Austrian artist and architect Friedensreich Hundertwasser, or Peace-Kingdom Hundred-Water, as his name translates, was anything but conventional. Known for bright colors, curved lines and organic forms–as well as performances in the nude–his work often generated controversy. A low-income housing block of his design in Vienna is no exception: the Hundertwasser Haus, planned in 1977, features undulating floors, a grass- and soil-covered roof and huge trees growing inside rooms, their branches reaching out from the windows. Hundertwasser refused payment for the complex, explaining that he wished merely to “prevent something ugly from going up in its place.” Throughout his lifetime Hundertwasser preached regularly against conformity in domestic architecture. In 1958 he famously declared his Mould Manifesto against Rationalism in Architecture, stating that “a person in a rented apartment must have the freedom to lean out of his window and transform the building’s exterior within arm’s reach. And he must be allowed to take a long brush and paint everything so that, from far away, everyone can see: There lives a man who distinguishes himself from his neighbors!” Hundertwasser, who died in 2000 at the age of 71, was ahead of most of his contemporaries. Only recently has the mainstream residential construction community realized that people feel uncomfortable and dissatisfied if not given the opportunity to personalize their living spaces. As the ever rising number of do-it-yourself television programs and mushrooming home improvement superstores illustrates, we feel an almost instinctual need to nest, to transform a generic house into an individual home. This realization has forced many architects to rethink their role and, like Hundertwasser, consider that the tenants of any building should be able to influence its design. Home, Sweet Home What, exactly, makes a house a home? What is required for, say, an apartment to meet our needs, not just physically but emotionally? What architectural features contribute to our overall sense of happiness or well-being? It was not until the 1970s, in the wake of interest in environmental psychology, that psychologists and sociologists turned to the concept of “dwelling.” It is no simple matter. But researchers have devised various methods to gauge the livability of a place. These tools have offered interesting insights into the psychology of environments and the effects of buildings on their inhabitants. Most people report that the happiest place in which they lived was their childhood home, to which they then compare all subsequent dwellings. In 1990 social psychologist R. Steven Schiavo of Wellesley College asked children and teenagers to make sketches showing how they would change the plans of their homes if they could. Although most reduced the size of their living rooms, they otherwise had very different ideas about what made for an ideal layout: some added bathrooms, playrooms and guest rooms; others included studies, practice rooms and libraries. As this study and others demonstrate, it is practically impossible to list, in general terms, what makes a “good place to live.” Residential spaces are very personal–and our preferences shift over time. A child will want plenty of room to play and to learn; an older person will care about security and accessibility; a young single person might yearn for ample space to entertain. We can, however, say something about what people tend to value the most. In 1984 psychologist Sandy Smith, then at Queensland University of Technology in Australia, asked her students to describe good and bad living accommodations. From their responses, she crystallized five criteria as being especially important: contact with neighbors, privacy, flexible usage, opportunities for personalization, and security. Good Neighbors Most people would agree that a good home design allows for the right amount of interaction among neighbors. Psychologists Oddvar Skjaeveland of the University of Bergen in Norway and Tommy Gärling of Göteborg University in Sweden have evaluated which architectural features best enable positive neighborly relationships. Their work points to the importance of so-called transition zones between public and private spaces. In these areas, such as courtyards and communal gardens, neighbors can enjoy meeting spontaneously for casual conversation–even more so if there are places to sit. Equally important, neighbors need to be able to get away from one another. Studies show that whether or not people deem a residence to be a good place to live varies directly with the amount of space, or impression of space, around it. The higher the perceived housing density, the less livable a building seems and, in truth, the more often conflicts arise with others living nearby. Accordingly, people almost universally value solid construction that reduces the noise from next door. Similarly, a good home must offer its occupants privacy, which in this context means that they can decide at any moment if they would rather be alone. Of course, privacy needs vary with age: toddlers may not object to sharing a room, whereas adolescents will. Also, these needs vary with culture. American houses often have large windows, exposing them to passersby, but inside children and parents have separate rooms. In Japan, however, it is the opposite: high walls or fences block off the outside world, but inside there are virtually no barriers between common and private areas. As Smith’s study shows, people also prefer dwellings in which they are able to use space flexibly–turning, for instance, a spare bedroom into an art studio or an unused corner into an office. In this regard, single-family houses usually rate higher as “good homes” than apartments do. Having more square footage gives people more space to adapt to their lifestyle. What is undesirable in a layout is any area so small that it can serve only as a transit space, such as a hallway. In contrast, tiny balconies, gardens, courtyards or terraces enhance a home’s perceived livability, presumably because they increase