Bnieuws 54/01 - Retrospective (2020/21)

B 54/01

[53/05+06+07]

Colofon Bnieuws Volume 54 Issue 01 September 2020 Contact Room BG.Midden.140 Julianalaan 134 2628 BL Delft bnieuws-bk@tudelft.nl Editorial Team Christopher Clarkson Federico Ruiz Inez Margaux Spaargaren Robert van Overveld For issues 05 and 06 Nicole van Roij Chun Kit 'CK' Wong Aimee Baars Contributors Amy Young Stef Dingen Margot Hols Leeke Reinders Editorial Advisors Javier Arpa Fernandez Lotte Dijkstra Cover Editorial team For issues 05 & 06 Yannick Warmerdam & Sara Potterton Printed by Druk. Tan Heck Š All rights reserved.

Although all content is treated with great care, errors may occur.

WELCOME 04

Interview: Michael van der Tas

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Abandoned lounge

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What if normal is dead?

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In conversation with David T. van zanten

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Domestic calamities

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The freedoms of Suburbia

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Shifting utopias

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An ode to the pavement

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The Bric-a-brac cabinet

Editorial

RETROSPECTIVE Hello, and welcome!

You are reading the first edition of Bnieuws of the coming academic year. We are the independent periodical of the faculty of Architecture and the Built Environment, or, Bouwkunde. As a periodical, we publish a thematic booklet once a month, and aim to be a platform upon which all people related to the faculty can find their voice and let it be heard by the rest of our community. As such, we believe Bnieuws to be a kind of bridge connecting disparate parts of our faculty. This allows you to have insight into what the other corner of our building is busy with as well as letting us know what you’re up to! And so, we also work together with student associations such as Stylos, BouT, Argus, Polis, (and the many others), as well as the Berlage, and other Public Programme organisers to bring to you a small taste of the large, and at times, disconnected group of people that passionately devote themselves to the workings of this intricate machine we call BK. The theme of this particular edition is a bit of a puzzle, because it is actually a collection of works that are being republished. Unfortunately, due to corona, the previous three editions could not be printed hard-copy. However! Today we are once again able to print, and decorate the faculty with our collective knowledge and insights. And so, it is with great joy that we are able to present to you the efforts of many talented people from the editions of March: Exodus, May: Home, and June: Fiction. In this curated edition you will find the crème de la crème as it were of the aforementioned editions. As such, the theme of this edition is Retrospective; it is a kind of tapestry made of the fabrics our former selves were experiencing as we entered the pandemic. Beginning with Exodus, published just as faculty closed, the notions of thresholds, departure, and abandonment are discussed. This is followed by Home, a place with which we are now all too familiar, where we took a closer look at arguably the most intimate space. And lastly, Fiction provided some respite, asking questions about the role of the unreal in the realm of the tangible.

We hope that this edition gives you an insight into what we aim to accomplish as a publication. In your hands you hold a small collection of essays, interviews, and poems written by people just like you and me. Perhaps you are studying, be it in your bachelors, or you might be in The Why Factory of the Masters programme… Maybe you’re a Berlage student, a professor, or perhaps a guest lecturer, or have some other faculty related business.

You are simultaneously our target audience, as well as our author, because your voice is our voice. So, please, if you are interested in collaborating with us as a story teller, photographer, illustrator, or as the one who knows how to ask the right questions to the right people, we would love to get in touch.

We hope to hear from you, and until then, happy reading.

#Bnieuwd

To do / STEEOWEE 2020 On the 18th and 19th of August, there will be a great online programme in the theme Bouwko op de Buis! During these two days, you will see your fellow Bouwko's shining on the screen in various TV programmes in which we introduce you to fellow students, mentors, the faculty and the city of Delft.

You can find the link on stylos.nl 18.08.20 – 19.08.20 location: to be announced on stylos.nl

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To do / STOCKHOLM SUMMER DESIGN WEEK An event which features product launches, exhibitions and workshops provisioned to the retail industry. Two weeks of events in the city of Stockholm, where the most important players within the design are showed. You'll find designers, architects, creators, buyers, journalists etc. wandering around the city.

17.08.20 – 23.08.20 location: Stockholm, Sweden

To do / VAN THONET TILL DUTCH DESIGN At the exhibition From Thonet to Dutch Design, the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam presents a wide selection of its design collection. Work by well-known and pioneering designers such as Michael Thonet, Gerrit Rietveld, Charlotte Perriand, Verner Panton, Ettore Sottsass, Hella Jongerius, Marcel Wanders and Patrick Jouin will be on display.

Sometimes the lesser-known pieces by their hand have been chosen.

25.07.20 - 21.03.2021 location: Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam

#Bnieuwd

To do / MIES VAN DER ROHE 2020 PROGRAM This 2020, the Mies van der Rohe Pavilion is activated more than ever as a public platform to dissolve the boundaries between architectural research and the arts, promoting the dissemination of architecture in collaboration with an extensive and varies network of entiries and people. The 2020 program wants to generate synergies between academia, artistic production and the architectural culture of cities and territories.

04.02.20 – 30.12.20 location: Barcelona Pavilion, Barcelona

To do / GRADUATION EXHIBITION ARCHITECTURAL ENGENEERING TU Delft's Faculty of Architecture will host the online Virtual Reality exhibition 'The News of Progress 2.0' with more than 30 recent graduation projects by students of the graduation studio Architectural Engineering. The students present their work within five different themes: 1 Million Homes, Second Life, Sint Maarten, Harvesting and Shared Heritage. Within all projects, the integration of technology in architecture is central.

