A pattern language

This pattern is a biologically precise formulation of the intuition that sunlight and a hot blazing fire are the best kinds of heat.

Heat can be transmitted by radiation (heat waves across empty space), convection (flow in air or liquids by mixing of molecules and hot air rising), and conduction (flow through a solid).

In most places, we get heat in all three ways from our environment: conducted heat from the solids we touch, convected heat in the air around us, and radiated heat from those sources of radiation in our line of sight.

Of the three, conducted heat is trivial, since any surface hot enough to conduct heat to us directly is too hot for comfort. As far as the other two are concerned—convected heat and radiant heat—we may ask whether there is any biological difference in their effects on human beings. In fact there is.

It turns out that people are most comfortable when they receive radiant heat at a slightly higher temperature than the temperature of the air around them. The two most primitive examples of this situation are: (i) Outdoors, on a spring day when the air is not too hot but the sun is shining. (2) Around an open fire, on a cool evening.

Most people will recognize intuitively that these are two unusually comfortable situations. And in view of the fact that we evolved as organisms in the open air, with plenty of sun, it is not surprising that this condition happens to be so comfortable for us. It is built into our systems, biologically.

Unfortunately, it haffens that many of the most widely used-heating systems ignore this basic fact.

Hot air systems, and buried pipes, and the so-called hot water “radiators” do transmit some of their heat to us by means of radiation, but most of the heat we get from them comes from convection. The air gets heated and warms us as it swirls around us. But, as it does so it creates that very uncomfortable stuffy, over-heated, dry sensation. When convection heaters are warm enough to heat us we feel stifled. If we turn the heat down, it gets too cold.

The conditions in which people feel most comfortable require a subtle balance of convected heat and radiant heat. Experiments have established that the most comfortable balance between the two, occurs when the average radiant temperature is about two degrees higher than the ambient temperature. To get the average radiant temperature in a room, we measure the temperature of all the visible surfaces in a room, multiply the area of each surface by its temperature, add these up, and divide by the total area. For comfort, this average radiant temperature needs to be about two degrees higher than the air temperature.

Since some of the surfaces in a room (windows and outside walls), will usually be cooler than the indoor air temperature, this means that at least some surfaces must be considerably warmer to get the average up.

An open fire, which has a small area of very high temperature, creates this condition in a cool room. The beautiful Austrian and Swedish tiled stoves also do it very well. They are massive stoves, made of clay bricks or tiles, with a tiny furnace

Austrian tiled stove.

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in the middle. A handful of twigs in the furnace give all their heat to the clay of the stove itself, and this clay, like the earth, keeps this heat and radiates it slowly over a period of many hours.

Radiant panels, with individual room control, and infrared heaters hung from walls and ceilings, are possible high technology sources of radiant heat. It is possible that sources of low-grade radiant heat—like a hot water tank—might also work to very much the same effect. Instead of insulating the tank, it might be an excellent source of radiant heat, right in the center of the house.

Therefore:

Choose a way of heating your space—especially those rooms where people are going to gather when it is cold— that is essentially a radiative process, where the heat comes more from radiation than convection.

surfaces slightly warmer than air

If you have followed earlier patterns, you may have rooms which have a vaulted ceiling, with a steeply sloping surface close to the wall, and with the major ducts behind that surface— floor-ceiling vaults (219), duct space (229). In this case, it is natural to put the radiant heating panels on that sloping surface.

But it is also very wonderful to make at least some part of the radiant surfaces low enough so that seats can be built round them and against them; on a cold day there is nothing better than a seat against a warm stove—built-in seats (202). . . .

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231 DORMER WINDOWS*

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. . . this pattern helps to complete sheltering roof (i 17). If you have followed sheltering roof, your roof has living space within it: and it must therefore have windows in it, to bring light into the roof. This pattern is a special kind of window place (180), which completes the roof vaults (220), in these situations.

We know from our discussion of sheltering roof (117) that the top story of the building should be right inside the roof, surrounded by it.

Obviously, if there is habitable space inside the roof, it must have some kind of windows; skylights are not satisfactory as windows—except in studios or workshops—because they do not create a connection between the inside and the outside world—windows OVERLOOKING LIFE (192).

