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Foreword Martin Gledhill
"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses,
Senior Lecturer, Alternative Assignment tutor
just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
Dept. Architecture and Civil Engineering University of Bath
- Oscar Wilde
What is the purpose of architectural education? As a vocational degree, we often find ourselves unwittingly shackled to a ‘learn to earn’ model or an elaborate exercise in creating educational fois gras. The way of learning implicit
it those models stands in contrast to a wider notion of ‘reading a degree’. To ‘read architecture’ then has an altogether more altruistic intent and belongs to the founding “idea of a University”. In other words, are we training architects or learning to think? When it first became apparent that many students would not able to secure a placement as a result of the Covid pandemic, we all had a growing sense anxiety to add to that which was already in the air. The placement period (or lack of it) seemed to constellate the tension between doing and contemplating suggested by Wilde’s observation. Gradually and unexpectedly however, this crisis began to resolve into a kind of catharsis. The ‘alternative to placement’ now offered the opportunity for those floundering between hope and resignation to liberate themselves from their physical and psychological lockdown through their imaginations. Here was a chance to study in depth, freed from marking regimes, learning outcomes and other academic restrictions. How wonderful! The essays which follow represent an enchanting series of individual explorations into what architecture can mean, both personally and collectively. The work stands as a both a testament to intellectual diversity but also a new found freedom – a cure for both sense and soul.
Editorial Meg Marumoto Harriet Dyke Editors Students Year 3, Dept. Architecture and Civil Engineering University of Bath
For many young people, university is the first taste of the world outside of home. You move into a new space, a new city, even a new country. You learn new things and meet new people as, bouncing from one experience to another, you are swept along in the tide of your peers, constantly moving forward. This year, however, our time was cut short. On the cusp of independence, we found ourselves squashed back inside, isolated from our friends and set adrift from the structure of university life. Being physically stuck did not stop our minds from moving. This publication, Inside Looking Out, is a collection, and a celebration, of essays and projects written by architecture students of the University of Bath during lockdown. From the confines of our lonely, little bubbles, they have allowed us to explore architecture from all over the world; to travel to cities in countries we have never visited and to childhood homes from which we are stranded; to learn from other people and from the past; and to imagine what the future might look like. In this time on hold, where thinking has replaced doing, our work has become a means of self-expression. Self-expression that we wish now to share.
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Contents
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Confronting Representation
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The Colonial Gaze - An Analysis of Analysis through the Casbah of Algiers Editors | Harriet Dyke, Meg Marumoto
Juliette Moutin / Year 02
Cover Image | Cassandra Lee
The Life and Death of the Makoko Floating School Harriet Dyke / Year 03
Back Image | Yoya Muraki
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Perceiving Identity
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Searching For Your "Self" in Your Home Ema Ziya / Year 02 Atmosphere Cormac Miller / Year 02 Mamma and Pappa's House Sebastian Syrjanen / Year 03
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Studying Success
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Lina Bo Bardi Pontus Lee / Year 03 Kazuyo Sejima Jason Tang / Year 03
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Reading History
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Piscina Miriablis - A Contemporary Reimagination Cassandra Lee , Jake Taylor / Year 03 Redefining Tectonics Meg Marumoto / Year 03
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Imagining the Future
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Ulsoor Tower - Biomass Building Ifrah Ariff / Year 03 Sharing vs Privacy Matthew Pembery / Year 02 Pacific - Extreme Habitat Challenge Pontus Lee, Ryan Wu, Yoya Muraki / Year 03 A Study on the Viability of the Earth; as a Contemporary Building Material Shreya Sarin / Year 03 The African Coastline - A Eutopian in Tanzania Meraaj Harun / Year 02
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Confronting Representation Architecture shapes how people see the world; and not always for the better. Through questioning the prejudices and assumptions that underpin design we can rub away representation and smooth the way for genuine understanding.
The Colonial Gaze An Analysis of Analysis through the Casbah of Algiers Juliette Moutin / Year 02 The Life and Death of the Makoko Floating School Harriet Dyke / Year 03
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The Colonial Gaze
An analysis of analysis through the Casbah of Algiers
Juliette Moutin
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Introduction Searching for a work placement at the start of a global pandemic proved to be very difficult. As a result, many coursemates and myself found ourselves in a unique position: we would have to complete an alternative assessment to compensate for our lack of placement. The independent project portion of this assessment is, in my opinion, the most exciting, because the possibilities are endless and the project can be very personal. When I first set out on this project, I felt I wanted to tackle the issue of the colonial debt of France towards Algeria, a country it colonised for over 130 years. This choice was influenced by my family’s and neighbourhood’s ties to colonial Algeria and a personal interest in post-colonial studies. I thought my project would be to design a community-focused scheme, several units of social housing for Algerian immigrants in France. I picked out a suitable site in my neighbourhood, and delved into a sociological, typological, and topographical analysis to inform the scheme. Concerning typology, as I wanted to create an urban, community-oriented space, my analysis solidified as a case study of the Casbah of Algiers, the historical residential district. The Casbah is made up of the best-documented ‘traditional’ Algerian urban homes, typically courtyard houses. It is the old town of Algiers and the first thing visitors in the XIXth and XXth century saw when approaching Algiers from the sea. The bright white houses form a shining triangle on the hill, overlooking the Meditteranean. The topography forces the houses to be built at different heights, creating a landscape of steps, a unified jumble of roof terraces. Once inside the Casbah, the narrowness of the winding streets between the houses is striking and provides a cool environment, shielding pedestrians from the Meditteranean sun. The houses often jut out above, diagonal wood supporting the extension which is sometimes mirrored by the house across it, reducing the skyview above to a slit. Viewed from the outside, the houses are blank, feeding into the orientalist myth of the Casbah, a place of curiosity and mystery for the Western visitor. The site chosen is located in Jas-de-Bouffan, a neighborhood in Aix-en-Provence, built in the late 60s to early 70s with the aim of housing returnees from Algeria following the war of independence. It houses the bulk of Aix’s social housing and has a strongly present Algerian and North African community. The site itself is unremarkable, completely empty and lacking any distinguishing feature. It is slightly sloped and has a view of the iconic mountain of the Provence region, the Sainte Victoire. To the North it is delimited by a street, the pavement lined with trees. The other edges are defined by hedges or fencing, behind which houses and apartments sit.
Plan of the Casbah c. 1900 10
Site plan (level interval: 4m)
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It was while doing the necessary research on the Casbah, that I noticed the precedents - whether they be in literature, painting, or architecture - for the analysis of the medina were tainted by colonialism, prejudice, and subtle orientalism. It felt almost counter-intuitive to utilise such contentious information when my intentions were to address and acknowledge the racism of France and long-lasting generational trauma of French-Algerians.The base for my own analysis was a pre-existing problematic analysis. Which raised a question regarding analysis and its inherent dogmatism. Analysis is held high as a rigorous and impartial method of examination, one based on material evidence and historical context. Yet he who analyses is never left unaffected by that which he analyses. As humans with varying backgrounds and personal preferences, it is difficult for us to not imply bias in our use of language. The context of colonialism is a particularly interesting frame to look into analysis because often a collective view of the colonised is formed through texts, images, and language. Orientalism, as defined by Edward Said in his culturally impactful book by that name, is the collective Occidental (Western) imagination of the Orient (East) as a Otherly and exotic1. Orientalism contributes to and is intrinsically linked with colonialism as it is part of the discourse which opposes the culture of the Western coloniser with that of the Eastern colonised, establishing the superiority of the former and the need to impose itself on the latter. It transforms the way in which we view the Orient and solidifies in art and media, outlasting colonies and living on through pop culture today. Edward Said’s book is a case study of this phenomenon, focused on the Western view of the Middle East and North Africa, or more reductively, the view of the West on Islamic culture. As the main competing faith to European West’s Christianity, Islam has always drawn the curiosity if not the violent rejection of the West. It is therefore no surprise that colonial France, despite being a secular state, was fascinated by the culture of its long-prized colony, Algeria. Attracting French poets, authors, painters, and architects, the capital of Algeria, Algiers, became the headquarters for colonial operations and the muse of Orientalist artists. As Algiers’s crowning jewel overlooking the Meditterranean, the Casbah was on the receiving end of many serenades and was extensively observed and analysed. It is therefore interesting to question and review the way in which it was perceived during its colonial era, as a sort of case study on analysis and the ways in which it is falsely neutral and independent of both the analyser and predominant context. In this essay, I will be exploring the way in which we analyse, through a comparative study of how the Casbah was analysed under French colonial rule and my own analysis of the site in Aix-enProvence. This investigation will unfold in three major parts, representing the following three lenses: gender, the picturesque, and architecture. Using illustrations and referring to relevant texts, I will demonstrate the dubious qualities of some visions of the Casbah, tinted by orientalism and blinded by colonialist agendas, and compare it with my own site analysis.
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Said, E. W., 1978. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon Books. 11
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Gender Gander Firstly, the lens of gender is particularly relevant concerning the Casbah as its population was almost exclusively Muslim. Culturally, there was a separation between the men and the women of the Casbah. The women, who ventured out into the streets only if veiled, became subject of quite some Western fantasies, their concealed appearance causing speculation which made up an integral part of what Zeynep Çelik defines as “the myth of the Casbah [which] developed around three concepts: gender, mystery, and difference”1. The women of the Casbah were observed with a sort of perverse fascination by French men. As they would head out to do their shopping in groups, they would be attentively watched from afar, regarded as another tourist attraction of Algiers. They were painted, written about, sung about, and so on. Additionally, the foreign gaze was unable to glance into the courtyards where the women of the Casbah lead their private activities. The architecture of the Algerian courtyard house is built in such a way that it is impenetrable to the outsider’s prying eyes. Home privacy was a cultural necessity for the Algerian under French rule, in part due to the faith of the majority and the social customs that arise from it. The Algerian muslim women wore hijab and other religious veils when out in public or in the presence of men, but the house was their domain, and the courtyard in particular served as their space of work and leisure as well as that of the children’s area of play. It was therefore vital that when an Algerian woman is in her home, she may be shielded from the public domain that is the street. It seems that the Casbah and its women were indissociable, both viewed as mysterious and guarded by the colonial eyes. The Algerian men not divulging the inner workings of their households, of which they themselves were often unaware, domestic life in the Casbah was undocumented for the majority of colonial rule. As such, domestic life in urban Algeria, the daily routine of its women, remained for the most part speculation until French female ethnographers came into the picture in the 1920s. These women were granted exclusive access to the most private parts of feminine life in the Mzab. Their works were presented as scientific, providing a glossary of Arabic terms and setting out to present the most accurate account of the women they were studying. Amélie-Marie Goichon is credited with one of the most complete of these works, expanding knowledge of Arabic terms and boasting some of the first photographs of domestic Algeria2. However these women, as European academics, did not always hold back on making personal judgements on the lives of the Algerian women. Laure Bousquet-Lefevre in La Femme Kabyle describes a tyrannical patriarchy and women “unaware of their oppression”3. While the female ethnographers’ observation of the women of the Casbah may have been intrusive, it is nothing compared to the violent encroachment of their privacy established by European men. Over the years, slumification and sex tourism turned the Casbah into a disreputable district, guides of Algiers warning of the “rampant” prostitution and advising tourists to steer clear during the evening. In the imaginary of these men, the native woman falls into two categories: modest and reserved, adhering to Muslim values and concealed in bountiful fabric, or sexual and a commodity, working as a prostitute and striped of her clothing, both of which they feel a right to gaze up, justified by colonial ideology.
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1
Çelik, Z.,1997. Urban Forms and Colonial Confrontations: Algiers Under French Rule. Berkeley: University of California Press. p. 21-22
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Goichon, A-M., 1927. La vie féminine au Mzab. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner.
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Çelik, Z.,1997. Urban Forms and Colonial Confrontations: Algiers Under French Rule. Berkeley: University of California Press. p. 91-97
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Voyeuristic ethnography
Taken under the pretext of ethnographic research, these photographs are meant to document the appearance (physical and clothing) of the Moorish women. The are labelled left to right and top to bottom: Moore (interior outfit), Moores (city outfit), Type of Moore, Type of Moore (from the South). Presented in a booklet of postcards from the 1930s named The picturesque Algeria, they are testimonials to the lack of respect of the privacy of native women at the time and their strong association with the beauty of Algeria.
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They came to visit the “exotic” Casbah just as much as they come to oggle the “erotic” women, going as far as to push their way into the courtyard houses and up to the roof terraces, to admire the view and the women. As Jean-François Staszak summarises, “diverse strategies of innocence allow the tourists to enjoy their visit without having to feel guilty of voyeurism and without being embarrassed by the symbolic violence their presence and their gaze can exert, and to make the blame of indecency fall on the indigenous women who are its first victims1”. In contrast to the long-feminised Casbah, the large, vacant plot in Aix seems to me to be genderless. Neither completely flat nor remarkably sloped, its topography evokes neither the harsh lines of a man’s physique, nor the voluptuousness of a woman’s body. The ground on-site seems infertile, growing nothing of particular interest. In the spring grass and weeds grow tall and remain untamed for quite some time before being partially mowed and hacked down at the start of summer. The result is reminiscent of an incomplete buzz-cut, the site looks bare where mown and messy where left alone. Before this seasonal sprucing, the tall grass parts where residents often walk, giving way to their want, perhaps their need, to cut across this large piece of unoccupied land. In broad daylight, walking along these collectively created desire paths is pleasant. During my first site visit they guided me and I discovered with some amusement the hole that had been piercing in the back-site fence by frustrated residents, ducking in and out of it with the glee of a child. When I came back and the grass had been cut, the trails were less obvious and seemed like an invitation to stray from them. I stopped skirting along the edges of the site and wandered out in the middle. Baking in the sun, I found myself not only longing for more coolth than the slight breeze blowing across the site, but also feeling rather exposed. The dimensions of the site and its lack of features make it a source of anxiety for those with agoraphobia and a blessing for those with claustrophobia. Were I walking across the site at night-time, cutting across to reach the hole in the fence, I think many women, myself included, would grip their keys between their fingers. At the highest point of the site is where regular social activity visibly takes place, though I never came across anyone there myself. Beer bottle caps are sprinkled across the ground (there seems to be a general preference for Heineken, although I did find an outlier 1664 cap), suggesting that this is a spot people come out to have a drink and socialise. This highest spot offers the best view of the Sainte Victoire, mismatching chairs (of which only two are fully intact) placed strategically here are turned so as to best admire it. I imagine locals sitting down on these chairs and on the quadruplet boulders defining the edge of the site, beers in their hands, eyes fixed on the Sainte Victoire in the distance, or perhaps observing the sunset, conversing amongst themselves. If I force myself to further picture these “locals”, I must admit the scene turns into a male-dominated one. The beers, the broken furniture, seem to evoke the presence of men, perhaps a bit loud and rowdy. The kind of scene I, as a young woman, would avoid.
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Staszak, J-F., 2018. Exotisation et érotisation d’un haut-lieu et bas-fond touristique : la Casbah d’Alger. Téoros [Online] Available from: http://journals.openedition.org/teoros/3360 [Accessed July 30 2020].
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Traces of men?
The hole in the fence, fun but also somewhat aggressive
Beer caps (someone sure likes Heineken)
When doing my site analysis, I spontaneously drew an anonymous male figure watching the mountain with his dog and a beer. Had I subconsciously associated the site and the apparent activities that take place with men?
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Painter’s Perspective Moreover, the picturesque is an equally warped lens to view the Casbah with. The Casbah has attracted tourists and artists since the XIXth century, who recalled their visit through texts and images. Many depictions focus on its overall appearance, especially as approached from the sea. This ties in with the romanticisation of travel in Arabia and an orientalist fascination with the Moorish vernacular. The abundance of images and texts choosing this viewpoint from the Meditteranean has created a fixed image of the medina in the collective Western mind. Viewed from afar, the artistic mind takes in the colours, the shapes, the height. This is possibly the least problematic angle to illustrate the Casbah; representations of it as a whole are more on the realistic side, depicting the landscape and the architecture, detached from colonial clichés of its denizens. However, illustrations of the Casbah were often used as backdrops putting forth sexualised native women, particularly on postcards (as pictured page 5) sent to family and friends back home and posters celebrating Algeria as France’s own “crowning jewel” colony, both spreading orientalist and misogynistic imagery throughout metropolitan France. It is evident that the artistic lens is closely linked with that of gender: the Casbah is personified as a woman with “sex-appeal”1 by some, others choose to paint the contrast between the austere, white walls and the colourful, detailed clothing of the women. Either way, artists gravitated towards the feminisation of the medina and the portrayal of the women living there as beings of desire. Additionally, widespread orientalist imagery, which derives inspiration from the overflowing merchandise in souqs and the ornamentation of lavish palaces, would have us believe that the Algerian home is filled with decorative paraphernalia. One of the first orientalist paintings set in the Casbah, Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartment by Eugène Delacroix, portrays women lounging amidst elaborate decor. Contrary to this, ethnographers who studied the Casbah in the late XIXth century found that the interiors were quite stark. Decorative elements were almost exclusively found in the courtyard and furniture was kept to a minimum2. Yet this misconception, along with orientalism as a whole, has persisted and can be found in mainstream, Western pop culture. One need not look further than the Disney classic Aladdin, which although having had some alteration since its original release retains a great deal of fantasised and demeaning elements. It is deceptively easy to romanticise the Casbah, through flowery language or tactfully chosen subject matter. The reality was far from picture-perfect. Firstly, the sanitary conditions were heavily lacking, as many houses did not have access to running water. Secondly, the Casbah was becoming overpopulated; houses meant to be used by a single family were sheltering up to twenty people. By the 1930s, the density of the Casbah had surpassed 3,000 people per hectare3. The rough terrain and high population which would require rehousing meant that French authorities were reluctant to renovate and intervene in the Upper City (residential part of the Casbah), and houses became dilapidated. Art has framed the medina in a way that is aesthetically pleasing, picking subject matters which appeal to the curiosity of the Western audience, quenching its thirst for the Oriental exoticism as seen by the Occidental artist. 1
Favre, L., 1933. Tout l’inconnu de la Casbah d’Alger. Algiers: Baconnier. p. 10
2 Çelik, Z.,1997. Urban Forms and Colonial Confrontations: Algiers Under French Rule. Berkeley: University of California Press. p. 104-107 3 Kaddache, M., 1951. La casbah de nos jours. [Online] Algiers: Série culturelle: Alger. Available from: http://alger-roi.fr/Alger/ documents_algeriens/culturel/pages/56_casbah_actuelle.htm [Accessed 04 August 2020]. 16
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Depictions of the Casbah and its women throughout the colonial years
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As such, painters, poets, and novelists portrayed a precious version of the Casbah, focused on its blindingly white houses or on the exotic allure of its women. Their works play into the narrative of orientalism and helped disperse it. The site in Aix is nothing to write home about. Unlike the Casbah it was never a place of attraction for artists and tourists, amassing poems, paintings, and photographs which created its space in the collective Western imaginary. However, one slight similarity can be drawn in that both locations have an alluring horizon, albeit negatives of one another: the view from the Casbah drops down to reveal the Meditteranean, admired by local women from their roofs, whereas from Aix in the distance rises the Sainte Victoire, observed by beer-drinking residents and muse of artists visiting the region, most famously Cézanne. Artistic interest seems to lie in views into the Casbah and views from the site in Aix. It is clear that this neighbourhood already capitalises on this view as the residency just opposite the site is named Résidence Horizon Victoire. This is probably the most attractive feature of the site, what a shame that this view is currently in the same axis as a big crane! Nevertheless, viewing the site itself with an artistic lens is a totally different experience from looking at the Casbah. The Casbah is culturally rich, visually impressive, and overall attractive. The site is a blank canvas, empty, large, lacking any distinguishing feature. To represent it would be to either depict emptiness or fill in the blanks. In a way, much like how the colonial artist portrays a phantasmal Casbah, the artist seeking to interpret the Brédasque site would either give character to its emptiness or insert an invented defining feature, whether that be a character like in Caspar David Friedrich’s The Monk by the Sea or a surreal element like Salvador Dalì’s melting clocks in an otherwise desolate landscape (The Persistence of Memory). As such, a degree of personal interpretation would certainly come into play if one were to go beyond the truthful representation of this barren place. It would be an individual narrative of emptiness, towards which feelings and associations can be infinitely varied. Emptiness can be associated with loneliness and negative sentiments, or it can evoke thoughts of peace and tranquility. Personally I think the site, desolate as it is, veers slightly in the direction of a more uncomfortable feeling, one of uneasiness baking in the sun.
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The Sainte Victoire and its admirative but lonely chairs
Painting of the Sainte Victoire by CĂŠzanne (1888)
View of the Sainte Victoire in the distance from the site
Perhaps the lonely and desolate character of the site is best shown through the array of mostly broken, empty chairs looking beyond the site and to the mountain, as if longing for a better place (black and white effect for emphasis on the sadness because the scene is otherwise brightly-lit and too pleasant to prove my point... this effect wouldn’t be needed if the site was in England but alas, here I am stuck in the sunny south of France, tragic).
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Through Typology Lastly, architects are particularly guilty of pushing agendas when analysing the Casbah. The Casbah is the most documented and attractive example of vernacular architecture in Algeria, it was even classified as a World Cultural Heritage Site by the UNESCO in 19921. Initial analysis of the Casbah by the colonisers deemed it “barbaric” and sought to “regularise” it. This led to the destruction of much of what is known as the “Marine Quarter”, the area surrounding the port, the lower half of the medina, at the beginning of French colonisation of Algiers. This destructive approach would be criticised by later generations of colonial authorities, who recognised the resentment this had caused amongst the inhabitants of Algiers and the charm of the local built environment. Two examples that say it all are Léon Claro and LeCorbusier. In 1930, to mark the century anniversary of French Algeria, architect Léon Claro designed and erected “The Indigenous House”. Built at the edge of the Casbah, it was meant to be an homage to the traditional courtyard houses of the old town, a sort of life-size model of the standardised Casbah home2. It is clear the architect put in research and dedication to make this house as accurately authentic as possible; his sketches are detailed and he even went out of his way to incorporate salvaged materials from the Casbah into his building. But ultimately the Indigenous House is nothing more than pastiche, meant for tourists to comfortably visit without having to “risk” venturing into the heart of Algiers and mingling with the natives. A “sanitised summary of the architecture of the Casbah”3, Celik criticises. So near to the place its architecture yearns to belong to, yet clearly separated from its sociocultural context, the location of Claro’s creation creates an uncomfortable dynamic. Perhaps Claro is not directly at fault here as this was the fruit of commissioned work, but the Indigenous House reinforces the otherness of the Casbah and feeds into colonial discourse. It is a strategy of disavowal, seeking to establish late colonial France’s regret for the irreversible damage it had caused Algiers in its early colonial years without providing any actual reparations to the inhabitants. LeCorbusier on the other hand, in his perception of the Casbah and Algiers, was pushing a more personal agenda. In his book The Wretched of the Earth, critical theorist Frantz Fanon describes the Casbah as “a world without spaciousness; men live there on top of each other, and their huts are built one on top of the other. The native town is a hungry town […] The native town is a crouching village, a town on its knees, a town wallowing in the mire.” He describes the medina as lowly and unpleasant to live in, contrasting with the neighbourhoods built for and by the coloniser, to which he attributes modernity and abundance: “The settler’s town is a strongly-built town, all made of stone and steel. It is a brightly-lit town; the streets are covered with asphalt […] The settler’s town is a well-fed town, an easy going town; its belly is always full of good things.” 4As opposed to this, LeCorbusier prefers to do the inverse. He praises the old town and dismisses the settler’s newer districts. For him, the Casbah can be summarised as “terraces, suspended gardens, grand bays open to a landscape of dreams conquered by height”, while the European city makes its inhabitants “live like rats in holes”.
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1
United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. Kasbah of Algiers [Online]. Paris: United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. Available from: https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/565 [Accessed 24 July 2020].
2
Piaton, C., Hueber, J., Aiche, B., Lochard, T., 2016. Alger: Ville & Architecture 1830-1940. Arles: Éditions Honoré Clair. p. 102
3
Çelik, Z.,1997. Urban Forms and Colonial Confrontations: Algiers Under French Rule. Berkeley: University of California Press. p. 100
4
Fanon, F., 1961. The Wretched of the Earth. London: Penguin (2001). p. 29-30
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LeCorbusier’s love affair
In this sketch comparing the European city to the Arab city, LeCorbusier, ever the one to praise the latter with the intent to promote his own plans for Algiers, scribbles the following: “Stupidity: urbanistic disaster. The ‘civilised’ live like rats, in holes.” “The Casbah of Algiers: urbanistic masterpiece - cell, street, and terraces. The ‘barbarians’ live under peace and well-being.”
(fig. 1) Cover image of LeCorbusier’s Poems on Algiers
(fig. 2) Sketch of Algiers by LeCorbusier showing the Casbah as a veiled head
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While it is possible LeCorbusier truly admired Algiers the architectural qualities of the medina, it has been pointed out that LeCorbusier was most likely trying to garner sympathy of local authorities to secure permission to work on master planning for Algiers, work which he had grand plans for, most famously his Plan Obus. Furthermore, LeCorbusier was for some time obsessed with Algiers, publishing an entire collection of poems dedicated to the city along with illustrations (see fig.1). Through these poems and sketches, he borders on romanticisation of the Casbah which he represents by the mystifying figure of the veiled woman (see fig. 2). Tying into the previous part of this essay concerning gender, LeCorbusier was also an active participant in the eroticisation of the Casbah and its women, choosing to compare the plasticity of the lieu to that of a female body “supple-hipped and full-breasted”1. As such, even through apparent admiration for native architecture, architects can and have had a colonialist view of the Casbah. Whether it be through recreation of the vernacular or grand schemes for future development, architects have contributed to the reinforcement of the colonial psychology of “us versus them”. The creation of architectural hegemony as described by Fanon. Architecture is and always has been a political tool and through it architects are capable of truly oppressing and othering the colonised. Whereas the Casbah is a densely built and historically valuable place, the plot in Aix is open and void of attested significance. Aerial photographs from the 1950s reveal its past was most likely that of an agricultural terrain, far from the then small town of Aix-en-Provence. The current boundaries of the site can be made out even then, the surrounding parcels turning into street blocks. It is a rather classical suburban site, with everything pushed to the edges and direct access to a street. Orientation for any future development is predetermined by the latter. One can also safely bet the style will be dictated by the provençal style, whose colour and material palette are iconic and for the most part well-respected by modern constructions in the region. Warm and neutral colours, textured exterior finishes, balconies, wooden shutters, terracotta roof tiles, whatever is built on this site will follow a predictable pattern, ticking boxes to appease local planning authorities.
I have no idea how or why the site has remained unbuilt while Aix spread and buildings popped
up around it. However planning permission has already been granted, as I discovered upon visiting the site. A big sign was put up some time early this year, informing the public of what construction is going to take place: 72 affordable apartment units for the elderly, covering 4797 m² of land. The scale of the project matches that of the plot. Its dimensions, which can be approximated to 140 metres by 50 metres, want to be occupied by a large scheme of roughly rectangular form. It is a shame that this untamed piece of land which doubled as a place for dog-walking, sunset admiring, and socialisation will become just another urban puzzle piece. I think a clever scheme would incorporate a publicly accessible garden which could be appreciated by both the new elderly residents and those already settled nearby. This could help foster a sense of community, taking a page of the Casbah’s book in terms of social ambiance of the neighbourhood.
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LeCorbusier, 1935. La Ville radieuse (The Radiant City). Boulogne-sur-Seine: Éditions de l’Architecture d’Aujourd’hui.
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A parcel of history
Aerial view of the site - c. 1950
Aerial view of the site - present day
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Conclusion In conclusion, the colonial view of the Casbah has forged a long-lasting informal imperialism. It led to hordes of European tourists, seeking artistic inspiration or sexual gratification, ultimately provoking the slumification of what was once the home and pride of many Algerians. Looking at the Casbah through gender, art, and architecture, colonialism created a distorted portrait, one of exotic landscapes and erotic women, both barbaric and beautiful, persisting in the collective imagination of the West. As Kahina Amal Dijar best puts it: “Architecture establishes a place in space according to a network of meaning. When the network is affected (politically, economically, culturally, etc.), the way of thinking loses its significance, and the experience of place becomes problematic.”1 In analysis bias and prejudice are inevitable. The terms used, the focus used, the conclusion drawn from it - none of it is independent of who is analysing and what context they are analysing in. It is particularly striking when taking a modern view on colonial analysis of the Casbah, especially given the current context of mass protest, the will to educate on racism, and the birth of initiatives such as Decolonising Architecture. Conversations which had previously been almost exclusive to the spheres of activism are becoming louder and more widespread, the orientalism of colonial Algeria and the eroticisation of the women of the Casbah would not be accepted by many today. Despite being critical of this myself, my own analysis does not escape personal inclinations. The lens of gender is influenced by my own lived experiences as a young woman. The lens of art is determined by my own artistic sensibility which is subjective and stems from my cultural heritage. The lens of architecture, which is arguably the most objective of the three, is motivated in part by my current studies. And of course, this entire essay is limited by the fact that I am neither Algerian, nor have I ever been to Algeria, and that I am but a second year architecture student working with Internet resources and the limited documentation I acquired from my local library. This is unavoidable. What then do we make of analysis? There is no way to do away with analysis; it is a necessity to describe, criticise, and appreciate things. There is however, a need to approach analysis with a critical eye and to acknowledge its short-comings to minimise bias. It is only then that we will strip analysis’s power of perpetuating stereotypes and up-holding Western hegemony. In the study of architecture, this is already being done by denouncing the concept of the “canon” and the international style, but this discussion can and needs to go further.
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Dijar, K. A., 2009. Locating architecture, post-colonialism and culture: contextualisation in Algiers. The Journal of Architecture [Online], Volume 14 (Issue 2). Available from: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/13602360902867392?src=recsys [Accessed 8 August 2020].
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The Life and Death of the Makoko Floating School By Harriet Dyke
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1 | Floating School Section
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Introduction
In 2016 at the Venice Biennale Nigerian architect Kunlé Adeyemi, was awarded the Silver Lion prize for most promising young participant. His submission was a replica of the Makoko Floating School, a three storey, A-frame building constructed in the Makoko slum in Lagos, Nigeria that, as its name suggests, was designed to oat on the Lagos lagoon. The Floating School was praised for its socially driven approach: “We are not interested in architecture as the manifestation of a formal style,” said Alejandro Aravena, curator of the exhibition, “but rather as an instrument of self-government, of humanist civilization, and as a demonstration of the ability of humans to become masters of their own destinies.”1 On June 7th, just over a week after Adeyemi accepted his award, the Makoko slum was hit by a tropical storm and the Floating School came crashing down. In an article for the Atavist, writer Allyn Gaestel revealed the troubled backdrop to the Floating School’s short-lived success story. She detailed the conicts and awed concepts that led to the school’s collapse and concluded with a damning condemnation of the building as a four-part failure: a failure as a school; a failure as sustainable innovation; a moral failure in its treatment of the people of Makoko; and a representational failure in the way the narrative of the project was warped and distorted to be more palatable to the Western media and architectural community.2 Architecture, like any work of art or literature, can be representative of cultural identity. This was a key theme of Karsten Harries’ book, The Ethical Function of Architecture, which envisions architecture as a medium to express ‘a common ethos’, the shared values of a culture.3 Yet the role of architecture presented by Gaestel is much more ambiguous and disquieting; just as it represents, it also obscures and a buoyant, popular narrative can come at the expense of the truth. This essay seeks to untangle the ‘ethics’ that the Makoko Floating School represented as well as the ones it obscured, in order to explore Gaestel’s ideas on the uncertain morality of architectural intervention in impoverished communities.
