The Drama of Space by Birkhäuser

A NEW APPROACH TO THE DESIGN OF ARCHITECTURAL SPACES The experience of architectural spaces is formed by the way they are structured, arranged and orchestrated. “The Drama of Space” examines the composition and articulation of architectural spaces and presents a repertoire of means and strategies for shaping spatial experience. This fundamental approach to architectural design is presented in four parts: — Principles of spatial dramaturgy are traced from the study of three assembly buildings of the early modern age in Venice. — Theatre, film, music and theory provide insight into dramaturgical theory and practice. — Extensive visits to 18 international case studies offer new perspectives on contemporary architecture. — The book ends with a systematic presentation of the dramaturgy of space and its means and parameters in architectural design.

BV_Raum_Cover 13 Final 03.indd 2

HOLGER KLEINE

SHORT REPRISE MIESIAN APPROACH TO FLOWING SPACE MOVEMENT SPACE AND MOVING SPACE TRIADIC SEQUENCE TURNING POINT MOMENTUM OF ELUSIVENESS STATION DRAMA RETARDING MOMENTUM SUSPENDED TIME SPHERICAL VIEWS WORLD AS REFERENCE ALIENATION EFFECT

THE DRAMA OF SPACE

DRAMATIC SITUATION CIRCULAR TYPE OF DRAMA PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ARC OF A CIRCLE

THE DRAMA OF SPACE Spatial Sequences and Compositions in Architecture HOLGER KLEINE

www.birkhauser.com

08.09.17 10:08

Contents

Preface �� 6 Editorial Note �� 8

Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture �� 1 02

�� 9

Introduction �� 102

Why spatial dramaturgy? �� 9

Developing variation �� 106 Berliner Philharmonie

Introduction

Methodology �� 10 Intention

�� 1 1

Basic principles of the dramaturgy of space: three Scuole Grandi in Venice �� 1 4 Introduction �� 14 What is a Scuola Grande? �� 15 The dramaturgy of sequences of surfaces

Tones and overtones �� 1 16 Yale School of Architecture, New Haven, Connecticut Four protagonists �� 122 Neue Nationalgalerie Berlin

PART 1

�� 1 8

The dramaturgy of the formation of rooms �� 37 The dramaturgy of sequences of rooms �� 49 5 The dramaturgy of spatial configurations �� 6

PART 2

Dramaturgical models �� 70 Introduction �� 70 Scenes �� 7 0 The drama of sound �� 72 Theatrical and cinematic devices �� 7 5 The dramatic situation �� 79 Tracing spatial dramaturgy in architectural discourse �� 83

PART 3

Welcome – Overview – Appropriation �� 1 30 Exeter Library, New Hampshire Index and excess �� 136 Fehrbelliner Platz underground rail pavilion, Berlin Revue in fragmented space �� 1 40 Abteiberg Museum, Mönchengladbach Transcending the station drama �� 148 Thermal baths in Vals Linear narrative �� 1 52 La Congiunta, Giornico Competition – Dominance – Compensation – Cohabitation �� 1 56 The New Art Gallery, Walsall World theatre �� 162 The McCormick Tribune Campus Center, IIT, Chicago, Illinois Cinematic space �� 170 RPAC Recreation & Physical Activity Center, Columbus, Ohio Acceleration and reprise �� 174 Mercedes Benz Museum, Stuttgart

Stimulating and retarding moments �� 1 80 Langen Foundation, Hombroich Still images in a field �� 186 Les Bains des Docks, Le Havre Rhythms and cycles �� 1 92 Car Park, 1111 Lincoln Road, Miami, Florida Turning point and moment of recognition �� 198 Louvre-Lens Creative aura and synaesthesia �� 204 Reid Building at the Glasgow School of Art Round dance �� 2 08 Children’s Nursery, Weiach Types of drama

�� 212

PART 4

Designing the drama of space �� 216 Introduction �� 216 Space 4.1 Archetypes �� 216 4.2 Configurations �� 2 18 4.3 Body-space relationships �� 224 4.4 Arithmetic relationships �� 227 4.5 Proportions �� 230 4.6 Rhythms �� 232 4.7 Correspondences �� 233 4.8 Dramaturgical relationships �� 234

Time 4.9 Beginnings �� 237 4.10 Paths

�� 239

4.11 Endings

�� 243

4.12 Scenes �� 245 4.13 Sequences �� 247 4.14 Dramatic arcs �� 2 49 Body 4.15 Synaesthetics �� 250 4.16 Surfaces

�� 2 51

4.17 Light �� 253 4.18 Views �� 255 4.19 Movements �� 2 59 4.20 Intensities �� 262 Figures of time

�� 266

The dramatic situation in spatial dramaturgy Notes

�� 270

�� 276

((Chronik der drei Scuole Grandi)) Referenced Literature Illustration credits

�� 282

�� 284

��287

((Über den Autor)) ��287 �� 288 Index of referenced buildings �� 292 Index of names �� 293 Colophon �� 295 Subject Index

Preface

This book is for people who have at some time felt gripped by passion. That means everyone. While most readers are likely to be architects and interior architects, the book is intended for anyone with a passion for interesting spaces, whether experts or enthusiasts, as well as those who employ dramaturgy in their respective disciplines. The book aims to help us understand the effects that spaces have on us. The ideas and theories formulated and presented here do not, for the most part, make any assumptions about the background knowledge of the reader, and should therefore be accessible to as many people as possible. That the author makes reference not just to his own chosen profession of architecture but also draws on ideas,concepts and principles from music and theatre is due, aside from the central role that dramaturgy plays in these fields, to his own personal interests. Readers, however, whose personal preference or area of expertise is ballet or sport, or for that matter the organisation of party conferences or even children’s birthday parties – those hardest-to-predict events – will find it easy to draw parallels to their own areas of experience and reflect on it all the more incisively. The author of this book is a practising and teaching architect. As such, he longed for many years for a book that deals with the passions and questions discussed here in a systematic way. In its absence, he finally decided to write one himself. Fritz Schumacher’s assertion that “the task of an architect lies not merely in illuminating the respective individual space; the real nature of the problem lies in contrasting and revealing light in a succession of spaces”,i which the author read in 2001 or 2002, gave him the necessary assurance that his questions were more than just a personal preoccupation and also that they are not easily answered. The book first began to take shape in February 2010 when a grant from the Federal Government Commissioner for Culture and Media (BKM) enabled the author to spend two

6 The Drama of Space

months researching at the Centro Tedesco di Studi Veneziani in Venice, for which I am eternally grateful to the Centro Tedesco, the BKM and the selection committee. The methods and typologies developed from the study of three Venetian interiors and their progressions of spaces then needed to be verified by studying examples of today’s architecture and expanded to incorporate the vocabulary and strategies of the aforementioned arts. That the author chose to consider only publicly accessible interior spaces can be seen, in addition to the reasons given in Part Three, as a political statement. Public space is typically only associated with outdoor urban spaces, however, in a democratic society, public interiors are just as much an active part of the public realm and should be used, frequented, reflected on and controversially interpreted. They must touch those who use and visit them. Nietzsche’s call for an “architecture for those who wish to pursue knowledge” in which the godless are able to think their thoughts and go for an inner stroll, resurfaces time and again in ongoing discourse,reminding us anew of our obligation to appropriate public space.ii Finally, in Part Four, the findings from the preceding studies were elaborated into a systematic breakdown of design-oriented options. The resulting four parts of this book – and especially the case studies in Part Three – can be read independently of one another but do, of course, refer to explanations and examples in the other parts. This book would not have come to pass without the support and input of many people. I have been fortunate to have an ever-evolving discursive arena first through my teachers and co-students and later colleagues and own students at the TU Berlin, the RheinMain University of Applied Sciences in Wiesbaden and the Cooper Union in New York, as well as in the offices of Peter Eisenman, Georg Bumiller and Sauerbruch Hutton, and later the staff of my own office and my long-standing office partner Jens Metz.

