Bad lighting, windowless walls, low ceilings, and dull furniture are the hallmarks of many an office, hospital, care center, or any place aiming for cost-effective function over beauty. But good-looking environments matter. Before Zócalo presents next week’s panel on what healthy design does for us, we asked five architecture experts – writer Alain de Botton, KCRW’s Frances Anderton, interior designer Lynnette Tedder and architects Roger Sherman and Victor Regnier – whether good design improves our well-being. Their answers, drawing on everything from the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center to KCRW studios to offices and homes, follow.

Good buildings are like good people

Good design has a huge role to play in altering our mood. When we call a chair or a house beautiful, really what we’re saying is that we like the way of life it’s suggesting to us. It has an attitude we’re attracted to: if it was magically turned into a person, we’d like who it was. It would be convenient if we could remain in much the same mood wherever we happened to be, in a cheap motel or a palace (think of how much money we’d save on redecorating our houses), but unfortunately we’re highly vulnerable to the coded messages that emanate from our surroundings. This helps to explain our passionate feelings towards matters of architecture and home decoration: these things help to decide who we are.

Of course, architecture can’t on its own always make us into contented people. Witness the dissatisfactions that can unfold even in idyllic surroundings. One might say that architecture suggests a mood to us, which we may be too internally troubled to be able to take up. Its effectiveness could be compared to the weather: a fine day can substantially change our state of mind – and people may be willing to make great sacrifices to be nearer a sunny climate. Then again, under the weight of sufficient problems (romantic or professional confusions, for example), no amount of blue sky, and not even the greatest building, will be able to make us smile. Hence the difficulty of trying to raise architecture into a political priority: it has none of the unambiguous advantages of clean drinking water or a safe food supply. And yet it remains vital.

–Alain de Botton is the author of The Architecture of Happiness and more recently The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work.

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Design isn’t everything

If by good design we mean environments that provide fresh air, natural light, soothing natural materials and pleasing colors, with sounds and sights of nature outside, then I would say yes, absolutely, good design provides a sense of well-being, and might even actually improve health. Indeed, hospital design is moving in that direction, after several decades of highly functionalist buildings that have proven far from life-enhancing for the patient (hear more on this DnA). Furthermore, for the person who is highly sensitive to the aesthetics of their surroundings, an environment that is designed in a style that pleases the patient could also improve spirits.

However, there are other social contributors to well-being that have nothing to do with design, and may even counter the points made above. I speak from experience. When I first went to volunteer for KCRW, I visited the station in its famous basement and was horrified to find it had almost no natural light nor cross-ventilation, bright fluorescent strip lighting, and only the clatter of other people’s computers and phone conversations as background noise. But I was so keen to work at the station that I suppressed my desire for a more pleasant environment. The station, because of its staff and its goals, proved to be the most stimulating, interesting and fulfilling place I’ve ever worked, suggesting something that, as an advocate of the benefits of good design, I say with reluctance: good design is not all-important.

Having said that, I did get headaches in the basement and was relieved when our production team was given an above-ground office with natural light and air, meaning we could enjoy both a decent environment and KCRW’s social well-being.

–Frances Anderton is host of KCRW’s DnA: Design and Architecture.

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Healthier hospitals

As a healthcare designer, I believe well-designed healthcare environments have a positive impact on patient experience and outcomes. Fundamental to this tenet is an understanding of the relationship between humans and the built environment. For every facility, healthcare designers study how staff interact, how services are delivered, what safety and maintenance requirements need to be met, and other critical issues that inform how facilities should be planned. We then implement design strategies with the goals of improving patient care and increasing user satisfaction.

One notable area where we can have an impact on patient care and safety is the design of caregiver zones. When these areas are well defined, with quick access to hand washing and to support items, the likelihood of infections can be reduced as well as the instance of medical errors. The selection of materials can also have an extreme impact on infection control and safety by reducing the transfer of airborne pathogens, growth of bacteria, and the presence of slipping hazards. How these materials affect the overall ambiance of a space through their color, texture and reflection also are important considerations. A designer’s ability to achieve a balance between aesthetics and high-tech materials, while specifying a sustainable solution, is one of the strongest influences design can have on health.

The Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center is a local example where we applied these design principles. Since the facility opened in 2008, the feedback from patients, staff, and administrators, has been very positive. We’re confident that this high level of patient and caregiver satisfaction will contribute to better outcomes.

–Lynnette Tedder is a Senior Interior Designer at Perkins+Will.

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Good for whom?

Taking the issue of “goodness” out of the equation for a moment, that there is a relationship between design and health is clear. What is perhaps less clearly understood – and most worth discussing – are the means of measuring and evaluating their connection, in order to better define what is indeed meant by “good” or “poor” when it comes to design.

Is it merely the aesthetic or visual impression a space or building makes? Or does it pertain more to what architects like to call performance, such as the provision of natural versus mechanical ventilation and lighting? Is it the quantity of unprogrammed common space that matters, or the quality of those spaces with more defined purposes? Is it the way in which a building encourages people to walk between destinations, as opposed to taking the elevator? While some might argue this is simply inefficient, convenience is not always synonymous with either the health of the city or its citizens. This was made clear recently in a local debate over whether County office buildings should house cafeterias or close them in an effort to get employees to walk and to use the new civic park.

These questions are not so easily parsed. Nor, for that matter, is the associated question – one of social justice – that asks whose health should benefit first or most from design. Is it urban residents at large, or only the building’s users? In a perfect world, good design is the rising tide that floats all boats, but in today’s economically- and politically-constrained environment, these are often choices, and difficult ones at that.

–Roger Sherman is Principal of Roger Sherman Architecture and Urban Design Co-Director, cityLAB.

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Making senior homes livable

Having nearly 40 years of experience evaluating housing with services for mentally and physically frail people, I am totally convinced that environment makes a huge difference in quality of life.

So many older people and their families take cues from the environment when assessing their ability to maintain independence. Environments affect staff as well – working in an institutional setting, like living in one, is depressing. Simple things like not having control over who enters or exits your room, or whether or not you can bring your own possessions with you, are very important.

The best northern European models have always responded to this by keeping people in residential environments and “ramping up” services for them as they need more assistance.

European service houses and what the Dutch call “Apartments for Life” are designed to connect housing and services rather than bundle them together and call them assisted living or nursing care. These settings operate in conventional communities. They deliver health and supportive services and any necessary home repairs, allowing residents to remain independent and live in their own homes.

Whether for appearance or function, environments make a huge difference in supporting the independence of older frail people.

–Victor Regnier is a Professor of Architecture and Gerontology at the University of Southern California.

*Photos of Alain de Botton and Roger Sherman by Aaron Salcido. Photos courtesy Frances Anderton, Lynnette Tedder, Victor Regnier. Photo of dam courtesy Tim Caynes.

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Los Angeles-based architect Michael Maltzan grew up on Long Island in Levittown, the prototypical suburb. “It was an incredible place to be a kid,” he said. Today, Maltzan is design principal of Michael Maltzan Architecture, which has been commissioned to design a wide range of projects from the Skid Row Housing Trust’s New Carver Apartments to the NASA/Jet Propulsion Laboratory building. Below, Maltzan answers our In The Green Room Q&A.

Q. What was the last habit you tried to kick?

A. Getting out of shape.

Q. Who was your childhood hero?

A. Any of the astronauts.

Q. What do you consider to be the greatest simple pleasure?

A. Not having an obligation.

Q. Where would we find you at 10 a.m. on a typical Saturday?

A. Trying to convince my kids that we should go to a museum.

Q. What do you wish you had the nerve to do?

A. Say no more.

Q. What is your favorite word?

A. Optimism.

Q. What is your favorite cocktail?

A. Martini. Very dry, three olives, shaken.

Q. Whose talent would you like to have?

A. Anybody who can sing.

Q. If you could take only one more journey, where would you go?

A. If I wasn’t so claustrophobic, I would love to go to outer space. But given that that’s off the table, I’ve wanted to get to India for a long time.

Q. Who is the one person living or dead you would most like to meet for dinner?

A. Borromini, the architect.

To read about Maltzan’s talk, click here.

*Photo by Aaron Salcido.

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Frances Anderton is the host of DnA: Design and Architecture, aired monthly on 89.9 KCRW and KCRW.com. She is producer of KCRW’s national and local current affairs shows, To The Point, and Which Way, LA?, both hosted by Warren Olney. Anderton is also an L.A. Editor for Dwell Magazine and a contributor to Huffington Post. Before interviewing architect Michael Maltzan for Zócalo, Anderton sat down for our In The Green Room Q&A.