1 Gaestel, A., 2018. Things Fall Apart. The Atavist Magazine, 76. 2 Gaestel, 2018. 3 Harries, K., 1997. The ethical function of architecture. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press. p.4
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1 | Aspiration In order to understand the ethos of the Floating School, we must rst understand what it represented for its users, creators and the wider architectural community, beginning with what the project was intended to achieve at a practical level. The Makoko Floating School was not, as its name suggests, conceived as an individual building, but rather as an extension to an existing school, called Whanyinna. The existing school was a charity funded project, that unfortunately had failed to provide enough space for the large student body or nanced basic resources like toilets. As a result, the school was overcrowded and was prone to ooding.4 These were the practical issues for which the Floating School was proposed as a solution, however it does not appear to have solved either of them. Seven years after the Floating School’s completion in 2013, local project stakeholders are running a Makoko Education Fund to raise money for a new school extension. Their needs are the same as they were 10 years ago: structural repairs to the existing school building and an extension so that the school can meet the demand for education in the community.5 This is of course because the Floating School has collapsed, but there is ample
4 Gaestel, 2018. 5 Etomi, I., Millard, J., Odiye, D., and Shemede, N., 2016. Makoko Education Fund [Online]. Available from: http://www makoko.org/makoko-education-fund.html
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evidence to suggest that, even while aoat, the School never solved the problems set out in its initial brief or was even intended to. Firstly, positioned as it was to be visible from the Third Mainland Bridge (Fig. 2) its function as an extension to the school seemed tenuous at best, as the Floating School was some distance from the main building, making collaboration and access difficult. In addition, this visible position and the eye-catching design of the school were a hinderance to its operations, the Nigerian government views Makoko as an ‘eyesore’6 and condemned the Floating School as an illegal building, cited as the reason the school was not open until two years after its construction.7 More troubling still are the allegations that the Floating School created similar problems to Whanyinna before it, by lacking consideration of the limited nancial capacity of the Makoko community. The budget for the Floating School was roughly seven times that of Whanyinna but it did not include a plan or provision for long-term maintenance, only the agreement that the Makoko community to eventually take full responsibility for the structure and its upkeep. Unfortunately, once the School was left in the care of the local people, despite the repeated claims of local leaders that the community would not be able to afford to maintain the structure, it fell into disrepair that lead to its eventual collapse.8 At a practical 2 | The Makoko Floating School
level, the Makoko Floating School appears to have done nothing to
3 | Map of Makoko Makoko occupies a part of the waterfront of Lagos Lagoon. Some buildings are on land but many others are in the lagoon, raised above the water on stilts.
meet the needs of its community. Arguably it even had a negative impact considering the nancial investment that sunk with the school. It is telling that while the Makoko Education Foundation acknowledge the effort that went into the Floating School they also stress their feeling that the Makoko community would be better served in the future by practical design interventions that do not ‘focus solely of architecture’.9 This history paints a picture of a small community project being co-opted by a big architectural statement, with all practical aspirations superseded by something else. The man responsible for the change is Kunlé Adeyemi. Adeyemi, a Nigerian architect
6 Gaestel, 2018. 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid. 9 Etomi, Millard, Odiye, and Shemede. 2016.
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and founder of the Amsterdam based design rm Nlé, was brought onto the project while the extension was in the drafting phase and worked in collaboration with local architect Isememe Etomi, who had been working as a teacher at Whanyinna school. Conict soon arose over the direction of the project causing Etomi to pull out along with the Stiller foundation, the philanthropic organisation that had been funding the project.10 This left Adeyemi with near total creative control. Following the withdrawal of the Stiller foundation, Adeyemi was in need new nancial sponsorship, which he found in the United Nations Development Program and the Heinrich Böll Foundation.11 Immediately, the change in direction is apparent. Whereas the Stiller foundation is a relatively small charity whose main focus is building schools for impoverished communities, the UNDP and to a lesser extent the Heinrich Böll Foundation are huge, international organisations with ambitious goals of social and environmental sustainability at a global scale. In 2012, with this new backing, Nlé launched the Makoko Floating School and along with it a much larger proposal, the Lagos Water Communities Project. This proposal was styled as: ‘adapting coastal African cities to the impact of climate change’12. It details the trend of rapid urbanisation in many African countries, the large number of dense, coastal cities with rapidly growing populations and that climate change is putting these cities at great risk of ooding.13 Nlé and Adeyemi’s answer to these problems looks familiar: a bold A-frame structure oating upon the surface of the water.
4 | The Lagos Water Communities Project
10 Gaestel, 2018. 11 Nlé, 2016. Why did the Makoko Floating School collapse and other FAQs. Amsterdam: Nlé. p.1 12 Nlé, 2012. Lagos water communities project. Amsterdam: Nlé. p. 1 13 Nlé, 2012. pp. 2-18
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[3] Henceforth, the Floating School was referred to as a ‘pilot project’14, a prototype for bigger, oating developments in the future and it was apparent that Adeyemi hoped to gain government support through the project’s success. This suggests that Adeyemi did not see the Makoko Floating School as a small community building but as a step towards the sustainable, urban development of Lagos. Perhaps this was the architectural statement that had made such an impact at the Biennale and moved Aravena to deem it proof of humanity’s mastery of its destiny. Concluding that sustainability was the whole basis of the Floating School’s popularity with the international, architectural community ignores the local context of the project. The Makoko locale features signicantly in the portrayal of the project to the Western media. This was not unusual; an appreciative attitude towards the ‘primitive’ has been present in Western architectural theory since Laugier15 and more recently, following works such as Bernard Rudofsky’s Architecture without Architects and Kenneth Frampton’s Towards a Critical Regionalism, the use of vernacular architecture as a precedent for design has become canonically accepted, even expected. However, what was different in this instance was that it was not the architecture that was the centre of the romantic narrative but Makoko as a whole: its setting, its culture and its community. Insight into this narrative can be understood through Adeyemi’s early work with Rem Koolhaas. The two architects worked together the late 1990s when Koolhaas came to Lagos on a research project for Harvard University. Adeyemi, a student at the time, was recruited to help with the research.16 Koolhaas’ book, Lagos: How it Works was never published but he and Adeyemi have spoken of their ndings in subsequent interviews. Koolhaas describes the Lagos of the late 1990s as disconnected from the rest of the world, ‘maybe we inadvertently discovered the last terra incognita’17 he says, and speaks admiringly of the ingenious urbanism borne of a society with an inattentive state. He postulates that as Lagos became more globalised, many of these ingenuities vanished as conventional infrastructure took their place and advocates for the preservation and incorporation of the more successful parts of old Lagos into the developing city.18 With the Makoko Floating School, Adeyemi was trying to do just that, by incorporating new infrastructure with the waterborne lifestyle unique to Makoko. Makoko is a prime example of the organised chaos of vernacular Lagosian infrastructure and Adeyemi, through the Floating School, was going to preserve it and transform the existing urban landscape into a workable environment for 21st century life. This concludes the rst section of this essay. The Makoko Floating School may have started as a small community project, but it grew into much more than that. It symbolised a compelling vision of the future, not just for Makoko or even Lagos, but for urban development as a whole. It painted a picture of a modern city that maintained the freedom of organic urban development: a lost past reimagined as a sustainable future.
14 Nlé, 2016. p. 1 15 Frost, A., 2019. Primitivism. University of Bath. Unpublished. 16 Michael, C., 2016. ‘Lagos shows how a city can recover from a deep, deep pit’: Rem Koolhaas talks to Kunle Adeyemi. The Guardian, [Online] 26 February. Available from: https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/feb/26/lagos-rem-kool haas-kunle-adeyemi 17 Koolhaas, R., 2014. Interview with Rem Koolhaas [Online]. Available from: http://lagos.submarinechannel.com/ 18 Ibid.
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2 | Author and Audience
Part 1 of this essay described the evolution of an aspirational narrative symbolised by the Makoko Floating School, Part 2 will analyse this narrative in the context of the individuals and groups involved to ascertain the social impact of the Floating School as a piece of ethical architecture. To consider a building as ethical architecture is to consider it similarly to literature or art: a creative product that reects some cultural ethos. Following that analogy it can be assumed that a work of architecture will have an author, the person or persons responsible for its creation, and that it might also have an audience, the people who the author is trying to appeal to. The most obvious example of this would feature the architect as the author and the buildings inhabitants as the audience; through a beautiful and sturdy design the architect convinces people to use and admire their building. However, it is clear that for the Makoko Floating School the intended audience extended beyond the people of Makoko, despite their role as the building users. It could be argued that the simple fact of the building’s popularity overseas is proof of this, if it were not displayed in some way to the international community the they would not have been aware of it, but more telling is the development of the narrative itself. As hypothesised in Part 1, the Floating School took on a saviour type role; it was about preserving and reintegrating an urban wilderness, something in a way too natural and innocent to survive in the modernising city without help. Key to this is Rem Koolhaas’ phrase ‘terra incognita’, meaning unknown world. This description is true for Rem Koolhaas, but for its inhabitants, Makoko is known. It is home and the scene of their daily lives. As the Floating School transitioned from community project to architectural statement it developed a new audience beyond the Makoko locale and as such, the narrative around the project was rephrased to suit a Western audience. An alternative view places the people of Makoko centre stage, using the popularity of the Floating School to communicate their story to the wider world. They certainly would have had a lot to say. The Nigerian government has a history of taking a ruthless approach to slum clearance. Under colonialist rule, investments in architecture and infrastructure in Lagos were kept to the European districts but as Nigeria transitioned into its independence in 1960, its new government saw architectural improvements to areas neglected by colonial rule as a means of asserting Nigeria’s new status as an independent nation.19 The rst instance of slum clearance in Lagos began in 1955. Alhaji Yar Adua, Minister of Lagos at the time described central Lagos as ‘humiliating’ and expressed his view that the city was ‘the mirror through which foreigners make their initial
19 Immerwhar, D., 2007. The politics of architecture and urbanism in postcolonial Lagos, 1960–1986. Journal of African Cultural Studies. 19. p. 166.
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appraisal of Nigeria’.20 This shows that the government motivation for slum development is clearly based in image as much as necessity and the results of the project express this also. Seventy acres of land on Lagos island were cleared and 20,000 people displaced. But while the Development Board stated plans to sell the land back to its former inhabitants, few returned due to both the increased cost of living and the newly constructed housing which, built in the Western suburban style, was not culturally appropriate for Lagos.21 This would set a pattern for slum clearance in Lagos that continues to this day, with informal communities demolished and replaced by typologies representative of developmental success. Communities like Makoko are still very much at risk. As recently as 2012 the Nigerian government made an attempt at demolition; residents were given just seventy-two hours to vacate their homes before police raided Makoko. The government only backed down when police, who were suppressing the protestors shot and killed a local man, causing a public relations backlash.22 With this persistent threat to their homes and livelihoods, the people of Makoko have the motivation to speak out and moreover, there is a justiable case for persuading international audiences to listen. The government of Nigeria has a vision of a modern, progressive Lagos that is recognised and respected by its international counterparts. This is evidenced by their architectural projects, from the Western style suburbs built in the early 1960’s, to their concurrent embracing of Tropical Modernism as a style that was both modern and Nigerian23, to present emulation of Middle Eastern cities particularly Dubai.24 Therefore, while the Nigerian government has consistently ignored the voices of Makoko’s inhabitants, they might be more susceptible to international pressure, especially if, as in Adeyemi’s narrative, slum architecture was reframed as a precedent for a new, progressive style of urban development. By authoring a compelling narrative that appealed to an international audience, the people of Makoko would have been able to challenge their government’s harsh stance on slum settlements, which was a threat to their daily lives. This version of events implies that the Makoko community was in complete control of this narrative and how it was delivered to the international community, and this is not accurate. It is already established in Part 1 that Kunle Adeyemi had considerable creative control over the design of the school and this would have given him a certain amount of authorial control of the scheme and its narrative. Furthermore, Adeyemi was already somewhat established as an expert: his qualications; his work and experience overseas; his connections to people like Rem Koolhaas, who is one of the most preeminent architectural thinkers of our time, would all have given him an academic validity far beyond that of the Makoko community and a stronger platform on which he could advocate the scheme. Therefore, when Adeyemi joined the project, it not only gained his design expertise but also the credibility and inuence his name and status provided. Adeyemi
20 Quoted in Ibid, 2007. p. 171 21 Ibid. pp. 171 - 172 22 Ogunlesi, T., 2016. Inside Makoko: danger and ingenuity in the world’s biggest oating slum. The Guardian, [Online] 23 February. Available from: https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/feb/23/makoko-lagos-danger-ingenuity-oat ing-slum 23 Immerwhar, 2007. pp. 167 - 170 24 Koolhaas, R., 2014.
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did use this to the project’s advantage: he was able to source new funding from prestigious sources; he was able to garner acclaim in the international architectural community; he was even able to engage in discussion with the Lagos State government.25 The narrative of the Makoko Floating School gathered the momentum due to Adeyemi’s platform and inuence. This meant that concurrently, as the main spokesperson for the project, he gained a lot of control over that narrative. In effect the majority of the information available about the project was ltered through Adeyemi and was therefore subject to his control. Regardless of his personal sentiments about the project, Adeyemi was naturally also motivated by his personal career development. He was undertaking it in a professional capacity and as such the success or failure of the project would impact his career. This impact is manifest in two ways. First of all, the Makoko Floating School was one of the rst projects Adeyemi took on after launching his rm Nlé, with construction on the school nishing just two years after the founding of Nlé in 2010. Thus, for Adeyemi the success of the Floating School was intertwined with the success of his new practice. Secondly, Adeyemi’s portrayal of the Floating School as a ‘pilot project’ for future development show that for him the Floating School was a beginning. He even used the metaphor of a seed to describe the project: ‘It grows. We’re hoping it can be cultivated to create more.’26 If the Floating School were a success it would lead to more work for Nlé and place Adeyemi at the head of a development program practicing the type of architecture aspired to by Rem Koolhaas and himself during their research of Lagos. Therefore, Adeyemi, the man with the most authorial control over the Floating School and how it was represented, had a clear motivation to portray the School as successful, moreover successful in a way that supported his vision for the development of Lagos. A personal motivation for ensuring the Floating School’s success does not, on the surface, seem like a negative. However, Adeyemi’s version of a success was not always congruent with the preferences of the Makoko community, as evidenced in Part 1 where the aspiration of the project is shown to diverge from the pragmatic needs of the community to better suit Adeyemi’s vision. The need to portray the project as a success glossed over and sometimes obscured issues with the design. For example, in the spring of 2013 there was a celebration of the school’s opening after which Nlé published a set of photographs shot by Iwan Baan. These photos show the school in use by the Makoko community and many feature happy children wearing school uniforms [4], a depiction which is somewhat contrary to reality; the building was not in use as a school at the time and would not be so for another two years. Subsequently, as the Floating School gained popularity overseas, this successful image was reaffirmed by third parties who admired Adeyemi’s vision and wished to support its image. A notable example is a video created on behalf of the United Nations Foundation whose producer has admitted to staging scenes of school children using the
25 Nlé, 2016. p. 12 26 Quoted in Gaestel, 2018.
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structure to represent the school’s intended purpose.27 The Makoko locale featured heavily into the way the project was marketed but despite their prevalence in the imagery surrounding the project, the people of Makoko are always seen through the frame created by Adeyemi and Nlé. They are established in the eyes of the media as cheerful beneciaries and any negative opinions or concerns are concealed even as their images are used to legitimise the Floating School’s social success. Even though the story of the Makoko Floating School was that of the people of Makoko, they had little control over the narrative and how it was portrayed to the wider world. They became in effect, neither the author nor the audience but the subject: content that does not speak but is spoken for.
5 | School’s opening This image, shot by Iwan Baan, is typical of the visual media surrounding the project: local people take centre stage.
27 Ibid. 2018
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6 | Floating School in ruins
3 | Architectural Responsibility
The collapse of the Floating School in 2016 was a devastating blow to Adeyemi’s narrative and exposed the cracks in the project’s foundation that had been obscured by its celebrity. Most poignant of these was the dissatisfaction of the Makoko community stated most vocally by Noah Shemede, local leader and headmaster of the Whanyinna school. He had been Adeyemi’s main community liaison and was left in charge of the Floating School when Nlé pulled away from the project in 2015.28 In an article published in the Guardian shortly after the School’s collapse, Shemede put voice to the discontent of the community: their dissatisfaction with the length of time the School took to open, that while it was in use it could only accommodate 60 students and that there were doubts among parents about the School’s structural stability, doubts that appear to have been well founded.29 These comments highlight once again that the Makoko Floating School
28 Nlé, 2016. p. 4 29 Okoroafor, C., 2016. Does the Makoko Floating School’s collapse threaten the whole slum’s future? The Guardian, [Online] 10 June. Available from: https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/jun/10/makoko-oating-school-col lapse-lagos-nigeria-slum-water
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5 | The Floating School in Ruins
did not achieve its practical brief and call into question the necessity of architectural intervention in communities like Makoko. One argument for the preservation of the slum communities is that, as contemporary examples of vernacular architecture, they are self-sustaining, working within their means to support necessary functions of life. Whereas architects, as described in Rudofsky’s Architecture without Architects, claim ‘exceptional insight into problems of living when, in truth, most of them are concerned with problems of business and prestige.’30 Following this, architectural intervention is both unnecessary and contrary to what makes vernacular architecture special in the rst place. However, there is a strong counter argument to this view. During Rem Koolhaas’ research trip to Lagos in the early 2000s there was a lot of scepticism about his portrayal of the city. One of his most outspoken critics was a journalist called George Packer who, in an article for The New Yorker detailed the daily hardship faced by many Lagosians and condemned Koolhaas’ portrait of the city for not recognising that: ‘Lagos is fascinating only if you are able to leave it.’31 In effect that inhabitants of places like Makoko live there because their poverty means they have no other choice. Slum settlements may be self-sustaining, but this does not mean that they cannot
30 Rudofsky, B., 1964. Architecture without Architects. New York: Doubleday. p. 4 31 Packer, G., 2006. The Megacity: Decoding the chaos of Lagos. The New Yorker [Online], 6 November. Available from: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2006/11/13/the-megacity
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be improved upon. Integrated architectural intervention could not only preserve what is good about places like Makoko but also offer a better quality of life to its inhabitants. There is certainly a lack of infrastructure in Makoko. Residents have access to clean water but no electricity, no official hospital and while there is a school it does not have enough space to serve the whole community.32 There is also evidence of an appetite for these things in the community, after all the Floating School did begin as a community led project. This supports the idea that infrastructure project would be welcome, but it does not necessarily follow that those projects need to make an architectural statement in the way the Floating School did. As established in Part 1, the Floating School did not really full its practical goals as they were superseded by a grander architectural vision. On the other hand, smaller projects with less ambitious goals have had some success. Isememe Etomi, the architect who collaborated with Adeyemi at the beginning of the Floating School project, has completed several of these small-scale projects including a shelter for those waiting for canoe taxis. Etomi had used Makoko as the topic of her thesis project and devised a plan for gradual improvements to the area.33 However, despite the functional help these small interventions may have given to the people of Makoko, they did not address the bigger challenges that threaten their way of life, climate change and slum clearance, issues that the Floating School did address. Its principal response to the threat of climate change was its approach to ooding. Makoko already experiences frequent ooding and the risk of this only increases as sea levels continue to rise.34 The Floating School was proposed as a direct solution to this; as water levels rose the School would rise with them, eliminating the risk of ooding. Despite this, it is difficult to argue that the School itself was a sustainable building as it was not durable, it did not even last ve years. Durability is not the only approach to sustainable architecture, there is denitely a place for temporary solutions, but considering high cost of the building in comparison with the limited resources of the Makoko community and the short amount of time that the building was in use, the suitability of such a response in this case is questionable. The official response to this known imperfection is that the project was experimental: ‘Given the rst and prototypical nature of the project, the structure was built as a proof of concept’.35 This statement distances the project from Makoko and envisions it like a feasibility study in the ongoing development of waterborne architecture. In doing so it ignores the extent to which, as discussed in Part 2, the Makoko community was used to legitimise the project’s goals and that they were the group most intimately effected by its failure. The academic progression of architecture is set ahead of the social needs of vulnerable communities, which the architect, with their status as an expert, uses to put concepts to the test.
32 Ogunlesi, 2016. 33 Gaestel, 2018. 34 Nlé, 2012. Makoko Floating School: Research Report. Amsterdam: Nlé. pp. 23-27 35 Nlé, 2016. p. 3
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There is precedent for this behaviour, even in Lagos. Tropical Modernism was alluded to earlier in this essay. It is a branch of the International Style that became popular in Lagos during the 1960s due to the government’s wish to assert national independence through their urban spaces. Although Tropical Modernism was established as a Nigerian style, its claim to individuality from Modernism stemmed from its response to climate and further distinctions such as cultural norms and social concerns such as the lack of housing were largely ignored.36 There is evidence too that the climatic response was subsidiary to the architectural freedom that working in Nigeria provided. The primary theorists of the movement, Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew wrote of how refreshing it was ‘to shake free from the crippling mental state brought about by too great a reverence for habits and customs’37. In Africa, free from the constraints and regulations of the West, architects could do whatever they wanted. It would be wrong to condemn the Makoko Floating School with a style 50 years its senior, but there are clear parallels between the premise, an architect coming in as an expert to a society with little regulatory authority, and the consequences, neglect of the immediate social needs of the vulnerable in that society. The other challenge that the Floating School intended to combat was the hostility of the Nigerian government towards Makoko and other slum settlements. Here it appears to have been more successful as there have been not further attempts to demolish Makoko since 2012. The Floating School cannot wholly be credited with Makoko’s survival, there have been responses from other advocates. For example, in 2014 a group called the Urban Spaces Innovation submitted a proposal to the government for a ‘community-led and people-centred’ development of Lagos to dispute the view that eviction and demolition is the only viable course of action.38 Yet the school did garner immense support for the cause, which put pressure on the government resulting in the inclusion of the Floating School in a 2015 regeneration plan for Makoko.39 It provided an icon which the rest of the movement could rally around: a catalyst for social change. Yet the success of this iconography has proved to be a double-edged sword. It meant that the collapse of the school was more than a building failure, it undermined the causes and ideals to which the school was intrinsically linked as an icon. While the school was successful the future of Makoko had seemed secure, but since the collapse its fate has been in ux. Weighted against the mistrust and scepticism seeded by its failure, it is unclear whether the utopian future the Floating School had represented in its success was a possibility or a pipe dream. It is an important reminder that the longevity of an architectural statement of this kind is dependent on its continuing support in popular culture. And that while the failure of the Floating School was particularly sensational, it was perhaps not unique just obvious, as when the shine fades and fashions change, the spotlight moves elsewhere and what is left will have to stand on its own.
36 Immerwhar, 2007. pp. 167 – 170 37 Ibid. p. 168 38 Ogunlesi, 2016. 39 Nlé, 2016. p. 12
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Conclusion
The simple iconography of the Makoko Floating School concealed a very complex story. Even as it was buoyed to fame in public consciousness it was held down by the practical constraints from which it never quite managed to break free. The hostility of the government was a constant impediment and it did not achieve the community integration implied in its portrayal in the Western media, with clashes with local collaborators over nance and scope leading to a scheme that was a product of the architect rather than the community. As the architectural vision grew beyond a small community project to an international development programme the people of Makoko became commoditised, their individual wants and needs overlooked. Now that its aws are exposed the promise of the Floating School feels hollow. Its collapse illustrating that in situations like these, iconography is not enough, it must be backed up by substantial change at a local level. Its story also highlights the power an architectural vision can have, and the resultant responsibility of the architect as the author of that narrative. It might be easy to brush off failures as experimentation, but it is wrong to neglect the real impact they have on vulnerable communities like Makoko. The extent to which the collapse of the Floating School damaged the Makoko community’s ght to preserve their way of life is impossible to quantify, but it is safe to say that the initial government hostility has now been compounded with an added mistrust of architectural innovation that promises much but delivers little. Nevertheless, it feels harsh to condemn the Floating School completely. While Adeyemi did overreach with his ambitions, the core of his ethos remains sound. Communities like Makoko are rich with their own life, ingenuity and culture that should not be overlooked. They are also immensely vulnerable to external urban development whether the instigator is a development company, their own government or an ambitious architect. If these communities are to thrive in the modern city then the traditional approach of demolition and redevelop must be replaced by integrated architectural intervention that works with the local people. I hope that the Makoko Floating School, through its short-lived fame and persisting aws, has helped to pave the way for an architecture that empowers rather than oppresses the urban poor. 14 42
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7 | The Floating School as it was.
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Perceiving Identity The built environment is intertwined with the fabric of identity. These works grasp at the intangible layers of personality, experience and memory that turn a house into a home.
Searching For Your "Self" in Your Home Ema Ziya / Year 02 Atmosphere Cormac Miller / Year 02 Mamma and Pappa's House Sebastian Syrjanen / Year 03
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searching for your “self� in your home by: fathimath ema ziya
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contents Introduction
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The House as the Symbol of the Self
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I - The First Generation - Unyielding
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II - The Second Generation - Evolving
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III - The Third Generation - Transforming
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Conclusion
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INTRODUCTION
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For all of us living far away from our homes, the ache to return is something that we have grown accustomed to carrying. After all, home is where we truly become ourselves, shedding our exterior skins, becoming comfortable within the familiar confines of the walls. It is where we can express ourselves without boundaries, fake pleasantries and smiles exiled to the outside world. For many of us, it reminds us of what could be considered the ultimate biological shelter: the womb, protecting us and keeping us safe.
Using the theories of Clare Marcus Cooper from her essay – “House as the Symbol of the Self” – and focusing on homes in the Maldives, this essay attempts to explore her theory further and investigate the metaphysical importance of the home. Cooper argues that the house becomes a physical representation of the esoteric concept of the “self”, thereby helping us understand this archetype that would otherwise be difficult for our conscious minds to comprehend. At the core of her argument is the fact that physical objects can be used to represent and better understand metaphysical concepts. Oftentimes, we find it easy to reduce architecture to just the physical realm even though it is extremely evocative and a perennial means of expressing and representing the metaphysical. This theory reinforces the idea that this is a parochial view that leads us to overlook a significant part of architecture, especially on the topic of the home.
Nevertheless, many unanswered questions arise from the theory. This essay attempts to delve deeper within this concept and tries to answer the question of what happens when our homes no longer act as “symbols of the self”. In many countries such as the Maldives, due to economic, social and cultural reasons, many of us never get the chance to choose where we live. Therefore, the spaces one calls their “home” does not necessarily reflect one’s “self”; they do not evoke the feelings of warmth, comfort or protection discussed earlier. It is also important to consider the changing role of the home as one goes through the different stages of life. Analyzing Cooper’s philosophy through a deeply personal lens, I try to view this theory through both a cultural and familial context. This essay is comprised of three distinct stories about the role of the home across three generations of a family.
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THE HOUSE AS THE SYMBOL OF THE SELF Architecture as a Means of Representing and Understanding the Intangible
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Cooper’s theory is rooted within Jungian psychology, notably the concepts of the archetype, the collective unconsciousness and the symbol. Jung believed that archetypes are universal patterns or images derived from our collective unconsciousness. They can only truly exist within this unconscious state – as part of our psyche that cannot be expressed through physical or conscious means. Once it manifests itself into our consciousness through “dreams, fantasies or rational thought” it becomes “clothed in the images of the concrete world and is no longer an archetype”, but becomes a ‘symbol’ instead (Cooper, 1974, p. 131). This means that although the symbol remains physical and tangible, it has a hidden identity within this unconscious and intangible dimension through the archetype (Cooper, 1974, p. 131). Jacobi describes this other dimension as a way to experience the world as something more than just what we interpret through our five biological senses (1957). Symbols then act as a way of bringing this other dimension, where archetypes and unconsciousness exist, into our consciousness (albeit indirectly); acting as the best possible representation of that which cannot be represented. To only acknowledge the physical dimension is to deny the existence of the metaphysical, remaining willfully or ignorantly blind to the “root of our creative activity” (Jacobi, 1957).
Architecture, for instance, can be an incredibly powerful symbol once this dimension is acknowledged, becoming something more than mere concrete or masonry formed into different shapes. For Cooper, even within architecture, the home or the house serves a special function as a symbol. It has the potential to become the symbol of the ‘self’ – the ultimate archetype, representing our psyche as a united whole (Cooper, 1974). She explains that we “project something of ourselves onto its physical fabric” (Cooper, 1974, p. 131). This comes into play when we choose elements of our homes, such as the design and form of the house, the colour of the walls or even the furniture. We subconsciously choose things in ways that we feel best represents us (Cooper, 1974). This is possibly why we feel more comfortable and more ourselves in the spaces we call home.
The house is akin to the notion of the self in many ways. Bachelard noted that the house both ‘encloses space’ within the interiors, acting as a private area only seen by those we invite into our homes, and also ‘excludes space’ outside of the walls (1969). Similarly, the divisions of the psyche include the ‘self’, within the enclosed private space of our unconsciousness, and the ‘persona’ which is the mask that we reserve for the public – much like the façade of a house (Bachelard, 1969). This parallel was drawn by Christopher Alexander as well in The Timeless Way of Building. He notes the importance of the transition between the entrance of the house and the public realm, stating that this transition is where one sheds the persona and slips back into the ‘self’, marking the distinction between public and private within our psyche (Alexander, 1979). Additionally, Cooper notes that since we find the concept of the ‘self’ difficult to understand, it is quite fragile and unstable within our conscious minds. Therefore, we seek a symbol for this that is “familiar [and] solid” (Cooper, 1974, pg. 144). The house, for most of us, is the space that we find the most 4
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familiar and stable, and is therefore fitting to function as the symbol of the self. The self is a universal archetype that exists within humanity’s collective unconsciousness, and yet it is individual to each person. Similarly, the notion of the home is something that we share almost universally, but at the same time, this too is individual for each of us. Cooper also notes many other distinctive examples from literature, architecture and Jung himself that reinforces the idea that the house is a pertinent symbol of the self.
However, this entire theory assumes that everyone possesses a certain degree of autonomy in choosing their home, or even aspects of their home. A heavier question arises from this assumption – what happens to the people that are unable to choose their homes and their homes, therefore, do not symbolise the self. When the house does not resemble a symbol of the self, this philosophical equation involving the house and the self is unbalanced. One possible way to restore balance would be to change one variable of the equation so that it is once again in line with the other. This idea is similar to the concept of ‘cognitive dissonance’ within psychology. It generally describes the phenomenon where if one’s actions are not in line with one’s idea of their ‘self’ or their beliefs and morals, they either change their actions to reflect their ‘self’ or change their idea of the ‘self’ to reflect their actions. Either way, one of the variables must change to align with the other. Consequently, it could be extrapolated that if one’s house does not align with their image of the ‘self’ they must either change their house or their idea of the ‘self’. Cooper’s theory gives some consideration to this, as she does not view the relationship between the home and the self as static or fixed. She considers it to be a more dynamic and fluid cycle where one projects themselves onto the home, thereby the house becomes an “avowal of the self”, and in turn, the home projects itself back on the self, acting as a “revelation” of the self (Cooper, 1974, p. 131). This means that with changes in your economic, social or physical situation, there is the opportunity to adjust. Unwillingness or the inability to change either factor could theoretically result in an imbalance with the physical and metaphysical dimension, resulting in my opinion, in disruption and discordance within your intangible being. However, it is still questionable whether changing one’s self is the best approach to this conundrum.
For most citizens living in the Maldives, especially within the extremely densely populated capital city of Male’, having the freedom to create or even choose their own space to call home is a distant thought that they don’t deem worth dreaming about. Due to the scarcity of land and the concentration of services in the capital compared to elsewhere in the country, people move here regardless of the condition, size or price they have to pay for their ‘homes’ in Male’. The resulting obscenely high and inelastic demand for apartments in the capital has led to the needs and wants of users being almost completely ignored; treated as unnecessary expenses, putting a damper on the potential profits for the landowners and developers. This has led to the rise of homogenous blocks of buildings that serve neither form nor function. More often than not, people don’t have a choice of where they want to live due to low purchasing 54
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power, low individual autonomy and the low number of available choices within the housing market. These three factors restrict the ability that people have in choosing their own homes and has led to many people being stuck in spaces that don’t align with their ideas of the self. I believe that this situation has arisen and festered in the Maldives because of the complete disregard for the intangible realm within architecture, with designers and developers favouring only the quantitative measures. Cooper’s theory highlights the importance of taking the immeasurable effects of the spaces we create into account. The sprawling urban mess that is Male’ shows a perfect picture of the chaos and dissatisfaction that ensues when we ignore this. Through the three stories of this essay, I hope to reinforce Cooper’s underlying premise, especially with regards to housing in the Maldives.
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I. THE FIRST GENERATION - Unyielding 1950s
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The matriarch of the first generation of the family has always considered herself a progressive and modern woman. Even at her current old age, she is quick to speak her mind and voice her opinions, especially when it comes to matters that she disagrees with. So, it seems fitting that when she decided to build her own house, the house would be modern and different from most other dwellings on the island.
At that time, Male’ had not yet become the dense concrete jungle that it is now and high-rise buildings were practically non-existent. Most people lived in vernacular homes that they shared with their extended families. These homes were often made up of different one to two-storey “blocks” serving different functions, laid out around an inner central courtyard. The courtyard was complete with large mango or breadfruit trees from which undhoali (swings) were often hung. It acted as the main central connection between all the blocks of the house, forcing people to cross it whenever they need to go from one block to another. This movement signified the deep and inherent connection with nature that Maldivians at that time shared. Common house construction materials included limestone and concrete with most walls being left bare without any coatings of paint or plaster.
The first generation carried out a different interpretation of this vernacular house. Instead of a central courtyard, her house had an L-shaped one. Visitors would step through the external front door into the shaded area of the courtyard and then into the internal section of the house. The shading provided by the upper floor of the house in this section of the courtyard acted as a transition space between the public road and the privacy of the house. This divide was emphasized as visitors moved from under the vast blue sky into this secluded and sheltered space. Upon entering the interior of the house, people found themselves in a double-height open-plan space that served as a living room and a dining room – extremely ideal for having guests over. The back of the house, which can be reached both internally and through a back entrance from the other side of the courtyard included a large and spacious kitchen, an additional dining room and a pantry.
This was her ideal home. In the morning, she would be found out in the courtyard tending to the trees and plants. The afternoons, especially on Fridays when the whole family would gather in the house for lunch, would be spent hurrying between the kitchen, cooking recipes passed down through her family, and the dining room, serving everyone with the extravagant dishes she prepared. She would often have friends and neighbours visit her for evening tea, where they would enjoy long talks in the open sitting room overlooking part of the courtyard. On the upper floors of the house were bedrooms for her and her children, carefully hidden away. This meant that the ‘persona’ of the home that is meant for the public extended into the interior within the semi-public domain established in the lower floors frequented by visitors. On the other hand, the upper floors were completely private and enclosed, allowing only close family members 8
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to witness the true ‘self’. Having had the privilege of social and financial autonomy, she was able to construct her perfect home, somewhere that was perfectly in line with her ‘self’. Needless to say, she adored that house.
Unfortunately, she recently moved out and shifted to a high-rise building. Her new apartment is on the outskirts of Male’ and has a stunning view of the harbour-front and the ocean. Occupying two floors, the vertical configuration of the space is similar to her old house. The lower floor contains a small kitchen, dining area and lounge area, open to the guests who visit, whereas the upper floor is the bedroom and significantly more private. The apartment has a small balcony where she keeps some of the plants she brought with her when she moved.
