Buildings – even the most cement-filled – are organic; they change through interaction with the parasites that infest them (us, mostly). How often do architects consider this? Ask any scientist who moves into a new laboratory building and you’ll be met with eyerolls and exasperated stories. The new neuroscience institute that I work in is fantastic in many ways, but has some extremely puzzling features such as the need to repeatedly use an ID card to unlock almost every door in the lab. This is in contrast to my previous home of the Salk Institute which was a long open space separated only by clear glass allowing free movement and easy collaboration.
I mostly mention this because the video above – on How Buildings Learn – has a fantastic story at the beginning about MIT’s famous media lab:
I was at the Media Lab when it was brand new. In the three months I was there, the elevator caught fire, the revolving door kept breaking, every doorknob in the building had to be replaced, the automatic door-closer was stronger than people and had to be adjusted, and an untraceable stench of something horrible dead filled the lecture hall for months. This was normal.
In many research buildings, a central atrium serves to bring people together with open stairways, casual meeting areas, and a shared entrance where people meet daily. The Media Lab’s entrance cuts people off from each other; there are three widely separated entrances each huge and glassy; three scattered elevators; few stairs; and from nowhere can you see other humans in the five story space. Where people might be visible, they are carefully obscured by internal windows of smoked glass.