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Gramazio & Kohler, Flight Assembled Architecdture, FRAC Centre in Orléans, France, 2011-2012  (image: François Lauginie via Gramazio & Kohler)

Drones can’t just destroy, they can create. Although the military uses of drones are widely debated, less discussed are their potentially revolutionary civilian implications. They aren’t yet widespread, but drones are being used by hobbyists, photographers, farmers, ranchers, and they may even herald an entirely new type of architecture. Last year, Swiss architects Gramazio & Kohler, in collaboration with Raffaello D’Andrea, developed “Flight Assembled Architecture” – an experimental concept structure that employed small, unmanned aerial vehicles programmed to build.

Flight Assembled Architecture/Architectures volantes from FRAC Centre on Vimeo.

Created as an installation for the FRAC Centre in Orléans, France in early 2012, the project models a speculative construction system that integrates robotics, digital fabrication, engineering, and design. Several small robotic “quadrocopters” lift 1,500 foam blocks into a complex cylindrical tower standing more than six meters high. While these miniature construction drones act, in part, according to a set of pre-programmed parameters, they also operate semi-autonomously; they’re capable of communicating with one another and independently sensing the height of the the tower to place their block accordingly. The tower is a model for a speculative future habitat that would stand more than 600 meters tall and house 30,000 inhabitants.

Gramazio & Kohler, Flight Assembled Architecdture, FRAC Centre in Orléans, France, 2011-2012                      (image: François Lauginie via Gramazio & Kohler)

It makes sense to illustrate such a revolutionary concept with a skyscraper – after all, the skyscraper wouldn’t be possible if architects and engineers hadn’t embraced technologies such as steel construction and elevators. Construction drones are the bleeding edge of speculative building technology and they’re perfectly designed to create high-rise buildings in urban areas where construction can be incredibly difficult and costly. As Kohler noted in an essay for the architectural journal Log, “the conditions of aerial robotic construction are entirely liberated from the bottom-up accessibility of material, man, or [existing] machine.” These robots can create buildings without erecting scaffolding or using cranes. Drone-built designs aren’t beholden to current construction limitations and their use opens up a new possibility of architectural forms.

A rendering of the concept building created by Flight Assembled Architecture (image: Gramzio & Kohler)

Of course, if Gramazio & Kohler’s model were built at full-scale in the real-world, much larger robots would have to be used, and building modules would have to be designed to fit the scale and weight of the construction drones. Shipping containers, which have been widely used in architecture for some time, seem like the most convenient option, but to use containers is to limit possibility. Thinking longer term, it’s an inefficient appropriation of existing objects and infrastructure, whereas Gramazio & Kohler drones suggest a profound rethinking of building materials and assembly. Kohler writes, “As the load capacity of flying machines is limited and the machines’ agility directly depends on their load, the development of high-performance lightweight materials systems both aerially transportable and robotically deployed will be necessary.” The architects call this a “high resolution” architecture – smaller, denser, carefully calibrated, and incredibly precise.

A helicopter carries a Fuller-designed geodesic dome, 1954 (image: Buckminster Fuller, Inventory of World Resources: Human Trends and Needs)

Though it sounds like something from a sci-fi future, there is precedent for air-lifted architecture. American polymath and pioneer of the geodesic dome, Buckminster Fuller developed the “Dymaxion House” in the 1920s – an inexpensive, mass-producible architecture that could be transported by helicopter and lowered onto a construction site, requiring only minimal service to install. Fuller also proposed a swords-to-ploughshares appropriation of military equipment and infrastructure to produce and construct his designs. “Flight Assembled Architecture” suggests that the same could be done with drones.

Buckminster Fuller and others like him may have provided spiritual inspiration for the project, but the programmability and versatility of flying robots presents a world of possibilities unimagined during Fuller’s time (actually, he probably did imagine them, the man was a genius). Construction drones could even be programmed with different “skills” or built specifically to perform a particular task; they could work in areas that aren’t fit for humans, aiding in disaster relief or other emergencies.

