Re-materialising Log: Surface, Image, and Tales of Venice by Cameron Frame

STUDIES IN CONTEMPORARY ARCHITECTURAL THEORY CAMERON FRAME RE-MATERIALISING LOG: SURFACE, IMAGE, AND TALES OF VENICE 2021/22

ARCHITECTURE

TITLE

ENTRY

CONTENT MAP

The Curator’s Quandry

ESSAY

Thick By Nature

The Editor’s

ARCHITECTURE ARCHITECTURE

and the thick

Dusty, Un-flooded

ARCHITECTURE

‘s surfaces

Nature in

ARCHITECTURE

Clean, Flooded

ARCHITECTURE

Future of

ARCHITECTURE

and the thick

ARCHITECTURE

for the dead for a real world

Return to Earth

Augmenting [Un]reality

Unreal

ARCHITECTURE

Surface as Image

Plastic

ARCHITECTURE

Surface of Void

Identity of

ARCHITECTURE

in the void

Surface in Society

ARCHITECTURE

of change

PAGE

THEME

PROJECT World Trade Centre, NY

Maison de Verre &

The Packard Plant Laban Dance Centre

Times Square, NY NMAAHC

VOID

Ibere Camargo Foundation &

22 26 FUTURE CONSIDERATIONS

San Michele Cemetery

SURFACE

Bushey Cemetery &

ARCHITECTURE AFTER LIFE

IMAGE

VENICE

Fondazione Querini Stampalia

30 32 36

00 THE CURATOR’S QUANDARY Nineteen years have passed since the inception of Log, a publication that has followed the wax and wane of its founder’s social, political, and personal focus – whilst continuing to seek the same platform for architectural commentary that aided its establishment in 2003. Indeed, the architectural discipline, and wider world, have changed significantly over this time but the role of editor has remained at the forefront. Log targets a position of observation; however it makes no commitment to remain politically neutral throughout, and from the maiden issue a standpoint is established: dissatisfaction with the current offering of contemporary architectural forum in North America. It is here that Cynthia Davidson, as editor, makes her first political bearing: calling for submissions via a postcard. Despite the seemingly open-forum approach that a call for submissions represents, we are not given any information on the outcome of this process (e.g. who submitted, how many submitted, which submissions developed to publishing), and without disclosing this information, the reader is left guessing the individual voices behind this chorus. Who has called for Log? Does Log appeal to all readers? What is the role of the reader in Log? It is true that as Editor, Davidson has a responsibility for the curation of each issue, and the ‘observations, speculations, and ideas on architecture’ that are published within. This is the curator’s quandary: How does one identify the voices to represent architectural thinking at that time in North America, and beyond? Observing the preface of multiple Log issues shows a set of names featuring repeatedly – all closely associated with Davidson. Contrastingly, the postcard attached to each cover offers reader engagement, and the opportunity to steer the course of this publication.

Despite this author’s speculation, Log continues to publish in-line with its demanding schedule, continuing to draw an audience, and showing that there remains a ‘desire for a venue such as Log’. At time of writing Davidson remains at the helm, ensuring the publication never drifts too far from its original bearing of providing a forum for architectural commentary.

T h e re f o re o f t h i s , as a re t ro s jo specula urnal, I offe pective read r t io er represe n. To what my postcard nt e o d i s c o u r t h e t h i n k i n g x te n t d o e s L f o o se in th e 2 1 s t C f t h e a rc h i t e c t g e x te n t u e ra is nt echo c this publica ur y, and to wh l t ion ac ha t i n g as a t shared mber for a sc an a rc h i t e b e t w e e n b i g h o o l o f t h o u g c tu re s chools name Amer ht ic and th eir alu an mni?

Davidson’s lack of commitment to a neutral stance with the journal perhaps indicates that she holds little desire to make this publication a full reflection of architectural thinking, if indeed that would be possible to achieve. However her role in Log goes further than this, as a sole founder of the publication she remains emotionally invested in the creative direction, an issue that came to light through the guest-edit of Log 5. Publicly rejecting her own journal was a stark indicator of her vision for the title, and led to an extended hiatus from collaborating with Somol & Whiting. FIG.01 06 8

This content downloaded 86.150.191.253 on Mon, 07 Dec 2020from 17:38 All use subject to https://about.jstor.or :05 UTC g/terms

