On one view, the new expansion of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts is an overdue correction. Dubbed the Reach, the expansion features a newly landscaped terrace with three angular, brilliant pavilions. The project introduces several welcome amenities that the first building forgot. Things like windows. Scale. Rooms.
The original building was troubled from day one. In her review for The New York Times, Ada Louise Huxtable declared war on the Kennedy Center, ripping into Edward Durrell Stone’s monumental temple as a marble “superbunker.” She enumerated the Kennedy Center’s many excesses, from its 600-foot-long, 60-foot-high grand foyer (an “apotheosized corridor”) to its 18 crystal chandeliers. Her 1971 curtain-raiser likened the building’s flag-hung halls to a Soviet palace. It’s a marvel the Kennedy Center bothered to open at all.
So the Reach, the expansion designed by Steven Holl Architects that opens on September 7, is mindful not to be another Overreach. There are no gold pillars, no red carpets, and almost no marble. From the above-ground view of the Kennedy Center’s south lawn, the expansion even resembles a great white block that’s been struck by lightning, split open by the heavens into three irregular chunks.
“There’s all this awe-inspiring activity taking place behind these marble walls. But nobody can see it,” says Deborah Rutter, president of the Kennedy Center, referring to Stone’s memorial building, which measures 630 by 300 by 100 feet (with 0 windows).
In almost every possible way, the Reach is a pivot from the Kennedy Center’s imperiousness. The Reach is open, with porous barriers to distinguish passageways from performance spaces. It’s light, with apertures that reach even below-grade areas. And it’s fluid, with unexpected twists at every turn. Yet the expansion is extravagant to a fault and disorienting to explore—qualities that it inherited from its federal paterfamilias.
Established by Congress as a memorial the year after President John F. Kennedy’s death, the Kennedy Center opened 48 years ago, nearly to the date. (Despite Huxtable’s best efforts.) Over the years, it has added programs to accommodate newer categories of performance (namely with the Millennium Stage). But the performance hall is almost single-mindedly suited to large-scale productions such as those of the Washington National Opera or Hamilton. Spaces at the Reach, all of which are named after details from JFK’s life, are tailor-made to showcase the performing-arts center’s smaller stage acts, from hip-hop to dance to ceramics demonstrations.
Picture a horizontal triangular plane that intersects three vertical columns (named the Entrance, Skylight, and River pavilions). That begins to describe the layout of the Reach. The entire 72,000-square-foot facility is nested within a sloping riverside landscape that runs to nearly five acres, offering some 130,000 square feet of gardens and greenways. Visitors walking the length of the Reach will see green rooftops that gradually descend underfoot. Visitors walking the perimeter of the Reach can peer into studios at multiple levels.
They might start at the Entrance Pavilion, which is accessible from the parking garage, the street, and the Stone building. By several routes, patrons will enter the pavilion underground, although they might never know it. All three pavilions are above-ground caps to a structure that weaves above and below grade. The experience never feels claustrophobic. (Holl likes to play with orientation in space: In Shenzhen, China, he designed a project known as the Horizontal Skyscraper, which is as long as the Empire State Building is tall.)
“It’s all about planes and volumes,” says Chris McVoy, senior partner with Steven Holl Architects, speaking about the Reach. “The rooms become the structure.”
From the inside, the Reach expansion conceals as it reveals. Several studios, most of which can be configured for either performance or rehearsal needs, offer sight lines to the outdoors. The windows in P.T. 109 (a flex space named for the boat that Kennedy commanded during World War II) look out over a patio deck and reflecting pool; some of this glass is strategically etched (or frosted) to block views of cars along the adjacent spaghetti spool of highways. Elsewhere, a person walking by the building might be able to peer inside Studio F and catch (say) a rehearsal led by Tiler Peck, the principal dancer for the New York City Ballet.
So windows offer light, but they also speak to the philosophy behind the whole expansion. Rutter says that the younger audiences that the Kennedy Center hopes to attract want to see more than the polished production. They want to see how the work is made. There is no backstage to the Justice Forum (a heavy title for the Reach’s most intimate stage); when performers exit the space, they’re out in the hall. Rutter compares the setup to a comedian performing at a bar: “When the comedian finishes a set, they’re just in the pub.”
