Bnieuws 53/06 - Home (2019/20)

B 53/06

Colofon WELCOME Bnieuws Volume 53 Issue 06 May 2020 Contact Room BG.Midden.140 Julianalaan 134 2628 BL Delft bnieuws-bk@tudelft.nl Editorial Team Aimee Baars Christopher Clarkson Nicole van Roij Federico Ruiz Chun Kit 'CK' Wong Inez Margaux Spaargaren Robert van Overveld Contributors Amy Young Margot Hols Jānis Bērziņš Editorial Advisors Javier Arpa Fernandez Lotte Dijkstra Cover Sara Potterton Printed by Druk. Tan Heck

© All rights reserved.

Although all content is treated with great care, errors may occur.

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Interview: Michael van der Tas

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Where the Light is Strong…

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The Freedoms of Suburbia

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What if Normal is Dead?

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An Ode to the Pavement

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Domestic Calamities

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Soviet Dreams

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People are in Fields

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Animal Architecture

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Cover Submissions

Editorial

HOME A house provides us shelter and safety, but when does a house become a home? Home does not merely provide shelter from the elements, privacy from the public sphere and a comfortable bed to sleep in, but more so, it is an object of possession. Your home is distinctly yours and therefore has personal, sentimental value. Home embodies a personal connection to a house, a sense of belonging. In these past few weeks, we have gotten to know our homes pretty well – the cracks and the imperfections. The shading of the sun on the walls at certain times of day. The sound of neighbours ascending their stairs. This sentiment has deepened. Yet, at times when you grasp the absurd reality of the current corona crisis, the home becomes its literal and objective self again, the ‘house’; a block built up from walls, confining and static. With the rise of the pandemic and the fall of public space, the function of the house has changed and so too has the meaning of ‘home’.

Through this issue of Bnieuws, we explore the ways in which Home has changed. What defines the space where we once felt so much belonging in a time when some of its fundamental characteristics have been challenged? Could this pandemic be considered ‘The New Normal,’ an idiom that has been used frequently these past couple of weeks? Chun Kit investigates in his article What if normal is dead? on page 33 the potential need for a new residential typology, one where all exterior public functions become decentralised and localised within our homes. One might hope that this is a drastic measure to a temporary problem, however, permanent or not, the ‘house’ has been redefined as a foundational structure in society; most former outdoor activities have been interiorised including work, the cinema, sports, and as we all know, academics.

As our collective academic home of BK City has also closed, Aimee’s interview with Michael van der Tas gives insight into the preparations of the building readying itself to welcome her new residents in the coming academic year on page 03.

Our pen pal Margot explores these minimal square meters through text and imagery in her article about the Delftse stoep, in An Ode to the Pavement, page 10. Describing how the boundaries between private and public, the home and the street, have been blurred; the trottoir has suddenly become a layered space of activity – a playground for children, an office for the parents, a podium for a spontaneous opera performance.

Meanwhile Frederico and Christopher provide two sides of the same coin, encapsulating the essence of what it is to be in lockdown, and live in the strange new environment that we still call home. On page 07 Christopher dives into the idea of Home having become a contextless prison or merely, a house, and on page 24 Federico indulges in the humours and surprising sentiments provided by the online public interactions that we now endure.

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BK Report

INTERVIEW: MICHAEL VAN DER TAS Words Michael van der Tas, Aimee Baars & Robert van Overveld

Most of us haven’t been able to access the faculty these last months, one of the exceptions is Michael van der Tas. He is part of the crisis team of the TU Delft and since we were eagerly interested in what it feels like to be in an empty faculty, we asked him if he could give us a sense of it all ...

Hi Michael, you’re part of the crisis team for the faculty of architecture, what is your role in the team and what are you occupied with these days?

I manage the facility services team, the people with the blue vests and the TU logo on their upper arm. In general, we make sure that everything functions at the faculty. Part of it is managing the entrance systems. You can imagine that we had to act immediately the moment the faculty closed. We had to make sure that some people still had access, like the faculty crisis team, the guards, etc. Many other things needed to be organised, such as adjusting all services that normally take place, we also had to start emptying the fridges, watering the plants and a lot of other things you would not even think about at first.

That’s part of what we have been doing and we are always present at the faculty, just like the team in charge of maintenance and installations, who are making sure that the whole technical system keeps rolling. We are sort of the guards of the faculty at this point, there are always still people who try to get in, pick up something, print something. But there is a strict protocol that makes sure that not everyone can get in.

Right now we are busy preparing for the opening of the faculty. We need to make sure that we can keep our 1.5-meter distance when we open up parts of the building. What does it mean for the different departments, what is the total capacity in the current situation, how to deal with meeting rooms, can we use the atelier already? The latter, for example, will be a “no” for now. Many things need to be changed before this can work.

We are looking at routes, preparing signposts and making one-way streets among other things.

Is the interior changing as well? In the sense that some rooms need to be turned around?

Well, luckily, the interior of the architecture faculty has a pretty wide set-up, but in some hallways, for example, there are couches on the side, those maybe need to be removed.

It all depends as well upon the allowed capacity in the end. But doors, just like the ones used for the west-entrance, that are not transparent, need to be decided upon still. You can easily walk into someone and that’s exactly what we want to avoid.

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What is the biggest challenge in the building?

For sure the routing, what is the most logical choice? You want to keep the measures as simple as possible. If you make everything into one-way paths you know for sure that it’ll be hard for people to adjust, so you need to make sure that people can keep their 1.5-meter distance, without too many adjustments, that’s the priority. Or the doors to the toilet rooms, you can’t leave them open, but you do need to know how many people are inside. And how do you manage granting access? We now check the protocol to see whether someone is allowed to be inside, but it becomes unclear if that becomes flexible.

Will the reopening of the building be in phases?

Well, I’m in the faculty crisis team, I’m mainly focused on the more technical side of it all. ESA is focused on the students and how the education overall changes. In my role, I advise about how we can use the faculty, what the maximum capacity is, etc. They have to decide what it means for the education program and who gets priority if we reach the maximum capacity.

