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TIME: Almanac 1993
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TIME Almanac 1993.iso
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010289
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01028900.008
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1992-09-23
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DESIGN, Page 92BEST OF '88
A Compelling New Modernism Avoiding ideology, the year's
choices accommodate pizazz and gravitas
Last summer's well-hyped Museum of Modern Art exhibit
devoted to the anxious, determinedly unlikable architecture
called deconstructivist was the signal design event of 1988.
Not, as its enthusiasts hoped, because it galvanized the
profession and fascinated the public, but because it was so
anticlimactic, a bust. We have seen architecture's future, and
its name is not deconstructivism.
Which is not to say that successful design has turned bland
and safe. The best new buildings and products are lively and
provocative even as they avoid ideological purity. The
compelling modernism of the moment is lush, dreamy and
concerned with appropriateness, not big, inhumane and
cookie-cutter corporate; successful ersatz-old-fashioned
buildings are lately tough and even somber, not merely quaint
and pleasant. Hybrids abound, and modesty is a virtue. Tod
Williams and Billie Tsien's Long Island pool house, for example,
combines industrial materials and delicate details. The Clayton
County (Ga.) Library delivers a high concept with a relatively
low budget. The finest work, from Washington's restored Union
Station to the sleek Ford Probe, accommodates both pizazz and
gravitas.
It is surprising nowadays when decent housing for the
working class gets built. Boston's 50-unit Charlestown Navy
Yard Rowhouses, designed by William Rawn, are virtually
miraculous: cheerful, dignified, altogether grand-looking
low-cost housing. The long, low brick structure culminates in
a brilliantly fetching waterfront wing -- cylindrical, two
stories higher than the main body of the structure, with a
copper conical top. Equally heartening is the graceful design
applied to a humble fertilizer and hay-bale storage shed for a
garden center in Raleigh, N.C. Local architect Frank Harmon
unapologetically used homely materials (plywood, corrugated
fiber glass) but observed lucid symmetries. A row of
birthday-candle-like light bollards stands outside, handsome and
functional.
A caretaker's cottage, a bathhouse, a lifeguard's tower:
those were the modest requirements for Newcastle Beach Park in
Bellevue, Wash. The buildings designed by Jones & Jones
architects of Seattle manage to be sensible without being
banal. They are charmingly appropriate to the region (wooden
board and batten exteriors, exaggerated overhanging eaves)
without being simply Hansel-and-Gretelish. Ann Mullaney's new
information kiosks on Paramount Pictures' Melrose Avenue studio
lot in Los Angeles are also admirably no-nonsense and low-key.
They are neoclassical wooden booths with fine detailing,
standing-seam copper roofs and all the glitz of a New England
farmhouse. When a large corporation suppresses the instinct for
overpolished aesthetics, hurrah for Hollywood.
The Sonin distance calculator is a practical device shaped
wholly to its purpose. Toys, on the other hand, must maintain a
precarious design balance: neither too whimsical and childish
looking nor too sober and dull. Texas Instruments' Voyager,
designed by the firm of Richardson-Smith, is just right --
chunky and merrily colored enough for four-year-olds and
glamorous and grown-up enough for eight-year-olds. Through an
earphone, a child is quizzed on dinosaurs or the solar system,
and through a cockpit-style microphone, he or she gives
yes-or-no, true-or-false answers, to which the headset responds
with explanations and more questions. The software cassette's
big handle and wavy edge declare that it is modular, to be
plugged and unplugged. Like all good design, the Voyager
elegantly explains itself.