20.07.20 – 10.01.21 Location: https://storage.net-fs.com/hosting/6188888/21/index.htm

To do / We Do Architecture: AARHUS SCHOOL OF ARCHITECTURE A lot of people view it as a tradition to visit the graduation show at the Aarhus School of Architecture and experience the many beautiful and inspiring projects made by the new Architects. This year just like ‘bouwkunde graduation show’ it will be all possible without leaving your home. The graduation show titled We Do Architecture will as a reaction to the COVID 19 situation be an entirely digital exhibition.

01.07.20 – 31.08.20 location: https://wda2020.aarch.dk/

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53/06 Home

BK Report

INTERVIEW: MICHAEL VAN DER TAS Words Michael van der Tas, Aimee Baars & Robert van Overveld

Most of us haven’t been able to access the faculty these last months, one of the exceptions is Michael van der Tas. He is part of the crisis team of the TU Delft and since we were eagerly interested in what it feels like to be in an empty faculty, we asked him if he could give us a sense of it all ...

Hi Michael, you’re part of the crisis team for the faculty of architecture, what is your role in the team and what are you occupied with these days?

I manage the facility services team, the people with the blue vests and the TU logo on their upper arm. In general, we make sure that everything functions at the faculty. Part of it is managing the entrance systems. You can imagine that we had to act immediately the moment the faculty closed. We had to make sure that some people still had access, like the faculty crisis team, the guards, etc. Many other things needed to be organised, such as adjusting all services that normally take place, we also had to start emptying the fridges, watering the plants and a lot of other things you would not even think about at first.

That’s part of what we have been doing and we are always present at the faculty, just like the team in charge of maintenance and installations, who are making sure that the whole technical system keeps rolling. We are sort of the guards of the faculty at this point, there are always still people who try to get in, pick up something, print something. But there is a strict protocol that makes sure that not everyone can get in.

Right now we are busy preparing for the opening of the faculty. We need to make sure that we can keep our 1.5-meter distance when we open up parts of the building. What does it mean for the different departments, what is the total capacity in the current situation, how to deal with meeting rooms, can we use the atelier already? The latter, for example, will be a “no” for now. Many things need to be changed before this can work.

We are looking at routes, preparing signposts and making one-way streets among other things.

Is the interior changing as well? In the sense that some rooms need to be turned around?

Well, luckily, the interior of the architecture faculty has a pretty wide set-up, but in some hallways, for example, there are couches on the side, those maybe need to be removed.

It all depends as well upon the allowed capacity in the end. But doors, just like the ones

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used for the west-entrance, that are not transparent, need to be decided upon still. You can easily walk into someone and that’s exactly what we want to avoid.

What is the biggest challenge in the building?

For sure the routing, what is the most logical choice? You want to keep the measures as simple as possible. If you make everything into one-way paths you know for sure that it’ll be hard for people to adjust, so you need to make sure that people can keep their 1.5-meter distance, without too many adjustments, that’s the priority. Or the doors to the toilet rooms, you can’t leave them open, but you do need to know how many people are inside. And how do you manage granting access? We now check the protocol to see whether someone is allowed to be inside, but it becomes unclear if that becomes flexible.

Will the reopening of the building be in phases?

Well, I’m in the faculty crisis team, I’m mainly focused on the more technical side of it all. ESA is focused on the students and how the education overall changes. In my role, I advise about how we can use the faculty, what the maximum capacity is, etc. They have to decide what it means for the education program and who gets priority if we reach the maximum capacity.

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Has anything crazy happened so far?

I must say, everyone is very obedient, people are very understanding. The procedure for entering the building is pretty strict after all. On top of that, people need to walk a long route to get somewhere. In general, this all goes very smoothly, people don’t try to enter the building secretly and again are very understanding and flexible.

Did you get any protest or critique the moment the faculty closed?

As far as I’m concerned everyone was very understanding and there was no critique whatsoever.

How have you experienced this time at the faculty so far?

Our team has been scaled down, we are only with 2-3 people present. Plus, there are some contractors in the faculty to make sure nothing stagnates and to prevent having to fix things last minute. Sometimes we try to do things in advance, but in practice, it is hard for the contractors to work and at the same time keep a distance. We always need to be careful. Most of the time there are approximately 10 people in the building, suppliers come frequently as well, just like the postman and sometimes someone external.

It is very quiet at the faculty and very strange to walk around. Sometimes I walk around to make sure everything is alright. The last time, for example, a sunblind smashed a window. Those are things you need to be aware of. Actually, it is a real pitty that such a impressive building is empty.

Do you have a favourite spot?

I really like the atelier on the second floor. It is very nice to see what kind of stuff has been made . And it's really quiet as well, which is very rare, that makes it a very interesting place.

What are you going to do with the studio tables, are you going to organise them differently now we need to have 1.5-meter distance?

What we are considering to do, but that’s something for future times because the atelier will be closed for now, is to remove chairs to reduce the capacity of the atelier.

The model hall is for graduates, is there a chance that they can graduate there in limited numbers from the first of June?

I can’t really say something about it, it’s on the agenda. For now, it remains a big question for everyone.

Do you think the faculty can open its doors on the 1st of September with the adjusted arrangements?

It really depends on the government and how all the measures develop. The intention is to open at a given moment, but we really need to see still what and who gets priority.

How is a crisis plan developed, where do you get the information to make one?

I talk with my colleagues from the faculty team about the measurements in the faculty regarding the 1.5-meter distance. They are active in other faculties of the TU as well. We exchange ideas, we approach other organisations. We have been talking to a hospital, for example. We thought hospitals would be more prepared already. We exchange ideas with other universities as well. I think caretakers are always very inspirational, they are very inventive because that’s the place where there is a lot of pressure. Overall, it is a lot of research.

We will face a lot of new challenges in the coming months, for which again we need to find new solutions. In general, this whole situation isn't fun, but it is an interesting time for the field that I’m working in. For facility managers, it is interesting to see how companies cope with the situation. It would be strange to say it’s fun, but I do think it is an interesting time.