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Has anything crazy happened so far?

I must say, everyone is very obedient, people are very understanding. The procedure for entering the building is pretty strict after all. On top of that, people need to walk a long route to get somewhere. In general, this all goes very smoothly, people don’t try to enter the building secretly and again are very understanding and flexible.

Did you get any protest or critique the moment the faculty closed?

As far as I’m concerned everyone was very understanding and there was no critique whatsoever.

How have you experienced this time at the faculty so far?

Our team has been scaled down, we are only with 2-3 people present. Plus, there are some contractors in the faculty to make sure nothing stagnates and to prevent having to fix things last minute. Sometimes we try to do things in advance, but in practice, it is hard for the contractors to work and at the same time keep a distance. We always need to be careful. Most of the time there are approximately 10 people in the building, suppliers come frequently as well, just like the postman and sometimes someone external.

It is very quiet at the faculty and very strange to walk around. Sometimes I walk around to make sure everything is alright. The last time, for example, a sunblind smashed a window. Those are things you need to be aware of. Actually, it is a real pitty that such a impressive building is empty.

Do you have a favourite spot?

I really like the atelier on the second floor. It is very nice to see what kind of stuff has been made . And it's really quiet as well, which is very rare, that makes it a very interesting place.

What are you going to do with the studio tables, are you going to organise them differently now we need to have 1.5-meter distance?

What we are considering to do, but that’s something for future times because the atelier will be closed for now, is to remove chairs to reduce the capacity of the atelier.

The model hall is for graduates, is there a chance that they can graduate there in limited numbers from the first of June?

I can’t really say something about it, it’s on the agenda. For now, it remains a big question for everyone.

Do you think the faculty can open its doors on the 1st of September with the adjusted arrangements?

It really depends on the government and how all the measures develop. The intention is to open at a given moment, but we really need to see still what and who gets priority.

How is a crisis plan developed, where do you get the information to make one?

I talk with my colleagues from the faculty team about the measurements in the faculty regarding the 1.5-meter distance. They are active in other faculties of the TU as well. We exchange ideas, we approach other organisations. We have been talking to a hospital, for example. We thought hospitals would be more prepared already. We exchange ideas with other universities as well. I think caretakers are always very inspirational, they are very inventive because that’s the place where there is a lot of pressure. Overall, it is a lot of research.

We will face a lot of new challenges in the coming months, for which again we need to find new solutions. In general, this whole situation isn't fun, but it is an interesting time for the field that I’m working in. For facility managers, it is interesting to see how companies cope with the situation. It would be strange to say it’s fun, but I do think it is an interesting time.

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From the editors

WHERE THE LIGHT IS STRONG… Words Christopher Clarkson

Among the many things that have changed since the beginning of lockdown is my perception of the space in which I live. What once was the place with fond associations of warmth, comfort, and intimacy has become something else entirely. While maintaining essentially the same spatial characteristics - the chair I use to work is still there, the window which lets light in still lets light in, the room is still as big as it used to be and the dining table is precisely where I left it – the phenomenological experience of these spatial qualities; the mental, psychological attachment to them, has shifted from a once Bachelardian narrative into a more depressing Foucauldian panopticon prison. What follows is a phenomenological analysis of my and, essentially, your home in these changing times. Meanwhile, overlapping with this soliloquy of mine, is the jarring commentary of lyrics and melodies singing an all too joyful and now seemingly naïve tune of what home is, causing ironies and provoking memories of days and emotions passed but not quite forgotten.

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House is the physical and tangible space in which people live; home comes loaded with a subjective attachment and all the sentiments that go with it. No one asks you which house you’re going to when you declare that you are going home – everyone knows that you are returning to your house. As a result, the home gains a special level of meaning to its resident(s), one which is deeply intimate and private.

Home becomes a container for memories and worries, for relaxation and break-downs, love and bitter arguments, of experiencing the warmth after running home through the cold rain, and the undeniable bliss of staying in instead of facing the world when you’re too tired or sick. Home is all of this, in between the times when we venture out into the uncontained ‘wilderness’ with the public façade we don for the sake of social interactions and existing in public work environments. In Bachelard’s Poetics of Space, this is taken to its extreme, where he poses the structure of the house to be akin even to the psychological working of its resident: the attic is bright and above ground, a kind of escape from the dark depths of the basement where suppressed

and gloomy thoughts and fears dwell. In so doing, the borders between the tangible house and the metaphysical nature of the dweller become blurred at the intersection that is home.

Slowly, however, as weeks have changed into months of remaining at home, much like a worn-out recording of a favourite song, Bachelard’s indulgent and syrupy sweet analyses of the house have become warped, distorted and the thought of home now leaves a lingering bitterness. With the shift in the way in which we experience our homes, the spaces of privacy and intimacy have been brought into the glare of the public institution, likening the meaning of home to the panopticon as described by Foucault.

Foucault’s panopticon describes a power dynamic between prisoners in a circular ring of cages and the prison guard in an observing tower in the centre; the prisoners have one window allowing for daylight from the construction’s exterior, and one gate facing towards the tower enabling constant surveillance.

Key to understanding this is that the prisoners can

see the observation tower, but not the guard, so, they do not know if they are actually being observed or not. In any case the consequences of misbehaviour if they are being watched are clear. As a result, Foucault describes, how because the prisoners are conscious of their surveillance, they become self-disciplining. Foucault fittingly goes a step further

to compare this to a plagued medieval town under quarantine, with guards patrolling the public space.

Should a prisoner exit their home, the punishment is death, and so, even though the resident is unaware if there is or isn’t a guard outside their home, the resident imprisons themselves regardless.

Homeward bound, I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thoughts escaping, where my music’s playin’, Home, where my love life’s waitin’ silently for me.

Every day’s an endless stream of cigarettes and magazines And each town looks the same to me the movies and the factories and every stranger’s face I see reminds me that I long to be homeward bound, I wish I was, homeward bound.

‘Homeward bound’ – Simon and Garfunkel

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The once charming rattle of the single pane stained glass windows in the spring breeze is now alarming.