Q. What is the last habit you tried to kick?

A. Biting my nails.

Q. Who was your childhood hero?

A. My father.

Q. What do you consider to be the greatest simple pleasure?

A. Eating with friends.

Q. Where would we find you at 10 a.m. on a typical Saturday?

A. Making bread with my daughter.

Q. What do you wish you had the nerve to do?

A. Surf.

Q. What is your favorite word?

A. Brilliant.

Q. Who is your favorite fictional character?

A. At the moment, an Indian detective called Vish Puri. He’s in a new series by Tarquin Hall, who has spent a lot of time in India and writes the most fantastic stories, embedded within Punjabi culture, that capture the new India.

Q. What is your favorite cocktail?

A. Mimosa.

Q. What profession would you like to practice in your next life?

A. Something non-cerebral.

Q. Whose talent would you like to have?

A. Obama’s.

Q. What is your most prized material possession?

A. My Honda Insight.

Q. If you could take only one more journey, where would you go?

A. China.

Q. Who is the one person living or dead you most want to meet for dinner?

A. Obama.

To read more about Anderton’s interview with Michael Maltzan, click here.

*Photo by Aaron Salcido.

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The Secret Lives of Buildings: From the Ruins of the Parthenon to the Vegas Strip in Thirteen Stories
by Edward Hollis

–Reviewed by Shahnaz Habib

Buildings are not simply buildings, according to Edward Hollis. They are stories waiting to be told and retold.

In The Secret Lives of Buildings, Hollis, an architect and architecture teacher, analyzes the history of thirteen buildings that have left their mark on the Western world. He sets out to prove that buildings take on new personas, myths, and purposes as they survive changes of regime, natural disasters, and time itself. The Parthenon went from pagan temple to church to mosque. Gloucester Cathedral serves as the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Harry Potter films.

Combining architecture criticism and history with original analysis and a literary style, Hollis creates a story about stories. He begins with the words, “Once upon a time, an architect had a dream.” Like fairy tales, buildings are carriers of myths, the truth of which cannot be proven or disputed – the Holy House of Loreto may or may not have been transported across the seas by angels. Gloucester Cathedral may or may not contain the tomb of  Edward the Second. Each generation molds the architecture it inherits to suit its own myths – through appropriation, reproduction, translation, or even restoration. After all, when the nineteenth century French decided to restore the Notre Dame, they restored the cathedral to a nineteenth-century idea of the medieval.

Hollis identifies not only classic marvels of architecture, such as the Ayasofya, where the layers of rich history coexist with deceptive ease, but also notorious yet equally telling examples of deliberate myth-making. The Venetian, a destination resort in Las Vegas, has every cliché of the city floating together in an anachronistic, impossible dream. “The canals have been repainted several times to get the blue just right,” Hollis writes. Venice, Las Vegas exists to provide pleasure and amusement, and Hollis is quick to point out that Venice, Italy exists today for pretty much the same purpose, “maintained more for the delectation of tourists than for the use of the people who live there.” Both Venices are phantoms of a mythical Venice. And now, Hollis notes, a new version is about to make its way over to China, where centuries ago, the Venetian traveler Marco Polo described his city to Kublai Khan, prefacing his memories with a wistful, “Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it.”

Wistfulness infuses The Secret Lives of Buildings. Hollis takes us through strange lands and wondrous sights, but he reminds us that the buildings we think of as ours, whether by creation or inheritance, are not what they seem, and that we only keep them in trust for future generations to reinterpret.

Extract: The people of the Dark Ages did not just vandalize the architecture of antiquity; they also turned it to new uses. When the barbarians came to Rome, they did not simply sack it; indeed the buildings they encountered were often too solidly built to demolish. But having no use for theaters, temples, and fora, they turned them into fortresses for their warriors, prisons for their captives, and enclosures for their cattle.

Further Reading: Naked City: The Death and Life of Authentic Urban Places and Building Up and Tearing Down: Reflections on the Age of Architecture

Shahnaz Habib is a freelance writer based in Brooklyn.

*Photo courtesy Feuille.

