home

An undergraduate thesis by Tommy KimUnder the guidance of primary advisor, Heiner Schnoedt

and secondary advisor, Ellen BraatenIn fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Bachelor of Architecture

Submitted to Virginia Tech School of Architecture + Design in Blacksburg, Virginia

Chi ld rens communi t y

Bed

W indow

Tab le

Ce l la r

At t i c

S i te

A house

Af te r word

Bib l iography

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Dedicated to the refugees of the 2015 European migrant crisis

Chi ld rens communi t y

A proposal for housing to help those in need of home

There are children who do not have a house, apartment, or a room.

After the 1960s when foster care became a government-funded program in the U.S., the number of orphanages dwindled in favor of foster homes. While foster care does have more potential for the direct care of children and for an immersion into an adopting family, the system can lead to children who continuously fail to fit into the existing families. These chil-dren often end up back in foster homes or orphanages. Foster care often causes some chil-dren to grow up without a sense of home. Foster homes expose children to a transient climate as they await for someone to adopt them. The building and the staff are often mistreated and under-appreciated by the inhabit-ants. It is less likely to become what we conceptually understand as home. Throughout history, orphanages and foster homes have earned negative connotations. They were often under-staffed, unhealthy, and abusive. These conditions were exacerbated by institutionalized spatial conditions rather than healthy domestic environments. Traditional orphanages and foster homes were primarily concerned with the buildings ability to efficiently house hundreds of children in a same complex. Children shared rooms with several others and shared public quarters with the hundreds.

The large size and the long distances between rooms makes an institutional complex a difficult place for a child to develop a sense of ownership. Questions of scale and adjacencieswithin the buildings part-to-whole relationshipsaddress the differences in the spatial configuration between an institution and a house.

The proposed contemporary orphanagethe childrens communityis conceived as a perma-nent place for homeless children. The children who become residents of this community will stay until adulthood, barring legal complications or altercations. The whole community will be separated into smaller groups. These groups can act inde-pendently, as if they are individual families. Each group will live within individual modules that hold all programmatic rooms of a typical house. These modules are connected to each other, providing a whole complex that allows inhabitants to traverse across the modules. Indeed, the new adopted family is each other. The architecture defines space for in-residence parent-figures who effectively assume the role of full-time parents. Their bedrooms share boundaries with the childrens. They will share the public rooms with the children. With the help of the children, they will cook, do the laundry, and maintain the house together. The familial structure is not unlike most contemporary families in the U.S. In addition, however, there will be out-of-residence staff who fulfill duties of infant care and nursing.

What makes a home is not a question of architecture. Architecture can only offer the spatial reality in which the sense of home may occur. Home is at the core of human society. In architecture, my effort is focused on providing space in which the design promotes a sense of permanence and belonging to make a place more likely to become a home.

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The already human being in whom I had sought shelter for my body yielded nothing to the storm.The house clung close to me, like a she-wolf,

and at times, I could smell her odor penetrating maternally to my very heart.That night she was really my mother.

She was all I had to keep and sustain me.We were alone.

[Henri Bosco]

Home as an idea is amorphous.

The sense of home is dependent on the inhabitant.

An architectural space can offer a place for this sense of home.

The architecture of a house aims to fulfill the needs of physiology, safety, belonging, esteem, and self-actualization.

A house can be defined as an orchestration of:

a bed under the morning sun

a window to nature

a table for the family

a cellar in the dark

an attic for daydreaming.

A ce l la r in the dark

An at t i c fo r daydreaming

A la rge tab le fo r the fami l y

A bed under the morn ing sun

A w indow to nature

13

Human lives are lived in cycles of day and night. The ideal day begins at sunrise, when the person awakes in the private realm of a bedroom. Over the course of the day, as the sun moves from east to west, the person moves into the public realm to work, study, or play. At sunset, as the day ends, begins the return to the private realm, where person stays until bedtime. After sleeping and dreaming, the cycle begins again. As the sun rises over and falls behind the horizon, a person enters and exits the public realm. Thus, a good bedroom plays a healthy part in a persons relationship to the morning sun. A good bedroom signals the morning with a warm glow that scatters across the walls. It marks the start of the day by adopting the sun as a natural alarm. The inhabitants relationship to the sun and the bed can be similarly implemented throughout the house. The mid-day sun plays a miniscule role for the house, since people often leave the house for work, school, or play during the day. The house can, however, react to the climatic thermal needs by storing or repelling this mid-day heat. The after-noon/evening sun should be met at the living room where the inhabitant can relax in the shadow of the warm light. The dining room and the kitchen are also used at this time, where the harsh western light should be avoided or redirected.

