranbury Inn. On my walk home from school, I often passed through Brainerd Cemetery and visited the eroded gravestones of Revolutionary War veterans. Ghosts were in the air here — in a good way. They gave the town a sense of place amid the anonymous sprawl of suburban New Jersey.

The Aura of History was foundational to my early interest in architecture and design.  As a kid I had a strong sense that some buildings evoked a sense of place and that others did not, and I resented the soullessness of much of the surrounding suburban landscape, with its endless parking lots and charmless big box stores. 

The point of all of this is to say that I understand, emotionally, where classicists are coming from when they lament the legacy of modernism, especially the International Style, which they (half-correctly) blame for having an anonymizing effect on cities around the world. I even understand the bitterness that classical architects feel toward their marginality in the profession. (When was the last time a classicist won the Pritzker Prize?) And to be clear, there is a lot of bitterness there. 

The classical alternative to the Pritzker Prize is the Richard H. Driehaus Award. Presented by the University of Notre Dame, the annual award grants a $200,000 prize to “a living architect whose work embodies the highest ideals of traditional and classical architecture in contemporary society, and creates a positive cultural, environmental and artistic impact.” The award aligns with the “classical and urbanist curriculum” of the University of Notre Dame School of Architecture, which “celebrat[es] and advanc[es] the principles of the traditional city.” The award was established in 2003 by the late financier Richard H. Driehaus who made no bones about his dissatisfaction with the state of architecture. 

“I believe architecture should be of human scale, representational form and individual expression that reflects a community’s architectural heritage,” Driehaus explained when asked why he established the prize. “There is a delight, proportion and harmony in classical architecture that I wasn’t finding in the contemporary buildings coming up around me in Chicago.” 

Driehaus’s criticism of modern architecture was not unique — nor was it new. In one form or another, these same themes have been expressed for over half a century by figures as varied as Jane Jacobs, Roger Scruton and Thomas Heatherwick. In his recent book Humanize, which I reviewed for Architizer last month, Heatherwick refers to the architectural profession as a “cult” that is bizarrely committed to a minimalist aesthetic template established in mid twentieth century despite the fact that survey after survey shows that the public does not like these kinds of buildings. 

While Heatherwick shares the classicist critique of modernism, he is not a classicist. For him, the solution is not to return to tradition, but to take a more critical look at contemporary building practices and strive to find new ways to achieve that sense of place, that je ne sais quoi, I once admired in my little picturesque hometown. One can see this philosophy at work in the playful nature of many of Heatherwick’s best known buildings, like Learning Hub South in Singapore, which locals refer to as the “dim sum basket building” due to its resemblance to the steamer baskets used to serve dim sum. In Heatherwick’s language, this building is “human” in the way an anonymous, merely functional academic building with a glass or metal façade would not be. 

Heatherwick’s ideas are themselves something of a throwback to the views of Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown, who helped established postmodern architecture in the 1970s by critiquing the “less is more” ethos of the High Modernists. As the duo put it in their book Learning from Las Vegas, “anomalies and uncertainties give validity to architecture.” I love that. It speaks to the importance of local texture and idiosyncrasy that led me, as a young man, to prefer old houses to new ones and to find homogenous chain restaurants to be not just ugly but depressing.

I am going to name the Venturi-Brown-Heatherwick position left populism, even though the sensibility is aesthetic rather than political. Like the Jacobins who sat on the left hand side of the National Convention during the French Revolution — establishing the terms “left” and “right” to describe the political spectrum — the architectural left populists are discontented with the present, but committed to a vision of the future that will be different from the past. Architectural left populism encourages a bricolage approach to design and urbanism, drawing on both the modernist tradition and earlier periods in architecture to create buildings that speak to the present. It is not the same as right populism, which is a point of view I see reflected in the mission statement of the Driehaus Prize, with its repeated use of the word “traditional.” (However, to the Driehaus’s credit, the award has been grants to architects I would consider left populists as well, including Michael Graves in 2013.)