ESSAY THICK BY NATURE THE INTRINSIC AND EXTRINSIC ROLE OF NATURE IN MATERIAL THICKNESS Whether we are aware of their presence or not, or perhaps devote years to studying them, many of us will interact with a series of spaces we see architectural quality in – they are thickened spaces. A constellation of these thickened spaces exists for each of us, like stars at night, the light of which we receive only representing a moment in time, along an ever-changing temporal pathway. The value we see in spatial techniques, architectural typology, and material qualities rise and fade throughout our lifetime, and represents the continued evolution of our constellation. That is, the architectures we deem to be thickened spaces evolves over time, as we employ new metrics for critical review. As alluded to already, the constellation we are considering becomes a deeply personal assessment of architectural design, establishing the notion that thickness is not a binary parameter. What commonalities exist when thinking materially thick? Are there materials that appear more readily in these spaces, therefore holding a greater potential to thicken? And given current thinking towards the climate emergency, what is the role of nature in these spaces? It is these questions that provide a direction of study for this essay, seeking to understand whether materials referencing the presence of nature exhibit a greater potential to thicken architecture. Nature, first as a provider of matter, registers itself through the surface quality of material – e.g. grain of timber panels, tonal fluctuations in stone flooring due to the presence of certain minerals etc. – and secondly as a set of forces acting upon architecture – e.g. decay of buildings through weathering, softening through human inhabitation. Taking Robert McAnulty’s reading of material thickness and its ever-increasing significance as a metric for review in the architectural discourse, the essay looks at two case studies whereby material selection was critical in the architectural vision (1). Pierre Chareau’s Maison de Verre in Paris challenged societal boundaries through its use of glass in a house-clinic setting, removing materials from their natural origin but maintaining the opportunity to register temporal changes. Contrastingly, Carlo Scarpa constructs gallery space in a Venice basement opening up dialogue with its context through a permeable architecture and materials that register a natural origin. Using these buildings as examples of thickened spaces, and referencing critical writings of them, this study assesses the relationship between manufacture and nature in material selection when thinking thick, and observes the architectural implications when nature returns to the site.

FIG.02 FIG.01 : Log. “Postcards from Log Journal”. Anyone Corporation. Date Varies FIG.02 : ARCHIVIBE. Fondazione Querini Stampalia. Photograph. ARCHIVIBE. 2010. https://www.archivibe.com/the-renovation-of-the-fondazione-querini-stampalia-by-carlo-scarpa/ FIG.03 : Vellay, Marc. Maison de Verre. Photograph. La Gazette Drouot. 2021. https://www.gazette-drouot.com/en/article/dalsace-chareau-3A-the-maison-de-verre-an-icon-ofmodern-architecture/30514 1. McAnulty, Robert. 2005. “What’s the Matter With Material.” Log 5: 87-92.

FIG.03

PRESENCE OF NATURE AND ITS POTENTIAL TO THICKEN The blocks are dusty, The tide is low Before examining the spatial qualities of two buildings considered to be materially thick, it is first important to establish what is meant by the term, or attempt to broaden our understanding of the idea at least. Writing for Log in 2005, Robert McAnulty gives us an introduction to thickness through its relationship with materiality; ‘While it is true that the thick resides in materiality, it does not depend on materiality. Quite the opposite: materiality is grounded in the thickness of matter, not vice versa’ (1). Here McAnulty is suggesting that it is not necessarily the materials that make a space thick, rather the manner in which matter is organised into a material in turn provides us with a thick substrate to work with. Assembling materials into built space, as McAnulty later writes, creates resonance between surfaces, materials etc.: ‘Architecture’s special effects arise out of the relations it constructs between the forms it finds materialised in the world – out of the organisation and reorganisation of matter’ (1). Waves crash against the cliffs, tides surge forward and backward, and rivers charge downstream – rock becomes sand – thousands of years worth of erosion has altered the form of this matter into a substance that resembles its past, whilst falling through our fingers. Here, human activity takes this substrate and with the application of heat transforms it, removing any remaining visual or tactile record of its origins – rock becomes sand becomes glass. When Pierre Chareau designed Maison de Verre in 1928, the materials were selected for the societal significance created by their adjacency to the building’s programme as a house-clinic for Gynaecologist Dr Jean Dalsace (2). The practical requirement for the spaces to be kept hygienic, coupled with material advances at the time, meant the architecture registers almost no record of natural materials. Glass walls, steel columns, metal furniture, and linoleum flooring make up a set of spaces that on first glance appear sterile, cold, and unnatural. Despite the early work of water and rock in organising matter into what would become this building, there remains no trace of it here. The influence of water can be seen readily in architectural construction, but perhaps nowhere more so than in Venice, a city living above, and sometimes, below water. For Mike Cadwell, it is precisely this treading in the shallows that makes Scarpa’s work at the Fondazione Querini Stampalia of particular interest(3). Here matter has undergone minimal separation from its natural origins, resulting in an architecture that remains contextually aware, in dialogue with its surroundings. Travertine, Istrian stone, and timber form the material base for the gallery spaces that sit in the same horizontal plane as the canal, giving nature a continued presence in the architecture. This is thickened space. This is architecture that achieves what is set out above by McAnulty, creating resonance between substrates due to the strategic organisation and reorganisation of matter, as can be seen through the example of travertine. It is not merely the use of a material that can be deemed to have a beautiful surface, it is also the context in which that material is used that makes it thick, as Cadwell describes from within the main gallery at Querini Stampalia, below the waterline: FIG.04

FIG.04 : Chareau, Pierre. Maison de Verre. Drawing. Archdaily 1932. https://www.archdaily.com/248077/ad-classics-maison-de-verre-pierre-chareau-bernard-bijvoet FIG.05 : Lyon, Mark. Light inside Maison de Verre. Photograph. The Jewish Museum. 2021. https://thejewishmuseum.org/exhibitions/pierre-chareau-modern-architecture-and-design 1. McAnulty, Robert. 2005. “What’s the Matter With Material.” Log 5: 87-92. 2. Cheatle, Emma. 2017. Part-Architecture: The Maison de Verre, Duchamp, Domesticity and Desire in 1930s Paris. London: Routledge. 3. Cadwell, Mike. 2007. Strange Details: Swimming at the Querini Stampalia Foundation. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press.

