I have somewhat crazy sleep patterns.

Occasionally, I experience insomnia, which can last for up to three days. Then, there are the nights when I fall asleep at my regular time only to wake up two or three hours later fully convinced that I’ve had a full night’s sleep.

When this occurs, it’s my wont to grab a book and read.

About a week ago, I had one of those nights and, having just finished a book before falling asleep, at 1:45 in the morning I wandered downstairs to my library to get some reading material.

As I was perusing the shelves, my eye fell upon a small book I’d read back in 2017 when it was first published and I thought it would be just the thing to wile away a couple of nighttime hours.

The book, titled “Architecture Matters,” was written by Aaron Betsky, a former architect, critic, curator, museum director and, at the time it was published, the dean of the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture.

Contained between the book’s covers lies some 46 short essays by the author that explore a wide variety of topics related to architecture.

It is not a deep, scholarly work but rather a fairly light read that focuses on his thoughts and opinions highlighted by the experiences that shaped them.

Almost in the centre of the book are two essays which, during my nocturnal re-read, I bookmarked as something that, taken together, held particular relevance as commentary on the general practice of architecture in North America.

The first of these essays, entitled “What we can still learn from the Greeks,” speaks to the remarkable way in which ancient Greek buildings stood in relation to their settings.

He writes, “They command the part of the valley they are in, but also respond to the mountains around or behind them.”

And later, goes on to suggest the alignment of adjacent buildings was a deliberate attempt to “create an active space that brought the rhythm of the surrounding landscape down into the field on which the temples stood, while letting them dispose themselves as objects that you experience as such, rather than merely as facades seen from the front or the side.”

And concludes with the fact this “basic and fundamental architecture” is at the root of the European architecture which followed.

The second essay, “Why we should build with (and not on) the land”, Betsky speaks to a number of indigenous architectural expressions which “builds with, rather than on, the land, elaborating the natural setting into the orders and rhythms of human settlement.”

And later suggests, “I think we should always remember that the roots of human habitation are in and act as responses to the landscape”… “It is a tracing, tracking, marking, and measuring of the landscape in a manner that connects you directly to that place, but only as a member of a collective culture.”

And continues, “That model is so important exactly because Western settlers ignored it so thoroughly.”

He explains that the American model of inhabitation of the land evolved as “isolated structures, light and cheap, that turn inward and away from both each other and the landscape around them” — something that is the antithesis of a central tenet of good architecture.

Moreover, he asserts that “Countless architects have tried to find ways to atone for the original sin of American architecture, which ate the apple of independence and economy, and slithered away from its Edenic setting into isolating and alienating grids that promised the artificial connection of democracy.”

Pretty damning words, but something which I assert is true of development in the 20th century and continues to this very day.

So, what does building “with the land” really mean?

To answer that question, we must begin by looking at and developing an understanding of the landscape. 

As one looks out over Niagara-on-the-Lake’s landscape, the first description which springs to mind is “flat” and presents a vista that emphasizes the horizontal line where the ground and sky meet.

Indeed, even the Escarpment formation, rising abruptly, almost vertically and at generally a consistent elevation, presents as a wall that can be said to reinforce the horizontal impression of the landscape.

With the small exception of the original pocket of the Queenston settlement area and, arguably, a minor section of the lands close to St. Davids, this horizontal descriptor applies across the town landscapes.

And, this horizontal impression is further accentuated by the waters of the Niagara River and Lake Ontario that bracket the town on two sides.

From this singular understanding of NOTL’s landscape, we can state that architecture which reflects in its lines the horizontal nature of the landscape and draws the eye across the building hence unbroken out into that landscape will work with the land.

Whereas, architecture that draws the eye up, absent any relatable natural vertical features (tall hills, mountains, etc.) to the building, will be perceived as being built “on the land,” dominate and be divorced from its context.

Interestingly, our 19th-century ancestors seemed to intuitively grasp the importance of embracing this horizontal relationship and, should you consider the dwellings they built — particularly those dating prior to the 1870s — you’ll generally find your eye is drawn horizontally across the building rather than vertically toward the sky.

This is in sharp contrast to many recent infill and subdivision developments wherein each dwelling tends to be relatively narrow and vertical — essentially, a series of isolated “towers.”

Furthermore, the proposed design of the White Oaks development in Glendale is a complete repudiation of building with the land.

Not only does the verticality of the four tall towers run contrary to the landscape, the design effectively isolates the development as an island distinctly separate from the landscape and neighbouring communities.

Moving on, let’s consider Betsky’s observation that the ancient Greeks designed to create “an active space” and that good architecture should underwrite the sense of belonging to a “collective culture.”

Modern architecture, designed in accordance with typical 20th and 21st-century development parameters, broadly ignores both of these considerations.

“Active space” requires that the relationship of buildings provides for open areas wherein people might gather and interact with the architecture — and each other — to reinforce community.

This is something notably lacking in virtually all new development designs.

Again, should we push back into the 19th century, the importance of respecting and enhancing community connections through the placement and design of “new” buildings — including items such as proximity to the road, usable front porches, green space breaks and so on — were important considerations.

And why?

Simply because it is cheaper and easier for a developer to do the cookie-cutter thing, creating a series of isolated dwellings — note even townhouses are commonly rendered isolated through bad design — that do not embrace community but are inwardly focused on the individual occupying family.

Now, could all of these things be addressed and corrected in new developments?

Yep … and there are technologies which might even increase developer profit margins. But that would require the principals of those companies to let their architects loose with a mandate to respect the landscape, promote community and explore those new technologies.

Do I expect that to happen?

Nope … cause all of the business minds in the development sector are completely focused on repeating the business model of the 20th century.

If it ain’t broke, vis-à-vis their pocketbook, they claim, there’s no need to address it.

But sadly, that leaves our community holding their unfortunate legacy into the foreseeable future.   

Brian Marshall is a NOTL realtor, author and expert consultant on architectural design, restoration and heritage.