 Like foundries and dressmakers, architects rely on patterns. This paper, and those of my colleagues that follow, are an effort to invent, borrow, steal, and otherwise collect useful patterns from our own work, from that of others, from historic sources, and from vernacular settings. Matthew's trenchant essay on durability and Corey's wonderful taxonomy of worldwide climate adaptation apply equally to new and existing buildings. My focus is adaptive reuse. First a reminder of why, though not especially religious, I regard building reuse as God's work. In the next 10 years, we need to make great progress in bending these carbon emission curves downward to avoid climate tipping points. The faster we start, as in the bottom initially steeper green curve option, the better off we are on the less total carbon expended over that period, as measured in the area under the curve. For this graphic from architecture 2030 shows that between 2020 and 2040 embodied carbon tied up in extraction, production, and delivery of new building materials outweighs operational carbon for those new buildings. That is, new buildings don't solve our short-term problem, because the initial carbon input is not compensated by operational savings within our climate change horizon. Initial embodied carbon from resource extraction through construction looms large in this calculus and occurs upfront. This chart shows existing built floor area by country on the left and projected area needed on the right. The red arrows highlight the three largest, China, the US, and Europe. Replacing some of the heavy early carbon input from new construction on the right with lighter carbon retrofits and adaptive reuse on the left is a key part of the strategy to keep global warming at less than two degrees Celsius. The hermit crab is the queen of adaptive reuse as she searches for taps and sounds, smells, discriminates between, and finally chooses a suitable shell to inhabit. Evolution has provided a routine for the crab to find the right shell. She probes with her claw and tries a shell on to test fit. Then she has to ensure the shell doesn't leak. It has to hold the extra water the crab uses to regulate its bodily fluids to drink and to hydrate its gills. The shell has to be hard enough to protect its abdomen and deter penetration by others. So there is the entire adaptive reuse scenario. Look at all the real estate options. Read the fit between organism and shell. That is between proposed use and the building. And of course, check on the basics of the building envelope, security, and water tightness. After the hermit crab, our favorite guru on adaptive reuse is Stuart Brand of the Whole Earth Catalog and the brilliant How Buildings Learn. Here he is on adaptive reuse. Almost no buildings adapt well. They're designed not to adapt. Also budgeted and financed not to, regulated and taxed not to, even remodeled not to. But all buildings, except monuments, adapt anyway, however poorly because the usages in and around them are constantly changing. In another words, we're hermit crabs dealing with a world of flawed shells. In our work as designers of new buildings and renovations we should probably be thinking about the next inhabitants and trying to leave them a more useful shell. Many of you are probably familiar with Christopher Alexander, an architect who also trained as a mathematician, studied and taught at Harvard and at Berkeley. And in 1977 put out a pattern language, you're my battered copy, a companion of descriptions and diagrams called patterns for all facets of environmental design from town planning to interior design. There is definitely a 60s flavor of power of the people and the premiation of user satisfaction and vernacular architecture over high design. Alexander and his colleagues define patterns as follows. Each pattern describes a problem which occurs over and over again in our environment and then describes the core of the solution to that problem in such a way that you can use this solution a million times over without ever doing it in the same way twice. There are 253 patterns in a pattern language from number one independent regions, quote, work towards those regional policies which will protect the land and mark the limits of the cities to number 253 things from your life, quote, complete the building with color, ornament and things from your life. A pattern language is a kind of supermarket for people to shop for ideas to use if they design a new building. Such an encyclopedic storehouse will inevitably have gaps and include items that don't apply and those that seem to some of us shoppers as antiquated or wrong-headed. The first part of my inquiry was to review these patterns to see which could be adaptively reused for renovations and adaptive reuse. A lot of what follows are patterns for rolling with the punches to adroitly with a minimum of intervention and resulting embodied carbon inputs to adapt fat and skinny buildings or decide not to. Pattern 179 is alcoves, which the pattern promotes to give a group the opportunity to also be alone in ones and twos in part of the larger space they inhabit and it does work in adaptive reuse. It works fat, but also skinny. We have found alcoves in small meeting places like this library niche in an old carriage house to be extremely popular with users in larger open work areas or public spaces like libraries, where they can be used for small conferences, business meetings or solo concentration relatively free of distraction, especially good in fat. Pattern 194, interior windows suggest fixed glazing to borrow light where spaces have too little action or light works fat. This is good when trying to animate and make use of spaces deeper in existing buildings where we need to create smaller habitable spaces, especially those that require acoustical privacy and can tolerate visual access. Pattern 207, good materials now looks incredibly prescient since it lists several materials like thatch and canvas currently dubbed carbon positive and emphasizes ultralight, concrete or organic or earth-based materials which translated into contemporary terms would meet cutting edge lead and living building challenge guidelines. Also prescient is this diagram emphasizing lightweight concrete additives and mixes a current vibrant low carbon building research area. 55 years later we understand concrete alone is accountable for 11% of global carbon emissions equal to the eighth largest country's emissions with steel a closed second and aluminum back in third. And we are now drawn as smart designers to reincarnations of traditional bio-based materials for our renovations and new construction as in bamboo, hemp creed, sheeps wool, straw bale and wood. Having looked at these reuse applicable pattern language examples I have some tentative additional suggestions to offer. Unlike new building patterns which begin with siting in a landscape the initial Hermit Crab adaptive reuse test is for fit into an existing