Archiprint 18 - Splendid Isolation

SPLENDID ISOLATION

AnArchi is proud to present to you the eighteenth issue of Archiprint:

SPLENDID ISOLATION

Archiprint is the journal of AnArchi, study association for architecture at Eindhoven University of Technology. Archiprint explores the current architectural polemic and strives to contribute to this debate.

EDITORIAL

Andreea Sofineti While architecture has never been inherently free of the deep-seated ideologies of the context that it inhabits or the critical role of its many par ticipants, the architecture of the contemporary realm often falls into an indistinguishable pit of market confusion. It propagates a culture of simultaneous nothingness and excess, devoid of ideals and collective rationality, neglect ing its responsibilities and avoiding its effects. With an increasing sense of the global village, consumerism and obe dient materialism, the inter ests, priorities and expecta tions of a numbed society took a stark turn and architecture blindly followed the cult. But problems arise when we fail to pay close attention to our sur roundings. Staggeringly, the built environment has become a playground for the few still-standing ‘starchitects’, who continue to build obnox iously in the hope of staying

relevant. The rest desperately attempt to follow in their foot steps, designing the next alien blob to grab attention and place them on the world stage.

A significant shift in the architecture discourse has been felt from the mid-twen tieth century, with a drastic reconditioning of global economic and political trends as well as pervasive sociocultural changes. A swing within the language of architecture left many longing to under stand how the newly estab lished modes of being have ultimately reshaped the built environment, and simulta neously the manner in which architecture has become an instrument mirroring and reinforcing leading ideological discourses. Increasingly, in the last few decades, businesses, commercial housing associa tions and bodies of local and global governments have sud denly started becoming propri etors of architecture. Following

shifting policymaking pat terns and newly established economic systems, these pro ponents have been gradually gaining more access to power in the field of architecture, traditionally dominated by a more condensed sector of few actors lead by an architect-incharge. Perhaps this is a naive ly nostalgic notion, but such times are now part of an elu sive past reality.

It turns out that as the professional field of architec ture is increasingly being left to the local and global economic market of hyper consumerism, architecture is becoming an instrument that primarily aims to communicate with the general public as a commodity. The field is no longer a space for those who understand its elaborate language and its his torically symbolic attributions, instead architecture culture is now a packaged product available for everyone to obliviously and dispassionately consume. Buildings that emerge out of this culture are not constitu ently aligned with architec ture, but often derive their meaning from largely taint ed outside instruments and relations. Historically this has

been the case, as architecture has claimed to find its value in various external sources, reflecting its society and cul ture and the political economy of its time. Architecture in the contemporary context has exaggerated this notion, however, and extrapolates all the defects of the leading ideologies and is overtly cele brated for being deployed as a commodity, icon, brand, image and superficial metaphor. Architecture that gives into the mass-disillusionment of the current state of affairs becomes nothing but a driving force of globalization and mindless urbanization, and ultimately disengages with its initial objective. Architecture can no longer be just architec ture for the sake of architec ture. This edition of Archiprint hence attempts to understand and explore this change in the architectural landscape through the analysis of several case studies that seem to be born from this market-driven culture. The case studies are dissected through a close read ing of three conflicting, though extremely pertinent architec tural texts, namely Charles Jencks’s The Death of Modern

Architecture

, Pieter Eisenman’s

The End of the Classical: The End of the Beginning, the End of the End and Pier Vittorio Aureli’s The Possibility of an Absolute Architecture. Though intrinsically conveying distinct interpretations of the architectural condition, these texts ultimately bear some sem blance to the radical commen tary that they divulge. These ideas also come as an active attempt to understand the underlying nature of guiding processes within architecture, processes that have either disrupted or caused major shifts within the culture. Moreover, the readings play into the subject at hand from various angles and through different lenses, ultimately revealing to a certain extent the exponents that lead to the architectural mess and disillusionment we currently find ourselves in. Although perhaps debatable, for the sake of argument it can be held that the beginning of this disillu sionment can be traced back to a stylistic shift in architec ture from modern to post modern, as uncovered by cultural theorist, landscape designer and architecture his

torian Charles Jencks. In his dramatically titled text The Death of Modern Architecture, Jencks dates this event to a specific moment in time: 1972, referring to the unsparing demolition of the infamous Pruitt-Igoe scheme in St Louis, Missouri.1 The exact dates might remain obscure due to the subtle but sure progression of the modern into the postmodern, but the visual shift was nothing short of borderline flamboy ant. Postmodernism seems to stem directly from Jencks’s harsh criticism of modernism – this erratic flamboyance was therefore a breath of fresh air after decades of the rigidi ty with which modern design forced itself upon society. Modern buildings, as argued by Jencks, do not communicate, and if they do, they communi cate the wrong message, often deeply dissociated from the leading societal objectives and ideals. One could argue that postmodernism, on the other hand, does the exact opposite: postmodern buildings commu nicate blatantly, shamelessly. Jencks vividly renounc es the Modern Movement’s utopian ideals and the lack of

meaning that modern build ings fail to convey, even when actively attempting to relate some sort of universal utopian message. Jencks specifically attacks Mies van der Rohe’s ‘universal language of confusion’ as assessed within the ‘univalent form’, or the world office building.2 According to Jencks, Mies brought the (life less) expression of modern architecture’s fetishization of means of production to life through his designs.3 Not only do his buildings, such as the ones for the Illinois Institute of Technology campus in Chicago, not communicate their various civic functions, more importantly they fail to communicate their ‘social and psychological meanings’.4 Jencks refers to other exam ples of proponents of errat ic signification (modernism) as avid designers of ‘always a striking form, a reduced but potent image’.5 But more than that, he criticizes the impoverishment of architectural lan guage on the level of content, the lack of social goals in these anonymous, austere modern buildings. For Jencks, the jus tification of these designs by elaborate, esoteric interpreta

tions are simply not sufficient. Instead, the author offers a set of examples that disregard the strictness of modernism in their interplay of context and culture – accepted ‘classics of modern architecture’, such as world exhibitions and ‘consumer temples and churches of dis traction’ in which a lightness of being within the mass culture is propagated.6 In the post modern, according to Jencks architecture should reflect what society holds important, ‘what it values both spiritually and in terms of cash’.7 Thus, the architect ought to play into the leading consumer society and its bureaucratic state and design buildings that reflect these complex configurations, ‘he can communicate missing values and ironically criticize the ones he dislikes’.8