In the design, bedrooms face the range of east-to-southeast directions depending on the siting of the house. Every bedroom has direct access to a view of the sunrise on every clear morning. Exterior openings, at a proportion of 2.5ft in width by 4ft in height, occur in-between the columns. They are glazed on the outside edge of the frame, forming a small alcove. Above every window is a coiling shade; under every window is a vent for air conditioning. The location of the openings, both lateral and vertical, are different for every house. No bedroom has the same faade for the exterior wall. As a result of this syncopationand the fifteen-degree shift at each moduleevery bedroom can represent the inhabit-ants individuality within the structure of the community. Each of the three floors has different bedroom configurations. Some are shared; some are single. The intended program of the bedrooms has the older children in single rooms and younger children in shared rooms. Over time, the children can assume their next tier of bedrooms as the oldest children depart their bedroom at adulthood. When they switch bedrooms, they are introduced to a new pattern of the morning sun.

Beginn ing o f the day

Southeast-facing window with reflector [2]

Schematic sketch of two rotated moduleswith east-facing bedrooms

Diagram of the cyclical sun [1]

The weight of the sun represents the continuum of time

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The scale of time is a near-absolute identity in the world. All things age, move, and follow the rhythm of time. The cycles of the day, the seasons, and the human life are inseparable from the constant flow of time. Time is the fabric of the universe, upon which everything occurs. By experiencing cycles pertinent to human lifedays of the sun, seasons of the atmosphere, and the lives from birth and deathwe are observing time. Each second is experienced through the observation of cycles. Multiple cycles, not limited to those aforementioned, exist synchronously, changing the state of the world with each passing of time. If time and space are to be viewed as a single interwoven continuum of spacetime, the observation of time ought to be of equal architectural value as that of space. A building, therefore, exists in the fabric of time and space; the buildings existence is an altercation to this fabric. Thus, temporal activities effectively assume spatial roles. Memories of the past and daydreams into the future can be triggered by objects in space, though they primarily belong to the realm of occurrences in time. This interchange between the temporal and the spatial offers a broader range within the competence of architectural elements.

Remembering is like constructing and then travelling again through a space.We are already talking about architecture.Memories are built as a city is built.It could be said that architecture, from its beginning, has been one of the ways of fixing memories.

[Umberto Eco]

T ime

Water as a spatial and a temporal element [3]

A ce l la r in the dark

An at t i c fo r daydreaming

A la rge tab le fo r the fami l y

A bed under the morn ing sun

A w indow to nature

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A house is a shelter; a house is an observatory. This contradictory dichotomy between nature and a house reflects upon the Melvilla canon/reversa proposed by Douglas Darden: Architecture is the reconciliation with nature. Architecture is the irreconciliation with nature. [a]

A shelter is the reconciliation with nature. It sits within the landscape and minimally protects from natural elements. An observatory is the irreconciliation with nature. It climbs over the landscape to offer a dominant view without surrendering modern interior conditions. This dichotomy causes the window to be an architectural element that can irreconcile with nature. The window permits the entry of desirable qualities from naturesunlight and viewwhile repelling destructive forces of naturewind and rain.

The window design bounds one side of the living room facing the valley. The long window is structured by columns at three-foot increments. The spacing between the columns creates a nook for sitting by the window. The columns cover the mullions from the inside, which presents the window as a simple, paper-thin plane. The three-foot spans of windows irregularly alternate with wooden panels to clad the wall. This variation offers different adjacencies between windows and panels. The panels contain radiant heating pipes, so that the inhabitant can sit in the nook in the warmth during winter. The largest window is a four-panel-wide accordion door. When open, natural elements are permitted into the house. The varied condition of windows and panels articulates the shelter-observatory dichotomy. Two people, sitting three feet away from each other, can experience the space in different ways. It can be modified by the inhabitants to meet their climatic needs. A good house is both a shelter and an observatory.

