The importance of place, tradition, education and social organisation in town evolution

All the way up. Digital art by Myriam B. Mahiques

DR. J. LIONEL TAYLER (Author of "Aspects of Social Evolution") said: 

While agreeing with Prof. Geddes in his belief in the importance of institutional and geographical studies as a basis for the investigation of the development of cities, it yet seems to me that these studies cannot prove of supreme value to society unless they are accompanied by a detailed examination of the natural characteristics of all individuals who have been born into and existed in, or merely dwelt in, these surroundings. It is not enough to trace out, however accurately, the various stages of a town's growth from its commencement to the present time, because the cause of  the evolution of any city aggregate lies deeper, is in large part animate, and not inanimate, in character. The value of the surroundings depends at least as much upon the capacity of the individual citizen, singly and collectively, to utilise what he or she is brought in contact with as upon the peculiarities of these surroundings themselves. Place, tradition, social organisation, individual development, education, are factors in town evolution that cannot safely be overlooked, and they all vary from age to age and in place and place. If it were possible to completely exchange the inhabitants of a large town in England with those of an equally large town in France two groups of changes would become more or less rapidly observable: (1) the French and English citizens would adapt themselves, as far as they desired and were able, to their altered conditions; (2) the characteristics of both towns would gradually change, in spite of geographical position, in response to the altered human needs. Similarly, a town composed of individuals who are naturally uncultured and unprogressive will tend to preserve its uncultured and unprogressive characters more than another that has alert citizens to carry on its activities. Every profession and every trade tends to foster its own social atmosphere; and towns will vary with their industrial life, and individuals favourably disposed to this atmosphere will come to the town, and those unfavourably inclined to it will leave. These changing citizens, as they act upon and react to their surroundings and vary in their powers age by age, are the real evolvers of the conditions in which they dwell; hence the citizen must not be omitted from our study if we are to understand city growth. In other words, I think that every investigation of civic, and for that matter country life should be studied from two aspects: (1) to note the peculiarities, growth and development of the material, non-living and non-thinking elements in the problem—the buildings, their geographical position, their age, their fitness for past and present life, and the distinctive local features that are evolving or retrogressing with the multiplication of some trades and industries and the decline of others in each area that is studied; (2) the change in the quality of the citizens themselves through racial, educational, and other factors, noting how far ideals are altering, not only in the mass of individuals taken as a whole, but also by examining the changing outlook in every trade and profession. With these two parallel lines of investigation to study, we could then determine how far environment—social and climatic—how far racial and individual characteristics have been powerful in the moulding of the fabric around us. With these two lines of study to our hands, we could predict the vitality, the growing power, and the future possibilities of the social life of which we are a tiny though not an insignificant part; we could, knowing something of the response that we make to that which surrounds us, form some estimate of how the future ages will develop, and, knowing the intensity of the different national desires for progress and the causes which are likely to arouse such desires, we could realise what will stimulate and what will retard all that is best in our civic life. 

 REFERENCE 

Civics: as Applied Sociology by Patrick Geddes Read before the Sociological Society at a Meeting in the School of Economics and Political Science (University of London), Clare Market, W.C., at 5 p.m., on Monday, July 18th, 1904; the Rt. Hon. CHARLES BOOTH, F.R.S., in the Chair. Pages 126/127

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/13205/13205-h/13205-h.htm

From My Suburban Residence. By Francis Bret Harte

Mancha urbana en crecimiento. Pintura digital de Myriam B. Mahiques

I´ve been happily reading URBAN SKETCHES by Francis Bret Harte (1836-1902) who was an American author and poet, best remembered for his accounts of pioneering life in California.

This particular story, called My Suburban Residence made me laugh, because it reminded me my neighbor below, complaining about the front door´s slam, needless to say our front balcony is like a wind tunnel, my plants are almost dead -though I take care of them-.
And the anecdote of the hose, a relative of us told me he was photographed by the pilot of one of the City´s airplanes and was given a fine of $300: he was watering the lawn with a hose, and it means too much water, nowadays.
My neighbor was at the same business of watering and my daughter complaint, she didn´t have cold water to mix the hot water while she was taking a shower.
And I live close to the City Hall, but, after all, who cares?
Though, an old story, it could be anywhere in California today. 