Despite the many virtues of the apartment, she continually makes her feelings about the space quite clear. Unlike her former house where the kitchen was separate from the main dining room, she is now condemned to using a smaller kitchen that shares the same space as the dining room. For someone who enjoys cooking for her visitors, she finds it incapable of allowing her to cook for a large number of people. The lack of natural ventilation in the apartment due to the floor to ceiling windows that can barely be opened also poses problems, especially for someone like her who loves cooking spice-laden traditional food. Additionally, these windows let in an obscene amount of sunlight resulting in unwanted solar gains and glare, increasing her discomfort especially during cooking.
For people of her generation, who must have spent her whole life until now living in one to two-storey houses that were rooted to the Earth, this sudden shift to an apartment multiple storeys above the ground must have been an unpleasant change. To have this connection between their image of the home and their reality severed so abruptly would have to be debilitating because it forced them to change their concept of the home. Cooper states that highrise apartment buildings are almost universally rejected as an ideal home because it “violates the archaic image of what a house is”, and makes people feel as if they were “anonymous files in a filing cabinet” rather than individual and unique beings. This feeling of homogeneity that is bred through this form of housing could have unintended but deeply consequential effects on one’s sense of self.
Although the “archaic image” of the house is something that is instilled in our subconscious, this image would still vary from culture to culture and change over time. For Maldivians, the traditional courtyard house is the common thread within our collective unconscious when it comes to the concept of the home. Nevertheless, factors such as the rising density in our population combined with the lack of land within the capital, have led to high-rise apartment blocks becoming inevitable. They remain one of the few solutions currently available to resolve major social problems such as housing crises. Perhaps, the archaic image of the home will change over the generations with each new generation 58
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becoming more and more accustomed to living in such spaces, as opposed to a traditional home. In the same way that it is unimaginable and anachronistic for most of us now to consider living in houses without built-in toilets and plumbing facilities – even though it was not commonplace in the Maldives up until the 1990s – it might be completely bizarre for the people of the future to consider their homes to be earth-bound. However, since we have not reached this point of change yet (especially for people of the first i.e. older generation) this violation of the image of her house could still be interpreted as a violation of the image of herself.
For people in this situation, the only two paths of resolution available for her regarding this dilemma is to either change their house or to change themselves. The option of moving back into their former home is no longer available for most. Additionally, for many, changing themselves might not seem like a sign of adaptation but it might rather signal to them the loss of their ‘self’. Having had the opportunity to build their own house in the image of themselves, they may consider it impossible to resign herself to ignore the feelings that those spaces evoked in them. In this case, being a very headstrong woman, she is unyielding to the external pressures that push her to accept the apartment as her home. So, she remains in limbo, her ‘self’ unchanged and her home changed, neither aligned with the other. Although she remains without resolution and this induces some of the frustration she experiences in her current home, she views this outcome as less condemning to the alternative option of changing herself to align with the current situation.
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II. THE SECOND GENERATION - Evolving 1970s
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The unique geography of the Maldives has led to the formation of scattered and isolated islands throughout the country. This factor significantly contributes to the inequality between the capital Malé and the rest of the islands. Residents in the capital have an average household income of approximately MVR 13,763 (£ 710), while those elsewhere earn only MVR 7,644 (£ 395) in comparison. The drastic gap between the quality of services available such as healthcare or education is even wider. This has led to a huge influx of internal migrants into Malé. It was and still is quite customary for young students in other islands to be sent off to the capital by their parents with the hopes of providing them with a better education. They will often find themselves in a strange and foreign house, filled with strange and foreign people at a very young age. The second generation of the family was one of these students. She arrived in Male’ in 1976 and has lived here ever since.
It’s not difficult to imagine that for many of these children, a sense of belonging was not something that would come easily. Pushed into a system similar to that of foster care homes, they would often be shifted from house to house. Reverting to the concept of “house as a symbol of the self”, these children would find it near impossible to be comfortable and familiar enough with these alien spaces to call it their home and develop it as a symbol of their ‘self’. At first, some may be naïve enough to call the initial house they move to their home, developing an attachment to the physical space and unconsciously using it as a symbol of the self. They may change whatever minute details they can to weave their self into the physical fabric, and at the same time allow the space to project itself on to them. Unfortunately, the harsh reality is that for most of them, this home may be ruthlessly wrenched from their grasp within a few months as they are forced to move elsewhere. The loss of the space that was unconsciously utilised to better comprehend and develop their most important archetype, especially at such a young and vulnerable age, would have massive knock-on effects on not just their sense of self but possibly all the archetypes encompassed in their psyche. For many of these children, they may become unattached to the houses they occupy, not calling anywhere their home out of fear of the temporary and precarious nature of their stay there.
As mentioned before, due to our lack of conscious comprehension of our sense of self, our perception of it is incredibly delicate (Cooper, 1974, pg. 144). For children whose sense of self is not yet developed, their home will be vital in providing a foundation for this development. Therefore, the home plays a much bigger role as the symbol of the self for children than for adults. This means that a strong stable home is much more crucial for younger children. During a stage where the comfort, safety and love of home are natural and fundamental, these children are forced to spend it in a setting that is unfamiliar, unstable and ungrounded. It is disheartening to think of the lasting effects this will have on the children that have gone through such experiences.
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In the case of this family, I believe that this experience has allowed her to detach herself to some extent from the houses that she lived in. She was able to learn the art of adaptation at a young age, evolving easily and seamlessly blending into the system of whatever house she occupied at the time. After marrying, perhaps she thought that she had finally found a home for her and her sense of self. Unfortunately, she claims that her father-in-law’s house (where she moved into after marriage) failed to provide this for her. The house was built in a typical traditional Maldivian fashion, with a central courtyard surrounded by the kitchen and dining room on one side and the living area and bedrooms on the other. The courtyard was home to swinging undhoali and joali (hammocks) where people sat to gossip and chat and the floor was covered with rocky sand. The front door of the house was linked to the courtyard – where one can access all parts of the home – by a narrow and dark alley that formed between the living quarters and the outer boundary walls. There was also a direct entrance from the front door of the house into the living quarters, although this was rarely utilized. Most of the activity took place in the back of the house towards the courtyard, where the kitchen and dining room would always be busy.
Despite all this, she stated that the house always felt empty and deserted. Perhaps this is because the dismal walk one went through upon entering the house - to reach the courtyard from the front door, through the damp and dingy alleyway - set the tone for the experiences that followed in the residence. Additionally, the room that she lived in was towards the front of the house – the most isolated and dark part of the house. The bustling atmosphere in the courtyard and the back of the house stood in stark contrast to what she felt in her room. In such a large house with the entire extended family, her room was the only place where she could seek solace and truly become her “self” because in the rest of the space she must wear her “persona” in the presence of everyone else. To have this crucial space seem so bleak would shape her experience of the house more than anything else. The only window in the room had a forlorn view out into the gloomy and barren garage, adorned with a crass tin roof. Without a view or any amount of daylight filtering in through this tiny opening, the atmosphere of the room would be dreary as well. In fact, the whole house was built in a manner that limited the amount of daylight available to the internal living spaces.
Sat in the apartment that she lives in now, I asked her if she felt like this home was more representative of her. Although her reply was no, she stated that she feels more at home here than anywhere else that she has lived in. She attributes this feeling to the privacy that it provides. In contrast to the large family homes that she occupied in the past, where privacy was a luxury that one could only afford for a few hours in their own room if they were lucky, this apartment is secluded and a space that is occupied only by her and her immediate family. Admittedly, the homes of her past were built with the idea of an extended family living together in mind, as they traditionally would have in the Maldives where generations of the same family would live under a single roof. This shows how our notion of home, domesticity and 62
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privacy has evolved. To have to continually be in the presence of so many people outside of our nuclear family could eventually become a hindrance. It could induce us to hide under the masks of our ‘persona’ day in and day out. In cases such as that, it might be difficult to find a comforting space to call one’s own where we can fully embrace the ‘self’, as it was for her in her father-in-law’s house. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that this concept of privacy, at least in Maldivian and many other South Asian cultures, is relatively new and signifies a collective shift in the ‘archaic image’ of the home possibly within the second and third generation’s collective unconscious.
Although she does not consider her current home to be a “symbol” of herself, she finds more comfort here than most other spaces because of its intimate nature. Perhaps her experiences at a younger age that helped develop her ability to adapt have led to her changing some parts of herself to find comfort in her home. Conversely, perhaps she stopped projecting her self on to her houses as much as other people and therefore relies less on the home for her understanding of the self.
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III. THE THIRD GENERATION - Transforming 2000s
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For the third-generation of this family, despite shortcomings in her childhood she never felt like the victim of a broken home. Looking back, she realised that the house that she grew up in played a huge role in masking these flaws, making her childhood appear completely idyllic. Not unlike a solid and strong fortress, the house protected her from invasive and bleak thoughts throughout this time. Instead, it became the setting for many happy memories created within its impenetrable walls. Even physically the house is reminiscent of a fortress. High boundary walls envelop the area, creating a severe divide between the public and the private, promising safety from the outside world. The house would sit in the middle of these walls, surrounded by the garden.
The garden was bright and hot on most days. The sun would reflect off the coarse white sand that covered the area, causing one to squint as they came in through the blue front door and entered into the sanctuary within the walls. The smell of food would waft from the kitchen down to the entrance. Driven by hunger and tiredness after school, her legs would follow the scent as if they had a mind of its own. One could choose to go through the veranda of the house, relishing in the cool shade it provided or one could cut across the garden, filtering in and out of the shadows of trees and the vine-covered trellis, basking in the warm afternoon glow of the sun. The air would be filled with the cries of the birds imprisoned in cages towards the back of the house. The atmosphere created within the boundary walls stood in such stark difference to that of the realm outside. The busy and bustling road, the sounds of impatience and irritation made by the drivers stuck in a traffic jam, the smell of pollution as the exhaust pipes of slow old trucks coughed out black smoke – none of this made it into the haven that was this house. Even upsetting events from school seemed to be forgotten, bullies and mean teachers banished from what was considered the perfect safe space. The house provided shelter, safety and love.
Having called this space her ‘home’ exclusively at such an early age, even though she did not choose any aspects of the house, it became reflective of her. At the same time, in hindsight, it’s clear that the relationship was bidirectional as Cooper described, and the house simultaneously projected itself on her (Cooper, 1974). This could be because the relationship between the child and their home is in some ways more intense than that of an adult’s. Cooper highlights that the house is one of the first physical spaces that babies experience and become familiar with apart from their mothers (Cooper, 1974, p. 138). The home acts almost as a secondary womb to children at this age, offering them similar maternal feelings of warmth and safety both physically and psychologically. At this age, the home is their whole world, and the spaces outside of this are unfamiliar territory. Eliade describes the tendency for humans to oppose that which is ‘unknown’, identifying them as part of some “other world” characterized as a “chaotic [and] foreign” space (Eliade, 1959). This characteristic is present in most adults and heightened in children. They may find themselves getting frightened by spaces outside, especially at early infancy. The home protects them from all of this in the same 16
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way a mother protects the child. The home is one’s fortress protecting them from the malevolence that lay outside the grounds. Although children have neither the capacity nor the autonomy to choose their homes to reflect themselves, the distinct relationship they share with their homes still allows them to use it as a symbol of their self. Furthermore, children will be innately more dependent on the home for the feelings of safety it provides.
Additionally, as mentioned in the section about the second-generation, as children have not fully developed their sense of self, their reliance on the home as a means for understanding the concept is more than that of adults. It might also be the case that at this stage, the home may project itself onto the child more than what the child may project themselves onto the home. The house gives more than it receives. This would mean that the home is needed not just for understanding the self, but for building the concept as well. In this case, children may use their home as a significant anchor point for their identity. This is also why the stability of the home is so important at this stage of our lives.
For this girl, this house that loved her so much, and she loved in return has now become a shell of its former self. Not having lived there for a long time now and when she visits, it no longer greets her with the same warmness it used to and feels like a distant stranger. The inside feels vast and empty now, cold and disassociated. Perhaps it is because it has been years since she lived in the house and since then, she has stopped projecting herself onto the fabric of the house. In fact, nobody lives in the house anymore. And so it stands, her childhood home, once a place of warmth and comfort, now a desolate and brooding figure. The massive windows that once let in the rays of sunlight that filtered in through the leaves of the trees are now covered with thick drapes, flooding the once open and light-filled space with darkness. The air that was once heavy with the smell of food, now only carries the musty smell of the spaces left behind. The sounds of nature, laughter and family no longer pierce the evening atmosphere as silence lingers in its place. No longer anyone’s home, the house reeks of neglect and abandonment and the only emotions that it evokes are the same.
Theoretically speaking, the house that is no longer a home should also no longer be a symbol of the self, and yet, for many of us, it is difficult to disassociate themselves with the past homes they occupied, especially during early childhood. As children, we are often like the birds in the cages of her old home; confined to our home and only allowed glimpses of the outside periodically. Our home becomes the centre of our universe, where we come from and where we return. As we grow older, it’s easier to disassociate ourselves with these feelings. However, for those of us lucky enough to have lived in houses that made us feel “at home” as children, it’s easy for us as adults to look back on these memories and gain a glimpse into how we felt at that time; even if being back in that same physical space is a strikingly different experience.
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CONCLUSION
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Arriving at an objective conclusion after such a journey has proven to be difficult. However, there is a clear common ground shared by the three stories – the metaphysical and physical significance of the home. Each of these stories highlights the importance of the home for our sense of “self”, albeit in different ways. All three of them longed for the same thing, even if they were individual and unique in some ways. The first generation yearns for the warmth of her old house. The second-generation wishes for her ideal home that she envisions sometimes as a distant dream that she may one day reach. For the third generation, although she remains unsure about the home that symbolizes herself, she strives to a home that will evoke the feelings of security from her childhood home. Nonetheless, they each harbour a desire for the perfect home that was lost, the one that is yet to be found and the one that has yet to be discovered.
While some may dismiss the discussion of the house as the symbol of the self as a topic for the privileged, undermining and ignoring the metaphysical meaning that it carries will result in a “race to the bottom” in terms of housing standards and styles. There is truth in the statement that in the wake of housing crises all over the world, the need for shelter overshadows everything else. However, homes should not be reduced to a means to an end or the act of merely having a roof over your head. Home is akin to your outer skin and should be analogous with protection, safety and love. As architects, we bear the responsibility to ensure that the people we build homes to find this within the spaces we create.
In times of such technological advancement and capitalism, it is easy to be swept up in quantifiable variables and numbers. However, the importance of concepts that transcend physicality should still be remembered. Although these metaphysical concepts such as archetypes and even emotions are impossible for us to objectively measure, they are universal aspects within our human lives that we have carried since ancient times and therefore deserving of our attention. Within the architectural field, we must not reduce and narrow things down to just the physical. To do so would be to miss out on all the parts that enrich life (Jacobi, 1957).
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Cormac Miller
University of Bath
Second Year
AT M O S P H E R E S PETER ZUMTHOR
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BOOK REVIEW AND INTERPRETATION BY CORMAC MILLER
AT M O S P H E R E S PETER ZUMTHOR
BOOK REVIEW
INTRODUCTION
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eter Zumthor’s Atmospheres explores his personal belief of what determines quality in architecture. As a glimpse into Zumthor’s process of design, this book is split into nine small chapters, each summarising a different sensory quality, that work to achieve Zumthor’s desired ‘atmosphere’ or ‘mood’ of a building. This book explains that perceiving architecture is an ‘emotional response’ - one that relies on our natural sensitivity to our surroundings, analogous to our immediate interpretation of a piece of music. As humans, we instinctively react to new situations and form an instantaneous opinion. Experiencing architecture is no different. Architecture, in this way, is an art that requires a consideration and appreciation of the people.
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umthor tries to understand how a design can ‘move’ him - how the atmosphere of a space can induce particular feelings. He acknowledges that all of our senses are necessary for appreciating architecture. He describes warmth, colours, sounds, scents and forms. These qualities combine differently for every individual. It would be wrong to suggest one holistic atmosphere is achieved but instead, an atmosphere that is representative of the individual. In other words - as Zumthor quotes ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’.
Cormac Miller
It is important to note that Atmospheres was not originally written as a book but, is a transcript of a lecture Zumthor delivered in 2003 at a Music and Literature festival in Germany. Well structured and easy to understand, The Swiss architect’s spontaneity is retained in the text and this allows the reader to almost feel as though they are amongst the 400 listeners - a student listening to a mastermind.
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THE THE BODY BODY OF OF
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umthor begins by likening the combination of materials in a building to human anatomy. The ÀUVW FKDSWHU WLWOHG ‘The Body of Architecture’. In a literal sense, the skin or membrane of a pie piece p iece ce of architecture is its exterior. However, I be believe beli liev evee Zumthor suggests that this membranee en encloses encl clos oses es internal parts of the architectural ‘body’’ tth that hatt m ha h mayy ma not be as explicit but, are integral to ho how the design is experienced - essential organs that lie beneath the skin.
FKDSHO SURYLGLQJ VDQFWXDU\ IURP WKH ÀHUFH KHDW RI a summer’s day - the Purbeck marble extracting warmth from my body. In this way, the architecture KDG D FOHDU LQÁXHQFH RQ P\ PRRG D VXGGHQ VHQVH KDG KD G D D FO FOHD HDU U LQ LQÁX ÁXHQ HQFH FH R RQ Q P\ P\ P PRR RRG G D D V VXG XGGH GHQ Q VH VH serenity. calm ca lm a and nd sse ser eeren enit ity. it y.
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How these materials interact with one another no othe the can produce endless atmospheric possibilities. iees. Much Muc M uch h like the science of chemistry, Zumthor observes bser bs b erve vess material reactions utilising light, tone, texture and weight to illustrate his designs. ‘Material Compatibility’ is one of Zumthor’s great joys. Where these textures lie in a building is paramount - too far and they cannot react; too close and they suppress each other. Perhaps Zumthor is suggesting that a material equilibrium should be pursued.
=XPWKRU ZKDW KDSSHQV =X =XPW PWKR KRU U DVNV DVNV DV NV XV XV WR WR UHÁHFW UHÁHF UHÁ HFW W RQ RQ ZKD Z KDW W KD KDSS SSHQ HQV V WR WR D D spacee on built building once ce iitt is i b uilt ui ilt l - tthe he h ffuture utur ut uree off a b uild ui ildin ldiing ld i g no ORQJHU LQÁXHQFHG E\ WKH DUFKLWHFW 3HRSOH ÀOO WKHVH spaces with ‘Surrounding - ‘beautiful p g Objects’ j objects’ displayed generate home’. obje ob bject j cts’ s’’ - d dis iispl play layed ed d tto o ge gene nera rate te a ‘se ‘‘sense sens nsee off h hom ome’ om e’.’. Architecture people. particular chit ch hitec itectu ture re iiss an a art rt o off th thee pe peop ople le.. A pa part rtic rt icul ic ular ar atmosphere enhanced objects chose atmo at mosp mo sphe here ere iiss en enha hanc nced ed b byy th thee ob obje ject ctss we ccho ch hose h se display. these objects tto d ispl iis play lay.. Perhaps Perh Pe P rhap hapss th thes hesee ob obje bjject cts ts wi will ill eembellish mb mbe belli h (or detract from) the four items the author has listed previously - the body, material compatibility, the sound and the temperature of a space. As an architect, Zumthor considers these objects and the future use of every space.
Cormac Miller
NINE QUALITIES
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Throughout his lecture, Peter Zumthor expresses that the search for a desired atmosphere must celebrate each human sense. These senses evoke physical responses but, for Zumthor, our psychological response is more valuable. ‘The Temperature of a Space’ is experienced through what we see, feel and touch. I am reminded of a
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Zumthor believes that music is the greatest of all the arts. Yet, architecture also has an immense power WR LQÁXHQFH XV HPRWLRQDOO\ $Q LQWHULRU VSDFH LV DQ instrument - fabricating and transmitting sound for us to hear. ‘The Sound of a Space’ LV LQÁXHQFHG by a room’s characteristics - its shape and size in conjunction with its material arrangement. For Zumthor, these sounds are nostalgic. They remind him of people and experiences he has had with them. I am led to believe that the sound of a space is impacted most dramatically by us - by people working, moving or talking. Contrary to this, there is beauty in silence. Although it may be uncommon amongst the haste of our world, a room can be a place of contentment accompanied solely by the sound of your thoughts.
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AT M O S P H E R E S PETER ZUMTHOR
The sixth chapter provokes deeper thinking. Titled ‘Between Composure and Seduction’, Zumthor speaks of an architectural voyage - how do people move through spaces? What allures someone to turn a corner? Does a building command direction or shall it offer freedom? Buildings can have a dialogue with their surroundings; with people, with other structures. An exterior can speak of and suggest various atmospheres - concealment or transparency, pride or modesty. There is also ‘Tension Between Interior and Exterior’. How suddenly do we recognise the feeling of enclosure, refuge or togetherness upon entering a space?
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We can further understand the connection between people and architecture through proportions that pertain to (or contrast with) the human body - or DV =XPWKRU FODVVLĂ€HV LW ‘Levels of Intimacy’. Our Ă€QJHUV FDQ FORDN D GRRU KDQGOH ZKLOVW D WHPSOH archway can eclipse our entire body. With every design, Zumthor deliberates mass, size and the gravity of materials. As architectural students, ZH FDQ FRQVLGHU WKH LQĂ XHQFH RI VFDOH DQG WKH atmospheres we can create with it.
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7KH Ă€QDO FKDSWHU VSHDNV RI ‘The Light on Things’. Zumthor is moved by the manner in which light IDOOV FDVWV VKDGRZV DQG UHĂ HFWV RII VXUIDFHV :KHQ planning a building, he imagines a ‘pure mass of shadow’ to then sculpt in light to alleviate it of darkness. However, I think that architecture can
AT M O S P H E R E S PETER ZUMTHOR
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also answer to daylight. Zumthor acknowledges WKLV KH VHOHFWV PDWHULDOV WKDW KRQRXU WKH OLJKW and unite his architecture. Zumthor admits there is a ‘spiritual quality’ of daylight - it is something beyond his understanding. But, by harnessing the emotive potential of light through these methods, we can design atmospheres that really move us even if we cannot quite comprehend.
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hrough reading this book, I have come to appreciate Zumthor’s poeticised process of creating atmosphere in architecture. Beauty lies not just in each of these nine qualities but, the dialogue that each aspect has with one another. Quality in architecture is when a building is coherent - when ‘it is impossible to remove a single thing without destroying the whole’.
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CONCLUSION
A l l i m a g e s a n d q u o t a t i o n s : Z u m t h o r, P. , 2 0 0 6 . A t m o s p h e r e s : A r c h i t e c t u ra l E n v i r o n m e n t s . S u r r o u n d i n g O b j e c t s . 5 t h e d . B a s e l , S w i t ze r l a n d : B i r k h ä u s e r.
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Mamma ja Papan Talo Mamma and Pappa’s House Sebastian Syrjänen
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My siblings and I used to pretend to be mushrooms. Given my grandparent’s love of nature, we were taught about the forest from a young age, planting trees and making ‘vihtas’ (bath brooms). Therefore, as children, the large, round pouffe in their living room was always there for us to hold atop our heads for their amusement. It also doubled as a seat which was nice. Hiding in the walk-in cupboard after stealing our grandmother’s jewellery was a highlight (it was part of a game) and landing space-shuttle figurines on the lampshade by the out-of-tune piano was a favourite pastime of mine. When you’re young, all the small things matter but, at my grandparents’ house, even the water gun I once got in a box of cereal was special. Visiting as a child was unlike anything else and, although I always knew I was lucky to have a second home, I’ve valued it more and more since. Considering my grandparents’ involvement in both its planning and construction, I’m hoping to talk through the house and share with you what makes it so special, noting the character Mamma and Pappa have given it and the memories that have come as a result.
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The village of Kausala sits in the countryside of South-Eastern Finland and the journey from my home typically consists of a car and then plane and then a train and then a car. It has less than 4,000 inhabitants and is as quiet as you’d expect. Even then, my grandparents managed to build their ’77-’78 home in an area you still can’t access on Google Street View. Designed for themselves and their two children, the 3-bedroom bungalow was realised with some help from the state; my grandparents both rejected pay rises in order to receive a loan permitting them to build up to 120 square metres. At the time, building was significantly cheaper than buying due to a nationwide housing shortage and the family’s need for space was growing fast. With one-and-a-half teenagers, a home designed to fit sounded perfect. Thus, Mamma and Pappa set to work…
After buying the plot, Pappa drew up the initial plans before contacting his architect friend who polished them off for a few fishing lures. Construction was family-laden with my grandfather, his father (Reino) and my grandmother’s brother (Antti) laying the foundations. Antti had also used a digger to prepare the site before my then 12-year-old dad had hosed and compacted the sand. The home’s red, second-class bricks were stacked by a bricklayer whose talents are still spoken about to this day and the finished walls were capped with a shallow, metal roof in pistachio green - hardy enough for Finland’s two disparate seasons as well as the grey bits in between.
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At the time, great-uncle Veikko sold foil-lined board used in packaging and kindly provided it to line the walls of the house, ensuring that the family stayed dry. The pine floorboards were sourced from great-grandfather Reino’s farm a few dozen miles away and dried months prior to being laid down. Pappa estimates that he and his father undertook most of the labour alone, however, the collective input from relatives was large; as a result, the entire house and its fittings ended up costing half the national average at the time. Ultimately, the dwelling was a family effort for the family, built as a home for those present as well as for those to come...
Every summer, my brother, sister, and I head straight out of the car and down the side of the house, towards the bushes hidden from the drive. Gooseberries and blackcurrants are carefully maintained by Mamma each year, having been a highlight of our visits for as long as we can remember - to not eat any would be just plain odd. Also present are the redcurrants, a handful of which I once spat at my brother. Unfortunately for my younger self, I got caught and had to sit in our bedroom under the watchful eye of the resident stuffed owl. My grandad had always told us he found it on a powerline and, despite my doubts, he did – it turns out all owls are protected species in Finland. Regardless, it’s nightmare fuel on a log.
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Beyond the berry bushes sits an apple tree and, in the furthest corner of the backyard, a small vegetable patch next to a green metal drying rack that looks like a set of monkey bars. Centrally, there’s a flagpole and, nearby, a stray patch of onions wedged between some shallow bushes that I’ve mistakenly trampled on a few occasions. In recent years, the onions have been joined by a few floral friends, the bright colours making it a little easier to avoid causing any damage.
Up the front steps, past the brush for snowy shoes, and through the front door, visitors are greeted by a small wooden bear in the entryway, hacked neatly out of a pine trunk. Above it hangs a woven basket containing a decorative cane that the three of us have all used as a prop at some point, hunched and hobbling down the hallways. To the left is the door to our room (though, in truth, it belongs to our uncle Seppo), followed by the door to the loo and a small white table, under which a night light has sat since Mamma and Pappa entered their old age. On top is a bulbous bowl made from a tree burr in which lay the house keys. Oddly enough, the key to unlock the toilet was also present but disappeared soon after us children discovered its purpose.
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At each end of the entry corridor, the two porches have a sort of ‘airlock’ set-up, taking shape as tiny rooms with heavy, consecutive doors. Each one is equipped with green plastic death-mats that feel like 1000 Lego bricks on bare feet, used to reduce the chances of a snow-verload indoors. The back porch also has an integrated tool cupboard that I tend to forget exists and the doors both in and out lightly rattle when you close them. The integrated coatrack at the far end of the hallway is usually scattered with only a few items but it reaches maximum capacity fast with each of our contributions. The densely packed coats and boots were always a favourite spot for us to hide when playing ‘Rosvo Ja Poliisi’ (Cops and Robbers) with Mamma. Even though our protruding legs often gave us away, it’s not as if we knew it...
After hauling our belongings inside, we usually eat properly and, if it’s a summer evening, dinner is probably soup. Dessert often requires someone going out the back and under the veranda to the storeroom, likely returning with forest fruits picked by Mamma and Pappa in the prior months. Alternatively, it’s a brick of ice cream - either pear or liquorice/lemon.
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Outside, the air is still light and warm, so I often go for a walk before we leave for the ‘Mökki’ (summer house) the next day. In August, Kausala has a certain wooziness to it. Think the kind you’d see in a Western film – that’s pretty accurate. Add in a few pine trees and you’re set. It must be said, however, that I’m probably romanticising as my Dad claims to have ‘escaped’ in the 80s to study in America before starting a new life in the UK. As a young adult there really, truly isn’t anything to do other than walk in circles; it’s likely why teens end up rattling around on motorcycles past their dinner time. Even so, Kausala feels like it was created to exist as a quaint village in a Pokémon game.
Of course, the flipside to summer is dark and damp. Midnight at 4pm, if you will. In December, getting those forest fruits isn’t as fun and even opening the door to get outside is a chore. Still, a simple Christmas tree and freshly baked ‘pulla’ (cardamom bread) are enough to brighten things up. Aww. As mentioned, the house is a family focal point but, the demands placed on it in winter are tenfold compared to summer - not only is the Mökki snowed off, but people are snowed in.
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The Syrjänen family’s New Year’s event always takes place in Mamma’s childhood farmhouse and, afterwards, around 10 people complete the hour-long drive to Kausala to stay over. Needless to say, the building’s single toilet becomes an instant problem and the house is invaded by bags and voices. Evening walks at this time of year are mandatory due to the stew of personalities incubated indoors and any attempt at focus is futile amidst endless coffee breaks and card games. Outside is often twinkling, cold and clear and, after retracing my footsteps from summer, I typically wash and relax.
Like crayfish, Finnish people go red once cooked. Saunas aren’t just part of Finnish tradition, they are Finnish tradition, alongside other cultural staples including trees, Father Christmas, and alcohol. All houses have one, coupled with a shower room, not to mention a Burger King. It must be said that the only bath I’ve seen in Finland is at the back of a field, alternating between being a water storage tank and sometimes, only occasionally, a place for its owner to unwind. In the summertime, my siblings and I typically stick to the bright blue tiles of the shower room but, in winter, cooling off involves rolling in the snow or daring each other to run around the house in nothing but swimming attire. Speaking from experience, your feet are guaranteed to go numb before passing corner 2-of-4 but, it’s unlikely anyone will see you since, by 7pm, most of the neighbours are either removing their dentures or asleep.
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Washing off, we each take turns with the roulette of shampoos and body washes, the blue spider of a drying rack hanging above, draped in socks and any other garments given a spin in soap that day. We often then talk in the changing room, drying off around the huge corner fireplace. Depending on the season, the tiny sliver of a window may brighten the room from high up on the planked walls but, if you actually want to see outside, you’ll have to press your back against the shower room door and perch on your toes - regardless of how tall you are. Remember that owl I mentioned? Well, this room has 3 surprises for you. Two taking shape as a pair of snow grouse and one in the form of a colossal wood grouse, neither of which happen to be protected species. The 3 of us aren’t exactly fond of them but then again, we were raised in a nice-but-only-nice suburban neighbourhood. A few cups of Jaffa lemonade later and we may join the adults in the living room.
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The house’s interior is chock-a-block with staples of the ‘70s, from the mottled orange/brown tiles of the kitchen to the questionable avocado toilet and sink. The kitchen is, however, very well planned and, despite the loo’s unfortunate décor, its light switch in the hallway remains a reliable source of entertainment. Many of the internal walls are burnt orange, hung with my grandad’s awards from the army and that papyrus certificate he once won in a belly dancing competition. There are also a few photos and a couple of ornaments woven from birch. However, the living room is the heart of the house and deviates from the other spaces in both appearance and nature: not only is it central but it’s also open plan, visible from the kitchen table and the areas just outside each bedroom. As a result of my grandparents squeezing the most out of the restrictions during planning, the corridor ended up as part of the room - People trundle through all the time, whether it be for breakfast, a sauna or a nap, also gathering there during family festivities. In past years, the room has been used for watching “Monsters, Inc” on VHS or playfighting using the arsenal of pick-andmix of pillows. Nowadays, people mostly read and sometimes still do the latter.
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The lounge also differs from the rest of the house in that it has four walls with very different characters: the first is the integrated beige corridor and the second is a huge hardwood shelving unit, speckled with photo frames around a TV and topped with regional flags alongside a mysterious model ship. Opposite that is an entire wall of bizarre, fleur-de-lis, fuzzy wallpaper in seaweed green. However, the fourth wall itself is an exception to the others in that it’s almost entirely glass - a feature atypical in any Finnish dwelling and a testament to how my grandparents wish to live their lives: one hundred per cent, without a doubt, there’s no place my Mamma and Pappa would rather be than outside - a truth also hinted at by the car crash of vegetation running along the bottom of the glazing. Luckily enough, the plot to the south of the house is vacant, giving the room a view across the garden to the road beyond and, occasionally, a passing car. Despite being a small distance, it makes a big difference, offering them a little more solitude.
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The lampshade and piano I mentioned earlier inhabit one of the corners by the window and a huge coffee table squats in the centre of the room, flanked by an aggressively spring-loaded rocking chair and a squishy black sofa with an armchair to match. I occupied the latter two a lot during a string of ill-fated attempts to sleep in the early days of 2015, drinking gallons of chamomile tea and reading a book I’d gotten for Christmas from uncle Seppo. As it turns out, the book was pretty good and is now one of my favourites (It’s called ‘What If?’ in case you’re wondering, by Randall Munroe - I’d recommend it). Later that year I created a trio of oil-pastel works for Mamma’s 75th, housed in grey frames we found in a hardware store near the summer house. The ‘installation’ comprises sunflowers, peaches and apricots and a blue coffee cup, hung from top to bottom opposite the window wall; in pride of place of course. The rocking chair was also a present to Mamma but for her birthday 5 years prior. Despite this, whenever I think of it, I picture Pappa sitting in the dark, faintly lit by the TV and glued to either the news or a nature documentary. Other memories of the room include a fragmented viewing of the 2012 Olympic opening ceremony during a crayfish party and staring for hours at the room’s anniversary clock spinning under its cloche. Given that it’s the TV-watching, bird-spotting, present-giving, glögi-drinking room - it’s really no surprise that the lounge is my Mamma and Pappa’s favourite part of the house.
