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228 articles

Chatham Arch, Part III: Time to restore history–and density–to the neighborhood.

I just posted the third and final part in a series on Urban Indy, about the Chatham Park development proposal in the Chatham Arch neighborhood near downtown Indianapolis.  I already posted parts I and II in late December/early January, and this final article–a very minor one–simply reveals the modified proposal, based on feedback the developer

Looking for the Americana of yesteryear? Just visit your closest inner city.

Throughout the densely populated central city neighborhoods of Allentown, bodegas punctuate the street corners. Much of the housing in the area predates widespread car ownership, so the rowhomes lack any space for a garage, a driveway, and—in many instances—anything more than a tiny garden plot. In other words, we encounter housing built right up to

Chatham Arch, Part I: Density in 2017 ain’t what it used to be…in 1917.

My latest article is now on Urban Indy–Part I of what will be a two-parter.  It looks at a development proposal in Indy’s old Chatham Arch neighborhood that has generated a huge amount of controversy.  It’s a largely fully gentrified neighborhood just a mile from downtown Indy that has, thanks to its prime location, become

In Mt. Adams, residential infill gets the old spit ‘n shine.

Residential infill development can—and often does—fail to integrate architecturally with the neighborhood that surrounds it. And that’s okay. Far more important than adherence to a certain vernacular is the physical form of the house. When looking at the front of the home square-on, does the layout emphasize a front door, a porch, a garage, or

Highest and best may not be tall, but it’s still higher and better.

Urban neighborhoods have been changing considerably over the last decade, and, in many locations, income levels have risen steadily. When we hear about gentrification, the coverage often reaches us through a few recurrent tropes: data-driven accounts of demographic and socioeconomic change; journalistic interviews of individuals who have either left or feel threatened by the rising

The Marietta in Indianapolis: Infill and Preserving Murals.

My latest just went to post at Urban Indy.  A new building, The Marietta, is going up in a fashionable retail, residential, office and recreation corridor near downtown Indianapolis called Massachusetts Avenue. It’s a suitable piece of infill on a triangular parcel, of which Indianapolis has quite a few, due to its prominent diagonal avenues.  From

Who needs Vegas for quirky chapels? The rest of the country is holding its own.

I’d wager that the American religious landscape is currently undergoing a cataclysmic shift, but that would be disingenuous, since it suggests that the shift, with all these denominations, is something recent. It isn’t. Religious expression—or the demonstration of it among its adherents—has never really been static in this country. Throughout the twentieth century, the number

Luring us back to the center, by whatever means necessary.

After crossing the Thames River along Interstate 95, speeding westward past the compact, archetypically New England central business district to New London, Connecticut, a visitor will encounter an exit ramp leading directly to the city’s economically recovering downtown. Generally speaking, this should be the preferred trajectory for those of us obsessed with old town centers.

Another defunct college campus, cleft in two.

If I call this article my third installment in a trilogy on abandoned campuses, I guess that implies that I’m done with the subject for a while. And I am. But after exploring old campuses in small cities (or perhaps “big towns” is the better term) in Nebraska and South Dakota, it’s time to take a

In Mt. Adams, residential infill gets the old spit ‘n shine.

Residential infill development can—and often does—fail to integrate architecturally with the neighborhood that surrounds it. And that’s okay. Far more important than adherence to a certain vernacular is the physical form of the

Luring us back to the center, by whatever means necessary.

After crossing the Thames River along Interstate 95, speeding westward past the compact, archetypically New England central business district to New London, Connecticut, a visitor will encounter an exit ramp leading directly to

Another defunct college campus, cleft in two.

If I call this article my third installment in a trilogy on abandoned campuses, I guess that implies that I’m done with the subject for a while. And I am. But after exploring