the volume available for personalization. Last, people want lodging that makes them feel safe. If burglaries or muggings are a problem in the neighborhood, then security will become of paramount importance. This observation correlates well with the “hierarchy of needs” theory, created in 1943 by American psychologist Abraham Maslow. According to his scheme, which is frequently represented as a pyramid, fundamental requirements such as warmth and security must be completely satisfied before higher-level needs, such as the desire for status, can be considered. To Move or Not For the housing and construction industries, home satisfaction is viewed as the most important indicator of success. Admittedly, the decision to move usually hinges on how content people are in their current living situation–not shifts in the real estate market or new housing opportunities. Builders love to advertise that their properties meet their customers’ needs, pointing to high levels of home satisfaction as proof. There are, in fact, several ways to measure this variable: researchers can ask direct questions or, better still, draw conclusions from residents’ responses to indirect questions. (Try the questionnaire on the opposite page to gauge your own home satisfaction.) But home satisfaction is scarcely a good yardstick for rating the quality of a house. Instead of reflecting a home’s physical characteristics, it tends to expose the occupants’ subjective attitudes. For example, more than 20 years ago psychologist Kevin Hourihan of University College Cork in Ireland asked residents on a street plagued by heavy traffic about their home satisfaction. He expected that they would complain about the noise and air pollution, but they barely took them into account. Moreover, residents’ attitudes toward home incorporate personal feelings and planned actions. If there is no question of moving in the near future, for instance, almost no one will admit to dissatisfaction. Even so, in numerous surveys three characteristics prove excellent measures of home satisfaction: the size of the housing units, the proximity to neighbors, and the quality of the surrounding infrastructure–meaning services, schools, day care centers, cultural resources, playgrounds, parks and access to shops. In addition, an expensive home typically increases its owners’ satisfaction level. And homeowners are, on average, more satisfied than renters. Of interest, homeowners are not more satisfied simply because they are also typically wealthier and enjoy bigger homes. In 2003 Rosemary Hiscock of the Karolinska Institute in Sweden and her colleagues at the University of Glasgow in Scotland found that people of limited means who are nonetheless able to buy housing have a greater feeling of security–they can no longer be evicted–and increased self-esteem. Other studies have demonstrated a correlation between housing status and mental health. In 2002 psychologist Gary W. Evans and his colleagues at Cornell University evaluated the quality of various living quarters, considering not just size, age, energy consumption, and so forth but also more complex factors, such as whether the layout provided sufficient flexibility and privacy. They then asked occupants to rate their moods for three months, scoring from one to five such statements as “I was very nervous” or “I suffered from depressed moods.” The scientists concluded that a lack of privacy–just as much as lack of space for socializing–produced measurable, negative effects on the residents’ emotional well-being. House Happy If you look around any large city today, most housing complexes show little originality. Planners have traditionally argued that municipal architectural standards demand a certain degree of uniformity. But ignoring the psychology of residential spaces can prove downright disastrous, as several notorious failures have shown. Perhaps most infamous was the massive Pruitt-Igoe complex, built in St. Louis during the early 1950s for low-income tenants. The Pruitt-Igoe project called for 33 11-story buildings and a staggering 2,870 apartments. The units featured innovative paint from which graffiti might be easily cleaned. Special gratings protected the lighting and heating fixtures from damage. And “skip-stop” elevators–which opened only on certain floors–were included to lessen inconvenience and congestion. Architectural magazines praised the designers–among them Minoru Yamasaki, who would later design the World Trade Center in New York City–saying that they had not wasted any space. But within a few years, Pruitt-Igoe lay in near ruins. Broken glass and abandoned cars littered the parks and playgrounds. Countless windows were broken, and the hallways, stairways and elevators stank of garbage and urine. Tenants did not interact, because the space-saving corridors and stairways made it impossible to stop and talk. Instead these alleylike common areas attracted criminals. Eventually more than half the apartments were empty, and as the situation worsened, the authorities decided to demolish them. To this day, the site stands unused–in part because digging up the foundation has proved prohibitively expensive for new developers. It would be naive to think that improved urban planning could ameliorate the kind of social problems that plagued Pruitt-Igoe. So, too, architectural design can never promise total home satisfaction or sustained happiness. But nor can its influence be discredited or ignored. Our psyches are heavily swayed, in both positive and negative ways, by the spaces we move through and occupy. As Alain de Botton writes in his new book, The Architecture of Happiness, “An ugly room can coagulate any loose suspicions as to the incompleteness of life, while a sun-lit one set with honey-colored limestone tiles can lend support to whatever is most hopeful within us. Belief in the significance of architecture is premised on the notion that we are, for better and for worse, different people in different places–and on the conviction that it is architecture’s task to render vivid to us who we might ideally be.”