While Charles Jencks advocated for a full-force embrace of the conventional modes of operation in the present context of society and deeply criticized the detach ment of modern buildings, Pier Vittorio Aureli presents an entirely opposing view. In fact, in his elaborate book The Possibility of an Absolute Architecture, Aureli compos

es his argument on an archi tecture such as Mies van der Rohe’s, going as far as claim ing it to be ‘absolute architec ture’.9 Aureli follows his line of argument by referring to the works of Piranesi, Palladio, Boullée and O.M. Ungers. As held by Aureli, the concept of absolute refers not to the puri ty of design, but originates from the latin ab-solvo, mean ing ‘freed from’, ‘separated from’.10 Architecture, accord ing to Aureli, is fundamental ly separated from a context, the condition in which it is created; architecture is seen as something that separates and that is in itself separated. And the possibility of an absolute architecture comes to be when this notion is made explicit, the purpose to separate and be separated. While Jencks found Mies’s architecture mean ingless, impersonal and austere, Aureli’s begs to differ. His interpretation is that a building such as the Seagram, while it separates and is separated from the urban fabric, inher ently plays into the subtle pre conditioning of the political realm in the city. This makes it, in fact, rather meaningful. Aureli insists on the

possibility of architecture as not simply just design or the embodiment of managerial ethos and urbanization, but as something that produces consequences, meanings and ideas. In the age of vastness and the elusive character of biopolitics and geopolitics, a building such as the Seagram begs awareness of the physi cality of the civic user and is ‘a fundamental counter point to reality of politics’, with which we are rarely directly confront ed.11 Hence, according to this argument, such examples of absolute architecture become something that we can finally physically grasp (and either accept or reject) in the imma terial dimension of endless, mindless traffic of urbaniza tion today. Aureli ultimate ly also argues that buildings of absolute architecture are the opposite of ‘iconic buildings’. Absolute architecture buildings engage in an act of framing by being architectural forms that act as frames, and thus limit urbanization. He holds that ‘the agenda of the iconic building is a post polit ical architecture stripped bare of any meaning other than the celebration of corporate eco

nomic performance’, the same economic performance that was so vividly commended by Jencks.12

Perhaps an even more extreme and abstract reading of architecture is conveyed in Peter Eisenman’s The End of the Classical: The End of the Beginning, the End of the End, in which he advances an argument on three fictions – representation (meaning), reason (truth) and history (timeless).13 Here Eisenman refers to the concept of the classical as a prevalent mode of thought encompassing representation, reason and history (this line of thinking includes the early twentieth century).

He argues for a shift, such as that which occurred with the Renaissance, when the rep resentation of a previously valued architecture, of clas sical architecture, became a source of reference, simulation or fiction. Truth was therefore thought to reside outside of representation, in the process of history.14 Eisenman holds a similar train of thought as Jencks’s on modernism, name ly that it has attempted to strip itself of preconceived notions of the past and to rep

resent reality itself by means of pure functionality. However, according to Eisenman, this abstraction could not perse vere, since stripping a column of its classical attributes, for example, was a continuation of the same fiction that relied on the conception of value out side of architecture.15 Similarly, the prospect of reason shifted during the Modern Movement from traditional sources of design from the divine to the simulation of truth through rational sources. However, Eisenman conveys that this inherent search for rationalism must contain a beginning and end, arriving at a prede termined goal. Moreover, while design no longer stemmed from religion, it nonetheless derived its value from an out side source, hence exposing itself to indeed be fiction.16

Finally, Eisenman points out that, historically, architecture prior to the Renaissance did not require justification of past or future, ‘it could only be’. However, modernism quickly shifted towards a temporal origin produced by the concept of the zeitgeist, an aspiration towards an appropriate archi tecture for a relevant time. And

thus the need to represent a certain zeitgeist ironically accentuated a fixation on the past. Eisenman considers that to move past this situation of history requires the removal of the attempt to reference an all-knowing truth and point of origin in time, to be timeless.17

Embracing the idea of architecture as fiction, accord ing to Eisenman, lies in the process of dissimulation: not simply the opposite of simula tion, but something that does not contain a value of truth.18 The removal of an expectant external truth or value rids us of the need for a predetermined end result or motivation. However, this process is not entirely arbitrary, as it reveals an openness to learning new processes. Eisenman’s propos al is to not view architecture as a material object; he suggests the idea of architecture as text or writing rather than architecture as image. Architecture should be read through a system of signs called traces, a trace being ‘the record of motivation, the record of an action, not an image of anoth er object-origin’. But knowing how to decode a certain text is no longer necessary, ‘the

activity of reading is first and foremost in the recognition of something as a language (that it is)’.19

Three very distinct propositions of the reading of architecture are ascribed to in the previously stated texts. While for Jencks the meaning of buildings stems from, and ought to reflect the notions of, the leading ideological trends within the city(even if these are commercial), Aureli subscribes to a more meta phorical, symbolic representation of the these same trends, through absolute architecture, disconnected from the estranging density of urban ization. Eisenman further abstracts the idea of architec ture to its ultimate core, as a language that should be com pletely devoid of any precon ceived external notions. Which reading stands as the most compelling, which ultimately reflects the truth? Why do all three positions seemingly refer to the same language, yet speak it in different tongues?

By using these readings in our own case studies, we ultimate ly attempt to formulate a jus tifiable critique of the under standably bipolar nature of

today’s architectural realm within the ongoing process es of globalization and com mercialization. And perhaps our own understanding and interpretation of these projects will give rise to yet more languages. However, as stated by Jencks, one thing remains valid: ‘The more adept modern architects become at embel lishing buildings, the more the anomaly appears . . . a jewel is a jewel, it is not a fitting object for great architecture. The banality of the content will not go away.’20 As future designers we ought to address this banality of architectural content that is flooding and pol luting our cities, and attempt to convey a better reading of what the possibilities and the benefits are that the architec tural realm could offer today’s society.

By using different examples of contemporary works, the articles attempt to enunciate the problematic nature of the postmodernist discourse. Judging these build ings against the concept of an ‘absolute architecture’, or architecture in ‘splendid iso lation’, as the title suggests, the theoretical analyses and

critical arguments not solely aim to dissect these structures in terms of their spatial and material qualities. The exam ples are rather used to portray the variety of the ways in which these cases ultimately play into leading ideologies, political, cultural or economic, respectively.

References

1. Charles Jencks, ‘The Death of Modern Architecture’, in: The Language of Post-Modern Architecture (London: Academy Editions, 1991), 23-37.

2. Ibid., 59.

3. Ibid., 58.

4. Ibid., 58.

5. Ibid., 60.

6. Ibid., 65.

7. Ibid., 66.

8. Ibid., 67.

9. Pier V. Aureli, The Possibility of an Absolute Architecture (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2011).

10. Pier V. Aureli, ‘The Possibility of an Absolute Architecture Lecture’ (AA School of Architecture, YouTube, 2011).

11. Ibid.

12. Aureli, The Possibility of an Absolute Architecture, op. cit. (note 9), xii.

13. Peter Eisenman, ‘The End of the Classical: The End of the Beginning, the End of the End’, Perspecta 21 (1984).

14. Ibid., 71.

15. Ibid., 72-73.

16. Ibid., 74-76.

17. Ibid., 76-79.

18. Ibid., 82.

19. Ibid., 86.

20. Jencks, ‘The Death of Modern Architecture’, op. cit. (note 1), 66.

CONTENTS

Metaphor or Image? Shop or Museum? CONSUMING ARCHITECTURE 15-24

CINEMA GOUDA 25-35

A Cheesy Example of Consumerist Iconography or an Outstanding Instance of Absolute Architecture?

