The two twelve-by-sixteen-foot bedrooms, directly above a comparable pair on the first floor, feature a glass transom that follows the pitch of the roof. “The stair and railings were very simple,” Depardon observes. “We added a bit of design, with panels made from frosted Japanese rice paper between layers of glass.” The architects created skylights and installed rooftop solar panels that heat the water and first-floor radiant system – changes Depardon considers faithful to Koch’s philosophy of rationality and cost-effectiveness. “The idea was, this is a great little piece of architecture – let’s try to be respectful of it.”
Depardon describes Koch’s four-by-eight module (based on the industry standard for a sheet of plywood) as “a sandwich – an outer layer of plywood, an inner layer of Sheetrock, and what they called a foil insulation” – a document written by the house’s original owner describes it as an “aluminum reflective radiant barrier” – which, says the architect, “was falling apart” from neglect. The entire house, he adds, “was a mess,” with much of the interior “too far gone to save – we gutted it.”
The structure’s exterior, however, finished in redwood siding—chosen for its sturdiness and resistance to rot—“had held up very well—we just gently power-washed it,” Depardon says. The architects chose a moss green for the infill panels, as the originals “had deteriorated to such a degree that we couldn't tell what color they’d been.”
“We took the terrace off because it made the lower level really dark,” Depardon explains. “Also, there was an incredible Japanese maple tree in front that was planted when they built the house, and the terrace was killing the view of it from the upper level.” The house’s original aluminum frame windows “were quite elegant, but single-pane—energy was not an issue at that time. We matched the aluminum, but put in new thermally broken glazing.”
The architects greatly admired the structure’s siting, not only for the way it captured southern and eastern light through ample fenestration, but also for the design’s interplay with the property’s preexisting elements. “It’s nestled by this amazing three-story retaining wall, and the old stone and modern clean house play off each other very well. There was also a fountain in front that’s very Roman in flavor—all these relics make the place feel kind of special.”
“Originally there was a wall right down the middle of the lower floor where the pole is,” Depardon explains. “It was relatively dark, and we felt the best thing to do was to open it all up.” While Koch’s design featured wooden walls, “we decided not to put the plywood panels back in, and chose Sheetrock to lighten it all up.” The architects also replaced the original concrete floor with one incorporating a radiant heat system.
Depardon and Ogawa inserted a new kitchen and designed its rectilinear island. The dining area had been an enclosed family room, “and it had, funnily enough, a washer and dryer in it,” Depardon recalls. “We all live differently than we did in the fifties.”
On the second floor, the architects maintained the existing exposed post-and-beam structure. “That’s an amazingly small tensioning rod,” Depardon says of the bar between the two beams. “But if you didn’t have that, the house would open up – the roof could push the outer walls out.” Depardon and Ogawa exchanged the original furniture-grade Luan mahogany ceiling for a stained birch plywood and replaced what was left of the old cork floor with a new one.
“We left the roof exactly as it was, with the old four-by-eight-foot modules,” Depardon explains, noting that the original panels, attached to the two-by-four frame, effectively held the house together. “It’s an unbelievably tight structural system, and we had to recreate it – we couldn’t just layer Sheetrock on it.” The architects also removed a wall, opening up the public space, and installed a long bench beneath the windows. “The area near the eaves is so low you’d have hit your head,” says Depardon. The bench serves as a cue to sit down.
The prevailing approach to landmark preservation in New York tends to be either/or—i.e., if it’s not worthy of embalming, knock it down—which has deprived the city of many fine buildings that might have enjoyed second lives via a mixture of historic and contemporary design. The Chatwal, an 83-room new hotel off Times Square, exemplifies such a mix. Click here to see the thoughtfully-appointed interiors of the preserved Chatwal.
left panel w/o my light
Throughout the hotel, Despont has redistributed preexisting elements—wooden double doors featuring a distinctive barrel-lid motif, a handcrafted mantelpiece, the memorial commemorating members lost in the two World Wars—which, like sudden memories, take visitors by surprise. Elsewhere—as with the vintage subway signage in the guest rooms—newly added urban artifacts achieve a similar effect.
“I worked with Ralph Lauren on his flagship store in London,” Despont recalls. “And he told me, ‘You have to make something that has never existed—but that everyone recognizes.’” In The Chatwal’s guest rooms, this notion emerges in the “steamer trunk” closets, night tables, and desks, which recall the luggage that prevailed in the golden age of the ocean liner. “Today’s traveler is a global nomad,” says Despont, and his surreal design element converts landlocked midtown hotel rooms into oceangoing fantasias.
The restaurant’s chiaroscuro painting, which evokes the easy, well-lubricated sodality of Broadway in its heyday, exemplifies Despont’s use of contemporary artworks (including a double-height mural in the lobby) to locate the design in past and contemporary times. Indeed, “I have difficulty distinguishing history from today,” Despont admits. “If you do a new building, why not bring in elements from the past that resonate?”
The hotel’s Lambs Club restaurant intermingles original and contemporary design elements. The centerpiece overscaled 18th-century French carved stone fireplace was in fact a gift to the club from White (who, liked the fictional Charles Foster Kane, collected and warehoused architectural artifacts), and the walls are lined with photos of past and present members. As for the profusion of red, says Despont, “If you use it, don’t be shy.”