Paper- th in p lane

House as an observatory [5]

House as a shelter [4]

Nooks with windows and panels between columns

The ways nature is permitted into a house

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Nature is all that exists outside of human contact. From this view, what is nature is an unanswerable question. The question may be better phrased as such: at a specific place and time, what is the magnitude of nature as a symbol? This question allows nature to be interpreted as a conditional quality, not as a specific thing. Whereas one tree, nicely groomed and mulched, in a metropolis is likely to offer a sense of nature, the same tree on the plot of a forest lodge is unlikely to do so. Indeed, it may act as a symbol for the opposite of naturethe nurtured, the civilized, and the built. Nature is a sensation to be experienced within the circumstances of the land. Every land is a unique place with a different set of circumstances that affect the meaning of what is built. The land encompasses all that has occurred, is occurring, and will occur. Thus, with the first stroke of the pen onto paper, the land is inevitably changed by architecturethen begins the interaction between the land and the building.

Nature

Like fingerprints and the lines in our palms, the memory of the past remain imprinted on all lands. As every fingerprint is unique, so is the pattern of every piece of land.Sometimes it is a pattern created from natural history;sometimes it is a pattern imprinted through the continuity of human life.The record and story of our lives are written on the land.The land is thus a grand and noble book of history, and thus is precious as precious can be.

[Seung Hyo-Sang]

Trees soften the concrete hardscape [6]

Groomed tree in a landscape [7]

A ce l la r in the dark

An at t i c fo r daydreaming

A la rge tab le fo r the fami l y

A bed under the morn ing sun

A w indow to nature

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One vas t su r face The spatial condition of emptiness is transient. At one point, space may be filled with a large gathering around a single event. At another point, space may be used sparingly by small pockets of inhabitants. Eventually, space returns to its default state of emptiness. When space is empty, the spatial attention spreads outwards. On an empty dining table, the elevated horizontal plane extends into the surrounding space. In an empty courtyard, the sunken plane interacts vertically with the sky space. In both instances, the architectural space reaches into the adjacent space. Once an object or an activity occurs on the plane, the attention shifts inwards. The elements on the plane are actors on a stage. On a dining table, dishes of food, binders of homework, and decks of playing cards are placed on the surface, only to be removed and returned to its default state of empti-ness. A traditional Korean courtyard is cleared after every event to make room for some-thing else. This sense of indeterminate emptiness is not disrupted by inhabitation. Rather, as a result of inhabitation, emptiness is given a purpose. Upon inhabitation, the identity of an empty room becomes synonymous with its activity. An empty room at the center of a house can offer a place for the inhabitation of every individual. From this inhabitation, the room assumes an identity that reflects the lives of its inhabitants. The space offers a sense of ownership for an individual and for the whole family.

The living room design has a wooden floorthe symbolic table. It is elevated one-foot above the concrete floor. The raised height offers a place at the edge for sitting. On one side, the hearth cuts into the floor to become the focus of the room. A stair to the bedrooms wraps around the hearth. The hearth is stepped along the stair to offer places to sit and to display objects. The floor extends to become a suspended balcony, where the inhabitants can be open-to-air under the roof canopy. They are met by the two hills that surround the site. The table and the hearth are both places of gathering. In this design, they act in conjunction with each other to make two areasone with a prescribed program around the hearth and one without a fixed configuration on the table.

Dining table occupies more than itself [8]

Servants courtyard cleared out [9]

Initial programmatic diagram

Skylight window imitates a chimney The necessity for a true hearth

Section through the wooden floor showing the stair beyondThe hearth has since replaced the skylight window

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Hear th Hogar, a Spanish word, is defined by the Real Academia Espaola dictionary and trans-lated into English as site where the fire in the kitchens, fireplaces, smelters is made. The same word is used to define home. The etymological root of the word, in classical Latin, is focus [b]. This linguistic relationship presents the hearth as the focus of the house. In Skara Brae, a prehistoric settlement in the Orkney archipelago of Scotland, the dirt pit at the center of each house denotes a place for fire. It is possible to imagine a scene in the Scottish winters where the residents huddled around the firecooking meals, drying clothes, and sharing stories. The hearth is the focus around which domestic activities occurred. Le Corbusier does not mention the hearth in his five points of architecturehis means for his clients to savoir habiter (to learn to live) in the modern world of new technology. In the Villa Savoye, the prototypical house for his five points, the hearth could have been completely replaced by radiators. Yet, there is a hearth in the living room, sitting off-centered towards the patio. The brick materiality contrasts the white-painted walls throughout the house. If the goal of this living room is to invite the sunlight and the landscape from the exterior, the hearth can be seen as a guard of the interior. While this hearth is too small to heat the whole house, it is still a distinguished element in space. The hearth is primal, if not antiquated. Le Corbusier perhaps understood that even modern technology cannot dethrone this symbol deeply rooted in the sense of home.

