New York Days 5 and 6

The Park Avenue Armory was built in 1880 on the Upper East Side for the New York National Guard’s 7th regiment, also known as the “silk stocking regiment,” a reference to the wealth and social status of many of its members. The 7th regiment included Roosevelts, Van Rensselaers and Stewarts, and its opulent interiors reflect this. Several of the interior spaces were designed by the very artists who worked on the private homes of these wealthy members, including Stanford White and Louis Comfort Tiffany.

Through its history, the armory’s drill hall has served as an event and performance space, as well as the home of the US National Indoor Tennis Championships for many years.

The building is now owned by a public-private partnership, and managed by the cultural nonprofit that occupies the building: Park Avenue Armory, which produces a variety of arts programming and educational partnerships. The site also continues to provide space for National Guard offices, as well as a women’s shelter (a requirement for all New York State armories).

The building is unique by historic preservation standards because both its interiors and exterior are landmarked, making the reuse of the building a distinct challenge. The building is also landmarked at the city, state, and national levels. When the nonprofit that now manages and occupies the building first bid to restore and renovate the building, they were the sole bidder - seemingly for the challenges posed by this level of regulation.

The building has undergone over 160 million worth of renovations in phases since 2007, which will continue to preserve historic aspects of the building, as well as make spaces suitable for new uses. The renovations thus far have focused on restoring the detailed and intricate historic interiors, as well as retrofitting mechanical and electrical systems to support the current arts programming.

Original wood finish and wall treatments restored

Historic interiors are restored room by room, each its own distinct project. The preservation strategy is to restore everything within a certain period of significance (1880-1897 or so), and for elements which cannot be restored adequately, to adapt the design of new elements in response, without creating something meant to appear artificially “old.” For example, many of the original iron light fixtures remain, and have been given new bulbs that aim to emulate the original gas fixtures, without directly mimicking them.

Original light fixture with contemporary bulbs

Lighting and sound rigging installed in an ornately decorated historic interior

The design of modern mechanical/electrical systems that now support arts and performance in these spaces have been calibrated to impose on the original character of the interiors as little as possible, while remaining efficient.

This project is a reminder that when reusing a historic building, even if the design intent were to preserve as much of the original as possible, the fact of a new use for the space necessitates some amount of design intervention. Some projects endeavor to contrast new design interventions with the historic, but given the strict preservation guidelines in place for this landmarked building, this strategy was deemed most appropriate.

This building doesn’t carry a strong association with a particular conflict: though it is a military structure, it wasn’t in use during many significant campaigns by its occupants, and certainly never saw combat in the way of some of the other sites I’ve visited. However, I think it’s still relevant to my interests, as its design and history are tied to a military heritage, and despite significant design limitations, it has succeeded in providing for a variety of community-oriented programming.

I also found it interesting to learn that this project also represents a typology that has been repeated all over the country: during the 20th century, National Guard Armories became less needed for their original purposes, and their often grand architecture was very expensive for states to maintain. For these reasons, privatization has become a popular avenue, and has resulted in a multitude of solutions for reuse. National guard armories have been revived through adaptive reuse as a university building at the Savannah College of Art and Design, a public library and apartment building in Minnesota, and a museum in New Mexico, among many other examples.

Poetter Hall at SCAD: https://www.scad.edu/life/buildings-and-facilities/poetter-hall

The site at the corner of 6th Avenue and West 10th Street in Greenwich village was originally a market, graced in the 1830s with a fire watch tower, whose bell was used to summon firemen. A courthouse building in a Victorian gothic style, with an adjacent prison, was completed on the site in 1877, incorporating the bell tower. It was at the time considered one of the most beautiful buildings in the country. The building gained a reputation during its time as a courthouse, hosting high profile cases such as the trial of Stanford White’s murderer (https://guides.loc.gov/chronicling-america-stanford-white-murder), and also was home to a night court for many years, in an attempt to manage the stream of cases coming from the nearby Tenderloin district. The building then sat unused from the mid-1940s until 1958, when the threat of demolition rallied the then-burgeoning historic preservation movement, resulting in the building’s establishment as a national landmark, and its eventual reuse.

https://www.nypap.org/preservation-history/jefferson-market-courthouse/

In 1967, the building reopened as a branch of the New York Public Library. This early example of adaptive reuse was designed by Giorgio Cavalieri and converted the civil court into a reading room, the police court room into the children’s reading room, and the basement holding area for prisoners into a library reference area.