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53/05 Exodus

From the editors

ABANDONED LOUNGE Words and images Christopher Clarkson

The humble chair, couch, or stool, represents a place of rest. That place where you can be still. It invites you to cease your endless departure and stay a while. Much like a house, it beckons to you: "Come, you have travelled far, be at ease, breathe, relax."

The humble chair, couch, or stool, however, can take on an interestingly sinister character when one stops to ask - why is it empty? Where did the people go?

What have these 'normal' objects witnessed, and what memories do they carry in the folds of their faux leather, the screws in their wood, and the hair in their wheels?

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That place which is no longer occupied is a curious thing. The chair not-in-use tells the story of thousands of people that have used it in the past; the story of thousands of people who have left. Please, take a moment to think about the chairs which you have sat on in your lifetime, and the events that have taken place while they sheltered you ‌ And then acknowledge the fact that your story with any particular chair is not necessarily only your story but one you share with many people, in which case, really the chair is the protagonist of our collective seated narrative: it is a kind of silent witness and crucial actor in everyone’s life. This observation is

really strengthened by the chairs which have seemingly fallen out of use, and in a sense, reached the end of their story. All chairs have been designed to sit on, however, based on the space in which the chair is in, its function is defined (cinema chairs as opposed to a medical chair for example), and this space acts as a catalyst for the chair’s life. When the chair is relocated, suddenly its context-based purpose changes, and so too does its function, so what is it exactly that happens when a chair is positioned in a place that renders it not a good place to sit?

In the basement of a World War II bunker beneath Berlin's abandoned airport, Tempelhof, a modest wooden chair stands stark in the yellow fluorescence of a single tube overhead. Most of the time, the chair waits quietly in a dustless darkness. The disuse of this chair tells an interesting story, not only of those who once used it and likely feared for their lives from bombers overhead; but also of us now: a kind of optimistic exclamation of the fact that we don't need this chair and that we are not at war.

In the streets of Berlin, the couch takes on the patterned inscriptions (or differently put: graffiti) of passers-by. Much like the residential building behind, the couch acquires the character of a place of residence not fit for residing in. Autumn leaves that have been collecting create a new upholstery while the traffic rustles past and the bricks come raining down from the construction site overhead.

Perhaps in the previous summer the couch’s owner decided to move to another city and couldn't bring their couch with them. By donating their personal place of rest to the public space this couch is neglected and it becomes a symbol for departure. It serves now only as a final resting place for the leaves of autumn, and a canvas for the street artist's self-expression.

In the meantime, three arm chairs convene in the courtyard of abandoned houses of Kizalağaç. The sun scorches their bleached skins and a duvet cover dances in the wind, almost as if to entertain the sitters that are not there.

Unlike the chairs of Berlin, who offer a kind of extroverted invitation to the world to come and be seated, the armchairs of Kizalağaç are facing each other, positioned as if to encourage people to meet one another and spend time together. If I were to sit in one of these chairs would a passer-by join me to watch the duvet cover’s terpsichorean abilities?

Three chairs facing each other in a lounge represent a place of communion. Now, appearing as if the walls of the lounge have been removed but the chairs remain in exactly the same arrangement, they tell a story of people who no longer see one another.

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And so, we reach the chairs closest to home: The Vitra model .04 office chairs who find themselves residing in atelier. These chairs day in and day out experience the abuse of panicked first years and apathetic second-year bachelor’s students trying to hang up their posters before presentations. And at 22:00 every day, when all students and staff retire to their homes, the Vitra model .04 chairs lie awake in the darkness kept company by only the flickering locker lights and mice who run between their mass-produced plastic wheels. Some unfortunate Vitras have suffered mutilation from particularly bored persons, missing wheels or stabilising screws they stand askew on their fuchsia ground, immobilised, and abandoned until the next morning.

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Finally, the chairs of our beloved ‘stoelen collectie’ lead perhaps the most alienated existence of all.

Standing at full attention, they face a now-blank wall, from which even the painted names have departed. Seeing only on occasion their own shadows moving with the sun they listen to an excitable prospective student spotting Rietveld’s Red and Blue Chair without taking the time to acknowledge the existence of the other chairs. Like animals in a zoo, their true calling has been denied.

Caught in limbo, these chairs are not left alone to fade away in the urban fabric of the street, or slowly die in a Turkish breeze, nor may they be used as chairs to sit on; they are preserved in time, carrying only the memories of who they were before they became objects of exhibition.

53/06 Home

From the editors

WHAT IF NORMAL IS DEAD? Words CK

The COVID-19 pandemic has resulted in unprecedented impacts on society, both on a global and localized scale. This extends from economic, financial sectors to sociological domains. People are now confronted with the need for physical distancing, a spatial consideration incompatible with the urban design which endeavours to sustain high population density. While work from home and home-based learning are examples of workarounds (albeit technologically centric) to cater to the need for physical isolation, it is evident that such measures would be temporal and unsustainable. Should we, as designers, start to question the temporality of such measures, and be engaged in the discussion of spatial interventions? What if the norm, as we believed it to be, is dead? How will it have future implications to spatial design, especially in residential/ work typology?

It is day 6 of 'lock down'. With school and presentations held online, I was working to reconfigure my A0 sized panels to fit the PowerPoint slide aspects ratio. While preparing for the presentation, however, I was interrupted by the intensifying thuds on my ceiling, presumably caused by neighbours above working out. Seconds later, I overhear commentaries of the weather coming from someone else’s balcony. These are interesting times; measures reminiscent of war are being put in place even in the absence of machineries and bullets.