shell. Housing is the highest and best and often most desired use in many contexts. So we have found ourselves testing existing buildings for their capacity to accommodate apartments. A key dimensional issue is building width. So I wondered if it was possible to describe optimum ranges and limits in a pattern skinny or fat what works. Standard housing suggests 60 feet as an optimum width which works for unit design and conveniently corresponds to double loaded parking dimension below the housing. Preservation architects however rarely if ever get presented with anything like an optimum building for analysis. This former greenhouse and boiler factory in Irvington, New York was no exception. We settled on a reuse scenario locating affordable housing above a new village library funded partially by both preservation and low income housing tax credits. The skinny 40 foot width was a severe layout challenge however. Luckily there were no further complications from structure but away from the end condition you wind up with highly compressed units there are a string of rooms when trying to double load a corridor. This is sort of at the limit. A skinny problem can be fatal. St. Paul's school in Garden City, New York has long been a controversial white elephant and preservationists and some local residents have resisted its demolition for years. We tested its suitability for housing for some of those locals and found it possible though in this case structure along the hallway did inhibit layout flexibility unlike the greenhouse factory. And this has become an impediment to the building's viability for reuse. End conditions can usually work but where the building next to 42 feet layouts become compromised. The last proposal for this building in 2018 was to reduce it to facades for a sports complex but that has not yet happened and the entire complex sits fenced in decay. The wrong approach to a fat problem can be fatal. Another longstanding white elephant is the Metropolitan Life Insurance Hall of Records a massive 1907 national registered concrete record storage facility in Yonkers, New York that was excess when MetLife's records were digitized. We were asked to look at how to convert the building to housing and here are the relevant dimensions. With such a fat building an atrium or light court was necessary for light and air to sleeping rooms especially. 76 feet works better at an end condition and requires great effort to utilize deeply interior space. 43 feet is workable single loaded clustering storage along the hallway. We were asked to return to the site by a developer looking at buying out an acquaintance who was trying to adapt the building into luxury housing and failing. This developer had tried in this plan to somehow fold all the interior space into units and not carb light down the middle in an atrium. You can see the mezzanines and other spaces deep inside the massive structure trying to borrow light from the edge. The cost of building out all that flurry area and the inability to market and pre-sell these odd units conspired to the failure and with new material stockpiled and no maintenance water entry began to create a very sad scene indeed one that continues. These examples from compromises to failures lead me to suggest a pattern for housing. Fit 28 to 42 is best for single loaded layouts 42 to 76 feet seems like the outer range for double loaded layouts and beyond that it's recommended to insert light wells, courts or atria. The companion pattern suggests introducing and enhancing daylight at the edges and interior of a building. This section shows the passive zone and fatter buildings where daylight fails to penetrate. Punching an atrium or light well is one approach as in this factory to housing conversion. Highly reflective light transmitting tubes or another device that can deliver a surprising amount of daylight at least two levels down into the interior. A repeated pattern for successfully animating larger footprint, i.e. fat buildings is by creating an internal street or circulation spine as here in Toronto's Museum of Contemporary Arts in a former factory space. Or this homeless and supportive housing facility in Westchester County which we converted from a storage warehouse. A related pattern is to exploit circulation along column lines which has the effect of adding bonus space to circulation paths especially when columns are substantial like these in a former printing building converted into the film forum cinema in Manhattan. Often the best adaptive strategy is not to fight the building but roll as best you can with the punches and even celebrate the intractable features you have to contend with like columns. These funky tree trunks uncovered in a former greenhouse factory polished up nicely in the library setting. Interspersed with new metal sheath ones we had to introduce. Those sconces on the left leading back are rare Tiffany turtleback lamps rescued from the former library off the street. Like embracing and celebrating columns rather than removing them it is often best not to spend energy punching elevators and fire stairs through existing floor plates if there is a suitable exterior location. This see-through addition conveniently connected all levels and led light through to an elevated housing courtyard behind without impacting character defining elements. These patterns illustrate structural strategies and engineer friend has employed in his practice when trying to find the capacity for new uses in existing structures and minimize interventions and embodied energy. His solutions range from purely analytical that look at the potential inherent capacity of an entire assembly that may have been originally designed on a component by component or floor by floor basis to active interventions that reinforce the floor assembly by fusing decks and beams share loads between floors or hang an existing building shell on a new internal frame sometimes the best way to approach a wobbly barn. Where possible satisfy program requirements with minimal and lightweight elements like camping. This approach provides maximum flexibility for future changes reduces cost and has a smaller carbon footprint. A canoe that belonged to Toshi Seager, Pete Seager's wife hangs over an adapted former employee clubhouse that's now a multi-use space that hosts movable environmental exhibits and houses a wide variety of classes, lectures and other events. Simply removing pews transformed this monastery sanctuary into a Buddhist meditation space an ultra lightweight camping solution. My proposed pattern create a hierarchy of spaces like Chris Alexander's mixture of room sizes pattern is also intended to minimize the need for future significant changes by providing an array of spaces from small to large that fit a great variety of new uses in different ways creating options for meetings and collective work as well as privacy. Pattern 153 in pattern language suggests that life in a building changes space