Arcosanti rising

January 1, 2006

Arcosanti rising Paolo Solari broke ground on a dream 35 years ago, a community that grew up and not out, in balance with nature. The idea is still taking shape.By Mija Riedel special correspondent Posted January 1 2006 The road to the future is unpaved. It's a winding trail of dirt and gravel, connected to Arizona's Highway 17 by two blocks of asphalt. There are no billboards announcing it, no roadside restaurants or souvenir stands. In that landscape empty of

most everything, it's easy to imagine most anything. I was an hour north of Phoenix, driving east into rocky desert hills and staring hard for a glimpse of Arcosanti. Over the previous few days, I'd read that it was a sort of ecological oasis, a bunch of beehives, a futuristic ghost town, and a nice idea. I descended past scrub brush and cacti, and a building grew on the horizon. A room-sized cube protruded from its top floor, suspended in space. Large circular windows reflected the morning sun. I parked in a dirt lot and trotted towards a small compound of two- and three-story concrete buildings. It was just after 9. The only open door led into a bakery. Before I could choose a pastry from the case, a round, middle-aged baker wiped her hands on her apron, waved me around the counter, and pointed to a dozen fresh croissants cooling by the oven. "I've got ham and egg, spinach and mushroom, spinach and cheese, pepperoni pizza," said the baker, who introduced

herself as Gin. She had prepared one of each. I chose spinach. Gin mixed me a cup of "shade-grown, organic, cold-filter-processed coffee extract" and hot water. It was rich and full, better than most coffee I could find in coffee-centric San Francisco.Nearly 60 years ago, Arcosanti's founder, Paolo Soleri, came to Arizona from Italy with a doctorate in architecture and an invitation to study with Frank Lloyd Wright. Soleri left Wright after 18 months. His view for the future focused less on award-winning single-family homes than innovative urban planning. He wanted to build arcologies -- fusions of architecture and ecology -- that would minimize pollution and urban sprawl, and improve quality of life. Soleri's city blocks wouldn't spill over the land, but stack vertically into the sky. Residents would walk out the front door into acres of unspoiled wilderness. Having driven recently through the sprawl of Los Angeles and Phoenix, I was intrigued by a vision of the future that

didn't spin out but grew up.I soon learned that all of Arcosanti was considered a construction site, and I wasn't free to roam without a guide. By 10 o'clock, there were 20 visitors milling in the downstairs gallery, but I was the only taker for the tour. Amber, my guide, was about 18, with auburn hair, no makeup and a sincere face. We sat in a corner of the cavernous square space while everyone else -- mostly English-speaking, some French -- milled about the room studying hundreds of ceramic and bronze bells that dangled on long ropes suspended from the two-story ceiling. The bells are made on site by Arcosanti's residents and sold to benefit a host of charities (the Nature Conservancy, UNICEF and Canine Companions for Independence among them). Amber pointed toward the round, 8-foot windows. "There're no lights in this gallery during the day." The room was as bright as a track-lit space in SoHo, but as I scanned the ceiling, I realized there wasn't a bulb burning.

"Human beings," she continued, "need 60 percent less embalming fluid today than they did 30 years ago." This was the first of a few intriguing non-sequiturs. "Pesticides and preservatives are preserving us before we die, which is really gross." That settled, Amber and I headed out into Soleri's "urban laboratory." Soleri broke ground at Arcosanti (architecture + ecology in harmony with the environment) in 1970. Six years later, Newsweek declared, "As urban architecture, Arcosanti is probably the most important experiment undertaken in our lifetime." Each year, an average of 50,000 people come to visit. Some spend a few hours, some stay for summer-long seminars, some come to live as long-term residents working on construction, landscaping or agricultural projects.Amber and I walked to a flattened knoll with a good view of the Agua Fria River Canyon. We stood in the shade of Italian cypress and Spanish olive trees ("They don't need irrigation," Amber

explained) that had been rescued from a Phoenix construction site. Currently, 15 acres at Arcosanti were under construction, or planted with basil, garlic, peaches, cherries or apples (no fertilizer, no chemical insecticides). We passed two of the goldfish ponds that are scattered around the site to moisten and cool the air.Around the corner, a few young men were digging and raking or, more accurately, watching each other dig and rake. Over the past 30 years, high school and college students, Elderhostel members and other volunteers have mixed, poured and pounded Soleri's vision into concrete reality. Towers rise literally with the volunteers who come from around the world to attend workshops, and to learn more from Paolo Soleri himself. At 86, he's still in residence three days a week. Amber led me into one of Soleri's trademark half-domes, or apses. The sun was still low in the sky, but the temperature warmed noticeably. The apses face south, allowing full sun in

the winter, and in the summer, more shade. Arcosanti's ceramics workshop is housed in one apse, its bronze foundry in another. We watched half a dozen young men in T-shirts and shorts pouring molten metal into bell molds. Next door was the fully domed amphitheater. Inside, it was at least 10 degrees cooler than in any other building. During the summer, when Arcosanti hosts concerts, a waterfall runs down the center aisle. We climbed to the stepped roof of the amphitheater and looked over the canyon. To the left, I could make out an orchard of small trees. To our immediate left was the lounge. "Trouble," said Amber, bugging her eyes. All summer long, visitors prop the doors open in hopes of catching a passing breeze, and residents close them to keep out shade-seeking snakes. We headed for a patch of shade beneath an arch and stood there a few minutes, studying the endless desert spread before us. I glanced up. The arch's underside was tattooed with bright red and