Of the many people with whom I periodically have the opportunity to discuss our experiences in and of space, I would like to personally thank my friends Timmy Aziz, Dariusz Bober, Domitilla Enders, Kilian Enders, Stefan Fuhlrott, Simone Giostra, Jörg Gleiter, Carsten Krohn, Constantin von der Mülbe, Ulrike Passe, Georg Windeck and Tamar Zinguer. For their critical reading and valuable input on selected parts of the book, I am especially grateful to the architect Zsolt Gunther, the architecture critic Claus Käpplinger, the comparatist Julia Weber, the music educator and composer Bernhard Große-Schware and the musicologist Camilla Bork. Thanks, too, go to the photographers Iwan Baan, Hélène B inet, Emanuelle Blanc, Didier Descouens, the Camerafoto Arte Venezia, Kay Fingerle, Zsolt Gunther, Carsten Krohn, Philippe Ruault, Sabrina Scheja, David von Becker and Xiao Wu for their permission to use their excellent photographs. The same applies to the architects, clients and operators of the public interior spaces shown in this book, in particular of the Scuola di San Giovanni Evangelista, the Scuola dei Carmini and the Scuola di San Rocco in Venice. The architecture offices Herzog & de Meuron, Caruso St. John and L3P Architekten as well as the Berliner Verkehrsgesellschaft BVG are to thank for permitting me to view additional unpublished plans and materials. Boris Egli, Kurt W. Forster, Jeff Haase, Joachim Jäger, Christian Krausch, Uwe Riedel, Gail G. Scanlon and Xiao Wu have kindly given me access to not otherwise accessible spaces and explained their background. The drawings have arisen over a period of seven years, mostly in close collaboration with my students at RheinMain University of Applied Sciences. The majority of the drawings in Part One were drawn by Leona Jung, in Part Three by Pia Friedrich and in Parts Two and Four by Anja Trautmann. These three people are, so to speak, the indispensable caryatids on whose shoulders this book rests. Regardless of whether drawn as

part of a seminar, as a commissioned work or in a process leading from the former to the latter, all the drawings bear witness to the attention to detail, idealism and openness to dialogue of the people who drew them, in particular Kristin Bouillon, Nicole Duddek, Elena Fuchs, Hannelore Horvath, Yubeen Kim, Caroline Mekas, Julia Pietsch, Erik Schimkat, Maxine Shirmohammadi, Ömer Solaklar, Lars Werneke and Max Wieder as well as Xiao Wu, Master Candidate at Yale University in 2017 – thank you to you all. Miriam Bussmann’s design ideas and execution are to thank for the fact that the four rather divergent parts of the book with their three forms of communication – text, drawings and photographs – have been so skilfully woven together into a consistent and stimulating flow. While I am not a native speaker, I believe that Julian Reisenberger’s translation – admirably – reads as if it were an original English text. I am especially indebted to my editor Andreas Müller who, with an out-of-season sense of idealism, gently encouraged and capably steered the project forward. Without him, I would have considered the manuscript finished after writing the first part. After his suggestion that I write a third part, I was able to get my own back by sending him a second and a fourth part for editing – which, it seems, gave him great pleasure. And, last but by no means least, I would like to thank my wife Béatrice Durand, who believed in the idea, indeed in the “necessity” (her words) of the book even when there was not the slightest evidence of its existence. Without her intellect and understanding it would never have seen the light of day. The commissioning of the drawings would not have been possible without the prize money awarded to me by the RheinMain University of Applied Sciences for “Excellence in Teaching” in 2013. And without the generous contribution towards the printing costs by the company dormakaba, the book may

Preface 7

never have made it into the tangible world. To both I am most grateful. EDITORIAL NOTE In order to ease readability in Part One of the book, the three Scuole Grandi have usually been abbreviated as follows:

SGE = Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista SdC = Scuola Grande dei Carmini SR = Scuola Grande di San Rocco In Part One, the various aspects of the dramaturgy of space are compared in the three Scuole in this order. The various rooms of the Scuole are referred to either in English or according to their Italian name depending on context: prayer room/oratorio, lower hall/sala terrena, upper hall/sala superiore and staircase/scalone. Other rooms, to avoid misunderstandings, are only given in Italian as the scuola is not the same as a school, just as the albergo is not a hostel or the sometimes adjacent archivio is not only an archive. For the upper hall, the literature sometimes uses the functional description sala capitolare or sala del capitolo, while the lower hall of the SGE, with its row of medieval columns, is often also known as the sala delle colonne. The system of denoting room proportions follows the pattern “length : breadth : height”. For easier comprehension, the proportions are always given as a multiple of the shortest dimension, which is defined as 1. When only two dimensions are given, the first is length and the second either breadth or height. The constellations of the six surfaces of a spatial cube are described – from the chapter “Spatial configurations” in Part

8 The Drama of Space

One onwards – with a number pattern added to the characterising term. For example, a space defined by the floor and four walls in which the ceiling registers as a separate plane, we call a “Basin (5+1)”. A systematic breakdown of all possible combinations of a six-sided volume can be found on p 217 in Part Four. For better legibility, and to focus on the relevant information, the axonometries of Part One show a room’s surfaces in the Scuole predominantly as smooth surfaces, i.e. without surface modulation. In all drawings, rooms that are not accessible to visitors or are solely serving in purpose are typically shown as block surfaces, i.e. as incorporated into the mass of the wall (as in the idea of poché in the Beaux-Arts tradition). In order to show all the surfaces of an interior in a single axonometric drawing, we have in Part Three frequently combined the top view of the floor and walls with the underside view of the ceiling. In such folded axonometric drawings, the eye of the beholder is placed, so to speak, comic-like within the wide-open jaws of the crocodile, or in this case the interior of the space. In Part Four, the case studies from Part Three are referred to by a short name formed by the place name or function. The names make immediate sense to the reader. To avoid the reader having to trawl for them in the text, the project names are highlighted.

Introduction “It’s always about composition, proportion, about consistency and its counterpoint, i.e. the beauty of the moment of surprise. It’s about contrast and unity.” 1 Alfred Brendel, Pianist

WHY SPATIAL DRAMATURGY? Up until the late 19th

century, reflections about architecture were primarily concerned with architectural objects and their ordering para meters. It was not until the emergence of a new paradigm, initiated by August Schmarsow, in which space rather than form constituted “the essence of architectural creation”,2 that space, and with it the dialectics of body and space, became of increasing concern; later still, in the early 20th century,3 the co-relation of the categories of time and space in physics and mathematics finally led to a growing realisation that architecture, too, is experienced in time in diverse ways and likewise shapes our experience of time. Today, we take it for granted that architecture can only truly be grasped through the temporal experience of moving through it in time. The aesthetic implications of this common insight, however, have yet to be explored, and its practical implications, under the predominant conditions of architectural representation in images or clips, are less clear than ever. Time in this context does not mean time in history, but time as experienced. That time is essential to comprehending space emerges from the simple fact that the directionality of human vision means we cannot see an entire room at once while we are in it. We scan its surfaces with our eyes, turn our head and begin moving, registering a series of individual retinal images which we then assemble into a mental image of the room. It is impossible to describe the effect of a space without first taking in its qualities with all our senses and then seeing how we react to them physically. To understand the effect of a succession of spaces, we must first pass through the actual sequence of spaces and then, from outside, reconstruct them in our mind’s eye. It is this “eccentric positionality”4 – our capacity to observe what we are doing while we are doing it, and thereafter to recapitulate and reflect on it – that, according to Helmut Plessner’s fundamental and widely recognised work, sets us

apart as human beings. This alone is reason enough to step up to the challenge of understanding the dramatic qualities of space – the dramaturgy of space – because, at its core, it pertains to a cultural capacity of mankind. Giving due consideration to the dramaturgy of space is part of the aesthetic implications of the temporality of architecture. The dramaturgy of a work of architecture revolves around five key questions: How does it arouse our curiosity? How does it keep our attention? How does it reach a satisfying conclusion?How does it maintain a sense of inner coherence? How does it kindle a desire to repeat the experience? Numerous parameters play a role in the design and appreciation of the dramaturgy of space. We define spatial dramaturgy as the creative design and systematic understanding of the effects of space in its temporality. By temporality we mean, on the one hand, the succession of events that constitute an experience. Our consciousness encompasses not just the immediate present but also what the philosopher Klaus Stichweh calls, adapting the terms coined by Husserl, “a court of retention and protention”. Retention is “what remains in our consciousness of a perceptual act” while protention is “the anticipation of what is about to come”.5 This court of retention and protention is the connective tissue that gives meaning to what we perceive, also and especially in a creative context. On the other hand, the notion of temporality refers to a more than just linear reconstruction of experiences in our reflection. All phenomena that stimulate us to engage with (or disengage with) a space, as well as all the parameters that help us understand these phenomena and our reaction to them, pertain to the realm of spatial dramaturgy.

Introduction 9

METHODOLOGY We approach the drama of space from two directions. Our first line of inquiry is an analysis of the actual experience of two series of built works of architecture. Without evidence from actual buildings, any elaborations on the design of space would be baseless. In Part One of this book, we examine the progression of spaces in three Scuole Grandi in Venice, and extend this in Part Three to 18 works of contemporary architecture. These buildings are not considered as examples from art history, from which we would trace historical lines of development or illustrate epochal characteristics. Instead, they represent a range of relevant and accessible examples of the dramatic composition of space. The principles we derive from these case studies are consequently arranged and elaborated not chronologically but by typology and area of application in Part Four. (We shall leave it to others to examine how specific these findings may be to a particular moment in time).