The result of reusing a beautiful courthouse building is, not surprisingly, a very beautiful library. The reading rooms have soaring ceilings and stained glass windows, and a spiral staircase in the tower’s base guides visitors between levels.

The library does acknowledge the building’s history, carrying a few books that reference the Courthouse, and the NYPL website features a detailed page about the history of Jefferson Market Library. That said, though the library is celebrated as a historical landmark, I wouldn’t say the building is treated with the sensitivity of some of the other sites I’ve visited that have been host to social conflict. I do think it’s valid to argue that a courthouse building is a site of conflict, given that by definition, people using the space are often undergoing a traumatic experience - but especially in this case, when the site used to include a prison, and was trying criminal cases. I think the counter to this argument is that this legacy of conflict doesn’t seem to be particularly felt or remembered by the community. This beautiful, historic building that resembles a church definitely has a different effect on its surroundings than you might expect from a courthouse and prison.

Basement reference room, formerly a holding area for those on trail

I’m never quite sure how where I land in this argument: If a building has a dark history, but most of its users don’t consider it in that context, is it productive or necessary to acknowledge that history? The Palazzo della Civilta Italiana in Rome carries a similar dilemma, with Fendi arguing that Italians don’t associate the building with Fascism (see my post on this here: https://www.sallylape.com/research-1/category/Rome). I think what differs between these examples is that the architecture of Mussolini’s palazzo was specifically calibrated for the fascist agenda; its appearance was symbolic and deliberate. The Jefferson Market Courthouse, however, was designed to look more or less like a gothic church. Not that this decision was necessarily without agenda, but I’m not sure this building carries the same cultural weight.

Spotted some artistic depictions of the building, apparently not yet hung

Though I think it’s always good to acknowledge the history of a building, I’m not sure whether it’s completely necessary to treat this space with more sensitivity than is already in place: a library is certainly a respectful use for any sensitive space. I think the current state of this building is sufficient in both addressing its history and serving it’s community.

The wall treatment in the reading rooms seems to incorporate notes from check-out slips

The building recently underwent an accessibility upgrade, and was closed for three years before reopening (luckily) the week I was in town. I visited the library on the afternoon of opening day, and was pleased to find it bustling with guests: several passerby in the foyer were literally exclaiming to each other and chatting about how great it was to be back in the library, and how lovely the renovation was.

Projects like these remind me why I love the work that I do. To see community spaces actively being used and serving an important need - made more effective by good design - is so satisfying, even when the work isn’t my own.

For more info: https://www.nypl.org/about/locations/jefferson-market

New York Days 3 and 4

The High Line, once a disused section of the New York Central Railroad, was converted into a walkway and green space in phases between 2009 and 2019.

Designed by DS+R, the project presents a very thoughtful integration of new elements with existing. The paving pattern creates a visual vocabulary that accommodates remaining train lines, tapers off to create planted areas, and raises strategically to create furniture.

The High Line has been such a success that it has inspired a wave of development of similar “greenways” across the country - though these cannot be credited fully to the High Line, it was definitely an early and notable example of transforming residual infrastructure into recreational space.

The project has also arguably been a catalyst for development of the Hudson Yards neighborhood, which has transformed over the past 10 years into an incredibly expensive residential and commercial area.

The role and effects of the High Line have been subject to debate, sparking questions about whether projects like these, intended to “revitalize” neighborhoods, are actually doing more harm to the community by way of gentrification. I’m not going to delve into this issue, partially because I think adaptive reuse as a strategy can be deployed in many different situations, and its perceived effects will vary depending on other contributing factors as well.

