Jul. 16th, 2012 12:01 pm
Lasciate ogne speranza!
I was having a snack in the lounge, gazing out the second-floor window, when I noticed a woman standing on the plaza outside with a roller bag in one hand and a printed map in the other. I instantly wished I could do something to help her. Suddenly, she looked up at me and mouthed the words "HOW DO I GET IN THERE?" I pointed toward the main entrance, and she dutifully trekked off.
I've been working in this building--this brutalist Netsch-designed monstrosity (triply redundant, I know)--for so long now I don't really think about how confusing it is for the first-time visitor. I mean, I do once they're inside, since part of my job is directed people who arrive at the Information Desk. But I don't often run into people floundering about outside. The experience of the woman who runs the café in the building is entirely different. It's open to the outside on one side, so she's dealing with these unfortunates daily. Sometimes, as she explained to me the other day, they listen to her and head off straight in the wrong direction. More than once, someone's made a full circuit, come back in, and asked her again.
There's not much confusion if you approach from the access road, as I generally do. It slopes down gently to the main entrance, which is marked with a plaza, trash bins, signs, etc. But the plaza is a different matter. You have to be directly opposite the plaza entrance to see the sign above it, and even then it's understated enough you could miss it. But come from the opposite side of the plaza, and nothing will steer you close enough that you'll even notice it. There are two monumental staircases there and they lead to...nothing. One faces a back corner of the building and the other brings you alongside the café--thus my colleague's experiences.
In this respect, the contrast to the buildings on either side is dramatic. The east staircase faces a flight of steps that leads right up to the main entrance of the student center. The older building to the west has a grand west-facing entrance with wide steps that is, however, closed to the public (although not for much longer). All I can figure is that Netsch was reacting against that sort of design. But it's persisted for so many centuries because it's functional. Just as well-designed doors don't need signs to tell you whether to push or not, well-designed buildings shouldn't need any signage to tell you how to get inside them.
I've been working in this building--this brutalist Netsch-designed monstrosity (triply redundant, I know)--for so long now I don't really think about how confusing it is for the first-time visitor. I mean, I do once they're inside, since part of my job is directed people who arrive at the Information Desk. But I don't often run into people floundering about outside. The experience of the woman who runs the café in the building is entirely different. It's open to the outside on one side, so she's dealing with these unfortunates daily. Sometimes, as she explained to me the other day, they listen to her and head off straight in the wrong direction. More than once, someone's made a full circuit, come back in, and asked her again.
There's not much confusion if you approach from the access road, as I generally do. It slopes down gently to the main entrance, which is marked with a plaza, trash bins, signs, etc. But the plaza is a different matter. You have to be directly opposite the plaza entrance to see the sign above it, and even then it's understated enough you could miss it. But come from the opposite side of the plaza, and nothing will steer you close enough that you'll even notice it. There are two monumental staircases there and they lead to...nothing. One faces a back corner of the building and the other brings you alongside the café--thus my colleague's experiences.
In this respect, the contrast to the buildings on either side is dramatic. The east staircase faces a flight of steps that leads right up to the main entrance of the student center. The older building to the west has a grand west-facing entrance with wide steps that is, however, closed to the public (although not for much longer). All I can figure is that Netsch was reacting against that sort of design. But it's persisted for so many centuries because it's functional. Just as well-designed doors don't need signs to tell you whether to push or not, well-designed buildings shouldn't need any signage to tell you how to get inside them.