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San Pedro Drive-In Theatre, San Pedro, California, 1979

Western Holiday Motel, Wichita, Kansas, 1993

Cuban Liquors, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 1982

Supersonic Car Wash, Billings, Montana, 1980

Martin Theater, Panama City, Florida, 1979

Leaning Tower of Niles YMCA, Niles, Illinois, 2002

Old Jail Tours, St. Augustine, Florida, 1979

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, Jonathan Glancey compiles structures from ancient times to present day, some once real and some only imagined, that fell to war, commerce, natural disaster, or “fickle” architectural fashion. Buildings generally don’t succumb to old age, Glancey writes. We’re much more likely to knock them down ourselves, like “petulant children” playing with “a pile of wooden bricks in a nursery.” Photographs and essays travel from ancient civilizations to the World Trade Center to buildings made only on blueprints. Below, a sampling of the collected photographs, accompanied by Glancey’s writings. (Click the photos to enlarge; click the photos again to return to the original post.)

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Ridley Scott [b. 1937] paid tribute to Metropolis in his much admired film Blade Runner (1982), a film-noir detective thriller set in the future, 2019, in a profoundly dystopian yet strangely beautiful Los Angeles, heavily influenced by modern Tokyo and Hong Kong.

The sets were by the American artist Syd Mead [b. 1933] and realized by Lawrence G. Paull, the film’s production designer, and David Snyder, art director; they were simply stunning. Scott said that the brooding panorama of the city that opens the film with its terrifying 700-storey office blocks set against a backdrop of fiery chimneys belching smoke in a sky perpetually darkened by acid rain, was rooted as much in Los Angeles as it was in the fiery steelworks and other fierce industrial plants he knew as a child in Teesside, in the North East of England.

As for the scenes in brooding cafes down on the city’s streets, Scott says that he was much influenced by Edward Hopper’s painting “Nighthawks” (1942); “I was constantly waving a reproduction of this painting under the noses of the production team to illustrate the look and mood I was after.”

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Hollywood stars themselves were for 20 years or so enamoured with another glamorous art deco setting; the Garden of Allah Hotel on Hollywood’s Sunset Strip. Opened in 1927, this was the centre of the raunchy side of Hollywood life. Charlie Chaplin, Errol Flynn, Greta Garbo, Ginger Rogers, Marilyn Monroe and the Marx Brothers came to play here. This is where Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall began courting while working on the set of To Have and To Have Not (1944), and this is where the American literati – Dorothy Parker, F Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway came to join the fun.

The hotel came about after Alla Nazimova [1879-1945] the Russian-born star of Hollywood’s silent screen began to worry about her bank balance. Her most recent films, such as Salome (1923) based on Oscar Wilde’s risqué stage play, had not been a commercial success and so she extended the Spanish hacienda-style Hollywood mansion she had leased in 1918 and converted it into what become the Garden of Allah Hotel.

Apparently the construction was fairly flimsy, the food lousy and the whole place run in an amateurish manner, but it was somewhere for the rich and famous to hide away in and make whoopee, not a perfect example of Californian architecture. After the Second World War the hotel fell into a slow decline and was demolished in summer 1959. It might well have become a cult place to stay today; before its closure the hotel hosted one last, riotous party, said to be attended by 1,000 guests including some, like Chaplin, who had attended the opening 30 years before. An auction of furniture, fixtures and fittings was held during this boisterous swansong and the story goes that there was an unseemly jostle when it came to bidding for a bed much favoured by Errol Flynn.

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The most spectacular attacks on buildings in recent years have not been by conventional armies fighting conventional wars,  but by terrorist groups aiming to kill as many civilians as possible in attempts to draw attention to their causes. The most infamous was, of course, the attack by al Qa’ida on New York’s World Trade Center on September 11, 2001….

There are a number of curious back-stories to be told in the aftermath of the attack. From a strictly architectural viewpoint, it was sad to see the work of the Japanese-American architect Minoru Yamasaki [1912-86] meet such an end. On March 16, 1972, Yamasaki’s first major work, the Pruitt-Igoe urban housing project in St Louis, Missouri, was also blown to pieces. This was not an act of terrorism, but because the 33 concrete blocks containing 2,870 apartments had become one of the most notorious modern slums in the United States. Smothered in graffiti, dirty, violent and suffering from damp and any number of technical deficiencies, this “project” was sentenced to death by democratically elected city authorities. Charles Jencks, the eminent architectural critic and historian, declared March 16, 1972, as “the day Modern architecture died.”