I live in the suburbs. My residence, to quote the pleasing fiction of the advertisement, "is within fifteen minutes' walk of the City Hall." Why the City Hall should be considered as an eligible terminus of anybody's walk, under any circumstances, I have not been able to determine. Never having walked from my residence to that place, I am unable to verify the assertion, though I may state as a purely abstract and separate proposition, that it takes me the better part of an hour to reach Montgomery Street.

My selection of locality was a compromise between my wife's desire to go into the country, and my own predilections for civic habitation. Like most compromises, it ended in retaining the objectionable features of both propositions; I procured the inconveniences of the country without losing the discomforts of the city. I increased my distance from the butcher and green-grocer, without approximating to herds and kitchen-gardens. But I anticipate.

 Fresh air was to be the principal thing sought for. That there might be too much of this did not enter into my calculations. The first day I entered my residence, it blew; the second day was windy; the third, fresh, with a strong breeze stirring; on the fourth, it blew; on the fifth, there was a gale, which has continued to the present writing.

That the air is fresh, the above statement sufficiently establishes. That it is bracing, I argue from the fact that I find it impossible to open the shutters on the windward side of the house. That it is healthy, I am also convinced, believing that there is no other force in Nature that could so buffet and ill-use a person without serious injury to him. Let me offer an instance. The path to my door crosses a slight eminence. The unconscious visitor, a little exhausted by the ascent and the general effects of the gentle gales which he has faced in approaching my hospitable mansion, relaxes his efforts, smooths his brow, and approaches with a fascinating smile. Rash and too confident man! The wind delivers a succession of rapid blows, and he is thrown back. He staggers up again, in the language of the P. R., "smiling and confident." The wind now makes for a vulnerable point, and gets his hat in chancery. All ceremony is now thrown away; the luckless wretch seizes his hat with both hands, and charges madly at the front door. Inch by inch, the wind contests the ground; another struggle, and he stands upon the veranda. On such occasions I make it a point to open the door myself, with a calmness and serenity that shall offer a marked contrast to his feverish and excited air, and shall throw suspicion of inebriety upon him. If he be inclined to timidity and bashfulness, during the best of the evening he is all too conscious of the disarrangement of his hair and cravat. If he is less sensitive, the result is often more distressing. A valued elderly friend once called upon me after undergoing a twofold struggle with the wind and a large Newfoundland dog (which I keep for reasons hereinafter stated), and not only his hat, but his wig, had suffered. He spent the evening with me, totally unconscious of the fact that his hair presented the singular spectacle of having been parted diagonally from the right temple to the left ear. When ladies called, my wife preferred to receive them. They were generally hysterical, and often in tears. I remember, one Sunday, to have been startled by what appeared to be the balloon from Hayes Valley drifting rapidly past my conservatory, closely followed by the Newfoundland dog. I rushed to the front door, but was anticipated by my wife. A strange lady appeared at lunch, but the phenomenon remained otherwise unaccounted for. Egress from my residence is much more easy. My guests seldom "stand upon the order of their going, but go at once"; the Newfoundland dog playfully harassing their rear. I was standing one day, with my hand on the open hall door, in serious conversation with the minister of the parish, when the back door was cautiously opened. The watchful breeze seized the opportunity, and charged through the defenceless passage. The front door closed violently in the middle of a sentence, precipitating the reverend gentleman into the garden. The Newfoundland dog, with that sagacity for which his race is so distinguished, at once concluded that a personal collision had taken place between myself and visitor, and flew to my defence. The reverend gentleman never called again. (...)

Space is one of the desirable features of my suburban residence. I do not know the number of acres the grounds contain except from the inordinate quantity of hose required for irrigating. I perform daily, like some gentle shepherd, upon a quarter-inch pipe without any visible result, and have had serious thoughts of contracting with some disbanded fire company for their hose and equipments. It is quite a walk to the wood-house. Every day some new feature of the grounds is discovered. My youngest boy was one day missing for several hours. His head—a peculiarly venerable and striking object—was at last discovered just above the grass at some distance from the house. On examination he was found comfortably seated in a disused drain, in company with a silver spoon and a dead rat. On being removed from this locality he howled dismally and refused to be comforted.