The second line of inquiry is an investigation of the discourse on dramaturgy in the disciplines of music, theatre and film with a view to identifying aspects of relevance to architecture and to designers for their own profession and practice. Together with an investigative study of dramaturgical models in the historical architectural discourse, this forms Part Two of this book. Our intention here is not to sing the praises of interdisciplinarity or to infuse architectural discourse with borrowed vocabulary and skewed comparisons, but, on the contrary, through comparison with other disciplines to reveal the particular characteristics of architecture and its dramaturgical capacity. We have limited our focus to the spatial dramaturgy of interiors, but the principles we identify are meant to apply similarly to the design of cities and landscapes; after all, the differences between today’s various spatial design disciplines are ultimately more professional than conceptual. By limiting our

10 The Drama of Space

focus to interiors, we do, however, forego a key dramatic moment, namely the relationship between inside and outside. To adequately consider the building’s exterior, we would have to look at not only each building’s volume and form and entrance situation, but also how we experience its reciprocal relationship to its context: the first fragmentary glimpses we get of it, the building up close, the passage around the building, its appearance at different times of day and in different weather conditions, and so on. That would likely have doubled the size of the book, in the process obscuring the clarity of our intentions in an effort to accommodate this single aspect. We have nevertheless attempted to mitigate this lack through a short glimpse of the relevant context at the beginning of each case study. The case studies in Part One, and particularly in Part Three, are written in the form of unfolding accounts of a visit that follow the perspective of the visitor as they progress onwards through the spaces of a building. We avoid slipping into the analytical “The building is divided into four sections…”, preferring instead the explorative “On entering, we find ourselves directly opposite a front wall that…”. Just as symphonies are not composed for score readers, buildings are not built for floor plan readers. The analytical case studies can be more aptly described as accounts of “exposing oneself to the building”, a method that is discussed in more detail in the introduction to Part Three. Terms such as experienced time, experience, body, protention or phenomenon suggest that this book can be situated in the context of phenomenology. While the reader would be right in this assumption, it is not the author’s intention to critically reflect on the theoretical basis and distinctions of the philosophical movement. Plenty of other scholars have done this with great expertise, and certainly far better than a practicing architect could hope to achieve. Unlike many phenomenolo-

gists, the author’s observations focus not just on built space in general but also on built works and their artistic intentions. The special attraction of phenomenology for the author is its attempt to uncover the directness of experience, without sacrificing its communicability. With each case study, he attempts to attain this goal anew by exposing himself, as naively as possible, to the building – and it is predominantly through this exposure to architecture that he develops and tests his terms and hypotheses, rather than through the study of texts. Where definitions and constructs have derived from other texts, for example in the case of the dramatic situation, their background is discussed accordingly. Should the reader occasionally come across unfamiliar terms lacking definitions, Janson and Tigges’6 lexical volume provides an authoritative, clear and consistent overview of the current state of phenomenological considerations in the context of architecture.

tematic classification of dramatic typologies, explains the dramaturgical options in 20 parameters, characterises the temporal forms which the dramaturgies assume and finally exposes the underlying dramatic situation that is at the basis of every spatial dramaturgy and must be both upheld and transcended through it.

INTENTION We are exposed to dramaturgical manipula-

tions of space all the time and wherever we go, not just in retail stores. In addition, we also contribute to triggering them with every step we take. As such, better knowledge of how the dramaturgy of space works is of very practical use. The ability to analyse its occurrences and mechanisms allows us to under stand them better as recipients, and as producers to employ them more effectively to achieve a respective goal. Understanding them helps us to navigate their manipulations more competently, to immerse ourselves in them more fully, or to recall them more powerfully in our mind’s eye. While there are forms of information that lessen our capacity for experience, there are also forms of understanding that heighten it. A good work of art will always raise questions and be engaging, though never offering unequivocal answers. As part of our attempt to identify and define the principles that contribute to our enjoyment and understanding, the general dramaturgy of space presented in Part Four outlines a sys-

Introduction 11

Basic principles of the dramaturgy of space THREE SCUOLE GRANDI IN VENICE

“Passion can create drama out of inert stone.” 7 Le Corbusier

Introduction For identifying fundamental principles that inform the dramaturgy of space, it would seem sensible to compare different linear sequences of spaces comprised of a small number of relatively simple elements that exhibit different qualities but have arisen out of the same basic conditions. Their decorative treatment should be intact and perceptible in their entirety, neither posthumously modified to create a “museum” nor only partially extent. All these characteristics come together in three Scuole Grandi in Venice. Apart from the staircases, the interiors are all six-sided, orthogonal rooms (floor, four walls and ceiling), and while the functions and sequences of the spaces are largely identical, their dramaturgies are very different. Although some of the rooms are overwhelming in their rich colour and sumptuous decoration, their structure is clearly visible. In the following exploratory process of uncovering the principles behind the dramaturgy of space, we have approached each building in four steps, introducing an additional key aspect in each of the four chapters: Sequences of surfaces: In the first chapter, we examine the dramatic effect of successive surfaces (floors, walls, ceilings) in a sequence of rooms. The relationships established by these sequential compositions of surfaces we call architectural operations. The mirroring of surfaces or the combination of motifs are examples of such operations. The architectural operations set up a dramaturgical progression across several rooms, or serve as part of such a progression, but do not themselves constitute a narrative: a single operation does not yet reveal whether a certain relationship will be symptomatic or dominant, incidental or subtly perceptible, distracting or

14 Basic principles of the dramaturgy of space

The septo marmoreo of the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista (SGE)

even counterproductive for the unfolding succession of spaces or for the building as a whole. Formation of rooms: The dramaturgy of the formation of rooms discussed in the second chapter concerns the interplay of floors, walls and ceilings within a single room. Beyond comprising architectural operations, this type of dramaturgy also gives rise to certain spatial figures that we call archetypes. For example, the bounding surfaces of a six-sided space can be articulated as a cave, portal, basin or hood (see diagram on p 217). Sequences of rooms: In the third chapter, we examine the dramaturgy of sequences of rooms. The architectural operations and archetypes observed so far have laid the ground for a dramaturgical narrative, or form part of such narratives. The concurrent considering of formations of rooms and sequences of their surfaces broadens the view towards sequences of rooms and allows to perceive the forms, effects and dramaturgical development of, for example, figures of movement, directed lighting or changes of colour. Examples of the

The facade of the Scuola Grande dei Carmini (SdC) to Campo Santa Margherita

The entrance facade of the Scuola Grande di San Rocco (SR)

resulting effects might be an “increasing refinement” or a “transition from frontal approach to spherical view” over a sequence of rooms. Spatial configurations: The dramaturgy of the spatial configuration discussed in the fourth chapter refers to the concerted application of the individual dramaturgical means in an overall dramaturgical idea. Examples for dramaturgical ideas could be an overall fragmentation or a distinct presence of complementary spatial elements. WHAT IS A SCUOLA GRANDE? Before we engage with the “pure visibility”8 of the three Scuole Grandi, here is some factual background on the buildings, their history and current condition.

Scuole Grandi are religious lay confraternities that arose in the 13th century through the settlement of itinerant Orders of Flagellants (flagellanti) in Venice. Originally founded on the principles of penance and asceticism, the confraternities grew over time into one of the most important socio-political and

charitable networks for the non-patrician citizens of the aristocratic republic, many of whom had become consider ably wealthy.9 A thorn in the side of the nobility for centuries, the majority (with the exception of the Scuola di San Rocco) were dissolved as Catholic confraternities during the Napoleonic occupation in the early 19th century. At that time there were six Scuole Grandi in Venice, some of which were re- established in the 19th and 20th century. Since the state assumed the role of providing welfare, today the Scuole predominantly devote their activities to the management of their architectural and artistic legacy. Historically, their buildings can be classed as early civic assembly and meeting halls. Typologically they are related to the Scuole Piccole (the halls of trade guilds, associations of fellow countrymen, smaller lay brotherhoods and also synagogues were all called Scuole in Venice) of which there were around 300 in Venice.10 Many are still in use today as halls for events, exhibitions, libraries or ateliers.11 At the same time, they drew their inspiration from the architecture of the seat of the nobility, the Doge’s Palace with its magnificent halls –

Introduction 15

Floor of the lower hall of the SGE

Floor of the campiello of the SGE

The dramaturgy of sequences of surfaces Which architectural operations and dramaturgical narratives can be identified in the sequences of surfaces, for example of successive floor, wall or ceiling surfaces?

Floor of the upper hall of the SGE

FLOORS (SGE): COMBINATION The patterns of the floors

in the Scuola Grande di San Giovanni Evangelista (SGE) seem unrelated to one another. While the forecourt between the church and the Scuola has been additionally refined through decorative strips inserted in the grey trachyte marble, more typical of a larger Campo than such a small Campiello, the floors of the lower hall and the stair landings have a simple chequerboard pattern without any additional embellishment. In the upper hall, however, the decorative strips reappear in combination with the chequerboard pattern, and frame the floor into three successive panels. The colours of the floors increase in intensity from room to room: the low-contrast duochromic pattern of the forecourt is followed by a brighter duochromic combination in the lower hall and staircase, and culminates in a pentachromic pattern on the floor of the upper hall. There, a black tile is added to the red and white tiles of the lower floor to create a vibrant triad, framed by the softer ochre and light grey surround of the decorative bands. This concert of colours is flanked by sections of floor in muted colours: a marble “altar carpet” of tightly inter-

18 Basic principles of the dramaturgy of space

woven creepers and lilies and a beige-coloured terrazzo in the prayer room, with decorative bands that echo those in the forecourt. In addition to increasing the intensity of the colours, the combination of the band and chequerboard motifs is used to heighten the spatial potential. The switch from an orthogonal arrangement in the forecourt to a diagonal arrangement in the lower hall is achieved by simply rotating the pattern, a device that serves, on the one hand, to mask irregularities in the tile formats, joint widths and junctions with the walls and, on the other, softens the orthogonality of the space, avoiding a rigid directional orientation. Laying this diagonal bond in a dichromatic pattern also causes the pattern to quickly dissolve into a pointillist shimmer, so that it is only noticed in passing. The floor in the upper hall, by contrast, demands our attention as the decorative strips divide the floor into three main panels whose patterns radiate from stars.

