Foundation
Krankenhaus is German for “hospital.” Literally, sick house. You can’t look at the hospital environment from the eyes of someone who’s healthy. The less sick you are, the less the environment makes sense.
Form Follows Function
One of the most beautiful hospitals I’ve been in was constructed during the Depression to treat patients with tuberculosis. TB was the leading cause of death at the time, and there was a theory that light and fresh air would allow patients to heal. This hospital, the county hospital in Rochester, New York, was designed by an African American architect. It was an outstanding example of rococo architecture, with large windows and a main hallway on the east–west axis. The windows could be opened for cross ventilation, and sunlight bathed the rooms and atriums. The overall effect was uplifting. The hospital was built with public funds, and during its construction the architect was criticized for adorning the edifice with stone gargoyles cut by immigrant Italian stonemasons. Most of the companies involved in the construction survived the Depression and are still solvent. The gargoyles, if examined closely, resemble some of the critical politicians of the time.
The development of effective antibiotic therapy for TB eliminated the need for sanitoriums. Unfortunately, modern treatments don’t require sunlight and fresh air, and some hospitals, in the spirit of getting and spending, have more in common with factories than churches.
Sounds and Echoes
Silent spaces are becoming hard to find. I think of the deep woods after a foot of snow. First light in the desert before the quail wake up. Libraries, churches between services, my house now that the kids are grown. Hospitals would not be on the list. They would come in somewhere ahead of a busy airport, behind a Starbucks. One of my son’s friends is an acoustic engineer who checks various facilities to see if they are in
