In Birmingham, Ala., this trend has followed the predictable course as well. Since the mid-two-thousand-oughts, dying portions of city have been reallocated to accommodate a new commercialism, and at the forefront of this charge, Appleseed Workshop has come out as the aesthetic voice of the new urban class. Part architecture firm, part philosophical think-tank, Appleseed has been the lock, stock and barrel behind some of Birmingham’s trendiest new venues: Bottle and Bone in Uptown; Revelator Coffee Company; Whitmire Lofts; the list goes on. If it’s a new place in an old space, there’s a good chance Appleseed has something to do with it. These entities are scattered across the city, but they all have one thing in common. They take advantage of existing property, adapting 19th century structures to 21st century needs, with one philosophy in mind: why build something new when there are millions of square feet of empty buildings that are eager for a second chance? With a few success stories thrown into the mix, the strong examples of this philosophy replicate themselves. In Chattanooga, Tenn., Warehouse Row has risen from the ruins of a derelict, well, warehouse. The old space has been converted into a shopping and dining center that is actually quite chic. Down the road, a robin’s egg blue trestle spans a mighty river. It’s not used for trains anymore; it’s a pedestrian bridge that hosts a wine and culinary festival one weekend out of the year and offers killer vistas for the other 51. In Asheville, N.C., one of America’s first nuevo-trendy cities, the River Arts District houses almost 200 artists in a series of 222 converted industrial structures, offering a sufficient space for creatives to explore their skill sets while giving visitors the chance to visit, purchase
114
|
EIDEMAGAZINE.COM
and commission one-of-a-kind treasures. In this vein, the spirit of creativity itself is localized and interactive, and the RAD has become a social epicenter. In Pensacola, Fla., a county jail where they used to publicly hang people is now being used as a performance arts venue, its three stories of cells having been converted into a 461-seat theater. In New Orleans, a city still reeling from a storm that happened almost a decade ago, community gardens are springing up in unused plots of land. A place that used to hand-roll cigars in Mobile, Ala., is now a hot nightclub. In Savannah, Ga., a bordello that used to dispense fantasy and syphilis for sailors is now a watering hole for restaurant workers off the clock. There is a 2 million-square-foot building in Atlanta, once owned by Sears, then slipshod-utilized by the city for storage that is, finally, getting a brand new lease: Ponce City Market will house restaurants, shops, condos, doctors’ offices, daycare centers, a massive rooftop garden and maybe even a design firm that will one day command some facet of the city’s progress. It’s the birth of a new city, inand-of itself. The South provides a unique lens through which to view these anecdotal success stories. While tales of architectural and urban reemergence can be spied across the nation, the South is just so new; it’s so young and it’s had such a checkered past that, when responsible sustainable progress happens (beyond the scope of typical, antiquated, ham-fisted gentrification), we tend to notice and become fiercely proud of them. It’s places like these, and the people who make them come together, that allow us a glimpse of tomorrow, both in what the city is and what it’s destined to become. But without the city, the culture would wither and fade away; and without the people, the same fate would befall the city.
“In Savannah, Ga., a bordello that used to dispense fantasy and syphilis for sailors is now a watering hole for restaurant workers off the clock.”
Appleseed Workshop renovated the old Jaymark Jewelry building into the two-story live/work space, Whitmire Lofts, in Birmingham, Ala.