FIG.05

FIG.06

‘We remember that we last saw travertine as pavers leading up from the canal (what is it doing here?) and remember that travertine is the residue of hot water, laden with minerals, that is forced out of the earth under pressure, then evaporates, leaving behind deposits of calcium carbonate. Travertine is petrified water and looks like it. Scarpa, ever attentive, has cut the stone against the grain here, not with the grain as with the pavers. We are not stepping on the stone anymore, but we are captured within its depth.’ - Cadwell, 2007 Taking nature to be the original organiser of matter, we can assume it to be responsible for providing the forms and surface qualities we associate with materials. By employing matter that exhibits the forces responsible for its organisation, Scarpa creates resonance with the historic context he is working in, taking advantage of the thick potential available by these materials. The warped and distorted material palette of Maison de Verre does not hold thickness by the same metrics as Querini Stampalia, rather it achieves special architectural effects with the human touch found in manufacturing processes and the buildings’ inhabitation. The original glass blocks, sand cast, offer subtle differences in the tone of light when inside this building that create a diffuse and organic feel to the space within. Illuminating the building and creating moments of intrigue, the glass wall begins to thicken the space. This effect is enhanced by a phenomenon seen abundantly in architecture, but rarely with such influence, as Cheatle describes: ‘The visual understanding implied by glass is challenged by a material that can be seen yet challenges vision: dust’ (2). Registered against a surface representing transparency, dust settles on a blank canvas, acting as a record of people passing through the building. The process of glass dusting creates resonance of a new kind, one of human, natural origin - by which measure we can consider Maison de Verre thick with potential. Nature, upon first reading, through inherent and emitted effects, establishes and enhances thickness in architecture.

FIG.07

FIG.08

FIG.06 : ARCHIVIBE. Fondazione Querini Stampalia. Photograph. ARCHIVIBE. 2010. https://www.archivibe.com/the-renovation-of-the-fondazione-querini-stampalia-by-carlo-scarpa/ FIG.07 : Castagna, Francesco. Steps at Querini Stampalia. Photograph. Divisare. 2021. https://divisare.com/projects/318723-carlo-scarpa-mario-botta-valeriano-pastor-riccardo-de-calfrancesco-castagna-fondazione-querini-stampalia FIG.08 : Cook, Gary. Palette Spring, Travertine Terraces. Photograph. Robertharding. 2015. https://www.robertharding.com/preview/762-742/palette-spring-travertine-terracesmammoth-hot-springs-yellowstone/

FIG.09 14

BORN THICK, MADE THICK? What matters about material, is matter Having established the importance of materiality in thickening space, be it through qualities embedded within the material, or attributes that resonate with the architecture’s programme, it is necessary to ask ourselves what commonalities exist between these thick substrates. Is there a correlation between the surface attributes of the material and its potential to thicken? Or as with Cadwell’s reading of Querini Stampalia, the way we use matter changes depending on the context we are working with? Through the example of stone it has been suggested here that materials exhibiting traces of their natural origins bare a greater potential to thicken, by current metrics of design. Taking this assumption, we seek to understand what it is about this process that resonates with us as designers. There is an honesty, perhaps, in the manner by which matter is presented such as a sectional cut through timber revealing a grain, or the impurities we find within stone. These are examples of material honesty, but also a record of time. Time of matter before material. Writing on the architectural discourse’s fondness towards found spaces, particularly for use as galleries, museums etc, Jonathan Hale remarks on the layering of time as a thickening agent: ‘It is this sense of historical excess embedded within the thickness of the medium that I would like to suggest is a key aspect of the richness of potential that found spaces seem able to offer.’ - Hale, 2015 Here Hale is discussing the notion that there is more to a material than can be simply explained, with decades or centuries of natural forces acting upon the matter to create an organisation we are able to build with (4). Adding to this a layering of programmatic uses, e.g. timber supporting growth of a tree now supports the structure of a building, a richness develops over time that we can associate to thick potential. Therefore, we can assume a possible explanation for our attraction towards materials demonstrating natural origins lies with the thickness of time embedded within them; developing thick potential requires time. As established above, nature is the organiser of matter and generates a thick potential within its substrates, however it does not provide us with building materials – the forces we excerpt upon natural resources determines the products we are able to build with. It is therefore reasonable to assume that our manufacturing processes are the beginnings of a process to extract thickness from material. The decisions we make when handling matter can unlock, or inhibit, the thickness that matter will hold when used in space. As much as materials are born thick through nature’s organisation of matter, they are made thick through the re-organisation of matter that we apply. Each situation requiring a different extent of manufacture, it is possible therefore to over-make or undermake, leaving the material not suitable for its context and ultimately not achieving its full thick potential. Maison de Verre, however, demonstrates that there is not a clear answer to where we draw the line on manufacturing; the glass blocks here bare no record of their sandy origins yet they are capable of facilitating thickness through the spatial effects generated. This opens questions of thick in