Instead of serving as a meditative portal through which you can observe the day pass you by, it feels more like one through which other prisoners across

the canal can observe you. And what is to be seen by looking through this window if you dare to? A tree, perhaps a canal… and across the street, your fellow prisoners who have a mirrored view of the same scene.

Such a cosy room, the windows are illuminated by the evening sunshine through them fiery gems for you Our house, is a very very very fine house, with two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard […]

And our – la la lalalala la lala la la lala lala la lalala lalala[…]

‘Our House’ – Crosby Stills and Nash

The drain in your bathroom which emits an occasional ‘pop!’ that brings back memories of much loved former visitors now becomes a haunting ‘bang!’ which you cannot escape. And the garish carpet on my bedroom floor upon which I’ve shared

whiskeys and laughed with friends now remains cold and without mirth. Collecting only dust, and hair that should have been cut two months ago instead of memories.

‘I said to Hank Williams, “How lonely does it get?”

Hank Williams hasn’t answered yet, but I hear him coughing… all night long.’

‘Tower of Song’ – Leonard Cohen

The ultimate portal of the front door at the bottom of the stairs has changed its representation of freedom and safe passage from the intimate to the exciting outdoors into a threshold which ought not be trespassed. From the terrace which is surrounded

by walls of other homes, sitting in a dark, viewless isolation, the vent from the neighbours below pokes through the floor and lets the cries and laughter of their young daughter be heard.

These are the days of miracle of wonder […] Medicine is magical and magical is ordinary ‘Boy in the Bubble’ – Paul Simon

When your entire world becomes defined by the archetypal characteristics of a house, and the tree outside, when all public interaction takes place through a computer screen with other people in their own homes, it transpires that your home is no longer unique. Because all public interaction takes place within it, the intimate values reduce, and furthermore, your home’s context becomes irrelevant. When discussing how international students in their homes in Mumbai, or Hong Kong, or Copenhagen might struggle with online lessons, Dick van Gameren in a Zoom meeting on the 8th of April made the astute observation by saying that, “In principle, distance is irrelevant” because at the end of the day we meet in a digital room, so, in the eyes of the public your location is irrelevant, and, as such, without context; you are as much in your bedroom

with 20 colleagues as you are in the bedrooms of the other 20 meeting attendees. And so, these contextless homes which we find ourselves in bring Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot to mind, a play in which two characters wait in a place defined only by a path, a bog, a bush (or a shrub), and themselves. Is it in France? South Africa? Japan? All of these places or none at the same time? These characters are waiting for Godot to arrive, and as time passes, events repeat, the days are the same, and the same strange faces come and go, but Godot never arrives. In Beckett’s Waiting for Godot Estragon proclaims eventually: “Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful!” and I can’t help but feel like we are all, waiting for Godot.

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Pen Pal

THE FREEDOMS OF SUBURBIA Words & images Amy Young

Suburbia in London first established itself during the 19th century. Inner city London was suffering from an overgrowth in population which developed into extreme overcrowding, forming what could only be described as city slums.

This resulted in unpleasant living conditions, prompting many city people to crave a new way of life. The development of the national rail and the omnibus presented an opportunity for individuals to maintain their jobs in the centre of London whilst residing further outside the city. CFG Masterman in The condition of England described those who escaped the city as the suburbans, they formed a what he calls “a homogeneous civilisation – detached, self-centred, unostentatious. A life of security; a life of sedentary occupation; a life of respectability.”

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After the second world war, suburbia began to expand at an unprecedented rate, cheap housing in its masses was being erected to compensate for what had been lost during the Blitz. It gave way to the cookie cut house, the modernised version of the traditional English cottage that is seen across the majority of the UK. The suburban dream also came to fruition; semi-detached houses allowed the suburbans to live in spacious and secluded homes but within the often-modest budget of the lower middle class. During the post-war period it seems that those living the suburban dream were content and fulfilled by the life the suburbs could offer them; the safety, community and predictability. Those living a ‘cultured’ city life however, thought otherwise, heavily criticising the very idea of suburbia. To them it was an emblem of social snobbery: a place full of wealth and devoid of taste.

George Orwell famously said in a reflection of his novel Coming up for air, “suburbia is a prison with the cells all in a row, semi-detached torture chambers.”

After spending the first eighteen years of my life in the sleepy suburbs of south London, to me suburbia largely had the connotations Orwell described, I saw it as a place of homogeneity, complacency, ordinariness and the stiff middle class. I perceived suburbia as a place that stifled creativity and freedom, a completely mundane backdrop to life.

In March this year I moved back to my childhood home in London, taking refuge with my parents from the relentless pandemic of covid-19. Suddenly, the unrestricted world I had been enjoying for the past three years had been condensed down to only a few streets I had seen thousands of times before. At first, the limitation on my surroundings was horrendous, I felt uninspired and numb. However, as the weeks went on I felt a change in my attitude, I found myself having to stop to take pictures of houses, people and scenes, documenting the suburbs like I would document a new city. Suburbia suddenly had a new lease of life, the quirks were unfolding, the architecture was speaking a clearer language and I could see the intricacies of the neighbourhood for

the first time, without the clouded judgement I had previously been carrying.

The sudden absence of the feeling of monotony I think was in part due to my observation of the ‘addition architecture’ in suburbia. I would define ‘addition architecture’ as the ad hock extending and enlarging of a building, often without architectural guidance or any real appreciation for form and aesthetics. The alterations are, by and large, driven by the occupiers, moulding their homes to exactly their needs, whether that be an expanding family, need for a home office or an extra bathroom. The result of this ‘addition architecture’ is a strangely rich architectural language. Each home has character, a quirk, all of a sudden, the cookie cutter streets have diversity.

The ‘addition architecture’ has definitely not made suburbia more beautiful, far from it I would argue. It has simply given it some substance. In the infamous form versus function debate, it seems in the suburbs function always prevails. Space is created, even if that results in triangular dormers or protruding side extensions that ignore the laws of symmetry.