A Case of Architectural Irony THE BAKERMAT

36-42

CONSUMING ARCHITECTURE

Metaphor or Image? Shop or Museum?

Andreea Sofineti

The Prada Marfa store in Valentine, Texas was built in 2005 as an art installation showing a single-room replica of a Prada store. The sculpture-now-turned-museum outlives its original concept; throughout its short history it has been botched and reassigned different identities. The creators, the Berlin-based team of Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset, initially developed the project as a surrealist commentary on Western materialism, criticizing the relentless gentrification of neighbourhoods in major urban centres, such as New York, through the appearance of high-end minimalist boutiques. Built out of biodegradable materials, the building was to exist ‘more as documentation and a rumour’; it was to gradually

Figure XXX @prada.archive Instagram, Prada Marfa by Michael Elmgreen & Ingar Dragset: First Edition Catalogue

dissipate into the background of the desert and finally, ele gantly, vanish. The project was furthermore meant to con demn the high-priced commercialism of luxury brands. To relay this message, the artists decided to appropriate the internationally known Prada brand and its infamous bou tique design. Although it was made clear that the project was not commissioned by the brand and despite the criti cism that it embodied, the art ists managed to get permission for the use of the Prada logo. This association took an unexpected turn, however, as Miuccia Prada herself ended up carefully curating the inte rior of the store with products from the label’s Fall/Winter 2005 collection. The night of its inauguration, the installation was vandalized, Prada items were stolen, and the façade was covered with graffiti. A formal decision was made to restore the art piece and to this day, in contrast to the artists’ intent, the Ballroom Marfa and Art Production Fund continues to finance its main tenance and security system. After being subject to pub lic debate and running the

danger of being shut down as an illegal advertisement, the Foundation, which manages the site, gained a lease for the land and managed to get it classified as a museum (with the Prada store as its sole exhibition).

The unorthodox context of the Prada Marfa store and its complex symbolism grants it the status of architecture that is not architecture, of something that rather pre tends to be architecture. But beyond this play of words, what becomes increasingly curious is the analysis of its successive transformations, the mockery and the caricature that it ultimately projects through its shifting identities, which is a state of affairs that unfor tunately has been increas ingly visible in the contempo rary architectural realm. The Prada Marfa project functions beyond its primary intentions, it functions beyond its physical reality, it is situated within the ‘hyperreal’ or ‘a real without origin or reality’. Furthermore, it follows a visual transition from the sacred to the profane – from object to metaphor, finally settling into its prime form, its alter ego – as a mere

image. In contemporary dis course, images have gradually become substitutes for build ings; images have substituted reality. Within this rhetoric, the metaphor of the installation, though supposedly sincere in its intended message, is suffocated beyond recovery, leaving behind only a flat but powerful depiction, its image, obses sively reproduced and obnox iously consumed. But despite the pseudo-moralistic attempt at politics, what is revealed instead is a fundamental shift in the paradigm, with the project ironically turning into its own object of scrutiny.

What makes Prada Marfa particularly captivating is its locality, the space that it inhabits, something that could have ultimately saved it from its arbitrary fate. The vastness of the desert aludes of the existence of an alien form – the usually inconspicuous minimalist boutique is elevated by its surroundings, vulgarly mimicking the sublime. Though impressive in its physical iso lation, Prada Marfa fails to inspire what Pier Vittorio Aureli described as ‘absolute archi tecture’. When it is not placed in such an isolating environ

ment, the minimalist bou tique, popularized by figures such as Donald Judd, remains rather anonymous within the urban fabric, part of the ‘agenda of the iconic building . . . a post-political architecture stripped bare of any meaning other than the celebration of corporate economic perfor mance’. Prada Marfa does not frame, it does not interact with its surroundings, it remains static, it neither separates nor is separated. Appearing to be in a constant state of identity crisis, the sculpture-metaphor-store-museum hence vehemently refuses any inscription of meaning, yet simultaneously it desperately begs for one, otherwise, the building does not and can not stand its ground. Prada Marfa can mean anything to anyone: it is as fluid as the rapidly dying trends that engulf our contemporary culture and society. Indeed, intentions change, perspectives are altered, but, one could ask, what then remains? Yet another copy of a Prada store.

The script:

[Architecture for the sake of architecture?]

Architecture for the sake of art Architecture for the sake of anti-capitalism

Architecture for the sake of politics

Architecture for the sake of media

Architecture for the sake of (selfie) culture

Architecture for the sake of capitalism

Architecture for the sake of image

[Architecture pretending to be architecture?]

The Shop as Metaphor

Ironically, contrary to its objective, the project elevated the Prada brand and the Prada store to the status of art, increasing its notoriety. But this was surely not the product of Prada’s naivety – with carefully picked out shoes and handbags on display at Prada Marfa, the brand instead inno cently embraced the criticism and used it as a marketing tac tic instead. One of the crucial

reasons as to why this occurred and why the metaphor was not perceived as intended, is that ‘a work of art has meaning and interest only for someone who possesses the cultural competence, that is, the code into which it is encoded’. The ‘code’ within which the metaphor operated was unfortunately not comfortably accessible, it could not be assimilated by the general public, and perhaps only spoke to the few in the art community who often take a particular interest in such deep cultural denunciations.

Furthermore, a similar point has been brought up by Charles Jencks in The Language of Post-Modern Architecture, where he refers to what he perceived as ‘slipsof-the-metaphor’: often mis construed interpretations of modernist designers that were at times failing to recognize the obvious disconnect between popular and elitist codes. Often, subtle analogies in buildings and the propensity of architects to view architec ture as a language ultimately led to ‘contradictions between statement and result’. While Jencks would have approved of the Prada Marfa project,

even in its misread analogy as a ‘consumer temple’, present designers, nonetheless, remain guilty of falling into the same conceptual and linguistic traps as their modern predecessors. If vague and weak in its metaphor, a building or an art object can ultimately lose its meaning to collective powers. The dominant cultur al language and the favoured societal codes reinterpret mes sages in terms of ‘what society holds important, what it values both spiritually and in terms of cash’. The triumph of consumer culture signalled to Jencks that:

[The] modern architect was left without much uplifting social content to symbolise…. He can communicate missing values and ironically criticise the ones he dislikes. But to do that he must make use of the lan guage of the local culture, otherwise his message falls on deaf ears, or is distorted to fit this local language.

The distortion happened almost instantly, of course, and Prada Marfa quickly became its own antithesis. The meta phor lives within the linguistic realm and it cannot survive if it fails to be recognized by all participants. For architecture to be ‘as is’, its significance must come directly from the

meaning embodied in its ele ments. The fact that Prada Marfa has been directly (and rightfully) associated with the exact opposite of what it was meant to inspire, not only suggests an obliviousness towards dominant cultural rhetoric. It also signals an intrinsic inept itude in response: the artist’s failing to hold on to standards and accepting the compromise for the sake of publicity. As the metaphor failed, the project started further transitioning, one identity further from the previous one.