Fire pit with possible roof opening at Skara Brae [10]

The small hearth faces the roof garden at Villa Savoye [11]

The first sign of human settlement and restafter the hunt, the battle, and wandering in the desert is today [...] the setting up of the fireplaceand the lighting of the reviving, warming, and food-preparing flame.Around the hearth the first groups assembled;around it the first alliances formed;around it the first rude religious concepts were put into the customs of a cult.Throughout all phases of society the hearth formed that sacred focusaround which the whole took order and shape.It is the first and most important, the moral element of architecture.

[Gottfried Semper]

A hearth in the lounge of Exeter Library

A ce l la r in the dark

An at t i c fo r daydreaming

A la rge tab le fo r the fami l y

A bed under the morn ing sun

A w indow to nature

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Descend ing s ta i r Descending is often associated with a sense of uneasiness. Typically, entering a house is a series of ascenta rising front lawn, a raised porch, an upper-floor bedroom, and an elevated bed. Descending, as an idea, points to the cellar as the lowest part of the house. While the over-ground house gestures towards the outside, the cellar is inevitably confined by the earth-bearing walls and the floor above. It is often dark, cold, and unfinished. These qualities, in addition to the act of descent, are likely to instill fear. Darkness deprives the mind from sightour primary sensory function. It heightens other sensory stimuli from the cellar in unpleasant waysdampness of the earth, noises from the mechanical room, critters crawling. Monsters live under the bed or in the closetand in the cellar. A contemporary trend in single family houses is to furnish the cellar. The furnishings are valuable in economically utilizing the house. However, these furnishings must give spacewhether it is a mechanical room or a storage roomfor places that instill a sense of fear. Fear is something almost everyone must face. Almost every child has faced, and over-come, fears. Sometimes they are as silly as a monster under the bed; other times they are serious and traumatizing. While not all fears must be faced, it is important to face silly fears in childhood. These fears are easily defeated during development. After successfully defeating silly fears, the child has the opportunity to face more difficult fears later in life.

The cellar in the design is accessed by a descending stair located in the service unit, outside of the module. It is a half-storey, insulated crawl space that holds ducts and pipes that serve the living room directly. Bedrooms and bathrooms are served through a service shaft. It also holds units for air conditioning and radiant floor heating. The crawl space door, at the bottom of the concrete stair, is painted sanguine red. A harsh shadow casts across the stair landing, making darker the entrance. These sensory experiences may cause the younger children to develop fears about what lies behind the door. Over the years, they may overcome their fears and enter the room.

A basement stair into the dark [12]

Multi-perspective section projects adjacencies of rooms and materials

Smooth concrete covering up rough stones

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Peelable magnetic metal mesh wall [14]

A resonating flow of water at the baptismal font [13]

Senses A building can be conceived through the corporeal presence of its tectonic elements. The study of the sensory competence of architectural objects can be used to orchestrate the configuration of materials. This method of design relies on the imagination of scenes, where the designer becomes the first-person experiencing the building. Indeed, all experience is dependent on the bodys existence in space. Within space, the body interacts with the surrounding objectsthe body experiences the world. Charles Moore suggests that humans unconsciously locate our bodies inside a three-dimensional boundary [c]. This shapeless, abstract boundarythe source of forming the body-image according to Mooreis informed by the space between the body and the object, where the bodys senses are extended. Arguably, the primary sense for architecture is visual, qualified by ideas such as symmetry and proportion. However, symmetry and proportion can also be applied to auditory, tactile, olfactory, and even gustatory relationships within architecture. In addi-tion, further distinctions have defined numerous other senses, which include balancing and thermal senses. These senses play a role in delineating the spatial boundary of the body. A rusticated stone wall may invite the tactile sense to touch the wall. A descending stair in the dark may cause the loss of the visual and balancing senses to instill fear. The taste of an apple [...] lies in the contact with the palate, not in the fruit itself, writes the Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges [d]. The taste of a building lies in the sensory experience with the body, not in the building itself.