The informal jumble of thoroughfares and practices spaces at the Reach stands in stark contrast to the imposing march from the Hall of Nations to the Opera House at the Stone building. One is like jazz; the other is, well, opera. But the improvisational air is also a bit of a put-on. Holl’s interiors for the Reach boast some of the finest, most exacting finishes in the city. The Justice Forum as well as Studios J, F, and K—(get it?)—all feature walls lined with a material called crinkle concrete, a breakthrough in acoustics technology developed by the architects. And throughout the Reach, the board-formed concrete surfaces infused with titanium white pigment are both blindlingly bright and tantalizingly touchable.
While the landscape is still literally growing into place, it’s already a muscular asset of the new campus. There are symbolic treatments, like the grove of 35 gingko trees planted to honor the 35th president, but the geometry steals the show. Along the sloping terrace, Holl and landscape architect Edmund Hollander built a few curving stretches of green that the architects call “sedum swoops.” These correspond to curvilinear roofs or walls that form the pavilions. These bends in the surface are planted with sedum, a succulent grass sturdy enough to grow vertically when the curvature of the landscape calls for it. Imagine a triangle that’s been lifted and turned at its vertex, with one face covered in greenery and the other textured concrete.
One of the challenges for the Reach was to thread the site with the city. The expansion occupies an isolated promontory bounded by Rock Creek Parkway and the Interstate 66 exchange on two sides (and the solemn Stone building on the other). The designers built a new pedestrian bridge which spans the parkway, connecting the Reach to an improved promenade along the Potomac River and the Rock Creek Park Trail. Bicycle paths now reach the site, too. The River Pavilion introduces an attractive new cafe and bar (with a sliding glass wall) to an area that sorely lacks in amenities. (Holl’s original design put the River Pavilion in the Potomac River, but it didn’t pass muster with federal stakeholders.)
The most magical space at the Reach might be the Skylight Pavilion, where many of Holl’s signatures all come together: a cutaway corner skylight, a wall-spanning window that will make the whole volume appear to glow at night. None of the walls meet in exact corners. Lamps suspended from the 36-foot-tall ceilings look as if though they’re floating on air. The precedent that comes to mind for this pavilion is Corbusier’s Notre Dame du Haut chapel in Ronchamp, France. McVoy notes that the curving exterior of the Skylight Pavilion is the rare wall that casts a shadow onto itself.
Finding the Skylight Pavilion or any other specific destination, however, will be a challenge. From the Moonshot Studio to the Hammersmith Lounge, there are too many named spaces, and because the studios are designed to fit flexible needs, they all appear to suit the same amorphous purpose. A glance at the calendar for the expansion’s two-week-long opening festivities reveals a rainbow blur of color-coded performances and happenings scheduled at spaces with Camelot-inspired names that don’t tell people anything. This is not all the architects’ fault: The Kennedy Center might not know yet what it wants the Reach to do.
The original brief for the expansion called for back-of-house space for administrative or rehearsal use. McVoy says that Holl envisioned a living memorial from the outset, before the client had even settled on event spaces stretching down along the Potomac River; the firm’s design edged past entries from Richard Meier & Partners, Pei Cobb Freed & Partners, and Diller Scofidio + Renfro. The architect’s conceit was to open the Kennedy Center to the city and invite the audience onto the stage by turning the building inside out.
The hope is that the new Kennedy Center will dash the audience’s expectations for a performance venue. Wayfinding isn’t an issue for a visitor who is open to a bit of improvisation from the venue itself. The Reach was made for accidents, whether that’s the office worker who wanders in for coffee and lingers to watch a cellist rehearse, or a jogger who catches a glimpse of ballet while running on a drizzly day, or a couple with a 7:30 curtain who bail for a comedy set instead. The Reach is painstakingly, exquisitely, exactingly designed for chance.
Thirty-seven-hundred tons of Carrara marble went into the construction of the original Kennedy Center. Throughout the new Reach expansion, there’s only a single isolated incident of marble: the donor plaque near the entrance. This marble is the only physical tether to the original building, and the architects went all the way to Italy, to the exact same quarry where the first building was mined, to find it. That’s effort. The Reach goes to incredible lengths to show how this new Kennedy Center is not the old Kennedy Center. The effort is epic. “Washington superscale,” Huxtable once called it.
On Friday, Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez gave Twitter users a look at two new posters her office is issuing to promote the Green New Deal, apparently the beginning of a series of GND-themed posters:
Surprise!✨I am thrilled to announce the launch of our #GreenNewDeal art series with custom Bronx & Queens GND posters.— Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (@AOC) August 30, 2019
The Bronx edition poster will be given for free as a limited release to the public at our Pelham Bay Nature Day & Backpack Giveaway in the Bronx tomorrow.