needs shrink and swell cyclically. So a more resilient building will be able to adapt to an irregular increase and decrease in space needs by accommodating a rental of some of the spaces. Intensifying the use of existing buildings through physical as well as scheduling strategies can reduce the need to build new and the resulting carbon inputs. Our collective retreat to home offices during the pandemic is an intensification and has freed up space elsewhere. Co-working spaces can be space saving hermit crabs. More intense use of existing buildings through such arrangements, time-sharing and space-sharing is an ultra low carbon mechanism that promotes sustainability and reduces the demand for new built space simply by matching needs to existing space. Our own converted theater on the right has allowed us at various times to rent desks or an entire storefront, the space through the doorway at the very bottom to successfully a hat store, a rare bookstore and a recycled wedding gown shop, UNO. This has been a source of resilience for us and for the building. My avoid one-to-one packaging pattern suggests avoiding very specific, heavily-defined layouts that will mandate extensive future change and the associated negative impacts. This Tribeca film production space exhibits some flexible, lightweight, fat-building hermit crab strategies. Hierarchy of options, public and private, interior glazing to borrow light, movable partitions and furnishings, lightweight materials, scheduled use. Alexander's patterns and those I've suggested reflect an architect's bias towards spatial arrangements as determinants. In fact, the suitability of a building for adaptation depends on a cluster of physical, economic, functional, technological, social, legal and political characteristics. In all of these areas, it's probably safe to say that being too highly specialized leads to obsolescence and a wasteful future renovation or demolition cycle. The three L's mantra from the 1970s of long life, loose fit and low energy applies across the board. Let's hope we can collectively remember that as a species. APT, the Association for Preservation Technology has, thanks to my co-presenter, Corey, a mechanism to crowdsource our patterns, our recommended best practices for preserving retrofitting and adaptively reusing old and historic buildings. It is called Oscar and it is accessible at this address. Check it out and offer up your own wisdom, please. Thank you. Hello, everyone. It's an honor to be presenting today, along with my esteemed colleagues and all of our fellow presenters. Collectively, Steve, Matthew and I are presenting you with the ways that preservation can address our climate crisis through patterns of adaptive reuse, durability and climate-driven design. In this final segment, I hope to present you with something new, encourage you to reexamine the familiar in a new light and leave you all with some truly enjoyable inspiration to carry beyond this conference. By now, you all know, by now you all know perhaps far too intimately about our climate crisis and its impending existential threat to all of humanity, but with this crisis comes a call to action, the imperative for climate leadership through preservation. This is what we can do. This is our superpower, our expertise put into action. Let's focus on just one aspect of that superpower and one way we can all view the work we love through a climate-driven lens and perhaps find another layer of meaning in the work we do. As you now know, buildings are responsible for approximately 40% of global carbon emissions with roughly half of those emissions coming from embodied carbon. In building intensive places like New York City, the local breakdown is closer to 70%. In any case, we have the capacity to affect significant carbon reduction through our stewardship of existing buildings. Much of what we do in preservation addresses embodied carbon as a matter of course, taking care of our existing buildings and extending their useful life as long as possible through careful consideration of both durability and repair. Operational carbon actions include, among other things, the careful energy retrofit of our buildings, especially the building envelopes to further reduce our operational carbon emissions as we keep ourselves comfortable. Even beyond the cultural heritage value, our existing buildings represent a vast resource, a bank of carbon that has already been emitted and should not be thrown out and emitted anew. The best way to reduce our embodied carbon emissions from here forward is to take care of the buildings and infrastructure we already have. This is crucially important and we need to be very vocal about this with our friends and family, clients and colleagues, but most critically with our elected representatives. Our carbon policies must incentivize retaining our existing buildings. It seems to be a simple equation, address the embodied carbon and the operational carbon, keep your building and retrofit it. That seeming simplicity is vital for broad stroke communication, for getting this message out to a broad audience, including our policy makers. But with that simplicity is the danger of a false narrative that every bit of design and construction is equally well thought out and of equal performance and merit in need of the same retrofit for energy or operational carbon performance. So what does that even mean? What is improvement? And for that matter, what needs improvement? So let's take an important step back to understand what we've got before valiantly trying to improve it. We need to consider how the design of our built environment fosters comfortable, long lasting occupancy, thoughtfully and sensibly needing our needs and ideally delighting our senses now and into the future. And so today, I would like to talk to you about the idea of inherently sustainable features. These are the design elements that improve comfort and habitability through their placement, layout, configuration or use. Their basis and rationality and practicality have led to their repetition, translation into beauty and have often become character defining features, whether defining regional styles or transcending them. In our lifetimes, in the era of cheap fuel, it is easy to forget or not even realize how they came into being in the first place. As an example, let's consider shutters intended to close over windows. They're used all over the world. Some protect from the cold, some block out the heating sun, some are for protection, durability or privacy and they come in all shapes and sizes. And yet, despite this variation, we recognize when they're fake or inappropriate, we get annoyed at nonsensical shutters. We experience shot in Florida by looking at some of the abominations on the McMansion Health website. I know I'm not the only one here to experience this. When features become misunderstood shadows of themselves, something very real is lost. So let's really think about the purpose of