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The dining room’s huge-for-two-but-tiny-for-seven table sits in front of a large window, finished with a magic tablecloth that has managed to repel litres of coffee over the years. It’s a prime spot for playing any boardgames dislodged from the bedrooms, overlooked by portraits of my dad and uncle Seppo as kids. A wall of cabinets extends between the dining table and the kitchen, separating those enjoying the food from those enjoying making it. The insides are lined with stationery, crockery and, of course, Iittala glassware - an absolute necessity in every Finnish household; It’s highly likely that any plate, bowl or dish you pick up was won as a prize in either fishing or shooting competition, courtesy of Pappa’s expertise. The cabinet doors open from each side (a feature I probably still find way too interesting) and have historically been patched with poorly drawn pictures of animals, documenting each of our visits. If you crouch down, there’s a fun gap you can use to peek through to the other side, always useful if asking for extra coffee or cutlery. The worksurface below is usually peppered with fruit which, over the past few years, has been joined by boxes of medication and a steam-breathing machine that looks a miniature white Death Star. Mamma’s berry soup also stops by from time to time in an effort to make life easier.
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The passageway to the kitchen is flanked by the end of the cabinets and an absolute monolith of a fridge, spotted with ladybird magnets, photos and postcards. On entering, an old black Moccamaster sits in front of you, sandwiched near the corner between the steel sink and the hob where some of my favourite childhood meals have been prepared - namely meatballs and cauliflower soup. On the hood are four jars all containing the same spice (I don’t know what it is) and the egg timer I used to pretend was a bomb. In the far corner is a microwave and, behind that, a hidden stash of my grandad’s Christmas liqueur, handmade every year. Adjacent, a step ladder is rooted in front of the kitchen/diner’s second window. Both my dad and I favoured sitting on it our younger days, either watching the road or talking to family members pottering around in the evenings, pulling gaggles of glassware from the dish-drying cabinet. It’s also come in handy when trying to reach biscuits from the shelves, often to accompany us watching films with Mamma and Pappa whenever our parents were in town to eat. Located in the entry portal from the lounge to the dining area are the glowing orange buttons that control the lighting within the ‘culinary zone’: the pendant above the table, the overhead in the kitchen and my personal favourites: the two cylindrical lamps above the work surfaces that seem to embody a past vision of the future.
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The third and final one of these lamps can be found stapled high on the wall in the loo. Just below is a mirrored cabinet, containing a blue neti pot and some denture adhesive I mistook for toothpaste last year. Towels for each family member are hung beside it, my dad and uncle Seppo still having one to return to despite moving out decades ago. The cardboard tubes in the loo rolls are super cool, melting into a sludge upon contact with water and the bottles of hand sanitiser and soap on the sink are easy to confuse. The room is small yet comfortable; your only worry, if you’re trying to do your business, is the aforementioned light switch just outside the door. At the other end of the corridor, the walk-in cupboard is sandwiched between the master bedroom and my dad’s old room. It definitely feels taller than it should, its height exaggerated by the walls of little storage boxes. The sewing machine is hidden somewhere amongst them, perhaps also obscured by all the garments and dividers; I felt obliged to mention it given the numerous bags and pillowcases Mamma has pieced together for us, many of which we still use today, taking them on our travels. On the racks, our waterproofs and winter clothes hang happily, waiting for their turn to play in the garden or perhaps even go on an adventure‌
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Time spent testing the overalls often takes place in the changing room, the yearly selection sourced by my grandmother from the local charity shop. If you’re lucky, you can still squeeze into the set from the previous year but, otherwise, a new getup is required. We finish by completing our outfits with woollen socks and thick boots before waddling outside. As a lot of children do, I enjoyed eating snow, risking it tasting like dirt before thinking twice, patting my mittens afterwards and watching the leftovers fall the ground. Crunching an icicle or two was also fun, my dad always warning me to avoid getting my tongue stuck on the drainpipes. If I could manage, I’d haul the kicksled round to the front of the house, whizzing up and down the street with either my brother or sister on board. In the case that we were super, super lucky and there was enough snow, the nearby school had a steep hill we could race down on our sledges. Sometimes we even trekked at night with our dad through the forest surrounding the village, lights from the houses glowing through the trees.
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Between the driveway and the ‘monkey bars’ is the spot where all the cleared snow gets shovelled, either scraped off the driveway or banged off the roof. Burrowing into the mounds to create my own ice caves was hard work and somewhat cramped but definitely worth it, occasionally poking my head out to see what the others were up to. Family projects over the years have included a snow fort, a series of snow people dressed in matching knitwear and a collection of snow lanterns dappled around the house. To complement our creations, my grandad spent time making lanterns out of ice, placing buckets of water outside to partially freeze before draining and upturning them, each one lit by a tealight placed within. Sitting in the living room in the evening, you’d get a good view of whatever scene we’d created that year and, with each return home from a trip to a relative, we were always greeted by our newly made friends. Of course, our works were only temporary and always melted within a few weeks of us leaving. However, the time spent making and enjoying them will forever exist.
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Finland can get very hot in the summertime, something people elsewhere are often surprised to know. In the past, the paddling pool was always full in the garden at some point, photos of which likely exist in the houses of all immediate family members. The images we have of these times were taken on old film and are significantly poorer quality than any taken today would be, convincing me into thinking they were captured 20 years earlier than they had been. In some ways, I feel the photos age me too as the years always seem more distant when I see them in print; the fact that you can only ever remember tiny snippets from your early childhood only adds to the effect. I can barely remember us camping in the garden but it definitely happened, though only once and a long time ago. The tent was small and orange and we fit perfectly. Stories of our time at school were popular, listing our favourite teachers and things we got in trouble for. Waking up in the summer morning mist was an added bonus.
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Under the veranda, the circular plastic table sits all year round, sometimes bare and at other times cloaked in a red, flowery cloth that confuses the flies. An old broom often sits beside the chairs along with potted edible flowers that unfortunately don’t taste very good. Mamma also grows tomatoes successfully, saving them for her cooking during our visits. Whenever we had guests over for crayfish parties, the dining table was moved outside to join its plastic cousin. Pappa would have spent the summer fishing for everyone before spending hours with Mamma preparing the meal. Crayfish parties were always a particular highlight for me as they meant I could uptake my annual role as the ‘paahto-mestari’ (toast-master), providing diners with all the golden bread they could ever want. Using the crayfish tools was always a little tough but any time spent at the table was fun. At the end of the evening, once all had calmed down, I’d be approached by Pappa in the corridor and paid a hefty €5 and a pat on the head for my services. I’d go to bed feeling ultra-responsible, looking forward to buying my next bag of sweets for any upcoming car journeys.
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The storeroom, as mentioned, is round the back of the house under the veranda and is home to many artefacts, including my grandparents’ huge chest freezer. Shiny, shiny items cover the walls: from forestry gadgets to bicycle parts and of course, many fishing lures. Additionally, the equipment for Mamma and Pappa’s annual trip to Lapland is always fun to have a peek at along with the family skis, despite having long since outgrown my own - I only had the chance to use them a few times during our short winter visits before they ended up shrinking to toothpicks. Mamma, on the other hand, is a very active skier and a master at cross-country, attending the gym frequently year-round to stay in shape. It’s been a while since I last had a look in the store, but I’ll make sure to check for any new gear next time I visit. Adjacent under the veranda is the door to the tiny boiler room, its copper maze of pipes and pieces looking like part of a contraption from a Victorian laboratory. The little white sink with a blue rim is a mismatched yet endearing counterpart although, I always found the tap a little scary as it used to screech until the water came out both colder and faster than you expected. Even so, it was the primary source for fun on a hot day, always ready for use just inside the door.
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Daylight in the house looks softer than at home in England. I always picture the bedrooms slightly washed out, being even brighter than usual on a snowy day. The light from outside is cold in nature, inviting you out whilst also having the effect of making indoors feel a tad warmer. My dad’s old room is located far from the entrance hall, at the end of the house next to the kitchen. It’s a simple room with little furniture, though I’m sure this hasn’t always been the case. A line of amber cabinets colours the room and the space behind the door is typically occupied by a squat bag of dirty laundry whenever we visit. Other memorable features include a table just large enough to open suitcase on top of and a low-lying double bed. A lampstand, thin as a beanpole, spikes from the floor in the corner, two halogens tilting off it. The number of cards we’ve signed in this room is countless and the number of presents we’ve fished from their hiding places before handing them out is just as large. The room is a little alien to me as I haven’t had many reasons to enter other than to maybe throw some socks behind the door or tell one of my parents that dinner is ready. As for my dad - I can only imagine what returning to his room after so long means to him.
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It should be noted that all the bedrooms have massive windows, with huge panes of glass sandwiched in PVC frames, the spaces between often occupied by wooden ornaments and candle holders. Just across the hallway from my dad’s room, my grandparent’s room has a fantastic view of the apple tree and, if you’re sitting at Pappa’s desk, you can often see the birds pecking at feed left out for them. Within its drawers are dense yet neat layers of forestry papers, topographic maps and an array of other documents. Atop it, he once wrote a series of fairytales for us, each of us keeping a book on our shelves. Perched at the back of the work surface is the landline I used as a young boy, sitting on Pappa’s knee and calling great-aunt Hely to ask her how cold it was outside – it’s still a talking point within the family and one I enjoy bringing up whenever I meet her. Next to the desk is my grandmother’s dresser, rightfully positioned in front of a large mirror and equipped with boxes holding assorted pearlescent jewellery, serving as an attractive target for any infant bandits in the area.
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Closer to the door is the bed where we used to play another game, ‘Sairaala’ (Hospital). You might think it sounds health-conscious, but it was likely an excuse to eat the prescribed ‘medicine’ of sugar pieces that Mamma used when baking. I can’t exactly ask my younger self but if I could, I’m not sure if he’d answer. Sugar water was also a thing, mixing the dubious liquid in plastic bottles we found under the sink prior to attending the ‘ward’. In hindsight, I’m genuinely surprised we didn’t actually get sick. The bed’s headrest is notably awesome with a shelf built into it, arranged with books, a retro clock and picture of us in Spain circa 2000 amongst other things. The furniture ends with the floor to ceiling cabinets by the door, many of which I haven’t seen inside. The only glimpses I’ve managed to catch have been of even more forestry papers and enough fishing lures to fund the construction of a city.
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‘Our room’, as I’ve outlined, is by the front door (a curse in winter) and next to the loo (an absolute blessing, no question). The three of us pile our day clothes on the chair by the door (under the owl) and negotiate how much of the table by the window we each get to cover with books, sweets and gifts. The same amber cabinets as in dad’s room run floor to ceiling along the wall opposite, now stocked with board games, papers and old keyboards instead of clothes. At the far end, on a desk, is the chunky, faded computer our grandparents video call us from: Pappa often talks about the forest whilst Mamma dances between the foreground and background, waving plants, toys, and other items in front of the camera, showcasing a new assortment every time we talk. In a country where internet access is a legal right, you’d think every house would have a Wi-Fi system yet, this isn’t the case at Mamma and Pappa’s. Their internet is strictly confined to cables and, despite being mildly inconvenient when you need to work, it’s somewhat of a blessing during the few days we spend with them annually - I guess ethernet has its perks.
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The room’s sofa bed pulls out to just touch the desk and used to sleep three until I grew to need a chair to rest my feet on. Nowadays, I occupy a mattress on the floor with a view underneath it, the blinking PC a few inches from my face. The room always contains a few of our favourite childhood toys: a plushie parrot and a multi-coloured poly-wool duster. Other family members include a toy tortoise and a spray bottle I used to mist people instead of the houseplants. At night we used to read, play on our consoles and whisper till late; hearing our dad’s footsteps moving from the other end of the house was a sign we’d maybe found something a little too funny. The door from that point on would often be placed ajar and the slice of orange light from the hall was the last thing we saw before eventually nodding off, safe and warm in the home Mamma and Pappa had built for us… every house is best when it’s a home.
Muistot eivät vie tilaa hyllyllä tai kerää pölyä. - Mamma Memories don’t take up room on the shelf or collect dust. - Mamma
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03
Studying Success Everyone must start somewhere and sometimes it helps to speculate about where you might end up. What better way to do that than learning from those who have already made it?
Lina Bo Bardi Pontus Lee / Year 03 Kazuyo Sejima Jason Tang / Year 03
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Architect Review | Kazuyo Sejima
Jason Lok Hei TANG
Introduction | Short Biography & Key Design Philosophy Born in Japan’s prefecture of Ibaraki, northeast of Tokyo, Kazuyo Sejima received a degree in Architecture at the Japan Women’s University. She began apprenticing in the office of Toyo Ito after completing her studies, and thereafter opened her own studio in Tokyo named SANAA in partnership with Ryue Nishizawa, a student who had also worked for Ito. Sejima is nonetheless an educator, she has taught at Princeton University, the Polytechnique de Lausanne, Tama Art University, and Keio University. 2010 was a critical year for Sejima, she was appointed director of Venice Binnale’s architecture sector to lead and organize the 12th Annual International Architecture Exhibition, the first woman ever selected for this position. In the same year, she received the Pritzker Prize, often known as the Nobel Prize in Architecture, awarded jointly with
Kazuyo Sejima. Source: Columbia GSAPP, 2004. (Modified)
Ryue Nishizawa.1 To take on a journey into Sejima’s fascinating, rich and powerful design philosophy, we begin with a quote from one of her public lectures. “I always attempt to dissolve the line in between interior and exterior space, both physically and socially. Through structure, transparency, or buffer zones, the activities happening within architecture are blended with the outside urban or rural landscapes. The two things are intrinsically inseparable...”. 2 Taking this idea further, Sejima suggests when blurring both public and private domains of the interior with the exterior, which is mostly public, this new holistic “public space” should be redefined. She proposed creating spaces that allow one to be alone and in company at the same time, a state conditioned by freedom and flexibility of use while maintaining independence and connection. It can best be illustrated with the metaphor of a park said Sejima, “In a park you can join a big group, but at the same time, somebody could be next to you alone, reading a book or just drinking juice.” This is why we see an inherently contradictory spatial logic in Seijima’s works, combining the maximum independence of parts with the closet possible interrelation among them, of which the tension between the two operate at all scales such as the geometry of plans, proportions 1 The Hayatt Foundation, 2010. Kazuyo Sijima and Ryue Nishizawa [Online]. The Pritzker Architecture Prize. Available from: https:// www.pritzkerprize.com/biography-kazuyo-sejima-and-ryue-nishizawa [Accessed 29 April 2020] 2 Barbican Centre, 2017. Architecture on Stage: Kazuyo Sejima [Online]. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnwwqkiUgiw&t=735s [Accessed 27 April 2020] 108
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of volumes, transparency and materiality.3 Such distinction is however non-hierarchal, and more of personal preference. To address this Sejima often painted her buildings white – walls, ceilings and floors. Light diffuses and spreads to all parts of the building instead of creating contrasting spots of brightness and dullness. Equality is evident in visual terms, and the space becomes more permeable and free-flowing.4
21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art | Kanazawa, Japan Completed in 2004, the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art was SANAA’s first major public building, a turning point of their work. The program of the museum consists of an interesting mix of activities that takes place at all times of the day. Aside from traditional museum amenities including exhibition galleries, a permanent collection of commissioned artworks, a restaurant-café and a gift shop, there is also a nursery, daycare facility, public library, lecture hall, theatre and meeting room. It is a place where visitors, and mostly local citizens of all ages come to spend time in.5
21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art; External Aerial View. Source: Fischer, AF., 2004. (Modified)
3 Blau, E., 2010. 2010 Laureates Essay: Inventing New Hierarchies [Online]. The Pritzker Architecture Prize. Available from: https:// www.pritzkerprize.com/sites/default/files/file_fields/field_files_inline/2010_essay_0.pdf [Accessed 29 April 2020] 4 Franco, JT., 2016. Kazuyo Sejima (SANAA) // The Architecture Project [Online]. Available from https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=194&v=JE088Lz5qEE&feature=emb_logo [Accessed 30 April 2020] 5 Blau, E., 2010. 109
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Transparency takes over the entire building, resonating with Sejima’s design philosophy. Formally speaking, the museum is a series of boxes of different area, level of opacity and height which ranges between 4 and 12 meters, all inserted into a circular glass skin that adjoins the surrounding landscape.6 We see the first “layer” of transparency between the building and its context. The perfectly glazed outer walls are both reflective and transparent depending on the time of day, angle of the sun and weather. In one occasion these allow one to see deep into the centre of the building, and even to the opposite side, merging the interior with the exterior in visual terms. In other occasions glass becomes reflective, in which we see glimpses of nature with self-reflection when it bounces back refracted images. The building becomes a device for us to see our presence in nature, visualizing this humannature relationship. A second “layer” of transparency appears inside the building, with the multi-varied program being shaped into independent volumes with distinctive sizes, proportions, visual and acoustic characteristics. Yet, each particularized space is also interwoven with those around it through a carefully calibrated network of transparent, interstitial spaces. There is the opportunity for each place to be open and closed, to be connected and separated, to offer solitude and society, and to create places of rest and activity, echoing with Sejima’s design philosophy and redefinition of public space.7
21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art; Internal Perspectives. Source: Open Image Data of Kanazawa City, 2013. (Modified)
Rolex Learning Center | Lausanne, Switzerland The Rolex Learning Center is built on the campus of EPFL Ecole Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne, Switzerland. It was opened in February 2010, which was immediately followed by Sejima receiving the Pritzker Prize. The building function as a laboratory for learning, consisting of mainly a library with 6 Archiweb, 2020. 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa [Online]. Archiweb. Available from: https://www.archiweb.cz/en/b/21st-century-museum-of-contemporary-art-kanazawa [Accessed 30 April 2020] 7 Blau, E., 2010. 110
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500,000 volumes and an international cultural hub for EPFL, open to both students and the public. It provides a seamless network of services, libraries, information gathering, social spaces, study spaces, restaurants, cafes and beautiful outdoor spaces.8
Rolex Learning Centre; External Perspective. Source: Powell, PL., 2011. (Modified)
Rolex Learning Centre; External Perspective. Source: Baan, IB., 2010. (Modified)
Sejima describes the Rolex Learning Center as an “Intimate Public Space”. The interior is a large open space without any physical boundaries, and is defined by an artificial landscape with the roof and floor undulating gently and always in parallel. It exemplifies the idea that, said Patrick Aebischer, President of EPFL, “…our university as a place where traditional boundaries between disciplines are broken down,
8 EPFL, 2010. EPFL Rolex Learning Center Press Information. [Online]. EPFL. Available from: https://www.epfl.ch/campus/visitors/ buildings/rolex-learning-center/building/ [Accessed 28 April 2020] 111
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where
mathematicians
and
engineers
with neuroscientists and microtechnicians to envision new technologies to improve lives...”, taking an architectural concept up to the next level of intellectual discoveries. While it is also critical to respect the inherent
difference
between
different
spaces and conflicts that may arise when they are placed together incorrectly, the “Hills”, “Valleys” and “Plateaus” formed by the undulation set boundaries on the intervisibility among spaces, such that one area
Rolex Learning Centre; External Perspective from Ground Level. Source: Cricursa, 2010. (Modified)
of activity gives way to another intuitively. Changes in height also allow for acoustically separated quiet and silent zones, which makes such multi-cellular organization possible within one big holistic space. In terms of massing and form, the building touches the ground lightly with very few visible supports, leaving open spaces beneath which draws people from all sides towards a central and common entrance. This connects with Sejima’s core design philosophy to dissolve the line separating interior and exterior space, despite the use of transparency in earlier works, the Rolex
Rolex Learning Centre; Internal Perspective. Source: Helm, JH., 2012. (Modified)
Learning Center uses levels and volumes to integrate Architecture with nature.9
The Office | Side Note & Food of Thought for Bath Students In Bath, Year 3 students are often encouraged to embrace the design process more than the design outcome, and Sejima really demonstrates and expands on this idea very well. Within the SANAA office, designs are developed collaboratively with concepts and options being tested, studied, and redesigned in countless physical and digital models that are examined under “laboratory conditions”, 9 112
EPFL, 2010.
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said Sejima. The rule of thumb is that “if different options are not realized, the project doesn’t exist… every option must have a plan, drawing, and a model…”. Thereafter it is critical to study the results robustly, checking their effects on the public, just as how Tafuri puts it.10 We as 3rd Years, still in our rather early stages of training towards a professional architect, are often confused about how to carry out such design process and to benefit from it, neglecting the fact that evaluating the outcome of the “experiments” also forms a part. To those, including me, who unfortunately choose to abandon the process and work backwards from a final product, reading and learning about Sejima give some inspiring content. Another surprising reveal of the SANAA office is that the staff of 30 work until two or three in the morning and at weekends, and everyone is wearing black and smoking. A total SANAA immersion makes rationality disappears, and even more ironically the old office had no windows. It made the staff fantasize about the place they would rather be in, thinking “wouldn’t it be great to be in a pavilion in a forest?”11 We seem to see similar stories in Bath’s studio culture, students working long hours before crits and submissions, compromising physical and mental health. I think it is important for us, when reading about Sejima, to respect the fundamental difference between the professional environment and work culture in Japan and that in the UK, which we should not be normalizing SANAA’s work habits in pursuit of good work. Work-life balance as well as mental well-being are critical and we are often told by studio leaders to spend a set amount of time to work instead of burying yourself with a set amount of work, which could often be irrelevant to the submission. In terms of architectural inspiration, SANAA’s critical design philosophy of transparency and permeability is absent in their own design office as a source of inspiration through disconnection. Personally, I believe that there could be other sources of inspiration, and that to really know how good it is to be in a forest, we have to be in the forest ourselves to find out.
All in all, I wish to end with a quote offered by Sejima and Nishizawa during the Pritzker Prize ceremony to young architects, it was simple and powerful, “practice and continue.”12
10 The Gentlewoman, 2010. Kazuyo Sejima: She can foresee the future of architecture [Online]. The Gentlewoman. Available from: https://thegentlewoman.co.uk/library/kazuyo-sejima [Accessed 29 April 2020] 11 The Gentlewoman, 2010. 12 Cilento, K., 2010. Pritzker Ceremony/ SANAA [Online]. ArchDaily. Available from: https://www.archdaily.com/60480/pritzker-ceremony-sanaa [Accessed 30 April 2020] 113
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Lina Bo Bardi Architect Review
Lina Bo Bardi (1914-1992) was an Italian born architect who lived and worked in Brazil most of her life. She was also an artist, writer, and designer among other things. Despite facing many obstacles in her career, she is now recognized as one of the most influential and important Brazilian architects. Before immigrating to Brazil, Lina started her architectural education in Italy and wrote for numerous architectural magazines. In 1939, she graduated from Facoltà di Architettura di Roma, a traditional and rationalist environment. Afterwards, she moved to Milan where ideas were more progressive compared to the traditional atmosphere Rome. In Milan, she worked with Giò Ponti, writing and editing articles for architectural magazines Lo Stile and Domus, and curating exhibitions about Italian handcraft for the Milan Triennial. Under Ponti, Lina learnt how to approach architecture and design humanistically, through his devotion to social and cultural aspects of architecture. In 1946, she married Pietro Maria Bardi, an art critic, and together they immigrated to Brazil in October that year. Brazil offered many opportunities to the couple that post-war Italy could not. In 1943, the MoMA exhibition and catalogue Brazil Builds showed the world what Brazilian Modernism looked like, attracting architects internationally to design there. This ‘new’ architecture was born from the attempt to form a new national identity for the young nation. Compared to Italy’s traditional and rational approach to modern architecture, Brazil was less constrained. Aspects to this new Brazilian Modernism included the transparency of buildings to allow relation between man and landscape and the integration of Brazilian modernist art into architecture. The couple first arrived in Rio de Janeiro where they held an exhibition with their collection of art and furniture. This attracted the attention of Brazilian tycoon Assis Chateaubriand, and in 1947, Pietro was invited by Chateaubriand to found and direct the São Paulo Museum of Art (MASP), an organization for which Lina would design one of her most renowned buildings decades later. Meanwhile, she converted the Diarios Associados headquarters into the museum and designed its exhibitions spaces. She also started the Institute of Contemporary Arts as part of the museum with her husband, offering courses on industrial design, advertising, and marketing to the public. In 1948, she joined Studio d’Arte Palma where she designed furniture with Giancarlo Palanti. During their first few years in São Paulo, the couple lived in Daniele Calabi’s Casa do Arquiteto, before moving into the first building Lina designed, the Casa de Vidro (Glass House).
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Casa de Vidro, São Paulo (1951) Casa de Vidro, São Paulo (1951) Lina Bo Bardi designed the glass house to live in with Pietro, located at the suburbs of São Paulo. Unlike the other famous glass houses by Philip Johnson or Mies van der Rohe, which has transparent facades on all sides, Casa de Vidro only has glass surrounding the living room area, which is raised on columns, while the rest is in masonry construction (fig. 1). Her contemporaries made similar designs, like Carmen Portinho’s Casa Portinho in the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro, which also featured a raised living area, glazed with views to the vegetated landscape. Many architects at the time were influenced by Le Corbusier’s ideas on Brazilian architecture: that it should be transparent to allow people to contemplate and engage with the vast Brazilian landscape. Another element that resonates with Le Corbusier’s ideas is the ‘Mediterranean’ patio, which also opens to the surrounding landscape. This kind of patio was featured in a few Brazilian modern houses at the time, most notably Casa do Arquiteto, which the couple lived in previously. The Bardis displayed their collection of antique and modern art and furniture in the living room (fig. 2), where it is surrounded by nature.
Fig. 1 Plans, section and elevation by Lina Bo Bardi, 1951
Fig. 2 Casa de Vidro, by C. Carvalho, 2016
Lina the glass house to live in with Pietro, located at the suburbs of São Paulo. CasaBo de Bardi Vidro,designed São Paulo (1951) Unlike the other famous glass houses by Philip Johnson or Mies van der Rohe, which has transparent facades on all sides, Casa de Vidro only has glass surrounding the living room area, which is raised on columns, while the rest is in masonry construction (fig. 1). Her contemporaries made similar designs, like Carmen Portinho’s Casa Portinho in the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro, which also featured a raised living area, glazed with views to the vegetated landscape. Many architects at the time were influenced by Le Corbusier’s ideas on Brazilian architecture: that it should be transparent to allow people to contemplate and engage with the vast Brazilian landscape. Another element that resonates with Le Corbusier’s ideas is the ‘Mediterranean’ patio, which also opens to the surrounding landscape. This kind of patio was featured in a few Brazilian modern houses at the time, most notably Casa do Arquiteto, which the couple lived in previously. The Bardis displayed their collection of antique and modern and furniture in the living room 2), de where Fig.(fig. 2 Casa Vidro,itbyisC.surrounded Carvalho, 2016 Fig. 1 Plans, section and elevation by Lina art Bo Bardi, 1951 by Linanature. Bo Bardi designed the glass house to live in with Pietro, located at the suburbs of São Paulo. Unlike the other famous glass houses by Philip Johnson or Mies van der Rohe, which has transparent facades on all sides, Casa de Vidro only has glass surrounding the living room area, which is raised on columns, while the rest is in masonry construction (fig. 1). Her contemporaries made similar designs, like Carmen Portinho’s Casa Portinho in the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro, which also featured a raised living area, glazed with views to the vegetated landscape. Many architects at the time were influenced by Le Corbusier’s ideas on Brazilian architecture: that it should be transparent to allow people to contemplate and engage with the vast Brazilian landscape. Another element that resonates with Le Corbusier’s ideas is the ‘Mediterranean’ patio, which also opens to the
Fig. 3 Exterior Photomontage by Lina Bo Bardi, 1951
Fig. 4 Interior Perspective Collage by Lina Bo Bardi, 1951
surrounding landscape. This kind of patio was featured in a few Brazilian modern houses at the time,
most notably Casa do Arquiteto, which the couple lived in previously. The Bardis displayed their 116
collection of antique and modern art and furniture in the living room (fig. 2), where it is surrounded by nature.
‘popular’ art. Although the museum was never built, she would apply these ideas to the MASP. 03 | Studying Success
São Paulo Museum of Art (MASP), São Paulo (1968)
Fig. 5 MASP building, photo by Wilfredor, 2015
Fig. 6 Transparent Pinacotecas, MASP archive 1970
Lina started designing this building in 1957, but its construction was not completed until about a decade later. In this project, Lina(unbuilt) brought(1951) her ideas from the glass house and collage work for the Museum at Oceanside, São Vicenete seaside museum to their full potential. The main exhibition space ‘floats’ above the ground: its Lina continued exploring the relationship between art and landscape in this project. She produced a few collages (fig.
robust, 74m-long massing held upwards by the red concrete frames that wrap and support the
4), influenced by Mies van der Rohe’s ‘Museum for a Small City’, to convey her vision for the exhibition space within.
structure (fig. 5). The two storeys of space are clad in glass, exposing the museum’s collection within
The collages show an atmosphere of timeless space, where art pieces from different time periods, of different styles
to the urban landscape of São Paulo. Inside, the artwork is suspended on tempered crystal sheets
are displayed together as equal, including ‘popular’ art. Although the museum was never built, she would apply these
held upright with concrete blocks (fig. 6), a displaying system Lina debut in the Transparent ideas to the MASP. Pinacoteca exhibition in 1957. With no hierarchy to them, art is displayed not in grand, lavish spaces, São of Art (MASP), Paulo (1968) but Paulo openMuseum to the people and theSão city. Lina designated the public square below as a ‘free space’, to
allow collective activities to take place, and is still well used today, hosting exhibitions and music
Lina started designing this building in 1957, but its construction was not completed until about a decade later. In this
events for the city.
project, Lina brought her ideas from the glass house and collage work for the seaside museum to their full potential. The main exhibition space ‘floats’ above the ground: its robust, 74m-long massing held upwards by the red concrete frames that wrap and support the structure (fig. 5). The two storeys of space are clad in glass, exposing the museum’s
Museumwithin of Popular oflandscape Bahia, Salvador (1960) collection to the Art urban of São Paulo. Inside, the artwork is suspended on tempered crystal sheets
held upright with concrete blocks (fig. 6), a displaying system Lina debut in the Transparent Pinacoteca exhibition in
In 1958, Lina was invited to Salvador to give lectures on architectural theory. She was concerned
1957. With no hierarchy to them, art is displayed not in grand, lavish spaces, but open to the people and the city. Lina
with development projects demolishing historic sites and destroying important cultural and social
designated the public square below as a ‘free space’, to allow collective activities to take place, and is still well used
aspects of Bahia. Lina was subscribed to philosopher Antonio Gramsci’s ‘populism’ ideology and today, hosting exhibitions and music events for the city. Museum of Popular Art of Bahia, Salvador (1960)
In 1958, Lina was invited to Salvador to give lectures on architectural theory. She was concerned with development projects demolishing historic sites and destroying important cultural and social aspects of Bahia. Lina was subscribed to philosopher Antonio Gramsci’s ‘populism’ ideology and sought to change the structure of social life there for the better. She brought attention to the culture of the region with her writing and through an exhibition she held on the subject in the fifth São Paulo Art biennale in 1959. That year she was invited to return to Salvador to create and direct an art museum.
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an art museum.
culture of the region with her writing and through an exhibition she held on the subject in the fifth
| Studying Success 84).03Although her architectural asshe prolific as other revered architects, her and direct São Paulo Art biennalecareer in 1959.was Thatnot year was invited to return to Salvador to create
MASP revolutionised the way art can be exhibited, and her commitment to social and an art museum.
terment still shines through the ongoing use of spaces she created in Brazil.
y:
5. Preservation as Confrontation: The Work of Lina Bo Bardi. Future Anterior: Journal of Historic
, History, Theory, and Criticism, 2(2), pp.24-33.
3. Lina Bo Bardi and the Architecture of Everyday Culture. Places Journal, [online] Available at:
cesjournal.org/article/lina-bo-bardi-and-the-architecture-of-everyday-culture> [Accessed 9 August
Fig. 8 Drawing on staircase and joint, by Zeuler Lima, 2003 Fig. 7InStaircase, photo by M. Sá, 2015 13. Lina Bo Bardi The Frame Of Brazillian Architecture. Fig. 8 Drawing on staircase and joint, by Zeuler Lima, 2003 Fig. 7 Staircase, photo by M. Sá, 2015
Shedecided decided to house the Solar doAccording atocollection of historic buildings She house the museum in Solarinof do Unhão, aUnhão, collection ofLina historic in the seafront in the seafro 2011. ‘This Exhibition Is antoAccusation’: Themuseum Grammar Display Bo buildings
th th She decided the museum in Solar do Unhão, collection of historic buildings inthe thecollective seafront from 16 from the century. Lina’s goal was towas integrate the historic into lifethe of ll: A Journal of Art, Context and Enquiry, (26), pp.51-57. from the16to 16house century. Lina’s goal toa integrate thebuilding historic building into the collective life of th
century. Lina’s goal was to integrate the historic building into the collective life of Salvador, not to restore it to its
Salvador, not to restore it to its original ‘primitive’ state. She stripped the building, leaving only loadSalvador, not state. to restore it (64), totheitsbuilding, original ‘primitive’ state. She stripped the building, leaving only loa ‘primitive’ She leaving only load-bearing walls and wooden structure to show 2012. Stonesoriginal Against Diamonds. AA stripped Files, pp.78-79. bearing walls and wooden structure to show its structural simplicity, and designed a plaza by the sea its structuralwalls simplicity, designedstructure a plaza by thetosea for traditional and collective activities to takedesigned place. She bearing andand wooden show its structural simplicity, and
a plaza by the s
for traditional and collective activities to take place. She also designed a central spiral staircase (fig.
also designed a central spiral staircase (fig. 7) in the main building. It is square in plan to fit into the structure, and
for traditional and collective activities to take place. She also designed a central spiral staircase (fig
7) injoints the between main building. is square in plan to fitwere intobased the structure, and the of joints between steps the the stepsItand the existing columns on the construction ox carts she sawthe in the
7) inthe the main building. Itmuseum isbased square in plan fit into the structure, the joints between and existing columns were ondedicated the construction of popular ox carts she inand the countryside countryside of Bahia (fig. 8). The was totosurveying art andsaw culture in the northeast, aof
the step
goal embodied. However, the 1964 military coup stopped theox spread of progressive ideas, andwhich the existing columns based the construction of carts saw in theathe countryside of Bahia (fig.her 8).restoration The museum waswere dedicated toon surveying popular art and culture inshe the northeast, museum was taken over and Lina lost her position as director. This brought Lina’s growing career in Salvador to a halt,
goal which embodied. However, the militarypopular coup stopped theculture spread ofin the northeast, a Bahia (fig.her 8).restoration The museum was dedicated to 1964 surveying art and
and she returned to São Paulo to finish the MASP.
progressive ideas, the museum was taken over and Lina lost her position as director. This brought
goal which her restoration embodied. However, the 1964 military coup stopped the spread of
Lina’s growing career in Salvador to a halt, and she returned to São Paulo to finish the MASP.
