OBSERVATIONS
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IN THIS ISSUE
The story line is an important concept when dealing with a house museum: What is the message this museum is trying to convey, and what should visitors take away from their experience with it? Virtually every aspect of a well-conceived house museum is influenced by the story line, from the choices made during restoration to how it is furnished and what its interpreters tell visitors. Story lines have a role to play in rehabilitation and extension of inhabited houses, as well. Here, the story line serves as a useful reality check on the proposed work, helping to ensure that the end result will be coherent and plausible. When a client and I are planning to restore or extend a house, I like to ask a key question: "Is what we're planning the plausible result of change over time, or is it an upheaval based on some magically imposed present-day whim?" (Present-day whims are not necessarily terrible, by the way. Some of the most fearsomely wonderful examples of later nineteenth-century house remodelling were, essentially, just that.) I prefer, though, to try to base my work on a story line of evolutionary change over time, rather than sudden upheaval. It seems to me that much of the appeal of old buildings is their connection to the past. When we change them, we ought to try to build on their connections and enhance them, rather than to replace them with something totally new. That's the job, I believe, for so-called reproduction buildings. Back
to the top Asbestos was once properly regarded as a true miracle material: Strong and flexible, it doesn't rot or corrode, it insulates against heat and electric current, and it was used to add strength to everything from tar paper to floor tile. Unfortunately, it is also a potent carcinogen, and in recent years has become the subject of a good deal of legislation, governmental regulations, and controversy. There wasn't much controversy, though, about the paper-like substance that the contractor encountered underneath the slates and tarpaper on the roof of a building we were working on a few years ago. It had been there since about 1900, and was still white--asbestos. In fact, the lab which analyzed it said it was 91% asbestos. And worse, the tarpaper on top of it was 88% the same stuff! We'll spare you what followed... The moral of this story, though, is that working on old buildings presents a great opportunity for finding materials that are now considered hazardous. In most circumstances, it is not only wise to have a licernsed and certified professional inspect the building for such materials before beginning alterations or demolition, it is often required by State and Federal law. At the very least, failure to do so can subject a project to bureaucratic entanglement, delays and unforeseen costs; at the worst it can result in possible injury or death. Back
to the top Popular perception, egged on by Ayn Rand's infamous novel, "The Fountainhead," tends to see architects as primarily concerned with large, spectacular, and ego-feeding projects. That notwithstanding, many architects (present company definitely included) enjoy taking on the challenges presented by small matters, many of which don't even involve drawings. Since these modest projects don't require the full range of architectural services, we generally call this kind of work, "Partial services." Partial services include an enormous range of activity. To give a few examples:
Partial services involve small amounts of time, usually between an hour and a day or so. Their cost is small, too, beginning around a hundred dollars. They are complete in themselves, and carry no further obligation beyond paying the bill (We are always happy, though, to explore further services when that's appropriate). Partial services can be extraordinarily cost-effective; some of our clients have used them repeatedly for years. Back
to the top A NEW APPROACH TO DAMP BASEMENTS A perennial problem with old buildings is basement dampness. Water vapor diffuses in through the floor and walls, and can produce dangerously high humidity--I've been in basements which were so damp that water was condensing on the structure overhead, and raining down onto the floor. And yes, those timbers were full of rot. Everyone agrees that this dampness is dangerous; water is probably the single worst enemy that old buildings have. The problem is how to control it? Old basements are porous. Earth floors and rubble stone walls offer little impediment to the passage of water vapor. While a vapor retarder membrane will eliminate most of the moisture entering through the floor, it can do nothing about the walls. Ventilation and dehumidification become essential. The simplest source of ventilation is open windows. As long as there are enough openings and the outside air is relatively dry, this approach works well. When the outside air is warm and humid, and in cold weather, though, ventilation becomes unsatisfactory. Circulating cold outdoor air through the basement of a heated building is a grand way to produce cold floors, uncomfortable occupants, and frozen pipes. And as we have already noted, when the outside air is warm and humid, attempts to ventilate away basement humidity may do just the opposite. Mechanical dehumidification can bring the relative humidity down to any level (forty to fifty percent is usually considered desirable). Dehumidifiers are not cheap to operate, but they are effective and useful, so long as the air temperature in the basement is above sixty to sixty-five degrees F. Once the ambient air temperature drops lower, though, their coils tend to ice up, reducing the machines' effectiveness and causing their motors to burn out. An ingenious approach to humidity control takes advantage of the fact that relative humidity falls as temperature increases. With this approach, a humid space is heated when it is too cool to dehumidify mechanically. The heat, however, is not controlled by the conventional temperature-sensing thermostats, but rather by moisture-sensing humidistats. The result is that the temperature is raised just enough to drop the relative humidity into the target range. If the space becomes warm enough to allow safe use of dehumidifiers, they are employed as well. This approach appears very promising. We are studying it for use in projects currently in the office. For a more extensive discussion of this topic in the context of a multi-building museum, see Richard L. Kerschner, A Practical Approach to Environmental Requirements for Collections in Historic Buildings, in the Journal of the American Institute for Conservation, #31 (1992). Back
to the top Recently I got into a conversation about what I look for in deciding whether to take on a new project. Beyond the obvious matters of whether the work appears to fall within my area of expertise and whether I have sufficient time available to be able to commit to a reasonable schedule, there are other considerations as well: I believe that good projects all contain three important characteristics: First, a good project involves a building or situation that is interesting, and presents an opportunity for me to accomplish something worth doing. Second, it involves clients who appear as though they will be fun to work with and who will be involved in their project. And third, it gives me the chance to make a difference, and the probability of a good outcome. "Interesting," as those familiar with the old Chinese curse* know, is not always nice or easy. It is challenging, though, and engaging, and can really test your mettle. "Fun" is similarly subject to more than one interpretation. The clients whom I remember with the most warmth and enthusiasm are not the ones who tried to put themselves in my hands and meekly go along for the ride. Rather, they're the ones who cared passionately about what was happening, who called me evenings and weekends with thoughts and questions, who sometimes drove me nearly nuts with their involvement, but who motivated me to do my very best... and whose active participation in the process improved the end result in so many ways. And, happily, that describes most of The Office's clients. This is the real world, and obviously not all my projects and clients meet these criteria. I sometimes take on projects that fall short, but the projects that do measure up are those which I remember as the most satisfying to have done, of which I am the most proud, and whose owners appear to be the most pleased. *) "May you live an interesting life!" |
Copyright 1994-2008 Allen C. Hill