these features and why they became character defining in the first place. Let's think about their authenticity of use. What is purely stylistic or decorative and what had an underlying purpose? Is that purpose relevant? Can we continue to honor its wisdom and harness it as a strategic use of resources to address our needs today? This idea of inherently sustainable features is an important paradigm shift in the way many of us think about our built heritage. And yet, it builds upon what we as preservation professionals do best. We are comfortable searching the past for clues, understanding past construction and living patterns and finding ways to carry valuable pieces of our cultural heritage forward. For millennia, people have sought thermal comfort in their living environments through the effective and ingenious use of available materials and energy. How many of these strategies are a part of the authenticity of use of our built heritage? By employing this lens, we are putting our expertise into action as climate leadership through preservation. We live in a world with many different climates. The Copenhagener classification system counts 29. For our purposes, we don't need to be that precise and so we can think of about for very general climate types. These four have to do with our thermal comfort, whether we are too hot or too cold and how the relative humidity affects the comfort and how that changes seasonally. In cold climates, you want to gain and retain heat, whether from the sun or an internal source. In hot climates, you want to avoid heat gain and get rid of any heat you do have. In temperate or mixed climates, your strategy will depend upon the season. Heat gain can take many forms. Heat radiates or travels through the air from heat sources like the sun. More effectively, heat is conducted by direct touch. Think how your hands are warmed faster by holding on to a mug of hot coffee than by hovering your hands near it. Heat rises and as it cools back, cools it falls back down again, creating convective heat loops. Orientation to both the height and angle of the sun as it crosses the sky and how that changes cyclically throughout the year can be used to maximize the solar heat gain. Strategic placement and use of thermal mass can serve to absorb heat from any source and radiate it back outward over a longer period of time. In a cold climate, you also want to hold on to that heat and not as your parents always warned, try to instead heat the whole outdoors. Cold winter wind will draw heat away from any heat source, including your building. So limiting the exposure to prevailing winds will help minimize its effects. Compact volumes minimize the surface area where heat can be lost compared to sprung volumes of the same floor area. An airtight building envelope will prevent warm air from being drawn out directly and insulation slows the heat transfer through the materials of the enclosure. Smaller volumes require less heat input to keep warm, and limiting airflow from one space to the next allows you to make use of the gained heat in one space for longer. Living patterns are very important in any climate. Our patterns of living, sleeping, cooking, and other activities greatly influence our experiences of thermal comfort. In the real world, these strategies are often employed together and they take form in a number of beautiful, thoughtful ways. On cold days, this enclosed farm yard in Denmark and this plaza in Old Quebec both invite in the warmth of the sunshine and keep out the chill of the wind to make these spaces comfortable for longer than they would be otherwise. Swiss buildings are traditionally compact volumes with stuccoed airtight exteriors. On Cape Cod, the lower back of this house faces the cold north winds. The wind is directed up and over the house and the utilitarian spaces serve as a thermal buffer while the habitable spaces enjoy the cozy warmth of the available sunlight from the south-facing windows. The very thick, thatched roof on this house in Japan and the solid roofs common in the Faroe Islands both insulate the roof to burn that heat loss. The window-to-wall ratio is important as a solid wall is more insulative than glass and more airtight than windows. Exterior storm windows reduce air infiltration and add insulation while still allowing daylight, solar heat gain and visibility. The solid shutters on this lighthouse are operable and more durable than glass and are more likely to be used at night, during a storm, or when the space is not in use. This casement window in Old Quebec has a seasonally installed exterior storm window. One pane is operable to still allow airflow when desired. The primary window itself has an edge detail where the two sashes meet that functions as a weather seal. In Central Europe, the idea of insulating window openings takes the form of box windows. There are different varieties with pairs of sashes swinging in-rider outward and some with operable individual panes. Collectively, the pairs of windows create an airspace much wider than that found in our insulated glazing with components that can be repaired and maintained. Entry vestibules minimize heat loss at doorways. The sliding vestibule doors of this hotel in Buffalo are offset to further minimize wind blowing all the way through. These farmhouses in the Black Forest of Germany are compact with small windows and are built above their barns. The rising heat off of their livestock is enjoyed by the human residents living upstairs, although I honestly don't know whether the smells and sounds also make their way through. For these next few slides, the fuels in these traditional examples are carbon emitting, but the physical form, the placement, geometry and usage are of no matter the fuel source. This centrally located mass of chimney in Quebec and this tile oven in France, both act as thermal masses and retain the heat from fires within to radiate out into the rooms for a longer period of time. Ingle nooks, whether ornate or utilitarian, provide cozy seating in a semi-enclosed space near the fire. Under floor heating, with its cozy conductive warmth takes many forms around the world. The ancient Romans had hippocosts. In Northern China, a Kang is a raised heated platform used both for sleeping and for daytime activity. In Korea, the umbil floor carries the heat from the chimney, under its heated stone floor slab and the rest of the house and is then exhausted from a chimney at the other side. In Japan, a kotatsu consists of a heater placed under a table enclosed by a heavy blanket tablecloth. In Afghanistan and Iran, the same concept is called a corsi. This idea would have been fantastic for pandemic-era outdoor dining. In European palaces, tapestries insulated the walls in addition to being gorgeous works of art. Heavy curtains also keep out the cold when drawn. Bed curtains create small enclosed spaces to keep in the warmth as you sleep. So now let's look at hot climates where your strategies