Throughout his lifetime Hundertwasser preached regularly against conformity in domestic architecture. In 1958 he famously declared his Mould Manifesto against Rationalism in Architecture, stating that “a person in a rented apartment must have the freedom to lean out of his window and transform the building’s exterior within arm’s reach. And he must be allowed to take a long brush and paint everything so that, from far away, everyone can see: There lives a man who distinguishes himself from his neighbors!”
Hundertwasser, who died in 2000 at the age of 71, was ahead of most of his contemporaries. Only recently has the mainstream residential construction community realized that people feel uncomfortable and dissatisfied if not given the opportunity to personalize their living spaces. As the ever rising number of do-it-yourself television programs and mushrooming home improvement superstores illustrates, we feel an almost instinctual need to nest, to transform a generic house into an individual home. This realization has forced many architects to rethink their role and, like Hundertwasser, consider that the tenants of any building should be able to influence its design.
Home, Sweet Home What, exactly, makes a house a home? What is required for, say, an apartment to meet our needs, not just physically but emotionally? What architectural features contribute to our overall sense of happiness or well-being? It was not until the 1970s, in the wake of interest in environmental psychology, that psychologists and sociologists turned to the concept of “dwelling.” It is no simple matter. But researchers have devised various methods to gauge the livability of a place. These tools have offered interesting insights into the psychology of environments and the effects of buildings on their inhabitants.
Most people report that the happiest place in which they lived was their childhood home, to which they then compare all subsequent dwellings. In 1990 social psychologist R. Steven Schiavo of Wellesley College asked children and teenagers to make sketches showing how they would change the plans of their homes if they could. Although most reduced the size of their living rooms, they otherwise had very different ideas about what made for an ideal layout: some added bathrooms, playrooms and guest rooms; others included studies, practice rooms and libraries.
As this study and others demonstrate, it is practically impossible to list, in general terms, what makes a “good place to live.” Residential spaces are very personal–and our preferences shift over time. A child will want plenty of room to play and to learn; an older person will care about security and accessibility; a young single person might yearn for ample space to entertain.
We can, however, say something about what people tend to value the most. In 1984 psychologist Sandy Smith, then at Queensland University of Technology in Australia, asked her students to describe good and bad living accommodations. From their responses, she crystallized five criteria as being especially important: contact with neighbors, privacy, flexible usage, opportunities for personalization, and security.
Good Neighbors Most people would agree that a good home design allows for the right amount of interaction among neighbors. Psychologists Oddvar Skjaeveland of the University of Bergen in Norway and Tommy Gärling of Göteborg University in Sweden have evaluated which architectural features best enable positive neighborly relationships. Their work points to the importance of so-called transition zones between public and private spaces. In these areas, such as courtyards and communal gardens, neighbors can enjoy meeting spontaneously for casual conversation–even more so if there are places to sit.
Equally important, neighbors need to be able to get away from one another. Studies show that whether or not people deem a residence to be a good place to live varies directly with the amount of space, or impression of space, around it. The higher the perceived housing density, the less livable a building seems and, in truth, the more often conflicts arise with others living nearby. Accordingly, people almost universally value solid construction that reduces the noise from next door.
Similarly, a good home must offer its occupants privacy, which in this context means that they can decide at any moment if they would rather be alone. Of course, privacy needs vary with age: toddlers may not object to sharing a room, whereas adolescents will. Also, these needs vary with culture. American houses often have large windows, exposing them to passersby, but inside children and parents have separate rooms. In Japan, however, it is the opposite: high walls or fences block off the outside world, but inside there are virtually no barriers between common and private areas.
As Smith’s study shows, people also prefer dwellings in which they are able to use space flexibly–turning, for instance, a spare bedroom into an art studio or an unused corner into an office. In this regard, single-family houses usually rate higher as “good homes” than apartments do. Having more square footage gives people more space to adapt to their lifestyle. What is undesirable in a layout is any area so small that it can serve only as a transit space, such as a hallway. In contrast, tiny balconies, gardens, courtyards or terraces enhance a home’s perceived livability, presumably because they increase the volume available for personalization.
Last, people want lodging that makes them feel safe. If burglaries or muggings are a problem in the neighborhood, then security will become of paramount importance. This observation correlates well with the “hierarchy of needs” theory, created in 1943 by American psychologist Abraham Maslow. According to his scheme, which is frequently represented as a pyramid, fundamental requirements such as warmth and security must be completely satisfied before higher-level needs, such as the desire for status, can be considered.
