Bob Horton: Greenwich Library’s reading bedrooms are architectural gems

January 18, 2016 - table lamp

  • Catching adult on work during a Perrot Librarys reading room are Maja Kjukic, of Greenwich; Peter Garlich, of Portland, Maine; Christian Iannucci, of Stamford, and Michael Colavecchio, of Greenwich. Photo: Chris Setter / For Hearst Connecticut Media



Public library reading bedrooms reason a special place in a city or city’s informative life. Struggling writers rest on a quiet, well-lit spaces to use their craft. Poets, novelists and playwrights respect them with dedications. And they are a many approved of institutions, open to anyone who enters.

The Rose Main Reading Room of a New York Public library is a many storied such room in a U.S., an architectural marvel with 50-foot ceilings that spans roughly dual city blocks. Its low, bronze reading lamps expel a comfortable heat on prolonged ash tables, creation any chairman feel as if a room is theirs alone, yet they are one of hundreds occupying a grand space.

The Rose Room is sealed for renovations until someday in 2017. But Greenwich has a possess open library reading rooms, and yet they do not have a universe reputation of a Rose Room, they both offer singular charms, a clarity of place and quiet, well-lit spaces.

The manor-like stone-and-brick building that houses a Perrot Library commands a northern finish of Binney Park in Old Greenwich. Two curving marble stairways support a opening to a run and lead to a second floor, where one finds a Waid Room, a reading room designed in normal style. Dark-stained timber paneling and bookshelves line a walls, a vast candelabrum hangs from a high, kindly winding roof and 3 prolonged timber tables with brass-shaded reading lamps yield plenty workspace.

The Waid Room does not rest on architectural poise to grasp a cultured force; there is no one sold fact that outlines a room as a good space. But like all good reading rooms, it creates a clarity of still that calms a spirit, focuses a mind and allows for a probability of work good done. And a grate is not too shabby, either.

Designed in a 1920s, a library cornerstone was laid in 1930, a start of a Great Depression. While a extraneous bombard was finished as designed, financial pressures forced a library house to finish usually one floor, and it chose a second one. we think a house wanted to take advantage of a vast windows that yield clever healthy light all day long. In any event, a second building was divided into a children’s library and an adults’ library. Years after when a interior was finished, a children’s library became a reading room it is today.

Across city during a categorical bend of a Greenwich Library, there is a valuables of a reading room that could not be some-more opposite in pattern from a Old Greenwich counterpart. And a library knows it’s a valuables since that is a name.

A china board usually outward a room reads in part, “The Jewel. Here one can opening 21st-century record while isolated within an architectural gem.” The room misses a symbol a bit on 21st-century record (Who in 1999 could have versed a room for a universe of smartphones, tablets, USB ports and other now hackneyed technology?), though it scores a approach strike on a architectural gem scale. And in a vanishing illumination of dusk, a 7 exquisite rows of retard windows that punctuate all 3 walls of a room exhibit a comfortable heat of light from within, literally formulating a splendid jewel.

Though it is a many particular partial of a library building and sits during a opening to a categorical driveway, a Jewel gives no spirit of a participation as we travel around a library’s 32,000 retard feet Petterson Wing, designed by famed Argentinian designer Cesar Pelli. There is no pointer directing we to it, and many library users travel right by though noticing. But that is partial of a charm. It is as if we have detected this gem that no one else seems to know about. And it’s usually when we travel down a tiny corridor that we see a pointer describing a room’s dictated use and directing we behind to a information table to pointer in.

Once we tell a useful chairman behind a table that you’d like to enter a Jewel, we finish a sign-in piece and are handed a opening pass, that is a wooden building block, embellished orange, most like a ones my first-grade clergyman used to palm out permitting students to ramble a halls of Riverside School in hunt of a rest rooms.

But once we open a doorway to a Jewel, we feel like we have assimilated an disdainful club, and we are in a really special space indeed. Pelli describes it as “sculptural form that combines a geometries of a triangle and a circle.” It is a figure of a watermelon seed, and we feel compelled to usually mount during a opening for a few mins shower in all a details. Veterans of a orange blocks commend this function in all first-time visitors, though no matter. The accurate window chain and a light, healthy timber panels that cover a walls approach your eyes adult to a roof about 30 feet overhead, where slight wooden beams twist together from any side of a triangle, complementing a bend of a whole design. It is master pattern and craftsmanship.

The Waid Room and a Jewel come from opposite eras, though both emanate an atmosphere that fosters still work or contemplation, and that creates them both pleasing rooms.

Bob Horton is a columnist for a Greenwich Time and a unchanging writer to this magazine.


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