The view from my suburban residence is fine. Lone Mountain, with its white obelisks, is a suggestive if not cheering termination of the vista in one direction, while the old receiving vault of Yerba Buena Cemetery limits the view in another. Most of the funerals which take place pass my house. My children, with the charming imitativeness that belongs to youth, have caught the spirit of these passing corteges, and reproduce in the back yard, with creditable skill, the salient features of the lugubrious procession. A doll, from whose features all traces of vitality and expression have been removed, represents the deceased. Yet unfortunately I have been obliged to promise them more active participation in this ceremony at some future time, and I fear that they look anxiously forward with the glowing impatience of youth to the speedy removal of some one of my circle of friends. I am told that the eldest, with the unsophisticated frankness that belongs to his age, made a personal request to that effect to one of my acquaintances. One singular result of the frequency of these funerals is the development of a critical and fastidious taste in such matters on the part of myself and family. If I may so express myself, without irreverence, we seldom turn out for anything less than six carriages. Any number over this is usually breathlessly announced by Bridget as, "Here's another, mum,—and a good long one."

 With these slight drawbacks my suburban residence is charming. To the serious poet, and writer of elegiac verses, the aspect of Nature, viewed from my veranda, is suggestive.(...)

READ THE STORY IN FULL

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2598/2598-h/2598-h.htm#2H_4_0006

A video about ¨modern map making¨ in 1940

Now that we have Google Earth, we don´t even think about map making. I love old maps, when I was 9 years old, I was delighted by an Egyptian map with depictions of gods and treasures located in every point of interest; it was in the first page of a children´s archaeology book. From this map, I took the habit of copying old maps for the elementary school, in China ink. The teachers, very happy with my ¨new skill.¨

This video was posted at 

http://www.theatlantic.com/video/archive/2012/06/caught-mapping-1940/258710/#

¿Se necesitan ¨impluviums¨ en Buenos Aires para lavar las veredas?

Si Ud llegó a este post es porque conoce las veredas de Buenos Aires, y seguramente muchas veces se tropezó, se mojó inesperadamente (y se manchó con barro) al pisar una baldosa floja, y tal vez muchas veces lavó la vereda con manguera, o como mi mamá hacía, con muchos baldes de agua y detergente.

Yo ayudaba a mi mamá en la tarea, que con los años, me pareció extraña. ¿Porqué sacarle lustre a la vereda?

¿Cuál es el propósito de baldear una vereda y gastar litros y litros de agua? Pues, que la basura aún sigue en la calle y entre cartoneros y perros, todo se desparrama y se llena de moscas y otros bichos; que no hay bicisendas suficientes y las veredas también se usan para andar en bicicleta; que nuestras veredas no son de concreto (en otras palabras de cemento armado) y el diseño de vainillas junta tierra, barro, hojas. Y finalmente, ¿cómo se entera uno de los chismes si no sale a baldear la vereda y así poder charlar con los vecinos?.

Estas fotos que ven aquí, son tres ejemplos de veredas con plantas que he tomado en Beverly Hills. Pero no hace falta visitar semejante lugar de costosas viviendas para ver este diseño. La combinación pasto-cemento es típica de las veredas estadounidenses. Al menos en California, está prohibido regar con manguera, el pasto es de bajo consumo de agua o en los lugares más secos SE BAJAN IMPUESTOS MUNICIPALES por plantar suculentas, en otras palabras, plantas carnosas de montaña que no requieren riego (o apenas) y además tienen bellas flores.

¿Quién hace las veredas? La Ciudad (traducido, el Municipio). Si Ud se cae en una de estas veredas lisitas, con sólo las juntas de trabajo, Ud puede hacerle juicio a la Ciudad y ganarlo, por supuesto.

Las veredas son uniformes y el paisaje de plantas obligatorio.

Es por ello que leer la nota del Clarín, que ahora será obligatorio juntar el agua de lluvia para baldear las veredas porteñas (y vaya, que tenemos cantidad de tormentas), me tomó por sorpresa, y pienso si mis colegas han reparado en los gastos para los edificios y si de pronto no es mejor reciclar el agua de lluvia para un mejor uso, crear bicisendas, buscar otros sistemas de recolección de basura, que sean inviolables, controlar y penalizar a quienes dejen que sus animales nos ensucien las veredas, y otras medidas más para que el baldeo de la vereda se minimize, si bien tal vez no se pueda eliminar.

