© Ines Leong / L-INES Photo

A preliminary hypothesis: we are living in an era marked by a profusion of “crises” — some environmental, some sociopolitical, some economic, and most a mixture of all three. In turn, in architecture, particularly its academies, we are witnessing an attendant explosion of designs for shelters that endeavor to alleviate or solve such crises. After all, architecture is a discipline that often imagines itself capable of “problem-solving,” with shelter design as the go-to solution. By and large, these undeniably well-intentioned endeavors fail to take-off for any number of reasons: practicality, scalability, affordability, etc. But — to offer a secondary hypothesis — this may be the wrong metric through which to interpret and judge such pedagogical exercises. Rather, these projects can be read as if texts, wherein the mutable and muted meanings of terms like “crisis” and “architecture” — and their relations with each other — emerge from the shadows cast by their ubiquity.

Second Lives: After Bottles, a project by a team of undergraduate students at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute led by Lydia Kallipoliti and in collaboration with engineering students, is one such project. It comprises an experimental prototype structure composed of interlocking plastic bottles developed by Friendship Bottles LLC, specifically designed with the dual use of water container and structural material in mind. The two primary objectives behind the project were to develop a shelter without a structural frame, so as to avoid the need for shipments of large and heavy infrastructural elements to disaster areas. The second objective was to design a flooring system that could also serve as a packaging system for the bottles during shipment. 

To meet the first, the team developed an array of 3D-printed joints that strengthened the interlocking function of the bottles while also providing new uses, such as allowing the insertion of wire for tensile support. Therefore, theoretically, the entire shelter system could be provided to a disaster site simply with the water bottles themselves and a 3D printer and wire. As for the second objective, the team designed a wooden pyramidal crate. When unfolded, the triangular panels could adapt to fit a wide variety of terrains, including debris — a design requisite often ignored in disaster relief projects.

The actual built prototype, perched on the grassy lawn of the Rensselaer campus, felt far removed from the sort of desperate landscape that one typically imagines of a disaster situation. Equipped with rainbow-colored LED lighting along its roof, it seemed better-suited for a concert pavilion. The relatively simple A-frame structure recalled, intentionally, a primitive hut: architecture at its most bare. 

This is not exactly a structure that can be deployed to Zaatari tomorrow. The problems presented by a “crisis” have not here been solved in their totality.

This is not the neobaroque formalism being produced at so many other architecture schools. It is also not particularly functional since, with two walls exposed, it would hardly protect inhabitants from harsh weather conditions, let alone the sort of violent behavior often found in refugee camps, particularly against women and children. And while the students analyzed several “crisis” sites, the prototype itself is largely siteless, existing within the vacuum of the design imaginary. The adaptability of its floor system was exhibited through the artificial construction of an uneven surface, with sandbags standing-in for debris on the otherwise smooth surface of the campus quad. This is not exactly a structure that can be deployed to Zaatari tomorrow. The problems presented by a “crisis” have not here been solved in their totality.

And yet the project nevertheless succeeds — precisely by avoiding the trap of striving for a universal fix. “Crisis,” that is, understood as a totalizing and generalizing condition, wasn’t the problem to solve. Architectural heroism was kept at bay. Instead, the project responds to a context where the very notion of “crisis” must be put under-erasure, recognized as necessary yet also inadequate. That is, a crisis is no longer a cut in the normal — it is the new normal. Global warming, geopolitical instability, economic disparity feed into one another to the point where they have become inextricable. There are more refugees in the world now than since World War II and yet, in “the rest of the world,” those privileged areas of the Global North often responsible for the very conditions forcing people from their homes, life goes on as if nothing is happening. In many cases, “crises” even become profitable. War opens up new terrains for the expenditure of surplus capital. Displaced refugees become a cheap labor source.

 the project responds to a context where the very notion of “crisis” must be put under-erasure, recognized as necessary yet also inadequate

What then is the role of the architect in this context? Certainly there is some value in flying into disaster situations and building livable structures. But this — as is evidenced by all the “crisis” contexts without architects on the ground — is not a tenable or universally-applicable response. And the vast differences between the various sites on the world where housing is desperately needed precludes the possibility of ever developing a singular design response.

The value of the Second Lives project as a pedagogical exercise doesn’t lie solely in the structure it produced. And neither, really, does it lie in its rather clever components — the joints or the flooring system. Instead, what makes Second Lives successful is the relationships it cultivated between the students and other agents. If “crisis” has become commonplace, then perhaps architects too should turn to the commonplace. And what is more common than a plastic water bottle, already produced at vast scales (to the detriment of the planet, admittedly)? 

Buildings, in other words, might sometimes be less important than the many other things that architects can create

Regardless of whether Second Lives becomes actualized at a larger scale, it points to a potential role for architects in the crisis-filled new normal. That is, by tweaking and adjusting what already exists, rather than remaining exclusively-oriented around buildings, architects may find they can have a greater influence then at present. Through analyzing and mapping existing circuits of capital and commodities, points and places can be discovered where the insertion of a simple design product — a 1-inch plastic joint, for example — could have enormous potential. But in order to do so, strategic relationships must first be forged with those outside the often hermetic world of architecture. Buildings, in other words, might sometimes be less important than the many other things that architects can create — a lesson more students should learn.

Project Lead: Lydia Kallipoliti (Assistant Professor of Architecture, School of Architecture, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute)

Project Team: Adam Beres, Bryce Crawford, Amanda Esso, Reed Freeman, Emily Freeman, Jacob Laird, Deegan Lotz, Christopher Michelangelo, Arun Padykula, Raina Page, Abigail Ray, Daniel Ruan, Emily Sulanowski, Stefanie Warner

Collaborators: Tom Roland (Fabrication Coordinator, School of Architecture, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute), Andreas Theodoridis (PhD Candidate, Center for Architecture, Science and Ecology/ Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute)

Structural Engineer: Mohammed Alnaggar (Assistant Professor of Architecture, Civil and Environmental Engineering, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute)

Sponsor: Friendship Bottles LLC, Timothy Carlson (Managing Partner0