Shock and disbelief were the only two feelings stronger than nausea when judges announced the results for architecture at the recent Solar Decathlon competition in Washington, D.C. After a two-year, Herculean effort, Cornell’s Solar Decathlon team (CUSD) had produced an innovative house of remarkable craftsmanship. Its peculiar form and materiality exerted an uncanny architectural magnetism, attracting the press and public and eliciting praise and pride from everyone involved.

So it came as a surprise last week when this dynamic work of architecture earned 16th place in a pool of 20 solar-powered homes. Granted, there were many interesting houses on display at the National Mall; students around the globe had worked tirelessly to turn design sketches into physical reality. But something seemed wrong about the subjective architecture rankings that knocked Cornell from its overall position in second place.

Having explored the 2009 Solar Decathlon houses (and many of those in 2007), I have become increasingly aware of the competition’s many shortcomings. Arbitrary judging might be included on this list of complaints, but there is another, more egregious problem with Solar Decathlon.

Transportation requirements, stringent competition rules and point-maximizing strategies weigh heavily on the design of nearly every house. As a result, the vast majority of Solar Decathlon entries look more like decorated shoeboxes than desirable living spaces —giving visitors the false impression that solar homes are trailer homes with a smattering of expensive gizmos. The subjective points attributed for architecture and engineering ought to counterbalance the negative incentives that block genuine innovation. But unfortunately they do not.

From the outset, CUSD sought to resist this normalizing trend. The team steered clear of typical rectangular floor plans with an explicit intention to “break the box.” Metal cylinders reminiscent of grain silos were employed to collect and re-concentrate activities into three “living modules,” clustered around an open courtyard. The configuration architecturally expressed the notion of programmatic and thermal zoning — an idea with important environmental implication at almost any scale.

Interior furnishings, thermal systems, landscape features and controls were each carefully designed and deployed to reinforce the design concept, promote sustainability, and push the limits of technology. A surprising union formed between the old-school formalism of Cornell architecture, the technical prowess of Cornell engineering and the quirky idealism of Ithaca, New York.

Approaching the Cornell house, one sees a slick photovoltaic array hovering above undulating walls of rusty steel. The coexistence of these two surfaces — the technological and the timeless — characterizes the entire project. Unlike so many futuristic designs, the “Silo House” reveals its age, materiality and vulnerability. It stumbles upon a new aesthetic in pursuit of an architecture that is both responsible and livable.

The judges at Solar Decathlon were more than unimpressed by these architectural qualities; they completely rejected them. Cornell’s entry was ranked among houses that were unoriginal, dysfunctional or incomplete. Why, then, was the Silo House able to captivate editors from The New York Times and The Washington Post? Why did the line of visitors in Washington, D.C. wrap around the entire house?

Perhaps the oddity that scared away a few judges was the same force that attracted so many others to the Silo House. Its success, therefore, can be gauged much more accurately by opinion and impressions than by points. Undoubtedly, the strong visual and conceptual identity of the house lodged itself into the minds of several thousand visitors. And so, as a tool for education and communication, the Silo House performed marvelously (officially garnering second place in the communications competition).

A quick look at this year’s winning houses clearly indicates the values espoused by the organizers and sponsors of Solar Decathlon: More power! More insulation! More space! These all sound like reasonable aspirations until you take them to their logical conclusion. Team Germany came closest to this extreme, and look at their bland result: an undifferentiated box with photovoltaics on all five sides.

Teams preparing to compete in 2011 can follow Team Germany’s example or follow Cornell. They will need to decide whether to submit to the competition rules in an attempt to win points or leverage the opportunity for national exposure to promote other more noble causes.

Students involved with the 2009 project are proud of what they accomplished and much wiser as a result of their efforts. But it is no fun to participate in competitions that don’t reward innovation and quality. If Solar Decathlon continues to be a high-tech shed competition, Cornell ought to move on and find another training ground for young practitioners to exercise their skills.

Cornell’s Solar Decathlon team has acted as a model for transdisciplinary collaboration in Ithaca for the past six years. The trail blazed by CUSD provides an interesting launching point for future endeavors that seek to leverage the diverse skills and resources found across campus.

A few key questions ought to be asked. How can students continue to interface across colleges? How can faculty, alumni and staff facilitate and contribute to this dialogue? Does environmental education deserve a place at Cornell? Students interested in these issues should look beyond the National Mall toward more fertile ground for innovation.