SESC-Pompéia, Paulothe (1986) progressiveSão ideas, museum
was taken over and Lina lost her position as director. This brought
Lina’s growing career in Salvador to a halt, and she returned to São Paulo to finish the MASP.
In 1977, Lina was hired by the Social Service Trade Association (SESC) to design a new cultural and leisure centre.
SESC-Pompéia, São Pauloin(1986) The project was undertaken two parts: the conversion of an old steel drum factory completed in 1982, and the construction of two towers in 1986. The SESC originally wanted the factory demolished, but Lina saw potential and
In 1977, Lina was hired by the Social Service Trade Association (SESC) to design a new cultural and
importance of the space and suggested to convert it for cultural use instead. She left its concrete structure intact (fig.
SESC-Pompéia, Paulo leisure centre. TheSão project was(1986) undertaken in two parts: the conversion of an old steel drum factory
9), and using her experience in set design, she broke up the space inside for different collective uses by adding small
completed inlike 1982, andfeature the construction of two interventions, a water or a fireplace (fig. 10).towers in 1986. The SESC originally wanted the
In 1977, Lina was hired by the Social Service Trade Association (SESC) to design a new cultural and
factory demolished, but Lina saw potential and importance of the space and suggested to convert it
leisure centre. The project was undertaken in two parts: the conversion of an old steel drum facto
The two towers were built to house the sports and leisure facilities. Angled walkways are speared between them,
connecting the roughly textured volumes (fig. 11), replicating the The ordinary apartment completed in 1982, and concrete the construction of their twoheights towers in 1986. SESC originally
wanted the
and office buildings that rose in Pompéia. Irregular holes were punched through the concrete walls of the main
factory demolished, but Lina saw potential and importance of the space and suggested to convert
block, serving as windows with sliding wooden trellises (fig. 12). Through the subversion of Brazilian totalitarian
for cultural use instead. She left its concrete structure intact (fig. 9), and using her experience in se
for cultural instead. its concrete structure intact (fig. 9), and using experience set design, sheuse broke up She the left space inside for different collective uses byher adding smallininterventions, lik 118
broke up space inside different collective uses by adding small interventions, like adesign, watershe feature or the a fireplace (fig.for10).
for cultural instead. its concrete structure intact (fig. 9), and using experience set design, sheuse broke up She the left space inside for different collective uses byher adding smallininterventions, like 03 | Studying Success
broke up space inside different collective uses by adding small interventions, like adesign, watershe feature or the a fireplace (fig.for10). a water feature or a fireplace (fig. 10).
Fig. 9 Factory concrete structure, photo by N. Kon, no date
Fig. 10 Fireplace and water feature, photo by N. Kon, no date
The two towers were built to house the sports and leisure facilities. Angled walkways are speared between them, connecting the roughly textured concrete volumes (fig. 11), their heights replicating the ordinary apartment and office buildings that rose in Pompéia. Irregular holes were punched through the concrete walls of the main block, serving as windows with sliding wooden trellises (fig. 12). Through the subversion of Brazilian totalitarian architectonics, which at the time were expressed through modern monumentalist works, Lina made a monument of her own. Rather than revering the glories of the state, she glorified the suffering of those beneath it, expressing the Fig. 10 Fireplace and water feature, photo by N. Kon, no date Fig. 9 Factory concrete structure, photo by N. Kon, no date cultural mediocrity experienced in Brazil at that time with her brutal design.
Fig. 9 Factory concrete structure, photo by N. Kon, no date
Fig. 10 Fireplace and water feature, photo by N. Kon, no da
The two towers were built to house the sports and leisure facilities. Angled walkways are speared
The two them, towers were built house the sports andvolumes leisure(fig. facilities. Angled between connecting the to roughly textured concrete 11), their heightswalkways replicatingare speared
between them, connecting thebuildings roughlythat textured concreteIrregular volumes (fig.were 11),punched their heights replicating the ordinary apartment and office rose in Pompéia. holes
ont
through the concrete walls of theoffice main block, serving as windows with slidingIrregular wooden trellises (fig. punched the ordinary apartment and buildings that rose in Pompéia. holes were 12). Through the subversion of Brazilian totalitarian architectonics, which at the time were through the concrete walls of the main block, serving as windows with sliding wooden trellises (fig. expressed through modern monumentalist works, Lina made a monument of her own. Rather than
ad-
sea
g.
ps
12). Through the subversion of Brazilian totalitarian architectonics, which at the time were revering the glories of the state, she glorified the suffering of those beneath it, expressing the
expressed through modern monumentalist works, Lina made a monument of her own. Rather than cultural mediocrity experienced in Brazil at that time with her brutal design.
revering the glories of the state, she glorified the suffering of those beneath it, expressing the cultural mediocrity experienced in Brazil at that time with her brutal design.
f
Fig. 11 SESC Pompeia towers, photo by N. Kon, no date
Fig. 12 Window and trellis, photo by N. Kon, no date
architectonics, which at the time were expressed through modern monumentalist works, Lina made a monument of her own. Rather revering the glories of the state,when she glorified the suffering of those beneath it, expressing the It was after thethan world has seen SESC-Pompéia Lina started gaining recognition from her work, cultural mediocrity experienced in Brazil at that time with herreputation brutal design. emerging from the shadow of her husband. Pietro’s and affiliation with Chateaubriand
painted her falsely as dilettante who had a career thanks to his position as director of MASP. New
It was after the world has seen SESC-Pompéia when Lina started gaining recognition from her work, emerging from
light was shed on Lina’s previous projects, her work re-evaluated. Lina only produced a handful more the shadow of her husband. Pietro’s reputation and affiliation with Chateaubriand painted her falsely as dilettante
d
ory
work, most notably Igreja Divino Espírito Santo (1981), a vernacular church in Uberlândia, and Teatro who had a career thanks to his position as director of MASP. New light was shed on Lina’s previous projects, her work Oficina (1984). her aarchitectural was not and asIgreja prolific as other revered architects, her Fig. 11 SESC Pompeia towers, photo by N. Kon,more no career re-evaluated. LinaAlthough only produced handful work, most notably Divino Espírito Santo (1981), a vernacular Fig. 12 Window trellis, photo by N. Kon, no date date
churchwith in Uberlândia, and Teatro Oficina Although architectural was not as prolific as other revered work MASP revolutionised the(1984). way art can beher exhibited, andcareer her commitment to social and
it
et
ke
architects,betterment her work with MASP revolutionised the way art can be of exhibited, commitment to social and cultural still shines through the ongoing use spacesand sheher created in Brazil. cultural betterment still shines through the ongoing use of spaces she created in Brazil.
Fig. 11 SESC Pompeia towers, photo by N. Kon, no
Bibliography: date
Fig. 12 Window and trellis, photo by N. Kon, no date
Lima, Z., 2005. Preservation as Confrontation: The Work of Lina Bo Bardi. Future Anterior: Journal of Historic
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Piscina Miriablis - A Contemporary Reimagination Cassandra Lee, Jake Taylor / Year 03 Redefining Tectonics Meg Marumoto / Year 03
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Piscina Miriablis A Contemporary Reimagination Cassandra Lee Jake Taylor
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Garden Pool
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Piscina Miriablis is an ancient Roman cistern located on the Bacoli hill at the Western end of the Gulf of Naples, Southern Italy.
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Long Section 1:250
Gallery Journey
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Falling Water
Sun & Views
Stone &
& Glazing
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Reading Garden
Tiered Planters
Colonnade
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Cistern Rooflight
Art Gallery
As visitors meader through the gallery across invisible bridges, the soft echo of falling water fills the expansive Roman cistern. Ancient stone columns stand in a ruined yet graceful state, and rooflights at the base of the pool above evoke a feeling of immersion; we are beneath the surface.
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Basement Plan 1:250
1 Reception 13m2 2 WC 4m2 (x2) 3 Storage 3m2 (x2) 4 Gallery 1000m2
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Restaurant
At ground level, the bookshop and reading garden overlook a peaceful infinity pool, serving as a reminder of the site’s aquatic history. The contemporary stone villa contains a restaurant, bar and lounge, with ample glazing to capture sunlight and sea views.
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Ground Floor Plan 1:250
5 Restaurant 85m2 6 Kitchen 26m2 7 Pantry 7m2 8 Plant Room 7m2 9 Bar 27m2 10 Lounge 10m2 11 WC 3m2 (x2) 12 Conference Hall 123m2 13 Book Garden 18m2 14 Bookshop 55m2 15 Office 19m2 16 Outdoor Seating 42m2
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Main Entrance & Reception
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Outdoor Seating
To the right lies a less public, quieter and more versatile room for large functions, looking out onto the pool and gardens. A slim colonade pays homage to the imposing columns below ground, providing shelter and supporting the roof structure.
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Redefining Tectonics
Meg Marumoto University of Bath Year 3
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1 | Introduction
This essay was initiated through my agitation to find out the definition of Tectonics. I had observed that the word “Tectonics” is frequently used in the educational setting at the University of Bath but the staffs seemed to avoid defining it. It felt like it was my duty to clear the mysterious clouds surrounding the definition of “Tectonics” by identifying its original meaning while validating and challenging the contemporary interpretation. This written exploration is structured in three sections: firstly, the essay looks back at the etymological origin of “Tectonics” as Tekton and analyses other related words such as Baukunst which explains the roots of the contemporary interpretations of Tectonics. Secondly, the essay challenges these contemporary interpretations which is explained through three illustrated examples of ecclesiastical buildings. The final section studies and critiques the practical use of Tectonics in an architecture education setting at Bath; the pedagogical methods and its reception by students at the Bachelor’s level. My theoretical exploration is not an attempt to propose a “correct” definition of Tectonics, but rather aims to add a new layer on to the historically complex debate.
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2 | Etymology
A study into the etymology of Tectonics reveals the original meaning and explains what has been inherited, lost and distorted which has ultimately formed the vague interpretation of “Tectonics” we hold today. Primarily, the essay will study Tekton which is the ancient Greek origin of Tectonics 1 while also studying an associated word, techne, which is an ancient Greek word for Technology .2 The geological Tectonics is more definitive and can draw parallels to the architectural Tectonics, bringing in a broader perspective to the etymological study. The German word, Baukunst which can be translated literally as "Building Art",3 is conceptually similar to Kenneth Frampton’s description of Tectonics as a “Poetry of Construction”.4 Analysis of Baukunst reveals the designers’ attitudes towards the word “Tectonics”. Primarily, understanding the geological Tectonics can ease us into the analysis of the word. Geologically, Tectonics is defined as the way structure of the surface of the earth is formed, changed and moved by the forces inside the earth. The geological “forces inside the earth”5 wholly controls the geological structure which ultimately forms a physical expression of such “forces”, like a volcanic mountain. Similarities can be drawn between these “forces inside the earth” and forces which act upon an architecture, such as the technical and the cultural “forces” shaping the architecture through the design process. A volcanic mountain resembles the geological tectonic “forces” and therefore the architecture as a whole, as well as a specific detail, resembles the architectural tectonic “forces”. Robert Maulden’s MIT thesis on Tectonics in Architecture: From the Physical to the Metaphysical explains the way “tectonic expression” is concerned with the “conscious attempt of the architect to tell a story”.6 The “physical qualities of the building” tells us the metaphysical, however its capability to “tell a story” is not a unique character that is limited to architecture. As geological expression, like volcanic mountains, demonstrates the geological tectonic forces and a story of how it was made, architectural tectonics only imitates such geological nature. The etymology of Tectonics is interpreted with various meanings. The ancient Greek word,
Tekton , typically describes a carpenter or a joiner working in wood.7 However, Indo-European roots of tek - could mean “to work with an axe” and “to fashion”. 8 Tek - is used in terms such as tektones xylon which means wood tecton (wood worker) and tektones lithon meaning stone tecton (stone worker).9 Both phrases explicitly indicate the material, suggesting that Tekton only indicates the person and
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
Online Etymology Dictionary, ‘tectonic (adj.)’, accessed on 11th June 2020, https://www.etymonline.com/word/tectonic Online Etymology Dictionary, ‘techno-’, accessed on 11th June 2020, https://www.etymonline.com/word/techno-#etymonline_v_7664 Ruairu O’Brien Art works, ‘Baukunst’, Accessed on 20th July 2020, http://www.ruairiobrien-artworks.com/baukunst Frampton, Kenneth, ‘Introduction: Reflections on the Scope of the Tectonic’, in Studies in Tectonic Culture: the Poetics of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth
Century Architecture , ed. John Cava (Chicago: MIT Press, 1995), 3, 4. The editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica, ‘Tectonics’, Britannica, 20th July, 1998, accessed on the 11th June 2020, https://www.britannica.com/science/tectonics Maulden, Robert, Tectonics in Architecture: From the Physical to the Metaphysical , Thesis (M.A.), Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Washington. Frampton, 1995, 3. Karvouni, Maria, ‘Demas: The Human Body as a Tectonic Construct’, in Chora 3: Intervals in the Philosophy of Architecture , ed. Alberto Perez-Gomez and Stephen Parcell (McGill University History and Theory of Architecture Graduate Program, 1999), 103-110. ibid
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their method of working rather than specifying a construction material.10 On the other hand, the Greek etymology of tekton , "joiner working in wood",11 specifies the material and draws attention to the two processes which are required in woodcraft; cutting and joining.12 A woodcraft requires an axe to initially source the material and then to shape the joints while a molding process requires no tools but palms. Both etymology, the ancient Greek and Indo-European origins, suggest the process of cutting and assembling regardless of the material. Many, including a lecturer at Bath, has been undeniably influenced by the ancient Greek origin of Tekton that “seeing” a wood joint is especially important. However, Tectonics should not only be concerned with a revealed detail but it is the illustrated process of cutting and assembling. Furthermore, Techno , an ancient Greek origin of technology ,13 means “a system of method of making or doing”.14 Technology is an assembled system made up of parts which functions interdependently and in harmony. Studying an assembled system reveals the process of assembling the disconnected parts which parallels with the way process of craft-making can be revealed upon an analysis of physical architectural details. Tectonics, therefore, illustrates the cutting and assembling process of making and such narrative is told through physical system of building parts.
Tectonics , which is an “artificial” making, can be compared to a “natural” making. Maria Karvouni’s Tectonics of the Human Body and Architectural Embodiments contrasts the two etymologically related words, Tekton , an ancient Greek word for carpenter, and Tikto, meaning to give birth.15 Karvouni claims that the act of “artificial” making imitates the cosmogonic operations of making an offspring, a “natural” making.16 The verb, “to build” originates from an old English, “byldan ”, which means to construct a house, and a Proto-Germanic word, “buthla ”, to dwell has a root of “bheue ”, meaning “to exist”.17 Creating a shelter from the natural world is an animalistic trait to survive suggesting that the process of “building ” is the natural necessity. The contemporary interpretation of “Tectonics” should also be analysed from a conceptually related word. The German word Baukunst , meaning “building art”,18 suggests that “building” on its own is not an “art”. As Baukunst can also be translated as “architecture”, the word reflects architects’ subconscious prejudice that “architecture” is unique from an ordinary building. Francesco Dal Co suggests, in his book Figure of Architecture and Thought , that Baukunst is an “art of time":19 Dal Co analyses Mies van der Rohe’s aphorism which states “architecture begins where two bricks are carefully joined together”.20 Dal Co draws attention to the word “careful” which implies the time, care and possibly a skill required in Baukunst and claims that such time raises an ordinary building to the state of art, a kunst form. In contrast, Hermann Muthesius’ Stilarchitectur und Baukunst and Karl Scheffler’s Moderne Baukunst use the word Baukunst with Sachlich approach;21 Sachlich, early twentieth century antithesis against romanticism of high art, pursues beauty in the modest everyday
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ibid Online Etymology Dictionary, ‘tectonic (adj.)’. Karvouni, 1999, 105 Online Etymology Dictionary, ‘techno-’. ibid. Karvouni, Maria, Tectonics of the Human Body and Architectural Embodiments, 1996, Constructions for Tectonics for the Postindustrial World , ACSA European Conference, Copenhagen. Association of Collegiate Schools of Architecture, New York. ibid Online Etymology Dictionary, ‘build (v.)’, accessed on 11th June 2020, https://www.etymonline.com/word/build Ruairu O’Brien Art works, ‘Baukunst’. Dal Co, Frances, Figures of architecture and Thought, in Frampton, Kenneth, ‘Greco-Gothic and Neo-Gothic: The Anglo-French Origins of Tectonic Form’, in Studies
in Tectonic Culture: the Poetics of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Architecture , ed. John Cava (Chicago: MIT Press, 1995), 29-31. ibid Frampton, Kenneth, ‘The Rise of the Tectonic: Core Form and Art Form in the German Enlightenment, 1750-1870’, in Studies in Tectonic Culture: the Poetics of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Architecture , ed. John Cava (Chicago: MIT Press, 1995), 90.
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pragmatism.22 Sachlich dismisses not only the physical ornament, like Baroque style decoration, but also the metaphysical ornament such as time and care that is applied. Furthermore, a comparison between Tekton , an artificial making and Tikto , a natural making also questions this notion that time and care is required in Baukunst . The process of “natural” making varies between the parents as some requires time and careful planning while others are more spontaneous. Dal Co’s claim that Baukunst necessitates time and care can be questioned; if we can seek beauty within a spontaneously created natural offspring then we should be able to seek beauty within spontaneously created artificial offspring. Kenneth Frampton’s description of Tectonics, “Poetry of Construction”, 23 also hints at a hypocritical prejudice that ordinary construction is not beautiful enough on its own. A “Poetry” is a delicate literature which relies on an intricate system of words implying the time and care that is required for the craft. Such metaphor implies that such delicacy and care during the process of making poetry can draw parallels to “tectonics”. Tectonics is therefore also a victim of romantic concept that time and care raises the status of ordinary construction. The beauty within the time and care should not be dismissed, however it is the delicate narrative of the building that is the most beautiful. Tectonics seeks such metaphysical beauty rather than applying an ornament which “raise[s] a construction to an art form.”24
22 23 24
ibid Frampton, 1995, 3. Dal Co, 1990.
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3 | Philosophy
The metaphysical narrative which tells the process of making, can be categorised into three interlinked typologies; the technical, the historical and the contextual. With the emergence of the industrial materials, the eighteenth century architects strived for more “honest” architecture exposing the materiality, the structure and the methods of construction. In contrast, an analysis of Toyo Ito’s Tama Arts Library in Tokyo illustrates his playful approach to express, hide and manipulate the technical process of making. The methods to express the “historical” and the “contextual” processes of making is demonstrated by the current renovation works of the Bath abbey and Niall Mclaughlin’s Bishop Edward King Chapel. The renovation work aims to express the historical process of making while the excavation exposes the way the abbey has historically hidden and manipulated the history of its construction, the society and the place. Mclaughlin’s chapel portrays the geographical, the spiritual and the social context of the place, expressing the “contextual” process of making. The philosophical exploration of tectonics further analyses the manipulated process of making and argues that such mendacity tells a deeper story than the expressed or the hidden process of making. The essay also explains the motives behind the deceptive design which appears irrational at first. A physical detail primarily tells the “technical” process of making; the structure, the material, and the construction methods. The movements in the Eighteenth Century which sought for the expressed “technical” process of making were the Primitivism initiated by Laugier and a engineering focused approach led by Jean Baptiste Rondelet. The Primitivism movement, initiated by Laugier’s Essai
sur l'architecture , argued that the natural forces determines the “rules” and architecture should obey the rules and express the “forces”,25 instead of obscuring them with ornaments of the Baroque style. On the other hand, engineering focussed approach also strived to express the “technical” processes of making but with a more mathematical approach. The rise of new materials such as iron, stimulated more complex engineering analysis by JeanBaptiste Rondelet26 which, in contrast to the Primitivism Movement, is more successful at expressing the technical process of making. Laugier attempts to return to a “primitive” structure as a reaction against the “spectacular” architecture by Boullee and the Baroque style,27 but he is more interested in the aesthetic of the technical process of making and fails to practice an engineering-driven approach. Ultimately, the Primitivsm movement manipulates the “technical” process of making. The Nineteenth Century architects, such as Le Duc and Ruskin, built their own manifestos developing on the Primitive movement and engineering focussed approaches and their debates concerned whether to reveal or conceal the “technical” process of making. The definition
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Laugier, Marc-Antoine, Essay on Architecture (Hennessey & Ingalls, 1985) Kruft, Hanno-Walter, History of Architectural Theory (New York, Princeton Architectural Press, 1994), 275. Kruft, 1994, 152.
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of tectonics should be freed from such debate as hidden and manipulated process of making could tell deeper narrative. Some “idiosyncratic”28 architects enjoy manipulating the “technical” process of making. Toyo Ito’s Tama Arts University Library appears, to those with a less technical knowledge, like a concrete frame construction which utilises an arche structure. However, the thin concrete only acts as a fire protection enveloping and hiding its core structure, a thin steel plate 29; the concrete completely manipulates the structural honesty. (Page 12, Figure 1) Such “lie” appears in-practical, however it demonstrates Ito’s intention to create different atmospheres between the two main floors depending on the functions. The concrete arches on the ground floor attempt to create a similar atmosphere to the European arcades, a commercial gathering space.30 (Page 13, Figure 3) The library’s arcade is located along a frequently used sloping road, and the arcade-like space, which is used as a café and an exhibition space, can be easily looked in from the road. In contrast to the public arcade, the upper floor maintains a tranquil and cooler atmosphere created by the taller concrete arches. The concrete material and the structurally non-functional arches are intended for a more psychological effect, adding a contemporary social function as well as a quiet study space. One can only speculate at the architect’s intention behind the structural “lie”, however it highlights the potential for such poetic manipulation. Tectonics does not only tell the “technical” but also portrays the “historical” process of making. The current Feilden Clegg Bradley’s renovation work, the Foot-Print Project at the Bath Abbey, demonstrates a contemporary approach to reveal the hidden history of the construction, the society and the place. Primarily, the restoration of the gravestones on the abbey floor, expresses the social history of Bath. (Page 14, Figure 4) Each carved stone illustrates the social position and the wealth of the person who is buried portraying a “cross section of the Bath’s society from 1625 to 1845”.31 Such social history is the fundamental identity of the Bath community, significantly influencing the process of making. The social history is further expressed as pews are removed, which reveals and protects the floor from the furniture. Restoring and revealing the gravestones expresses the social identity and therefore expresses the “historical” process of making while other parts of the project has revealed history of construction and of the place. The thorough archaeological excavation work has discovered the Thirteenth Century tiled floor which had been covered by the floor of the abbey. Removing the gravestones for restoration provided a “glimpse of the grand Norman cathedral, which once stood on site”.32 These medieval tiles undeniably had an impact on the floor design of the current Gothic abbey, constructed in 1860s,33 as the current “tiled” arrangement of the gravestones is a reminiscence of the medieval tiled floor. The medieval floor will be preserved under the floor of the abbey, rather than exhibited, hiding a part of the construction history34 which, as a result, hides a part of the “historical” process of making. The archaeological excavations have not only revealed the history of construction
28 29 30 31 32 33 34
Cadwell, Mike, Strange Details (Massachusetts, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2007) Ito, Toyo, ‘ もののもつ力 ’ (The Power of Objects), 東西アスファルト事業協同組合 , 2006, Accessed on 10th June 2020, https://www.tozai-as.or.jp/mytech/06/06_ ito14.html Ishizaka, Yasuaki, ‘ 講座 B 「建築はどのように作られるか 多摩美術大学図書館 ( 見学 )」 ’ (Lesson B “How is Architecture made Tama Arts University Library (Tour)”), Ito Juku, 28th April 2013, Accessed on 10th June 2020, http://itojuku.or.jp/blog/1385 Feilden Clegg Bradley Studio, ‘Bath Abbey’, Feilden Clegg Bradley Studios, accessed on 10th June 2020, https://fcbstudios.com/work/view/bath-abbey Eaton, Bruce, ‘Bath Abbey – Archaeologists floored by floor under floor’, Wessex Archaeology, 31st August 2018, Accessed on 14th June 2020, https://www. wessexarch.co.uk/news/bath-abbey-archaeologists-floored-floor-under-floor Bath Abbey, ‘History’, accessed on 10th June 2020, https://www.bathabbey.org/visiting/history/ Eaton, 2018.
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and society but also the history of the locality. The “Jacobean plaster ceiling fragments”35 which was discovered under the North aisle of the abbey is identical to the ceiling ornament at The Grapes36, a seventeenth-century pub in Westgate, Bath. One can speculate that these plaster ceiling ornaments have been crafted by the same local plaster worker,37 which reinforce the buildings’ affiliation to the place. Like the medieval floor tiles, the plaster ornaments will not be restored and expressed within the abbey, hiding a fragment of historical process of making. Despite the current architects’ effort to reveal and express the “historical” process of making of the Bath Abbey, the past architects have historically manipulated it. The current butterfly vaulting which is a central architecture element of the abbey pretends to match the Tudor vaulting at the East end of the Abbey.38 (Page 14, Figure 4) However, Eighteenth Century prints and written descriptions suggests that a plastered barrel vaulting was constructed prior to the butterfly vaulting in the fifteenth century. (Page 15, Figure 5) Furthermore, the previous plastered barrel vault utilised Tromp l’oeil,39 a painting technique which created an optical illusion and imitated “high-status rooms of the Jacobean period”.40 The abbey manipulated the historical and technical processes of making and the current vault maintains such deception. Thirdly, Tectonics tells the “contextual” process of making. For example, Niall McLaughlin’s contemporary chapel in Oxford, The Bishop Edward King Chapel, sensitively expresses the geography, the culture and the atmosphere of the context. The sun-light filters through the mature trees outside before entering the chapel creating soft shadows which moves with the wind. (Page 17, Figure 8) The light in the chapel and the tall timber structure naturally creates an airy atmosphere in the chapel’s interior reminding the visitors of the natural environment outside. (Page 16, Figure 6) McLaughlin utilises the movement of the wind, the light and the trees to express the unique hilltop location and the uplifting spirit of the place. In contrasting to this uplifting spirit, the chapel’s elliptical nave, inspired by the nave of the ship,41 fashions a grounding atmosphere like the hearth. The chapel’s intertwined relationship with the adjacent college, Ripon College Cuddesdon,42 and the local community must have been at the heart of the design process. Such collaborative process of making is expressed in the nave as the hearth of the chapel as a part of the “contextual” process of making. Some peculiar architects, such as Ito, uses tectonics with a hypocritical approach, to segregate an art form from an ordinary construction. Tectonics does not only differentiate between a Baukunst and an ordinary building but also discriminate the “ordinary” visitors from the more educated visitors. Toyo Ito’s mendacious structure segregates those that notice the peculiarly thin concrete slabs and those that cannot; the technically educated and the less educated. Although dishonesty in “technical” process of making is the most recognised category of manipulation, dishonest “historical” and the
35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42
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Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 3: The Nave’, Wessex Archaeology, 20th January 2020, Accessed on 25th June 2020, https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/ news/tale-two-ceilings-3-nave Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 5: The Grapes’, Wessex Archaeology, 24th January 2020, Accessed on 20th June 2020, https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/ news/tale-two-ceilings-5-grapes Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 4: The North Aisle of the Nave’, Wessex Archaeology, 22nd January 2020, Accessed on 15th June 2020, https://www. wessexarch.co.uk/news/tale-two-ceilings-4-north-aisle-nave Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 4: The North Aisle of the Nave’, Wessex Archaeology, 22nd January 2020, Accessed on 15th June 2020, https://www. wessexarch.co.uk/news/tale-two-ceilings-4-north-aisle-nave ibid ibid Niall McLaughlin Architects, ‘Bishop Edward King Chapel’, Accessed on 25th June 2020, http://www.niallmclaughlin.com/projects/bishop-edward-king-chapeloxford/ Archdaily, ‘Bishop Edward King Chapel’, 23rd May 2015, Accessed on 25th June 2020, https://www.archdaily.com/611186/bishop-edward-king-chapel-niallmclaughlin-architects
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“contextual” process of making also discriminates against those who are not as knowledgeable of the place. The butterfly vaulting at Bath Abbey, a historically inauthentic replacement of the previous barrel vaulting, segregates most of the visitors from those who know about the previous form of vaulting. The extensive archaeological excavations and the historical research within the Footprint project allowed people to gain a new historical knowledge of the society, however nevertheless, the physical architecture segregates people who are not part of the history with those who are. Manipulating “contextual” process of making is discriminatory towards the tourists who are not part of the local community. The similarities between the detailed ornaments at the Abbey and The Grapes, the nearby pub, can only be recognised by the locals. A manipulated process of making therefore can only be noticed by those with technical, historical or contextual knowledge which draws an implicit hierarchical order between those who are educated and those who are not. The contemporary world, a society with less explicit hierarchical system, has inherited a subconscious discriminatory act in the form of architectural tectonics and portrays human’s ominous desire to create social hierarchy. A manipulated process of making requires multiples of steps to tell its narrative. Primarily, it relies on the people to "know" the true technical, historical and contextual processes of making. For example, the butterfly vault at the Bath successfully pretends to be a Tudor ceiling and its deception can only be recognised by those who "know" about the previous barrel vaulting. Secondly, manipulated process of making relies on people to “question” a peculiar detail. Ito’s Tama University of Arts Library utilises the curiously thin concrete slab which makes people “question” the structural legitimacy of the concrete. Finally, tectonic manipulation relies on people’s “instinct” to sense the peculiar mendacity, by breaking a coherent rule. The Tromp l’oeil technique on the plastered barrel vaulting43 created an illusion that the vaulting was taller than the reality which is, from different angles, typically less successful. This inconsistency could have been instinctively noticed exposing such deception. Therefore, the concealed narrative can ultimately become exposed without the architects’ intention as peculiar details are instinctively questioned. In contrast to the “manipulated” process of making, the “expressed” process of making seems to directly tell its narrative. It is important to mention the fetishized details by Carlo Scarpa. The Querini Stampalia Foundation in Venice, renovated by Scarpa,44 showcases the care and time required to design and construct the highly customised oriental details45 which the architect adores. Scarpa’s fetishism is a refined form of Baukunst as it raises his construction to an art form. Although Scarpa’s details typically expresses the process of making, the visually beautiful geometric design can ultimately create a veil which conceals the process of making and many visitors struggle to see through the beauty to "see" the narrative. Expressed process of making intends to directly tell the narrative however fetishism can conceal this narrative without the architects’ intention.
43 44 45
Hambleton, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 3: The Nave’, 2020. Hidden Architecture, ‘Fondazione Querini Stampalia’, Hidden Architecture Journal, 31st October 2017, Online Accessed 17th July 2020, http://hiddenarchitecture. net/fondazione-querini-stampalia/ ibid.
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Steel-plate
Concrete
Figure 1 | Tama Arts Library - Structure Concrete arches are pealed away to show the steel-plate structure within Biro Drawing, July 2020, by the author
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Figure 2 | Library North Facade, Front Entrance
Figure 3 | Ground Floor Gallery space
The glass is flushed against the concrete facade which emphasises the thin concrete slabs.
The gallery space is very open, allowing individuals to move through the arches like an arcade.
Photographed and edited by the author
Baan, I., 2009, Online Accessed on 27th July 2020,https://iwan. com/portfolio/1-toyo-ito-tama-art-university-library-tokyo/ Edited by the author
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Side-aisle (South)
The Nave
Figure 4 | Bath Abbey - Interior Section The drawing shows the "tudor" style butterfly vaulting above the nave and the grave stones on the floor. Biro Drawing, July 2020, by the author
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Figure 5 | Bath Abbey - Shows the barrel vaulting This eighteenth-century print shows the intact plaster ceiling. The current butterfly vault denies this part of the history.
Hambleton, 2020 Edited by the author
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Figure 6 | Chapel Structure The image shows the timber glulam structure and the surrounding natural context Biro Drawing, July 2020, by the author
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Figure 7 | Bishop Edward King Chapel
Figure 8 | Bishop Edward King Chapel
The image shows the tactile stone texture and the shadows created by the adjacent trees.
The direct sunlight is let in through the clerestory windows and creates the intricate shadows of the timber structure.