FIG.09 : Mouraz, Tito. Marble Quarry Italy. Photograph. Yellowtrace. 2015. https://www.yellowtrace.com.au/marble-quarries-yuri-ancarani-tito-mouraz/ 4. Hale, Johnathan. 2015. “Found Spaces and Material Memory: Remarks on the Thickness of Time in Architecture.” In The Material Imagination, by Matthew Mindrup, 169-180. London: Routledge

artificiality. Nature is no longer a pre-requisite for the thick in architecture, and as shown through these case studies we can achieve thick without it: Maison de Verre becoming a much talked about example of progressive materials at the time (2). Perhaps we should return to McAnulty, writing on why thick matters: ‘But what we should remember is that it is not the thick itself that is of interest but the process by which the thick is thickened. Thickening reorganises matter into new relationships. Shapes, forms, even form-objects can coexist in a world thickened by design. But they matter only insofar as they thicken our experience by deepening our sensitivity to resonant relations.’ - McAnulty, 2005 This text reminds us that we cannot think thick without thinking resonance; the relationships that elements hold with each other in space is critical to successful architecture. There is not a clear answer to the balance between nature and manufacture in this context, each material requiring a unique pairing of the two forces to generate an appropriate form for the architecture. Whilst nature can make a substrate born thick, it must also be made thick before we achieve special spatial effects. RETURN OF NATURE The blocks are clear, The tide is rising In pursuit of understanding thickness Hale introduces the notion of time as a contributing factor in generating the thick, and whilst past-time is critical in the topics discussed thus far, the dynamism of nature does not stop once a building is constructed – future-time sees the return of nature. Dismantled one-by-one the glass blocks making up the façade of Maison de Verre have reached the end of their life, and must be replaced. Like an act of aggression towards manufacturing and the removal of nature in their production, weathering has led to the demise of these components. Nature has the last However, this process of restoration cannot match the same spatial qualities that existed originally – not only is the original, dappled, sand-cast surface removed, but also any record of human inhabitation along with it. Dust that was never intended to

FIG.10 16

reside in this sterile environment but gave the space so much, is now taken away. The act of cleaning the House of Glass was a necessary one for the long-term survival of the house, as owner Robert Rubin describes, ‘the objective was to live in this house in the 21st century to show the possible daily use of modernism and not to remain on the feeling of rigour that emerges from it’ (5). Clearly Rubin acknowledges the importance for this building to remain a residency, not a museum, however it is the process of preserving the property for this use that has removed traces of its past inhabitants. We must therefore ask whether in doing so Maison de Verre has lost its thick? If so, perhaps this is only a temporary alteration to the architectural quality, and as the dust returns, so will the thick. Architecture responds to regularised events from external forces frequently, however as shown with Maison de Verre’s fabric alterations, occasionally events of a more significant scale test the building. As the tide rises, and flood horn sounds, Querini Stampalia is simultaneously under attack and coming into its own. Scarpa’s gallery spaces sit precariously close to the water line making their relationship to the canal critical to the success of the building. As Cadwell writes in his essay titled ‘Swimming at the Querini Stampalia’, there is ‘an odd liquid quality to the detailing’ – these two pieces of information alone are enough to inform us of the architect’s acceptance of the canal here (3). Rather than fighting the forces of nature, edges are permeable, and surfaces mimic the qualities of water and earth, resulting in a spatial sequence that carries the visitor through the building with acute awareness of proximity to the canal. It is with this understanding that we conduct a second reading of the space, one that observes stone flooring lapping up the wall to an indicative tide-line, and a reflective ceiling mirroring the surface of the canal. The building accepts its fate: water floods the gallery. At once we see the architecture in its most resonant state with blurred lines between context and building, and a sensory overload to take in. New tide-lines are left on the surfaces, parallel to Scarpa’s, and smells of the city’s sewage system fill the room. Querini Stampalia is thick, thick with layers of material complexity each considered in relation to those adjacent to them, and complemented by sensory signals of human activity. The sounds of the city, the smells of the city, and sights of nature within materiality, and the feeling of water around our ankles are what makes this moment resonate so strongly – nature has returned, and thick becomes thicker.