A rendering of the concept building created by Flight Assembled Architecture (image: Gramzio & Kohler)

Trailers housing remote drone pilots on a military base (image: NOVA, “Rise of the Drones”)

For better or worse, drones have captured the public imagination more than any other weapon since the nuclear bomb. Harnessing the power of the atom enabled us to level cities, but it also gave us a new way to power them. Like the Bomb, the technology behind unmanned aerial vehicles can be used to destroy or it can be used to build. Today, the architecture of drones is limited to the portable, retrofitted trailers and shipping containers used by remote pilots. Tomorrow, however, drones may serve the architect instead of the solider, and herald an entirely new style of aerial architecture.

The Kettering “Bug” (image: The United States Air Force)

Recently, the United States’ use of unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) has been the subject of much debate and scrutiny. But their history dates back a lot further than the war on terror. The first true UAVs, which are technically defined by their capability to return successfully after a mission, were developed in the late 1950s, but the American military actually began designing and developing unmanned aircraft during the first World War.

Military aviation was born during the years preceding the World War I, but once the war began, the industry exploded. Barely more than a decade after Orville and Wilbur Wright successfully completed the first documented flight in history –achieving only 12 seconds of air time and traveling 120 feet– hundreds of different airplanes could be seen dogfighting the skies above Europe. Mastering the sky had changed the face of war. Perhaps due to their distance from the fighting, the United States trailed behind Europe in producing military fliers but by the end of the War, the U.S. Army and Navy had designed and built an entirely new type of aircraft: a plane that didn’t require a pilot.

The first functioning unmanned aerial vehicle was developed in 1918 as a secret project supervised by Orville Wright and Charles F. Kettering. Kettering was an electrical engineer and founder of the Dayton Engineering Laboratories Company, known as Delco, which pioneered electric ignition systems for automobiles and was soon bought out by General Motors. At GM, Kettering continued to invent and develop improvements to the automobile, as well as portable lighting systems, refrigeration coolants, and he even experimented with harnessing solar energy. When the U.S. entered World War I, his engineering prowess was applied to the war effort and, under Kettering’s direction, the government developed the world’s first “self-flying aerial torpedo,” which eventually came to be known as the “Kettering Bug”.

The Kettering “Bug” (image: The United States Air Force)

The bug was a simple, cheaply made 12-foot-long wooden biplane with a wingspan of nearly 15 feet that, according to the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force, weighed just 530 pounds, including a 180 pound bomb. It was powered by a four-cylinder, 40-horsepower engine manufactured by Ford. Kettering believed that his Bugs could be calibrated for precision attacks against fortified enemy defenses up to 75 miles away – a much greater distance than could be reached by any field artillery. The accuracy of this early “drone” was the result of an ingenious and surprisingly simple mechanism: after determining wind speed, direction, and desired distance, operators calculated the number of engine revolutions needed to take the Bug to its target; the Bug was launched from a dolly that rolled along a track, much like the original Wright flier (today, smaller drones are still launched from a slingshot-like rail), and, after the proper number of revolutions, a cam dropped into place and released the wings from the payload-carrying fuselage – which simply fell onto the target. To be sure, it wasn’t an exact science, but some would argue that drones still aren’t an exact science.

The Dayton-Wright Airplane Company built fewer than 50 Bugs but the war ended before any could be used in battle. That might be for the best. Much like today, there was a lot of doubt about the reliability and predictability of the unmanned aircraft and the military expressed concern about possibly endangering friendly troops. After the war, research into unmanned aircraft continued for a short time, but development halted in the 1920s due to the scarcity of funding and research on UAVs wasn’t seriously picked up again until the outbreak of World War II. Although by today’s standards, the Kettering Bug has more in common with a guided missile than a drone, its conception as a pilotless plane represents an important step in the historical development of unmanned aerial vehicles.

