Architecture That Cuts No Corners

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The New York Sun

Since New Yorkers have long had to shoehorn their lives into the various tiny spaces that the city has begrudgingly vouchsafed them, why should the buildings they inhabit fare any better? A dramatic case in point is 1 Seventh Avenue, a rare example of a triangular residence in New York City. Standing as it does at the wellsprings of this important avenue, the building might seem to be ideally located in terms of its dramatic views and visibility. But the fact of that avenue’s confluence with Carmine Street, which the building also faces, means that the building must occupy an angle so sharp that a pedestrian might almost fear cutting himself as he turns its corner.

The resulting structure is nevertheless a respectable addition to the neighborhood. It manages the visual pun of looking both stylistically up to date, with its neo-modernist vocabulary, and also in harmony with the size, shape, and patterning of its neighbors, including houses from the 19th century. It was the wise decision of Thaddeus Briner, of Rogers Marvel Architects, to embrace and fully to exploit the 45 degree angle that the street provided. Rather than rounding the point of convergence, as Daniel Burnham did so tastefully back in 1903 at the Flatiron Building — perhaps the most famous triangular structure in the world — Mr. Briner has accentuated the sharpness of the corner. More than that, he has invoked a certain spiky angularity throughout the structure, from the windows to the penthouse terrace. There is not so much as a hint of curvature at any level, from the mixed use ground floor to the mechanical core housed in a pale off-white monolith seven stories up.

Instead, along Seventh Avenue, he has staggered the width of the windows, from very narrow slits, like those of some medieval fortification, on the northern edge, to something close to a curtain wall at the southern tip. The infill between the windows is a dark brownish glazed brick which may be well-intentioned, but to this critic it is too reminiscent of the drab ’70s modernism that did nothing good for our cityscape.

Along the Carmine Street façade, the fenestration, which includes minimalist, metallic balconies, reasserts the more conventional rhythms of the neighboring houses. The height of both façades is roughly level with that of its older neighbors, thus creating a fairly pleasing sense of continuity.

For years and years the development of this site was an open question. The triangular footprint of the plot was prohibitive to many would-be developers. The problem was not with the exterior: There is no reason that a triangular structure, such as the famed Flatiron, cannot look as good as a rectangular one. The problem is in the design of the interior, where it is no easy task to manage the room layout or to fit furniture gracefully into the corner looking out on Seventh Avenue. Whether this has been successfully managed at 1 Seventh Avenue will be known only when the new tenants begin to move in. For now, though, we have reason to be grateful that a developer came along, willing to take a chance and build a decent structure, seven stories tall, in place of the one-story car repair shop that used to occupy the site.

* * *

Say what you will about the architectural profession, it is eminently lacking in kerfuffles, those spasms of collective agitation that rise above professional specialties to general awareness. In literature, film, pop music, and even opera, kerfuffles are a dime a dozen. But in architecture, about whose specifics the general public would be at pains to care less, the poor kerfuffle scarcely stands a chance.

And so the profession can feel some gratitude and muster some outrage at the revelation, this past week, that the commission for a $150 million expansion of Carnegie Hall has been given to Natan Bibliowicz. Among the New York projects completed by his firm, Iu + Bibliowicz Architects, the most eminent to date is the new Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater at 55th Street and Ninth Avenue.

For critics of the commission, the problem is that Mr. Bibliowicz happens to be the son-in-law of Sanford I. Weill, the chairman of Citigroup. Now Mr. Weill is also the chairman of Carnegie Hall and — I’m just guessing here — may have had something to do with that institution’s Weill Recital Hall and its Weill Music Institute. To roil the waters ever further, Mr. Bibliowicz is also the son-in-law of Joan H. Weill, who just happens to be the chairwoman of Alvin Ailey.

Now it is hard to believe that nepotism has not played a role here. As nepotism goes, however, there are two mitigating factors. The first is that something like nepotism — minus the blood ties — has always been rampant in New York architecture. Indeed, we are a city built by default architects. How many plug-ugly buildings litter our fair skyline because only the usual suspects kept occurring to the limited imaginations of our developers and public officials?

The second mitigating factor, which, in this case, makes all the difference, is the qualifications of the architect. Mr. Bibliowicz’s Alvin Ailey Theater is, in fact, one of the more distinguished projects to reach completion in New York in the past five years. It is both beautiful to look on, with its smooth curtain wall of clear glass skin, and entirely functional, with its studios and performance spaces. In fact, it succeeds as a project very much like that proposed at Carnegie Hall, which is looking to expand its studio spaces. If, in Mr. Bibliowicz’s capable hands, the Carnegie expansion should prove to be as distinguished as that of the Alvin Ailey Theater, we will all be the better for it.

jgardner@nysun.com


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