It is therefore natural to pierce the roof with windows; in short, to build dormer windows. This simple, fundamental fact would hardly need mentioning if it were not for the fact that dormer windows have come to seem archaic and romantic. It is important to emphasize how sensible and ordinary they are— simply because people may not build them if they believe that they are old fashioned and out of date.

Dormers make the roof livable. Aside from bringing in light and air and the connection to the outside, they relieve the low ceilings along the edge of the roofs and create alcoves and window places.

How should the dormers be constructed? Within the roof vault we have described, the basket which forms the vault can simply be continued to form the roof of the dormer, over a frame of columns and perimeter beams which form the opening.

The other ways of building dormer windows depend on the construction system you are using. Whatever you are using for lintels, columns, and walls, can simply be modified and used in combination to build the dormer.

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231 DORMER WINDOWS

Therefore;

Wherever you have windows in the roof, make dormer windows which are high enough to stand in, and frame them like any other alcoves in the building.

Frame them like alcoves (179) and window place (180)with GRADUAL STIFFENING (208), COLUMNS AT THE CORNERS (212), BOX COLUMNS (2l6), PERIMETER BEAMS (217), WALL MEMBRANES ( 2 I 8) ? FLOOR-CEILING VAULTS (219), ROOF VAULTS (220) and FRAMES AS THICKENED EDGES (225).Put windows which open wide (236) in them, and make SMALL PANES (239) . . . ,

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232 ROOF CAPS

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. . . and this pattern finishes the roof cardens ( i i 8) or the roof vaults (220). Assume that you have built the roof vaults —or at least that you have started to build up the splines which will support the cloth which forms the vault. Or assume that you have begun to build a roof garden, and have begun to fence it or surround it. In either case—how shall the roof be finished?

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There are few cases in traditional architecture where builders have not used some roof detail to cap the building with an ornament.

The pediments on Greek buildings; the caps on the trulli of Alberobello; the top of Japanese shrines; the venting caps on barns. In each of these examples there seems to be some issue of the building system that needs resolution, and the builder takes the opportunity to make a “cap.”

We suspect there is a reason for this which should be taken seriously. The roof cap helps to finish the building; it tops the building with a human touch. Yet, the power of the cap, its overall effect on the feeling of the building, is of much greater proportions than one would expect. Look at these sketches of a building, with and without a roof cap. They look like .different buildings. The difference is enormous.

With and without a roof cap.

Why is it that these caps are so important and have such a powerful effect on the building as a whole?

Here are some possible reasons.

1. They crown the roof. They give the roof the status that it deserves. The roof is important, and the caps emphasize this fact.

2. They add detail. They make the roof less homogeneous, and

build up these larger city patterns from the grass roots₎ through action essentially controlled by two levels of self-governing communities_} which exist as physically identifiable places;

12. COMMUNITY OF 7OOO

13. SUBCULTURE BOUNDARY

14. IDENTIFIABLE NEIGHBORHOOD

15. NEIGHBORHOOD BOUNDARY

CONSTRUCTION

they relieve the roof from being a single uninterrupted thing. The walls get this relief from windows, doors, balconies, which add scale and character; when a roof has many dormers, it seems to need the caps less.

3. The caps provide a connection to the sky, in a way that might have had religious overtones at one time. Just as the building needs a sense of connection to the earth—see connection to the earth (168)—perhaps the roof needs a connection to the sky.

In the building system we propose, the roof caps are weights we use at the ridge of the roof to make the slight curve in the pitched sides of the roof. They happen at regular intervals, at the ridges of the scallops. They need not be large—a small bag of sand or a stone will do, plastered with concrete and shaped so the bulge is obvious. It may be nice to paint them a different color from the roof.

Of course, there are hundreds of other possible kinds of roof caps. They can be brick chimneys, statues, vents, structural details, the pinnacles on a gothic buttress, weather vanes, or even windmills.

