Entries in architecture (72)
In 2009 Snøhetta paid £6 million to Kent County Council over the failure to keep the Turner Contemporary costs under control. The project, won by competition in 2001 had been estimated at £7.4 million but had gone up to £25 million by 2006 when the project was cancelled.
It was a lovely project: a great wooden shell on the water: like all Snøhetta work, visionary, conceptual and sculptural. We published it in On Site 4, 2001 and at the time I thought that if Margate, a disconsolate seaside town with a sad pier notwithstanding J W Turner painting there in the 19th century and thus the Turner gallery project, if Margate could choose such a brave path why couldn't the rest of us. Architecture can be anything, why not make it romantic and beautiful.
Unfortunately for my architecture of possibility, this project came to grief. But what is worse is that the Council did not go back to the other 5 short-listed projects from the original competition, but instead launched a second competition and chose David Chipperfield. His £17.5 million project recently opened and is something of a shock, not for its beauty but for its extreme dullness. It is like very cheap Meier: utilitarian, conventional white galleries – a warehouse no doubt technically proficient, but as a serious building for contemporary art, a real default position.
The architecture of the new Turner Contemporary proposes that art is a curious phenomenon that the building must avoid while going through the palaver of keeping it temperature-controlled. Snøhetta's original project proposed that Margate had a maritime history, that contemporary art was interdisciplinary and collaborative and would collaborate with the architecture, and that space has a presence rather than an absence.
It is terrible that the choice is between an architecture that is emotional and brave and one that is technocratic and bleak. This isn't modernism, it is utility and budget control masquerading as modernism.
The crux of it is the liberation from centralisation in Moscow which had previously laid down dictats about style. The architects of such experimental buildings did not become stars, they seem to have been genuinely experimental. But it is never architects alone, the client state has to lead the way by commissioning, enabling, paying for and promoting any kind of architecture for whatever reason.
That architecture is still taught as an idealistic discipline and then practiced as a pragmatic business is a slight problem here. Stars produce buildings as brands more often than as detailed investigations into accommodation. The epitome of this is Gehry's hubristic cloud in the Bois du Bolougne for Bernard Arnaud of LVMH, the ultimate brand-manufacturer, which has been stopped by what is in effect a community association for the care and welfare of the Bois, much, if the press is to be believed, to Gehry's fury.
What I find interesting about the Soviet buildings from Chaubin's book is that they are unknown to us, they are devoid of the language of late-capitalist modernism, and they seem fragile and optimistic. There is something quite cynical about the everyday architecture that I see, for example, filling up Calgary. It is repressive in a whole other way.
Frédéric Chaubin documents 90 soviet-era buildings in a new book, Cosmic Communist Constructions Photographed (CCCP- get it?). Some of the images are on the Guardian website, with the introduction:
'They reveal an unexpected rebirth of imagination, a burgeoning that took place from 1970 until 1990 and in which, contrary to the 20s and 30s, no school or main trend emerges. These building represent a chaotic impulse brought about by a decaying system. Their diversity announces the end of the Soviet Union.'
I find this commentary both spurious and confused. 1970 was a long way from 1989, must we continue to believe that Stalinism reigned implacable and as solid as concrete until the wall fell, and any sign of architectural exploration was necessarily aberrant and subversive? The relationship of architecture to political systems is rarely thought of outside the use of buildings as deliberately partisan symbols which, as most architects in practice know, is the least of a building's form.
In that architecture is a cultural product and as such comprises an archive of cultural systems, yes, one can point to the transparency of the International Style of the 1950s and 1960s as part of the USA's optimistic demonstration of its 'openness' in comparison to Soviet 'closedness', but the architects of such projects were not building political manifestos, they were absorbed in the exploration of curtain wall technology.
And since when is diversity seen as chaotic? The language used when speaking of the Soviet Union is still so slanted it makes one wonder if the Cold War is actually over.
A lovely panel of images from e|348's website showing where they are.
Póvoa de Varzim is a small town of 66,000 outside Porto in northern Portugal. Seems a hotbed of interesting architects.
Didier Faustino, such an architect despite the title of his exhibition: lots of brilliant talk while other little bods run around making the piece. Click on the image above to take you to a short video of the setting up of this project.
From the press release: '"Don't Trust Architects" by Didier Faustino at the Calouste Gulbekian Foundation. Didier Faustino is presenting a series of new pieces at the Calouste Gulbekian Foundation (Lisbon) from 14th January to 3rd April 2011. Five new installations produced for the exhibition will immerse visitors in the permanent confrontation of the body with architecture and architecture with movement, via visual and sound tools implemented by Faustino.'