I do think the High Line is worth considering because of these greater effects, whether they’re ultimately deemed positive or not. The project utilizes an industrial element, a rail line, which passes through the urban fabric differently than a city block or a road, allowing the park to penetrate throughout a larger urban area. Several of the other sites I’ve visited present similar opportunities (Tempelhof and Mauerpark in Berlin, for instance). It’s a really interesting example of how reuse can have a tangible impact at a larger urban scale.

The Moynihan Train Hall reuses the landmarked Farley Post Office Building as an expansion of Penn Station next door. The building, completed in 1914, was designed in a Beaux-Arts style by McKim, Mead and White to match the original Penn Station across the street.

The renovation was designed by SOM, notably adding vaulted glass ceilings in the main circulation spaces. In what was formerly the main mail sorting room, original steel trusses, once concealed within a ceiling, now support a vaulted ceiling comprised of steel and glass panels.

A preserved portion of the original building still serves as a post office, showcasing the beautiful interiors.

I think this project is a great example of adaptive reuse that both celebrates the virtues and functionality of the original building, while revitalizing it with thoughtful, modern interventions.

For more info: https://www.som.com/projects/moynihan-train-hall/

The Tenement Museum, founded in the 1980s, occupies two former tenement buildings on the Lower East Side. The museum is structured almost entirely around stories of real individuals who resided in these buildings at various times in US history. Rather than merely paying for admission or booking an overall tour, one visits the Tenement Museum by booking an apartment tour that features the story of a particular family or individual, about whom the museum has done genealogical research. I signed up for “At Home in 1869,” which followed the story of a family of Irish immigrants. The buildings are central to telling these stories, and are used to frame both the character of daily life for these former residents, as well as the larger historical events and trends that defined their lives. Although these buildings are not necessarily historically significant otherwise, they are treated as crucial historical elements more so than I experienced at almost any other site.

The buildings were in extreme disrepair when the organization first acquired them (97 Orchard street, which I visited, had been unoccupied for almost 50 years at that time). The museum has made an interesting choice in terms of preservation: some of the apartments have been restored to look as they would have when each tenant inhabited them, down to the furnishings and decor, in order to illustrate the values and struggles of each group of people. Other apartments, however, have been left more or less in the state in which they were found almost 30 years ago, with peeling paint, exposed sections of sheathing, and layers upon layers of rotting wallpaper. The intent here seemed to be to punctuate the idea that these buildings have a long and storied history: the tour guide pointed out that the peeling paint and wallpaper illustrate how many families occupied this space over time, and how each made efforts to make the space their own.

Source: https://www.tenement.org/tour/at-home-in-1869/?tour_date=2022-07-23

I found it very interesting that the museum utilized two different strategies for commemorating the building’s history, reaping the effects of both, and guiding visitors from one space to the other to emphasize the transition, like a movie told in flashbacks. This underlined a lot of questions I’d already had about preservation: when a building changes over time, which version of it should we preserve? What benefits come from exhibiting the effects of time, versus restoring what once was?

New York Days 1 and 2

Ellis Island, located in the New York harbor, functioned as an immigrant processing station from 1892-1954, and processed a total of around 12 million immigrants. The buildings sat abandoned from the 50s to the 80s, and were in rough shape before they were thoroughly restored. The buildings now function as a museum about the island itself, as well as the greater history of immigration in America.

The island also features what used to be an infectious disease hospital (apparently in the early 20th century, it was the largest public health facility in the US) - these building are only accessible by what is referred to as a “hard hat tour,” presumably due to the condition of the buildings.

The main exhibit on the first floor focuses on the history of immigration to the US, and does not reference the adjacent architecture much, instead intending creating novel educational experiences through the use of freestanding exhibit panels, as well as audio and video elements. The result is somewhat jumbled and only vaguely directional, with some redundancy in information (depending on the order in which you wander between the panels).