will be just the opposite. Here, you want to avoid any heat gain and you want to get rid of any heat that does come in. Solar orientation is important for hot climates to minimize the solar heat gain. Shading blocks the hot sun. Light colors and other reflective surfaces help to bounce that incoming heat away. In some cases, insulation can also be useful to block the heat from getting in. To get rid of heat, prevailing winds can be harnessed to draw heat away. Raises can be induced, such as through geometries that make use of the venturi effect, which speeds our flow through constricted spaces. Heat rises and geometries that create a stack effect or chimney effect draw hot air up and out of the building. Tall spaces also allow heat to rise up and away from people. The amount of humidity in the air greatly influences many of the other options for getting rid of unwanted heat. In hot arid climates, evaporative cooling works well and it is easier to remain comfortable at higher temperatures. This is why comments about the weather at West so often include, yeah, but it's a dry heat. Temperatures tend to fluctuate rapidly in arid climates as dry air does not hold onto heat very well. Cooler nighttime temperatures can be used to flush out the hot air before it heats up again the next day. Thermal mass can be used as a well-timed heat sink and heat source. In hot arid climates, the time lag of heat absorption and slow release can be compatible with the daily temperature swings as that heat is more readily released into the cooler nighttime air outside or makes its way through to the inside in time to counteract the chill. In hot humid climates, all the moisture in the air retains heat and temperatures do not drop drastically at night. This means that strategies harnessing daily temperature swings are not very effective and so it can be preferable to avoid thermal mass and instead opt for materials that do not retain heat. Evaporative cooling also doesn't work well in moisture saturated air. More air movement is needed to get the same amount of evaporation to cool us down. Ventilation and breezes take on much more importance as strategies in a humid climate and are encouraged through open floor plants, cross ventilation, and more surface area on a non-compact, sprawling building exterior. Vegetation cools its surroundings both through shading and through evapotranspiration. Studies in urban areas indicate that air temperatures can be up to nine degrees Fahrenheit cooler on tree-lined streets and in parks than on neighboring trees, streets lacking vegetation. Additionally, trees and vegetation have been shown to improve air quality, stormwater management, water quality, and overall quality of life. In Capri, paths are at times shaded by trees or grapevines, but they are also more consistently lined by tall masonry walls, providing shade from one side or the other. In Iran, portions of streets are covered with sabats, inducing breezes, and providing pedestrians respite from the hot sun. Light colors reflect the hot sunlight away. These narrow whitewash streets in Greece and Portugal also take advantage of the shading of one building onto the other, induced breezes, and thermal masks. The Charleston, South Carolina single house typology is oriented to harsh the prevailing breezes and the long porch along the south facade provides shade. The more modest shotgun house typology is also set up for front to back ventilation. Porches provide outdoor living space, shade, and shelter from rain, while still encouraging ventilation through open windows. Tall ceilings and windows allow heat to rise up and away from people in these rooms. Shading can be retractable such as these awnings are fixed like these overhangs. Ideally, this should work with the local angle of the sun to shade as much as is needed. The horizontal shading can be porous to allow airflow and can be designed as a support for vegetation, including grapevines. This extended eve, which keeps rain off the living platforms and these wraparound balconies are also shading devices. Shudders and hot climates are often louvered to block the sun while still allowing for ventilation and views. Exterior shutters are more effective at heat avoidance, but interior shutters may be easier to operate. Other variations include exterior blinds and Bahama shutters, which tilt outward at the bottom to maximize shading and ventilation. Fixed screen sight walls and adjustable louvered walls also provide shade while maintaining ventilation and views. This wood screen panel in China and this jolly in India are beautifully decorative elements that do the same. Mushrobias in the Middle East project beyond the building facade to maximize their simultaneous shading and ventilation. Jars of water are placed within to provide evaporative cooling. Some climate-driven features are very pronounced and very distinctive, such as the wind catchers or badgears in the Middle East. Hot air is drawn up one side of the thermal chimney while cooling wind is brought down the other. The proportions are driven by local conditions. In more humid areas near the sea, the badgears are lower and wider. And where the air is drier, the badgears are taller and more slender to capture the faster wind and avoid wind-blown dust. The air pulled down the chimney is further cooled by the evaporative cooling of an underground canal or cannot. In Turkey, adobe-domed beehive houses create a thermal chimney with a rising heat venting from the top. The domes maximize surface area for evaporative cooling while providing shade for half the roof where there otherwise would be none. This form is pushed even further with kukchals, such as this one in Iran, that store ice and food in the desert. On a much smaller scale, evaporative cooling keeps water cool in Spanish botihos and food cool through a damp sand sandwiched between two concentric clay pots of zero pots, like this one in Burkina Faso. A company in India is now working with these same concepts to sell terracotta refrigerators that require no electricity. Baoli or step walls in India, step down to the water table and provide access to water as well as cool respite from the heat. Fountains cool the surrounding air while providing a soothing cooling sound. Courtyard houses provide shaded, sheltered spaces with air circulation for the interior. Here is a Haveli in India and the courtyard of a Chinese home. Similar concepts can be found in Iran and in Pompeii. Sheltered exterior spaces minimize the need for interior condition space where the climate allows. Hallways and condo buildings in Florida and airport gates in Hawaii can be used comfortably whether it be unthinkable in the Northeast. These two houses in Indonesia and in Florida are built of lightweight materials raised up on stilts, allowing cooler shaded air to pass below the floor. As the house in Florida is on a barrier island, the stilts also provide a measure of resilience against storm surges. Ceiling