The Shop as Museum

When threatened with closure for being perceived as an illegal advertisement, Prada Marfa was quickly adopted as part of Judd’s Chinati Foundation and officially immortalized as a museum. One might ques tion this sudden typological change, namely the seamless transition from shop to museum. Nonetheless, we have become accustomed to such nonchalant exchanges of type. Andy Warhol’s predictions have come true: all department stores have become museums and all museums have become department stores. It is not by

chance, however, as the min imalist spaces of contempo rary art galleries and museums played a major role in influ encing retail interior design. Subsequently, the white cube architecture quickly became pervasive in instilling aesthetic power into the most mundane commodities, such as shoes. Moreover, as Koolhaas argued, minimalism had become the ‘single signifier’ of luxury and its purpose was ‘to minimize the shame of consumption’. Perhaps with their initial message, Elmgreen and Dragset sought to highlight and reinforce the said lost shame of consumption, to reinstate it as a part of our psyche and to generate a discussion regard ing its evils.

The boutique, however, in all its minimalist glory, is nonetheless seen as iconic architecture, or architecture that became attractive as a spectacle. As mentioned by Germano Celant, architecture as spectacle ‘[isn’t] function al, but a theatrical event for the landscape, a sculpture in itself. Architecture [is] thus seen by people in fashion as a way of becoming spectacular’. It comes as no surprise, then,

that the shop-turned-museum effortlessly abolished its polit ical message and reinstated its identity through iconicity (and no megastructure was needed). In the boutique, just as in the museum, mundane artifacts are transformed into iconic objects of worship. And while the general public can not afford the pieces on display at Prada Marfa, luxury brands nonetheless offer a substitute: consuming the image of luxu ry and the image of the brand. This instantaneous brand recognition ultimately generates symbolic capital for the Prada brand.

Artworks have become over time increasingly images of themselves, images of images, and images of things. [Prada Marfa] is not an image of a store…. Image recurs, instead, as the content of the work: image as brand name, fashion as image….

The Prada Marfa shop as an image is intrinsically simulated as a symbol of the selfie culture; it has become a cultural sensation. Its image has attracted many tourists over the years, including famous pop stars and numerous social media influencers. But this collage of inclusivity signals something that was not part

of the luxury world in the past. While short- lived, the image grants access to a territo ry that was previously unex plored by the general public. The image can be consumed, the image creates identity. Fittingly, in his text The End of the Classical: the End of the Beginning, the End of the End, Peter Eisenman reviews Robert Venturi’s distinction between the ‘duck’ and the ‘decorat ed shed’, in which the latter is ‘a building that functions as a billboard, where any kind of imagery (except its internal function) – letters, patterns, even architectural elements –conveys a message accessible to all’. This message is usual ly direct, unpretentious and devoid of the deeper interpre tations one might attempt to decorate it with. The meaning of the Prada Marfa project was perhaps hard to swallow, but the image came across to the public with little to no effort. Nonetheless, things become more complex when one is willing to reconsider the building also as potentially a ‘duck’: ‘A building that looks like its function or that allows its internal order to be dis played on its exterior.’ Or it is

perhaps even a ‘technologi cal duck’; Eisenman suggests that ‘stripped down abstrac tions of modernism are still referential objects: technological rather than typological ducks’. Eisenman discusses all this under the subtitle Fiction of Representation: The Simulation of Meaning, a sec tion that he concludes with an important thought, suggesting that ‘when there is no longer a distinction between rep resentation and reality, when reality is only simulation, then representation loses its a priori source of significance, and it, too, becomes a simulation.’

By this logic, the Prada Marfa building is no longer an image representing an original, rath er, as an image it has become its own simulation. The image shapes reality and reinstates its significance, or the lack thereof within the project. In a predominantly image-based culture, nothing is a representation of reality anymore, the image is the ultimate truth and Prada Marfa is the perfect instance of this phenomenon.

Ultimately, the critique put forward by Elmgreen and Dragset was neutralized, leaving Prada to benefit from

the free advertisement. Prada Marfa is only one such example of many, showcasing architec ture or art that has failed to be constructed for its own sake. Despite the painfully twisted and tangled interpretations of the project, one thing remains concrete: Prada’s absolutely genius marketing strategies, including the clever adoption of artists and designers such as Elmgreen and Dragset, Rem Koolhaas (OMA/AMO), Herzog & de Meuron and Kazuyo Sejima to innocently signal transparency, a sense of self-deprecation and an unconditional acceptance of external criticism. The Prada universe is ultimately created from the employment of sym bolic capital produced through architectural distinction; con stantly reaffirming the brand’s sociocultural significance and beyond-fashion identity. The more famous, ongoing collaboration between Prada and Koolhaas garners a potentially similar criticism to Prada Marfa, yet it is quite com pelling to defend Koolhaas. The architect has been an unapologetic accomplice in the sphere of consumption, working alongside Prada as

a perfect collaboration: with no naivety, no hypocrisy and recognizing that ‘brands . . . are essences through which meaning disappears’. In comparison with Elmgreen and Dragset, Koolhaas is aware of his own contradictions and characteristically embraces the paradoxes that come with the job. Aware of the power of the brand, Koolhaas gra ciously clings to his manifes to ‘Junkspace’, which seems now more relevant than ever before.

Elmgreen and Dragset, Rem Koolhaas (OMA/AMO), Herzog & de Meuron and Kazuyo Sejima to innocently signal transparency, a sense of self-deprecation and an unconditional acceptance of external criticism. The Prada universe is ultimately created from the employment of sym bolic capital produced through architectural distinction; constantly reaffirming the brand’s sociocultural significance and beyond-fashion identity. The more famous, ongoing collab oration between Prada and Koolhaas garners a potential ly similar criticism to Prada Marfa, yet it is quite com pelling to defend Koolhaas.

The architect has been an unapologetic accomplice in the sphere of consumption, working alongside Prada as a perfect collaboration: with no naivety, no hypocrisy and recognizing that ‘brands . . . are essences through which meaning disappears’.25 In com parison with Elmgreen and Dragset, Koolhaas is aware of his own contradictions and characteristically embraces the paradoxes that come with the job. Aware of the power of the brand, Koolhaas graciously clings to his manifesto ‘Junkspace’, which seems now more relevant than ever before.

Captions

Figure 1

@prada.archive, https://www. instagram.com/p/CX_Blk4Nq8d/, accessed 11 October 2022.

‘Prada and the Art of Patronage’, op. cit. (note 2), 2.

8. Charles Jencks, The Language of Post-Modern Architecture (London: Academy Editions, 1991), 61.

9. Ibid., 63.

10. Ibid., 65.

11. Ibid., 66.

12. Ibid., 67.

1. ’Prada Marfa’, https:// www.ballroommarfa.org/pradamarfa/, accessed 11 October 2022.

2. Nicky Ryan, ‘Prada and the Art of Patronage’, Fashion Theory 10 (2007), 3.

3. ‘Third Parties Projects: Prada Marfa’, https://www. pradagroup.com/en/perspectives/ excursus/prada-marfa.html, accessed 11 October 2022.