Significantly, Mohammed Atta [1968-2001] the Al Qa’ida terrorist who flew American Airlines Flight No 11 into one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center had trained as an architect at Cairo University, and had written a thesis while studying at the Technical University of Hamburg on the issue of how modern high-rise buildings were destroying the fabric and spirit of traditional Arabic cities. Atta despised the housing blocks that Yamasaki had designed in St Louis, while the twin towers were, for him, a symbol of all that was wrong with western modernism….

Yamasaki saw things very differently. When asked about the towering design of the 110-storey, 1,350-foot towers of the World Trade Center, he said:

“I feel this way about it. World trade means world peace and consequently the World Trade Center buildings in New York…had a bigger purpose than just to provide room for tenants. The World Trade Center is a living symbol of man’s dedication to world peace…beyond the compelling need to make this a monument to world peace, the World Trade Center should, because of its importance, become a representation of man’s belief in humanity, his need for individual dignity, his beliefs in the cooperation of men, and through cooperation, his ability to find greatness.”

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Stories in Stone: Travels Through Urban Geology

-Reviewed by Jodie Liu

Natural history writer David Williams always appreciated the magnificent red sandstone formations of southern Utah. But it wasn’t until he moved to Boston, full of apartment complexes and commercial buildings, that Williams became fascinated with geology. As it turns out, Boston’s stonemasonry helped Williams realize that, like naturally formed rocks, the stones we use in urban settings reveal layers of history.

Much like the buildings he examines, Williams’s work is built from stones, each chapter paying homage to a different type of rock and its cultural legacy. Williams turns each stone over and over, reading into geological origins, exposing social history, and discussing the cultural ramifications of the stone’s use. Williams shows, for example, how brownstone – thanks to its abundance at Connecticut quarry site and the ease of extracting it from the earth – overcame its original reputation as “the most hideous stone ever quarried” to adorn  some of New York City’s most stately homes. And he is fascinated by a clamshell-ridden stone that coated a 16th century Spanish fortress in St. Augustine, Florida because of its unique ability to deflect bullets – discovered not during construction, but rather during a failed siege attempt by the American colonies.

Williams also humanizes stone, particularly in his exploration of poet Robinson Jeffers and his almost religious affinity with stone. Jeffers had long slipped under the radar as “an insecure, mediocre writer.” But when he finally married his longtime love Una, moved to Carmel to start a family, and decided to build a house entirely of giant chunks of Carmel granite, pieces started to fall into place for Jeffers. He wrote odes to the rock: “Here on the rock it is great and beautiful, here on the foam-wet granite sea fang it is easy to praise / Life and water and the shining stones.” Such were the verses that launched Jeffers’ career as “one of the great American poets of the twentieth century.”

Williams does criticize some buildings for their choice of stone. Carrara marble, Michelangelo’s sculpting medium of choice, had the ideal qualities to freeze-frame David in immortal perfection for centuries but was rather disastrous when it came to building façade, forcing the Standard Oil headquarters in Chicago to shell out over $70 million to replace 44,000 weather-cracked tiles. And the Getty Museum in Los Angeles required a hundred boatloads of travertine direct from Italy, the necessity of which Williams questions. “Builders and architects have been shipping stone willy-nilly around the world for centuries,” Williams writes, “but transporting building stones has an environmental impact that builders and architects should consider.”

It’s worth noting that Williams doesn’t try to dovetail all of the narratives together – each chapter can easily stand alone. These stories are simply isolated pillars supporting the unending construction of stone, the endless process of building into rock our lives, cultures, and histories.

Excerpt: One of the beautiful aspects of the Morton rocks is that you can see this give and take of rock. In one panel pink dominates, in another gray, and in a third, rafts of jet black basalt sit like islands awash in a sea of pink. Some Morton building panels look like still photographs of streams of blood flowing through arteries, a texture that quarry workers call veiny. But the dominant pattern resembles a series of pictures taken while stirring together cans of pink and gray pant. Quarrymen call this texture flurry.
No matter which texture one sees in the Morton, the rock seems to be constantly in motion. Nothing is static. Although the rock records events that took place between 3.5 billion and 2.6 billion years ago, it is the most alive rock I have ever seen.