‘Addition architecture’ does not care for style or theories, what is added is added by necessity. Each addition made by each household is subtly different, just like each household has its subtilties. Maybe the roof pitch is an extra two degrees after the extension or a new bay window has been added on the side elevation unlike the rest of the street. The suburbs have slowly evolved from being homogenous, neighbourhoods to places with differences and character, a quality which for a long time was said to be missing. One could argue that this is simply the working of time, places naturally evolve and change as the years pass. However, the suburban dream also plays a part. The suburbs are the place where the middle class can carve a little piece of England out for themselves, the additions they make to their homes become a mark of ownership and pride.

The ‘addition architecture’ I saw also emphasised the surprising longevity of the suburbs. One of the biggest critiques of post-war suburbia is that the

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neighbourhoods were built for a vision of the future that was mostly unfixed. How could the architecture respond to such uncertainty? The answer to this seems to be that the houses designed were adaptable, the base model was not the house of the future, but it had the capability to transform into it when need be.

The large pitches of the roofs gave way to spacious attics which could very easily be transformed into a fourth bedroom as a family expanded, or the rear could be extended four meters when the household decided the children were getting a bit too big for the modest living room. Suburbia unlike other typologies allows for life to dictate the architecture in quite a natural way, the buildings are morphed and formed around those inhabiting it.

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For much of recent history the suburbs have been attacked and criticized as if they are places of atrocities and architectural suicide. Spending my quarantine getting to know suburbia a bit more personally has truly shifted my perception and judgements. Suburbia is no longer a place that is stifled and a prison for the middle class, but surprisingly a place for an exploration of identity, self-driven architecture and place of true longevity.

Amy is a British student currently doing an exchange semester at BK. She is an editor at Bath University's magazine Paperspace, the student-led architectural magazine from the Department of Architecture.

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From the editors

WHAT IF NORMAL IS DEAD? Words CK

The COVID-19 pandemic has resulted in unprecedented impacts on society, both on a global and localized scale. This extends from economic, financial sectors to sociological domains. People are now confronted with the need for physical distancing, a spatial consideration incompatible with the urban design which endeavours to sustain high population density. While work from home and home-based learning are examples of workarounds (albeit technologically centric) to cater to the need for physical isolation, it is evident that such measures would be temporal and unsustainable. Should we, as designers, start to question the temporality of such measures, and be engaged in the discussion of spatial interventions? What if the norm, as we believed it to be, is dead? How will it have future implications to spatial design, especially in residential/ work typology?

It is day 6 of 'lock down'. With school and presentations held online, I was working to reconfigure my A0 sized panels to fit the PowerPoint slide aspects ratio. While preparing for the presentation, however, I was interrupted by the intensifying thuds on my ceiling, presumably caused by neighbours above working out. Seconds later, I overhear commentaries of the weather coming from someone else’s balcony. These are interesting times; measures reminiscent of war are being put in place even in the absence of machineries and bullets. Across the globe, people are forced to take whatever outside activities they were engaging in into their homes. As shops, offices, and eateries close, we adapt by window shopping online, creating our little office at home, learning to cook a bit better, and keeping ourselves fit with the help of YouTube or virtual group workouts. Essentially, no one is spared from having to cope emotionally, and having to make constraints to our daily lives within however many square meters of house space we have. While all hopes are pinned on the eventual and rapid decline of the spread of the virus, it is also prudent to remain pragmatic with the possible outcome of a delayed and long-drawn battle, and that certain measures may remain even at the end of this pandemic. As designers, it is imperative for us to reconsider the ways we perceive the nature of a dwelling unit which at present does not cater to such multifarious and complex social activities. How then may we respond to spatial considerations for a possible future that will never be the same?

For many people during this time, the home necessarily serves as a work and learning space amongst many other things. It is a reality that our residences are often unable to accommodate the typical office space that the majority are accustomed to; no office cubicles, or large meeting rooms to host a number of people. Yet, with the shift to work < Photograph of the office in Johnson Wax Building

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from home, we are beginning to see that perhaps our spatial understanding of what an office or home is must be re-evaluated.

The mainstream approach to a functionalist office design dates back to the industrial period. With the rise of manufacturing industries and the spatial manifestations of factories, offices became the staple for control and hierarchical establishments. The Johnson Wax building, by Frank Lloyd Wright, was an early typology of offices that has influenced the contemporary corporate operations and structures. The open plan concept that hosted a multitude of workers divided by class (blue collared vs. white collared), whilst being overseen by managers were designed primarily to increase work efficiency. This was further popularised by Frederick Taylor. The division of working classes were enforced by the presence of offices, wherein white-collared workers were placed in pristine conditions, separate from the blue-collared workers. Even in a post-Fordism economy today, such linear workflows and rigid operations are still being implemented.

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Technological advancements and a more fluid understanding of the workplace, the spatial responses to offices have become more versatile. No longer are workers bound by tethering and landlines; the rise of portable devices, wireless connectivity, cloud spaces essentially negate any need for people to be tied to a space. The Interpolis in Tilburg, The Netherlands served as an example that spearheaded the renewed understanding of the workplace as an 'activity-based working' environment, where more importance was given to the social interactions between people at work, rather than being determined by a physical space. Employees were not assigned a fixed place in the office, and were free to move and hold meetings and discussions wherever. Indeed, in a world where we have easy access to the internet, mobility and connectivity have increased drastically, and the idea that a physical space determines the office is rather out-dated.

Imagine a world where the 'home' is not just defined as a space for eating and resting, but is also an office, a school, a gym, perhaps a clinic. “Small office, Home office” or SoHo, for short, is indeed a spatial typology that would see a growing relevance to people. Though this design typology had been around for some time, it is far from being ‘mainstream’. It appears to cater to only a specific strata or demographic of people, especially those participating in the gig economy. However, with the majority of people working from home now, it points to the fact that there is a great deal of possibility for offices to be decentralized into the individual’s home. Virtual spaces like Zoom seem to have replaced the physical spaces, and perhaps with more sophisticated improvements, these virtual spaces could become even more seamless. As designers, we too have to begin considering typologies similar to that of SoHo in response to the ever-changing needs and dynamics of our societies. In putting forth the idea that the workspace is now decentralised to homes, it is not simply about increasing physical isolation - indeed, barring any safety concerns, employees should be free to meet up with fellow colleagues at a common space like a cafe, or shared workspaces should they desire physical

interaction. Rather, it is the consideration for creating a conducive environment for a new lifestyle.