Shura City (image: Asher J. Kohn)

As drones become increasingly common tools of war and surveillance on the battlefield and in our cities, how are architects and designers responding? Previously, we’ve looked at personal counter-surveillance measures, but it’s likely that future designers will move beyond the scale of the individual to larger projects such as drone-proof architecture or perhaps even urban-scale counter-surveillance. Concerned about what he sees as the improper or unjustified use of drones, law student Asher J. Kohn has imagined how an anti-drone city might look and function. This isn’t a science fiction scenario, but a seriously considered urban design strategy. In fact, considering that the speculative plan for what Kohn has named “Shura City” is designed to counter the most technologically sophisticated weapons ever developed, the proposal is surprisingly low-tech.

Shura City disrupts the machines’ equipment and confuses remote operators through the careful use of materials and design strategies. “What this project proposes is a new way to think about space. Drone warfare proposes that every inch of land is (and all of its inhabitants are) part of the battle space,” says Kohn. The anti-drone city must be logical enough for inhabitants to navigate, yet random enough to befuddle automated surveillance. Kohn, not a trained designer, is vague on the interior layout, but suggests a flexible, adaptable plan inspired by Moshe Safdie’s Habitat, the high-density, modular residential project built as part of the 1967 Montreal Expo. Key features of Shura City include colored glass-block windows to prevent unwanted surveillance, a transparent roof enclosure that provides both thermal control to undermine drones’ heat sensors as well as a complex structural and lighting system to create a visual interference for drone tracking systems. This confusion is all carefully optimized to prevent individual targeting. Minarets (or church steeples or other religious towers) surround the city; an important cultural gesture gesture to unite the community that has the added effect of interrupting drone flight patterns.

There are, of course some near-future sci-fi-ish features included, such as QR code window screens that communicate to the passing drones, “letting the machines outside know that they are not welcome and should fear coming closer.”

The proposal isn’t meant as a call to arms to anti-drone architects, but a demonstration to inspire all professions to consider interacting with drones instead of simply being subjected to them. As Kohn notes, “This project is merely intended as a setting-off point for discussions on proper defense and on what ‘proper defense’ might mean.”

Artist’s concept sketch for The Citadel: A Community of Liberty (image: The Citadel)

Shura City isn’t the only conceptual utopia that responds to current political issues. A group of “Patriot Bloggers” recently started a movement to develop a community in the mountains of Idaho for people who “are bound together patriotism, pride in American exceptionalism, our proud history of Liberty as defined by our Founding Fathers, and physical preparedness to survive and prevail in the face of natural catastrophes…or man-made catastrophes such as a power grid failure or economic collapse.” The Citadel: a Community of Liberty, as the project is known, is also designed to resist the prying eyes of outsiders. It combines the fortification and charm of medieval castles with the everyday banality of high-rise condo living and suburban development. There isn’t much information available on the design of The Citadel, other than a conceptual plan and an illustration of a condo-castle. However, it is noted that homes “can be finished with several facades, from a log cabin to vinyl siding, to a brick face, to an elegant and stately Federal design.” It sounds like a standard developer project or gated community, except the gates are massive stone walls topped with battlements and each home is equipped with a generator, 2,500 gallon water tank, a composting toilet, a one year supply of food, two AR15-variant rifles with 1,000 rounds of ammunition each, and a safe room.

Unlike Shura City, the design isn’t a response to any potential attack –in fact, it’s made clear that the Citadel is not designed to withstand a direct attack from military of government forces–  but it is a symbolic reflection of a group’s political beliefs. In this case, “Rightful Liberty” as defined by Thomas Jefferson: “unobstructed action according to our will within limits drawn around us by the equal rights of others.”

The Citadel isn’t the only American community being planned according to political beliefs. Conservative pundit Glenn Beck aspires to build his own self-sustaining utopia, “Independence,” inspired by the work of Walt Disney and Ayn Rand’s Objectivist manifesto Atlas Shrugged.