Across the globe, people are forced to take whatever outside activities they were engaging in into their homes. As shops, offices, and eateries close, we adapt by window shopping online, creating our little office at home, learning to cook a bit better, and keeping ourselves fit with the help of YouTube or virtual group workouts. Essentially, no one is spared from having to cope emotionally, and having to make constraints to our daily lives within however many square meters of house space we have. While all hopes are pinned on the eventual and rapid decline of the spread of the virus, it is also prudent to remain pragmatic with the possible outcome of a

delayed and long-drawn battle, and that certain measures may remain even at the end of this pandemic. As designers, it is imperative for us to reconsider the ways we perceive the nature of a dwelling unit which at present does not cater to such multifarious and complex social activities. How then may we respond to spatial considerations for a possible future that will never be the same?

For many people during this time, the home necessarily serves as a work and learning space amongst many other things. It is a reality that our residences are often unable to accommodate the typical office space that the majority are accustomed to; no office cubicles, or large meeting rooms to host a number of people. Yet, with the shift to work from home, we are beginning to see that perhaps our spatial understanding of what an office or home is must be re-evaluated.

The mainstream approach to a functionalist office design dates back to the industrial period. With the rise of manufacturing industries and the spatial manifestations of factories, offices became the staple

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for control and hierarchical establishments. The Johnson Wax building, by Frank Lloyd Wright, was an early typology of offices that has influenced the contemporary corporate operations and structures.

The open plan concept that hosted a multitude of workers divided by class (blue collared vs. white collared), whilst being overseen by managers were designed primarily to increase work efficiency. This was further popularised by Frederick Taylor. The division of working classes were enforced by the presence of offices, wherein white-collared workers were placed in pristine conditions, separate from the blue-collared workers. Even in a post-Fordism economy today, such linear workflows and rigid operations are still being implemented.

Technological advancements and a more fluid understanding of the workplace, the spatial responses to offices have become more versatile. No longer are workers bound by tethering and landlines; the rise of portable devices, wireless connectivity, cloud spaces essentially negate any need for people to be tied to a space. The Interpolis in Tilburg, The Netherlands served as an example that spearheaded the renewed understanding of the workplace as an 'activity-based working' environment, where more importance was given to the social interactions between people at work, rather than being determined by a physical space. Employees were not assigned a fixed place in the office, and were free to move and hold meetings and discussions wherever.

Indeed, in a world where we have easy access to the internet, mobility and connectivity have increased drastically, and the idea that a physical space determines the office is rather out-dated.

Imagine a world where the 'home' is not just defined as a space for eating and resting, but is also an office, a school, a gym, perhaps a clinic. “Small office, Home office” or SoHo, for short, is indeed a spatial typology that would see a growing relevance to people. Though this design typology had been around for some time, it is far from being

< Photograph of the office in Johnson Wax Building

‘mainstream’. It appears to cater to only a specific strata or demographic of people, especially those participating in the gig economy. However, with the majority of people working from home now, it points to the fact that there is a great deal of possibility for offices to be decentralized into the individual’s home. Virtual spaces like Zoom seem to have replaced the physical spaces, and perhaps with more sophisticated improvements, these virtual spaces could become even more seamless. As designers, we too have to begin considering typologies similar to that of SoHo in response to the ever-changing needs and dynamics of our societies.

In putting forth the idea that the workspace is now decentralised to homes, it is not simply about increasing physical isolation - indeed, barring any safety concerns, employees should be free to meet up with fellow colleagues at a common space like a cafe, or shared workspaces should they desire physical interaction. Rather, it is the consideration for creating a conducive environment for a new lifestyle.

Following the 9/11 attacks, airport security stepped up and cockpit access is no longer permitted to passengers; a part of the world was never the same again. There will come a day hailed as 'postpandemic', and as we wait upon normal to return to us, could we begin to reconsider what 'normal' really means? Perhaps in this time when the world is being so massively shaken, designers may adopt a forward-thinking response for how we imagine spaces and functions, and to radically consider the spatial divisions that exist between resting, living, working, learning, and playing. Homes may have to expand (spatially and programmatically), public spaces take on an even more important role. And perhaps work spaces will no longer limited to traditional workflow, but take on more flexible roles.

Even if “normal” has long gone past us, we can still hope on the creative minds to adapt to this changing world.

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53/07 Fiction

Berlage x Bnieuws

IN CONVERSATION WITH DAVID T. VAN ZANTEN Words: Berlage student, Stef Dingen, and David T. Van Zanten, Mary Jane Crow Emeritus Professor at Northwestern University

Several weeks before giving a lecture about Chicago-based architect Walter Burley Griffin’s Canberra Plan, as part of this semester’s Berlage Sessions, there was the opportunity to speak to historian David T. Van Zanten. His recent lecture was one in a series of case studies examining the histories, politics, policies, and processes of canonical architectural competitions since the mid-eighteenth century.

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From the Chicago Tribune Tower and the Paris Opera House, to Parc de la Villette and most recently the Guggenheim Helsinki, the public lecture series explored these competitions as opportunities of experimentation. Beyond the architectural competition’s evident objective of selecting an architect, ulterior motives are often at play. Financial and political considerations can steer the organising party in selecting a particular architect, while designers may utilise their answer to the competition brief as a vehicle to promote a certain ideology. The ensuing glimpse into our discussion about Griffin’s endeavours in Australia, leads from his lofty personal aspirations to the changing nature of architectural competitions at large.

“This is not necessarily a competition to design the new capital for Australia, but rather to set an example of a new architecture,” Professor Van Zanten explained early on in our conversation on Walter Griffin’s work. After beating his European star competitors Eliel Saarinen and Alfred Agache, in the 1911 competition to lay out Canberra, the new capital city of a united Australia, Griffin managed to get himself named in charge of a second step: an immediate competition for the parliament central to his winning urban plan. As Van Zanten argues, it is the competition for this capitol building that he used in his pursuit of inventing a new, concrete architecture. Similar ideas had been implicit in the initial renderings of their winning Canberra proposal by Marion Mahoney, Griffin’s wife and professional partner, but only after the pair mobilised jurors across Europe and the United States, did their intentions become clear. The eventual jury consisted of Louis Sullivan, Victor Laloux, John James Burnet, and Otto Wagner, all of whom were sympathetic to the use of reinforced concrete, and could thus serve as allies in Griffin’s quest. Wagner in particular, appeared to be receptive to this potentially revolutionary project.