Desde que he dejado la casa de mis padres, no he baldeado mis veredas salvo por los desmanes mencionados arriba, pero sí las he barrido. Es mi punto de vista....

A continuación, reproduzco el artículo de Silvia Gómez para Clarín:

Con 50 votos a favor la Legislatura porteña aprobó ayer una ley para que los nuevos edificios que se construyan en la Ciudad r ecuperen el agua de la lluvia para usarla en la limpieza de las veredas y el riego de plantas . Y aunque quedarán exceptuados los que tengan menos de cuatro pisos, regirá tanto para los destinados a viviendas, como oficinas, depósitos y fábricas . Además, con una campaña de concientización sobre el cuidado del agua, buscan que todas las edificaciones incorporen paulatinamente este cambio , más allá de que la ley no obligue a las ya existentes a tener el sistema. Se estima que para lavar una vereda se usan 300 litros de agua potable. Y es una queja recurrente de los consorcistas el derroche esto genera. “Tendrá un costo estimado del 0,2 % del total de la inversión para un edificio nuevo de 1.000 metros cuadrados”, estimó la legisladora Karina Spalla, autora del proyecto junto a Cristian Ritondo (ambos del PRO). El cálculo responde a un edificio de unos cinco pisos en un terreno de 8,66 metros de frente. El sistema de recolección es sencillo: se colocan cañerías pluviales que evacúan el agua en tanques de reserva exclusivos , instalados en las plantas bajas de los edificios. A su vez, los tanques se conectan a bombas para elevar la presión del agua y facilitar, y también agilizar, las tareas de limpieza. Además del ahorro evidente que generará en el uso del agua potable, el sistema permitirá “ amortiguar el impacto inicial de las tormentas que viene sufriendo la Ciudad”, explicó Ritondo. Una parte de las lluvias cargará los tanques. Si el sistema se adoptara masivamente, también entre los edificios 50.000 edificios que ya existen, mejoraría mucho la absorción de las napas , que se perdió justamente a partir de la construcción. El proyecto pasó dos veces por la Legislatura para aprobarse. En noviembre se realizó una audiencia pública en la que hubo críticas. Cuando la ley se promulgue modificará el Código de Edificación de la Ciudad. Recién entonces regirá para quienes tramiten permisos de construcción. Los ya entregados no serán alcanzados. La intervención del Consejo Profesional de Arquitectura y Urbanismo (CPAU) aportó cambios. “El proyecto original establecía tanques de almacenamiento en relación a los metros cuadrados del edificio. Nosotros planteamos que se determine en función del promedio de agua caída ”, explicó la arquitecta Cristina Beatriz Fernández, a cargo de la Comisión de Arquitectura de la CPAU.

http://www.clarin.com/ciudades/Nuevos-edificios-deberan-juntar-lluvia_0_736126528.html

My pictures of the Paul Getty Villa

In 1945 oil investor J. Paul Getty purchased a 64 acre site in the beautiful Malibu, Southern California; in 1954 he opened the original Paul Getty Museum in his home to exhibit his collection of Greek and Roman antiquities.

In 1968, Getty decided to re-create a first century Roman country house, the Villa dei Papiri on the Malibu property to display his growing collection of art. This Villa was opened to the public in 1974, and though he followed up all the construction works from England -where he was living-, Getty was never able to visit his own Villa, he died in 1976.

In 1997 the Villa was closed to the public for renovation works, assigned to the Argentine architects Machado-Silvetti, whose main studio is established in Boston. In the meanwhile, the Paul Getty Center, designed by Richard Meier opened to exhibit mostly modern art.

In 2006 the renovated Villa was opened again.

My impression is that the Villa design is a kind of kitsch, you can feel it is not real, except for the Greek and Roman exhibitions.

Anyway, I enjoyed walking around, took a lot of pictures and had a wonderful afternoon.

Regarding the work of Machado-Silvetti, the idea of the archaeological stratification is great, made with expertise, and the details, were excellent. My architect husband says some expensive details by Machado-Silvetti are only understood by architects, maybe he is right, while inside the gift shop, I missed an impressive marble at its corner, a complete piece cut in a slight arch to make a perfect -almost hidden- finish. 