The authenticity of architectural experience is grounded in the tectonic languge of the buildingand the comprehensibility of the act of construction to the senses. We behold, touch, listen, and measure the world with our entire bodily existence,and the experiential world becomes organised and articulated around the centre of the body.Our domecile is the refuge of our body, memory, and identity.We are in constant dialogue and interaction with the environment, to the degreethat it is impossile to detach the image of the self from its spatial and stiuational existence.

[Juhani Pallasmaa]

A ce l la r in the dark

An at t i c fo r daydreaming

A la rge tab le fo r the fami l y

A bed under the morn ing sun

A w indow to nature

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The world of daydreams and imaginations empowers the dreamer. The limit of this world is not set by even the sky. Yet, the sky and its seemingly infinite vastness provide our minds with a canvas for painting our daydreams. The top floor of a house, the point closest to the sky, is diametrically opposed to its lowest floor. Whereas the cellar serves as a place for storing away memories, the attic is a place to exercise the minds capability to imagine. In typical houses, the attic often becomes neglected as an accessory room for storage. As it gets filled with defunct objects, the symbolic heaviness weighs down upon the rooms below. Instead, the responsibility of this highest point should offer a sense of freedom.

The attic is conceived as an open-to-air sky-viewing room. The sunlight from the square skylight window fills the room with pale-white walls. The skylight window is sized to offer covered areas under the roof. The roof is a shade under the summer sun and a cover under the rain and snow. The attic meets the interior with a large glass wall. It permits the morning light from the skylight window. This beam of light traces across the roof of the living room throughout the passing of each day and changes its course throughout the year.

The attic, as a place to view the sky, can become a place to pause. We are always preoc-cupied, even in our leisure. By pausing in the attic, we are given the time to reexamine ourselves.

Blue canvas

A bedroom attic [15]

View of the sky from a studio desk [16]

The attic filled by light

Dormer at the bedroom extends into the sky

Opening to the sky

Drawing with an eraser subtractsfrom a graphite field

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Clouds float in three-dimensional positions, raindrops fall through miles of cloud layers, and sunlight pierces through the gaps in between to create this dynamic canvas which we call sky. This atmosphere of our Earth can be seen as a spatial entity that borders the seas, lands, and buildings. Skyscrapers exemplify how most architectural spaces borrow from the sky. Architecture is the human intervention of the sky space. Yet, architectural spaces are often detached from the sky space. We frequently leave our doors and windows closed. James Turrell compares this human behavior to that of hermit crabs. Were in this enclosure here. We go outside and get into a movable shell and zip off to another place, and get out inside of another one. So its kind of musical chairs with these shellsthe shell gameand these things that enclose us [e]. If an architectural space should arouse a sense of freedom, it must be seen in conjunc-tion with sky space. The sky is a symbol of freedom, a blue canvas.

Sk y

Though space has a liberating effect, it is not freedom.Freedom is unbridled, unlimited release.Space is ordered, targeted, even if that order is emotional by nature and impossible to define.Freedom is virtual, existing only as something in the distance that is not part of you[...]Freedom is something you feel when it is not yours, you feel space when you feel free[...]Space compiles, seeks embedding; freedom devours, like fire, indiscriminately.Freedom takes no account of things, has no respect...Freedom cannot choose for with every act of choosing it reduces itself[...]Where everything is possible and permitted there is no need of anything.Space is a supply that creates a demand.Space has shape, it is freedom made comprehensible[...]Space arouses a sense of freedom.Comparatively speaking, the more space, the more freedom, and that which frees brings space[...]Feeling free means having the space you need.

[Herman Hertzberger]

Framed view of the sky [17]