Floor of the altar zone of the SGE

Floor of the prayer room of the SGE

Floor of the atrio of the SGE

The floor designs of the two other Scuole are shown in the illustrations of the following chapters.

This rhythmic treatment gives the hall a sense of breadth and makes it possible to vary the chequerboard pattern in two different ways. Within each panel, curved radials intersect in opposite directions to form a pattern of distorted rhombi, creating the impression that the floor rises in the centre, especially in the central, circular panel. In the sections between them, the rhombi are combined in three colours to create repeating rhombohedra, a pattern popular since Antiquity that here has the qualities of a work of Op-Art: to the eye it appears as a dizzying plane of staggered cubes in axonometric projection that seem to extend endlessly into the distance – although which of the three surfaces is horizontal and which vertical depends on what the eye focuses on – but also as a series of interwoven bands extending in three different directions. The appearance of the surfaces varies depending on the angle of view, mental association, focus and illumination, sometimes being predominantly of one colour, then another, sometimes compressed, sometimes elongated and sometimes in balance.

Between these intermediary panels that extend into the distance and the rising visual swirls of the main panels, the decorative ochre bands that fold back and forth act as a datum line. Compared with the illusory depths of the floor, the tendrils of the suppedaneum (the “altar carpet”) look like a thin layer of compressed space, and the band inlays in the terrazzo flooring of the prayer room only acquire depth at their intersections. With the increasing finery of the materials in the opus sectile (the upper hall floor made of differently cut pieces of inlaid stone), the metaphorical material quality of the marble is exploited to ever greater effect. The textile quality of the marble bands weaves its way through a sea of mineral or crystalline cascades, i.e. through material formations that are the very opposite of the textile quality. The culmination is defined not only by the material exquisiteness but even more so by the metaphorical potential of the materials.

The dramaturgy of sequences of surfaces – Floors 19

Floor motifs in the SGE

Floor of the Campiello of the SGE

Rhombohedra on the floor of the upper hall of the SGE

Floor motifs in the SdC

Floor motifs in the SR

The close is formed by large-format stone tiles in the atrio, in which the chequerboard pattern appears through the alternation of rough and smooth monochromatic surfaces. By combining opposites – band/chequerboard, raised/inlaid, hard/ soft, textile/crystalline – the upper hall makes the most of the affective, spatial and metaphorical potential of the previously unrelated materials. The dramaturgical principle of intensification through combination seems so simple and obvious that it appears almost self-evident. As we will see, that is by no means the case. FLOORS (SDC): SHIFTED ACCENTUATION The conventional red-white chequerboard pattern of the lower hall of the Scuola dei Carmini (SdC) does not draw attention to itself. The red-white-grey rhombohedral pattern of the mezzanino – shifting the chequerboard into the third dimension, as in the SGE – on the other hand, hints at greater complexity to come, a promise that the beige-grey-white shimmering surface of the terrazzo flooring of the upper hall then fails to fulfil.19 It

20 Basic principles of the dramaturgy of space

serves, however, merely to postpone the effect seen in the albergo and archivio where large, three-dimensional dichromatic stars and numerous interwoven ribbons of inlaid marble are used to stunning effect. Alongside the splendour and radiance of the floors, the raising of the floor level of these two side rooms two steps above the sala capitolare further denotes their exclusive status for the few. Starting from a conventional chequerboard pattern, both the colour and the motifs are successively refined, from the uniform pattern of the lower hall, to its shift into three dimensions and finally its multiplication into a series of interwoven structures. The most sophisticated floors are found in the stair hallway and the cabinet rooms, neither of them the most obviously important rooms, while the upper hall functions as a means of deferring the moment of intensity. In the SdC, the serving spaces are decorated while the served spaces are more subdued. The accentuation is shifted.

Axonometric of the floors of the SGE

Axonometric of the floors of the SdC

Axonometric of the floors of the SR

The dramaturgy of sequences of surfaces – Floors 21

Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture “Generations of singers have sung this song before you. Generations of musicologists have pored over it, interpreting the meaning of every note and every syllable […]” “Yes, those are all contributions to a discussion. But there is no ultimate truth. In the end, not even the composer knows precisely what he meant.”120 The singer Christian Gerhaher in conversation with Eleonore Büning

Introduction EXPERIENCING THE WORK In Part Three of this book,

we examine the direct experience of the spatial dramaturgies of 18 contemporary works of architecture. The act of exposing oneself to a work means imposing conditions for oneself in which the study of a work can go hand in hand with one’s experience of it. The resulting analytical descriptions are actually reports – accounts of an attentive experience of the building. As each case has its own characteristic flow, the reports do not explicitly follow the structure of sequences of surfaces, formation of rooms, sequences of rooms and spatial configurations which we used in Part One of this book to analyse the dramaturgical principles of space. Instead we experience each selected work of architecture unreservedly and see where it takes us. For this, some vague form of professed “inner impartiality” does not suffice. Instead, we should be as uninformed as possible when we visit the building. This self-imposed restriction conditions us and allows us:

102 Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture

–– To refrain from interpreting the work as a solution to the many urban, functional, technical, political or programmatic problems or tasks but instead consider it purely as the manifestation of a conceptual idea that reveals itself gradually through the senses and reflection. Even when an “informed” architect knows that the massive concrete beams in the roof space of the Exeter Library are light blades, and that much has been written about Kahn’s approach to deflecting light, their function is not immediately obvious from the floor of the hall, at least not to the full extent, so that they appear at first erratic and oversized – perhaps even intentionally so, because they provoke us into exploring the rest of the space over time. –– To see the work not as a representative of a normative aesthetic, but rather to uncover the inherent aesthetic principles of the work, instead of making it fit preconceived notions. How generally applicable (though never universally applicable) the principles may be, only becomes apparent through comparison in Part Four. –– To avoid seeing the work as a representative of an epoch or movement. Such attributions have the tendency to close one’s eyes to the building’s individual character. In the case of the Venetian Scuole Grandi, as well as in some of the contemporary examples, this would be confusing, because they are so pluralistic that precise attributions would always require additional explanations or need to be constantly relativized. As such, they are of little help. –– To avoid interpreting the work as the manifestation of intended effects. Declarations by the artist serve, at best, as a means of personal affirmation or self-questioning, but very often they are used merely as self-stylisation, as myth propagation, to focus the attention of juries and readers, to prejudice judgement and to acquire a chunk of the market. In our case, we are interested in the actual effects, not intentions of effects.

–– To attempt to see the work independently of advertorial and informative paratexts.121 This approach does not claim, nor even intend, to make the respective work appear in an entirely new light, but it does make it apparent whether a received opinion – whether just a vague prior awareness, a well-known interpretation or the architect’s own declared intention – measures up to the actual experience, or whether its effect has worn off over time and is merely restated hearsay. An example: after finishing the manuscript, I read Konrad Wohlhage and Jürgen Joedicke’s account of the experience of the interior of the Berliner Philharmonie, which they describe as being epitomised by the sense of intimacy experienced by each and every individual in an audience of 2,200 people. Joedicke additionally underlines this with a quote stating that the intimate experience was expressly intended by Scharoun as an essential prerequisite for the musical experience. For us, however, the proof lies not in the evidence of a second opinion but in one’s own “naïve” experience of the space. The credibility of such descriptions lies in the emotional response of the subject. Even if it may not be possible to expose oneself to a work of architecture in completely pure terms, that does not invalidate this approach. The reader will judge to what extent it is valid. TEXT, DRAWINGS, PHOTOGRAPHS Text and drawings complement one another: the text relates the perspective of the experience while the drawing communicates an objectified, synoptic ordering of the building. As such, the drawing “knows” more than the visitor and shows in simultaneous visual form what a visitor pieces together successively. In almost all cases, we have drawn unfolded 30 degree axonometric drawings so that all the bounding surfaces can be portrayed easily. As our accounts of the visits focus exclusively on the publicly-accessible, “served” spatial sequences, the “serving”

parts are generally shown opaque as physical mass (a poché) without inner structure. As a result, the drawings exhibit a high degree of similarity, although we have not explicitly enforced schematic rules for better consistency: the degree of detail, colour, rays of light, articulation of surface and line, positioning of the section lines, positive/negative reversal, angle of projection and much more have been chosen to best communicate the individual characteristics of each work and its respective key message. Like the text, the drawings are not intended as rational abstractions but as summarising concretions. The combination of text and drawing helps the reader follow the path of movement, direction of view or changing proportions. The photographs we use are “fished” from the passage through the spaces. Alongside the text and drawings, they represent the third pillar in communicating the experience of space. They do not correspond directly to the text, nor do they present a “truer” picture. Every medium has its own rules, capacities, manipulations and limitations.122 A camera sees, frames and captures space differently to the human eye. Photographs also want to be viewed autonomously, and are extraordinarily powerful at exerting their will.123 But while we have not chosen photographs explicitly for documentary or illustrative purposes – the image in the age of electronic pervasiveness has largely been liberated from solely serving such purposes – we have also refrained from using photographs that stand predominantly for themselves, that are too self-contained, regardless of how striking or brilliant they may be. Instead, our guiding principle has been to work with the correspondences between these three forms of expression, respecting their individual inherent qualities, fundamental differences and incompletenesses that leave room for imagination, as is the case with any dynamic correspondence.