4. Ibid.

5. Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulation, translated by Sheila Faria Glaser (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2016), 1. See Pier Vittorio Aureli, The Possibility of an Absolute Architecture (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2011).

6. Ibid., xiii.

7. Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, translated by Richard Nice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), 2, quoted in: Ryan,

13. Peter Eisenman, ‘The End of the Classical: the End of the Beginning, the End of the End’, Perspecta 21 (1984), 154-173: 167.

14. Thomas Gorton, ‘Prada Marfa Escapes Destruction’, Dazed, https://www.dazeddigital.com/ artsandculture/article/21715/1/ prada-marfa-escapes-destruction, accessed 11 October 2022.

15. Andy Warhol quoted in: Ryan, ‘Prada and the Art of Patronage’, op. cit. (note 2), 8.

16. See Brian O’Doherty, Inside the White Cube (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1976), paraphrased in: Ryan, ‘Prada and the Art of Patronage’, op. cit. (note 2), 15.

17. See Rem Koolhaas, Harvard Design School Guide to Shopping (London: Taschen, 2001), 420, quoted in: Ryan, ‘Prada and the Art of Patronage’, op. cit. (note 2), 15.

18. Statement by Paul Celant in Mark Irving, ‘Being Miuccia’,

Financial Times Magazine, 21 June 2003, quoted in: Ryan, ‘Prada and the Art of Patronage’, op. cit. (note 2), 8.

19. Christopher S. Wood, ‘Image and Thing, a Modern Romance’, Representations 133 (2016), 130-151: 142.

20. Peter Eisenman, ‘The End of the Classical’, op. cit. (note 14), 158.

21. Ibid. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid., 159.

24. Rem Koolhaas, ‘Junkspace’, October 100, Obsolescence (2002), 175-190: 177.

CINEMA GOUDA

A Cheesy Example of Consumerist Iconography or an Outstanding Instance of Absolute Architecture?

Akke Wagenaar

I was around 12 years old when my interest for architecture started to peak. Coincidently, this was also around the time that the construction of a new city hall in my hometown was being completed. A daring and iconic design by Jos van Eldonk, which became even more daring, or at least noteworthy, when three years later a new cinema, designed by Bart Duvekot Architecten, popped up right next to it. These buildings were not the Renaissance churches or Neogothic cathedrals my parents told me to admire. What was this other type of architecture and how could I fit these buildings into my world view? Six years later, and having come across many more of such examples, such as the Museum de Fundatie in Zwolle by BiermanHenket, I decided to study architecture at Eindhoven University of Technology. Now, four years into my education, I have gotten the opportunity to delve even deeper into this phenomenon of ‘iconic architecture’ and to figure out the how, the what and the why that shape these buildings, as well as a chance to unpack their societal impact. This is done by comparing one of the buildings that first sparked my interest as a designer, the Cinema Gouda, with the writings of Pier Vittorio Aureli on absolute architecture.

Figure 1: City hall of Gouda

Figure 2: Cinema Gouda

As observed by Aureli, the pop ularity of architecture has increased strongly in recent years.1 He says that, contrary to what one might think, this is mostly felt by the general public. Architects and critics instead feel an inversely proportional sense of political powerlessness and cultural disillusionment, feeling that they have little impact on the built world. This counterintui tive situation is worth a critical review. Architecture has the power to make a great impact on society through a representation of the world in built form. However, as Aureli asks us in his book The Possibility of an Absolute Architecture: What form can architecture define within the contemporary city without falling into the current self-absorbed performances of iconic buildings, parametric design or redundant mappings of every possible complexity and contradiction of the urban world. In a world no longer constituted by the ideas and motivations of the city [as to create a qualitative life for the residents], but instead dominated by urbanization?2

Charles Jencks explained this difference between city plan ning in the past and urbaniza tion in the present as follows: in the past, only a mini-capi talist economy existed, where money was restricted. 3 An architect would work only on

small parts of the city at once, and work slowly, which offered the chance to respond well to certain needs, as well as mak ing sure the architect was accountable to their client. This client was not some big corporation, but would be the future user of the building. This situation led to the production of an architecture understood by the client and in a language shared with others. However, now, in economic terms, archi tecture is either produced as a commission for a public welfare agency that does not have the money nor the resources to pay for the social ambitions of the architects. Or it is funded by a capitalist enterprise whose only goal is to make

gigantic investments, ergo, gigantic buildings.

This shift from city planning to urbanization can best be explained by the shift from tekne politike to tekne oikonomike, as explained by Aristotle.4 Tekne politike can

be translated or described as a political process of decision making for the sake of public interest, for the common good, as referred to by the word polis, meaning city. Tekne oikonomike is translated or described as the administration of private space above everything else, where oikonomike is derived from oikos, meaning house. Put more simply, the difference between politics and economy can be described as the difference between the city and the house. Politics acts in the interests of the public, while the economy acts in the interest of its own.

Over the past decades, in the

Where the end user used to also be the client, they slowly got further and further removed from the process.

Netherlands, more and more tasks that used to fall under the responsibilities of the government have been handed over to private parties to deal with. The government has slowly lost control over the quality and the process of building, as it is now in the hands of the economy. Now that such responsibilities over the built environment are increasingly put in the hands

of private developers, munic ipalities have had to suffer gigantic cutbacks, eventually leaving them with no real means to amount to anything. To better understand this shift, it is important to take a small look at the history of city planning in the Netherlands.

Ton Idsinga describes the same change in architecture and especially in society as Jencks.5 Where the end user used to also be the client, they slowly got further and further removed from the process. This shift started to happen in the nineteenth century, when the demand for build ings, especially dwellings, increased massively. The end user got reduced to an anonymous inhabitant for whom the architect needed to design. The architect had to make their own assumptions about what the consumer would want. This went on for a while, until after the Second World War, when the Dutch government decided to step in. From this moment onwards, the building process became forcefully regulated. Over the past 30 to 40 years, however, the Dutch government has set

sail in a new direction and has followed a strategy of deregu lation. This new strategy was deemed necessary due to eco nomic and societal changes. The shift in the global economy had shaken up the situation in the Netherlands: internationalization, forceful consumerism, an explosion of mobility, a new service econo my, etcetera. Around this time, the ideology of neoliberalism started to gain popularity, and to shape the country’s leader ship. This led to a withdrawal of the government and a loss of expertise. Plans like the ones by Berlage for Amsterdam and Utrecht were initiated by the municipalities, while those for Vinex neighborhoods in the Randstad were commissioned by private parties.

The combination of increased market forces, a growing commercial and market economy, a loss of possibilities for quality control by a (de)centralized government, and a diminish ing amount of involvement possible for the municipalities, has led to this market-driven society. One of the few or only things that municipalities in the Netherlands can do now

adays is to make so-called ‘Image and Quality plans’ (Beeld -en Kwaliteitsplannen), which usually only contain some reference images and short pieces of text, expressing a preference in material usage. Furthermore the life of the user, their work, and their shopping and living habits no longer follow municipal bound aries. The anonymous user is offered all types of choices and opportunities.