Reality hit though when World War I broke out, and the competition as Griffin had imagined it never came to any sort of fruition. It is at this point that our talk moved away

from Canberra to Geneva, where it had been the 1927 competition for the Palace of the League of Nations, which arguably brought an end to the idea that a competition could be the source of a new architecture. Within weeks of Le Corbusier’s famous defeat, he established CIAM, which would use discussion amongst peers to define the future of building. A similar set-up of an international group of architects, also including Le Corbusier, would later collectively develop a design proposal for the United Nations headquarters in 1947. It was through discussion, rather than competition, that this building came to be. “The idea of a competition actually being a way to invent a new architecture, is to be very naïve and optimistic, because the politics are so elaborate and things are going to go wrong,” Van Zanten determinedly underlined once more, “and between the Palace of the League of Nations and the UN, I think the most decisive symbolically is the UN.” Anecdotally recalling his experience as a juror on the 1987 competition for the Harold Washington Library in Chicago, Van Zanten elaborated on the politics of decision making and the range of complications that can deflect the process. From the requirement of architects having to submit their proposal in partnership with a construction company and the limitations of a hundred million dollar budget, to the hierarchical makeup of a composed jury and the social pressure that comes with it.

Following all this, he insists, “that every competition is unique,” and that, “the moment matters, the people matter, and – god knows – the client matters.” If the idea that inventing a new architecture through a competition was already slightly ridiculous in an early twentieth century context, then it certainly seems fairy-tale-like today. The many complexities of elaborate selection procedures and intensely regulated European tenders hardly allow for such grand ambitions, yet we might have to join Van Zanten in appreciating the idea.

The Berlage x Bnieuws presents conversations with leading practitioners and thinkers invited to speak at the faculty as part of the Berlage’s public programme. David T. Van Zanten lectured on the Canberra Plan and Parliament on June 12, 2020 as part of the Berlage Sessions. Other contributors included George Baird, Tim Benton, Urtzi Grau, Kersten Geers, Christopher Curtis Mead, and Katherine Solomonson. Following the COVID-19 outbreak, this semester’s Berlage Sessions have moved online. Please follow their website and social media for livestreams and recordings.

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53/06 Home

BK Report

DOMESTIC CALAMITIES Words & Images Federico Ruiz

So far, this enclosure has given us the rare opportunity of meeting people who are not that close to us in the most intimate spaces possible: their houses. As an inevitable extension of this new reality, the smooth and focused rhythm of the academic world has suddenly been interrupted by events and accidents that belong to the domestic sphere. In some way, these moments have also become the most dramatic and intimate instants of this new, otherwise dull, days.

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M. is in the middle of a lecture on how to answer questions after a lecture. As if this redundancy wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t enough, he has chosen a picture of a tropical beach as background. A young girl enters the frame: unaware of the solemnity of the moment, she makes grotesque faces and sticks her tongue out. Eighty virtual faces laugh behind their silenced microphones.

Second studio session after the faculty closing.

Professor C. makes the final remarks in his paused way of speaking. Suddenly, a long and plaintive meow reveals the presence of a cat that is out of sight. C. excuses himself, kicks the animal out of the room and keeps talking.

Two kids around ten or twelve years old open the door behind her. Mom and kids all look the same: as a biblical miracle, this teacher has abruptly multiplied. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Say hi.â&#x20AC;? They wave. She tells them something in Dutch and they leave the room.

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During a break, one of the students talks in his mother tongue to a woman. A groupmate from the same country listens and envies his fellow’s good fortune: living with someone to talk to in native language is something he misses, even more during these strange times. Later, the identity of the mysterious woman is revealed: “I couldn’t find a home when I arrived in Amsterdam. She saved me from becoming homeless.”

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C. lives in the countryside. He usually answers the calls from the same room, with a landscape printed shoji behind him. One day, during a tutoring session, a rebellious cackling filters into the digital realm.

“Are those chickens?” asks one of his tutors. C. nods and laughs nervously: “Yes, they are in my garden.”

The phone rings. Professor K. says he must hang up for a moment. Once back, he explains it was his neighbour on the phone: the woman, 86 years old, was reporting to him she was still alive.

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Professor F.â&#x20AC;&#x2122;s daughter is usually studying behind her. During a studio session, F. calls for a break and leaves. Seconds later, moving with the stealth of a soviet spy, the girl sits in her motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s chair. At first, half her head can be seen. Then, after a few moments and evident effort, her entangled feet and arms appear, making circles in the air. Before her mother returns, the girl is back in her own chair, as if nothing had happened.

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53/06 Home

Pen Pal

THE FREEDOMS OF SUBURBIA Words & images Amy Young

Suburbia in London first established itself during the 19th century. Inner city London was suffering from an overgrowth in population which developed into extreme overcrowding, forming what could only be described as city slums.

This resulted in unpleasant living conditions, prompting many city people to crave a new way of life. The development of the national rail and the omnibus presented an opportunity for individuals to maintain their jobs in the centre of London whilst residing further outside the city. CFG Masterman in The condition of England described those who escaped the city as the suburbans, they formed a what he calls “a homogeneous civilisation – detached, self-centred, unostentatious. A life of security; a life of sedentary occupation; a life of respectability.”