In a lot of ways these projects, especially Shura City, recall the 1970s idea of Defensible Space. Developed by architect and city planner Oscar Newman, defensible space posits that the design of residential settings can deter crime and reduce residents’ fear of crime. Newman’s principles, which include enhancing visual and physical access to encouraging a sense of community and accountability, were successfully applied to the design of housing developments in urban areas and his influence can still be felt today. More broadly speaking, Shura City is part of a larger history of defensive urban design.

Most famously, there’s Baron Haussmann’s transformation of Paris that paved boulevards through the city to allow the movement of soldiers and to deter the populace from construction barricades. During World War II, Hitler transformed all of Europe into a fortress while closer to home, military facilities were disguised as suburban towns with a little Hollywood magic. More recently, there’s bollard-ization of American streets and fortification of its financial buildings and monuments as a response to terrorist attacks. In light of this history, it doesn’t take much to imagine buildings that deter drone attacks or invasions of privacy through visual or spacial means; high-tech building materials could block electronic signals or cancel thermal signatures. Perhaps entirely new architectural forms will emerge to disrupt surveillance algorithms or provide camouflage. In this architectural arms race, as the nature of war changes, so too will the nature of defensible space.

The Stealth Wear hoodie in thermal IR (image: Adam Harvey via ahprojects.com)

Invisibility has long been a dream of man. Popular culture has depicted it as both a science –think Star Trek’s cloaking devices and the Invisible Man’s formula– and magic – Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak comes to mind– but the distinction between the two classifications may be, as Arthur C. Clark famously postulated, only a matter of technological advancement. For example, late last year a team of scientists at Duke University took one step closer to making magic a reality when they developed a “meta-material” capable of bending light to cloak a two-dimensional object from microwave radiation. Not quite true invisibility, but “transformation optics” is an exciting new field leading us into a very Star Trek future. However, designer Adam Harvey is planning for more of a Terminator future (and for some people a very real present), where drones patrol our skies, watching our every move with their heat-seeking camera-eyes. So while current science is working toward concealing objects from the human eye, Harvey has already developed a line of clothing that makes people nearly invisible to the machine eye.

Harvey, in collaboration with fashion designer Johanna Bloomfield, has developed Stealth Wear, a new fashion line “designed for counter-surveillance.”  The “Anti-Drone garments” are a response to a very real concern about the growing loss of privacy and the increased use of new surveillance technologies and autonomous drones. Although they’re most often deployed in war zones, drones are starting to be used by police for domestic surveillance and security as well. They can be equipped with video cameras, radar, infrared cameras and heat sensors. The Stealth Wear garments are made with a light-weight, “metallized” (half-silver, half-nickel) fabric that reflects heat, making it capable of blocking IR and thermal imaging scans. It’s urban camouflage that’s a little more pragmatic than an IKEA ghillie suit. Currently, three garments are available: the anti-drone hoodie (pictured) and, acknowledging that the majority of current drone strikes happen in country’s with primarily Muslim populations, the anti-drone burqa and the anti-drone scarf. The designers notes that “Conceptually, these garments align themselves with the rationale behind the traditional hijab and burqa: to act as ‘the veil which separates man or the world from God,’ replacing God with drone.” Not being watched by robots is the new black.

However, Harvey’s work avoids making any overtly political statements in favor of a more academic interest in camouflage and the intersection of art, technology, and politics. Stealth Wear isn’t 100% effective in blocking heat signatures but, as Harvey told The Globe and Mail, that’s not the point: “These clothes are proxies for generating something else, whether it’s a conversation about privacy and responsible use of technology, or a policy change.” While “invisibility cloak” is magical and whimsical and currently exists only on the bleeding edge of science, “anti-drone hoodie” is a little more sinister, a little more practical, and a little more couture.

Stealth Wear isn’t Harvey’s only work dealing with electronic surveillance. He previously created, CV Dazzle, a sort of makeup designed to disrupt facial recognition software, and is currently working on For Your Eyes Only, a project that aims to subvert automatic object recognition to prevent machines from identifying objects.