Introduction 103

18 REPORTS All the selected case studies are public build-

ings for several reasons: firstly, they are generally open to the public with few restrictions; secondly, transitions between rooms and thirdly changing atmospheres typically play a prominent role; and fourthly, their public function implies that their design is grounded on more than idiosyncratic ideas and personal preference. These four factors do not coincide in such a way in public wide-span halls, sacred buildings or housing. Public buildings, in our context, mean buildings that offer a service for the education, welfare or mobility of a community or society in general, regardless of who they are run by. Our selection begins with buildings from the 1960s, as the upheavals of that decade still serve as a basis for contemporary architectural practice. It is too early to restrict ourselves exclusively to examples from the digital age, especially as this part of the book is concerned with the reception and not the production of space. We elected to exclude conversions and extensions to existing buildings – reluctantly: it would have been so appealing to study Castelvecchio or the Querini Stampaglia! – because otherwise the dominant aspect in most cases would have been the collaging of different time periods. The chronological order of the reports has no underlying reason other than that it proved to be the order in which each individual work retains best its respective autonomy. Despite the above criteria, the selection is subjective: it is neither a shortlist of canonical buildings – that would need to include 100 other equally fantastic buildings! – nor a hit list of the author’s favourite architects – plenty more are missing! It does not aim to bring hidden jewels to light – and why should it when, as Hegel says, what is familiar is often not understood precisely because it is familiar – and it is also not critically assessing – it is the author’s opinion that one can learn better from successful rather than unsuccessful examples. It is not doggedly encyclopaedic as there are (thankfully) more than

104 Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture

18 public building types, but also not politically correct, partly because researching other representative countries and continents would have exceeded the available resources, and partly because the idea of presenting global architecture in just 18 case studies is illusory. Finally, it does not aim to highlight the latest trends but simply aims to present a series of convincing examples that offer an opportunity to identify different conceptual approaches to the dramaturgy of space that are practised today. That despite all these provisos, there is a disproportionately large number of museums has two reasons: firstly, wandering and looking is an elementary part of the design of such buildings, and secondly, we wanted to explore, for at least one building type, a range of solutions in order to demonstrate – to ourselves as well as the reader – that there is no predetermined correspondence between a building function and its spatial dramaturgy. At the same time, for those building types addressed only in one report, the reader is given enough material to attempt their own interpretations of other similar building types: for example, after our detailed consideration of the Berliner Philharmonie, the reader will quickly be able to identify the characteristic dramaturgical concepts of other concert halls, such as the Lucerne Culture and Congress Centre (1998) by Jean Nouvel, the Parco della Musica in Rome (2002) by Renzo Piano, the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles by Frank Gehry (2003), the Casa da Música in Porto (2005) by Rem Koolhaas, Szczecin Philharmonic Hall (2014) by Barozzi Veiga, the Philharmonie de Paris (2015) by Jean Nouvel or the Elbphilharmonie in Hamburg (2017) by Herzog & de Meuron.

BERLINER PHILHARMONIE, BERLIN, GERMANY Hans Scharoun, 1956 – 1963

Developing variation

Built in a kind of no-man’s land near the Berlin Wall, this concert hall offered to a post-catastrophe urban society, for whom history had become a burden rather than inspiration, a place to come together anew.

Foyer

PLACES IN FLOWING SPACE: THE FOYER I On entering the foyer of the Berliner Philharmonie for the first time, it is so overwhelming that one Piranesi-perspective seems to follow the next, indiscriminately jostling for our attention. But this is not the case: the flow of space always brings us to identifiable locations, places that, in the following description, we have given the names concourse–street–plaza–gallery– wall–cave-passage–loggia–tent.124

106 Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture

Proceeding from the broad, low concourse of the ticket booth lobby, which is arranged at an angle to the main hall, streets head off, flanked by the desks of the cloakroom and a rhythm ic and playful pattern of columns. The low ceiling is perforated towards the hall, affording views across of the overlapping levels and skylights. After about 30 m, the street opens onto a broad plaza roofed over by the slanted, stepped and folded underside of the concert hall, which appears to be supported

Axonometric of the foyer showing circul ar route Gallery, centre left Loggia, centre right

Developing variationâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 107

“Stair cave” in the foyer

“Plaza” in the foyer

“Cluster of stairs” in the foyer

108 Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture

only by a slender, V-shaped pair of columns as the outside wall to the rear is painted black and perforated by luminous red glass blocks, recalling the rose windows of cathedrals. Offset from the position of the fold in the ceiling, the floor is raised by two sets of two steps, heralding the beginning of the ascent to the hall. From the expansive gallery level, one can look back down over the plaza – or step outside onto the terraces and into the garden, two spaces that have little direct relation to the interior as they are screened by the walls of coloured glass. The hinge between the street, plaza and gallery is a spiral stair, the only one of its kind in the entire building. Its counterpart at the other end of the plaza is not a monumental staircase but a swarm of three slender flights of stairs that continue to the left as a wall of stairs and to the right as a stair cave. The first flights of the stair wall, which thrust energetically into the far corner of the space, are open to the plaza, while the reverse flights are hidden behind a wall slab. The flights in the stair cave, by contrast, wind upwards in angular loops. After the dramatic ascent via one of these many mountain paths, the scenery becomes calmer, leading along a passage with only one stair, one gallery and one bridge, and a few folds in the ceiling and bends in the wall. The passage leads to a space that is the atmospheric counterpart to the large gallery, the only room in the foyer that looks outwards: an elongated glazed loggia with an almost private atmosphere. Continuing onwards, the ring closes in an area that we saw earlier from beneath as the low ceiling of the streets. The poly gons that we saw partially through the openings in the ceiling fold to form an elongated tent roof, glazed on one side. Inside this tent, in a kind of reprise, a second back-and-forth of stairways criss-crosses to and from the hall doors, again one route leading along the wall, the other spiralling down as a deep stair cave. They lead into the hall, onto the gallery or via the spiral staircase back to the foyer plaza. None of these areas are clearly delineated but flow into one another in a spatial continuum. The conscious blurring of the boundaries between them makes it hard to gauge the size and extents of the foyer. And because it is accessed at right angles to the axis of the concert hall, it does not lead via the quickest route to one’s seat but invites visitors to saunter slowly about the foyer. The numerous different possible paths, of differing acceleration and deceleration, and differing excitement and sedateness give visitors ample time to make the transition from the urban realm into the celebratory space of the concert hall. BRIDGING THE VOID: THE FOYER II The relatively limited, almost minimalistic palette of materials, colours and forms helps unify the general impression. Bright and luminous colours are used only selectively: for example, for a few coloured glass-brick surfaces echoing the rose window, and in the strips of inlaid ceramic mosaic125 in the slate flooring. The

Axonometric of the foyer and auditorium

Developing variationâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 109

ABTEIBERG MUSEUM, MÖNCHENGLADBACH, GERMANY Hans Hollein, 1972 – 1982

Revue in fragmented space

The Abteiberg Museum lies next to the Romanesque minster and a Baroque priory on a prominent hillside site whose topographical qualities gave rise to the founding of the abbey, and with it of the city more than 1,000 years ago.

Entrance level

Just a few steps into one’s descent, still in the belvedere, one finds oneself turning through 180° – and not for the last time in this tour of hills and caves. Throughout this expansive museum, one encounters such “pivot points” where the direction changes sharply and the otherwise elastic, loosely sweeping space is pulled together, as if with drawstrings, to a point usually marked by a circle or cylinder. Here, at the entrance, a narrow stair gulley opens onto a circular platform already within the museum so that one arrives with one’s back to the main direction of the museum and the ticket desk immediately ahead, or just behind. Looking around, the platform offers us half a dozen views of interior spaces, their different lighting atmospheres wafting over to us alluringly: subdued diffuse light from the shed roofs of the temporary exhibition rooms, cold light from the neon ceiling lights, golden sunlight streaming in through the glazed wall of the entrance hall, warm light from the artificial lighting of the corridor and ticket desk, next to it bright, glistening light from a glazed “canyon”, and cinema-esque darkness in the cave-like audiovisual room.

