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About Eugene weekly. (Eugene, Oregon) 1993-current | View Entire Issue (Sept. 23, 2004)
laugh. I said to him, ‘We’re stuck together. Teach me what is architecture as you understand it.’” During a weekend at Sunriver, they drank red wine and looked at 1,500 slides of architecture. “I knew I had a lot to learn,” Hogan said. “But Thom had to lis- ten to me, too. We needed to build some- thing that local people could respect and feel at home in.” Later, Hogan and Mayne met in France to view examples of significant modern architecture, from Le Corbusier’s Notre- Dame du Haut in Ronchamp to courthous- es by prominent architects such as Britain’s Richard Rogers (Tribunal de Grande Instance in Bordeaux) and France’s Jean Nouvel (Palais de Justice in Nantes). The Palais de Justice spurred the judge’s reflection on the power of archi- tecture and how it needs to be modulated. Jean Nouvel wrote that “justice should express its power,” and his design reflects this. For Hogan, “Doing Nouvel was not an option, because everyone has to feel that they’re protected by the U.S. Constitution. The Constitution is what we need to ground ourselves in.” Hogan pro- vided Mayne with a copy of the Constitution, and for a time, they both entertained the idea of having its seven articles written on the seven exterior planes that make up the courthouse, but this proved too costly. The more the judge immersed himself in the study of architecture — viewing, reading, discussing and thinking about it — the more his interest deepened for the field at large. “Now I’m drawn to build- ings and see things I never saw before. The process of learning about architecture has added richness to my life and an apprecia- tion for how architecture shapes our lives.” THE JUDGE AND THE ARCHITECT In terms of political and religious views, Hogan and Mayne are, by their own accounts, worlds apart. But Mayne finds his relationship with Hogan enjoyable because they can be brutally honest with one another. “It’s a very personal, very intimate relationship because we’re allowed to say what we think,” Mayne said. “He’s a love- ly human being. He has a great sense of humor, and we can pummel each other. This relationship can keep evolving. It’s not so fixed as my other relationships, because our grounding is so different that it’s like coming from two different coun- tries. With the other people I know, who share the same grounding, we can only argue about minor things.” With respect to the courthouse, Hogan and Mayne have worked well together. sents everything you’re able to incorporate during that time — and in architecture that time is pretty slow. In this case it takes place over five years.” For his part, Hogan provided informa- tion about the workings of a courthouse and voiced ideas and concerns. “Given his character,” Mayne said, “he can’t be on the sideline. He’s a major participant. It’s a collective project between him and me, and others too, but he’s the most impor- tant. His input is going to permeate the whole work. We’re conserving the influ- ence of history, we agreed on that. At the same time, this is a creative piece, and as you can see from the current GSA exhibit decline in symbolic representation in architecture, though its impact was not felt in courthouse architecture before the mid- 20th century. Today, the public is still familiar with the formal and stylistic char- acteristics of earlier courthouses, with their monumental entrances and use of columns and pediments to embellish façades. However, from buildings that arose through the 1960s-1980s, it is impossible to tell a courthouse from a bank. Public buildings became as generic as their pri- vate counterparts. Coming up with an uncompromisingly contemporary architectural vocabulary CONSTRUCTION IS UNDERWAY AT THE FEDERAL COURTHOUSE SITE. in Manhattan, it wasn’t possible to be that creative with other clients.” (The exhibit “Civic Spirit: Changing the Course of Federal Design” showcases projects undertaken under the Design Excellence Program, including the Eugene court- house.) SYMBOLS “For judges, a courthouse means columns,” Hogan said. “I knew that I wouldn’t get columns, but I was hoping for some cues that could be recognized from the outside, indicating that this is a courthouse, with no sign necessary.” The judge wanted a building that made a state- ment, was clearly recognizable as a civic building and represented the fabric of our culture in some ways. These were challenging demands. During the 20th century no style devel- oped that the public recognized as symbol- ic of a courthouse. Throughout history the evolving form of the courthouse indicated the building’s function, while also repre- senting in various manners the cultural beliefs of the time and place. The temple capable of conveying clear and specific symbolic significance to a large audience is not easy where no universal common language is established. In contemporary architecture symbols tend to be either pri- vate or intelligible to a minority only and therefore ill-suited to public works. But it is impossible for any building to not indi- cate something about the culture that designs it. Late 20th-century courthouses, undistinguishable from business head- quarters, communicated some unmistak- able facts about our society. Now many people, includ- ing Hogan, feel the need for public buildings to once more embody or express the social and cultural val- ues traditionally associated with their functions. “I thought we could meet the traditional needs of a courthouse and still do it within the context While working with Mayne, Hogan was also confronted with a way of approaching problems quite different from the one he was used to. “I would emotion- ally invest in a solution,” Hogan said, “and two weeks later it would be absolutely changed. As judges, we research, analyze and then come up with an answer, where- as architects are dealing with a constant stream of ideas.” SECURE BUT OPEN AND ACCESSIBLE? Security has become an uppermost issue in public architecture, a trend further reinforced by 9/11. Architects’ designs must conform to ever-stricter codes. The challenge is that “we’re trying to provide security without seeming to do so,” Hogan explained. “We want to offer protection, but we don’t want to be a fortress. We want to create a sense of openness and transparence.” Architects such as Mayne respond to the need to balance enhanced security requirements with public access by incor- porating so-called transparent security measures that minimize obvious barriers in the very structure of their designs — in this case, for instance, setbacks and a sin- gle main entrance on the second floor. Hogan was concerned that employees “feel happy in the building and feel that they’re doing something important.” It is not unusual for externally attractive build- ings to feel uncomfortable for the occu- pants. Given the general public consensus that wheelchair ramps provide full and equal access to public buildings — for people who use wheelchairs and walkers, for par- ents with strollers — such ramps should be added to the list of necessities which archi- tects must include, along with HVAC, security features and door openings. THE WAYNE LYMAN MORSE UNITED STATES COURTHOUSE Architecture magazine awarded the 270,000-square-foot Wayne Lyman Morse U.S. Courthouse a 2004 Progressive Architecture design award. Rising above a two- story glass-enclosed plinth that houses administrative offices and support spaces, three curv- ing zinc-clad pavil- ions will each enclose a pair of courtrooms and judges’ chambers. The ceremonial “MY HOPE, IS THAT WE REMEMBER THAT THE RIVER IS A PART OF WHAT WE’RE ABOUT. I’D LIKE TO SEE ITS PROMINENCE CELEBRATED RATHER THAN HIDDEN.” – U.S. DISTRICT JUDGE MICHAEL HOGAN Mayne, who purposefully did not name his firm after himself, is always careful to point out that architecture is a collabora- tive endeavor and buildings the result of teamwork. “A piece of work is a gestalt,” Mayne said about the design process, “a synthesis of knowledge at a particular time. It repre- model dominated 17th century courthouse architecture. In the late 18th century, the style across the U.S. was Neo-Classical, followed in the 1820s by the Greek Revival mode, which became the national style in courthouse design. The emergence of the International Style around the 1920s brought about a of modern architecture,” Hogan said. “So we asked ourselves: What can we incorporate from old courthouses and still have a modern building?” Just as a judge must interpret the law, Mayne saw his work in part as a reinter- pretation of classical and tradi- tional elements. 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