yellow geometric patterns, a style that symbolized the 21st century back in the '70s. I noticed that certain sections were streaked and fading, the results of rain and time. The arch seemed to house dueling visions of the second millennium -- one brightly painted, one 30 years worn. Suddenly past and future meshed together like a double exposure. I realized I was standing in a construction site that was outdated before it was completed. It was a fitting set for The Jetsons or Star Trek. Twenty minutes later, I thanked Amber for her tour and headed south for a meeting in Phoenix, but not before I'd reserved one of Arcosanti's few guest rooms for the night. Those spending the night can wander in the morning, un-guided, before day visitors arrive, and they're welcome to join other guests and the occasional resident for dinner in the cafe. I wanted to spend a little more time in this high desert outpost where time seemed uncommonly elastic. The

evening cafe crowd bore little resemblance to the morning bell shoppers. Most were under 30. They spoke English, French and Japanese. One woman pantomimed to another, offering to lend her a lacrosse stick and teach her to throw. The dominant look was knit caps and dreadlocks. In my ankle-length black raincoat I felt like FBI. I scanned the "vegan and non-vegan" buffet: spinach and artichoke saute, cabbage-chicpea-bacon soup, pesto penne, salad bar, fruit and raspberry tea. Beer and wine for anyone older than 21. I filled a plate and paid the cashier $7.95 (cash, no credit cards) for as much as I cared to eat. The unpainted walls in the cafe were covered with energy conservation charts, futuristic architectural drawings and art by Arcosanti's residents -- paintings, jewelry and fringy fiber clothing. An inlaid chess table stood in the corner. Over in another corner, two middle-aged couples in plaids and windbreakers looked quietly through circular windows onto the darkening

desert hills. I lingered longer than I'd planned, and realized suddenly I had little idea where to find my room. I grabbed a map and drove along a rutted, narrow trail that wound down behind the bakery, the gallery and the cafe. Under a cloud-covered moon, rocky silhouettes edged forward from an inky brush of sky. I stood a moment on the terrace in front of my room. On the cliff above, I could just make out the silhouette of Arcosanti. In the surreal desert landscape, in the in-between hour bridging night and day, it looked as much like an archaeological excavation as a construction project. My guest quarters were basic -- two twin beds, a wood desk, a plastic chair, a tiled shower stall with a curtain that spread and stopped halfway round. The only flourish was a fresco of a long green sprout on the ceiling. I found a space heater in the closet, plugged it in, and a minute later it coughed slowly to life. Outside, a cat with neon yellow eyes crossed the terrace and

stared with longing towards my humming bedchamber. I soon realized that the heater had a range of 18 inches. I spent the night debating between cold desert stillness and a warm electrical clang, and climbed in and out of bed each time I changed my mind.I woke at 6:30, drew the wall-sized window curtain and crawled back under the blankets. Outside, the sun had just risen over miles of red rocks, scrub and open space. Yellow shadows fell on my cold white walls. I stretched in my warm pocket of covers, and imagined living in a fully functioning Arcosanti -- coffee shops, grocery stores, schools and offices above me, acres of orchards and vegetable gardens below, a five-minute walk to work. Watching the sun spread slowly over a thousand acres of my front yard, I lounged longer than I'd intended. Half an hour later, I climbed a long row of stairs past a weathered, blue-tiled swimming pool with a panoramic view of the desert, and an equally beautiful but unheated hot tub.

I poked my head inside the unlocked library and noted a dozen aisles of bookshelves, three long conference tables, and a few plants badly in need of water. Ahead stood the residents' apartments and above, the Sky Suite, available to overnight guests for $75 a night. For $30, I'd found my room quite adequate.I stopped back in the bakery for a cup of coffee. While Gin wrapped a fresh croissant for me, I mentioned that my father had been an architect, and that my sister was interested in alternative communities. Gin claimed that, as a former single parent, Arcosanti was the most stress-free life she'd ever known. As she handed me my coffee, she invited me to consider it. Just then a blond in his early 20s padded into the bakery and opened the cooler. He pulled out two cans of vanilla cream soda and turned to Gin. "These are the last two?" She studied the shelves. "I think so.The last this week or the last forever?" He was distressed. Gin wasn't sure.

"The raspberry are good, too," she said. "The world is ending," he sighed, paying for his drinks. "It's 2005 and I don't have my flying car yet. Elroy, remember, George Jetson's son? He had his birthday in 2004, Dec. 23, I remember." Gin didn't care about flying cars; she wished some robot or other would take care of her laundry.I walked outside. Yesterday's gray monuments to tomorrow hovered above me. Standing in the past, squinting at the future, I saw nothing so clearly as the present -- how far we had sprawled, how short we had fallen, and how tall we might grow.Peter H

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