Further Reading: Written In Stone and Reading the Rocks: The Autobiography of the Earth

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Welcome to the Urban Revolution: How Cities are Changing the World

–Reviewed by Jodie Liu

If it’s difficult to imagine the French Revolution without Paris, or the American Revolution without Boston, then it’s easy to see how the term “revolution” can be applied to the urbanization phenomenon.

But Jeb Brugmann’s interest in cities doesn’t lie in how they give rise to ideological upheavals. In Welcome to the Urban Revolution: How Cities Are Changing the World, Brugmann describes the rich character of urban life and analyzes the social implications of growth to form unique, authentic portraits of different developing cities. He ultimately shows what urbanization means for the growing number of city-dwellers, as well as for everyone else who is about to enter, willingly or otherwise, the world of high rises and high efficiency.

Brugmann holds cities up to a magnifying lens: urbanization may be a global-scale phenomenon, but Brugmann finds that the movement’s magnitude is best observed with a highly localized viewpoint. Brugmann’s findings draw from personal fieldwork in Dharavi, India; Machala, Ecuador; and Curitaba, Brazil, to name a few. Such cities have yet to register as the movers and shakers of urbanization, but Brugmann contests they demonstrate the true successes and challenges of the urbanization movement.

Dharavi, for instance, wields a notorious reputation as a squalid, destitute slum – a black sheep in the center of Mumbai’s more modernized neighborhoods. Yet, Brugmann shows that Dharavi’s inhabitants have actually used their maligned heavy population density “to create their own Industrial Revolution.” In wealthier neighborhoods, homes are “empty during the day and businesses are empty at night,” but in Dharavi, all buildings are “in constant use,” maximizing efficiency and accelerating economic growth. Though the living conditions in Dharavi have much to improve upon, Brugmann shows that Dharavi is not without its triumphs.

And a well-established city is not without its challenges. Strolling through Barcelona’s old Gracia District, Brugmann identifies a uniquely Barcelonan way of employing espai public, or public space, to meld private lives with city culture. Here, espai public “is not a public zone separate from the private city; it is a… territory of streets and squares where private interests and public uses are vitally interwoven.” But while the Gracia’s District’s tradition of “cultural homogeneity, regional commerce, and political isolation” makes for easy interconnectedness within the city, Brugmann notes that such homogeneity won’t help Barcelona to thrive in a diverse global market.

Through all the diverse portraits of cities, Brugmann manages to find a sense of unity in his pitch for sustainable development through city building. Brugmann claims that, with the rapid rate of urbanization, the most orderly way for cities to thrive sustainably is to develop into what he calls citysystems-“unique, spatially compact and complete” entities that can operate in a more or less self-sufficient manner. The key to making such systems – Brugmann cites Dharavi as a example – is to allow them to “grow organically” as the “product of trial-and-error” rather than scientific planning.

Clearly, Brugmann is most concerned with urban individualism. Each city has distinct values and ways of social interaction, and in order to bring today’s cities into the future, Brugmann argues for acknowledging and cultivating the unique qualities of each city. Dharavi is not Barcelona is not Moscow, Brugmann explains, and urban growth in each of these cities must begin literally from the ground up.

Excerpt: “When we first started developing city-to-city partnerships in the Soviet Union in 1985, local opposition to the system there was observable everywhere: in living rooms, cafes, workplaces, universities, and churches. There was a new boldness in the expression of resistance, even in small ways. On arrival in Moscow I would regularly visit a once-prominent musician who had been professionally marginalized for her views. She would use the occasion of these visits to flagrantly demonstrate her independence. Whereas we held our first meeting in the presumed privacy of her apartment on Moscow’s periphery, she developed the confidence during these years to flout her contact with foreigners right in the lobby of the downtown-KGB-riddled Intourist hotel. Once inside she’d unveil a basket of rare meats for us to eat under their noses. This was a costly picnic for her. Meat was in short supply. But it was a way of saying, ‘You cannot stop me from having a good life.'”

Further Reading: The New Global Frontier: Urbanization, Poverty and Environment in the 21st Century and Sustainable Urbanism: Urban Design With Nature

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