With the government stepping away from its regulating role,

An economy will act in its own interst, of which its main goal is to make money

the market economy was sud denly left with the task of ana lysing what the demand and needs of this consumer society were. But is a market economy capable of completing such a task? The word ‘economy’ already gives us the answer. An economy will act in its own interest, of which its main goal is to make money. Good archi tecture will almost only come to fruition when enthusiastic developers and architects work together.

However, if developers want

to do everything as cheaply and efficiently as possible, the architecture deteriorates. Cheaper construction does not necessarily mean that the architecture will be worse. But in this case, we are talking about making it cheaper to ensure that the developer makes more profit, instead of making it more affordable for the end user. When an eco nomic crisis like the one in 2008 hits, or even like the one we are experiencing right now, devel opers will do anything in their power to maintain the same profit. The first thing that gets thrown out the window is great ambitions for beautiful archi tecture. Developers know that buildings still need to be built nonetheless and if developers can have a say in it, this is only possible when done cheaper. This shift towards a consumer society makes for the perfect conditions for iconic buildings to prevail. Such iconic buildings are described by Aureli as post-political architecture stripped bare of any meaning other than the celebration of corporate economic perfor mance.6

At a first glance, the Cinema Gouda seems to follow this

celebration of economic prev alence. The Cinema Gouda is a building that needs some introduction to fully under stand the bizarre nature of its existence. As the name suggests, it is located in Gouda, a medium-sized city of about 70.000 inhabitants. This city is located in the Randstad, the Dutch name for what could be described as an agglomeration of cities in the western part of the Netherlands. By train, you can reach Gouda in less than 20 minutes from large cities such as The Hague, Rotterdam or Utrecht. And, as you may have already guessed, Gouda is best known for its cheese, as well as being quite well known for its stroopwafels – literally: syrup waffles – a cookie made of two thin wafers with a syrup filling. The Cinema Gouda is built in the newly realized Spoorzone, a quite ambitious project to enliven the previously somewhat forgotten north side of the tracks.7 The ambitious project immediately started out with a new city hall, com pleted in 2012 and designed by no other than the famous Jos van Eldonk, known for mak ing quite bold architecture. Shortly after, the city hall was

followed by the Cinema Gouda by Bart Duvekot Architecten in 2013. Both buildings appear to represent the city of Gouda in their expressive shell façades: the one a syrup waffle, the other a piece of cheese.

Researching the latter, it was soon found that the icono graphic meaning projected on it by the public was not the intention of the architect. An employee at Bart Duvekot Architecten, has stated that the holes are meant to represent film lenses.8 Bart himself is rather more inclined to say that the round shapes are purely functional. An interview with Bart Duvekot was con ducted by Archiprint, in which even more interesting details were discovered regarding the conceptualization of the design.

The office of Bart Duvekot was asked to make some concept sketches for a new cinema by one of the advisors of the theatre of Gouda, with whom he had worked together on some housing projects. Only two other parties were asked to present a design. Out of the three parties, Bart Duvekot

Architecten received the com mission. If it would have been an open competition, Duvekot assumes that his chances would have been much slimmer: ‘In this field of work, developers tend to choose the person with the most experience. Having almost exclu sively done housing projects myself, it was quite an oppor tunity to be able to take on such a project.’ During the development of the design, the research almost exclusive ly focused on how to construct the halls of the cinema with the right technologies and dimensions and such. The façade was an afterthought, with its expression based purely on the programming behind it. Duvekot completed his archi tectural studies at Delft University of Technology in the 1980s. At that time, func tionalism was the main architectural language that was taught. Ergo, form follows function. This shows in the way Duvekot talks about his designs. The programme of requirements is put on a ped estal, with everything else fol lowing from it. For him, the expression of the façade is merely a conven

ient shape to create dioramas with, connecting the inside of the building with the outside. Everywhere it was possible to create full glass façades, it was done. This allows for as much light as possible to enter, making it clear that it is a public building. The building, as it is to have a public appearance, does not have a clear front or

The programme of requirements is put on a pedestal, with everything else following from it.

back, with even the sides of the safety exit routes also being covered with dioramas. Nowhere in this interview does he mention the second mean ing the building has assumed: the cheese. When asking him about it, he does admit that he sees the resemblance, but it does not matter to him. Eventually the public will always form an opinion about anything you make, and trying to show the public that you did not intend this double meaning is in no way relevant to the task of an architect.

Duvekot goes on to say that the nickname may have never existed if the cinema had been built in, for instance, Almelo. It

seems that it is the context of Gouda and the presence of the syrup waffle-like city hall that leads to this association. There could be some truth in this: there are also some buildings with holes in Eindhoven with which I have never had this specific association.

The building next to it was developed on very differ ent grounds. The municipal ity had specifically asked Jos van Eldonk to do what he does best: to create a statement. In the context of the city of Gouda, this resulted in a glass box decorated with brown brickwork following the diag onal pattern of the embellish ments of a syrup waffle. The municipality of Gouda may have taken a look at what such a building can do for a city like Zaandam. When Soeters van Eldonk designed a new urban plan and city hall for Zaandam, the city was transformed from being merely the suburbs of Amsterdam to hav ing a complete identity of its own. However, in a city that already has such a rich cultural and architectural heritage, the effects of the iconic architec ture are minimal.

It is interesting to now take a detour and to look at the clients of the two buildings. The city hall was commis sioned by the municipality of Gouda, whereas the Cinema Gouda was commissioned by De Goudse Schouwburg, the theatre of Gouda. Neither fit the profile of the ‘bogeyman’ capitalist developer. Both pro jects have a (semi-)commer cial and (semi-)public func tion. Despite these similarities, there is one distinctive differ ence between the two clients: their ultimate goal. For the municipality, the goal was to design an iconic building, a business card for the city of Gouda.9 This can be seen in the final design, where the inte rior is designed by an entire ly different team, as is often the case in big projects. The architecture is reduced to only a shell, an iconic expression, nothing more. However, this is supposedly not the goal of the Cinema Gouda. This building was designed with the end user in mind and the fact that it ended up having iconic asso ciations was never the goal of the architect. However, I do not think that this automatically means such a building could

never be iconic architecture. It could be said that neither the architecture nor the plan itself creates the identity of the building, but the narration of the public and its context. In this particular case, the iconicity of the Cinema Gouda is at the very least accentuated and extended, but may even be birthed by the presence of the city hall and the cultural fame of Gouda’s cheese production. The question remains whether the cinema is a piece of abso lute or iconic architecture.

The definition of form can lead us to a definition of absolute architecture that will aid us in concluding the argument. The word ‘form’ can be traced back to the Latin forma, which stems from two Greek words: eidos, which refers to an abstract form, and morphe, which instead refers to the visible form.10 It is this search for balance between the visible form and the experienced form that the word forma refers to. This relation between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ implies the exist ence of something outside of itself. This is also the case with the notion of absoluteness, when we understand absolute

ness as a state of being that is dependent on being separated.

Now, the concept of the form and the political coincide. They are both absolute parts, making it possible to measure the state of absoluteness of a building by using their form.