To Move or Not For the housing and construction industries, home satisfaction is viewed as the most important indicator of success. Admittedly, the decision to move usually hinges on how content people are in their current living situation–not shifts in the real estate market or new housing opportunities. Builders love to advertise that their properties meet their customers’ needs, pointing to high levels of home satisfaction as proof. There are, in fact, several ways to measure this variable: researchers can ask direct questions or, better still, draw conclusions from residents’ responses to indirect questions. (Try the questionnaire on the opposite page to gauge your own home satisfaction.)
But home satisfaction is scarcely a good yardstick for rating the quality of a house. Instead of reflecting a home’s physical characteristics, it tends to expose the occupants’ subjective attitudes. For example, more than 20 years ago psychologist Kevin Hourihan of University College Cork in Ireland asked residents on a street plagued by heavy traffic about their home satisfaction. He expected that they would complain about the noise and air pollution, but they barely took them into account. Moreover, residents’ attitudes toward home incorporate personal feelings and planned actions. If there is no question of moving in the near future, for instance, almost no one will admit to dissatisfaction.
Even so, in numerous surveys three characteristics prove excellent measures of home satisfaction: the size of the housing units, the proximity to neighbors, and the quality of the surrounding infrastructure–meaning services, schools, day care centers, cultural resources, playgrounds, parks and access to shops. In addition, an expensive home typically increases its owners’ satisfaction level. And homeowners are, on average, more satisfied than renters.
Of interest, homeowners are not more satisfied simply because they are also typically wealthier and enjoy bigger homes. In 2003 Rosemary Hiscock of the Karolinska Institute in Sweden and her colleagues at the University of Glasgow in Scotland found that people of limited means who are nonetheless able to buy housing have a greater feeling of security–they can no longer be evicted–and increased self-esteem.
Other studies have demonstrated a correlation between housing status and mental health. In 2002 psychologist Gary W. Evans and his colleagues at Cornell University evaluated the quality of various living quarters, considering not just size, age, energy consumption, and so forth but also more complex factors, such as whether the layout provided sufficient flexibility and privacy. They then asked occupants to rate their moods for three months, scoring from one to five such statements as “I was very nervous” or “I suffered from depressed moods.” The scientists concluded that a lack of privacy–just as much as lack of space for socializing–produced measurable, negative effects on the residents’ emotional well-being.
House Happy If you look around any large city today, most housing complexes show little originality. Planners have traditionally argued that municipal architectural standards demand a certain degree of uniformity. But ignoring the psychology of residential spaces can prove downright disastrous, as several notorious failures have shown. Perhaps most infamous was the massive Pruitt-Igoe complex, built in St. Louis during the early 1950s for low-income tenants.
The Pruitt-Igoe project called for 33 11-story buildings and a staggering 2,870 apartments. The units featured innovative paint from which graffiti might be easily cleaned. Special gratings protected the lighting and heating fixtures from damage. And “skip-stop” elevators–which opened only on certain floors–were included to lessen inconvenience and congestion. Architectural magazines praised the designers–among them Minoru Yamasaki, who would later design the World Trade Center in New York City–saying that they had not wasted any space.
But within a few years, Pruitt-Igoe lay in near ruins. Broken glass and abandoned cars littered the parks and playgrounds. Countless windows were broken, and the hallways, stairways and elevators stank of garbage and urine. Tenants did not interact, because the space-saving corridors and stairways made it impossible to stop and talk. Instead these alleylike common areas attracted criminals. Eventually more than half the apartments were empty, and as the situation worsened, the authorities decided to demolish them. To this day, the site stands unused–in part because digging up the foundation has proved prohibitively expensive for new developers.
It would be naive to think that improved urban planning could ameliorate the kind of social problems that plagued Pruitt-Igoe. So, too, architectural design can never promise total home satisfaction or sustained happiness. But nor can its influence be discredited or ignored. Our psyches are heavily swayed, in both positive and negative ways, by the spaces we move through and occupy.
As Alain de Botton writes in his new book, The Architecture of Happiness, “An ugly room can coagulate any loose suspicions as to the incompleteness of life, while a sun-lit one set with honey-colored limestone tiles can lend support to whatever is most hopeful within us. Belief in the significance of architecture is premised on the notion that we are, for better and for worse, different people in different places–and on the conviction that it is architecture’s task to render vivid to us who we might ideally be.”