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After the second world war, suburbia began to expand at an unprecedented rate, cheap housing in its masses was being erected to compensate for what had been lost during the Blitz. It gave way to the cookie cut house, the modernised version of the traditional English cottage that is seen across the majority of the UK. The suburban dream also came to fruition; semi-detached houses allowed the suburbans to live in spacious and secluded homes but within the often-modest budget of the lower middle class. During the post-war period it seems that those living the suburban dream were content and fulfilled by the life the suburbs could offer them; the safety, community and predictability. Those living a ‘cultured’ city life however, thought otherwise, heavily criticising the very idea of suburbia. To them it was an emblem of social snobbery: a place full of wealth and devoid of taste. George Orwell famously said in a reflection of his novel Coming up for air, “suburbia is a prison with the cells all in a row, semi-detached torture chambers.”

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After spending the first eighteen years of my life in the sleepy suburbs of south London, to me suburbia largely had the connotations Orwell described, I saw it as a place of homogeneity, complacency, ordinariness and the stiff middle class. I perceived suburbia as a place that stifled creativity and freedom, a completely mundane backdrop to life.

In March this year I moved back to my childhood

home in London, taking refuge with my parents from the relentless pandemic of covid-19. Suddenly, the unrestricted world I had been enjoying for the past three years had been condensed down to only a few streets I had seen thousands of times before. At first, the limitation on my surroundings was horrendous, I felt uninspired and numb. However, as the weeks went on I felt a change in my attitude, I found myself having to stop to take pictures of houses, people and scenes, documenting the suburbs like I would document a new city. Suburbia suddenly had a new lease of life, the quirks were unfolding, the architecture was speaking a clearer language and I could see the intricacies of the neighbourhood for the first time, without the clouded judgement I had previously been carrying.

The sudden absence of the feeling of monotony I think was in part due to my observation of the ‘addition architecture’ in suburbia. I would define ‘addition architecture’ as the ad hock extending and enlarging of a building, often without architectural guidance or any real appreciation for form and aesthetics. The alterations are, by and large, driven by the occupiers, moulding their homes to exactly their needs, whether that be an expanding family, need for a home office or an extra bathroom. The result of this ‘addition architecture’ is a strangely rich architectural language. Each home has character, a quirk, all of a sudden, the cookie cutter streets have diversity.

The ‘addition architecture’ has definitely not made suburbia more beautiful, far from it I would argue. It has simply given it some substance. In the infamous form versus function debate, it seems in the suburbs function always prevails. Space is created, even if that results in triangular dormers or protruding side extensions that ignore the laws of symmetry.

‘Addition architecture’ does not care for style or theories, what is added is added by necessity. Each addition made by each household is subtly different, just like each household has its subtilties. Maybe the roof pitch is an extra two degrees after the extension or a new bay window has been added on the side elevation unlike the rest of the street. The suburbs have slowly evolved from being homogenous, neighbourhoods to places with differences and character, a quality which for a long time was said to be missing. One could argue that this is simply the working of time, places naturally evolve and change as the years pass. However, the suburban dream also plays a part. The suburbs are the place where the middle class can carve a little piece of England out for themselves, the additions they make to their homes become a mark of ownership and pride.

seems to be that the houses designed were adaptable, the base model was not the house of the future, but it had the capability to transform into it when need be. The large pitches of the roofs gave way to spacious attics which could very easily be transformed into a fourth bedroom as a family expanded, or the rear could be extended four meters when the household decided the children were getting a bit too big for the modest living room.

Suburbia unlike other typologies allows for life to dictate the architecture in quite a natural way, the buildings are morphed and formed around those inhabiting it.

The ‘addition architecture’ I saw also emphasised the surprising longevity of the suburbs. One of the biggest critiques of post-war suburbia is that the neighbourhoods were built for a vision of the future that was mostly unfixed. How could the architecture respond to such uncertainty? The answer to this

Amy is an editor at Bath University's magazine

For much of recent history the suburbs have been attacked and criticized as if they are places of atrocities and architectural suicide. Spending my quarantine getting to know suburbia a bit more personally has truly shifted my perception and judgements. Suburbia is no longer a place that is stifled and a prison for the middle class, but surprisingly a place for an exploration of identity, self-driven architecture and place of true longevity.

Paperspace, the student-led architectural magazine from the Department of Architecture. She wrote this article during an exchange semester at BK.

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53/07 Fiction

BK Report

SHIFTING UTOPIAS Words Federico Ruiz

What are utopias? We might solve this question by remembering Thomas More and the precise etymology of the word: utopias have no place in reality. And yet, carrying a handful of notions on how the world should be, we stubbornly insist on improving what we think is wrong out there. What is, then, the nature of these ideas in architecture? How have they changed over time? Are they concrete possibilities for a better future? Or mere fictions that can only inhabit our imagination? I talked to some graduates from BK and this is what they said.

“I studied from 1950 until '58,” says Herman Hertzberger, 87, from his office in Amsterdam, “At that time, in the Faculty, there was still a sort of battle between the Delftse School, which was the traditional side, […] and the Modernists, what they called the Modernists. It was also called right wing against left wing. So the Delftse School wanted to, so to say, keep all the old values including regionalism just in the rebuilding of the country, and the modernists were, of course, influenced by CIAM, especially Le Corbusier. They were dreaming of a new democratic [society] with the emphasis on social housing and better cities.”

Amid this confrontation of ideas on how to rebuild a nation, perhaps one of the few scenarios where utopias have a practical role, Herzberger picked a side, not without first recognising the limitations of such a choice: “For me, there is a looking for a balance of the two. I’m faithful to the modernists, and I will stay faithful to the modernists until the end of my life. But they were not a hundred percent right. They made too much open space, and they neglected the idea of belonging, they neglected the social side of it.” Later in the conversation, he leaves for a moment and comes back with the prints of two images of a family having dinner amidst the ruins of

Aleppo, in Syria: “This whole story is telling that: even when the world completely falls apart, there still will be the force of the social coherence. Which was, in fact, part of the conservative story, you know?”