CONCLUSION Having assessed thickness through these two cases it is worth returning to our opening statements and remembering that without quantifiable metrics for thinking thick, it remains a deeply personal judgment of architecture; and whilst readings from Hale, McAnulty, and Cadwell (amongst others) move us closer to a clear definition, there remains room for discussion. We think thick, we do not know thick. Despite this, through the body of critical resource available on the subject, and thick’s proximity to ‘good design’, we can respond to the questions posed by this essay. Querini Stampalia shows us the timeless nature of material in architecture, and that when successful it can be a contributing factor in creating special spatial effects. Using Hale’s reading of thickness and time, we can draw the conclusion that exhibiting nature in the surface quality of a material is a means for increasing thick potential. Therefore we can assume these materials appear more readily within a constellation of thickened spaces. This, however, is without considering the necessary steps taken to transform matter to material to building material – manufacturing. Humans play a key role in the thick potential that we unlock from a substrate with the forces we excerpt upon it; inappropriate treatment of these materials can be seen to inhibit potential. Near complete removal of nature from architectural surfaces, as seen in Maison de Verre, forces the building to seek alternative means for achieving thickness; e.g. registering human touch and inhabitation. This building demonstrates that thickness finds its way into the building through constructing a surface onto which nature – human touch – can record itself. However just as human touch provided the architecture with the substrate onto which thickness can be projected, it can be removed just as easily; Maison de Vere losing its thickness to fabric alterations necessary for its own survival. Whilst the use of material exhibiting natural origins makes thickness appear more readily, i.e. holding a greater thick potential, it is not the only means of achieving this effect. In a time of climate emergency, therefore, designers must ask themselves whether, with this assumption of nature holding a greater thick potential, we have the same justification for using materials not exhibiting nature. As we prepare for future interactions with an ever-more volatile environment, Scarpa shows us how embracing context has the potential to thicken our spaces. Creating robust, versatile architecture layering human and natural stimuli is a possible route to better design. If thickness is to remain – if not grow – as a metric for architectural critique, nature must be considered alongside it. As our attention towards the climate crisis and embodied carbon comes into a greater focus, we must look further towards nature for answers to our future architectural questions, material or otherwise.

FIG.10 : Murphy, Richard. Section through the main exhibition room. Drawing. “Querini Stampalia Foundation”. Date Unknown. FIG.11 : Cheatle, Emma. Gynaecology surgery from the inside. Photograph. Maison de Verre. 2009 5. Rubin, Robert, interview by Stan Neumann and Richard Copans. 2004. The Glass House

‘Like strings of a cello they hum with activity: the thicker the substrate, the more resonant the tone. Hmmm’ – Robert McAnulty, ‘What’s the matter with material?’

FIG.11

FIG.12

FIG.12 : Authors own, Flooded Main Gallery at Querini Stampalia, Photograph, 2018

01 RETURN TO EARTH

“Let them go to Mars, then. But, certainly, you have noticed that political parties everywhere are clamouring for a return to the land of old, protecting their identity behind closed borders. Is this really the right moment to insist on ‘settling on land’ and ‘defending your heimat’?” - Latour, 2020 Latour’s sixth objection to landing on Earth shares with us the idea of increased awareness of the terrain on which we live, and pulls into question the identity we share with this land (6). We are surely conscious of those who have come before us, however we maintain a feeling of ownership, entitlement perhaps. When our time on this land comes to its natural end, how should we return to the Earth?

FIG.13

FIG.13 : Khan, Lewis. Bushey Cemetery. Photograph. Waugh Thistleton Architects. 2017. https://waughthistleton.com/bushey-cemetery/ FIG.14 : David Chipperfield Architects. Plan of San Michele Cemetery. Drawing. 2007. https://davidchipperfield.com/project/san-michele-cemetery/ FIG.15 : Khan, Lewis. Bushey Cemetery Detail. Photograph. Waugh Thistleton Architects. 2017. https://waughthistleton.com/bushey-cemetery/ FIG.16: David Chipperfield Architects. Detail of San Michele Cemetery. Photograph. 2017. https://davidchipperfield.com/project/san-michele-cemetery/ 6. Latour, Bruno. “Seven Objections Against Landing on Earth.” In Critical Zones: The Science and Politics of Landing on Earth, 12-19. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2020.

FIG.14

Do we acknowledge that our place on this earth is temporary, and un-original, building a cemetery that will soon return to the earth with us? The Bushey cemetery for Jewish burials demonstrates an answer to this question, building space from rammed earth walls as a symbolic acceptance for the next phase of existence: in soil. These massive walls act as gates to an earthy world below the surface, and are an abstracted representation of what awaits us upon decay – to one day become recognisable only as a fluctuation in the tone and density of soil. However these gates will not be open forever, rather they accommodate only for current and near-future societies, after which the earth will gradually decay, leaving little remnants of the structures we occupied. We are not the first to die on this land, and we won’t be the last; Bushey cemetery shows us a way to respect the departed members of our society without claiming ownership over matter we never controlled.

FIG.16

Do we build virgin land in which to immortalise ourselves after death, and gain a stronger sense of identity through preventing our return to earth? Venice, a symbol of decay and temporality shrinks into the lagoon day by day, however there is one island that continues to gain matter: San Michele. Whilst the inhabitants of this land never lived here they are part of the society to form it, therefore it is perhaps not unreasonable to assume some sense of ownership over the land. The materials chosen to construct this cemetery, concrete and basalt, represent a resistance to decay that immortalises its place on the land. As a result, the occupants of this cemetery will not be moved on or built upon, it becomes their own. It is through constructing new land that we gain the identity that we so often seek, as suggested by Latour. Perhaps our strategic organisation of matter can lead us to an indefinite life above the surface, preventing our return to earth.