Following the 9/11 attacks, airport security stepped up and cockpit access is no longer permitted to passengers; a part of the world was never the same again. There will come a day hailed as 'post-pandemic', and as we wait upon normal to return to us, could we begin to reconsider what 'normal' really means? Perhaps in this time when the world is being so massively shaken, designers may adopt a forward-thinking response for how we imagine spaces and functions, and to radically consider the spatial divisions that exist between resting, living, working, learning, and playing. Homes may have to expand (spatially and programmatically), public spaces take on an even more important role.

And perhaps work spaces will no longer limited to traditional workflow, but take on more flexible roles. Even if â&#x20AC;&#x153;normalâ&#x20AC;? has long gone past us, we can still hope on the creative minds to adapt to this changing world.

Is work from home an ideal arrangement for the future? Let us know what you think!

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Pen Pal

AN ODE TO THE PAVEMENT Words Margot Hols

Due to the current circumstances, my ideas about ‘home’ are shifting. My physical living, working and exercising space may have been restricted to 14m2, but the garden has never seen my face so many times per day and I’m rediscovering my tiny neighbourhood. During these walks, the pavement provides a dancefloor of some sorts. Dodging approaching pedestrians becomes an activity in itself. Before all of this, the pavement was just there. Now, its importance as an element to structured street-life is evident. Of course, this wasn’t always like this.

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In de 15th and 16th century, the first ‘pavement’ was introduced by wealthy bourgeoisie, as a shield between the privacy of home and the public life and its carriages rushing by.

The private pavement was often marked with fences: beams, chains, cast iron ornaments on top of a heightened piece of natural stone. Remnants are still visible in the city centre of Delft, Amsterdam and The Hague.

To prevent too much chaos in the street-image, the municipality of Delft was the first municipality who decided upon some rules for these pavements in 1573. The pavement could not be built on top or over the gutter and could have a maximum width of 1.25 meters. With this, the Delftste stoep was born.

Slowly, the fast traffic came into the picture and around the 19th century the stoep was replaced by the trottoir. Although these words could both be translated to pavement and are mixed in use in Dutch, their origin tells us the difference between the (Delftse) stoep and the trottoir. Stoep is a scramble of the Dutch word opstappen which means ‘to step on something’ and leads us to the fact that the stoep was often heightened. Trottoir is based on the French word trotter, which basically means walking and refers to the ‘part of the road where you can walk’.

Although ‘newer’ urban areas mostly have trottoirs, the old city centres are still characterized by their narrow stoep. And the Delftse stoep seems to play a more important role in the public life, especially during these times.

Despite the bourgeoisie’s original need for a ‘privacy-shield’ it now seems that people can’t go without privacy nor without publicity. We want to be able to withdraw ourselves but also take part in public life. An inner-world, our house, and an outer-world, our stoep.

This translates to the appropriation of space by putting out benches, planters, statues and even little ‘libraries’. The Delftse stoep is not just a public space, owned by the municipality, it is inseparable from the private space, our home. The benches become a space where the newspaper is read under the last rays of sunlight, a lookout for the children playing on the street and the perfect spot for the mailman to leave a package, safely at 1,5-meter distance. The planters, finally filled with flowers, give some colour to the unusually empty streets. The mini library tells us what our neighbour likes to read or doesn’t.

The living environment is restricted, and every piece that’s left is becoming more important. The outside environment is taken care of again. The results? The stoep again becomes a place of social connection. Not just a dumping place for bikes, but a place where neighbours meet neighbours. Sometimes planned, sometimes unexpected. And in the current times, that might be just what we need.

Helmer, S. (2016, August 24). Wat is de Delftse stoep 2.0?

Hoexum, P. (2016, March 9). Het huis, de stoep en de straat.

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BK Report

DOMESTIC CALAMITIES Words & Images Federico Ruiz

So far, this enclosure has given us the rare opportunity of meeting people who are not that close to us in the most intimate spaces possible: their houses. As an inevitable extension of this new reality, the smooth and focused rhythm of the academic world has suddenly been interrupted by events and accidents that belong to the domestic sphere. In some way, these moments have also become the most dramatic and intimate instants of this new, otherwise dull, days.

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M. is in the middle of a lecture on how to answer questions after a lecture. As if this redundancy wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough, he has chosen a picture of a tropical beach as background. A young girl enters the frame: unaware of the solemnity of the moment, she makes grotesque faces and sticks her tongue out. Eighty virtual faces laugh behind their silenced microphones.

Second studio session after the faculty closing.

Professor C. makes the final remarks in his paused way of speaking. Suddenly, a long and plaintive meow reveals the presence of a cat that is out of sight. C. excuses himself, kicks the animal out of the room and keeps talking.

Two kids around ten or twelve years old open the door behind her. Mom and kids all look the same: as a biblical miracle, this teacher has abruptly multiplied. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Say hi.â&#x20AC;? They wave. She tells them something in Dutch and they leave the room.

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During a break, one of the students talks in his mother tongue to a woman. A groupmate from the same country listens and envies his fellow’s good fortune: living with someone to talk to in native language is something he misses, even more during these strange times. Later, the identity of the mysterious woman is revealed: “I couldn’t find a home when I arrived in Amsterdam. She saved me from becoming homeless.”

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C. lives in the countryside. He usually answers the calls from the same room, with a landscape printed shoji behind him. One day, during a tutoring session, a rebellious cackling filters into the digital realm.

“Are those chickens?” asks one of his tutors. C. nods and laughs nervously: “Yes, they are in my garden.”