Along with his “contemporary historic” interventions, Despont worked closely with New York’s Landmarks Preservation Commission to restore the interior’s significant protected elements. Initially the Lambs Club library, the newly christened Stanford White Studio features original oak paneling, pilasters, and deep ceiling beams, all revivified and reinstalled—“a tip of the hat to Stanford,” Despont says.
bartender
Despont locates The Chatwal’s aspect of glamour, not in a specific color, material or decorative motif, but rather lighting and, critically, programming. “If you don’t have good lighting, it’s hard to have a successful space,” he says. “I chose warm, yellow illumination – you look good and feel good.” Glamour also derives from the little bar at one end of the lobby. “For me it has the appeal of an insider’s place, a bit of a club—when you walk in, you feel privileged.”
clock in this time
The complex’s open-to-the-public components include a cafe and rock garden atop the Kreeger Theatre and a terrace that leads the eye to the Washington Monument and the heart of the capital—making an explicit connection between the imperial city and a neglected district that, it is hoped, the new complex will help to revitalize.
The original Arena Stage complex, designed by Harry Weese, included the 680-seat Fichandler Stage (1961)—the country’s first permanent theater-in-the-round facility—and, a decade later, the thrust-stage 500-seat Kreeger Theatre, both now listed as historic structures.
Though one of America’s foremost companies, the Arena suffered from challenges both programmatic and urbanistic. An administration building linking the two theaters “made sense internally,” Thom explains, “but separated the front doors to both houses—there was no ‘there’ there.” Rehearsal, storage and workshop facilities were inconveniently off-site. And the southwest Washington location had deteriorated thanks to 1960s-era urban renewal programs.
Artistic director Molly Smith said, “Bring everyone together, and give me lots of light,” Thom recalls. The architect sunk the administration offices one level and replaced them with a communal public lobby faced by the Fichandler, Kreeger and new 200-seat Kogod Cradle. Thom also built extensive rehearsal and workshop space at the top of the triangular site—tripling the overall amount of space.
Light is supplied by the enveloping glass walls, which accomplish multiple objectives. The landmarked theaters, Thom observes, “are encapsulated and celebrated as objects in the new space, their original facades intact.” The glass provides acoustical insulation from the ambulances and airplanes that previously disrupted performances. And by opening the administrative and certain back-of-house functions to the street, the Arena invites in the community.
“The way it was designed by Harry Weese, which I believe was correct, the audience comes in and has to go up six to eight feet to enter—a theatrical space is much more dramatic when you enter from the top and the seats and stage unfold in front of you,” Thom observes. “I got rid of the steps and sloped the lobby about two degrees, so you can go into the old theaters without encountering stairs.”
The 18 columns, which are set at 36-foot intervals and range in height from 45 to 60 feet—and each support an average 400,000 pounds of load—are made of Parallam, which Thom describes as “high-tech wood—95 percent recycled Douglas fir chips and five percent glue.” Stainless steel fittings on the columns, says Thom, “hold the weight of the glass in tension.”
The vast roof, resembling an arrowhead launched into flight, is constructed from steel trusses and decking, and covered in a waterproof membrane. It is supported by the columns and Kogod Cradle, a taller structure than the original theaters. “I poetically say that the child is holding a big umbrella over Mother and Father,” Thom offers.
The ovular shape of the new space, built to showcase new and developing work, derived, according to Thom, from Molly Smith’s habit of shaping a cradle with her hands when describing how the Kogod would nurture the theater of the future. “I wanted people to lose their memory of the big spaces outside and discover a new reality,” Thom says of the long spiral leading into the space, inspired by Richard Serra’s enveloping sculptures.
“The outside is concrete and the inside is wood, like an oyster with a rough exterior,” Thom says of the Kogod. The rippling wall is composed of 3/8th-inch-thick poplar in a basket-weave pattern. “This allows the sound to scatter, and gives the place character—not like most studio theaters that are black curtains and bleacher seating.”
The architects inserted an atrium into the space by cutting away capacious sections of the first and second floors, bringing natural illumination deep into the basement level. New glass-and-steel display cases connect the upper levels.
Yabu Pushelberg’s three-level, 15,000-square-foot interior renovation of the circa 1907 Consumers Gas Company building (later home to the World Journal, a Chinese-language newspaper) preserves the interior architecture’s industrial flavor.
Though Yabu Pushelberg’s design appears to be an artful contemporary insertion into an historic interior, much is in fact new – including the columns and floorplates.
The third floor’s upper level currently showcases Avenue Road’s extensive collection of outdoor furniture.
In one of the showroom’s many intriguing display combinations, four of Simon Pengelly’s 2008 Lotus dining chairs are matched with a beveled-leg table from Mutscher Winkler Design. The 2006 High Noon floor lamp is by Germany’s El Schmid.
Eileen Gray’s 1935 Bonaparte armchair and Petite Coiffeuse occasional table from 1929 form a stair landing tableau.
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