fans circulate air and help draw hot air upward when they can be reversed to push warm air downward in cooler seasons. Ponkas move air by swinging back and forth. Wicker furniture allows for cooling air flow and picnic tables under the shade of pergolas or trees extend living patterns outdoors. Heat generating activities can be relegated out of doors or in separate outbuildings. This Miami homeowner keeps their washer and dryer in an outdoor shed, reducing their cooling load even without the use of a clothesline. This outbuilding kitchen in China keeps the heat and fire risk away from the main house. Sleeping patterns can look different than in colder climates. Hamex take advantage of nighttime breezes and ceramic headrests such as this one in China dissipate rather than collect warmth. Sleeping porches are used to seek airflow and any cooler nighttime breezes. In temperate or mixed climates, strategies from both hot and cold climates are used in tandem or depending on which is the more dominant season. The variability of conditions throughout the year becomes important to work with and to address. Deciduous trees and vegetation in addition to all their other benefits lose their leaves in the winter allowing for additional heat gain when it is needed the most. In greenhouses, conservatories and other places with sky-phase and glazing, a seasonal whitewash shading can be applied to maximize solar heat gain in the winter and minimize it in the summer. Operable windows accommodate shifting conditions and can be used strategically to optimize airflow as desired. Retractable awnings, umbrellas and the seasonal use of blankets, rugs and seasonally appropriate clothing all serve to dynamically adjust the thermal comfort. In many locations, there are long-standing traditions of escaping the summer heat through visits to summer homes or to community garden plots. There are many more examples out there beyond today's small sampling. Anymore to be discovered when you shift your mode of thinking about the world around us and so I pose a question to you. What features and detailing do you find that can optimize the needs of thermal comfort, durability and resilience? What features and detailing do you find that can reduce embodied and operational carbon use in fulfilling these needs? And what do you see when you truly look and listen to the quiet wisdom of climate-based design? As I wrap up, I would like to leave you with a few thoughts. There are no perfect silver bullet solutions to reducing our carbon emissions entirely in buildings of the past or the present. Understanding and employing inherently sustainable features is an important step, but you will still want to check your energy models and coordinate with the rest of your team on the overall strategy that best suits your particular project. By understanding the climatic basis for some of your character-defining features, you may be better equipped to advocate for their retention, restoration or reconstruction than when they're viewed solely as nice-to-have features for a later phase, if at all. You will have a richer palette to work with as you consider your carbon emissions reduction strategy. You will notice what is inherently sustainable about your features and details that allow your building to perform well even before any further modern-day interventions are considered. You will be equipped to think about appropriate use of resources and pursue strategies that are compatible with your features to improve performance through modification rather than ripping out and replacing wholesale. Our buildings must remain habitable in extreme conditions, say if the power is out for several days after a storm. The strategies discussed today beyond normal conditions may also become part of the resilience plan. As our local climate continues to change, it is important to better understand the strategies and features that work well in the new climate and find ways to work them sensitively and appropriately into your building. Finally, like the patterns and details presented by my co-presenters, these features and strategies are currently being gathered on a searchable database on Oscars APT website. I invite you to come back to the site in the near future to make use of this resource. Thank you. Hello, I'm Matthew Bronsky. I'm a principal with Simpson-Gupperton Hager and I'll be discussing a pattern language of durability. So the first part on any project is thinking about how you're going to proceed with evaluating or restoring or rehabilitating a historic building. I think that first step is always to look closely at what you have and to really seek to understand the logic and the wisdom of what you have. And one of my major points, and I think Corey's as well, is the traditional building forms and vernacular forms that are often just attributed to style or aesthetics often have much more going on. So when you look much more closely, they're very rich technically and there's a lot of underlying logic that has enabled them to work well for so long. So in order to preserve them, we really have to understand that. So today I'm going to focus on one pattern, one transcendent pattern for durability that recurs in many different cultures, climates, periods and styles of buildings and even show how it works at several different scales. So the same pattern I'll take a look at at three different scales of the building. So kind of the underlying premise is that water is the foremost agent of deterioration and the foremost enemy of durability no matter what climate you're in. And that's true in both very hot and humid climates that Corey described and also in cold freeze-thaw climates like I have here in New England. And so to really manage durability you really need to manage water and a tried and true pattern for doing this is to manage water and promote durability by designing building enclosures, roofs, walls, windows, et cetera, that shed and shelter. And by shed, I mean shed the water or discharge the water frequently and preferably all the way to the ground not just dumping the problem on the story below. And by shelter, I mean providing an area that really doesn't get wet at all even in a severe wind-driven rain. So shelter the most vulnerable areas to leakage. So what are some examples of that? So again, I'll look at three different scales at which we see this recurrent pattern occur the overall building form or shape of the building and overall are kind of widespread articulation of a building facade and even individual facade components like windows. So let's just take them in order and I'm gonna start with the overall building form. So we can look at some beautiful buildings like this and you'll see examples like this all across Europe. So often here in the States, we tend to think of kind of the Tudor or Elizabethan examples in England as you see at the far left, 15th, 16th century but really that same type of jetting, half timbering, kind of corbelling