The phone rings. Professor K. says he must hang up for a moment. Once back, he explains it was his neighbour on the phone: the woman, 86 years old, was reporting to him she was still alive.

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A one-to-one meeting for checking her employeeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mental health is interrupted by the ring of L.â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s doorbell. She excuses herself and leaves for a moment. The door opens and closes in the distance.

Sitting again in front of the camera, she reveals that her birthday is the next day, so friends have been sending presents through the mail.

Professor F.â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s daughter is usually studying behind her. During a studio session, F. calls for a break and leaves. Seconds later, moving with the stealth of a soviet spy, the girl sits in her motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s chair. At first, half her head can be seen. Then, after a few moments and evident effort, her entangled feet and arms appear, making circles in the air. Before her mother returns, the girl is back in her own chair, as if nothing had happened.

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Spotlight

SOVIET DREAMS Words Jānis Bērziņš

Imagine this situation: you and your friends get together on New Year’s Eve in Moscow. You get drunk, really drunk, and eventually pass out. Two of your friends are still awake and remember that one of you must go to Leningrad (nowadays Saint-Petersburg) and needs to catch a plane, but they don’t remember who. So they decide to put you on the plane.

Eventually you wake up, and you’re still drunk. You step out of the plane, staggering and holding to other people, and after a while realise that you’re in an airport. You think that, obviously, you’re in Moscow and probably just said goodbye to the friend who had to go to Leningrad. So you call a cab, say your address and let the car movement guide you in a peaceful sleep. You arrive at your building, go to the elevator and then to your apartment door, open it with your key, enter the apartment and take off your clothes. You go to the bedroom and fall asleep, until…

Until the real owner of the apartment comes home and wakes you up, because you’re an intruder in her home. However, you still believe that you are in your apartment in Moscow and that she has intruded your apartment!

Sounds funny and impossible, doesn’t it?

This story is familiar to millions of people from post-soviet countries because it is the plot of a TV Mini-series called The Irony of Fate (Ирония судьбы, или С лёгким паром) by director Eldar Ryazanov, first aired on January 1, 1976. This movie can still be seen on TV and has become a New year’s eve tradition in many households, possibly because this love story (the main characters eventually fall in love), depicts the reality of soviet mass planning and decisions that shaped the lives of millions of people from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean.

To understand how this absurd story could somehow be considered a reality, it is important to get an insight into the Soviet Dream and what happened in the Soviet Union after World War II. In short, the main ideology of socialism in the Soviet Union was based on providing welfare for the working class, the so-called proletariat. According to Stalin’s industrialisation plan, many state-owned factories were built in cities, providing work for people who mostly came from remote and rural areas. This started a housing crisis in the Soviet Union because at the same time the Communist Party had declared that every Soviet citizen had a right to live in an apartment with the necessary amenities. However, the reality was far from the dream. Many years after the war millions of people were still living in fast-built wooden barracks without drainage, tap-water, and with toilets on the street, or in communal apartments in pre-war buildings that used to belong to bourgeois but now housed a family in each room. Undoubtedly, there was a need for a fast and cheap solution on how to provide the new soviet people the apartment that they had the right to.

Until the 1950s in Soviet Union apartment buildings were built in “Stalin’s style” – neoclassical, monumental brick buildings with ornaments, spacious apartments and quality materials. However, this process was costly and time-consuming. In 1955 The Central Committee of the Communist Party issued a decree that permanently and instantaneously shaped the architectural and

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New Micro-rayon in Moscow, USSR with old, wooden barrack in the forefround.

"Congratulations with the new living space (apartment)."

Postcard from 1960s, praising the new life in standartized neighborhoods.

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Vladivostok (left) Vs. Riga (right). Postcards from 1960s. The distance between these cities is 9600 km, however, the building design is (almost) the same.

Scenes form the movie The Irony of Faith. Army of block houses are marching to be placed in different landscapes - from dunes to arctic, at the end conquering the world.

building practice in the whole union. This decree forbade the use of redundant ornaments and pushed the use of modern, affordable and efficient buildings.

One can argue that, on this day, the Soviet standardised-block house was born. The effect of this decree is also well-explained in the opening scene of The Irony of Fate. In an animation it shows how buildings built as part of the same project and designed by the same architects, usually based in Moscow or Leningrad, are built in different landscapes and climate conditions. The result of this process was newly built cities and neighbourhoods (called micro-rayons) with standardised apartment buildings that were copy-pasted in different scales and quantities across all of the Soviet Union. Was the soviet dream achieved?

The housing crisis was never solved. Moreover, the situation described in The Irony of Fate became highly possible, because the equality among the citizens was achieved by limiting freedom of choice in multiple aspects; this included apartment location, furniture, cutlery, and food, not to mention freedom of religion or speech. The soviet dream resulted in living spaces that looked like each other, same buildings with same furniture but in different cities.

This socio-spatial situation has highly influenced generations of people who are, in some cases, still living in conditions like this but it is unique. Thus, the research and attention to these issues has not resulted in global action.1 Although I was born after the collapse of the Soviet Union, I have also experienced living in an apartment building in one of the micro-rayons of Riga, Latvia – one of the post-soviet countries in Europe. Fresh air, greenery, public transport and connections to the city centre were the benefits of living there, despite the low-ceiling height and thin walls that allowed me to participate in my neighbours’ arguments. I also don’t miss the times before Google Maps or Waze when I had to get creative on giving the correct directions to my 1. Life Together and Apart by New Theatre Institute of Latvia is an interesting research on the development of social housing in 20th century Latvia that also includes research on Soviet apartment buildings. This book touches the subject of mass-production and repetitiveness and its influence on residents.

apartment building, or the times when I got lost in partly-lit courtyards looking for the right door in between buildings that were the same.

This brings me to multiple questions that I keep asking myself from time to time: Was the Soviet Dream achieved by providing affordable (free) housing with necessary amenities for millions of people from Kaliningrad to Vladivostok? If so, was the price of limited freedom worth it? And how exactly did this dream influence people who are still living in these monotonous neighbourhoods? On the other hand, how different is the current western approach of designing western-style buildings in the Global South from the eastern Soviet approach? Is it possible to provide the necessary living conditions that we as civilisation share and agree on, allowing local and unique approaches?