Therefore:

Choose a natural way to cap the roof—some way which is in keeping with the kind of construction, and the meaning of the building. The caps may be structural; but their main function is decorative—they mark the top—they mark the place where the roof penetrates the sky.

connection to the sky

A

Finish the roof caps any way you want, but don’t forget them—ornament (249). . . .

fut in the surfaces and the indoor details;

233. FLOOR SURFACE

234. LAPPED OUTSIDE WALLS

235. SOFT INSIDE WALLS

236. WINDOWS WHICH OPEN WIDE

237. SOLID DOORS WITH GLASS

238. FILTERED LIGHT

239. SMALL PANES

240. HALF-INCH TRIM

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233 FLOOR surface**

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. . . this pattern tells you how to put the surface on the floors, to finish the ground floor slab (215) and floor-ceiling vaults (219). When properly made, the floor surfaces will also help intensify the gradient of intimacy in the building—

INTIMACY GRADIENT (127).

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We want the floor to be comfortable, warm to the touch, inviting. But we also want it to be hard enough to resist wear, and easy to clean.

When we think of floors, we think of wood floors. We hope, if we can afford it, to have a wooden floor. Even in hot countries, where tiles are beautiful, many people want hardwood floors whenever they can afford them. But the wood floor, though it seems so beautiful, does little to solve the fundamental problem of floors. The fact is that a room in which there is a bare wood floor, seems rather barren, forbidding, makes the room sound hollow and unfurnished. To make the wooden floor nice, we put down carpets. But then it is not really a wood floor at all. This confusion makes it clear that the fundamental problem of “the floor” has not been properly stated.

When we look at the problem honestly, we realize that the wooden floor, and the wooden floor with a carpet on it, are both rather uneven compromises. The bare wooden floor is too bare, too hard to be comfortable; but not in fact hard enough to resist wear particularly well if it is left uncovered—it scratches and dents and splinters. And when the floor is covered with a carpet, the whole point of the beauty of the wood is lost. You cannot see it any more, except round the edges of the carpet; and the carpet on the floor is certainly not hard enough to resist any substantial wear. Furthermore, the most beautiful carpets, handmade rugs and tapestries, are so delicate that they cannot take very rough wear. The practice of walking on a Persian rug with outdoor shoes on is a barbarian habit, never practiced by the people who make those rugs, and know how to treat them—they always take their shoes off. But the modern nylon and acrylic rugs, machine-made for hard wear, lose all the sumptuousness and

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pleasure of the carpet: they are, as it were, soft kinds of concrete.

The problem cannot be solved. The conflict is fundamental. The problem can only be avoided by making a clear distinction in the house between those areas which have heavy traffic and so need hard wearing surfaces which are easy to clean, and those other areas which have only very light traffic, where people can take off their shoes, and where lush, soft, beautiful rugs, pillows, and tapestries can easily be spread.

Traditional Japanese houses and Russian houses solve the problem in exactly this way: they divide the floor into two zones— serviceable and comfortable. They use very clean, and often precious materials in the comfortable zone, and often make the serviceable zone an extension of the street—that is, dirt, paving, and so on. People take their shoes off, or put them on, when they pass from one zone to the other.

The threshold between hard and soft.

We are not sure whether taking shoes off and on could become a natural habit in our culture. But it still makes sense to zone tire house so that the floor material changes as one gets deeper into the house. The pattern intimacy gradient (127) calls for a gradient of public, semi-public, and private rooms. It follows that one wants the floor to get softer as one goes deeper into the house—that is, the entrance and the kitchen are better floored with a hard, serviceable surface, while the dining, family room, and children’s playrooms need a serviceable floor but with comfortable spots, and the bedrooms, studies, rooms of one’s own need soft comfortable floors, on which people can sit, lie, and walk barefoot.

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233 FLOOR SURFACE

What should the materials be? Of the hard and soft materials, the hard is more of a problem. Since children are close to these floors, as well as the soft ones, they must be warm to the touch, —and at the same time they must be easy to clean. For these hard floors, a “soft” concrete might work. It can be made serviceable and pleasant at the same time if it is finished off with a lightweight textured floor finish, which is relatively porous. It can be made to wear and repel water by making the color integral with the mix and by waxing and polishing after it is set. It is fairly cheap and makes sense if the floor is a concrete floor anyway. Other materials which would work as hard floors are earth, rubber or cork tile, soft unbaked tile known as pastelleros in Peru—see soft tile and brick (248)—and wood planks, but these materials are more expensive.