Niall McLaughlin Architects, Bishop Edward King Chapel,Accessed online on 27th July 2020, http://www.niallmclaughlin.com/projects/bishop-edward-king-chapel-oxford/ Edited by the author
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4 | Pedagogy
The architecture course at Bath, a four-year Bachelor of Science degree, maintains a strong reputation of producing students with a structurally innovative approach, a detail appreciation as well as an artistic mind. The school is proud of a unique focus on a ‘Poetic construction’46 suggesting that the concept of tectonics is fundamental within their teaching. However, the students understand the concept of tectonics only vaguely, and it is almost taboo to ask or discuss the various interpretations. The essay will investigate the explicit and implicit teachings of tectonics at Bath and the conscious understanding and the subconscious influence on the students. The analysis and the critique sources the information from a first-hand experience, a student survey and dialogues with the fellow students. The two fundamental values of the architecture education at Bath, to work collaboratively with the engineers and to love a thoroughly designed detail, have been upheld since the school’s establishment. The original notion, to “educate together those who will work together”,47 highlights a distance between the two professions and promotes a collaborative innovation to tackle the technical and the cultural challenges. Although the original notion has become more modest in the current curriculum, the architecture students still undertake group projects with the engineers throughout the degree which encourages the students of both courses to question the role of their professions and establish a good work relationship with each other. The love for details has been especially maintained since the Smithsons taught at the school. Tom Emerson, an alumnus of Bath, and Stephanie MacDonald, both of whom are the founding directors of 6a Architects, recall that the Smithsons’ work method was drilled into the students at Bath; to use all “1:5/1:50/1:500 drawings” in practice.48 Some may stereotype the architecture education at Bath as an engineering school which only thrives with the technical challenges and crumble at tackling the cultural issues,49 however, Bath also celebrates the metaphysical and aspires to practice it. Teaching both aspects of tectonics, the physical detailing and the theoretical concepts, is fundamental to the school of thought at Bath for both the architects and the engineers. It is common to adopt a naïve design approach, to learn and apply fundamental technical knowledge onto a design scheme, during the first half of the four-year degree. This approach evolves in the Third and the Fourth Year, where the students are required to simultaneously develop the structural strategies and the construction details within the design process and the concept of tectonics is used as a tool to practice the new design approach. The Third Year is a crucial transition
46 47 48
49
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Barac, Matthew, ‘Pedagogy: University of Bath, UK’, The Architectural Review , 17th December 2012, accessed on 28th June 2020, https://www. architectural-review.com/essays/reviews/pedagogy-university-of-bath-uk/8639834.article Jenks, Mike, ‘Special Report: BATH JOINING FORCES’, The Architects’ Journal Vol.182, Accessed on 5th June 2020, https://search-proquest-com.
ezproxy1.bath.ac.uk/docview/1431369904?accountid=17230&rfr_id=info%3Axri%2Fsid%3Aprimo&imgSeq=1 Cecilia, F. M., Levene, L., ‘A conversation with Stephanie MacDonald and Tome Emerson’, 6a Architects El Croquis 192, (2017), 4-10. Barac, 2012
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stage, where the theory and the practice of tectonics is repeatedly taught through a series of lectures and the design studio. A lecture, titled “Tectonics”, was given by a wood craft-maker which visually illustrated various exposed wood connections and excluded structures of other materials. The lecture demonstrated his own interpretation, that tectonics is to see how materials come together. The design studio encourages students to use the concepts of “tectonics” as a framework to connect technical knowledge with the metaphysical concept and to utilise tectonics model at 1:50 as a design tool. Tectonics can also be used in the group design project, between the architecture and the engineering students, to simultaneously develop a design concept and the construction details. The collaborative process allows for a series of thorough discussions exchanging the design aspirations, the technical reality and the potential solutions in an iterative design development stage. These two stages of design approaches, an application of technical knowledge and a technically integrated collaborative design process, attempt to theoretically and practically teach tectonics while also developing the technical knowledge and the design skill. By graduation, students should be aware of the fundamental theoretical concept of tectonics and they are expected to be able to explore their personal interpretation in theory and practice.50 The pedagogy of Tectonics at Bath cannot be analysed without an insight into the students’ responses. A student survey asked thirty students across the four years ten questions to study the students’ understanding of tectonics, the influence on the their architectural taste and their feeling towards utilising the concept in their design practice. All thirty students had heard of the word in the architecture education at Bath, although most students’ lacked confidence when trying to define the word. Many defined the word as being able to "see" how components come together which was one of the four options in a multiple-choice question. Some recognised that tectonics tell us the metaphysical meaning of physical construction details while a few noted that it is “beautiful detailing” which implies that the ordinary detailing is not as beautiful as the "tectonic" details. The survey also demonstrated that “legibility” is a fundamental ingredient of the term which is inevitably influenced by the lecture on “Tectonics”. Despite such a significant influence, the school’s approach usually influences students’ architectural values and taste more subconsciously. Almost half of the students that conducted the survey answered that their favourite architect had changed since their start of the architecture education at Bath, from a typically glamourous architect such as Foster, Zaha and Gehry to an architect who designs a warmer, tactile architecture such as Aalto, Ando and Zumthor. It is inevitable that the preferred architect changes as students come across them through the bachelor’s education. However, it is not a mere coincidence that the two out of three most popular architects amongst the students at Bath, Aalto and Zumthor, are also especially admired by the school. The survey also illustrated the students have noticed the importance of the concept while they also showed reluctance to use the word themselves. The school is successful in influencing the students’ architectural value and taste, however,
50
ibid
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the vague understanding of the concept of tectonics has resulted in students’ reluctance to utilise the word to explain or discuss architectural practice. The fundamental critique of the architecture pedagogy at Bath lies with the lack of an indepth exploration of the architecture theory. Korydon H. Smith, an editor of Introducing Architectural
Theory , reinforces the overlooked value of carrying out an individual exploration and a group debate in architectural theory therefore students cannot identify their own stand point.51 The bachelor’s course at Bath introduces the history of theoretical thinking, within the History and Theory module, in the Third Year. Until then, it is difficult to recognise that the architecture practice evolve around architects’ rigorous theoretical investigation and their political standpoints rather than a pure taste and a style. It seems like the school denies the importance of the individual theoretical exploration and the students’ own journeys to find their political opinions. The Third Year teaching assumes that a single lecture on “Tectonics” is enough theoretical exploration for the students to immediately experiment their interpretations in practice as a part of the design studio project. The word “tectonics” is repeatedly used in the lectures and tutorials, enforcing the importance of the concept, with a minimal explorative discussion of the various interpretations. Contrasting the pedagogy of Bath and a European technical university, TU Munich, raises further critiques on the Bath architecture education. Two Erasmus students from the TU Munich, a German university which is known for an emphasis on the technical details, offered an insight into their experience. The TU Munich thoroughly teaches the technical theory throughout the threeyear degree to builds a comprehensive technical knowledge. The lectures and tutorials analyses and discusses precedent details and construction in depth. In the design studio modules, every tutorial discusses the construction while the students are required to detail their schemes at 1:10. On the other hand, Bath lacks example-based teaching and the specific technical knowledge is only briefly taught. In the design studio, the tutorials do not thoroughly discuss the construction details and a required detailed drawing is a section at 1:20. To tackle such critiques, architecture education at Bath could employ some of Munich’s rigorous methods; the example based teaching which technically analyses successful details; more discussion-based tutorials to develop the construction. Despite the critiques, the dialogue with the two Erasmus students also highlighted that the design projects at Bath possess a modest personality. Such modesty roots at the school’s emphasis on the design process which carefully develops the physical and the metaphysical. The school’s value on “Poetic” architecture should not be dismissed but rather evolved; the careful approach in crafting poetry adheres to the school’s modest approach. The way poetry in literature delicately tells story could remind the students of the way physical architectural details sensitively tells its own process of making. Tectonics should always be at the core of the pedagogy at Bath while such “Poetry” should be a slogan that should be further refined.
51
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Smith, Korydon H., ‘Architectural Theory in the Undergraduate Curriculum: a Pedagogical Alternative’, International Journal of Technology and Design Education 23 (2013), accessed on 26th June 2020, https://link-springer-com.ezproxy1.bath.ac.uk/article/10.1007/s10798-011-9165-5
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[1]
[2] [4]
[3]
[1] Parapet
[2] Roof Gutter
Zinc cladding
Zinc cladding
2mm DPM
2mm Breather membrane
ParapetRoof Gutter Roof Gutter
Parapet
Zinc cladding Zinc cladding Zinc cladding Zinc cladding Sheet 2mm Breather membrane 2mm Breather membrane 2mm DPM 2mm18mm DPM Plywood 18mm Plywood Sheet 18mm Plywood Sheet 18mm Plywood Sheet 18mm Plywood Sheet 50mm width Battens 1. 94mm Hard Insulation 1. 94mm Hard Insulation 1. 50mm Width battens 1. 50mm Width battens 2. insulation 64mm Gutterwith Hard 147 Insulation 2.x 64mm Gutter Hard Insulation 2. 75mm Hard insulation 2. 75mm 75mm Hard Hard Insulation 3. 2mm Vapour Barrier 3. 2mm Vapour Barrier 3. 12mm Plywood sheet 3. 12mm Plywood sheet joists (centre centre 4.Timber 12mm Plywood sheetto 4. 12mm Plywood sheet 4. 147mm Hard Insulation 4. 147mm 147mm Hard Insulation 152mm x 152mm steel beam 5. 152mm x 152mm steel beam with 147 x 47mm Timber 600mm) with 1475.xwith 47mm Timber Joist Hangers with Timber Joists with Timber Joists Joists (centre to centre Joists (centre to centre 6.with 12mm chipboard 6. 12mm chipboard 600mm) with Joist 600mm) Joist 2mm Vapour Barrier 7. and 12mm Plaster Board Skim and Hangers Hangers7. 12mm Plaster Board Skim Plaster board Paint finishwith Skim and Paint finish 5. 2mm Vapour Barrier 5. 25mm 2mm Vapour Barrier 6. 25mm Plaster board with 6. paint 25mmfinish Plaster board with skim and paint finish skim and paint finish
Roof Roof Construction Construction
Roof to Wall Roof to Wall
Zinc cladding
From Right to Left
Zinc cladding
18mm Plywood Sheet 2mm Breather membrane 2mm Breather membrane
18mm Ply deck 18mm Ply deck 1. 94 x 47mm Timber Joists 1. 94 x 47mm Timber Joists with 94mm Hard insulation insulation 64mm Hard Insulation 2. Gutter 2mmVapour Barrier 2. 2mmVapour Barrier 3. 12mm Plywood sheet 3. 12mm Plywood sheet 2mm4.Vapour BarrierI Beam 4. 152 x 152mm I Beam 152 x 152mm 5. Plywood 12mm Chip Board 5. 12mm Chip Board 12mm sheet 6. 12mm Plaster Board Skim 6. 12mm Plaster Board Skim 152 x 152mm I beam joists and Paint finish with timberand Paint finish withInsulation 94mm Hard 94mm Hard
12mm chipboard 12mm Plaster Board skim and paint
Window Opening 1. 2. 3.
From Right to Left
Zinc Cladding Zinc Cladding 18mm Plywood sheet 18mm Plywood sheet 2mm Breathing member 2mm Breathing member 25 x 50mm battens + void 25 x 50mm battens + void 18mm Plywood sheet 18mm Plywood sheet 25 x 50mm Battens 25 x 50mm Battens 18mm Plywood sheet 18mm Plywood sheet 53mm Cavity 53mm Cavity 75mm Soft Insulation 75mm Soft Insulation Concrete Blocks Concrete Blocks 25mm Plaster Board with Skim 25mm Plaster Board with Skim and Paint finish and Paint finish
Window Opening
Lintels with insulation 1. Steel Window frame 2. Steel Louvers with T 3. supports
Lintels with insulation Steel Window frame Steel Louvers with T supports
Intermediate Intermediate Floor Floor From Top to Bottom
From Top to Bottom
25mm Rustic Timber Floor finish 25mm Rustic Timber Floor finish 25mm Chip Board 25mm Chip Board 74mm Soft Insulation 74mm Soft Insulation 215mm Concrete Block and Beam 215mm Concrete Block and Beam with 138mm Void with 138mm Void Celing clip Celing clip 25mm Plaster Board 25mm Plaster Board Wall Wall 25mm Plaster Board with skim 25mm Plaster Board with skim and paint finish and paint finish 25mm acoustic insulation 25mm acoustic insulation 102mm x 215mm Concrete Blocks 102mm x 215mm Concrete Blocks
finish
[3] Foundation
Roof Intermediate Construction Floor
Foundation Roof to Wall
From Top to Bottom Zinc cladding 2mm Breather membrane 25mm Rustic Timber Floor finish 18mm Ply deck 25mmTimber Chip Board 1. 94 x 47mm Joists 74mmHard Soft Insulation with 94mm 215mm Concrete Block and Beam insulation with 138mm 2. 2mmVapour BarrierVoid clipsheet 3. 12mm Celing Plywood 25mm IPlaster 4. 152 x 152mm Beam Board 5. 12mm Chip Board 6. 12mm Wall Plaster Board Skim 25mm Plaster Board with skim and Paint finish and paint finish 25mm acoustic insulation 102mm x 215mm Concrete Blocks
From Right to Left
[4] Window Opening
Window Lintels with insulation Opening
(from Top to Bottom)
Wall- from Left to Right Timber finish 1. 25mm 145 x Rustic 65mm Bricks Zinc Cladding 2.48mm 102 x chipboard 215mm Concrete Blocks 18mm Plywood sheet 3. 53mm Cavity 4.75mm 2mm Soft DPMInsulation 2mm Breathing member 5. Strip foundation 25 x 50mm battens + void 2mm DPM 18mm Plywood sheet
Steel window frame 1. Lintels with insulation louvers with T support 2.Steel Steel Window frame 3. Steel Louvers with T supports
Intermediate Floor
Foundation
From Top to Bottom
Wall- from Left to Right 1. 145 x 65mm Bricks 2. 102 x 215mm Concrete Blocks 3. 53mm Cavity 4. 2mm DPM 5. Strip foundation
25mm Rustic Timber Floor finish 25mm Chip Board 74mm Soft Insulation 215mm Concrete Block and Beam with 138mm Void Celing clip 25mm Plaster Board
top to bottom 25 x 50mm Battens Foundation150mm From Concrete Slab 18mm Plywood sheet 6. 25mm Rustic Timber finish coreChipboard 53mm Cavity 7.Hard 48mm 75mm Soft Insulation 8. 75mm Soft Insulation 9. 2mm DPM Concrete Blocks
Wall 25mm Plaster Board with skim and paint finish 25mm acoustic insulation 102mm x 215mm Concrete Blocks
10. Skim 150mm Concrete slab 25mm Plaster Board with 11. Hardcore and Paint finish
Foundation- From top to bottom 6. 25mm Rustic Timber finish 7. 48mm Chipboard 8. 75mm Soft Insulation 9. 2mm DPM 10. 150mm Concrete slab 11. Hardcore
Figure 9 | Detailed Section (Year 01)
Figure 10 | Thesis Project (Year 04)
A Design Studio module was integrated with a detailed design module which required details at 1:50. The design proposal only attempts to drop in the standard detailing, rather than experiment how the process of making should be expressed, hidden or manipulated.
By Francesca Petryszak The process of taking a photograph involves a balance between planning the scene and encountering an odd chance. This feels similar to how tectonics is experienced in buildings, as the process of making is revealed by intending to "see" it or by chance.
1:50 / A1
Images completed and edited by the author.
Petryszak, F., Life on the Streets, University of Bath Annual 2020 - Bsc Architecture, Online accessed on 8th August 2020, https:// issuu.com/bathenganddes/docs/2020_yearbook_bsc-compressed Edited by the author
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5 | Conclusion
The contemporary definition of Tectonics should be expanded from the current mysterious short-sighted interpretation of the word. Tectonics, through the physical architectural elements, expresses, hides and manipulates the metaphysical narrative. Such narrative is categorised into the technical, historical, and the contextual process of making which is consciously or subconsciously revealed and concealed by the architect and the maker. The beauty of time and care within highly crafted details should not be dismissed, however it is the metaphysical narrative which is unique to the building, the community and the place and that is the most beautiful poem. I find it most intriguing to discover such hidden narrative within the manipulated process of making when the idiosyncratic details act as an architectural clue to reveal the less rational but the more humane motives of the architects. The concept of tectonics does not only concern “designed” buildings but even more humane narrative can be sought from an ordinary building. Even with a unique emphasis on “Poetic” architecture, the architecture education at Bath has lost the sight of its position within the pedagogy of architecture education. The main criticism, which does not only concern understanding and practicing tectonics, lies with the lack of theoretical exploration. The dialectical methods such as discussions and debates in lectures, tutorials and critiques could encourage this and develop their analytical skill and confidence to actively voice their predilection. Recently, I opened my long-forgotten violin music to find it drawn all over with pencil marks. What was, then, only notes for myself actually show my process of making music. When performing, musicians attempt to hide their weaknesses and express their intentions which as a result hides a part of the process of making, and some musicians try to manipulate it. Even as I shift back to "designing" architecture, rather than "writing" architecture, I will inevitably pursue my definition of Tectonics in practice which might be a similar experience to practicing violin. I can only find my way by experiementing various ways to express, hide or manipulate my process of making. Understanding and vigorously studying 1:1 scales parallels with the thorough violin practices; both are attempts to control ways to express, hide or manipulate process of making. Lastly, Dylan Thomas' poem, My Craft or Sullen Art, elegantly summarises my attitude towards tectonics which I would like to use as my end note. As poetry is Thomas' act of living, not an attempt for fame, tectonics might be a modest, but an essential act of living.
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In My Craft or Sullen Art by Dylan Thomas In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in ther arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secrete heart. Not for the proud man apart from the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft and art.
Figure 11 | A Violin Music - Meditaion Thais
Figure 12 | Poem - "My Craft and Sullen Art"
This sheet music shows the pencil markings for the fingering, position changes and rhythms, illustrating the process of making this music.
The poem captures a tranquil, personal crafting process behind Thomas' poems.
Edited by the author
Thomas, Dylan, The Poetry Society, In My Craft or Sullen Art, Accessed online on 1st August 2020, https://poetrysociety.org.uk/ poems/in-my-craft-or-sullen-art/
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05
Imagining the Future Over lockdown it has been easy to look at tAhe future with unease. But in the work shown here there is no trepidation, only anticipation of a place with endless possibilities.
Ulsoor Tower - Biomass Building Ifrah Ariff / Year 03 Sharing vs Privacy Matthew Pembery / Year 02 Pacific - Extreme Habitat Challenge Pontus Lee, Ryan Wu, Yoya Muraki / Year 03 A Study on the Viability of the Earth; as a Contemporary Building Material Shreya Sarin / Year 03 The African Coastline - A Eutopian in Tanzania Meraaj Harun / Year 02
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U ls o o r T o w er India // Biomass Bengaluru, Build ing / / De sig n
Pro jec
t
05 | Imagining the Future
In India, Bengaluru is highly regarded for its lakes and tech-friendly environment. But over the past few decades, rapid urbanisation has led to unsightly opensewers and compromised lake water quality which the Bangalore Water Supply and Sewerage Board (BWSSB) has been unable to manage adequately. Additionally, Bengaluru’s Local Authority (BBMP) faces a waste management crisis, with municipal solid waste (MSW) regularly strewn over roads and open sewers. To alleviate pressure on local authorities and to improve MSW and sewage management, Ulsoor Tower proposes to use its own sewage and MSW to create biomass - a renewable energy source. In an anaerobic digester housed in the structural core of the tower, biomass is converted to biogas, which is then combusted to generate electricity for the tower. If successful, Ulsoor Tower’s proximity to local vegetable markets such as Ulsoor Bazaar and Shivajinagar and to open sewers north of adjacent Ulsoor Lake offer scope to expand MSW and sewage collection in phases, years after completion. Whilst the hope is for Ulsoor Tower to be energy selfsufficient, a more environmentally responsive design is required to maximally decrease the building’s energy demands. The façade – which is primarily a solar shading device - is a homage to Bengaluru’s unique geology: the rust coloured Corten-fin façades reference the colour of Bengaluru’s laterite. From afar, the layers of the façade fins reference the unique texture of nearby city garden Lalbagh’s (Red Garden) Peninsular Gneiss Complex. Bengaluru’s reputation as India’s ‘Garden City’ has been diminishing due to a lack of planning control in the face of rapid urbanisation resulting in a dwindling number of precious green spaces. Ulsoor Tower aims to
reinvigorate that facing identity by proposing Bengaluru’s first free-for-public rooftop garden. RCC beams in the main structure also incorporate planters at every floor level. Ulsoor Tower aims to bridge the juxtaposition between the high-end reputation of a skyscraper in Bengaluru (precedents include UB City: a luxury retail skyscraper complex) and the low-end reputation of a local bazaar by offering majority of it’s floor space to local shopkeepers at a subsidised rate, in exchange for their MSW so that the tower can produce more biogas from more biomass. Some floor space is dedicated to researching and educating visitors about the potential for biomass; these could be programmes handled by the BWWSB and BBMP. The hope is that people from Bengaluru’s wide-ranging socioeconomic strata interact with each other in a proudly local setting. The tower can generate revenue a) by renting out market space and b) by selling by-products of the biogas process. For example, digestate from anaerobic digestion can be sold to compost manufacturers. Going forth, the viability of this economic model needs to be tested. Ultimately, Ulsoor Tower addresses Bengaluru’s issues with sewage, waste management and social inequality in an IT-friendly city that can support such a technically rigorous solution. Although it is designed for Bengaluru’s Ulsoor Area, it is a potential initiator for the research and development of energy-generating skyscrapers in high-density urban environments worldwide.
Opposite: Ulsoor Tower and it’s accompanying bazaar grounds Overleaf Left: Location plan showing phases of MSW and sewage management 1:10000 159
N
Shivajinagar Markets
Ulsoor Tower Ulsoor Lake
Ulsoor Bazaar Ulsoor Bazaar
Primary Treated Sewage
MSW Collection
UNtreated Sewage
as Ph e 3 as e Ph 2 as e 1
Ph
Ph
as Ph e 3 as e Ph 2 as e 1
age B Sew nt S S W To B ent Pla m Treat Bazaars & Vegtable markets (organic waste sources)
Phase 3
Phase 2
Phase 1
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Site Plan 1:1000
N
Ulsoor Lake
Ken s
2
ingt
ran
3
Kempegowda Tower
Rd
t
ted se wage
3
ee Str
ska
il Ko
untrea
Bha
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1
ma
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Ulsoor Bazaar
r we r To
o lso
mU
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Ulsoor Bazaar
Bazaar stalls Sewers & lakes Trees Ulsoor Bazaar Traffic flow
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
Ulsoor Tower Open-air bazaar Street-level parking Taxi/ tuk-tuk drop-off point Open sewer diversion to Ulsoor Tower 161
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Ground Floor Plan 1:250
A
N
1
2
3 5 6
4
7 10
2
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8
6
3 7
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A
Bazaar stalls Circulation & Services MSW collection 162
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
Main entrance Elevators WCs Anaerobic digester Services riser
6. 7. 8. 9. 10.
Goods lift Fire escape stairs Waste bins sorted by type External MSW drop-off point Service entrance
A-A Section1:1000 Primary sewage treatment 1. Untreated sewage 2. Screening removes large debris such as rags and planks 3. Comminutor crushes remaining debris 4. Grit separated out from sewage 5. Sludge separated from effluent 6. Effluent released into sewers for further treatedment at BWSSB treatment plant downstream 7. Sewage mixed with MSW from vegetable markets
15
CO2 collected and sold
Biomass production 14
8. 9. 10. 11. 12.
Hydrolysis Acidogenesis Acetogenesis Methanogenesis By-products removed
Electricity Generation
Water vapour by-product from combustion condensed for use in building
13. Biogas combustion 14. Hot gases turn rotors to generate electricity 15. Exhaust gases filtered and released
Education & research
13 12
Services
Bazaars & vegetable markets
11
10
Digestate sent off for compost production
MSW from building & local bazaars 9
Main Road
1 2 6 7
8
3 5
4
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Form Finding Strategy
Wind Load
Proposed Form
Wind Load
Cuboid Form
M
Mmax
M Mmax
N
Great bending moments; turbulent airflow on leeward side due to westerly prevailing wind
164
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Reduced bending moments; laminar airflow on leeward side
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Facade and Structure
4 4
7 1
1
2 3
6 5
7
2
4
4
1.
Megacolumn of square hollow section in RCC casing 2. RCC beam with in-built planters 3. Ă˜ 400mm horizontal strut 4. Diagonal bracing cable
5. Connection to outer facade from bracing strut 6. Rotatable corten fins 7. Glazing with operable top and bottom panels for single-sided ventilation 165
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A
166
w Vie
m fro
oor Uls
Lake
05 | Imagining the Future
This article is an excerpt from an alternative project to design a cohousing scheme in Milton Keynes, UK. It outlines how co-housing might provide a model for living across the UK, that would prioritise community land ownership and address issues such as loneliness and an ageing population. It is supplemented by case studies and drawings from the design proposal for a co-housing scheme. Written by Matthew Pembery
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SHARING vs PRIVACY
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What is Co-Housing? Co-housing is one of two main concepts which fit under the title ‘shared living’ along with co-living, which have distinct differences, as defined below: Co-Housing is “an intentional community of private homes clustered around shared space” Co-Living features “single buildings with shared facilities that are targeted at urban audiences”
Marmalade Lane, a co-housing scheme by Mole Architects in Cambridge, is well known in some architecture circles for its win in the “Alternative Stirling Prize”. Whilst outshone for the actual Stirling Prize by Goldsmith Street (Mikhail Riches), the two schemes share similarities including a Passivhaus approach to environmental design, focus on shared space for play and nature, as well as an aesthetic and tectonic resemblance. Shared space is implemented through a common house in this scheme. The building represents the core of the community, with a view towards it from each of the 42 homes. By providing spare bedrooms, a kitchen, dining area, play room and events space, it is a building to facilitate social interaction between residents of all ages, with tangible benefits to all. Front gardens face on to a communal pedestrian area, with a shared green space and garden for growing food. It is the residents responsibility for upkeep of these spaces.
The difference is important as while both can be defined as shared living, current trends in co-living (which manifest in projects such as London’s ‘The Collective’) are often expensive, limited to younger professionals and lack “co-creation, ownership or diversity” in many ways. The individual apartments are small and are part of a much larger building - in some ways similar to a cruise ship with its cabins and range of entertainment facilities. Co-housing, tends to be community organised and initiated by future residents, as was the case with Marmalade Lane (an exemplar project sketched on the left). It is often intergenerational and the community is responsible for the upkeep of the shared spaces. Origins of Co-Housing Shared living has existed successfully for millennia, but fallen victim to privacy in recent years within contemporary housing. In it’s current form, co-housing originates from the ideas of Danish architect Jan
Gudmand-Hoyer in the 1960’s and 70’s. However to state this as the true beginning of ‘co-housing’ would be completely incorrect, as ultimately co-housing is just a western reimagination of living methods that have always existed and still continue to prevail in a variety of cultures across the world. Yet most literature on the history of shared living often begins in the 19th century or only briefly mentions medieval Europe. A follow up to this article should include much deeper research into the origins of shared living. In the UK, there are currently only 23 co-housing communities, which despite providing a range of precedents for future schemes, is an insignificant number in relation to housing across the nation. Health + Wellbeing The UK was the first country to appoint a Minister for Loneliness to tackle what is considered an increasing problem in the UK. In 2018, 30% of young people reported feeling lonely some or all of the time, with 10% of the whole population reporting they are often or always lonely. A “growing body of research demonstrating the damage loneliness to our mental and physical health” shows that this is an issue that needs to be tackled. Connectivity through meaningful relationships has shown to have the opposite effect and improve mental and physical health. Common features of ‘Blue Zones’ (pockets of the world where people live longest) often include
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1:500 Site Plan ~ Alternative Project to Design a Co-Housing Scheme This site plan shows the two terraces of six houses, proposed in the scheme, surrounding the central common house. The common house will include a community library for the housing estate alongside workspace that could be used flexibly by residents in a work from home situation. A largely pedestrianised
central street combined with front gardens, shared allotments and open space provides an area ideal for interaction between residents. Individual gardens are provided to ensure an option of privacy although they are smaller than the majority of gardens in Milton Keynes. As a Garden ‘City’ (Milton Keynes is actually a large town) green space is abundant and housing well spread out. 171
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intergenerational living and a healthy social network. Furthermore, in the UK Governments sixty commitments to tackle loneliness, five directly mention the built environment and co-housing including:
Bedroom 3
Bedroom 2
33 ~ Research into the impact of community-led housing and cohousing solutions Co-housing IS being seriously considered as a future method of building communities. Often, contemporary design talks about ‘community’ - could shared living be a practical way to actually form strong, resilient communities? Architect Mathias Holwich summarises modern living “I think for a very long time we have believed that ownership and privacy make us happy. But I think we are all being proven wrong. Actually now we are waking up again. Living together, experiencing things together, sharing things with each other is really what creates memories and happiness”.
Landing
Master Bedroom
Study
First Floor
According to the UN the number of people older than 60 will rise from about 1 billion today to 2.1 billion in 2050. These people will have far fewer younger family members to support them. Intergenerational living through co-housing means “Elderly people in a community (who are more likely to have spare time) could help look after the children, which would not only give them a greater sense of purpose and more of a social life, it would also benefit the children and the parents alike, who in turn would be on hand to look after the elderly people”. What Next? Co-housing is initiated by a small group of prospective residents who are actively involved in land acquisition and design. Whilst this brings complexities, it also brings opportunity and potentially new ways of providing affordable housing. Shared living faces many barriers through planning and implementation, but as it’s concepts become more widely endorsed it will become a serious alternative to the status-quo’s of contemporary housing. 172
Bathroom
Kitchen / Dining Space
Living Space
Entrance Hall
Ground Floor
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1: 100 Floor Plan ~ Alternative Project to Design a Co-Housing Scheme The scheme aims to provide 2,3 and 4 bedroom options as affordable housing and terraces were chosen to reduce construction cost, as well as to reduce energy usage. Additionally options for a solely ground floor house should be included so that those with physical disabilities/ struggle with stairs, are able to live comfortably. Adaptions like this are important if the co-housing is to be truly intergenerational. Passivhaus principles are utilised both to reduce energy costs and ensure internal comfort throughout the year - again crucial to ensure intergenerational living is made as accessible as possible. 1: 100 Section ~ Alternative Project to Design a Co-Housing Scheme Solar shading reduces the risk of summer overheating, whilst ensuring that large SE facing windows can be used for daylighting, throughout the rest of the year.
References: https://www.molearchitects.co.uk/projects/housing/k1-cambridge-co-housing/#close http://www.mikhailriches.com/project/goldsmith-street/#slide-2 https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/ loneliness-annual-report-the-first-year https://www.deemjournal.com/ https://space10.com/project/imagine-shared-living/ https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/ loneliness-annual-report-the-first-year/loneliness-annual-report-january-2020--2
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PACIFIC
3rd Year Alternative to Placement: Part 1 Pontus Lee Ryan Wu Yoya Muraki
Extreme Habitat Challenge
Overview
Design Intentions
As our cities continue to grow, the impacts of overpopulation are becoming increasingly severe, to both quality of life and the environment. With the climate of the world becoming harsher, and abnormal weather conditions becoming commonplace, a new type of city and a shift in the way we live is being called for. Advancements in technology have allowed us to look beyond the boundaries of the traditional city, and it is up to the designers of today to create a new class of innovative habitats for the people of tomorrow. The brief challenges multidisciplinary teams to be inventive as architecture sets off in uncharted directions, focusing on the relationship between humans, technology, and the environment as we seek to populate extreme habitats.
The design seeks to promote a balanced life with equal capacity for the three essential elements of human life: Live, Work, and Play. Through innovative design and progressive use of existing technologies, the habitat provides an opportunity for a lifestyle that ensures a sustainable future: socially, culturally, and environmentally.
The oceans cover more than 70% of the planet, much of which remains relatively unexplored. As solutions to the overpopulation crisis continue to look to build higher up; be it increasingly tall skyscrapers or even colonies in space; marine biologists and aquanauts question whether it would be more feasible to settle on the ocean floor. This would come with its own set of challenges, given the depth and pressure of water, as well as the quality of life achievable under the surface of the ocean. The brief is to design a conceptual habitat for 6 people within a maximum footprint of 1000 sq.ft. underwater in the Pacific Continental Shelf, with the capability to be replicated to form an entire colony of at least 100 units.
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The habitat aims to have a positive impact on its surrounding environment, and develop a symbiotic relationship between man and nature. Promoting a nomadic yet rooted lifestyle that respects this extreme environment, and starting a cultural shift towards a more responsible existence. Through careful regenerative action, the habitat and its residents can reverse the well documented decline of coral reefs and its knock-on effects on local biodiversity. Residents will develop a self-sufficiency that extends throughout their community as the habitats expand to form a colony. This sense of community and reliance upon themselves and each other will be key to maintaining an autonomous colony with minimal contact with the surface world.
Geometrically regular forms allow habitats to tessellate and connect through communal spaces to form part of a larger community.
Hexagonal forms provide more design potential in plan for developing a connection to the outside.
Reshaping the hexagon allows for more efficiency in internal spatial planning. residents. This forms a growing communal space for the entire community as the colony develops.
The level where habitats connect to each other is public and open to other units, while the other levels are private to each habitat’s
Establishing paths between each habitat creates a network that allows the entire colony to be connected.
External walls are stepped back and angled on the top 3 levels to allow light to penetrate deeper internally.
