Rodrigo Zamora and Mike Robitz
Several entries, recognizing that the story of aids has no last chapter, include the element of time. Here, a jawlike structure with a raised parklet and a sunken amphitheater will remain open so long as the crisis continues. When a vaccine is eventually found, the upper half will drop and the whole complex will shut, like some ancient temple in an Indiana Jones movie.
J. Mayer H. Architects
The competition attracted entries that ranged from traffic-island bland to sci-fi-movie futurism. Among the wilder options is this forest of phallic pods made of polished concrete, combined with pathways wired for audio that keep up a chatter of oral histories and testimonials.
Nathan Andrew Brown
A forest of light-boxes looks celebratory at night and like a graveyard by day—a theatrical scene that could look poetic under the right conditions, but doesn’t exactly invite the neighbors to bring a newspaper or lunch.
Kyle May (Abrahams May Architects) and Sean Burkholder
Three glass cylinders, each encircling a bursting tree, hold up a transparent canopy and a thin layer of water. Light filters through liquid and glass, dappling a pavement studded with tiny bumps, representing the worldwide millions of dead.
Antonio Maccà and Flavio Masi
The symbolism of the red ribbon is so immediate that dozens of the entries used it. Here, it takes the form of two interlocking ramps that negotiate the passage from basement to street level and upper platform.
Ja Architecture Studio Inc.
Water flows into an abyss on a surface that darkens toward the navel. The vocabulary is reminiscent of the World Trade Center memorial designed by Michael Arad, but on a smaller scale and with a single asymmetrical circle instead of two vast squares. The design is stark, and in summer, the film of water would delight barefoot children.
The Beefcake in the Backcourt
The Beefcake in the Backcourt