Again, the way I am using the words left and right here is not strictly political. However, it is not not political either. Architectural right populism is often, but not always, associated with political conservatism. King Charles is probably the most infamous right populist in architecture, having gone so far as to construct a whole town according to classical architectural principles. Indeed, Charles’s Poundbury is a good example of the right populist viewpoint in action. Harmony, balance, a sense of cohesiveness that never crosses over into monotony — all of this is achieved. However, in my view, there is something bleak about this contrived little town. With everything arranged just so, according to historical architectural styles, one intuits not merely reverence for the past, but anxiety about the present.

Another person you might have heard of, Donald Trump, is an architectural classicist too — despite the fact that he has built a bunch of shiny glass towers. In 2020, then President Trump issued an executive order banning the construction of new federal buildings that were not constructed in one of six recognized styles: “Neoclassical, Georgian, Federal, Greek Revival, Beaux-Arts, and Art Deco.” As with the construction of Poundbury, the goal here was not just to elevate classical architecture, but to make a statement against modernism. And for conservatives, modernism is not just a style, but an embodiment of progressive ideals.

The work of Peter Pennoyer, the most recent winner of the Driehaus Prize, is a good example of classical architecture at its best. The private homes he has designed are absolutely magnificent, blending harmoniously into their context whether that is a brownstone block in Manhattan or a marshy estate in Maine. He achieves this, he says, through paying attention to classical principles such as proportion, harmony and beauty — ideals that Vitruvius knew well but that modern architecture has not only overlooked but, in Pennoyer’s account, actively suppressed.

“So I graduated from college in 1981, architecture school in 1984. And there were people who were more excited about Modernism, certainly the faculty,” Pennoyer explains in a recent interview with Common/Edge. “You heard things like, ‘Well, your symmetry is fascist.’ Another favorite of mine, which has stuck in my mind forever: A professor looked at a beautiful arch for a subsidized housing scheme, one of our studio problems. He looked at this arch and said, ‘What a pity. Because where there are arches, there are princes, and where there are princes, there are slaves.’”

Pennoyer’s anecdote reflects a number of common right populist tropes. He blames modern architecture’s blandness on the revolutionary fervor of professors who express their radicalism in aesthetics because they cannot do so in politics. They distrust beauty because they distrust everything, having totally imbibed the hermeneutics of suspicion.

It’s a caricature, but is it true? Maybe a little?

Asked in this same interview if beauty is subjective, Pennoyer has an interesting response: “I think there is an absolute standard of beauty around which we can all, most people, agree — until they go to architecture school or study architectural theory. I think it’s educated out of people. There’s much more consensus and basic human instinct for beauty, proportion, and harmony than we’re led to believe. There are absolute values of beauty.”

Pennoyer’s view is that architecture schools — the elites — have trained people out of their instinctive understanding of what they like. Again we see that his view is not only conservative but populist. He presents himself as a champion of common sense over expertise. And like the right populism we see in politics, this perspective has a dark side.

If architects, en masse, accepted the right populist view and decided to stick to established and recognizable styles, the profession would be giving up on the possibility of doing something new. It would come to resemble the American motion picture industry, which for the past decade has invested heavily in sequels and remakes at the expense of original projects. These films can be enjoyable, but they are never masterpieces. Inversely, most art house films are awful, but every once in a while this scene produces a work that is truly special and enduring. Maybe flawed work is the cost of innovation.

In any event, the right populists are wrong that modernism’s shortcomings can only be addressed by returning to the past. There are other ways to address these issues, ones that don’t involve architecture becoming trapped in stylistic and ideological stasis. Heatherwick’s book Humanize proposes a way of thinking about architecture that is neither cold nor sentimental. It continues a tradition that has been overlooked for too long and has not been named until now: left populist architecture.

Cover Image: Landscape with Classical Architecture by a Lake, drawing, anonymous, French, 17th century (MET, 1972.118.15) via Wikimedia Commons

The post Architectural Classicism Versus Modernism: Ethic or Aesthetic? appeared first on Journal.