Today, more than half a century after making that choice, Hertzberger now knows that utopias can’t survive reality without adapting along the way: “They changed with the world. I mean, the world has changed. Today, when you ask [for] the utopia of this time it is in fact, this may sound negative, to ‘save the world’. I mean, this idea of ‘we can make the world’ has changed into ‘we can save the world’.” For architects, this new paradigm translates into the need for making “the conditions, I would say, try to make conditions for social cohesion.

That’s the main task of architecture today.”

In the mid-1980s, when Hertzberger was already a teacher in BK, two students, Els Bet and Francine Houben, were graduating after nearly a decade in the faculty: “I think we were all afraid of starting life.

You know, just extended it as long as you can,” says Bet, now a teacher at the Department of Urbanism of BK. With the student movements of the 70s, this was a faculty in constant reinvention. As recalled by

< Map of the island of Utopia. Woodcut by Ambrosius Holbein. From the 1518 edition of Thomas More's Utopia.

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Houben, “we had the possibility to put and to set up our own projects: we often developed what we wanted to do ourselves and selected our own teachers, and our own subjects.” “They made lecture series, they made the readers, it was the first time of the copy machine so you didn't have to stencil it all with this machine, so we all copied projects and plans, and we gave it to each other,” complements Bet.

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When asked about the utopias of her generation, Bet says that there were three: “‘take care of the world’, ‘make love not war’ and ‘equal rights for everybody’.

And that had not much to do with the School”. In fact, the Faculty was far from having a unified agenda, and distinct groups coexisted under the same roof, all with different programmes and with easily identifiable followers: “We had a lot of architectural schools, [but] they were also a kind of life attitude differences,“ she explains, “It was, you might say, just as now: this kind of architecture school with I think quite a buzz, but also very, very strongly divided. You belonged to this part, or you belonged to that part, or you belonged to that part.”

If the generation of Hertzberger was occupied with the reconstruction of a continent, this was a moment where students were resisting and reacting to the established order. Bet says that after witnessing, “Thatcher and Reagan, and this cutting off the welfare state [...] came Punk time, with this kind of nihilism. You said ‘well, it's a shitty world. It's all shit, so let's party.’ But that did not change your ideas on Utopia.” For Houben, who at the time had already founded the team that later became Mecanoo, this spirit of resistance was expressed through architecture: “This was an extremely important statement for myself, but of course also the group I was part of: that social housing should also be beautiful. Because that was totally not the attitude, I can tell you, by my teachers or my colleagues, the other students. It was very much like ‘it has to be affordable.’”

Internal division, as noted by Bet, has been one of the defining characteristics of the Faculty for the last 70 years. Nonetheless, in the previous decades the perception of this issue changed, and fragmentation turned into the source of diversity. For Bas Horsting, an architect and urbanist graduated in 2002 who answers my questions from his houseboat in Amsterdam, “Our time was an exciting transition period, where three flows connected: you still had the contact with the era of Hertzberger and Aldo van Eyck, the start of the starchitects, and there was this independent group of young teachers and professors that were all somewhere [else],” the latter defending a kind of architecture that was less exuberant, and more focused on a, “sensible, small-scale intervention and approach to architecture.” Stan van der Maas, who graduated three years later, coincides in this view; “there were many different points of view within the faculty, and many different studios and teachers experimenting or practising different ways of doing architecture.”

Despite this wide range of choices, for van der Maas one of the ideas shared by his generation, “was ‘pragmatism.’ I also remember this phrase of Koolhaas when he speaks about New York, ‘An architecture that relates to the forces of the großstadt,’ is what he says, […] as a surfer to the waves. And I think this is the way we were also practising at the Faculty, how we were taught to think. It was not about realising big dreams, it was more about realising big projects. It was not about having a theory or a line of thought or putting yourself in historic perspective, it was more about a concept and developing a concept”. As a comment on this attitude, Herzberger says that: “We had the Koolhaas’ generation, from the 1980s on, and Koolhaas was for limitless possibilities, the Greek would say Carpe Diem. I remember a sentence of Koolhaas directed to me, because he knew that I played the piano, he said, ‘You should use the whole piano and not just one side of it.’ In fact, what he was saying was, ‘You don’t use all the possibilities of

our time.’ And this is, of course, part of the neoliberalism of market and the idea of growth, but I defend Koolhaas in the sense that he really used imagination.”

In the first decade of the 21st century, the Faculty went on fire and, fuelled by a never-before-seen flow of people and information coming from all over the world, it also became the international environment we know today. For Alankrita Sarkar, who graduated from the track of Urbanism in 2017, the first reaction to this environment was trying, “to compare things.

What was there in India and what was here now.”

Driven by this inquisitive attitude, during her time at BK she became interested in, “this idea of comparative study, and also how that can inspire other places. It is not necessarily so that things happening over here are not really [happening] at all in New York. There are always some points or principles that can be taken to any places. So, I think I believed in that thought, and I did a lot of comparative studies during my study years.” In contrast with the Dutch-centred debates of the past, global dreams were now forged inside the rooms of BK. On the other hand, as the faculty widened its programme’s offers and increased the intake of

international students, it also lost the slow-paced and debate-centred atmosphere that it once had.

Programmes were shortened, and space and time for thinking were reduced. In this regard, Bas Horsting has some interesting remarks: “If I speak to students from the Faculty, they hardly have time to look well into history and to investigate their own position in history. That's really a pity,” and he continues, “what I notice is [that in] the University now you have to be quite strict on your path, and there's not much time to reflect on what you're doing.” As a student, I couldn’t agree more.

So, what are Utopias? Apparently, they can be concrete visions for a new world, dreams in the ideal state of things, or ways of relating to knowledge.