140 Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture

FRAGMENTED SPACE The bewildering choice of different spaces and options makes it immediately clear that this museum is comprised of different fragmentary pieces through which one picks one’s way, and not of neutral spaces with a defined path or circuit through them. Instead, it invites visitors to use their own initiative, proclaiming freedom of choice, and employing the devices of discovery, surprise, confusion and ultimately exhaustion. They can relax outside in the garden, or in one of the four fitted sofas, which here too catapult visitors into different worlds: the domestic floral sofa in front of the lecture hall gently mocks the enlightenment-seeking middle classes; the leather sofa nestled into an angular marble block is chic coolness; the wine-red curved bench cites Viennese coffee house banter; and the soft couch with a view of the minster co-opts relaxing couples into being part of a scene from a travel brochure. In amongst this quartet of sofas, one can sense the presence of Freud, Loos and the sofa-cen tric German comedian Loriot, but Panton and Wright and Scharoun are likewise sewn into their seams.

Axonometric

Revue in fragmented spaceâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 141

Hollowed blocks

Stair blocks, temporary exhibition galleries and “rice terraces” descending the slope

142 Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture

Ceilings above the cubes

Overlap of entrance level/cubes

What makes this fragmented space so unexpectedly dynamic is only apparently its spirit of anything goes. In reality, its order is only dissimulated by interrupting the stairs at such opportune moments that visitors find themselves stopping to look around at every turn and landing, and, before they know it, head off into a new group of spaces. Nowhere else does the passage of space and of time diverge so markedly. One wanders back and forth as if stepping in and out of parallel plots. In the interests of better clarity, we will interpret the different situations in terms of their spatial characteristics, of which there are four groups: levels, halls, block and caves. THE LEVELS Despite the decorative neon-light ceiling and

the dense grid-like forest of columns through which one passes diagonally, the low, expansive entrance hall and the largely identical garden level are dominated by their white marble floor. Here, visitors tend to cluster in small groups, exchanging spontaneous opinions, rather than quietly looking at art. It is, as Joseph Beuys proclaimed, a space to keep art, not to

exhibit it (his Revolutionsklavier from 1969 is part of the museum’s collection). The levels are interspersed with stairs, vistas and sections of wall, though none are dominant or monumental, and its spaces make no pretensions to the sublime, not even where the hall meets the exhibition spaces and extends 10 m up. As these floors have no point of rest of their own, the works of art placed on the ground assume this role. THE EXHIBITION HALLS The array of square exhibition

halls is entered diagonally by cutting room-high slots in the corners of the room (Hans Hollein’s so-called “clover-leaf circulation principle”). Unlike the two other levels, the exhibition halls with their white, neutral backgrounds are primarily for paintings and wall installations – which in this museum can only mean that the floor and ceiling of the exhibition halls define the moods of the space in different ways. After all the “expensive” marble of the levels, the “cheap” industrial floor on the top floor comes as a surprise, and together with the shed roof and large-format paintings by the likes of

Revue in fragmented space 143

THE MCCORMICK TRIBUNE CAMPUS CENTER, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, USA OMA, Rem Koolhaas, 1997 – 2003

World theatre

The campus of the Illinois Institute of Technology (IIT), planned from 1938 onwards by Mies van der Rohe, is a calm, composed ensemble of black and yellow boxes on green lawns, the shadows of the trees playing over their surfaces. This bucolic picture of teaching and research could not, however, conceal the fact that the campus lacked an effective communicative infrastructure. In 2003, this missing link was added, with a host of functions packed into a single building squeezed beneath the elevated metro line next to the commons hall and food court. The interior of the building has an intensity reminiscent of spaces from the Renaissance or Baroque, so why is it that in this building the unrelenting “more is more” is not “too much”?

Corridors

FORCE FIELD The purpose-built, 160-m-long stainless steel tube that encases the elevated metro line muffles not only noise and vibrations,141 but also appears to press down so heavily on the building that its roof bends under the weight. This theatrical expression of the forces at play continues in the interior. Sometimes the roof incline cuts so deeply into the room that it nearly meets the floor, tearing a flesh-coloured gash into it; sometimes the plasterboard ceiling is stripped back to reveal the underside of the stainless steel tube behind; and sometimes a garden drops from the ceiling into its midst. The floor, too, appears to give way under the weight: it breaks apart, steps downwards, becomes an underpass, never rising

162 Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture

more than the height of an OSB podium. Resistance is offered by the three uncompromisingly orthogonal grids of columns, each with their own specific grid spacing: the ten sturdy legs supporting the tube, the concrete-encased pillars supporting the metro line, and the graceful I-section columns that have wandered in from Mies’ commons hall next door. The further one is from the line of conflict, the more relaxed the spatial gestures, to the point that the lightweight walls entirely ignore the drama visible on the floor and ceiling. The up and down is neither an elaborate game of levels nor purely a means of gaining space within but is, instead, motivated by the force field at play, or rather its theatrical expression.

Ceiling and column grid

Ceiling

Spatial cells

Flowing space

Courtyards

Column grids

Facades

Folds in floors

Axonometric

World theatreâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 163

CHILDREN’S NURSERY, WEIACH, ZURICH, SWITZERLAND L3P Architekten, 2012 – 2014

Round dance

Weiach on the Upper Rhine is situated in a landscape of ponderous farmhouses and voluminous barns that extend right into the village centre, jostling for space but remaining stubbornly solitary. Amidst them is a children’s nursery that cheekily sews together what is usually separate: fluffy like the toddlers’ fabric cubes, silky like a case lining turned inside out, surreal like a cross between an architecton by Kazimir Malevich and a fur cup by Meret Oppenheim, and cubist like a carpet turned upright and clad with artificial turf.

Group room

“RAUMPLAN” AND “RAUMRING” The single-class for-

mat of the children’s nursery presented the opportunity to structure its inner organisation like a villa: from the vestibule, one proceeds via the large salon to a kind of Loosian boudoir – the doll’s house – and from there via a small bridge into the attic room, for handiwork and painting. A single flight of stairs returns to the beginning, connecting the rooms into a ring. The individual sections of this ring have contrasting colours, proportions and outward views: the related colours deep purple, pink and ocean blue connect the smaller, stretched spaces such as the cloakroom, doll’s house and bridge, with green and yellow used for the main room and atelier. Each of these two large rooms has a large panoramic window, while the vestibule and doll’s house have just a visor-like horizontal slot. Together, they point in all four directions.

208 Dramaturgies of space in contemporary architecture

The dramaturgy of these spaces would be unremarkable, were it not for the fact that they rise. As with Adolf Loos’ concept of Raumplan, these separate levels give each room an atmosphere of its own, while simultaneously creating rich, varied and striking views from one space through to the next. The very first view beneath the low, dark ceiling of the changing room past the green floor of the salon and up the steps to the pink wall of the doll’s house and into the landscape beyond already encapsulates a range of atmospheres in a single glance. Similarly, the view through the window of the rear wall of the salon shows the indoor and outdoor colours of several room surfaces simultaneously. Or the dramatic steep view from the floor-level window of the atelier into the salon and out again onto the grass. Alongside the changing heights of the rooms and careful positioning of the windows, the variety of vistas is also a factor of the side entry and exit points of the rooms and the resulting lateral axes.

Axonometric

Round danceâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 209

Designing the drama of space “Walther von Stolzing: How do I begin according to the rule? Hans Sachs: You set it yourself, and then follow it.”160 Richard Wagner, Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg

Introduction

Space

In the case studies in Part Three, we analysed the architectural dramaturgies of selected buildings as “multimedial compositions that operate through synaesthetic dramaturgies” (see p 70). In the process, we identified a range of dramaturgical options that we shall examine and compare in detail in this section, going by their key determining parameters. Our focus on the “atmospheric whole” of each project shows once again that there are no neutral nor universally valid approaches to the dramaturgy of architecture. As with all aesthetic rules, the principles of spatial dramaturgy are not irrefutable. However, they are also not arbitrarily interchangeable: each work of architecture is defined by and must have its own inner coherence, to which its dramaturgical composition contributes.

4.1 Archetypes The combinations of bounding surfaces form configurations that we have termed archetypes. In Part One, using the example of the Scuole, we saw just how fundamental they are for the character and bearing of a room – for example, sheltering, directing, emanating or enclosing. A systematic breakdown of the different possible constellations of surfaces reveals 24 different figures. Arranged by the number of active surfaces, they can be shown in a diamond-shaped arrangement (see opposite page). If we consider the sequences of archetypes in the various case studies and the resulting dramaturgical narratives, we can identify five different types of dramas: MONODRAMAS This type of drama uses a

The parameters of the dramaturgical options revealed in the case studies are a mix of more objectively identifiable and more subjectively experienced aspects, and all of them interweave spatial and temporal aspects with our physical perception of them. We have nevertheless identified the following 20 particularly useful parameters and arranged them by the categories of space, time and physical perception, so that we can progress from the more “objective” parameters, such as the archetypes, to the more “subjective”, such as the pace of movement suggested by the spaces or the intensities of experience they evoke in us.

