"Building culture is always a human endeavor."

Charles Renfro Builds This City

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New York City’s an ever-changing organism. And queer architect Charles Renfro’s keeping it healthy.

With his colleagues at Diller Scofidio + Renfro, which he joined in 1997, Renfro has worked or continues to work on some of fair city’s most exciting projects the Brooklyn Academy of Music Cultural District, Lincoln Center and the High Line: a once-abandoned train track known for eye-popping interaction between industry and nature.

Our editor recently sit down with Renfro in his firm’s 11th Avenue office. Read what Renfro has to say about New York’s fluid cultural identity, eco living and how he uses gentrification for good – after the jump, of course.

Andrew Belonsky: What is home for you?

Charles Renfro: My office.

AB: So home is a very specific location.

CR: Yeah, well, no – what is home to me? Hmm, home I think is where you feel like you can have people over.

AB: Entertainment?

CR: Kind of. It’s where you feel comfortable enough with yourself that you can invite people in to share it with you. It could be your office. And it could be your home. And it could almost be a friend’s home, for that matter, but very few friends…

AB: Comfortable enough to share with others – that seems indicative of the projects you and your colleagues have chosen: your architectural mission. You’re not from New York, are you?

CR: No. I’m from Texas.

AB: There are a lot of Texans around these parts. And when did you come here?

CR: In 1989. I came for a job and have been here ever since.

AB: So you’ve seen New York change dramatically?

CR: Oh, yeah.

AB: How do you feel about that?

CR: Most of the changes are upsetting. Some of them are good. I would just be sounding the same alarm that everybody else is sounding about gentrification and the loss of individual identity in the city and its edginess. We all miss that. On the other hand, it’s great that there’s so much opportunity for architects. When I first moved here, there was no opportunity for architects. Now you can actually be a young architect and get a building built. It’s the first time that’s happened since I’ve been here.

AB: Do you feel that gentrification is removing the familiarity that makes it comfortable enough to invite them? Is it taking away people’s homes?

CR: I think it’s taking away the unique qualities of people’s homes. When you bring people to New York City from other places and they look around and say, “Oh, I have this Sephora there,” it’s just window dressing. It’s old cast iron buildings with the same institutions and the same people that everybody else has. Yeah, there’s a little unhominess about it. And you know from people here – the people who are really making the stuff are living in Brooklyn and Queens because they can’t afford to be here. But if you go out, it’s – that stuff is there: that gritty, fly by boot straps, fly by night ad hoc experimentation is still here, it’s just in other boroughs, not in Manhattan.

AB: You guys work specifically to integrate the buildings with the space around them – it’s an invitation to the people. Can you talk a little about that?

CR: We’re really interested in having all of our work be about place: about the place that it’s made, about the history of the place, the cultural identity of the place. Everything is drawn out of that milieu and, because of that, our work is very porous, very open: provocative, easily engaged, I hope. The moves are very transparent and big. When you see a theater with glass walls that you can walk onto the stage on the outside – that’s pretty straightforward stuff. You don’t need a degree in architecture to figure out what we’re doing there. It’s really about this institutionalized glass wall splitting the public and the private sector.

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AB: What do you think of people’s whose vision is very exclusionary? Who want to alienate?

CR: I don’t think anyone would say they want to “alienate”.

AB: They may not admit it.

CR: I think probably what you’re referring to are a lot of these upper condo projects that are private by nature – and we’re certainly dealing with public projects, so there’s a difference – but even a private project could be engaging and thought provoking and contribute to the culture of the city: the cultural architecture. Not much of that is happening here. I could look at a couple of corporate private projects and say there are some really good examples: I’d say the New York Times building [right] is a great example, while the Hearst example [left] is a terrible example of that – both have been receiving rave reviews. I think Frank Gehry’s IAC down here is a pretty good participant in the city in opening that event space up, but it’s not really open. It’s kind of an electric collar – you think you can do what you want to do, but you get shocked every time to get in the building. It’s this disciplinary space.

AB: Yes.

CR: The condo projects that you see going around that are giving a lot of attention to architecture, such as 40 Bond Street and 40 Mercer Street – it’s weird that they share the same number – are unfortunate in there street presence. In 40 Mercer Street, it’s simply just retail. On Bond Street, you’ve got the fence that says “Do Not Enter”. Old townhouses in New York City – their front gardens were really approachable. If they had fences at all, they were really low. Stoops were open to the street. Herzog & de Meuron had reinterpreted the townhouse, but instead of making this transition zone between public and private, they’ve made a hard line between public and private, even while they’re saying they’re reinterpreting the tradition of the New York townhouse. All the Europeans coming here – do they really understand the tradition of something like a stoop? I don’t know.

AB: What do you think of the New Museum?

CR: Beautiful on the outside: fantastic new form for New York. It’s slightly disappointing on the inside given that it – you don’t understand the form from the inside. Plus, I’m just frustrated that there’s not a singular route to take you from top to bottom to all the galleries.

AB: What do you think of it in context?

CR: On the Bowery? I think it’s great. I think this is a great example of an institution that is completely open to the street and participates in the life of the city. Yeah, it’s going to cause gentrification or it’s the result of gentrification, yet I think it’s doing what it can not to be an elitist institution. The loading dock is right on the street: you see everything going into that building, just like you see everything going into the kitchen supply places next door.