Photographs:1. Church of Saint-Pierre. Firminy, France. Le Corbusier. photo by Brandon Holcombe. 2. Tuberculosis sanatorium. Paimio, Finland. Alvar Aalto. photo by Maija Holma: Alvar Aalto Museum.3. Querini Stampalia. Venice, Italy. Carlo Scarpa. photo by Kelsey Mclean. 4. White U. Tokyo, Japan. Toyo Ito. photo by Koji Taki. 5. Villa Tugendhat. Brno, Czech Republic. Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. photo by Miroslav Ambroz. 6. Carpenter Center. Boston, United States. Le Corbusier. photo by author. 7. Fallingwater House. Mill Run, United States. Frank Lloyd Wright. photo by author. 8. Villa Mairea. Noormarkku, Finland. Alvar Aalto. photo by Martti Kapanen: Alvar Aalto Museum. 9. Dokrakdang. Gyeongju, South Korea. photo from book Beauty of Korean Houses, Seo Jung-ho: Kyungin Publishing. 10. Skara Brae. Orkney, Scotland. photo by David Katz. 11. Villa Savoye. Poissy, France. Le Corbusier. photo by Mary Ann Sullivan. 12. photo by Lauren + Kyle Zerbey. from website Chezerbey: chezerbey.com13. Santa Maria. Canaveses, Portugal. Alvaro Siza. photo by CJMO. from website Panoramio: panoramio.com14. Wyly Theatre. Dallas, United States. OMA. photo by author.15. Didden Village. Rotterdam, Netherlands. MVRDV. photo by Rob t Hart. 16. Cowgill Hall. Blacksburg, United States. photo by author.17. Skyspace. New York City, United States. James Turrell. photo by author.

In-text references:a. Douglas Darden. Condemned Building. pg 9.b. Hogar. Diccionario De La Lengua Espaola. Web.c. Charles Moore. Body, Memory, and Architecture. pg 37.d. Jorge Luis Borges. Selected Poems. as quoted by Juhani Pallasmaa. The Eyes of the Skin. pg 17.e. Michael Govan. James Turrell. Interview Magazine. 30 June 2011. Web.

Quotations:Henri Bosco. Malicroix. as quoted by Gaston Bachelard. The Poetics of Space. pg 45.Umberto Eco. Architecture and Memory. as quoted by Jan Birksted. Landscapes of Memory and Experience. pg 53.Seung, Hyo-Sang. Landscript. pg 79.Gottfried Semper. The Four Elements of Architecture. pg 102.Juhani Pallasmaa. The Eyes of the Skin. pg 69.Herman Hertzberger. Articulations. pg 29.

This site was chosen for its atmosphere.

When the car turns a wide curve around the hill, the existing buildings on site jump abruptly out of the foliage. The existing buildings have classical columns and balcony-corridors. They are painted white and covered with a dark metal roof. The buildings act as a fence between the groomed landscape and the overgrown. The openings into the building radiate cold-ness as I walk past the chained doors and broken windows. I feel its antiquity. I sense the weakened integrity of the brick pavers that give against my weight. I step around the broken glass panes and loose hotel items: cups, toilet papers, and shower cap boxes. Each object makes me wonder about the atmosphere of this place in its heyday. Upon moving past the building, I am met by a sensory contrast. It is an entry into the overgrowth. The noise of the road begins to disappear. In the summer, the ceaseless hunting chants of gnats surround my head. On cooler days, wind chatters the leaves and masks the car noise. In the overgrowth, paths are implied between trees and thorny shrubs. I weave through the space almost instinctively by seeing whether I would fit through the open-ings. At first, I hesitate at making these paths. Later, I am not only paving random paths but also searching through the overgrowth to find old paths that exist in the forms of concrete stairs and vine-covered bridges. The old paths lead to the center: the valley.

Heal ing Spr ings , V i rg in ia

Bath County, Virginia37.962096N 79.863469W3 miles south of Hot Springs7 miles south of Warm Springs15 miles north of Covingtonon U.S. 220

Approximate location in Appalachia

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U.S.220

Aerial photograph of Healing Springs with the site location in relation to major institutions and businesses

The valley is wedged in between three hills. I believe that the sense of compression offers a frame for viewing the sky. The horizons of tree-lines and the flatness at the valley appear to be pulling the sky downwards, stretching the sky space into the valley. Breezes are pulled down and through the hills. A stream runs behind the spring house and across the valley, but it is often dried up. The atmosphere of the site changes noticeably with water flow. When dry, the site can feel heavy and solemn. When flowing, the stream overtakes the site and offers a sense of refreshment and clarity. The stream provides a closer relationship to the closed-up well. The spring water is said to have been quite warm. While the access to the spring water is currently blocked, I can imagine the surprise of the past inhabitants who felt this warm water arise next to a cold stream.