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EXTERNAL VIEW OF THE COLONY
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1
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3
5
1
6
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1. WET PORCH 2. AIR LOCK 3. STORAGE 4. SHOWER 5. WORK AREA 6. PLANT
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1. COMMUNAL WORK AREA 2. COMMUNAL RECREATIONAL AREA 3. W.C
2 4 1 1
2
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1 3
LEVEL 3 LEVEL 2
1. BED ROOMS 2. DINING ROOM 3. KITCHEN 4. W.C
1. BED ROOMS 2. W.C
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Expansion Plan The colony grows one habitat at a time as individual units are added and attached via a connection tunnel. Six tessellated habitats allows provision for a fish farm to be attached in the courtyard formed, providing another sustainable source of healthy food. A multifunctional community hub is introduced when the colony reaches fifty habitats. This large structure consisting of a series of spaces will enrich the community, and acts as the cultural and social heart of the colony; providing the infrastructure to contain anything from parks and sports pitches, to galleries and performance spaces; and even schools for future generations. Further community hubs can be added to the tessellated grid of the colony as it continues to expand.
Formation of colony
NUMBEROF UNIT
POPULATION
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6
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19
114
45
270
DWELLING UNIT
COMMUNITY HUB
Level 1 Community Plan The multi-purpose spaces on the public level are different in each habitat to provide a variety of recreational facilities and work spaces throughout the colony. Residents visit neighbouring habitats on this level as part of their day to day routine; it is up to the residents to maintain the communal level in their own habitat.
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LEVEL 1 COMMUNITY PLAN
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Compact Bedroom
SECTIONAL PERSPECTIVE VIEW OF A HABITAT
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Routine A day in the life of a Pacific Ocean dweller: Jules lives in Habitat 19 of the 1st Pacific Colony. He normally wakes up and emerges from his room on Level 3 around 0800, but he enjoys having a lie-in at the weekend. After a wash, he heads to the kitchen on Level 2 and has breakfast with his fellow Habitat 19 dwellers. Jules is a marine biologist, and he begins his work day at 0930 in the workstation on Level 0. Three times a week, he puts on his aquanaut suit and goes outside through the moon pool to conduct routine surveys on the surrounding ecology. His favourite part of his work is monitoring the growth of corals on the Biorock cages below the habitat, and seeing the previously struggling species thriving once again in the area. He takes his lunch break of fish ’n kelp-chips at 1300 back in the habitat, and continues his work afterwards. Sometimes, he helps his friend to monitor the health of the kelp, fish and crustaceans at the farms. After work, Jules enjoys having a drink and catching up with his friends in the social area on Level 1. On days he does not go outside for work, he does an hour of exercise at the gym in Habitat 17. He has dinner around 1900, and is sometimes invited to other habitats to eat with friends. He often goes to the TV room in Habitat 22 for movie night afterwards. Sometimes, he returns to his room to work on the book he is writing instead, before heading to bed at 2300.
Integrated Multi-trophic Aquaculture The farming system utilises a closed nutrition cycle which minimises waste and improves efficiency. The natural conditions (current, temperature etc) at this depth mimic the natural habitat of the Yellow Tail Perch and are therefore ideal for fish farming, they require no maintenance other than regular feeding. The excretions from the fish, which would normally cause eutrophication in traditional fish farms, instead go on to feed other organisms on lower levels of the food chain, such as the crustaceans and sea cucumbers kept in the caged shelves; any remaining small particles are filtered by the mussels. Their excretions in turn are metabolised by the seaweed. Unlike conventional fish farming, this system is an environmentally friendly approach that has minimal impact on the surrounding ecosystem, and provides a sustainable and varied diet for the Ocean dwellers.
Fish farm cage Seaweed/mussels farm
Shelves for crustaceans and shellfish
Biorock-coral diversity
Algae AlgaeFarm-Oxygen Farm-Oxygen Algae Farm-Oxygen
Buoyancy Buoyancy control control Buoyancy control
Buoyancy Buoyancy control control Buoyancy control
Seaweed/mussel Seaweed/musselSeaweed/mussel farming farming farming
Ocean Oceancurrent current power power Ocean current power Generation Generation system system Generation turbine turbine system turbine
Shelves Shelves for for crustaceans crustaceans Shelves for crustaceans and andshellfish shellfish and shellfish
Biorock-coral Biorock-coral diversity diversity Biorock-coral diversity
Water Water treatment-sewage treatment-sewage Water treatment-sewage and anddesalination desalinationand desalination
Exploded Exploded view view of Exploded a of habitat a habitat view and and of sustainable sustainable a habitat technologies and technologies sustainable technologies
ustainable Sustainable Sustainable technologies technologies technologies
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A STUDY ON THE VIABILITY OF EARTH: AS A CONTEMPORARY BUILDING MATERIAL By Shreya Sarin
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VIABILITY OF EARTH:
AS A CONTEMPORARY BUILDING MATERIAL Almost half a century ago, Hassan Fathy proposed an alternate idea of modern architecture that conformed to tradition and relied on the material found beneath his feet - mud. Up until then, earth construction had been deemed unfit for modern building and was viewed as a primitive method of construction, only fit for use in under developed countries. In the last fifty years, architects and scientists across the world have developed traditional earth techniques to increase the viability of earthen architecture in the industrialised world. This combination of ancient knowledge with the latest scientific know-how has resulted in a significant increase in the use of earth construction across the world, both in developed and developing nations. Several organisations have been at the forefront of this phenomenon, such as the Building Research Laboratory at the University of Kassel in Germany and CRAterre in France, to name a few. At a time when the world is undergoing a severe climate crisis, a sustainable approach to architecture is no longer a choice but a necessity. Earth, as a building material, exemplifies this approach with its distinct physical properties and ease of availability. Not only is energy saved due to the lack of transportation required, earth is also 100% reusable in its unbaked form. It also promotes the pertinent and often overlooked idea of regionalism. It is truly vernacular in essence, in that it is not a standardised material. It demands introspection on the unique requirements of every climate and soil type. It is this specific property of earth, in my opinion, that makes it an invaluable and irreplaceable asset to the field of architecture in these precarious times.
AIM OF THE STUDY Through this study, I intend to familiarise myself with the process of building with earth using both theoretical study and practical experience. The reason being, that a combination of these two methods of learning yields a greater understanding and goes beyond listing points to prove the practical viability of this material. Therefore, at a deeper level, this study stands testament to the self-build nature of the material and how it can also be used to empower people to build their own homes. Much like what Hassan Fathy wanted to achieve at Gourna.
METHODOLOGY The study provides a step by step account of building with loam up till the construction stage. At each step, theoretical information is followed by a practical application of the information (carried out by me within the confines of my house). My practical experience with loam finally concludes in the form of a design of a prototype pavilion, to be exhibited at a design festival and built with the local soil of my area that I have analysed through the study. 182
Theory
Practical
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BUILDING WITH EARTH: PROCEDURAL OVERVIEW
As mentioned previously, the study proceeds according to the steps involved in building earth to summarize and provide an overview. This format is followed till the construction stage. 1. Extraction, Classification and Testing of Raw Material : The process of converting natural soil into construction soil. It consists of careful extraction of soil and certain fundamental tests that determine whether soil is suitable for construction. 2. Evaluation of Requirements, Processing and Stabilization of Building Material : The soil type identified in the first step is critically assessed based on local site conditions and brief. Based on the result of this assessment, additives may be added to enhance the properties of the soil. 3. Design, Planning and Execution of Construction : This step includes identifying the ideal method of construction based on the previous steps, designing the building, ensuring all DIN Standards have been met, preparing a planning application and executing construction. 183
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STAGE 1: CLASSIFICATION AND TESTING COMPOSITION Loam is a product of erosion from rock in earth’s crust1. It is characterized by its primary components: clay, silt, sand and gravel. These components are distinguished between one another on the basis of their size (in diameter) and their chemical build up. The percentage of the weight of these components is termed as the ‘Grain Size Distribution’. Variation in the physical properties of loam can be linked back to a variation in its grain size distribution. This implies that Loam is not a standardized building material and varies in composition from site to site. The preparation of the correct mix for a specific application also differs.
Gravel
60 to 2mm Loose aggregate of rock, lacks binding force but increases compressive strength of loam.
Sand
2mm to 0.06mm Fine aggregate, lacks binding force but reduces shrinkage in loam
Silt
0.06 to 0.002mm Lacks cohesion in its chemical structure but can be found in a plastic state.
Clay
0.002 to 0mm Finest particles that provide binding force to Loam.
Fig 1 . Grain size distribution of (left) high clay content loam and (right) high silt content loam
Water
Water activates the binding forces* of loam. Besides free water, there are three different types of water in loam: (1) Water of crystallization: chemically bound water (2) Absorbed water: water electrically bound to clay particles (3) Capillary water: water absorbed by the pores of loam, due to capillary action *Binding force is the resistance that a substance provides to disintegration. Other than the water content of loam, the binding force of loam primarily depends on the quantity and type of clay present. Higher the clay content, higher is the binding force of loam. 184
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FIELD TESTS TO ANALYZE LOAM COMPOSITION Field tests are not very exact, but can be carried out fairly quickly on site. They provide an estimate of the composition and characteristics of the loam found on site and can also be carried out by semi-skilled professionals with limited knowledge of earth construction. The following tests were carried out by me (within the confines of my house), to determine the composition of loam naturally found in my region (Delhi, India). For this purpose, a sample of soil was obtained from a construction site next to my house
Smell Test
Pure Loam is odorless. If the sample has a musty smell, it indicates humus or organic matter in the loam. The presence of organic matter in loam used for construction can result in walls rotting from within. The soil sample collected by me was odorless and hence did not contain any humus or organic matter.
Combined Sieving and Sedimentation
Soil Sample
Coarse gravel Stones separated sieved out of soil from the soil
Remaining mixture of fine gravel, sand, silt and clay
Fine gravel and coarse sand sieved out of soil
Remaining mixture of fine sand, silt and clay
As seen above, aggregates like stone, gravel and coarse sand were separated out using sieves of varying sizes. The remaining mixture of fine sand, silt and clay, however, could only be separated through the process of sedimentation. For sedimentation, 1/3rd of a jar was filled with the aforementioned fine mixture and the remaining 2/3rd was filled with water. The contents of the jar were then stirred vigorously to dissolve clumps and kept aside for 24 hours. The resulting stratification can be seen in fig. The approximate percentage of sand, silt and clay inferred from this can be plotted on the triangular grid to get an estimate nature of the soil. Conclusion: The soil type of the sample is sandy loam.
Fig 2. Grain size distribution in triangle grid
21% Fine Gravel
51% Sand
25% Silt 4% Clay 185
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WATER CONTENT As mentioned previously, three different types of water are present in Loam. Absorbed and capillary water are released when loam is heated to 105 degrees. However, Water of crystallization is only released between 400 to 900 degrees Celsius. The weight of the Absorbed and Capillary water gives a measurement of the chemically unbound and is known as the water content of Loam. It is stated as a percentage: w = 100 x mw/ms Where w is the water content, mw is the weight of chemically unbound water and ms is the weight dry soil.
Consistency
Consistency is the strength with which the soil particles are held together or the resistance of loam to deformation. The consistency of a loam sample changes with variations in the water content. Loam has four states of consistency, namely: liquid, plastic, semi-solid and solid. The limits for these states were defined by the scientist Atterberg (fig 3). Notably, these limits vary according to the composition of loam.
SL - Shrinkage Limit PL - Plastic Limit LL - Liquid Limit
Fig 3 . Atterberg’s Limits
Fig 4 . Plasticity Index of Loam
Swelling and Shrinkage
Loam swells and loses its solid state when it comes in contact with a significant amount of water (as per graph). The reverse of this phenomenon takes place when the wet loam begins to dry and shrink. This tendency of loam to lose its physical state due to a variation in the water content is disadvantageous for its use as a building material as it leads to cracks. However, this drawback can be easily overcome by a change in the grain size distribution (higher the sand, lower the shrinkage), method of preparing the loam (longer drying and curing time) and through the use of additives in the loam mixture. 186
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FIELD TESTS TO ANALYZE LOAM Consistency Test
The consistency test is carried out to reach an adequate level of plasticity to carry out the cohesion test. In this loam is moistened till it can be rolled into a ball of 3 cm (in diameter) and then further rolled into a thread of 3 mm (in diameter). Conclusion: If the thread breaks, as was the case in my first few attempts, more water is required.
Moistened loam rolled into a ball
Rolled into a thread
Thread of 3mm was not reached
Flattened into a ribbon
First rupture is measured
Cohesion Test (Ribbon Test)
Once the adequate plasticity is reached, the loam is rolled into a thread, 12mm in diameter. It is then slowly flattened into a ribbon by the thumb. The longer the ribbon formed through this process, higher the cohesion and clay content. Conclusion: Loam exhibits low cohesion and binding due to a low clay content.
Plastic loam rolled into a thread
TEST TO ANALYZE SHRINKAGE IN LOAM 0 cm
Linear Shrinkage Test
This test is a variation of Alcock’s linear shrinkage test, carried out using the limited equipment available to me. Loam was prepared by removing large aggregates and adding water to attain optimum moisture content. This is attained when loam is in a liquid state and cannot form a solid shape, however, it is not flowing out between your fingers. This loam was pressed into a box of 28 cm x 4 cm x 4 cm, and allowed to dry for 7 days in shade. The change in length was measured. Conclusion: Linear shrinkage of 1.5cm measured. This is relatively low due to a high sand content. Single crack but no small cracks along the surface.
26.5 cm 28 cm Loam at OMC is pressed into mold
Air Dried Brick
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STAGE 2: EVALUATION AND PROCESSING BASIS OF EVALUATION The suitability of loam for construction is primarily contingent on the climatic conditions of the site. The need for stabilizers or any kind of improvement in the natural composition of loam also depends on the nature of its use.
Site Factors
The climate of Delhi is composite in nature : a particular season does not prevail for longer than 6 months. It experiences hot and dry summers with temperatures going as high as 40 degrees Celsius, winters with temperatures going down to 7 degrees Celsius and an in - between monsoon season with high humidity levels. Month
Average maximum and minimum temperature in degree Celsius
Precipitation totals in mm
Fig 5 . Climate chart of New Delhi It must be noted that there isn’t a high degree of diurnal variation. Therefore, greater importance should be given to stabilizers that increase the thermal insulation of the wall and stop the ingress of heat and cold rather than those that provide high thermal storage.
Design Parameters
Some design parameters also influence the processing and production of loam: • All walls are exposed to external conditions. There may be partial roof cover. • Delhi lies in a seismic zone. As a response to this factor, all walls are single storey in height and walls are to be structurally detached from the roof and non-load bearing.
STABILIZING AND PROCESSING The use of stabilizers or additives to enhance the properties of loam should be strictly based on necessity and ease of availability. Using substances that are not locally available at a reasonable cost, increases cost of construction, reduces sustainability and overall eliminates the advantages of earth construction. 188
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EVALUATING SUITABILITY OF LOAM The soil type identified through the tests carried out in the previous section is. The suitability of this soil type for construction in Delhi and under the specified design parameters, can be evaluated by analyzing its resistance against humidity, rain, heat and cold.
Humidity
Unlike the swelling and shrinkage caused by water, loam remains solid under the influence of vapor and can absorb excess humidity to balance indoor air humidity. Data indicates that over a period of 16 days, mud bricks absorb 50 times as much moisture as bricks baked at high temperatures. Clayey loam is known to absorb moisture at a faster rate than the other types, while silty loam absorbs a greater amount of moisture.
Rain
Based on composition, different loam mixtures show varied degrees of resistance to erosion due to running water. While the resistance is highest in clayey loam, clayey loam is also prone to shrinkage cracks which result in the absorption of rainwater and therefore, swelling. Additives are required to minimize shrinkage cracks and to make loam resistant to water erosion.
Heat and Cold
The thermal insulation of a material is linked to its porosity. Higher the porosity, lighter the material and therefore, higher its thermal insulation. In any loam type, light aggregates need to be added to increase its insulating property. Thermal expansion in walls is a result of exposure to extreme heat. It is seen to be significantly lower in loam walls than in cement and lime walls.
VIABLE STABILIZERS
Fig 6 . U-Values of loam
• Reducing Shrinkage: Shrinkage cracks can be avoided by replacing water with fluid thinning mediums such as Whey. Additionally, animal hair and fibers from coconuts can be added to increase the binding force and absorb excess water from loam to reduce shrinkage. Animal products are easily available and less costly than other alternatives. • Stabilization Against Water Erosion: Small percentages of Cement and Bitumen significantly protect loam with low clay content from erosion. Lime is preferred for loam with a high clay content. Alternatively, traditional Indian earth houses use a loam plaster with cow dung to cover the loam walls and protect them from running water. In recent years, a combination of lime and manure or lime and whey has proven to be the most effective. • Increasing Thermal Insulation: Additives such as straw, cork and wood shavings decrease the density of loam and increase its thermal insulation. The disadvantage of using straw is that if not dried well, it leads to fungus growth in the walls. Sawdust and wood-shaving are more suitable. Minerals like expanded clay and pumice lead to better insulation but are more suitable for extremely cold regions and have higher embodied energy. 189
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STAGE 3.1: METHOD OF CONSTRUCTION EARTH DUG OUT
Wet loam has been used across the world for centuries to fill gaps in wooden framed structures. Historically referred to as “Wattle and Daub”1, this technique was used in subtropical, tropical and moderate climates. This method is very labor intensive and is preferred for clayey soils.
RAMMED EARTH
EARTHEN BLOCKS
The technique of rammed earth can be dated as far back as 5000BC. The method consists of pouring 15cm thick layers of moist earth in form-work and then compacting them through the process of ramming. Recently, industrialized countries have mechanized this process and made it less labor intensive with the use of electrical rams and sophisticated form-work systems. Gravely and sandy soil types are most suitable for ramming. However, it is necessary for the loam to also have sufficient cohesion. Silty and Clayey soil can’t be used for ramming.
Earthen blocks include a wide variety of blocks differentiated on the basis how they are produced. • Adobes are manually produced, sun dried, clay bricks. • Compressed earth blocks or CEBs are derived from the ramming process and can be compacted manually or using a power press. • Green bricks are produced by an extruder and are unbaked. • Cut blocks are directly produced by cutting the soil on site. This is possible only in regions with adequately cohesive soils.
Rammed earth is ideal for regions where a high level of insulation is not required. But with light weight additives, the U-value can be increased. In comparison to other building methods, rammed earth shows less shrinkage and lasts longer.
While CEBs don’t require clayey soils, all other earthen blocks require either silty or clayey soil types. Building with earth blocks has historically been common in hot-dry, subtropical and moderate climates. Like other techniques, it is also labor intensive without mechanization.
DIRECT USE OF WET LOAM
POURED EARTH
Direct use of loam is the simplest method of construction as it does not require any tools. It requires a loam with high clay content and hence shows maximum shrinkage. Over the years, techniques have be evolved to minimize shrinkage, such as - using curved elements, decreasing the size of each element and using thinning mediums. 190
WET LOAM INFILL
Dugout architecture is an ancient method of building, predominantly used in hot and dry regions with soft soil and loess. In recent years, earth sheltered dwellings have been revived due to their high thermal insulation. Earth sheltered dwelling are not made of earth but are covered by it.
This technique has been developed recently and imitates the construction technique used for concrete. Loam of a liquid consistency is prepared and poured into the formwork, When dry, this form-work is removed. Sandy and gravely soil types are suitable, however stabilization with cement or lime is still required. High risk of shrinkage cracks.
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SUITABLE CONSTRUCTION METHOD Regional variations exist in all construction techniques. These variations stem from climatic and soil conditions, impact of traditional practices, availability of affordable labor and availability of mechanized equipment. Identifying a suitable method of construction for a project, needs to take all these factors into account. In a developing country like India, labor is more easily available and affordable than highly mechanized equipment. Moreover, owing to the sandy loam found in Delhi and the climate conditions discussed in the previous section, rammed earth and compressed earth blocks are the most viable construction methods. Compaction increases binding without the use of excess water and also increases compressive strength. Furthermore, due to a comparatively less amount of clay and water, shrinkage is minimized using these two methods.
RAMMED EARTH CONSTRUCTION Labor
The labor input varies based on how mechanized the ramming process is: (1) Traditional rammed earth (manual) : 20 to 30 hours per m3 (2) Electrical ramming and refined form-work: 10 hours per m3 It must be noted that these figures estimate the labor input based on average preparation, transportation and construction time1. An increase in any of these factors would affect the viability of the rammed earth construction process.
In- Situ Construction Vs Prefabrication
Several factors influence the decision to carry out in-situ construction. These are site specific: (1) Available quality and quantity of in-situ soil, (2) Color and texture of compacted material, (3) Transportation distances, (4) Storage of materials, (5) Opportunities for off-site fabrication6 Prefabrication is a highly mechanized alternative and primarily used in large scale projects. In-situ construction is more viable for a small scale project.
Pre-Construction Preparation
(1) Before construction commences on site, loam needs to be prepared using necessary additives and an adequate amount of water. Soil at the correct moisture content will readily compact under a rammer while soil that is too wet will not compact into a fixed form and will move around the rammer 6. The mixture needs to be at optimum moisture content prior to ramming. (2) Once prepared a suitable storage space on site needs to be identified. At all times, the stored material should be kept free from additional moisture as it is much easier to deal with a dry mixture than it is to deal with a extremely wet mixture. (3) Form-work also needs to built prior to construction. There are two types of form-work prevalent in the industry: static and moving. The latter is more time consuming and labor intensive as it requires constant adjustment. Form-work also varies in material and while timber sheathing boards are commonly used for form-works, proprietary concrete form-work can also be used. (4) Temporary opening blocks outs or supporting lintels are placed within the form-work to block out windows and door opening. This prior planning and coordination is important as 191
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STAGE 3.2: DESIGN The aim was to design an exhibition pavilion that displays the unique properties of earth as a building material and reinforces the central theme of this study: the viability of earthen architecture as a contemporary building material. In many parts of the world, there persists a stigma in relation to earth architecture and its ‘modernity’. The intention behind this design project was to break down this stigma and get people to view this building material as a viable alternative to concrete and baked brick.
Design Process With the design, the predominant question I sought to answer was: How does one break the stigma surrounding the use of a material? Walls became the predominant vocabulary of the design. The design also incorporates the element of nostalgia: familiar spaces, nooks and corners that resonate deeply with the occupant and provide them with a fresh perspective on earthen architecture, one that is completely removed from the stereotypes that they harbor.
Perspective of the middle wall, (Right) Isometric view of the Pavilion 192
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Perspective of the entrance to the Pavilion
Perspective of the study wall and the exit, (Right) Plan of the scheme
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STAGE 3.3: CONSTRUCTION TYPICAL CONSTRUCTION SEQUENCE FOR RAMMED EARTH
Fig 7 . Horizontal Layering Construction Sequence Sequencing is of particular importance whilst building with rammed earth. Building courses can be horizontally arranged or vertically. In the above sequence followed by Martin Rauch5, a horizontal layering approach is undertaken to avoid vertical joints between courses. In this instance, the rammed earth walls contain iron rebar running vertically along the wall and load-bearing concrete slabs separate the two floors.
REFERENCES BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES
(1) Gernot Minke, Building with Earth (2013), Basel(Switzerland), Birkhauser (2) Hugo Houben and Hubert Guillaud, Earth Construction (1994) (3) Horst Shroeder, Sustainable Building With Earth (2015), Cham, Springer International Publishing (4) Auroville Earth Institute. [online] Earth-auroville.com. Available at: <http://www. earth-auroville.com/building_with_earth_en.php> (5) Martin Rauch, Refined Earth: Construction and Design of Rammed Earth (2015), Detail, Germany (6) Peter W., Rowland K., Joe M., and Vasilios M., Rammed Earth: Design and Construction Guideline (2005), Watford, BRE Bookshop 196
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RELEVANT CONSTRUCTION DETAILS Erosion Checks
Erosion checks are horizontal elements that run the length of the wall and serve to disrupt the vertical flow of water along the wall. They are placed at approximate intervals of 40 to 60 cm. These horizontal strips enhance the overall visual impact of the structure and can be made of a variety of materials. Stone, brick, tile and trass lime mortar are frequently used as erosion checks in rammed earth walls.
Fig 8 . Section of trass lime mortar erosion check over a period of time
Movement Joints
Joints in a rammed earth wall are largely Dependant on the nature of sequencing and formwork used. Horizontal layering of rammed earth results in horizontal joints and is usually carried out by static form-work. These are not detailed as they are simple compressive joints6. However, in horizontal layering, special attention needs to be paid to the corner junction. To reduce the risk of water and mechanical damage- joints are usually chamfered. Vertical courses in rammed earth construction result in multiple vertical joints that need additional detailing to avoid loss of airtightness6.
IMAGE REFERENCES
Fig 1. Gernot Minke, Building with Earth (2013), Birkhauser, Page 19 Fig 2. : https://www.thoughtco.com/soil-classification-diagram-1441203 Fig 3. : https://www.globalgilson.com/blog/atterberg-limits-a-quick-reference-guide Fig 4: Gernot Minke, Building with Earth (2013), Birkhauser, Page 26 Fig 5: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Climate_of_Delhi#cite_note-IMDnormals-34 Fig 6: Gernot Minke, Building with Earth (2013), Birkhauser, Page 31 Fig 7,8 : Martin Rauch, Refined Earth: Construction and Design of Rammed Earth (2015), Detail, Germany, Page 73-77
197
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features, is blissful and makes me feel euphoric, a s i f a l l the problems one faces can be muted during those five minutes. Alan Watts is a wr iter on the South and South East Asian fa iths and has studied the spir itual na tur e of ones elf. The quote e mana tes hope an d contentment. ‘ To dre am any dr eam’. You realise fa te, whether you believ e in it, is attuned to you and your desires. It h elped me come to ter ms with losing two fa mily me mber s in the last six monthsone who pr actically r aised me, and th e other who I r emember holding in my ar ms the da y he was bor n. I fou nd it easy to slip into memories of the m both and wa s gratefu l I had many. Th es e memor ies are s napshots an image of their faces or for th e most par t, an undefined picture with the emotion of happiness or joy of just being with them.
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A floating city is ingrained in Japanese culture and an aspect is modernised by the Studio Ghibli film, Castle in the Sky. The founding nation in this story realised the power of its creation and so vowed to keep it hidden. It floats endlessly in the skies; the gardens tended by robots. Studio Ghibli is successful in conveying a story through abstract imaginations whilst keeping the audience in the dark about how this world works. The story is key to the production, with the visuals only to extract the emotions. Here it suggests the power of utopia is far too great for this world, and thus is surrounded by clouds obscuring its position and so forever unreachable. A suspended city traditionally evokes mystery, beauty, and intangibility, and I wanted to focus on the human aspect of it all. The magic of Studio Ghibli films is in the romanticism of everyday actions and chores focused around an individual. Perhaps this dream is an understanding of how one would live on this floating city. The notion of utopia is symbolic of the desire for a better world, and so I wanted to explore further symbolisms that evoke the same elation as dreams and imagination. My obsession began much earlier than this project, it emerged at around age fifteen in my art. I had a different approach back then; it was more a fear of the uncontrolled advances that render the individual nature of humans inexpressible. This exploration later developed into a longing for a perfect world on the rings of Saturn. The beauty and ephemerality of constructing buildings on ice travelling at 1100mph captured my imagination. Buildings there must take organic, abstract forms to withstand the otherworldly forces acting on it. This was a study into the translation of dreams and thoughts into visual form which was achieved through sculptures and colour.
My constant desire for a perfect world or even a better world, is most likely the reason I chose to become an architect. Prior to this personal exploration, the answer to the question ‘why become an architect?’ gravitated towards the aesthetic aspect and the focus on creation for others to enjoy and appreciate, and although those qualities are very important, I believe my worldview has broadened, and I would like to improve the environment. What defines a better place? ‘Improvement’ has such a personal definition which is intrinsically linked to social values and beliefs, that one cannot simply expect everyone to accept and appreciate a single version. For instance, a city with its vibrancy, its ability to welcome or anonymise someone, is a draw for many but not all. The divide between urban and rural is a legacy of the twentieth century that we can either accept or adapt. Piers Taylor when talking about London, says it lacks orientation and a connection to its wider surroundings at street level. I think this is a consequence of the anonymity cities provide, creating large labyrinths disconnected from reality. This element has become a feature in dystopian art, where even its connection to the sky is obscured. I personally like the diverse nature of cities and the freedom to behave beyond the limits of social convention. I wondered how the project could retain individuality and anonymity, and balance it with the openness and the friendliness of the countryside. This duality of connectedness and extrication, I later realise, had a profound impact on me and has translated into this project in multiple ways.
05 | Imagining the Future Dar es Salaam is wonderful city. I say that following research into its culture, its people, and the values of the community. Situated on the Indian Ocean, it grew from a fishing village into now an aspiring commercial and financial hub of East Africa. The city has, however, inadequate infrastructure and is facing further population surges from migration, and yet there is resilience within the community; cycling infrastructure and public transport is expanding and forming bridges between socioeconomic boundaries and they have retained their welcoming nature and culture. The city has brilliant, evocative, and playful street installations sculpted from upcycled metals; and the local Tinga Tinga style which is rooted in tradition has been redefining modern art. A lot of my previous utopian desires accepted the unattainable nature of it. The word itself means ‘no place’. But here I want to explore the tangible qualities of this dream. However unexpected or confusing the world of Studio Ghibli is, the viewer can relate to the character, the emotions that they feel and the problems that they face. If every fantasy is based on this world, why can’t we push the realities of this world, and hence produce the Floating City of Tanzania? Dar es Salaam is on a bay, shielded by Zanzibar and the natural curvature of the coast. A floating city on the relatively calm waters of the Indian Ocean is possible, and furthermore, the technological advantages of today can expel the myths that historically shrouded this fantasy. The kanga clothing of the women shadow the colourful buildings that surround them. It is almost a visual metaphor for their character of being open- highlighting the importance of people in a city. The streets are a melting pot of communities and backgrounds living harmoniously by their shared principle of accepting others. I believe utopia is a multifaceted notion. I talk about creating a place, but perhaps it is also a value that binds people together. This has parallels with some religions; how God is a part of us but is also a separate entity. In the same way people do good is ‘faith’, perhaps goodness is an act of utopia: an ephemeral spiritual spark. The display of this spark is a result of spontaneous acts of goodness. It is here, I think, the role of an architect is limited as they cannot recreate the perfect environment that stimulates kindness and selflessness. Designating human character undermines this perfect world- it paradoxically results in a dystopian fear. This further enforces the importance of considering individualism, and the ability for the people living there to have the freedom to live how they wish to.
I find it incredibly interesting the power that ideas have. Philosophy is essentially a collection of ideas and understandings, and likewise, perhaps this project can add to the ideas around a perfect world. Like my memories of my nan and cousin, I can produce glimpses of emotions and concepts that overall produce a world of delight.
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“Total situations are, therefore,
Patterns in time As much as
Patterns in space.” Alan Watts The multidimensional nature of progression is like roots reaching further into the unknown, and yet all these roots are inherently linked. No matter how evolved these roots become, they are attached to the same beginnings. While studying the culture of Tanzania, I became aware of the patterns within it, figuratively and quite literally. It seems the same principles repeat themselves in different forms: the streets mimic the prints in clothing, their vibrant characters are echoed in their marketplaces and so on. One cannot isolate a certain part of a culture without the understanding of what it has emerged from, nor will it retain its meaning due to the lost context. I found the idea difficult to resolve. As I am looking into this culture, my understanding is skewed due to my background. I am also only able to comprehend certain aspects of this society and I began to question to what extent am I able to translate what I’ve learnt into the design. Nevertheless, I acknowledge that this project is a proposition of ideas, and those residing there will have the freedom to make it their own. *** I became rather inspired by patterns during this project. There is a sense of freedom within each line or shape, the rebelliousness of forming a path with no restrictions, and yet a mathematical beauty and conclusion within the final piece. I learnt about Turing patterns- a theory that all individual elements can be combined to make a ‘homogenous, uniform state’. It’s this uniformity that I found key to the beauty of it. Much like entropy, all things desire equilibrium and whilst we can adapt our individual design by reforming ourselves, we still fit into this homogeneity of life. The older generation in my family claim mental health is a new issue in our lives. Before our minds were preoccupied with the endless fear for survival, but now we, at least predominantly in the west, have security in our lives. By saying this, they are not aiming to dissipate the importance of the issue, rather they are explaining how everyone has pain in their lives, for without, life would not have its value. It makes me consider, again, the inevitable failure of utopias, and that resolving an issue will result in the opposite happening elsewhere. But it is perhaps nihilistic in principle to believe you cannot empirically improve anything. I certainly believe you can improve yourself, and you can improve your outlook, and even if you face different issues, you are now in a better position to face these. And so regardless if the pattern remains the same, the design within this print can improve, and shine above that around it.
