Time is one of those elusive things that affects everyone, but no one can fully understand or explain it. Dave Barry, the American author and humorist once wrote: “Other than Velcro, time is the most mysterious substance in the universe. You can’t see it or touch it, but a plumber can charge you up to $75 an hour for it without necessarily fixing anything.” Barry’s rate should be adjusted for inflation.
Whether we consciously realize it or not, our understanding of the world around us is inseparable from our perception of time. Time leaves its mark on everything and everyone, and without that time signature we’re lost. Imagine that all people look the same age – even if they are born. Or if every stone and stick looked equally worn and patinated. It would be a bit outside of the Twilight Zone – life seems frozen and we would have no idea where to position ourselves in relation to things around us.
This applies in particular to architecture. As we walk through a city, we experience buildings not only as shapes and colors, but also as time markers – meaning that they are artifacts from different eras in which they were built. Buildings are littered with visual cues, some obvious and some subtle, but a shortcut to this is architectural style. Although occasionally expressing superficial fashions and whims, architectural styles directly reflect building technologies, available materials, solutions to overcome technical or aesthetic challenges, and even political conditions and the general zeitgeist of an era. Of course, geographical location also plays an important role in the design of buildings.
So when we see a Federal-style house, we relate it to post-revolutionary times; a Victorian style house or building from the late 1800s during the reign of Queen Victoria; a typical brick building on Main Street, around the turn of the century; Art Deco belongs to the 1920s and 30s, a time when architects had a new challenge to design much taller buildings; Brutalist concrete architecture – unfortunately what most people associate with “modern architecture” – dates from the 1950s and 60s; and postmodernism was rife in the 1970s and 80s. (The latter two were arguably the most awkward of the bunch, much as the 1970s were for fashion fads.)
To the disappointment of some die-hard custodians, cities and towns are not stagnant museums, but ever-renewing places, with structures added and remodeled over time. It is normal, even desirable, to have modern style buildings next to older style buildings. Modern architecture, when thoughtfully executed, can be warm and appealing and is not incompatible with historical architecture. This juxtaposition of styles and time signatures creates a richer and far more interesting place, and most importantly, makes the historic buildings so much more valuable. Contrast makes everything easier to read, which is why federal and state monument protection guidelines require that additions to historic buildings be differentiated and not imitate the old buildings. This way we can distinguish what is original and what is new.
But what happens when we mess with our sense of time? What if, instead of designing buildings that look, function and belong to our time, we design them to visually mimic ancient and historic buildings? It would not be flattery; it would be fiction. We would simply fool ourselves and send false signals that distort our understanding of time and place. Sooner or later people would find out they were fooled and nobody likes to be fooled. In addition, the authentic historical buildings would also suffer as they would withdraw into a no longer recognizable jumble of doubles and impostors. In a way, we would be creating Disneyland’s Main Street, only worse, because no one is fooled by Disney’s Main Street – they know it’s a theme park. However, our cities are not amusement parks.
Which brings us to the sensitive subject of historic neighborhoods and historic landmarks. Most municipalities apply these categories narrowly and judiciously, landmarks apply to individual buildings or locations, while districts apply to specific city blocks or sometimes neighborhoods. Usually, for a place to be called a historic district, there has to be a preponderance of historic landmarks that are clustered closely together (think San Francisco’s “Painted Ladies”), or where the streets themselves exhibit unique historic qualities (think that cobblestone streets of New York City). streets of Tribeca). This makes sense, because if the name is to have any meaning, you have to be selective and not cast your nets too far, lest you catch more algae than fish.
Summerville has both types of designations, including a fairly expansive area covered by its historic district. In fact, I would argue that the district is too big as it contains many nondescript houses and streets with no historical significance. Still, there are some who suggest that we should enlarge the district as it would protect more of Summerville from poor development. I certainly identify with the feeling, just not with the solution.
If there are individual buildings outside the district that have real historical value, we may, with the consent of the owner, consider designating them as historical landmarks to protect them. There are individual names for this. However, covering the city with a historic district would deprive property owners of their investments, stifle economic growth, snuff out all design creativity and innovation by imposing an architectural straitjacket, and trap us forever in a time warp. Worse, it would create a theme park of fictional “historic” homes and buildings that would mock the entire historic district – the Disneyfication of Summerville.
The answer to bad development is not bad development that looks old. The answer is a thoughtful and well-designed development led by architects who are talented and responsible designers. It also includes a Design Review Board that holds developers to a high standard, discourages architectural pastiche, and encourages elegant and forward-thinking design that belongs to our times and adheres to established urban design principles.
Historic districts should not be used to embalm a city, but rather to preserve and celebrate the truly historic structures of the past while leaving plenty of room for new projects to sustain and enliven city life, pushing us forward confidently and uncompromisingly . The vitality and future of Summerville depends on it.
As Charles F. Kettering, a prolific inventor and a key figure at General Motors, astutely said a century ago, “You can’t have a better tomorrow if you’re thinking about yesterday all the time.”
Eric Epstein lives in Summerville and is the director of Epstein Architecture, a design practice focused on projects that bring people together. Eric has also taught architecture and urban design and is an occasional guest critic at architecture schools. He can be reached at eric@epsteinarchitecture.com.