I hope that in the future The Irony of Fate will still be only a movie, and that after a party in Moscow, London, or New-Delhi I will be able to open my apartment door without mistaking my city for another one.

Janis (@beerzin_janka) is a first year student of Urbanism at BK and a regular contributor of Atlanits magazine, where this article was first published.

In collaboration with student association Polis (@polistudelft) and their publication Atlantis (@atlantis_tudelft), Bnieuws has re-edited and printed this article.

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From the editors

PEOPLE ARE IN FIELDS Words & Image Nicole van Roij

From my desk to the kitchen, to the bedroom and back again, this is the longest walk I can practice in my house. It takes around 14 seconds and the total of social encounters, apart from my own reflection in the mirror, is 0. Meanwhile, the newspapers are loaded with articles on how to home-stay without going mental.

After applying some of these techniques for weeks, I gave up and strolled into the outdoor scenery. At the moment, the appeal to be in 'green space' is strong and some particular parks and green structures seem more popular than others. By walking, I tried to understand which spaces are more popular and why.

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In order to experience enough diversity, the three hour walk is crossing four green structures and the beach boulevard. All five are situated in Scheveningen and built in different ages. During the walk, I photo documented human activity and kept track of social encounters. The following pages show the route, the amount of social encounters (red on the map) and a photo series for each place.

It starts with my personal favorite (1) the Gemeentemuseum, now Kunstmuseum Den Haag, designed by H.P. Berlage in 1935. Its public gardens are interwoven with the geometrical yellow-brick architecture of the building. The brick sculptures and artworks placed on the two-centimetre-cut grass reflect the language of the museum. Apart from some mysterious individuals situated as far away from eachother as they possibly could be, the place is desolate. From the serene quietness I move to (2) the Scheveningse Bosjes; a forest planted around 1670 to keep dune sand from drifting away. The extensivily conserved vegetation appears closed, wild and untamed. People, especially with medium-sized dogs, only seem to gather in the small open fields that occur randomly in the organic fabric of the forest. After the quietness of the geometrical world and the wild forest, the route continues into a more cultured verion of nature: (3) the Westbroekpark.

The english-style landscape park is designed in the 1920s by Westbroek, and partly by Zocher Jr., and is characterised by scenic pond viewpoints packed with people. Especially in the northern part, where the grass becomes shorter and the planting more cultured, the enclosed field is dominated by family-activities. From this popular social oasis I move to (4) the linear park next to the Haringkade, which follows the structure of the canal. Here, people seem to gather only around planned activities like a petting farm, a skatepark and a playground.

The alternation between people and no-people is most present here. Lastly, the promenade on 5. the beach boulevard: a no-go zone, a walk of shame avec la mer du nord pour dernier terrain vague et des vagues de dunes pour arrĂŞter le vagues1. Here, on the waving plateaus, designed by De SolĂ -Morales in 2012, people distribute themselves like ants.

Based on this walk, it seems that people prefer places with prospect (see prospect-refuge theory).

That is that people like to be in fields with more people and opportunities. Most activities that they do (gaze, talk, play, sport) are also possible in places with more refuge, like the museum garden, but people still prefer to do them in fields. No doubt this recent urge to prospect is a reaction to the strong refuge we experience daily in our homes.B

1. With the North Sea as the last wasteland and waves of dunes to stop the waves - translated from Le Plat Pays - J. Brel.

5. Beach boulevard

4. Linear park Haringkade

3. Westbroekpark

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2. Scheveningse Bosjes

1. Gemeentemuseum - public gardens

The prospect-refuge theory (Appleton 1975) explains that people psychologically 1. seek out opportunities to perceive and acquire visual information, to explore environments and find opportunities (prospect); 2. seek out: shelter, protection, and environments where one can hide away (refuge).

Start / End

Social encounter bar 1.

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3.

4.

2.

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5.

From the editors

ANIMAL ARCHITECTURE Words and illustrations Aimee Baars

Ever since the Corona crisis struck, I have discovered a few neighborhood walks, among them a path to a nearby estate named Clingendael. The winding path crosses a stream, then follows it until reaching a pond embraced by several impressive oaks. While I walk this route alone - and so do most other obeying humans - birds, insects, sheep and all other organisms have continued their gatherings enthusiastically. Never have I paid more attention to these fellow city dwellers than during the past month. Their lives have continued unchanged and I have been observing them keenly.

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In less than two days, Duck number 7 has built herself a whole new home. Under my feet, ant colonies march on towards their commune. Our human building production has seemingly slowed down, but theirs hasn’t. So, why not take this time of human boredom to inspect, and perhaps learn from, our undisturbed and bustling fauna life? Building efforts of animal architects can lead to the modification of whole ecological landscapes, both above and below ground. In this article, three animal ‘homes’ are explored from an architectural point of view, graded on aesthetics (A), construction (C), climate (CL) and to keep things Dutch; functionality (F).

The Scrape Nest Scrape nests are straightforward architectural forms; material assembled and intertwined together. As Goodfellow (2011, p.6) mentions: “The builders of scrape nests are the minimalists of the avian architecture fraternity.” Despite their simplicity, scrape nests fulfill the main duty of parental care just as effectively as more complex structures. Less is more in this modernist architecture.

A scrape nest is categorised as a depression or ‘cup’ in the earth, added with material, such as twigs, small pebbles, shell fragments and leaves.

Camouflage in these structures is essential for defense purposes. Sometimes scrape nests are built on a slight elevation, which gives the bird a good view of possible enemies.

The hen starts construction through a shuffling movement by her own feet on the ground, creating a small depression. The choice of material influences construction behaviour. In most cases, after collecting surrounding material, the hen uses her beak to tuck the construction elements alongside or beneath her, this is defined as ‘sideways building’. To soften the edges, she lines her temporary home using leaves or feathers. As easy as this sounds, research has proven that scrape nests demonstrate precision in regard to climate control, to result in minimum heat loss for the eggs; too deep and the cold ground affects incubation, too shallow and the wind chill forms a problem. Sometimes scrape nests are re-used, causing their architecture to develop into a sustainable, permanent cup.