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WALL-E is a film foreshadowing the destruction of our planet due to waste. It is about humans inhabiting a spaceship light-years away, in a perfect world, with no sin as everything you desire is provided by the artificial intelligence. When a robot finds that life has survived on earth, and brings it back to the spaceship, the people fight the AI to rebegin life on earth. There are biblical parallels in this film- the plant is the apple, and Wall-E, the robot, is the serpent. The people had left their utopia to live a life of struggle on earth because they deemed their lives unworthy and undervalued. This paradise was imagined in spacespace being the theme in which this story revolved around. It was a blank canvas to imagine something that cannot be accomplished on earth. It
symbolised a distance from reality, a far away concept which made it believable and to an extent, possible. Contrastingly, Tanzania is an accessible place, facing tangible issues and the floating city that I am exploring cannot hide from reality. Nevertheless, I thought it to be fitting to have a theme that embodies this creation, and so like space, water has enabled me to dream this future. Water, of course, is something we cannot go without, and this divine liquid has filtered into most religions of today. It is synonymous with serenity, vitality and even prosperity in certain regions. It is revered for its sustenance but also its power to ruin. In Hinduism, life and death are united on the Ganges, and where the energy of the soul can pass. Energy can be produced and shared
through this city, where the water flows. Algae within the water will lead to a diurnal fluctuation in pH, which can then be harnessed to produce energy. Having these micro-powerstations along it epitomises this idea that the water is giving sustenance to those around it. Much like space, the water has led to different technical problems that need resolving, however, I wanted to begin by imagining a fulcrum where which its attributes can converge. This fulcrum, I decided, would be the restoration of the coral reef. Art is an expression of hope, identity, and emotion, and to have sculptures as the frame on which the corals can colonise on seemed to complete this picture. It will show that we can be hopeful of the future and we can live contentedly side by side with a fragile ecosystem.
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â&#x20AC;&#x153;Art is restoration: the idea is to repair the damages that are inflicted, to make something that is fragmented into something WHOLE .â&#x20AC;?
Louise Bourgeois
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207
it th s on ep t at e rs re y s is ui on t oft s all pin ed one en s c is n vie case he up te sa c re we an h n o l o e th h no gi ot t e in Ca ther; te rl l o J u ng a n rd e r ce ?
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ng
suggests the commodities we have may not suit or i the world. We often see people in extreme poverty hav We subconsciously believe they are happy with what they have, to make us feel better with the excess we consume. Whilst I agree my way of life is different from my neighbours, there are physical constants that we all depend on.
We were so engrossed with the potential of these new technologies, that we overlooked the damage it was causing. We now understand the impact of plastic, of individual transportation and of non-renewable energy. Perhaps we can reinvent the progression timeline of Tanzania, whilst retaining their freedom. We can create a sustainable built environment with an improved level of comfort by mitigating the negative impacts of modern design. For that we must look to nature for inspiration.
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With the advent of modern and experimental architecture, and even cultural movements, I feel we are having an identity crisis, manifesting in nationalism which is detrimental to both parties, as well as in some architecture where designs are not suited to its location- an example is Dubai, where a large amount of energy and money is spent on mitigating overheating due to bad design.
d
In Indonesia, reed beds can transform muddied rivers into crystal clear potable water. The water reduces in velocity, working its way through the reeds. Heavier silt particles settle, and lighter ones congregate around the stalks to form heavy clumps. And through this process, the water clears without the need for energy. In turn the reeds are fertilised and healthy, the coastal waters retain its water quality, and the reeds can be harvested as a biofuel or even as a buoyant base to built houses on, which happens in Peru.
209
I
saw
the
scattered
stalks over
as
the
beads canvas;
the water as the paint that runs
through;
and
the
silt
as tiny jewels (at least not aesthetically but in terms of importance) sun.
And
glinting
then
I
in
the
squinted
a
little more and I saw a village: houses,
Each
grass,
house
and
in
a
people.
village,
a
town or a city has a different story, people with individual lives,
feelings
and
hopes.
Each house adds a paragraph, and
each
paragraph
combines
to make a story. These beads that I imagine the reeds to be, are ideas, which combine and
collect
along
a
thread.
Together they form a necklace.
There is a sense of selflessness in the communities of Dar es Salaam.
Perhaps
these
beads
along this thread can reinvent what
they
washing
share.
facilities,
Communal food
and
market stalls, transportation, resources, and culture are all beads than
on
this
producing
route.
Rather
discrete
town
centres and cultural hubs, a long sinuous route will thread the city together. These beads will
become
microcosms
of
identity and a resource for all.
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We have all wondered how cool the world would be if we could fly. For me, the main excitement would be the euphoria combined with vertigo. If we bring in the ‘material frame’, what we would most like is to be untied to gravity, to have the freedom to travel anywhere, whenever. If we then rationalise this dream, and recreate what we desire, we realise it is a transportation system that revolves around us: our timetable, and our demand. Travelling around these lilypad-islands and the mainland will require multiple modes of conventional transport. A tram network will fulfil the ‘long distance’ travel- the route along this thread and onto the mainland. This will become the artery from which development will expand and will also bridge the communities on land and on water.
I r e a d a book a couple of years ago of a building along the Thames, and it mentioned how Londoners had somewhat turned their backs on it; from a past where many journeys were made along it, to a point where it became exclusively tourists. In an interview with Herzog and de Meuron, one of them commented on the number of bridges linking the two banks. He says it is almost as if we see it as only a barrier, unloved, not something that can be utilised. It contrasts earlier views as rivers linking places together. I want-ed the waters between the patchwork of towns to be appreciated, not as empty space, but a refuge from land. A floating city will inevitably have a lot of water, and while you are on this city, you should be aware of the landscape you inhabit. To see water as a refuge will perhaps be unique to this city.
‘We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. Oh no! We’ve got to go through it!’
The t h r e e channels provide food, energy, and beauty, but it will be a maintained space, a garden almost that courses through the whole project. The spaces between the islands will retain a natural quality, with banks filled with selfseeding plants and will be a haven for the local aquatic and coast-al wildlife. The beauty I find in unmaintained green spaces is how random the planting is, how small plants will fight for their right to exist. Somehow the hostility in the plants results in a tranquil environment. Greenness is not limited to parks and undeveloped land, but in crevices between paving stones and the built-up silt along the sides of buildings. To an extent letting go makes a space more vibrant and more lived in. Often new architecture can feel artificial and creating a completely artificial floating island will exacerbate this.
‘DREAMING IS THE MAIN FUNCTION OF THE MIND, AND
THE
MIND
DREAMS
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY. WHEN THE BRAIN IS AWAKE, THERE IS A MATERIAL FRAME THAT MAKES US PERCEIVE THINGS IN A LINEAR WAY. WHEN WE GO TO SLEEP… THE DREAM HAS THE TENDENCY TO CHANGE CONSTANTLY.’ DON MIGUEL RUIZ
This project is all about seeing water as not a barrier, or an unconquerable body, but a chance to create a better world. To cross water only on a series of bridges denigrates these channels into something unwanted. At the same time, I would not expect people to swim to go to the grocers on the other side. Water taxis as an intermediary system with hop-on-hop-off points will create jobs and a local transit system from residents to utilise.
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But what if we could fly and go over the water? A cable car network powered by the flowing water below is unimaginable as public transport in our cities. Although here is the perfect place for it, for its abundant sustainable energy and its geography. I would not simply say, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Why not?â&#x20AC;&#x2122;, I care more about it than to simply dismiss it as right-brain idea. Without it, the city is more rigid, more grown up. I am at the transitory stage where I am neither a teen nor an adult, and I will not choose a side. The playfulness of the street art in Dar es Salaam is testimony that they have rejected the expectations of adulthood. They have retained their creativity and nonconformity as a society, and I see that in this floating city when there are people swinging along 3 metres in the air. Cycling is an essential part of sustainable travel, and whilst most movement in the city will be multimodal, I wanted cycling to be able to cross all terrains. To cross the water, the bike will lock into these buoyant vessels forming a paddle boat.
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When I began this project, I was keen to make this relatively affordable, and although I did not let this limit the project, I began to consider how the floating city could be created
with local materials. Plastic pollution as we all know is becoming an everincreasing problem for the ocean, and Dar es Salaam is fortunate to have reef systems nearby. I was
pod
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wondering how this floating city could address the waste problem and be accessible to the local people. If recycling, and collecting waste became attractive, then this cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s
construction construction will will have have aa positive positive impact impact on on the the ocean. ocean. By By melting melting down down the the plastic plastic and and producing producing inflated inflatedpillows, pillows,much muchlike likethose thosemade made of of ETFE, ETFE, and and layering layering and and joining joining itit
together together will will create create aa large large platform platform that that should should take take the the weight weight of of the the city. city. The The weight weight will will however however push push the the pillows pillows down down creating creating aa band band below below the the water water that that could could be be used used
for for infrastructure. infrastructure. The The city city above above will will be be constructed constructed mainly mainly from from treated treated CLT CLT which which isis aa lighter lighter alternative alternative to to concrete, concrete, resistant resistant to to the the humidity, humidity, and and isis aa warm, warm, welcoming welcoming material. material.
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05 | Imagining the Future
The parks will sustain the biodiversity which will in turn reduce the need for pesticides on farms and allotments, as the natural balance will resolve any infestations. The farms will be predominately small holdings, which will minimise food waste but also give people a connection with their food. This will also mean the crops grown are diverse which will further help mitigate the risks of disease. The inner sections of the city will all be public land, split into allotments that residents can choose to cultivate. This means that all residents will have access to a personal green area, with the flexibility of it being a private or social space. These spaces can also be a canvas for art installations or pavilions for concerts and galleries. Art is often viewed as a reflection of how you view the world, an expression of emotion and beliefs. As I have mentioned earlier, a community or a society is a mutual understanding and acceptance of each other. The art, as gems along this thread, share peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s views and will strengthen their sense of community, and it will become a cultural trail in which visitors and tourists can explore to understand the people who live there.
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05 | Imagining the Future
Going Going back back to to the the concept concept of of water water as as the the keystone keystone that that
coheres coheres
this this
floating floating city, city, II looked looked to to see see how how water water can can be be cycled cycled efficiently. efficiently. II was was aware aware of of the the imbalance imbalance of of
nutrients nutrients
production, production,
in in but but
““IF IF THERE THERE IS IS MAGIC MAGIC ON ON THIS THIS PLANET, PLANET, IT IT IS IS CONTAINED CONTAINED IN IN WATER.” WATER.” LORAN LORANEISELY EISELY
food food from from
reading reading CJ CJ Lim’s Lim’s book, book, II understood understood the the extent extent of of the the damage. damage. The The algae algae streams streams will will collect collect nutrient nutrient run run off off from from the the river river basin basin to to generate generate energy, energy, and and the the filtration filtration reed reed system system will will
filter filter
nutrients nutrients
from from black black water, water, which which can can be be harvested harvested to to feed feed insects, insects, which which then then can can be be fed fed to to farmed farmed fish. fish. The The fish fish then then becomes becomes aa fresh fresh produce produce to to be be sold sold to to residents. residents. The The
excess excess
fish fish
food food
and and waste waste in in the the water water and and the the grey grey water water from from residents, residents, will will feed feed an an aquaponics aquaponics system system that that is is dispersed dispersed throughout throughout the the city city and and will will fertilise fertilise the the
crops crops
expanded expanded farmed farmed
growing growing clay. clay.
this this
way way
in in
Crops Crops will will
not not need need to to compete compete for for water water or or nutrients nutrients and and so so can can be be grown grown much much closer closer together together resulting resulting in in an an increased increased
efficiency. efficiency.
The The water water that that has has passed passed through through this this network network is is now now stripped stripped of of nutrients nutrients and and can can drain drain into into the the ocean. ocean. 219
05 | Imagining the Future
220
We consider
human architecture
unnatural when compared to dams built by beavers or hives built by bees. This may stem from a religious perspective of us being God’s ‘Great’ Creation or that we understand we are able to design beyond the need for survival. I think its more to do with disregarding the vernacular. Futurism of the 1910 s aimed to dispel the legacy of the past, a rebellious art style. It was often ridiculed for contradicting itself; my interpretation of this is our history is a fundamental part of us, and to disregard it, is to suppress a part of ourselves. We must look back to learn from it, and, although a cliché, to prevent history from repeating. Adobe architecture is suited to its environment, it deals with heat, it has a low embodied carbon and is accessible to people. Although using this building material on a floating island is unjustified, the principle of Adobe architecture can be applied- high thermal masses, considered openings for light and excellent ventilation. Vernacular
architecture
need,
local
uses
is
resources,
natural and
has
architecture, developed
and
it
has improved
adapted over
out
of
centuries. 221
05 | Imagining the Future
222
As I see it, a utopia is what the word suggests, ‘no-place’, but it is has a spiritual nature that emerges in small sparks. This project, which stems from a dream is my view on what makes a Eutopia- a ‘good-place’, and although I am not naïve to think there will be no bad, I believe it is a better world. My
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view throughout this project has been about community relations, acceptance, and friendliness, and that has held fast, but now it is also the harmony between us and nature. Like beavers, we can change the course of the river, but we should still be mindful of our impact, and we should aim to respond to nature, so
that our architecture is considered a part of the natural world. Whilst a floating city is certainly not natural, I would like to think it has emerged as has nature’s architecture, putting people and needs at the forefront of design.
Bibliography 01 / Confronting Identity - The Colonial Gaze - Juliette Moutin
03 / Reviewing Success - Lina Bo Bardi - Pontus Lee
Text Said, E. W., 1978. Orientalism . New York: Pantheon Books. Çelik, Z.,1997. Urban Forms and Colonial Confrontations: Algiers Under French Rule . Berkeley: University of California Press. Goichon, A-M., 1927. La vie féminine au Mzab . Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner. Staszak, J-F., 2018. Exotisation et érotisation d’un haut-lieu et bas-fond touristique : la Casbah d’Alger. Téoros [Online] Available from: http://journals.openedition.org/teoros/3360 [Accessed July 30 2020]. Favre, L., 1933. Tout l’inconnu de la Casbah d’Alger . Algiers: Baconnier. Kaddache, M., 1951. La casbah de nos jours . [Online] Algiers: Série culturelle: Alger. Available from: http://alger-roi.fr/Alger/documents_algeriens/culturel/pages/56_casbah_actuelle.htm [Accessed 04 August 2020]. Piaton, C., Hueber, J., Aiche, B., Lochard, T., 2016. Alger: Ville & Architecture 1830-1940 . Arles: Éditions Honoré Clair. Fanon, F., 1961. The Wretched of the Earth . London: Penguin (2001). LeCorbusier, 1935. La Ville radieuse (The Radiant City). Boulogne-sur-Seine: Éditions de l’Architecture d’Aujourd’hui. Dijar, K. A., 2009. Locating architecture, post-colonialism and culture: contextualisation in Algiers. The Journal of Architecture [Online], Volume 14 (Issue 2). Available from: https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/ full/10.1080/13602360902867392?src=recsys [Accessed 8 August 2020].
Text + Images Anelli, R., 2013. Lina Bo Bardi In The Frame Of Brazillian Architecture . Buergel, R., 2011. ‘This Exhibition Is an Accusation’: The Grammar of Display According to Lina Bo Bardi. Afterall: A Journal of Art, Context and Enquiry , (26), pp.51-57. Ferraz, M.C., 2012. Stones Against Diamonds. AA Files , (64), pp.78-79. Lima, Z., 2005. Preservation as Confrontation: The Work of Lina Bo Bardi. Future Anterior: Journal of Historic Preservation, History, Theory, and Criticism , 2(2), pp.24-33. Lima, Z., 2013. Lina Bo Bardi and the Architecture of Everyday Culture. Places Journal , [online] Available at: <https://placesjournal.org/article/lina-bo-bardi-and-the-architecture-of-everyday-culture> [Accessed 9 August 2020].
Images (Cover) Léon Cauvy, 1920s. Sur les terraces de la Casbah. (Plan of the Casbah) Unknown, c. 1900. Alger: La Casbah. (Ethnography photographs) Vollenweider, 1930s. L’Algérie pittoresque: Alger-Casbah. (Casbah from sea) Henry Parke, 1818. View of Algiers from the Sea. (Poster) Unknown, 1906. Exposition Coloniale Marseille Avril-Octobre 1906. (Postcard) L.-L., 1900s. Alger – Sur la terrasse. (Women on terrace) Frederick Bridgman, 1900s. Two Women of Algiers. (Women lounging) Eugène Delacroix, 1833. Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartment. (Cubist painting) Pablo Picasso, 1955. Les Femmes d’Alger. (Sainte Victoire) Paul Cézanne, 1888. La Montagne Sainte Victoire. (LeCorbusier sketches) LeCorbusier, 1950. Poésie sur Alger.
01 / Confronting Representation - The Life and Death of the Makoko Floating School - Harriet Dyke Text Etomi, I., Millard, J., Odiye, D., and Shemede, N., 2016. Makoko Education Fund [Online]. Available from: http://www.makoko.org/makoko-education-fund.html [Accessed: 25 July 2020] Frost, A., 2019. Primitivism . University of Bath. Unpublished. Gaestel, A., 2018. Things Fall Apart. The Atavist, [Online], 76. Available from: https://magazine.atavist.com/ things-fall-apart-makoko-floating-school [Accessed: 25 July 2020]. Harries, K., 1997. The ethical function of architecture . Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press. Immerwhar, D., 2007. The politics of architecture and urbanism in postcolonial Lagos, 1960–1986. Journal of African Cultural Studies , 19, pp. 165-186. Michael, C., 2016. ‘Lagos shows how a city can recover from a deep, deep pit’: Rem Koolhaas talks to Kunle Adeyemi. The Guardian , [Online] 26 February. Available from: https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/ feb/26/lagos-rem-koolhaas-kunle-adeyemi [Accessed: 25 July 2020]. Nlé, 2012. Lagos water communities project . Amsterdam: Nlé. Nlé, 2012. Makoko Floating School: Research Report . Amsterdam: Nlé. Nlé, 2016. Why did the Makoko Floating School collapse and other FAQs . Amsterdam: Nlé. Ogunlesi, T., 2016. Inside Makoko: danger and ingenuity in the world’s biggest floating slum. The Guardian , [Online] 23 February. Available from: https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/feb/23/makoko-lagosdanger-ingenuity-floating-slum [Accessed: 25 July 2020] Packer, G., 2006. The Megacity: Decoding the chaos of Lagos. The New Yorker [Online], 6 November. Available from: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2006/11/13/the-megacity [Accessed: 25 July 2020] Rudofsky, B., 1964. Architecture without Architects . New York: Doubleday. Van der Haak, B., 2014. Interview with Rem Koolhaas [Online]. Available from: http://lagos.submarinechannel. com/ [Accessed: 25 July 2020]. Images 1 | Nlé, 2012. Section A-A . [Online]. Available from: https://www.dropbox.com/s/5c1f2ws9yxx0avo/Makoko_ Architectural.pdf?dl=0 2 | Baan, I., 2013. [Online]. Available from: https://iwan.com/portfolio/makoko-floating-school-lagos-nigeria/ [Accessed: 25 July 2020] 3 | Nlé, 2012. [Online]. Available from: https://urbannext.net/makoko-floating-school/ [Accessed: 25 July 2020] 4 | Nlé, 2012. [Online]. Available from: http://www.nleworks.com/case/lagos-water-communities-project/ [Accessed: 25 July 2020] 5 | Baan, I., 2013. [Online]. Available from: https://iwan.com/portfolio/makoko-floating-school-lagos-nigeria/ [Accessed: 25 July 2020] 6 | Gaestel, A., 2018. A local man looks at the collapsed school. The Atavist, [Online], 76. Available from: https://magazine.atavist.com/things-fall-apart-makoko-floating-school [Accessed: 25 July 2020]. 7 | Baan, I., 2013. [Online]. Available from: https://iwan.com/portfolio/makoko-floating-school-lagos-nigeria/ [Accessed: 25 July 2020] Cover Image (Contains two images edited together by the author.) 1 | Baan, I., 2013. [Online]. Available from: https://iwan.com/portfolio/makoko-floating-school-lagos-nigeria/ [Accessed: 25 July 2020] 2 | Nlé, 2012. Section A-A . [Online]. Available from: https://www.dropbox.com/s/5c1f2ws9yxx0avo/Makoko_ Architectural.pdf?dl=0
02 / Perceiving Identity - Searching For Your "Self" in Your Home - Ema Ziya Text Alexander, C., 1979. The timeless way of building , New York: Oxford University Press. Bachelard, G., 1969. The Poetics of Space , Boston: Beacon Press. Cooper, C., 1974. The house as symbol of the Self , Stroudsberg, PA: Hutchinson & Ross Eliade, M. & Trask, W.R., 1959. The sacred and the profane: the nature of religion , New York: Harper & Row. Jacobi, J., 1957. Complex, Archetype, Symbol in the Psychology of C. G. Jung , New York: Pantheon Books
02 / Forming Identity - Atmosphere - Cormac Miller Text + Images Zumthor, P., 2006. Atmospheres: Architectural Environments. Surrounding Objects. 5th ed. Basel, Switzerland: Birkhäuser.
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03 / Reviewing Success - Kazuyo Sejima - Jason Tang Online Articles Archiweb, 2020. 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa [Online]. Archiweb. Available from: https://www.archiweb.cz/en/b/21st-century-museum-of-contemporary-art-kanazawa [Accessed 30 April 2020] Blau, E., 2010. 2010 Laureates Essay: Inventing New Hierarchies [Online]. The Pritzker Architecture Prize. Available from: https://www.pritzkerprize.com/sites/default/files/file_fields/field_files_inline/2010_essay_0. pdf [Accessed 29 April 2020] Cilento, K., 2010. Pritzker Ceremony/ SANAA [Online]. ArchDaily. Available from: https://www.archdaily. com/60480/pritzker-ceremony-sanaa [Accessed 30 April 2020] Fairs, M., 2010. Rolex Learning Center by SANAA [Online]. Dezeen. Available from: https://www.dezeen. com/2010/02/17/rolex-learning-center-by-sanaa/ [Accessed 28 April 2020] The Gentlewoman, 2010. Kazuyo Sejima: She can foresee the future of architecture [Online]. The Gentlewoman. Available from: https://thegentlewoman.co.uk/library/kazuyo-sejima [Accessed 29 April 2020] The Hayatt Foundation, 2010. Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa [Online]. The Pritzker Architecture Prize. Available from: https://www.pritzkerprize.com/biography-kazuyo-sejima-and-ryue-nishizawa [Accessed 29 April 2020] Press Information EPFL, 2010. EPFL Rolex Learning Center Press Information . [Online]. EPFL. Available from: https://www.epfl. ch/campus/visitors/buildings/rolex-learning-center/building/ [Accessed 28 April 2020] Videos Barbican Centre, 2017. Architecture on Stage: Kazuyo Sejima [Online]. Available from: https://www.youtube. com/watch?v=hnwwqkiUgiw&t=735s [Accessed 27 April 2020] Franco, JT., 2016. Kazuyo Sejima (SANAA) // The Architecture Project [Online]. Available from https://www. youtube.com/watch?time_continue=194&v=JE088Lz5qEE&feature=emb_logo [Accessed 30 April 2020] Gorgeous Space 幸 福 空 間 , 2018. 第 七 屆 亞 洲 設 計 獎: 妹 島 和 世 大 師 講 座 The 7th Asia Design Price: Masterclass by Kazuyo Sejima [Online]. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=rdGoZ7GfkEw&t=1098s [Accessed 27 April 2020] Lee, MY., Lau, YT., Tse, CC., 2013. 跟著設計去旅行:第三集 A Journey in Design: Episode 3 [Online]. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4uR1u0SbRU&t=1545s [Accessed 27 April 2020] Images Baan, IB., 2010. Rolex Learning Centre/ SANAA [Online]. Archdaily. Available from: https://www.archdaily. com/53536/rolex-learning-center-sanaa-by-iwan-baan [Accessed 8 May 2020] Columbia GSAPP, 2004. Canopy: Gathering Space (Kazuyo Sejima) [Online]. Flickr. Available from: https:// www.flickr.com/photos/gsapponline/15137242547/ [Accessed 8 May 2020] Cricursa, 2010. Rolex Learning Centre - EPFL / Schweiz, 2010 / Kazuyo Sejima + Ryue Nishizawa / SANAA [Online]. Cricursa. Available from: https://cricursa.com/de/p177/rolex-learning-centre---epfl [Accessed 8 May 2020] Fischer, AF., 2004. SANAA / KAZUYO SEJIMA + RYUE NISHIZAWA 21ST CENTURY MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART, KANAZAWA [Online]. Italy: Divisare. Available from: https://divisare.com/ projects/386149-sanaa-kazuyo-sejima-ryue-nishizawa-august-fischer-21st-century-museum-ofcontemporary-art-kanazawa [Accessed 8 May 2020] Helm, JH., 2012. Fotografia e Arquitetura: Pedro Kok [Online]. Archdaily. Available from: https://www. archdaily.com.br/br/01-46146/fotografia-e-arquitetura-pedro-kok [Accessed 8 May 2020] Open Image Data of Kanazawa City, 2013. 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa [Online]. Japan: Kanazawa City. Available from: http://open-imagedata.city.kanazawa.ishikawa.jp/ [Accessed 8 May 2020] Powell, PL., 2011. Rolex Learning Centre is a Work of Art [Online]. Art Rent and Lease. Available from: http:// artrentandlease.blogspot.com/2011/08/rolex-learning-center-is-work-of-art.html [Accessed 8 May 2020]
04 - Reading History / Redefining Tectonics / Meg Marumoto Text Archdaily, ‘Bishop Edward King Chapel’, 23rd May 2015, Accessed on 25th June 2020, https://www.archdaily. com/611186/bishop-edward-king-chapel-niall-mclaughlin-architects Barac, Matthew, ‘Pedagogy: University of Bath, UK’, The Architectural Review , 17th December 2012, accessed on 28th June 2020, https://www.architectural-review.com/essays/reviews/pedagogy-university-of-bathuk/8639834.article Bath Abbey, ‘History’, accessed on 10th June 2020, https://www.bathabbey.org/visiting/history/ Cadwell, Mike, Strange Details (Massachusetts, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2007) Cecilia, F. M., Levene, L., ‘A conversation with Stephanie MacDonald and Tome Emerson’, 6a Architects El Croquis 192, (2017), 4-10. Dal Co, Frances, Figures of architecture and Thought, in Frampton, Kenneth, ‘Greco-Gothic and Neo-Gothic: The Anglo-French Origins of Tectonic Form’, in Studies in Tectonic Culture: the Poetics of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Architecture , ed. John Cava (Chicago: MIT Press, 1995), 29-31. Eaton, Bruce, ‘Bath Abbey – Archaeologists floored by floor under floor’, Wessex Archaeology, 31st August 2018, Accessed on 14th June 2020, https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/news/bath-abbey-archaeologistsfloored-floor-under-floor Frampton, Kenneth, ‘Introduction: Reflections on the Scope of the Tectonic’, in Studies in Tectonic Culture: the Poetics of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Architecture , ed. John Cava (Chicago: MIT Press, 1995), 3, 4. Frampton, Kenneth, ‘The Rise of the Tectonic: Core Form and Art Form in the German Enlightenment, 17501870’, in Studies in Tectonic Culture: the Poetics of Construction in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Architecture , ed. John Cava (Chicago: MIT Press, 1995), 90. Feilden Clegg Bradley Studio, ‘Bath Abbey’, Feilden Clegg Bradley Studios, accessed on 10th June 2020, https://fcbstudios.com/work/view/bath-abbey Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings: Bath Abbey’, Wessex Archaeology, 15th January 2020, Accessed on 23rd June 2020, https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/news/tale-two-ceilings-bath-abbey Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 3: The Nave’, Wessex Archaeology, 20th January 2020, Accessed on 25th June 2020, https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/news/tale-two-ceilings-3-nave
Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 4: The North Aisle of the Nave’, Wessex Archaeology, 22nd January 2020, Accessed on 15th June 2020, https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/news/tale-two-ceilings-4-north-aislenave Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 5: The Grapes’, Wessex Archaeology, 24th January 2020, Accessed on 20th June 2020, https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/news/tale-two-ceilings-5-grapes Hidden Architecture, ‘Fondazione Querini Stampalia’, Hidden Architecture Journal, 31st October 2017, Online Accessed 17th July 2020, http://hiddenarchitecture.net/fondazione-querini-stampalia/ Ishizaka, Yasuaki, ‘講座 B 「建築はどのように作られるか 多摩美術大学図書館 ( 見学 )」’ (Lesson B “How is Architecture made Tama Arts University Library (Tour)” ), Ito Juku, 28th April 2013, Accessed on 10th June 2020, http://itojuku.or.jp/blog/1385 Ito, Toyo, ‘もののもつ力’ (The Power of Objects), 東西アスファルト事業協同組合 , 2006, Accessed on 10th June 2020, https://www.tozai-as.or.jp/mytech/06/06_ito14.html Jenks, Mike, ‘Special Report: BATH JOINING FORCES’, The Architects’ Journal Vol.182, Accessed on 5th June 2020, https://search-proquest-com.ezproxy1.bath.ac.uk/docview/1431369904?accountid=17230&rfr_id=inf o%3Axri%2Fsid%3Aprimo&imgSeq=1 Karvouni, Maria, Tectonics of the Human Body and Architectural Embodiments, 1996, Constructions for Tectonics for the Postindustrial World , ACSA European Conference, Copenhagen. Association of Collegiate Schools of Architecture, New York. Karvouni, Maria, Demas: The Human Body as a Tectonic Construct, in Chora3: Intervals in the Philosophy of Architecture , ed. Alberto Perez-Gomez and Stephen Parcell (McGill University History and Theory of Architecture Graduate Program, 1999), 103-110. Kruft, Hanno-Walter, History of Architectural Theory (New York, Princeton Architectural Press, 1994), 128-130, 168-170, 275,276. Laugier, Marc-Antoine, Essay on Architecture (Hennessey & Ingalls, 1985) Maulden, Robert, Tectonics in Architecture: From the Physical to the Metaphysical , Thesis (M.A.), Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Washington. Murray, Scott, Strange Details by Michael Cadwell , The Art Book Journal 16 (2009), 59-60. Niall McLaughlin Architects, ‘Bishop Edward King Chapel’, Accessed online on 25th June 2020, http://www. niallmclaughlin.com/projects/bishop-edward-king-chapel-oxford/ Online Etymology Dictionary, ‘build (v.)’, accessed on 11th June 2020, https://www.etymonline.com/word/build Online Etymology Dictionary, ‘techno-’, accessed on 11th June 2020, https://www.etymonline.com/word/ techno-#etymonline_v_7664 Online Etymology Dictionary, ‘tectonic (adj.)’, accessed on 11th June 2020, https://www.etymonline.com/word/ tectonic Ruairu O’Brien Art works, ‘Baukunst’, Accessed on 20th July 2020, http://www.ruairiobrien-artworks.com/ baukunst Ruskin, John, The Seven Lamps of Architecture , (Boston: Dana Estes & Company Publishers, 1849) Online Access: https://artclever.com/books/The%20Seven%20Lamps%20of%20Architecture%20by%20 John%20Ruskin.pdf Smith, Korydon H., ‘Architectural Theory in the Undergraduate Curriculum: a Pedagogical Alternative’, International Journal of Technology and Design Education 23 (2013), accessed on 26th June 2020, https://link-springer-com.ezproxy1.bath.ac.uk/article/10.1007/s10798-011-9165-5 The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica, ‘Tectonics’, Britannica, 20th July, 1998, accessed on the 11th June 2020, https://www.britannica.com/science/tectonics Thomas, Dylan., The Poetry Society, In My Craft or Sullen Art, Accessed online on 1st August 2020, https:// poetrysociety.org.uk/poems/in-my-craft-or-sullen-art/ Images Baan, Iwan, 2009, Online Accessed on 27th July 2020, https://iwan.com/portfolio/1-toyo-ito-tama-artuniversity-library-tokyo/ Hambleton, Chris, ‘A Tale of Two Ceilings 3: The Nave’, Wessex Archaeology, 20th January 2020, Accessed on 25th June 2020, https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/news/tale-two-ceilings-3-nave Niall McLaughlin Architects, Bishop Edward King Chapel, Accessed online on 27th July 2020, http://www. niallmclaughlin.com/projects/bishop-edward-king-chapel-oxford/ Petryszak, Francesca, Life on the Streets, University of Bath Annual 2020 - Bsc Architecture, Accessed online on 8th August 2020, https://issuu.com/bathenganddes/docs/2020_yearbook_bsc-compressed
05 - Imagining the Future - Sharing vs Privacy - Matthew Pembery Text https://www.molearchitects.co.uk/projects/housing/k1-cambridge-co-housing/#close http://www.mikhailriches.com/project/goldsmith-street/#slide-2 https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/loneliness-annual-report-the-first-year https://www.deemjournal.com/ https://space10.com/project/imagine-shared-living/ https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/loneliness-annual-report-the-first-year/loneliness-annualreport-january-2020--2
05 - Imagining the Future - A Study on the Viability of the Earth - Shreya Sarin Text (1) Gernot Minke, Building with Earth (2013), Basel(Switzerland), Birkhauser (2) Hugo Houben and Hubert Guillaud, Earth Construction (1994) (3) Horst Shroeder, Sustainable Building With Earth (2015), Cham, Springer International Publishing (4) Auroville Earth Institute. [online] Earth-auroville.com. Available at: <http://www.earth-auroville.com/ building_with_earth_en.php> (5) Martin Rauch, Refined Earth: Construction and Design of Rammed Earth (2015), Detail, Germany (6) Peter W., Rowland K., Joe M., and Vasilios M., Rammed Earth: Design and Construction Guideline (2005), Watford, BRE Bookshop Images Fig 1. Gernot Minke, Building with Earth (2013), Birkhauser, Page 19 Fig 2. : https://www.thoughtco.com/soil-classification-diagram-1441203 Fig 3. : https://www.globalgilson.com/blog/atterberg-limits-a-quick-reference-guide Fig 4: Gernot Minke, Building with Earth (2013), Birkhauser, Page 26 Fig 5: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Climate_of_Delhi#cite_note-IMDnormals-34 Fig 6: Gernot Minke, Building with Earth (2013), Birkhauser, Page 31 Fig 7,8 : Martin Rauch, Refined Earth: Construction and Design of Rammed Earth (2015), Detail, Germany, Page 73-77
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