Satellite image of an orchard used to guide a drone's flightpath

Culturally speaking, Americans are anti-wrinkle. We iron them out of our clothes, inject them out of our faces, and retouch them out of our photos. A crease is also a strike against fruit. In the beauty pageant of the citrus packinghouse, oranges are graded on three levels of aesthetic worth: Fancy, Choice and Juice. “In order to be Fancy, the fruit has to be perfectly smooth and can’t have any creasing,” says David Goldhamer, a water management specialist at the University of California, “If it does have creasing, it gets rated as juice fruit, which means it’s worthless to the grower.”

Certain species of Navel and Valencia oranges—the top-selling varieties grown in California—have a wrinkle problem. Scientists theorize this comes from a separation between the peel and the pulp due to the fruit growing too quickly. The rapid expansion of the cells creates small fissures that become noticeable imperfections as the fruit matures. The grower’s potential return drops with every unsightly crop.

A valencia orange displaying heavy creasing from rapid growth and standard levels of irrigation

Unlike with humans, flawless skin is achieved through stress—specifically, dehydration. When deprived of normal water levels at targeted points in the season, the fruit’s growth slows, allowing the peel and pulp to remain tightly knit. When the water levels come back up toward harvest time, the fruit recovers to a consumer-friendly size—neither too small nor too large—and farmers maximize their profit. The resulting reduction in water use is also a win for a drought-stricken state.

Growers use pressure gauges to test the hydration and stress levels of citrus trees

Hydrologists call this Regulated Deficit Irrigation (RDI). Farmers are motivated to put the strategy into practice by the promise of high returns, but implementation in the field is extremely time-consuming, inefficient, and unreliable. Manual monitoring requires driving a truck out into the grove, plucking a leaf from a tree, inserting it into a pressure gauge and applying extreme pressure to the leaf until moisture seeps out. Then doing it again. And again. “There’s simply no time to do enough trees,” says Goldhamer, “There’s so much variability that if you happen to pick a tree that’s very stressed or very unstressed, you get a false impression of what’s going on broadly in the orchard.”

Enter the drone.

A researcher launches a drone while a backup pilot stands by with radio controls in hand

Water management researchers have been experimenting with unmanned drones that can fly over an orchard and record heat levels across vast swathes of land using aerial imagery. Thermal infrared cameras take thousands of images at regular intervals on a voyage across hundreds of acres. Computer software stitches the images together to create a super high-res image, in which each pixel can be read for temperature—cooler areas show up in cool tones, while warmer areas appear orange, red and yellow. In the aerial image here, powerlines, asphalt roads, metal towers cut across the picture in yellow. The scientists were experimenting with different levels of irrigation, which are visible in the patterns of blue and red across the tree canopy.

A thermal infrared image of orchard water levels

“You can clearly see those stress levels associated with different amounts of water,” Goldhamer explains, “You can see there’s nothing consistent about the colors and that’s the problem. When you’re irrigating, you’d think the stress levels would be uniform, but it’s not clear at all and that’s the challenge of trying to manage a commercial orchard—all the variability. Some trees get enough water, some don’t. That’s the game in trying to move the science forward, making the irrigation more consistent. Technology that enables monitoring all the trees at once is the current state of the art.”

The unmanned drone's flight is monitored from a laptop

At this point, the state of the art is not the state of crop management in California. But Goldhamer is quick to assert, “It isn’t a matter of if this technology will be used, it’s a matter of when.” Drone manufacturers, he says, are looking for additional opportunities for their aircraft, and the Obama administration has charged the FAA with drafting guidelines for commercial use of drones in the U.S. In a couple of years, farmers may be able to sit at a computer and monitor the stress level of every single tree in their orchard, ensuring that each orange they send to the packing house has skin perfect enough to be called Fancy.

All photos are courtesy of David Goldhamer.

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