These pictures belong to my archives and please, do not reproduce without my permission.

  

From the web page of Machado-Silvetti:

The project includes the remodeling of the existing J. Paul Getty Museum (a re-creation of the Villa dei Papiri, a first-century Roman country house) to create a new home for the Getty’s permanent collection of antiquities; the transformation of Mr. Getty’s ranch house into a research facility; and the construction of new buildings, public areas, and gardens. The various elements—including the new Entry Pavilion, the Barbara and Lawrence Fleischman Theater, Café, Museum Store, conservation labs, scholar’s library and educational facilities—are conceived as an integral part of the new gardens and outdoor spaces, with the original villa serving as the centerpiece. These new elements are either expressed as stratified retaining walls (such as the Auditorium, the Museum Store, and the conservation labs) or articulated as discrete architectural elements (as is the case with the Entry Pavilion and the Theater). The new architecture neither contrasts nor emulates the architecture of the museum building itself, but defines the character for the new Getty Villa site so that it stands on its own while seeking harmony with all the disparate existing structures, steep topography, the gardens, and public spaces. What had originally been a set of unrelated buildings and paths is now a coherent, harmonious environment. The new architecture transforms the inherent topographical difficulties into an amenity, allowing visitors to wander through the lush site, following the contours of the design and terrain, as if experiencing the drama of an archaeological dig.

http://www.machado-silvetti.com/projects/getty_gardens/index.php

My pictures from the gardens of Rancho Los Alamitos. Long Beach, California

I´ve been visiting Rancho Los Alamitos last weekend and enjoyed the house and gardens.

See the gardens after the restoration:

Rancho Los Alamitos is a microcosm of the regional story. In the intersecting lives of native people, owners and workers who once called this place home and transformed its land is the richness, drama and complexity of California’s legacy. Change and continuity reverberate throughout the history of the Rancho. Sacred ground; water; land for farming, ranching, and real estate; oil; historic open space; as well as people from around the world—all have emerged at the right time to renew and sustain natural and cultural communities, and reshape and renew the Rancho over generations. The continual remix of diversity is the mark of a resilient landscape and accounts for the long, ongoing, beneficial evolution of Rancho Los Alamitos. Today Rancho Los Alamitos is 7.5-acres, a rare vestige of the original 300,000-acre Los Coyotes land concession given to Manuel Nieto in 1790 for his service on the Gaspar de Portolá expedition to California under the Spanish Crown. However, the story of Rancho Los Alamitos precedes these first newcomers, for the historic site is also part of the ancestral village of Povuu’ngna, the traditional place of origin of the native Gabrielino-Tongva people of the Los Angeles Basin, and still a sacred place. Nieto’s vast land holdings included 25,500 acres which in 1833 became Rancho Los Alamitos—Ranch of the Little Cottonwoods. The name suggested its most valuable asset since cottonwoods grow near water, and grew plentifully near the natural springs of Povuu’ngna below the hill. For Nieto, the land was a ranching gem and reward from the Spanish Crown. Subsequent owners Governor José Figueroa and Yankee Don Abel Stearns saw the site as a smart investment and perhaps a haven away from rough Los Angeles. To generations of the Bixby family, the ranch’s last private owners, and the workers, tenant and lease farmers who worked there, Rancho Los Alamitos was an enterprising ranch that would endure for almost a century through the rise of modern-day Long Beach. From the time of ancestral Povuu’ngna through the Spanish-Mexican era of land concessions and grants native workers fueled the Alta California economy. In turn, the early American era owners of Alamitos, like other Yankee dons throughout the state, relied on successive workers from the U.S., Europe, China, and Japan to cultivate fields and raise livestock, and in the twentieth century, depended on labor from Mexico as well as Belgian tenant and Japanese lease farmers. During the 1880’s booming real estate, 5,000 acres of Alamitos land were developed, and by the early twentieth century, Alamitos oil subsidized the remaining 3,600-acre ranch, but the black gold flowed over open space into rampant urban growth. In 1968, the children of Fred and Florence Bixby, the last private owners, donated the family ranch to the City of Long Beach, transforming what had been a working ranch to a public oasis and setting the stage for what Rancho Los Alamitos is today—a place for all time..

http://www.rancholosalamitos.com/history.html