AB: I find your work fascinating because – both in terms of the porous nature of it, but also the integration of the environment on a larger scale, specifically with regard to the High Line. There’s shift in zeitgeist. It’s no longer conquering nature. It’s finally a realization that we have to live with nature. The High Line’s a perfect example, because the trains were key to industrialization.

CR: We’re turning it back to nature.

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AB: Do you think the High Line will be able to resist the pull of consumption?

CR: I don’t know. We’ll see. Who knows? It’s a fragile ecosystem that we’re trying to recreate. Part of our idea was to not over build – not over architecture, not over develop – so there’s no commercial stuff there: to let saplings and weeds and grass grow through the cracks like it did on the existing High Line. The reason it worked so well on the existing High Line is that it wasn’t a public space. No one could go up there and trample it down. Yeah, we have concern that the vegetation may not – it may have to transform through the life of the High Line. We really don’t know. We’re going to see how popular it is. I think we can keep the literal commercialization off of the line. That’s something we won the battle on, which is fantastic, but if it’s a very popular place, the way we’re imagining the vegetation to work may have to change over time.

AB: I guess it would be naïve to think that it wouldn’t. I have this interview you did with ArtKrush in which you sa, “Like SoHo before it, Chelsea is a neighborhood whose success will be its own demise. Its fate is now in the hands of developers.” Do you feel complicit in the evolution of the neighborhood?

CR: It’s such a double-edged question. In a way you’re saying, “Architects should never build in places that haven’t been built before,” because that, by definition, is a sign of transition and change. You can almost guarantee that property values will go up if something happens in a place that hadn’t happened before. I don’t know if that question is intended to admonish.

AB: I guess “complicit” may be a little harsh.

CR: I think as architects, we like to think of ourselves as very powerful players in the cultural landscape – and I think we are, but we’re also kind of victimized by the system in that we’re hired to do work. We don’t generally start work ourselves. If we were architects and developers, we might make different decisions, but it’s just impossible to stop certain things from happening. We can sit back and say, “We’re not going to work on that because that’s going to kill the neighborhood” and watch someone else do it worse. Or, we could say, “Okay, why don’t we help take this in the right direction”. The High Line is the perfect example. If any park were made there, the whole neighborhood would transform, anyway. I think the neighborhood was going to transform whether the High Line happened or not – the land values in New York have just gotten so high, every place in New York is going to be developed. So, the High Line may or may not be a major part of that, but I think that because we took that project and we were able to say, “This isn’t a commercial place, this is a well considered, rough, tumble natural environment.” I think we changed the way at least that thing works and hopefully we can steer some developers to do better work: be a leader in that process.

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AB: Did you always want to be an architect?

CR: Uh-huh, yeah.

AB: Did you play with Legos a lot when you were a kid?

CR: I had Legos, but the thing that I loved most was Gerder and Panel System: a Kenner product that isn’t made anymore, but I collect it. It was inspired by Meis Vandero Mies Van der Rohe. It’s little tiny I-Beams and little tiny columns that you hook together to make a Seagram building and then there are panelized facade elements and the snap them on and you’ve got yourself instant Seagram. I played with that more than anything and I still do.

AB: I’m thinking about how to phrase this question – I was reading about the Eco House* – and I couldn’t stop thinking about the Borg from Star Trek. I’m not sure if you’re familiar, but they became one with computers, I guess. Nature and technology merge. I couldn’t stop thinking about that. So, this is a two-tiered question. Do you think it’s possible that there can be a house that gives as much back to the earth as it takes? And, concomitantly, do you think it will happen?

CR: It seems like to continue as a race – to speak very broadly about how we interact with the earth – to continue as a race, basically everything we make has to be almost 100% reusable in some way or another. The thing that we’re all realizing is that the Sun is the most powerful thing we have: it’s what gives all energy here. We have to come up with better ways to harness that. I think it’s on the way. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able to fuel all our lives with the sun’s energy.

AB: Architecture as natural assimilation. If you daily lives unfold in a build that gives back to the earth in someway, does that building then become part of nature or the earth?

CR: No. Building culture is always a human endeavor. I don’t think it can ever become natural, but I do think it can emulate nature. I think it becomes an organism and that’s perhaps natural. I think buildings can start to react – it’s like a second set of clothing or a second skin. We had a lot of that in the Eco House project. Certain things happened when the sun hit the house, certain things change: the glass changed, it shielded itself when it rained, the awnings opened up to harness the rain. It was already starting to be an organism. What could happen is that when you’re not there, the house turns into a ball or it changes its shape – it expands when you are there, when you need to occupy the space. Why have all that space when you’re not in it. So, it starts to react to – a second part of your body. That can happen as technology advances and we can build more out of fabrics and things like that and insulate between layers and make houses that are much softer and behave much more like animals. The problem is that we really like our solid surfaces so we can hang art on them.

AB: We could project things.

CR: Yes, but I think we’re still pretty enamored with the old fashioned way of objects. We really like our possessions. It’s an American or Western quality that doesn’t really translate in the East, all though it does now. We are collectors. Our whole economy is based on replacement of things with more things. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s really horrible. It’s unnecessary… I guess what’s happened is that maybe there’s an equation – there’s collusion or a merger of food and sustenance and pleasure and extravagance. They are, in our mind, linked: both are pleasure and both are necessary. That’s why we’re fat and that’s why we have lots of things.

*Download the NY Times article on Diller Scofidio + Renfro’s imagined Eco-House here.

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