In Aureli’s thinking, architec ture should make the abstract comprehensible, and make buildings public, generic and understandable for the public.11

In its absolute form, the city is no longer driven to expand, but is positively limited and confronted. It no longer follows the route of urbanization, but once again follows the formal and political sense of the city. Could it be possible for iconic buildings to have a place inside this archipelago of absolute architecture? Iconic buildings have a singular presence, they are one of the primary expressions of the architectural culture of the city nowadays.

The economic principle of the Iconic Building is to be unique and unrepeatable.

However, according to Aureli, they could never be a valid part of the city, even when putting problems of morality

and taste aside. The economic principle of the iconic building is to be unique and unrepeat able. He goes on to say that the state is not the one creating these buildings, but the corporations. Iconic buildings are made to be unique and a mascot/emblem of market competitiveness. The despotic laws of difference and novelty are what is considered desira ble in an economy of icons. The personality of the architect, their creative ego, is exploited and used by the corporation to oppose the difficult whole of the polis. The off-putting part of this argumentation by Aureli is the word ‘valid’. Yes, iconic buildings do function as mascots most of the time, and yes, they are unrepeatable and unique. But does that make them less valid? Buildings in the past, like the Sagrada Familia, were more often than not also unique and unrepeatable.

Archipelago architecture is absolute architecture. It defines limits that define the city. Absolute architecture should map, understand and formalize the borders to rein force them. It should not be an

icon of diversity, but an impe tus to novelty and be accept ing of possibly being an instru ment of separation and thus of political action.

The Cinema Gouda shows us that there can be a middle ground in iconic architecture. It is built with the innocence of just wanting to do good for the end user. Yes, it is strik ing and seems to make fun of Dutch culture, but that does not make it any less function al. It is site-specific and fits well into the urban fabric. It is meant to be stand-alone, but only because its function also requires it to. As opposed to ‘bad’ iconic architecture, as described by Aureli, it does not merely exist for econom ic gain, but also for politi cal gain. It does a good job in creating a public hub for the residents and the architect always had their best interests in mind when designing it, as opposed to just creating something iconic, quirky and unique. Cinema Gouda shows us that maybe there could be a place for iconic architecture in the strive for an archipelago of absolute architecture.

References

Captions

Figure 1

City Hall of Gouda by Jos van Eldonk. Photography: Raoul Suermondt

Figure 2

The Cinema Gouda by Bart Duvekot Architecten

Photography: Bart Duvekot and Peter Visser

BPSpoorzoneA12021-VO01.html, accessed 1 May 2022.

8. Eva van Dantzig, ‘Say What? Het gebouw van Cinema Gouda moet géén gatenkaas voorstellen’, https://indebuurt.nl/ gouda/nieuws/opmerkelijk/saywhat-het-gebouw-van-cinemagouda-moet-geen-gatenkaasvoorstellen~93476/, accessed 1 May 2022.

1. Pier Vittorio Aureli, The Possibility of an Absolute Architecture (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2011), 1.

2. Ibid., 1.

3. Charles Jencks, The Language of Post-Modern Architecture (New York: Rizzoli, 1977), 13.

4. Aureli, Absolute Architecture, op. cit. (note 1), 2.

5. Ton Idsinga, Een land van architectuur (Rotterdam: nai010, 2006), 24.

6. Aureli, Absolute Architecture, op. cit. (note 1), xiii.

7. Gemeente Gouda, ‘Spoorzone A1 locatie 2021’, https:// www.planviewer.nl/imro/files/ NL.IMRO.0513.BPSpoorzoneA12021VO01/t_NL.IMRO.0513.

9. Bob Witman, ‘Stroopwafel met hap eruit’, https://www. volkskrant.nl/nieuws-achtergrond/ stroopwafel-met-haperuit~bac27de0/, accessed 1 May 2022.

10. Aureli, Absolute Architecture, op. cit. (note 1), 30. 11. Ibid., 30.

THE BAKERMAT

A Case of Architectural Irony Boris

Koselka

The Bakermat is one of the most recent additions to Eindhoven’s ever-growing skyline. It is located in the north-western part of the city centre and was designed by Eindhoven-based Van Aken Architecten. Towering over the neighbouring buildings and with its bright colours and irregular shapes, the Bakermat was clearly intended to be noticed. The façades feature iconized silhouettes of elongated houses, which appear to have been placed in front of the towers themselves. These silhouettes are imprinted on the lower sides of the buildings, while, in front of the roundabout of the Boschdijk, they extend above the towers behind them, crowning them with the shape of pitched roofs and topped by a two-dimen sional chimney.

Figure 1: The Sketch

Figure 2: The Bakermat

As a collective, the Bakermat towers stand out from the pre-existing Boschdijk buildings, contrast ing the sober twentieth-century architecture of Eindhoven with a block of postmodernist towers. The design for the towers started as an in-house competition at Van Aken Architecten, organized in col laboration with artist Maarten Baas. Baas is often described as a so-called ‘author design er’, whose work operates on the boundaries between art and design, and which he himself describes as rebellious and playful.1 Subsequently, this design approach points towards the intention by Van Aken to subvert the traditional architectural process. The competition result ed in two different designs, with the so-called Sketch as the eventual winner. Similar to the Bakermat, the Sketch is a collection of colourful towers with irregular shapes and seemingly randomly organized elements. It was the inten tion of Maarten Baas to pro duce a design that depicted ‘light-hearted and optimis tic buildings’, which would stand in contrast to the cold

rationality that typifies today’s architecture. 2 The design of the Sketch aims to break with the rigidity of modern architec ture by creating a product that resembles a design sketch. As a result, the finished product of the Bakermat was meant to resemble a Körmeling-like model, by evoking the feeling

that it was designed without the use of a ruler.

Through the application of its free-flowing forms, the Bakermat not only separates itself from its neighbouring context, but also from traditional architectural values. In a text titled ‘The End of the Classical’, Peter Eisenman explores three themes that his torically had a strong conno tation of architectural value. These categories come down to either ‘representation’, ‘reason’ or ‘history’, which Eisenman collectively named ‘the classical’. 3 However, Eisenman attempts to re-establish the way we look at and criticize architecture. Throughout the essay, he examines each of these categories and con cludes that all of them are fictional constructs and thus inherently meaningless. Eisenman explains

that the profession of archi tecture is stuck in a language of simulation, forever imitat ing and referencing with no other option than to become a derivative of its own inspiration. He explains that in architecture the only aspect of the figure that is traditionally at work is ‘object representa tion’, whether anthropomor phic, natural or technologi cal.4 Eisenman contrasts this with literature, which is capa ble of metaphors and similes that have a poetic application beyond a merely allegorical and referential function. The Bakermat’s application of randomness can be interpreted as an example of rejecting the classical, specifically the cat egory of reason. In its design, Van Aken seems to agree that architecture is not necessarily dependent on the classical rules of composition in order to have a meaningful building.

