There were no delusions of excellence (or similarity) when this phrase was morphed.
However, it turns out to be accurate...
To build our dwellings we use familiar materials that are readily available. We
use construction techniques and architectural styles that are affordable and proven
to be successful in our area. Depending on where in the world we are, we end up
with things like yurts, thatched huts, adobe cubes, Kinkade cottages, or sky-scrapers.
If we live in The Shire we end up with a Hobbit Hole. If we live in Patagonia or
Beijing we end up with something else altogether. Every region of the world has
its own dwelling language, and foreign languages are rightly made to feel unwelcome
because they are different and dysfunctional.
This is why America has endless neighborhoods of cookie-cutter houses lined up like
transistors on circuit boards. (This is not necessarily a bad thing.) Many Americans
have owned or lived in these transistors, and there is nothing wrong with that… In
fact, life in an American transistor is great; the American dream, the envy of many
nations. Individually they can be, and are wonderful environments for living. The
desire for a cottage-by-the-glade seems to be the root language of this residential
style, and it could very well be that our love for the cottage is somehow imprinted
on our DNA. How else could you explain the almost universal love for this pure house
type and its permutations?
A box is the quintessential form for American dwelling...
Ahh, the permutations! The Suburban Ranch… The French Provincial… The Dallas McMansion…
The Rose Creek Mélange… On the outside, these all are just assemblages of boxes
with applied stage-props, topped with pitched roofs. The forms are identical, only
the stage-props and roof pitch vary with location and budget. But just like a bad
Barry Manilow song, the formulas are the same. That’s not to say we can’t live happily
ever after in a Rose Creek Mélange, because in fact we do. However, the stage props
are becoming more than a bit stale, and cause for revolt... (Let’s put some capacitors
on the circuit board!)
The near absence of stage props on the box-for-living creates a stark, but honest
form. The design program required the house to be affordable, efficient, and congruous
with the owner’s lifestyle; and with this it is extremely successful. Every element
has a purpose. The box can be seen as an affront to the language of the neighborhood,
or as part of a vital new dialect...
When the owners of the “ box for living” were searching for a place to build, they
merely wanted an affordable house with a view of downtown… They weren’t searching
for a neighborhood that would become an architect’s ghetto, or a part of some design
revolution. They just wanted design freedom. They would have kept searching had
they known SoSA was a design-regulated neighborhood.
For those who are not students of design, Le Corbusier is the pen-name of a remarkable
Swiss/French architect who, referring to his 1930 Villa Savoye, coined the phrase:
“A machine for living.”
A box for living, with many essentials and few props, built simply to satisfy needs.