out, there are different terms for this in different languages and cultures is recurrent all throughout Northern Europe, Bohemia, the Italian Peninsula, et cetera. So you're seeing examples here from the Alps, from England, down in Venice, York and it's really all over. And I think there's one kind of common myth that this was done in the Middle Ages just to gain a little bit of extra space in what were very dense urban conditions. But I've seen examples in the Alps that are just in meadows with nothing around same thing in kind of rural England and they're still built the same way. So I think that kind of gives you a very big hint that there's more to it than just capturing an extra foot of space at an upper level. And do we really have that here? We don't have that many buildings that are that old that go back to the 1600s. The Paul Revere House in Boston on the left is one prominent example from 1680. And of course here we do have a lot of period revivals. So in the early 20th century, you see Tudor Revival buildings that look a lot like original Tudor buildings in England. But as I've started to look at this form, this kind of cantilever, jettied form, I've just noticed it again and again on a lot of our American architecture from different periods. So you kind of see after the Paul Revere House marching across from the left, Greek Revival building from about the 1830s, that kind of Queen Anne building from the late 1800s and a couple early 20th century revivals on the right. So it's really a recurrent form that transcends many periods and styles. And of course the way it works is shedding and sheltering is in the diagram and protecting much of that facade from direct exposure to rain and getting the rain off as quickly as possible. So in each of these, I'm gonna give a hint at some of the challenges of preserving the recent past. So on some buildings, some modern buildings, you see some of these traditional forms followed. Boston City Hall, famous example of mid-century modern brutalism and a building that's now considered really historically significant. 1963 does have this form in reinforced concrete, but other buildings, this is a, I think a significant building and a wonderful building on the lower portion by Antoine Prey Dock, 1991 and 1000 oaks just outside Los Angeles has really the opposite form. It's more like a step pyramid than an inverted step pyramid. And so you can see that there's really no shedding, no sheltering on that at all. So to make that building work, it's much more reliant on having perfect waterproofing membranes and perfect integrations of those from wall to terrace, terrace to wall, wall to roof, et cetera, as it marches up the building. So the next example I'd like to take on is how does this pattern of shedding and sheltering for durability happen at the overall scale of articulating a facade? So really all across Europe and in the United States, kind of neoclassical early 20th century buildings, you see a lot of highly articulated facades like these. These happen to be in Rome, but you see ledges, you see band courses that project out, you see window hoods and pediments, cornices, just a lot of highly articulated elements projecting out from the facade. And there's kind of a section of one of these buildings at the right. So is that just purely style, or was this really doing anything for a living? And of course, again, when you see something that transcends periods, styles, countries, cultures, climates as this type of facade articulation does, there's a very big hint that it's more than just stylistic, it's more than just aesthetic. There's a real logic to how it works. So the logic of how these buildings work structurally and as a building enclosure, they're very thick load-bearing mass masonry. So very thick stoner brick walls, the floors bear on them, they carry the weight of the floors. But even with super thick walls like that, there might be three feet thick. And these buildings are say five, six stories tall. As the water is absorbed, even if it's perfectly pointed, mortar brick and stoner absorptive. So if you could cut a section in half on that wall and tint your water blue, this is essentially what it would look like. So water hits the wall, a lot of it is running down the surface due to gravity, but it's also being drawn in as it goes down inward due to capillary action and absorption. So you kind of form this triangular gradient and at the point where that moisture gets to the inside, that's where you have problems like leakage or like blistering plaster or pewing paint, et cetera. So how do they deal with this on buildings that can be pretty tall and you just can't build the wall thick enough to accommodate that? Well, what these really do, these ledges, these band courses is act almost like a through wall flashing today and kind of catch that water at every level and redirect it out with just a slight wash slope to the outside and basically reset the clock before you get to that point of the moisture reaching the interior. So that's really how they work. And did we understand this? Did we build buildings like this here in the United States and not just in Rome? Well, yes we did. Here's an example. This is a project of mine in Louisville, Kentucky. So it was stabilizing these long abandoned whiskey distilleries. The row house right next to this had actually collapsed prior to our arrival under its own weight. But in doing so, you can see where it's kind of pulled away part of the front facade. You have almost a perfect section looking at how this building was built. And you can see that those ledges, those band courses do extend well back into that wall, which is a nice synthesis. It works for the water management principles that I mentioned, and it also really helps keep them stable structurally given that there are big pieces of stone that are cantilevering out of the wall, often quite a bit. So the challenge I think in preserving the recent past that I'd like to highlight as we got towards modernism or even early stripped classicism in the early 20th century, particularly the 1930s, we're still building walls that are very thick mass masonry, but we've started to pare down what was then just viewed as ornament and unnecessary. So you see facades that instead of looking like the kind of traditional brown section that I have drawn here started to look like that gray section. They became very flat and very planar. And it's often those early transitional buildings, say in the second quarter of the 20th century that often have the most significant problems with leakage and water management. They're not yet at the point where they're curtain walls, they're not yet at the point where they have a true cavity or continuous waterproofing, but they're starting to lack some of the traditional articulations that help shed water and manage it. So keep your eye out for those. And third, I'd like to look at a couple of individual facade components just to show