216 Designing the drama of space

single archetype: in Le Havre it is the envelope, in Giornico the basin, in Lens the ring, in Weiach the clasp and bay, in Miami the mirrored floor and ceiling, in Fehrbelliner Platz the mirrored walls, and in the RPAC the arrangement of single dominant surfaces. However static or dynamic the spatial constellation may be, the repetition of a single archetype lends the monodramas a simple, tangible basic rhythm. COMPLEMENTARY DRAMAS In this type of drama, an archetype is followed by its com plementary opposite at the key turning point in the building: for example, in the Philharmonie

A rchetypen des Raums

Envelope

Ring

Bay

Cave

Basin

Hood

Tunn el

Seat

Niche

Corridor

Portal

Mirrored walls

Floor

Shelter

Stage

Adjacent walls

Wall

Tent

Clasp

Adjacent wall and ceiling

Ceiling

Framework

Archetypes of spatial form

4.1 Archetypesâ&#x20AC;&#x192; 217

Monodramas

Complementary dramas

Alternating dramas

Triadic dramas

Developing dramas

Constructing dramas from archetypes

switching from hood to basin, or in the Scuola di San Rocco from basin to hood. This complementary relationship between archetypes helps lend these highly emotionally-charged spatial dramaturgies a sense of closure and completeness. In the Nationalgalerie, the complementary drama is achieved by switching the single dominant surface. ALTERNATING DRAMAS At Yale, single dominant surfaces (the studios) alternate with envelopes (the staircase), while in Stuttgart mirrored floor and ceiling (M galleries) alternate with caves (C galleries). In both these cases, a third, prominent spatial figure offers a balancing counterpart: at Yale it is the mirrored walls of the lecture hall, and in Stuttgart the ring archetype of the atrium. TRIADIC DRAMAS In the Abteiberg, the three main territories are defined by the use of the archetypes hood (in the blocks), mirrored floor and ceiling (on the levels) and rings (in the cubes). So predominantly open archetypes alternate with predominantly closed ones. In Exeter, by contrast, three archetypes adjoin one another at their open sides so that views pass seamlessly from one to the next: from the mirrored walls of the book stacks out to the framework of the atrium on one side and the single dominant surface of the reading ring on the other. This combination of different archetypes meeting precisely at their matching open sides seems to be Louis Kahn’s specific approach to creating spatial continua. DEVELOPING DRAMAS In this type of drama, more open formations become progressively more closed. In Walsall, the single dominant surfaces of the entrance hall combine to form the envelope of the Epstein Gallery, as the interrupted rings of the temporary exhibition gallery merge into the hood of the tower room. In the Langen Foundation, single dominant surfaces and L-shap ed sections combine to form tents. In Chicago, the minimal gesture of placing the mirrored floor and ceiling archetype in the centre of a vibrant mix of single dominant surfaces lends the Center Court a monumental effect.

The dramaturgical sequences formed by these combinations of archetypes provide the main dramatic arc with a stable base, or can offer accompanying variations to it or even run parallel

218 Designing the drama of space

to it. While they may not always be as pronounced as in Stuttgart or Weiach or as fundamental as in the Nationalgalerie, they always play a significant role in underpinning rather than counteracting the primary dramatic arc.

4.2 Configurations How can rooms and spaces be arranged in sequence, interleave or transition into one another and with what dramatic effects? ENFILADE The simplest configuration of rooms is the sequential threading of spaces along a line resulting in an enfilade. In this linear progression of spaces luring into their depth, each consecutive space is announced by an opening that, however, has little impact on the space’s atmosphere. The ratio of opening to wall is relatively small so that the wall remains the dominant surface. Giornico is an enfilade par excellence. VISUAL CONTINUUM Visual continuity be-

tween a succession of spaces – a visual continuum – is achieved by opening the fourth wall to the neighbouring room: the ratio of opening to remaining wall surface here is larger so that the opening dominates. The spaces connect without interleaving physically, their flanking surfaces presenting an image of the adjoining space. Each space therefore influences the atmosphere of the other. The junction between the two may be marked by a frame – like the proscenium of classical theatres or the frame around the altar zone in the Scuola di San Giovanni Evangelista – or not (Chicago). If the view is particularly striking, even relatively small openings can signal visual continuity, for example in the connection between the sala superiore and the oratorio of the Scuola di San Giovanni Evangelista. The greater the contrast between spaces in a visually continuous sequence, the more attention they attract, inciting us to move onwards, or alternatively to observe voyeur-like from a safe distance. In contrast to the enfilade, where the temporal experience is successive in character, a visual continuum introduces the aspect of simultaneity. As Anke Naujokat161 has described, the modern fascination with simultaneity can be manifested in architecture in at least four different

ways: as “temporal simultaneity”,162 as “spatial simultaneity” – for example the visual superimposition of inside and outside –, as “functional simultaneity” through the overlapping of different functions, and as “semantic simultaneity” through the collaging of meanings. All four of these can fold into each other, as the case study of Chicago shows.

One zone

Two zones

Path and views

Convex obstructions through directing walls

drifting “in-between-spaces” that gradually transition into one another? The answer depends not just on the nuances of a space’s articulation, its lighting conditions or the codifications of surfaces but also on the viewer’s position and direction of view. Our perception and appreciation oscillates constantly as we move around. For Roger Scruton,163 this oscillation between one momentary impression and its revision in the

Three zones

Directing walls as destination walls

Four zones

Zones of influence of the guiding walls

Opening view

Zones of influence of the walls

Force fields in flowing space

FLOWING SPACE The term “flowing space” is often used to denote the seamless transition between inside and outside, as seen in Le Havre. But interior spaces likewise flow into one another when one of a space’s six bounding surfaces opens unobstructed onto the next, making it possible to see and move freely between them. Flowing space is an intricate and infinitely fascinating phenomenon: is it space that flows here or is it the spaces that flow? Are we concerned with three entities, or a single entity with three zones, or two zones with a further overlapping zone? Or is the space comprised of “influencing elements” (e.g. created by an L-shaped wall) and

next, as our eyes take in the order of a space, is a key aspect of how we perceive architecture, and therefore also a key characteristic of architecture. Unconstrained by hard boundaries, enclosing walls and distinct thresholds, flowing space weaves us as its users into a spatial continuum that is largely indistinct, creating an experience that is not so much disconcerting as contemplative. Like Richard Wagner’s endless melody that appears to strive towards cadences only to evade them, it is the constant suspension of the moment of resolution that makes it so effective for prolonging the experience of time and adding new facets to the dramatic arc. The dramatic

4.2 Configuration 219

Layered walls

Guiding wall, concave L-shaped wall and gap

Insertion of a wall from the side

S-shaped wall between layered directing walls

Appearance of a new guiding wall

Guiding wall becomes freestanding wall

Concave L-shaped wall and guiding wall (compare with 2)

Directing wall, guiding wall and destination wall

Room cell with open corners

Guiding wall as row of pillars and four directing walls

View back: L-shaped wall interleaving with L-shaped wall

Guiding walls and directing walls in a longitudinal space

Wall ends and corners concealed from view

Guiding walls and destination wall

Directing wall and L-shaped wall

Guiding wall, directing walls and destination walls

Miesian variants of flowing space

s ituations of flowing space are so diverse that we shall take a closer look using the example of the Nationalgalerie. FLOWING SPACE – THE MIESIAN APPROACH A few walls placed freely in space does not make flowing space. It requires the duality of enclosing and opening to create the desired spatial tension. In Mies’ elaboration of flowing space, walls are overlaid in perspective, creating an impression of seeming endlessness by preventing us from seeing the whole picture. These spatial situations take place between the flat planes of the floor and ceiling, and draw on Frank Lloyd Wright’s and Theo van Doesburg’s idea of exploding the box, as well as on concepts from the hedged gardens and labyrinths of the Baroque, with which they share three key configurations: concave L-shaped sections of walls that

220 Designing the drama of space

lead off into spaces out of view; convex sections of walls that offer two alternative paths; and a gap between two walls that offers a view of parallel walls and conceals any flanking walls so that the breadth and depth remain unclear. Such openings are generally perceived as a gap between two separate walls, rather than the interruption of a single section of wall. Compressing or extending walls in these ways lends the overall space rhythm. Flowing space no longer has the static configuration of front, side and rear walls. The walls take on different roles depending on one’s perspective. One and the same wall can serve equally and at different times as a guiding wall – along which we walk –, a directing wall – that changes our direction of movement –, a destination wall – which we see before us – or a rear wall. Flowing,

Enfilade

therefore, also means that the functions of the walls are in flux. Spaces open and close as we move, walls blocking, jutting forward, receding, adjoining or standing freely. In flowing space, we mostly encounter the archetypes of mirrored walls or adjacent walls, rarely bays, never rings. Staggered and angled wall sections alternate in calm but irregular rhythms. Narrow channels are avoided. The storyboard of a path through the lower ground of the Nationalgalerie illustrates the rich situational diversity of flowing space. VOLUMETRIC CONTINUUM In a volumet-