There may have once existed a manicured field in the valley. Historic photos of the site, without the overgrowth, show clearly the relationship between the spring house and the well. One could walk from the spring house, across the activities on the field, to the spring to fetch water. The present, overgrown site implies nothing of the sort. There is an ocean of grass and swaying plants. A dirt track is made by the occasional maintenance worker. The portico of the spring house and the concrete platform of the well are islands in this grass ocean.

William Burke, a doctor from the 1850s, described Healing Springs to have been as rude as wild nature can make it [f]. The past twenty years have not been kind to the buildings on site. The decay and the overgrowth make me wonder about the scale of time. I begin to imagine what it once could have been and what it can become in the future.

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Photographs:18. photo from book Historic Springs of the Virginias, Stan Cohen: Pictoral Histories Pub. Co.19. photo from thesis book Mountain Air, Wild Scenery and Healing Waters, Bart Bickel: Virginia Tech.20. photo by author.

In-text references:f. Stan Cohen. Historic Springs of the Virginias. pg 50.

Ball room. Rear view of hotel. Dining hall. 1877 [18]

The spring house and well in 2002 [19]

The spring house and well in 2015 [20]

The childrens community building cuts into one of three hills on site. The building fans across to follow the curve of the hill. A garden separates the building from the vehic-ular road. Descending paths, slightly sunken, separate the garden into twelve plots and connect the building to the road. The building and the site are conceived as a single entity. The materials of the site are excavated, removed, and relocated. Existing trees are removed as necessary and foreign trees are planted in replacement. All existing buildings on this hill, within the plot, are demolished. Concrete retaining walls and foundation walls mark the site to denote the footprint of the building. The identity of the hill is redefined as a result of this design, while the two adjacent hills are untouched. The redefined identity contrasts the existing overgrowth.

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Six modules are connected by five service units in-between.

An accessible corridor connects all modules and service units.

The yards are also connected by stairs across the length of the building.

A typical module contains a living/dining room, bedrooms, toilets, and an attic.

A service unit contains a kitchen, a laundry room, and a mechanical/electrical room.

A module is typically served by the unit to its south.

The southernmost module, without a service unit, contains administrative and nursing offices.

Every module is accessed by an individual stair to descend from the garden.

Every module has a hearth and a tree.

Each module has a different configuration of windows.

Each module differs by 15 in orientation and 2-6 in elevation.

Two elevator towers mark the two ends of the building.

No defined path marks the way down to the creek.

39Floor plan cut +4-0 above first floor of southernmost module

Floor plan cut +14-0 above first floor of southernmost module

41Floor plan cut +34-0 above first floor of southernmost module

Cross section through a typical module showing the five points: a bed under the morning sun a window to nature a table for the family a cellar in the dark an attic for daydreaming.

Cross-section showing different paths of movement

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First floor plan of a typical module

The hearth cuts into the table

The stairs wrap around

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Second floor plan of a typical module

Exploded axonometric drawing identifies the building components of plinth, floors, frame, cladding, and roof

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Third floor plan of a typical module

Af te r word

Within issues that seem strictly architecturalsuch as the issue of designing a good houseit is often evident that the circumstances of architectural issues transcend the realm of architecture. Each issue is complex; no issue is strictly limited to a single profes-sion or study. Being an architecture student has opened my mind to critically examine different issues of human life. As I graduate, I look forward to gathering a diversity of knowledgereading the novels of South American writers, learning about the theories of physics and astronomy, and studying languages and their structures. In my development as an architectural designer, I hope to synthesize the study of architecture with other studies. I believe that every issue of humanity is inevitably tied to one another. Furthermore, I believe in the power of curiosity and aspirationthe longing to understand. I am eager to face new challenges ahead.

10 May 2016from the fourth floor of Cowgill Hall

Thank you for being a part of this thesis:

Heiner Schnoedt, an exemplary educator and the librarian of this thesis, who encouraged me to stand on the shoulders of giants;

Ellen Braaten, a motherly teacher and a mentor throughout my college education, who taught me about the art of craft;

Brandon, Kelsey, Mitch, Zach, Connor, and Mo, my colleagues in studio, who designed this project as much as I;

Henri de Hahn, who pushed me out of my comfort zone to develop this thesis beyond my expectations;

Elizabeth Grant, Susan Piedmont-Palladino, Margarita McGrath, and Laura McGuire, who offered valuable advice along the way;

my father, mother, and sister, who never ceased their support and belief in me;

and all those who have played a role in the circumstances of my life.

Bibliography

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