that the same pattern carries all the way down to individual components like windows, like balconies, like roofs. And today I'm gonna look at windows and windows surrounds as the individual facade component. So here's a Palazzo Braschi, a beautiful building in Rome from 1790. He actually looks like a Renaissance building, but it's much later Renaissance revival building. And you can see looking at the facades, kind of the street facade and the piazza facade on the left that like a lot of traditional buildings and Italy, and really all through Europe in the US, it has these ledges and band courses at the different floor lines like we already talked about. And then also at the windows, you can see that it has a big pediment or hood, call it what you will at the different floor lines. And even as a different look, kind of a segmented arch or a triangular pediment or kind of a horizontal rental type, various types, but kind of variations on a theme at every window and a projecting sill as well as the projecting hood. So how does that work in terms of shedding and sheltering? Well, if you think about this window in Rome or windows here in the United States, before the age of sophisticated weather strippings and gaskets and polymers and synthetic rubbers, often these had to be as watertight as we could get them just with wood closing on wood, as Corey mentioned, or with wood closing on brick and stone. And they had some clever ways of doing that, but of course they weren't perfect. So they needed more, they needed another pattern to help make these work. And one was really trying to capture that water that's flowing down the facade and then directed away from those most vulnerable elements. The places where sash is closing against jam and all those types of moving connections where water can enter more easily. So you see both the overall form of these pediments directing water away. And even over here at the right, the close up on this particular pediment, it's almost like a microcosm of our little building here with that inverted jettied form. So everything is shedding and sheltering and again, preferably clearing that water right down to the ground and not just kind of passing the problem onto the next level below. So on these windows, I noticed that, there are a couple of holes here and you see holes in a lot of old buildings from sign fasteners and banners and everything over the years, but these two particular locations just repeated on every window, which got me wondering, is that some sort of weep system? So looking more closely at these windows and this building was under renovation the year I was in Rome doing my own project, here's how they work. They're incredibly clever at shedding, capturing and shedding water. So again, those wood to stone connections are imperfect and what they have here are actually two complete water collection troughs and weep drainage systems. So I've kind of shown those that align with the lower weep with the red arrows and those that align with the upper weep with the blue arrows. So capturing all the water that comes down the face of the glass or wood in that outer trough collection system, running it down and then weeping it through a diagonal hole drilled through the sill. And then water that does bypass that window is captured here on an internal marble trough drained to the center and then drained through a hole drilled all the way through the wall with a lead pipe, soldered into it and soldered to the marble to bring that water out at the outside. So incredibly clever and well thought out way over 200 years ago of capturing water, collecting it and shedding it to the exterior. And so I think that's probably one of the more sophisticated examples I've seen but there are much more common examples of these same principles here on just ordinary wood frame buildings vernacular buildings, farm buildings really all around the country. So here I'm gonna compare and contrast two wood frame buildings. I live northwest of Boston. Both of these buildings are northwest of Boston. The building on the upper left is a squash house at a local farm in my town was built in the 1920s and kind of in the lower right lower center is the Gropius house built in 1937 to 38. So they're both white, they're both wood frame they both have wood siding they have a lot of similarities and they're only about a decade apart in time but the barn had no architect it was built by local farmers have kind of pulled a plate from a builder handbook from 1923 to represent how these types of double hung windows and doghouse dormers and traditional details were often done. Gropius had his own ideas, he had his own aesthetic he was trying to create different ideas about shadow lines and a kind of more planar facade. And so here's his window that he drew and to kind of look at these and think about these in terms of our general concepts of shedding and sheltering while you can see on the Gropius house at right I've highlighted the window sash the part that the operable part of the window in yellow and you can see there's a little bit of shedding and sheltering here but the window is not deeply recessed to protect it, to shelter it and it almost looks like the sill detail was designed to funnel water into the wall rather than get it out of the wall and on the farm building at left you can see that there's all sorts of shedding and sheltering, the window is deeply recessed beneath all these overhangs we've got a really nice flashing that's called out and this is again just out of a builder handbook from the period. So how did they each do? Well, the Gropius house that looked like it was designed to funnel water into the stud cavity it really did. So this is what the stud cavity looked like in the 1990s when we restored this house and it was really just 60 years after it was built so not old by the standards of a wood frame house in New England that's certainly pretty extreme damage to see in that period of time and at the head the Gropius house had similar problems so kind of a mislap here in the building paper to the flashing made this even less effective, this head detail and so what happened here was the mislap there was no shedding at all the water just kind of filled up the headcan deteriorated the plaster. So those were the problems that really needed to be addressed in that 1990s restoration work and I think the real key point here is there's a lot of embodied wisdom that got passed along from generation to generation so seek it out and seek to understand it so you can really preserve it and restore it and enhance it and make sure it's still working well and when you get into the significant modern buildings realize that sometimes they use these principles and sometimes they didn't so you have to have an extra sharp eye to see what might need to be corrected so that you can preserve this building for the next generation and take care of the inherent problems that otherwise are gonna lead to its demise.