Visual continuum

Flowing space

Volumetric continuum

Four room configur ations

ric continuum, the inner enclosing surfaces are removed and the outer shifted. In contrast to the profoundly polyvalent character of flowing space, a volumetric continuum is, in its pure form, ambivalent: are we concerned with a single zoned space or a composition of three interrelated spaces? The escape stairs at Yale exemplify the appeal of the equivocal: are the small exhibition areas merely extensions of the stair landings or actually display cases into which the stairs protrude, inviting, even imploring one to continue onwards? Conservatories, podiums, bay windows and loggias are sometimes volumetric, sometimes visual continua. Adolf Loos’ concept of Raumplan is, despite the staggered floor levels and different room heights, a variant of a visual rather than a volumetric continuum, as each cellular space is intact and self-contained, only docking up against its neighbour. At the most, the steps between two such spaces can be said to be ambivalent in the few cases where they are not part of either one or the other single space but

Separating

Widening

Expanding

Contraction

Channeling

Narrowing

Tapering

Recess

Constriction

Bulge

Bottleneck

Extension

Shapes of paths

4.2 Configuration 221

Widening, Narrowing, Constriction etc. along the Grand Gallery (1–4, downward view 5, backward view 6) and in one of the “stair caves” (7–9, backward view 10) in the foyer of the Berliner Philharmonie

occupy the overlapping zone between the two. The potential of volumetric continua can be shown through the example of the Philharmonie. VOLUMETRIC CONTINUUM – SCHAROUN’S APPROACH Scharoun’s approach to the de-

sign of a volumetric continuum employs staggered and angled arrangements in all three dimensions. Unlike Mies’ approach to flowing space, walls no longer play a dominant role: on the contrary, freestanding destination and directing walls would obstruct the volumetric sense of height of the space, and guiding walls are relegated to the fringes in the form of gallery or bridge parapets. In this case they mask the outer walls and tend to form additional layers of space. The rhythmic, staggered folding of the layers of space makes the boundaries less dis-

222 Designing the drama of space

tinct. What dominates is a space of movement comprised of paths and spaces that turn, branch off, expand and contract. Scharoun’s approach to flowing space always expresses the process it performs in the built result: a bay is extending or indenting, an open expanse is always in the process of expanding or contracting, a path performs traversing, and so on. Various elements may momentarily act together to form a figure or frame a situation, before establishing new alliances as one progresses. Miesian space, despite the diversesituations it forms, remains decidedly abstract; Scharoun’s space exhibits similarly diverse situations but also evokes a plethora of concrete metaphors: a hallway becomes an alley, the foyer a square, and so on. But Scharoun also takes this a step further, frequently going beyond pure volumetric continua by interleaving spaces with one another. This is the primary means by

Connecting hinge spaces

Overlapping zones

Common interleav ing zone

Second-degree interleaving

Progressive interleaving of spaces

Hierarchical

which Scharoun compresses space focusing on specific central areas. Combinatory

Synthetic

Contrasting

Interpretations of overlapping zone

INTERLEAVING SPACE The interleaving of spaces results in areas that exist in themselves but also share a common zone. Spaces can be interleaved with the help of a connecting element or shifted into one another. Several examples of both cases exist, for example, in the Abteiberg.

The common zone created by the interleaving of spaces can be elaborated in different ways: –– hierarchical, in which the qualities of one of the spaces determine the character of the common space, so that it effectively extends into the other; –– combinatory, in which the qualities of both spaces intermingle and are woven into one another;

–– synthetic, in which the qualities of both rooms are fused to form a new character; –– contrasting, in which the intersection is given a third quality distinct from the two other spaces. Where two overlapping zones meet one another, they divide the central area. Where interleaved zones also interleave one another, the resulting zone pertains to multiple rooms. This “second- degree interleaving” marks a new central point. If this new centre is then framed, it appears as a convex body to its surroundings. Here, we are no longer concerned with sequences of spaces but with antagonists: the antagonists of body and space.

4.2 Configuration 223

4.3 Body-space relationships The body-space antagonism lends a new quality to the play of concealing and revealing as spaces are no longer just hidden behind an element but possibly also within it. BODY WITHIN SPACE Centrally positioned solid objects – similar to castles of Baroque residences – are seldom found in interiors. One rare example is the cellular institute buildings for the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC) that Walter Netsch designed at the office of Skidmore, Ow-

the cabinet rooms of the Scuola dei Carmini and in Walsall) protrude into it, altering its shape. We can walk along them but not all around them, and therefore cannot ascertain their dimensions from all sides. Because they are often perceived as disturbing or destabilizing factors, we either attempt to erase them from our mental image of the spatial organism, or try to make sense of it. In some cases, we simply enjoy it and the deflection it causes. Alban Janson and Thorsten Bürkli describe how the glorious wide arc of the perimeter

Body within space

Body at perimeter of space

In-between space

Volume within a space

Ring-shaped body

Structured space

Complex space

Body-space continuum

Light ground

Spatial ground

Layered space

Space-enclosing boundaries

Body-space relationships

ings & Merrill using his so-called “field theory”. Solid, convex cores, even accessed from the rear, splice the central axis forcing one to walk around them. Such arrangements impede orientation. A simple way to make this easier is to enable one to see into the body that has to be walked around, by designing it as a glazed cabinet, atrium or inner courtyard (as in Chicago and Weiach). BODY AT PERIMETER OF SPACE Convex bodies placed at the periphery of a space (as in

224 Designing the drama of space

of the Campo Santa Margherita in Venice gradually offers a view of the square, and in the reverse direction guides one out of the square into another likewise unforeseen space.164 IN-BETWEEN SPACE If several solid and inaccessible bodies are placed at the boundary of or within a space, a series of spaces arises between them. The potential of this is shown to masterful effect in a showpiece of seafaring architecture: the separate positioning of the three

well defined by four of its six surfaces that it remains unequivocally part of the building volume. SPACE-CONTAINING BODY WITHIN A SPACE Examples of accessible, enclosed spac-

eswithin a larger space can be found in the Philharmonie and in the Langen Foundation. In addition to being able to walk around them, we can also go inside them. They have great dramatic potential, appearing at first mysterious before revealing their secret. They are perfect wrapped presents. RING-SHAPED BODY If the bounding surfaces of a body relate only to themselves, i.e. not to the space beyond them on the outside or on the inside, a ring-shaped body results between them. This is the case in the book stacks of Exeter, lined on the inside by the separately articulated planes of the concrete masks opening onto the central hall. A similar situation can be seen in Stuttgart where the shape of the ring oscillates between a concrete wall and a concrete volume, and in Yale, where the body is marked by four pillars at the corners. STRUCTURED SPACE Even very small bodPromenade decks of the SS Normandie (1935) and the RMS Queen Mary (1936); theatres are marked in grey

turbine shafts on the transatlantic steamer SS Normandie (1935) makes it possible to enjoy an almost200-m-long unbroken axial sequence on the promenade deck. In the comparable RMS Queen Mary (1936), however, one has to walk around the undivided vents taking a more or less “picturesque” route. Outdoor spaces or transitional spaces between indoors and outdoors are likewise in-between spaces, for example streets and squares which, despite their incomplete enclosure, remain part of a wider configuration of solids and voids. Similarly, the space that spans the outdoor pool of the thermal baths in Vals is so

ies, such as pillars, remain solid bodies, and they influence the structure of a space. In combination, they can evenly open up or lend rhythm to a space. Greek columns and giant concrete pillars in wide-span halls are obvious examples, but their comparatively modest counterparts can also play a great and even leading role in structuring the drama of a space, as seen in the white quadratic pillars of the Nationalgalerie, the ballet of the pilotis in Miami, the trialogue of columns in Chicago or the minimal rods in Lens. LAYERED SPACE If, instead of pillars, these small bodies take the form of staggered arrangements of parallel wall planes, the spaces between them mutate into a succession of layers. In contrast to flowing space, in layered space – in essence a compressed, creative variation of the enfilade – the guiding walls (whose perspectival foreshortening emphasizes depth) are omitted or at least concealed. Such arrangements favour frontal viewpoints as they reveal the full and “proper” effect of the arrangement, with movement between the layers being merely an entr’acte. Layered space borrows aspects of symmetrical – the impact of the frontal view – and

4.3 Body-space relationships 225

Colophon

Translation from German into English: Julian Reisenberger Layout, cover design and typesetting: Miriam Bussmann Cover design on the basis of a photograph by Werner Huthmacher of the “Schreibhaus am Steinhuder Meer” by Holger Kleine Architekten Production: Kathleen Bernsdorf Editor for the publisher: Andreas Müller Copyediting of the English edition: Michael Wachholz

Paper: Hello Fat Matt 1.1, 135g/m2 Printing: Medialis Offsetdruck GmbH, Berlin

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the German National Library The German National Library lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, re-use of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in other ways, and storage in databases. For any kind of use, permission of the copyright owner must be obtained. This publication is also available as an e-book (ISBN PDF 978-3-0435-1) and in a German language edition (ISBN 978-3-0356-0432-0). © 2018 Birkhäuser Verlag GmbH, Basel P.O. Box 44, 4009 Basel, Switzerland Part of Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Printed on acid-free paper produced from chlorine-free pulp. TCF ∞ Printed in Germany ISBN 978-3-0356-0431-3 987654321 www.birkhauser.com

The author and the publisher would like to thank dormakaba for their support for this book