FIG.15 23

FIG.17

FIG.17 : David Chipperfield Architects. San Michele Cemetery. Photograph. 2017. https://davidchipperfield.com/project/san-michele-cemetery/

02 AUGMENTING [UN]REALITY Stepping out of the sun and into a cool, shaded pavilion, we are invited to wear a heavy headset, filled with familiar yet distorted images; here we are observing Detroit, from within the Giardini. Cynthia Davidson and Monica Ponce de Leon present us with ‘the Architectural Imagination’ – a study that is as much ethnographic as it is architectural – whereby twelve architects are tasked with generating proposals for Detroit’s struggling urban environment. Drafted over several weeks with critical input from the exercises’ authors, each team worked to produce a scheme on a quick turn-around, that would be suitable for the show in which it would be displayed. These proposals are to be showcased at the Biennale Architettura, where a stream of visitors from the architectural profession dissect the paper-projects. However, these projects are not limited to paper, and they employ a range of material and immaterial techniques to communicate their thinking, where traditional methods of representation are contrasted with augmented reality (7). Venice acts as a testing ground for these projects; a way for the architects to showcase their work within the relative safety of speaking to fellow designers - that is, others for whom this work also has no lifechanging effect. This however poses the more pressing question of what will become of this architecture when it leaves Venice? Addressing the obvious and sometimes immense language barrier between architects and non-architects remains crucial to the success of a building study such as this – how else can you gain public approval? – and the material methods of representation are our translators. For Greg Lynn’s work in ‘The Architectural Imagination’, titled ‘Center for Fulfillment, Knowledge, and Innovation’ augmented reality was this translator (8). Pulling on a headset, the user is presented with interactive models, and three-dimensional spaces designed as part of the proposal, all of which is viewed as the future of architectural communication. However, in the case of the Pakard Plant, I would argue these impressive techniques serve not only as a tool for conveying the design, but as way to disguise a lack of contextual awareness and end-user consideration.

The result is an unreal architecture, based in a real context, shown through an unreal lens, from within a different real context.

FIG.18

FIG.19

Here architecture is shown to be accessible to those outside of the profession, however these methods of representation fail to shed light on the design process, nor allow for significant user input along the way, thus protecting the architect’s position through unique methods of representation. The power of the tools we have as architects offer us the possibility to move further from contextual awareness than ever before – with the temptation to do so stronger than ever – restricting public engagement by producing an inaccessible profession. In the case of ‘The Architectural Imagination’, these paper-projects offer little support for the inhabitants of Detroit, and perhaps prevent the ‘imagination’ of anyone not speaking the language of architectural discourse. Like a kaleidoscope of immaterial images, the information we see here is familiar yet distorted, leaving the viewer none clearer on the production of such an image. Therefore, it is not the methods of representation that must change for schemes such as this to become successful, but the process by which the exercise is carried out. As the viewer slips on the headset once again, it is to be seen not as ‘corrective lenses’ that allow for the layman to see into an Architects’ mind, but as a heavy blindfold to dazzle and disguise from real-world problems. The wool is pulled over our eyes. 27

FIG.20

FIG.21

FIG.18 : Greg Lynn Form. Center for Fulfillment, Knowledge, and Innovation. Digital Image. Dezeen. 2016. https://www.dezeen.com/2016/08/03/microsoft-hololens-greg-lynnaugmented-realityarchitecture-us-pavilion-venice-architecture-biennale-2016/ FIG.19 : Greg Lynn Form. Center for Fulfillment, Knowledge, and Innovation. Still from Video. Design Boom. 2016. https://www.designboom.com/architecture/venice-architecturebiennale-greg-lynn-packard-plant-us-pavilion-microsoft-hololens-05-28-2016/ FIG.20 : The Packard Plant Project. Packard Plant Today. Photograph. The Packard Plant Project. Date Unknown. http://packardplantproject.com/history/index.html FIG.21 : Greg Lynn Form. Center for Fulfillment, Knowledge, and Innovation. Digital Drawing. Dezeen. 2016. https://www.dezeen.com/2016/08/03/microsoft-hololens-greg-lynnaugmented-realityarchitecture-us-pavilion-venice-architecture-biennale-2016/ 7. Davidson, Cynthia. “The Architectural Imagination.” Log, No.37 (Spring/Summer, 2016): 22-31 8. Greg Lynn Form. “The Architectural Imagination.” Log, No.37 (Spring/Summer, 2016): 194-204

03 SURFACE AS IMAGE ‘Plastic remains impregnated throughout with this wonder: it is less a thing than the trace of a movement.’ – Barthes, 1957