The Burrow A burrow; the hollowing out of an existing foundation, is inhabited by many animals, among which the rabbit family. Rabbits are communal, thus they typically dig their burrows in clusters, called warrens. Whereas one single rabbit can dig a long

A C CL F

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A C CL F

burrow network of two metres in one night, warrens are built by families over years. They are crucial to their survival and reproduction.

The warrens consist of several tunnels with many exit and entry holes for a quick escape in case of predation. Each warren provides organised spaces for sleeping, living, bathing and reproducing. For example, mothers dig a separate nursery burrow and construct a grass nest inside well before the last 24 hours prior to parturition. During the last day of pregnancy, mothers usually line the nests with their abdominal hair.

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Serrano & Hidalgo de Trucios (2010) conducted research on burrow tunnels. It appears that the texture and composition of the used soil largely influences their structure. Rabbits that tend to excavate amply burrow tunnels in soils characterised by sandy soils of a mostly large particle composition, while the higher proportion of small particles in silty soils sustain shorter and narrower burrow tunnels.

All tunnels become narrower approaching the interior, resulting in a final tunnel of adult rabbit size. Warrens are dug at a depth of around 20 cm which is useful for insulating rabbits from high external temperature, providing a colder and humid interior, keeping the rabbit families cool in Summer.

The Wasp Nest According to Ormerod (1863, p.4) no insect has a more versatile building talent than wasps: "Brittle mud, and tough fibre, all alike, are each in their turn, put in their requisition by these little architects."

During Spring, the queen wasp starts her quest for the perfect location. When she finds a hole or branch to her taste, construction can commence: the foundation is formed by a little grey cap of a flattened conical form, about 1 to 2 centimetres wide, hanging from a footstalk. The footstalk spreads out into a strap, the edge fastened to a branch or a root. The conical shaped cap contains

little cells with eggs which are firmly glued in place.

In time, other cells are added and the cap is thickened by sheets of paper which are laid on the outside extending from the footstalk to the bottom.

All alone, the queen builds up her castle of cells as the larvae grow and adds layer upon layer to the outer case.

When this first nest has been closed by paper, its further extensions are constructed in the same manner. To sustain this expansion, existing interior spaces are nibbled away to make room and new layers are added on the exterior. All building operations happen simultaneously: when a new row of cells is constructed, the wasps start off with walls of two or three adjoining cells; as each cell takes shapes, immediately an egg is placed, no time to waste!

This fast-paced, ongoing construction is made possible by wasp paper which is composed of multiple substances. Grains of sand, fragments of bark, paper cuttings or any other waste are the most usual ingredients. The materials are held together by wasp saliva. It even resists cold water.

After entering the nest with building materials, the wasps set to work; mounted on one of the existing covering sheets, the wasp presses the new material firmly with its fore-legs until it sticks tightly to the edge. Then walking backwards, the builder continues pressing the paper along the entire edge.

This step is repeated several times. The small strap to which the original nest was hung, is strengthened by layers and layers, thickly coated with wasp gum, and new points of attachments are sought to roots, stones or branches.

From these small investigations, it can be concluded that none of the species possess anatomical specialisations exclusively used for buildings; birds use their beaks and feet; rabbits use their feet and nose; wasps use their mandibles and feet. "Humans are therefore unusual in having hands whose dominant role is the

A C CL F

restructuring of the world around them." (Hansell, 2000, p.16) Add to that, only humans have extended from their bodies to external machinery to do the work. As simple as animal architecture structures may seem to the human eye, they are distinguished products of evolution; each organism has developed a building technique that matches their behaviour and building capabilities, creating distinct typologies which we as humans can learn from.

Goodfellow, P. (2011). Avian Architecture: How Birds Design, Engineer & Build. Princeton University Press.

Hansell, M. (2000). Bird nests and construction behaviour. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Ormerod, E.L. (1863). British Social Wasps. London: Longmans, Green, Reader & Dyer.

Serrano, S. & S.J. Hidalgo de Trucios (2011). Burrow types of the European wild rabbit in southwestern Spain, Ethology Ecology & Evolution, 23:1, pp. 81-90.

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From the editors

COVER SUBMISSIONS Words The editorial team

For this month's edition we have once again outsourced artistic talent for our cover, this time seeking help from the children of aunts and uncles of the editorial board. From the younger perspective we hoped to grasp a more true and pure depiction of what home is and really means. Home in the child's eye is the one that we all remember most afterall.

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Winning proposal 1. Sara's winning proposal shows a very original take on the primeval hut. Even more so if we consider that "the dead tree looking thing is in fact a lightning conductor."

Honorable mentions 2. Three storeys high sheep earned Aimee's cousin a place amongst the runner ups.

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3. "Benjamin decided home could mean a lot of different things depending on your species. Look out for the dragon flying home to his cave behind a waterfall, and the zebra hiding behind a thorn bush..."

4. "Kira got in on the action with a minimalist take on Anselm Kiefer."

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We are always searching for new voices to join and contribute to Bnieuws. Whether your talents are in writing, drawing, photography, graphic design, or youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re filled with a range of skills, we would love to hear from you if you have any ideas for the faculty periodical. If you would like to be on our contributors list, simply send an email with your ideas to bnieuws-BK@tudelft.nl

Next issue: 07 FICTION One day you're joking about Doomsday Preppers, the next day you find yourself locked into your home due to a world pandemic. The whole situation is quite unreal, but there's no denying it, dystopias that once were concepts can be today's reality. But is the situation all that different from what we used to call "normal"?

Next edition: FICTION. Bnieuws 53/07 release date June 2020.

Bnieuws INDEPENDENT PERIODICAL OF THE FACULTY OF ARCHITECTURE AND THE BUILT ENVIRONMENT TU DELFT VOLUME 53 ISSUE 06