Recently on a trip to South America we visited Tigre, a community about an hour north of Buenos Aires by train. Also known as the archipelago of Argentina, the area is a web of inter-connecting rivers and streams. Within the labyrinth of waterways were hundreds of homes and cabins representing the full spectrum of form, size and design philosphy. There didn’t seem to be any master-plan, development or overall scheme. Aesthetic covenants seemed to be excluded from the community and, judging from some of the structures, it didn’t even seem like a permit process or building department was involved. It appeared to be a community of liberated architecture. Some projects were clearly built from an architect’s drawings; others could have been crafted on site without a single piece of documentation. Needless to say, we were fascinated.
[Photo by Andrea CB]
[Photo by Magdo-50]
[Photo by BUILD LLC]
[Photo by Gabriel Robledo]
[Photo by BUILD LLC]
[Photo by BUILD LLC]
[Photo by BUILD LLC]
[Photo by BUILD LLC]
[Photo by Hanneorla]
[Photo by Hanneorla]
[Photo by BUILD LLC]
[Photo by BUILD LLC]
[Photo by BUILD LLC]
[Photo by bdnegin]
[Photo by Bloggingsouls]
It’s easy to imagine that an environment like this is the product of a community that solves differences through communication rather than filing lawsuits. A population of individuals who maintain an open mind about appearances and design rather than trying to control and manipulate the built environment through review boards and covenants. A society that designs and builds responsibly because it’s the right thing to do, not because a building department required them to do so.
The diversity of architecture and construction in Tigre was refreshing and it seems like there are some fundamental lessons to learn here about society and behavior.
Filed under: Architecture, Industrial Architecture, Rural Architecture, Travel
On a recent trip to South America we took the opportunity to cross the Andes Mountain range. Los Libertadores Pass reaches an elevation of 11,483 feet and connects Argentina’s wine country, to Santiago, Chile. The 8 hour bus trip was fascinating and we were stuck to the glass like paparazzi for most of the journey. Of particular interest were the abandoned structures once used to protect outdated train tracks from the snow, ice and wind. Odd as it may be, these dilapidated structures seemed to belong within this pristine environment. There is an uncanny harmony that exists between these modest, horizontal skeletons and the dramatic backdrop of the mountains.
No architect was involved with these structures – they’re too straight-forward and functional. An architect would have adulterated them by over-designing them. Ironically, despite the design efforts of architects, it is often the brutally pragmatic, utilitarian structures devised by engineers that fit in most harmoniously with nature.
In order to better communicate the scale and grandeur of these scenes, today’s photos can be enlarged by clicking on them.
[All photos by BUILD LLC]
Today’s post is not so much about architecture as it is about what it takes to create a significant place. Recently on a trip to Argentina’s wine country, we came across Casa Glebinias, a rural bed and breakfast at the foot of the Andes Mountains. This wonder of a place is extraordinary because of the patience, thoughtfulness and intentionality that went into it. No amount of money or architectural glamor alone could achieve this level of quality and substance.
The main house is approached via a dirt road lined with gorgeous lush trees. Until you actually reach the steps to the home, it’s not clear where the house ends and the landscape begins.
This assimilation between built-form and vegetation has been a delicate 25 year process for owners Alberto and Maria Gracia. Setting out on a labor of love, the grounds became a laboratory for exploring the harmony of form, color and aroma. Each tree and flower has been carefully selected and placed over the years, additional cabins for their guests have been delicately worked into the setting.
The guest houses, spread out around the grounds, are small heavy structures which shield from sunlight during the day and radiate heat throughout the night. They are not sleek and modern yet they don’t attempt to reference design styles from the past. The structures do not subscribe to any notion of today’s fashionable “green architecture” practices, yet they will be standing long after most homes clad with solar panels and boasting greywater tanks have been demolished. Doors open up to veiled sitting areas carved out of the landscape. Handwoven shades cover the windows during the hot afternoons.
In speaking with the owners, the architect didn’t even come up. I’m sure they have great respect for the architect, and the architecture is an important ingredient to the eventual outcome of the grounds, but this place just isn’t about the architecture. It’s about going out each day and getting your hands dirty. It’s about taking care of something you’re dedicated to. It’s about life and friends and plants and gardens. It’s about cultivation and the process of life. At the same time there is a tremendous amount for us architects to learn from situations like this.
There is such a harmony reached by this setting that it may in fact be one of the best examples of minimalism we’ve seen. Over time, the trees and vegetation grow and flourish until one day the house disappears in the landscape. The house is just as functional and enjoyable as ever – it’s just become part of the environment. Something we struggle our entire careers to create.
Bringing some thoughts back home; there seem to be some lessons that we could greatly benefit from here in the Northwest.
Staying in one place and cultivating a sense of “home” makes for better environments. In our transient society of constantly moving up the real-estate ladder, staying in a home for 25 years must seem absurd. But it is this dedication to place that creates significance.
Allow living things and the process of weathering to play a role. We’re not saying that you should leave that moss growing on the north side of your cedar shingled roof, but the culmination of a home should be a process that unfolds over time in conjunction with nature.
Some of the best work never gets published because it’s too mindful. The Casa Glebinias will never get published in an architectural book or magazine. It’s too reasonable, to modest and too difficult to encapsulate in a sound-bite. The architectural press often focuses on drama and fashion, leaving truly significant works by the wayside. While publications are important, such direct correlation between publication and the success of a project seems unhealthy.
[All photos by BUILD LLC]
If you’re planning on spending any time in the Mendoza region of Argentina we highly recommend staying at Casa Glebinias outside of Chacras de Coria. For more information click here or drop us a line, we’d be more than happy to keep blabbering on about how wonderful it is.