FIG.22

Recent decades have seen a new contender emerge in the competition for material selection: plastic. This unnatural and sometimes bizarre material has seen exponential growth in popularity over sixty years, and represents the greatest triumph of the artificial over the natural according to Roland Barthes (9). Given society’s current attention towards the climate emergency and the embodied carbon of our buildings, what place does plastic hold in architecture today? What use does plastic offer us, and how do we perceive the image of such surfaces? In 1997 Herzog & de Meuron set about creating a dance school for Deptford, one that would reflect the significance of its context whilst being a symbol for what is possible in a modern conservatoire. Whatever this project materialised itself as, the images of the building would prove to be important for architecture and the creative arts, particularly when the surface was to be plastic. Translucent polycarbonate punctuated with streaks of colour provides a viewer of this building with intrigue, the architecture bleeds into a cloudy London atmosphere, blurring the boundary between architecture and context whilst being wholly unique to the buildings surrounding it. This effect is largely due to plastic; the surface being completely devoid of any material qualities familiar to us prior to its invent. Here is plastic’s role in architecture today, it is capable of producing images unlike any we have seen before and questions the definition of material surface (10).

‘The opticality of the image becomes even more exaggerated because you don’t see the surface, you don’t know where to stop and focus’ – Barth (11)

FIG.23

The above reading, however, only looks at Laban from the outside, a surface FIG.24 with nothing behind it. Yet this is likely to be the opposite to the reason this material was chosen – translucency provides yet another dimension to this façade. As night falls upon the building lights within begin to illuminate the surface of the dance school. Shadows twist and turn, to and fro, animating what could previously be seen as a plastic box. The building comes alive and we suddenly become familiar with the programme of the building, one full of movement and dynamism. If our first reading of this building was one of images of buildings, this later reading is one of images in buildings. Plastic surfaces are malleable, permeable, and lend themselves to change in response to a movement – they are plastic. This lack of material quality to the surface is exactly why the product remains important to image and architecture, it both contributes to – and creates – images that achieve unique spatial effects, broadening our understanding of surface. FIG.22 : Stephenson, Jim. Laban Dance Centre. Photograph. 2016. Dezeen. https://www.dezeen.com/2016/12/11/herzog-de-meuron-laban-dance-centre-new-photographs-jimstephenson/ FIG.23 : Durant, Peter. Laban Dance Centre. Photograph. 2003. Arquitectura Viva. https://arquitecturaviva.com/works/centro-de-danza-laban-londres-8 FIG.24 : Gilbert, Dennis. Laban Dance Centre. Photograph. 2003. Arquitectura Viva. https://arquitecturaviva.com/works/centro-de-danza-laban-londres-8 9. Barthes, Roland. “Plastic”. Plastics & Post-Modernity 1961-1990. (1957). 110-111 10. Di Palma, Vittoria. “Blurs, Blots and Clouds: Architecture and the Dissolution of Surface.” AA Files, No.54 (Summer, 2006): 24-35. 11. Pamela M Lee, Matthew Higgs and Jeremy Gilbert-Rolfe, Uta Barth (London, 2004), p. 57.

04 SURFACE OF VOID ‘This is not nonsense. For by an atmospheric void, are also surrounded by way, was not completely

in a sense, the cantilevered ramps are not just surrounded which by definition is transparent and extendable; they its ghost, the ghost of something that, in a perverse removed from the surrounding space’ – Leonidio, 2010

The absence of matter often draws greater architectural focus than the presence of built intervention. Courtyards, piazzas, and promenades are spaces to convene, and ones that we engage with heavily as users. Leonidio’s reading of Siza’s Ibere Camargo Foundation presents us with a study into the solid/void relationship – an un-original conversation presented to us from an original perspective (12). Here, elevated walkways leave the building in a sweeping arc to re-enter the building at a higher level. Restrained fenestration to these walkways make for an unexpected and discontinuous visiting experience, however their spatial influence extends beyond the surfaces that create the ramps. As Leonidio writes, at the Ibere Camargo Foundation another void is created, one that comes not from the subtraction of matter, rather the absence of built matter. The lack of fenestration from within the courtyard begins to question spatial hierarchy, typology, and architectural identity. The walls that define Siza’s other void hold little reference to the internal spaces of the building, rather they appear to cradle the void, built with that purpose in mind. Do the surfaces that define a void space belong to the building from which they are attached, or do they exist to serve the absence of matter, as the stronger spatial operator? By reducing the surface of any recognisable features to give insight into the programmed space behind the wall, Siza questions the identity of these surfaces, and to whom they are working for. In stark contrast to the minimal, monolithic surfaces of Ibere Carmgo Foundation, a public square in Manhattan poses the same question of surface and the matter behind it. Times Square has become a destination for image – of both primary and secondary sources: people taking images of people taking images, of images. Here the public space dwarfs its towering neighbours in some respect, drawing people in and absorbing all focus towards the surfaces that define it rather than the buildings that support them. The screens, and indeed curtain walls behind, no longer belong to built matter, rather they are void surfaces. The triumph of void over solid in these two diverse cases shows the validity in questioning who surfaces belong to, and indeed who we are designing for. Fighting back against strong contextual forces requires strong design rationale and is a battle ever-rarely undertaken. Perhaps it is not for us to force our surfaces to stay stuck to the building, rather to accept the wider context with which designers operate, and to begin designing more readily on behalf of the void.