Nonetheless, and despite the lack of consensus on the shape they have, there was a common ground in their role. In all cases, utopias were revealed as the ideological compasses that let individuals navigate through a sea of uncertainties and risks, “your touchstone. Because you have to stay clear, you have to keep a clear mind on what you're doing,” says Els Bet. They are an absolute system of reference in a world of relatives. Or, as put by Hertzberger, “What you call utopia… I would rather talk about horizons.”

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53/06 Home

Pen Pal

AN ODE TO THE PAVEMENT Words & images Margot Hols

Due to the current circumstances, my ideas about ‘home’ are shifting. My physical living, working and exercising space may have been restricted to 14m2, but the garden has never seen my face so many times per day and I’m rediscovering my tiny neighbourhood. During these walks, the pavement provides a dancefloor of some sorts. Dodging approaching pedestrians becomes an activity in itself. Before all of this, the pavement was just there. Now, its importance as an element to structured street-life is evident. Of course, this wasn’t always like this.

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In de 15th and 16th century, the first ‘pavement’ was introduced by wealthy bourgeoisie, as a shield between the privacy of home and the public life and its carriages rushing by.

The private pavement was often marked with fences: beams, chains, cast iron ornaments on top of a heightened piece of natural stone. Remnants are still visible in the city centre of Delft, Amsterdam and The Hague.

To prevent too much chaos in the street-image, the municipality of Delft was the first municipality who decided upon some rules for these pavements in 1573. The pavement could not be built on top or over the gutter and could have a maximum width of 1.25 meters. With this, the Delftste stoep was born.

Slowly, the fast traffic came into the picture and around the 19th century the stoep was replaced by the trottoir. Although these words could both be translated to pavement and are mixed in use in Dutch, their origin tells us the difference between the (Delftse) stoep and the trottoir. Stoep is a scramble of the Dutch word opstappen which means ‘to step on something’ and leads us to the fact that the stoep was often heightened. Trottoir is based on the French word trotter, which basically means walking and refers to the ‘part of the road where you can walk’.

Although ‘newer’ urban areas mostly have trottoirs, the old city centres are still characterized by their narrow stoep. And the Delftse stoep seems to play a more important role in the public life, especially during these times.

Despite the bourgeoisie’s original need for a ‘privacy-shield’ it now seems that people can’t go without privacy nor without publicity. We want to be able to withdraw ourselves but also take part in public life. An inner-world, our house, and an outer-world, our stoep.

This translates to the appropriation of space by putting out benches, planters, statues and even little ‘libraries’. The Delftse stoep is not just a public space, owned by the municipality, it is inseparable from the private space, our home. The benches become a space where the newspaper is read under the last rays of sunlight, a lookout for the children playing on the street and the perfect spot for the mailman to leave a package, safely at 1,5-meter distance. The planters, finally filled with flowers, give some colour to the unusually empty streets. The mini library tells us what our neighbour likes to read or doesn’t.

The living environment is restricted, and every piece that’s left is becoming more important. The outside environment is taken care of again. The results? The stoep again becomes a place of social connection. Not just a dumping place for bikes, but a place where neighbours meet neighbours. Sometimes planned, sometimes unexpected. And in the current times, that might be just what we need.

Helmer, S. (2016, August 24). Wat is de Delftse stoep 2.0?

Hoexum, P. (2016, March 9). Het huis, de stoep en de straat.

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53/05 Exodus

Artefact

THE BRIC-A-BRAC CABINET Words and image Leeke Reinders

‘Artefact’ is a recurring two-page spread, which features a beloved object presented by one of the BK City staff members. Every month, the author passes on the ‘Artefact’contributorship to the next. Last month Paul Vermeulen nominated anthropologist Leeke Reinders, who explores the intersections between fieldwork, visual research and architectural/urban design in the chair of Urban Architecture.

This cabinet looks like an apartment building. It is delicate but stands firm and proud. It looks familiar but is one of a kind. At night, the street light outside shines softly on the metal handles and the 'building' seems to flicker with life. During the day, the thing is revealed for what it used to be: storage space for the equipment and materials of a bicycle repair shop.

Artefacts transform through time. They wear, move and change hands. Its usage might change, as well as its meaning or emotional connotations. The first time I laid eyes upon this cabinet building, I was intrigued by its bric-a-brac qualities. Different wooden textures and colours show additions and mutations. It is self-made out of pieces of mahogany, plywood, paper and metal. It holds 81 boxes, 23 labels (some loose, one broken), 89 nails and 190 screws. Although the cabinet is heavy and full of rough edges, it appears so light and elegant. Maybe it is the slightly curved left leg that does the trick.

The cabinet is a practical building. It used to be stuffed with screws, bags, pins, nails, rags, wrenches, brushes, tubes and other materials to support the handyman. Now, it stands in the corner of a private living room. It is in a warm place, flanked by the marble frame of the fireplace and the curtains of a front bay window, and full of homely artefacts. There are boxes for specific things: some have dices, playing cards or postcards, others are used to store candles, lighters and matches, sunglasses, batteries and jewellery. Many boxes are empty, others have never even been opened. Some contain things long forgotten.

Artefacts change, as do personal preoccupations. As an adolescent, lost in the 1990's, I despised objects as too materialistic. Now, I seek comfort in things. They hold memories and remind me of all the beautiful things yet to come. B

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53/05 Exodus

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Next issue: 02 CHANGE We live in turbulent times, times which create circumstances where we don’t quite know where we’ll be in just a few short months.

While viruses and protests lay siege on the world we ask ourselves, what will change?

We live in eternal flux, but we live in the tangible evidence of the past.

Next edition: CHANGE.

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Bnieuws 54/02 release date October 2020.

53/07 Fiction

Bnieuws INDEPENDENT PERIODICAL OF THE FACULTY OF ARCHITECTURE AND THE BUILT ENVIRONMENT TU DELFT VOLUME 54 ISSUE 01