The upper levels, which focus on Ellis Island more specifically, are much more restrained in their exhibition design: themed rooms with simpler display panels, black and white photographs, and walls of prints or artifacts. Information is sometimes held back from the perimeter of the room, organized in the center, encouraging visitors to circulate around.

Preserved sections of the building itself also feature heavily in these exhibits, including the main Registry Room, hearing rooms for the Board of Special Inquiry, and preserved graffiti in situ.

Outside of the exhibition material, architectural interventions are minimal, but include the East Wing Light Court, which was converted from a light well to a skylit circulation space during the building’s restoration.

In all, the museum is a pleasant visit and a really great resource, and certainly a popular destination for school groups as well as tourists. However, with so much space, I wonder if the programming could go beyond that of just a museum. I suppose the fact of being an island is limiting in this regard (construction would be very expensive, and access is somewhat limited) but given the huge numbers of visitors and existing regular ferry service, expanded programming definitely seems within the realm of possibility.

Located at the tip of Manhattan in what is now Battery Park, Castle Clinton was built in 1812 as a battery, part of a larger system of forts that were meant to protect New York Harbor.

Side note: I learned that the star-shaped base of the Statue of Liberty was also originally one of these forts, Fort Wood, and was repurposed as the statue’s base.

In the 1820s, Castle Clinton was renamed “Castle Garden,” and used by the city as an event space. Then, in 1855, it was converted to an immigrant processing center, before Ellis Island opened. Then, bizarrely, it was converted into an aquarium that operated until 1941.

Source: https://www.nps.gov/cacl/learn/historyculture/index.htm

The building was restored to its original design by the National Park Service, and reopened in 1975. It now serves mostly as a visitor center, in which you can buy tickets for Ellis Island and Liberty Island.

I struggled to find documentation of what exactly these many renovations entailed, but vintage photographs indicate they were extensive. I find it interesting that the NPS chose to restore the building to its battery design - I wonder how much of the original building remained intact, and whether the battery could have been adequately acknowledged in some way from its later incarnations. It would be fascinating to see a more comprehensive overview of how the structure changed to accommodate these diverse uses over time, especially since today, it doesn’t feel like there’s much to see: one fading, permanent information plaque outside the southern entrance references the building’s history, but scarcely anyone stopped to read it. The northern entrance feels like the main entrance, as that’s the general direction of visitors to Ellis/Liberty islands. Inside, a spread of more temporary exhibit panels are nestled to one side, but its clear that for the most part, this building exists more to serve the other historical sites, rather than highlight its own story.

The 9/11 Memorial and Museum opened in 2014 and honors the almost 3000 people who were killed in the 9/11 attacks. The design consists of two fountains, occupying the former building footprints of the twin towers. I had not visited this memorial before, and was very moved by the experience. The constant movement and sound are very engaging, drowning out the din of tourists and cars nearby. This results in a much more immersive experience than I expected, especially given the heat and the crowds on the day I visited.

This strategy of referencing former building extents is similar to the Berlin Wall memorial. I think this is strategy can be really effective in its simplicity and scale. The choice to reference the absence of something is both poetic and visually dramatic.

I also think it’s worth noting that the collapse of these buildings resulted in the redevelopment of the World Trade Center site, with a master plan from Daniel Libeskind. The plan includes 6 new skyscrapers (4 of which have been built already) and a transit center, in addition to the memorial and museum.

The transit center is beautiful and convenient, and Calatrava’s design even integrates a memorial element: the Oculus, which only opens once a year on September 11th, and frames a view of 1 World Trade. It seems very unique to incorporate a commemorative element into a mostly commercial building - I wonder where else this strategy has been employed.

I’m interested in the idea that such a tragedy - a singular act of destruction - has in a roundabout way resulted in the extensive redevelopment of an urban area. Maybe the eventual transformation of this site is a testament in its own right to the powerful effects of destruction: emotional, physical, and temporal.