The posters were designed by the New York firm Tandem, which was also behind the congresswoman’s election campaign. Scott Starrett, a co-founder of Tandem, created them with artist Gavin Snider. Starrett said that more posters, of local parks in cities other than New York, will follow, but the timing of their release is uncertain.
If the posters seem at first glance to have a retro vibe, you’re not wrong, as the congresswoman confirmed in a follow-up tweet. The chunky all-caps type, the emphasis on places of natural beauty, and even the color palettes are intended to evoke posters produced nearly a century ago by a singular federal program in American history: the Federal Art Project, an office of the New Deal-era Works Progress Administration. (The program survived the termination of the WPA for a few years within a new agency, the Federal Works Administration.)
The Federal Art Project was one of five cultural initiatives, known collectively as Federal One, that employed out-of-work writers, musicians, artists, and actors. Over the eight years of its existence, the project’s thousands of artists produced a staggering amount of public art, including 108,000 paintings, 17,000 sculptures, and 2,500 murals. Some 35,000 poster designs were part of that output.
The posters served manifold purposes, from advertising dramatic productions, agricultural fairs, and community art classes, to issuing public-health warnings about tuberculosis testing and workplace hazards. In the program’s final years, after the United States had entered World War II, artists designed posters with messages urging citizens to be on the alert and to support the war effort.
Perhaps the best-recognized Federal Art Project posters today, though, are the ones from the 1930s that advertised national parks and monuments. Often rendered in pastel and earth tones, they conveyed the majesty of landscapes like the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone in a style that was modern and romantic at once.
Starrett said the WPA parks posters were his inspiration, describing them to CityLab as “extremely well known and revered in design circles, and among enthusiasts of public parks as well. ... Even if people can’t articulate it, they tend to respond to the reference. I think they’ve seeped into our culture.” He added that he felt a connection to artist C. Don Powell, who designed the two posters below, because he was from Kansas, and so is Starrett.
The new GND posters more than nod to these forerunners—they even replicate their distinctive “gaspipe” lettering. It’s not hard to see why Ocasio-Cortez and other framers of the Green New Deal wanted to tap into this history. Most obviously, the artistic homage helps position the GND as the successor to the original New Deal, which GND advocates have tried to do rhetorically as well as visually. The posters also remind us that a not-insignificant focus of the New Deal was the protection of natural resources. The Civilian Conservation Corps, for example, enrolled a total of 3 million young men who helped manage forests and carried out projects to control soil erosion and prevent floods, among other tasks. The parallel with the climate-resilience vision of the GND is clear.
Asked how he hopes people will respond to the posters, Starrett said, using the example of the Pelham Bay Park one, “Ideally, they will see it and feel good feelings about it. Then they’ll look a litle deeper, and see there’s light rail and windmills in the back, and there’s an appreciation of nature and of art and of public space. Perhaps they’ll go to that park, and think about the people that made the park possible—and what can they make possible?”
With the GND constantly assailed as radical, the retro posters nudge viewers to recall that big, federal-government-led plans have a long history in the U.S. Of course, like the New Deal as a whole, the Federal Art Project had plenty of detractors in its day (including some government officials), who said it was wasteful and accused its artists of harboring un-American sympathies. (Some WPA-era artistic controversies are still going on, as the recent debate over this mural in San Francisco shows.) When conservative Twitter users shot back at AOC that the posters look like Soviet propaganda, that was history repeating itself, again.
Starrett is bemused by the Soviet comparison: He thought including the Unisphere from the 1964 World’s Fair and the statue on top of the Bronx Victory Memorial, which commemorates servicemen who died in World War I, was a way to highlight American themes. But he thinks the deep familiarity of the WPA posters might be one reason for it. People know they’ve seen the look before, they’re just not sure where. “A lot of people seem to be going out of their way to place it,” he said. “I think there’s something to that. Kind of like an earworm in music.”
Sloping plots often present themselves as major challenges and therefore become a determining factor of the project by enabling various forms of approach, overlapping the ground, respecting its slope or even burying itself in it. To illustrate all these alternatives, we selected fifteen projects that present different solutions in dealing with landscape.
projecting outward across a mirrored lake, the form exaggerates the viewer's primarily horizontal engagement of space.
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