FIG.25 32

FIG.26

PLAN

NOLLI POSITIVE

SURFACE

NOLLI NEGATIVE FIG.27a

FIG.27b

FIG.28 FIG.25 : Alda, Fernando. Ibere Camargo Foundation. Photograph. Divisare. 2016. https://divisare.com/projects/16950-alvaro-siza-vieira-fernando-alda-museum-for-ibere-camargofoundation FIG.26 : Alvaro Siza Viera. Ibere Camargo Foundation. Sketch. Divisare. 2016. https://divisare.com/projects/16950-alvaro-siza-vieira-fernando-alda-museum-for-ibere-camargofoundation FIG.27 : Authors Own. Nolli Drawings, Times Square (a) Ibere Camargo Foundation (b). Drawing. 2022 12. Leonídio, Otávio. “Álvaro Siza Vieira: Another Void.” Log, No.16 (Spring/Summer, 2010): 27-38

FIG.29

FIG.28 : Alda, Fernando. Ibere Camargo Foundation. Photograph. Divisare. 2016. https://divisare.com/projects/16950-alvaro-siza-vieira-fernando-alda-museum-for-ibere-camargofoundation FIG.29 : Grimm, Michael. Times Square, NY. Photograph. Archdaily. 2017. https://www.archdaily.com/869685/times-square-celebrates-grand-opening-of-snohetta-designed-transform ation/58f8f346e58eceac31000990-times-square-celebrates-grand-opening-of-snohetta-designed-transformation-photo

05 SURFACE IN SOCIETY The last remaining plot of land on the Mall represented a physical, social, and cultural void in America’s history; one that shows a continual lack of recognition for black people in this country. For Adjaye, a building with the intentions of the National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC) must accommodate for space to access the events of the past at an appropriate pace, or risk missing its full potential. As Mitch McEwen writes in Log 40, by using a double skin façade Adjaye creates the mediating layer that allows for slow passage, stuck between two surfaces the user is introduced to the effect provided by this programme without directly interacting with its content (13). These surfaces hold architectural and abstracted meaning as a mediator for space, but also a more direct and literal meaning as a protector for the building and a shading system. The building uses built planes to traverse layers of abstraction, whilst remaining architecturally relevant. It is by operating at multiple depths that this building carries its visitors, with architectural surface as the medium.

‘These vacillations between the figural and the abstracted, the historical and the formal, radically reconfigure the symbolism of the National Mall in relation to slavery, Africa, and the presence of black people in this country.’ – McEwen, 2017

FIG.31

Subtracting mass from the outer skin of this building Adjaye creates a permeable façade capable of multiple readings; from the aluminium surface detail referencing slave-made cast iron, to absence of matter where it would be expected reminding us of the culturally significant context surrounding the building. The solid/void relationship of this surface establishes an overlay of cultural references beneficial to the museum’s programme. Contrasting the filigree metal screen adjacent, internal walls of the museum are heavy and massive. Devoid of any inflections registering material quality the eye struggles to perceive scale and perspective of these walls if it weren’t for the gridded divisions running across the surface. In an abstract reading of the building these walls prepare the viewer for a deeper level of historical analysis, meanwhile the smooth face complements the outer skin at a practical level, drawing the viewers eye towards the light. In a socially significant context Adjaye has demonstrated the potential capacity of architectural surface, one that has the power to engage with society and become a mediator for change. When unsuccessful, these planes act as a textured barrier between the current world and its past events, merely a screen to distort and distract us from the societal aims of the architecture. When successful however, a surface alone can provide an evocative reading that crosses historical boundaries, acting as a tool for societal education. Like pages of a large book, the surface at its best tells a story.

FIG.30 36

FIG.32

FIG.30 : Karchmer, Alan. NMAAHC Smithsonian. Photograph. Architectural Review. 2017. https://www.architectural-review.com/buildings/adjaye-associates-nmaahc-couldnt-be-justa-building-that-was-a-background-to-its-content FIG.31 : Adjaye, David. NMAAHC Smithsonian. Conecpt Sketch. The Last Magazine. 2010. https://thelast-magazine.com/david-adjaye-smithsonian-museum-african-american-historyculture/ FIG.32 : Feinknopf, Brad. NMAAHC Smithsonian. Photograph. Dezeen. 2017. https://www.dezeen.com/2017/02/20/david-adjaye-smithsonian-national-museum-african-americanhistory-culture-new-photography/ FIG.33 : Studio Libeskind. World Trade Centre Masterplan. Digital Image. Studio Libeskind. 2003. https://libeskind.com/work/ground-zero-master-plan/ 13. McEwen, V Mitch. “Architecture In the Hold.” Log, No.40 (Spring/Summer, 2017): 93-100

FIG.33

‘So much for American culture’ - Davidson 2003