The design of the Bakermat can be interpreted as one that relies on intentional ‘errancy’, which is used as a way to escape the pitfall of simulation. Eisenman quotes German philoso pher Martin Heidegger, who observed that an error has a

parallel trajectory to truth, that it can be the unfolding of truth itself.5 In order to counter the tradition of ‘misreading’, as a result of the classical fictions, intentional errors should only be based on a building’s internal relations. Through this statement, Eisenman suggests that the problem of the nonex istence of absolute truth can be subverted by proposing a third state besides true and false: the ‘not-containing’ of the value of truth.

It was the intention of the Sketch to present itself as a product that resembled an unfinished state: a project that looked like it had remained in the early stag es of its design, thereby com menting on the part of the process that it skipped. This missing part of the process can be seen as an example of such an intentional errancy, as long as it does not present itself as a solution. Intentional errancy appears to walk a fine line between presenting an error and presenting an alter native solution. For an archi tecture based on errancy to not represent an alternative fiction, Eisenman proposes that architecture should be

‘meaning-free’, ‘arbitrary’ and ‘timeless’. This requires archi tecture to let go of the distinc tion between reality and illu sion, to no longer be confined solely to the realm of object representation. Traditionally, architecture upheld this distinction between reality and illusion, as it considered the physical building as its end result.

Eisenman does not intend to provide an alterna tive to the classical system, instead he proposes a new way of perceiving architecture. In his text, Eisenman he in favour of the acceptation of fictions and the subsequent shift towards reading architecture as a text. This would consti tute a shift away from archi tecture as a ‘series of images’, judged on the basis of classical values, and instead to a collec tion of motivations that result in different processes.6 If we consider the entire design as a continuation of motivations, it becomes interesting to look at the design of the Bakermat in relation to two parts of its process: its motivated origin in the form of the Sketch, and how this influences its internal processes and strategies.

If we project these the ories onto the design of the Sketch, we could deduce a cer tain goal as the basis for its internal choices. The choice for randomness was motivated by the wish for a homely expression. This expression of homeliness was the motivation for the design’s subsequent inter nal processes. The architec ture can be seen to be derived from this motivation, creat ing internal relations that are separate from classical mis reading. However, when this state of homeliness is posed as a truth instead of a fiction, the possibility of misreading becones reintroduced: ‘Fiction becomes simulation when it does not recognize its condi tion as fiction, when it tries to simulate a condition of reality, truth, or non-fiction.’ 7

As mentioned before, the design of the Bakermat is the finished product of the Sketch. Through its collection of jumbled façades, the Bakermat markets itself as a subversion of mainstream architecture; or as the word bakermat (cradle) perhaps implies: a new beginning for mainstream architecture, spe cifically in regard to its homely

expression. This idea of home liness seems to have been the internal motivator behind the Bakermat’s random organiza tion. However, in comparison with the original design, the Bakermat’s rebellious spirit seems only skin deep. The colourful volumes of the Sketch have been replaced by thin façades that hide the actual housing blocks behind them. Despite their playful masks, these seem to be organized as conventional white boxes. In the transformation from the Sketch to the Bakermat, more and more organization crept into the design: the repetition of ele ments such as windows, the hierarchical ordering of the towers from the lowest to the highest, and the individual symmetrical façades. Due to their lack of randomness, when looking for an ulterior motivation these choices are at risk of being cynically dismissed as practical and economic, which are the exact things that the Sketch design rebelled against. This suggests that, while the Sketch had aimed at subvert ing the normal architectural process, during its realization the original motivation of the

design succumbed to practi cality.

The Bakermat appears to be split by this inner turmoil, with on the one hand its colourful appearance, which ties in with the subversive intent of the Sketch, and on the other its actual function, which appears to be dominated by the same practical rationality that it originally seemed to oppose. This internal dichotomy can be seen as a contrast, meant to add to the contrasting appear ance of the building. Instead of placing its fiction at the basis of the internal design process, it appears to merely remain as a message. As a result, the Bakermat seems to only allude to the errancy it claims to express. Instead of embod ying its message in its overall design, it has become an alle gorical veneer on its façade.

In Eisenman’s theory, architectural fictions seem to be disparaged, because they are ‘fictions’. However, fiction can be an art and fiction can have value, but it is important that creators of fiction are aware that what they are cre ating is fictional. Using such notions as ‘fiction’ and reading buildings like a text allows us

to project these same poetics onto buildings that Eisenman finds in literature. In reading the Bakermat, one such poetic metaphor becomes apparent: the irony of contradicting one’s own message.

References

Captions

Figure 1

The Sketch by Maarten Baas and Van Aken Architecten

Image by: Maarten Baas and Van Aken Architecten

Figure 2

The Bakermat by Maarten Baas and Van Aken Architecten

Photography: SDK Vastgoed

1. Maarten Baas, ‘Biography’, http://maartenbaas.com/bio/, accessed 9 October 2022.

2. Maarten Baas, ‘The Sketch, Bakermat Architecture’, http:// maartenbaas.com/bakermatarchitecture/, accessed 9 October 2022.

3. Peter Eisenman, ‘The End of the Classical: The End of the Beginning, The End of the End’, Perspecta 21 (1984), 154173: 156.

4. Ibid., 165.

5. Ibid. 6. Ibid., 168..

7. Ibid.

BIOGRAPHIES

Boris Koselka (1995) studied Architecture at Eindhoven University of Technology. During his studies, he was part of the 10th board of AnArchi as the Managing Editor of Archiprint.

Andreea Sandra Sofineti is a Master student of Architecture at the Eindhoven University of Technology. She has previously completed an Honours Bachelor of Arts degree with a double major in History and Theory of Architecture, and Design at the University of Toronto. In addition to her work as a writer and editor for the faculty’s architecture journal Archiprint, Andreea currently also holds a position as a curatorial assistant at the department’s exhibition program CASA Vertigo.

Akke Wagenaar (2000) is a second year master student, with an interest in both the large urban and the smaller architectural scale. It should therefore come to no surprise that she is following the combined mastertrack Architectural and Urban Design.

BREEAM Outstanding

Vanderlande Gebouw 60, Veghel

Striking white aluminum slats add character to the facade of Gebouw 60. The office is part of the Campus of Vanderlande, a company specialized in transportation systems for airport logistics. The distinctive facade makes an important contribution to the building’s BREEAM Outstanding rating. For the facade, which consists of almost 100 percent glass, the connection of the slats and canopies to the construction of the ConceptWall 50 curtain wall system was already considered in the design phase by the architectural agency LA|Architecten, manufacturer Thermo Konstrukties and system supplier Reynaers Aluminium. In this way, the thermal shell remained intact. #togetherforbetter

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Archiprint - Splendid Isolation November 2022 // Issue 18 Eindhoven ISSN 2213-5588

Journal for architecture, created by students and graduates of the Department of the Built Environment, Eindhoven University of Technology and study association AnArchi.

Editor-in-chief Andreea Sofineti

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Jacqueline Crans, Joyce Hess, Ilse Houbiers, Boris Koselka, Thijs Roozenboom, Andreea Sofineti, Akke Wagenaar, Jurian Weitz

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