For soft materials, carpet is the most satisfactory—for sitting, lying, and being close to the ground. We doubt that an improvement can be made on it—in fact we guess that if a substitute is used instead, it will eventually get carpeted over, anyway. This means that the areas which are going to be carpeted might as well have a cheap subfloor with matting laid wall to wall.

To emphasize the two zones, and to promote the taking off and on of shoes from one zone to the next, we suggest that there be a step up or a step down between the zones. This will help tremendously in keeping each zone “pure,” and it is sure to help the activities in each zone.

Therefore:

Zone the house, or building, into two kinds of zones: public zones, and private or more intimate zones. Use hard materials like waxed, red polished concrete, tiles, or hardwood in the public zones. In the more intimate zone, use an underfloor of soft materials, like felt, cheap nylon carpet, or straw matting, and cover it with cloths, and pillows, and carpets, and tapestries. Make a clearly marked edge between the two—perhaps even a step—so that people can take their shoes off when they pass from the public to the intimate.

entrance for shoeS

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On the hard floor, you can use the same floor as you use on outdoor paths and terraces—hand fired brick and tile—soft tile and brick (248). On the soft intimate floors, use materials and cloths that are rich in ornament and color—ornament (249),

WARM COLORS (250). . . .

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234 LAPPED outside walls

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. . . this pattern finishes the wall membranes (218), and roof vaults (220). It defines the character of their outside surfaces.

The main function of a building’s outside wall is to keep weather out. It can only do this if the materials are joined in such a way that they cooperate to make impervious joints.

At the same time, the wall must be easy to maintain; and give the people outside some chance of relating to it.

None of these functions can be very well managed by great sheets of impervious material. These sheets, always in the same plane, have tremendous problems at the joints. They require highly complex, sophisticated gaskets and seals, and, in the end, it is these seals and joints which fail.

Consider a variety of natural organisms: trees, fish, animals. Broadly speaking, their outside coats are rough, and made of large numbers of similar but not identical elements. And these elements are placed so that they often overlap: the scales of a fish, the fur of an animal, the crinkling of natural skin, the bark of a tree. All these coats are made to be impervious and easy to repair.

In simple technologies, buildings follow suit. Lapped boards, shingles, hung tiles, thatch, are all examples. Even stone and brick though in one plane, are still in a sense lapped internally to prevent cracks which run all the way through. And all of these walls are made of many small elements, so that individual pieces can be replaced as they are damaged or wear out.

Bear in mind then, as you choose an exterior wall finish, that it should be a material which can be easily lapped against the weather, which is made of elements that are easy to repair locally, and which therefore can be maintained piecemeal, indefinitely. And of course, whatever you choose, make it a surface which invites you to touch it and lean up against it.

In making our filled lightweight concrete structures, we have

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234 lapped outside walls
The internal structure of an imaginary lap-ped material.

used lapped boards as the exterior formwork for the lightweight concrete fill. And it is, of course, possible to use many other kinds of external cladding if they are available and if one can afford them. Slate, corrugated iron, ceramic tiles will produce excellent shingled wall claddings, and can all be placed in such a way as to provide exterior formwork for the pouring of a wall. It is also conceivable (though we have no evidence for it), that scientists might be able to create an oriented material whose internal crystal or fiber structure is in effect “lapped,” because all the split lines run diagonally outward and downward.

Therefore:

Build up the exterior wall surface with materials that are lapped against the weather: either “internally lapped,” like exterior plaster, or more literally lapped, like shingles and boards and tiles. In either case, choose a material that is easy to repair in little patches, inexpensively, so that little by little, the wall can be maintained in good condition indefinitely.

lapped elements

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235 SOFT INSIDE walls*

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. . . and this pattern finishes the inner surface of the wall membranes (218), and the under surface of floor-ceiling vaults (219). If it is possible to use a soft materia] for the inner sheet of the wall membrane, then the wall will have the right character built in from the beginning.

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A wall which is too hard or too cold or too solid is unpleasant to touch; it makes decoration impossible, and creates hollow echoes.

A very good material is soft white gypsum plaster. It is warm in color (even though white), warm to the touch, soft enough to take tacks and nails and hooks, easy to repair, and makes a mellow sound, because its sound absorption capacity is reasonably high.

