In a 1986 meeting at Greenville’s City Hall, a volunteer team unveiled the first “Design Guidelines” for Greenville’s central business district. That year, the reconstruction of Main Street was in its infancy, and the Hyatt Regency and Fall for Greenville were celebrating their fourth birthdays. Design work on the Peace Center was just beginning.
Amid the back-and-forth discussion almost 30 years ago on the design guidelines’ details – “Should materials be restricted? Could we say more about windows?” – a larger question arose: Should we have any kind of rules at all about design? One camp thought constraints of any kind would stoke petty arguments and douse serious investment.
In cities with big, speculative real estate markets like Charlotte and Atlanta, architecture is as much about advertising as place. By contrast, most Greenville buildings and development were the work of local people. The projects might be less daring, but local people building for local use were less likely to make mistakes.
But as word got out about what Greenville was becoming, it was reasonable to expect that future investors and architects might not know us as well. Greenville couldn’t afford not to have a point of view about design.
When articulating such expectations, it’s tempting to get bogged down in land use and brick color. In our firm’s work with churches, we often ask and help answer bigger questions: Where did we come from and why are we here? Where are we going? How will we get there? Understanding context and values and motives aren’t esoteric concerns of spiritual people, they’re the key to designing anything of value.
The demonstrations in Cairo and Kiev showed us, in dramatic fashion, that architecture, culture, and politics are inseparable from physical context. Each responds to the geometry of the land, the resources it offers, and the habits it fosters. When a building grows from a particular place, it tends to be made in the image of that place.
In South Carolina: A History, University of South Carolina historian Walter Edgar discusses the effect of wide, flat terrain on the Lowcountry’s industry, culture and social structure. The Upstate’s rugged topography, moving water, thick woods, and clay soil required and rewarded small-tract farming, self-reliance and an entrepreneurial instinct. The places we like best roll with the landscape and seem to be made of things that fit in our hands, like wood and brick and stone.
“Places” have been described as spaces to which we’ve attached a story. We sometimes call this tradition, but it’s more personal than that. We consider a church sanctuary “spiritual” only because we encountered God there (or in a place like it). Tiger fans think of Death Valley as exciting because of the contest of the day and because of the contests of the past. Guidelines are useful, but can only regulate geometry and surface. Buildings that we simply observe, rather than inhabit, are harder to invest with meaning. It’s good to expect buildings to invite public and passers-by to spend time inside.
Geography and tradition are the foundation, but not the limit, of what’s possible or appropriate. Designers know that great solutions either fit or fight the rules. Ever heard that form follows function? It’s a lie. We routinely pursue passion over practicality. Ever skip a meal to be with a loved one? You’re guilty.
Greenville’s always had a kind of certainty that problems can be solved and great things were possible if enough good people showed up. The buildings we admire have enough confidence to pursue more than the minimum. We should expect buildings to speak to our aspirations.
The best design of all, though, doesn’t single-mindedly pursue its own ends. It exercises decorum, an understanding of where it stands, geometrically and socially, in its relationship with the city. There are fine buildings in the Upstate’s flourishing downtowns – some old, some new, some just conceived – that don’t look alike (nor should they).
It’s a good thing, since we who reside in the bumpy part of the state tend to mistrust anything that limits personal freedom. But individuals connected by shared beliefs or politics or rules alone, without the need to be neighborly, tend to misbehave. The places we love are populated by buildings and people that play well together. That much we expect.
Ronald E. Geyer, AIA, NCIDQ, is Principal of Good City Architects, LLC, in Greenville. While with another firm, Geyer designed the Peace Center of the Performing Arts and St. George Greek Orthodox Cathedral in downtown Greenville.