However, cement plaster, though only slightly different—and even confused with gypsum plaster—is opposite in all of these respects. It is too hard to nail into comfortably; it is cold and hard and rough to the touch; it has very low absorption acoustically—that is, very high reflectance—which creates a harsh, hollow sound; and it is relatively hard to repair, because once a crack forms in it, it is hard to make a repair that is homogeneous witli the original.

In general, we have found that modern construction has gone more and more toward materials for inside walls that are hard and smooth. This is partly an effort to make buildings clean and impervious to human wear. But it is also because the kinds of materials used today are machine made—each piece perfect and exactly the same.

Buildings made of these flawless, hard and smooth surfaces leave us totally unrelated to them. We tend to stay away from them not only because they are psychologically strange, but because in fact they are physically uncomfortable to lean against; they have no give; they don’t respond to us.

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The solution to the problem lies in the following:

1. Gypsum plaster as opposed to cement plaster. Soft baked tiles as opposed to hard fired ones. When materials are porous and low in density they are generally softer and warmer to the touch.

2. Use materials which are granular and have natural texture, and which can be used in small pieces, or in such a way that there is repetition of the same small element. Walls finished in wood have the quality—the wood itself has texture; boards repeat it at a larger scale. Plaster has this character when it is hand finished. First there is the granular quality of the plaster and then the larger texture created by the motion of the human hand.

One of the most beautiful versions of this pattern is the one used in Indian village houses. The walls are plastered, by hand, with a mixture of cow dung and mud, which dries to a beautiful soft finish and shows the five fingers of the plasterer’s hand all over the walls.

Cow dung plaster in an Indian village house.

Therefore:

Make every inside surface warm to the touch, soft enough to take small nails and tacks, and with a certain slight “give” to the touch. Soft plaster is very good; textile hangings, canework, weavings, also have this character. And wood is fine, where you can afford it.

SOFT INSIDE WALLS

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soft to the touch

enough “give” for nails

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In our own building system, we find it is worth putting on a light skim coat of plaster over the inner surfaces of the wall membrane (218) and floor-ceiling vaults (219), Wherever finish plaster meets columns, and beams, and doors and window frames, cover the joint with half-inch wooden trim—half-inch trim (240). . . .

236 WINDOWS WHICH OPEN WIDE*

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. , . this pattern helps to complete window place (180), windows OVERLOOKING LIFE (192), and NATURAL DOORS AND WINDOWS (22l).

v %• ❖

Many buildings nowadays have no opening windows at all; and many of the opening windows that people do build, don’t do the job that opening windows ought to do.

It is becoming the rule in modern design to seal up window's and create “perfect” indoor climates with mechanical air conditioning systems. This is crazy.

A window is your connection to the outside. It is a source of fresh air; a simple way of changing the temperature, quickly, when the room gets too hot or too cold; a place to hang out and smell the air and trees and flowers and the weather; and a hole through which people can talk to each other.

What is the best kind of window?

Double-hung windows cannot be fully opened—only half of the total window area can ever be opened at once. And they often get stuck—sometimes because they have been painted, sometimes because their concealed operating system of cords, counter-weights, and pulleys gets broken; it becomes such an effort to open them that no one bothers.

Sliding windows have much of the same problem—only part of the window area can be open, since one panel goes behind another; and they often get stuck too.

The side hung casement is easy to open and close. It gives the greatest range of openings, and so creates the greatest degree of control over air and temperature; and it makes an opening which is large enough to put your head and shoulders through. It is the easiest wdndow to climb in and out of too.

The old time French windows are a stunning example of this pattern. They are narrow', full length upstairs windows, which swing out onto a tiny balcony, large enough only to contain the open windows. When you open them you fill the frame, and can stand drinking in the air: they put you intensely close to the out-

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CONSTRUCTION

side—yet in a perfectly urban sense, as much in Paris or Madrid as in the open countryside.

Therefore:

Decide which of the windows will be opening windows. Pick those which are easy to get to, and choose the ones which open onto flowers you want to smell, paths where you might want to talk, and natural breezes. Then put in side-hung casements that open outward. Here and there, go all the way and build full French windows.

•§• *5*

Complete the subframe of the casement with small panes (239). . . .

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