This is a lovely little chapel, built in a triangular plaza where three roads meet in Santa Maria da Feira, Portugal. Here is a case where there is a dramatic photograph, and as it is unlikely we will ever see this chapel, could be simply dramatic photography, but no, it is actually a shapely little building by e|348.
This project comes, as usual with all the Portuguese projects I show here, from FG+SG, Fernando Guerro architectural photographer, who regularly sends photographic portfolios of new Portuguese architecture. While there is coverage of Alvaro Siza and Gonçalo Byrne, there are also very small projects from young firms.
And, thinking of issues of national identity, there is a real love of bleached wood floors and white plastered walls, and a minimalism that for a while I thought came from the photographer, but must come from a common sensibility where buildings – chapels, cottages, schools – are minimal containers for a rich life built by the inhabitants.
Ferando Guerro documents the material fabric of each project. e|348 photographed the chapel in use. We need both.
Alain de Botton is the creative director of Living Architecture, and identifies the architects they commission to build interesting houses around Britain. de Botton wrote a book a few years ago called The Architecture of Happiness, the secret art of furnishing your life. On his website description of the book he takes the usual swipe at architects: 'Whereas many architects are wary of openly discussing the word beauty, the book has at its centre the large and [faux] naïve question: 'What is a beautiful building?' and then proceeds to 'change the way we think about our homes, streets and ourselves'.
Thank you for that.
MVRDV, Rotterdam is Winy Maas, Jacob van Rijs and Nathalie de Vries, who had worked either with OMA or Mecanoo before forming MVRDV, a firm quite known for its starry and international architecture.
Living Architecture started by de Botton, commissions interesting world-class [his words] architects to build houses around the United Kingdom which are then rented out as holiday lets by Living Architecture, a 'not-for-profit organisation set up to revolutionise both architecture and UK holiday rentals'.
Well, this is the background to the photograph of The Balancing Barn by MVRDV. Edmund Sumner has taken an admittedly dramatic chrome-plated building and made it even more dramatic and soaring by the lens he has used. Was it not charged enough as it is? Why do philosophers and photographers insist that architecture needs jazzing up. I don't think they get it, but they do get an audience.
The stadium has been designed by Populous, formerly HOK Sport, and Peter Cook, with Buro Happold as engineers and built by Robert McAlpine. It is meant to be completely wrapped in a graphic skin which seems to have encountered a number of problems. The most recent solution is a wrapping of digitally active fabric.
This is a brilliant team: Populous, aka HOK Sport keeps it on time and on budget probably, Buro Happold makes it possible, Peter Cook thinks of things such as vast broadcasting screens, and Robert McAlpine builds it. Evidently the seats have already been installed, almost two years in advance of the event.
The velodrome, by Hopkins and Partners, is a hyperbolic paraboloid, the same roof shape as the Saddledome. This one is flatter and the supporting walls are wood panels that fit between the cables. The wood is meant to echo the wood cycle track, but it gives it a lightness that floats slightly above the ground. It is this lightness that perhaps concentrates the activitiy within: a suspension of time and belief at the performances that happen at Olympics.
Lost in society. When I lived one tube stop away from Brixton it had race riots and people lived in crumbling Victorian terraces if not in tower blocks – Dickens in the late twentieth century. Some things haven't changed much although Brixton has its gentrified pockets; Rowan Moore says it has the highest crime rate in Europe. This is the site of Zaha Hadid's Evelyn Grace Academy, a leaning z-shaped building with the running track shooting through it.
Rowan Moore's review is worth reading for how this project actually happened, who commissioned it, the educational and school-building context under Labour and why children who suffer much privation should have a serious piece of architecture in which to be schooled. He points out the architecture of Edward Robson whose schools were built across London under the Elementary Education Act of 1870 – buildings of grace and light, still in use today, although not always as schools.
The Evelyn Grace Academy is what we would call a charter school I suppose: strict discipline, uniforms, traditional teaching. The sense of it being a social service community centre is not in its brief. The architecture is, as Moore states, adult, rather than child-centred and cute. It supports the academy's expectation that students be adult and responsible.
Not sure what the students would think about it but I can compare it to the dreary box I went to school in, the imaginatively named NDSS, whose architecture supports (still) the expectation that students be careless with buildings and indifferent to architecture, and as I recall, careless with learning, and indifferent to almost everything.
Just finished reading Henning Mankell's The Man Who Smiled. There is always so much more in the books than in the television versions, good that they are. It is interesting, the huge number of detective books and dramas on offer right now, from the ongoing popularity of Agatha Christie to the relatively newly discovered Stig Larsson. What they all share is that the narrative, no matter how complex, is sorted out by the end of the book. In fact solving a conundrum is the end of the narrative. In Mankell most of the police wander about in a Swedish fog, pursuing dead ends, being sad, working to overcome personal difficulties, not being able to work because of personal difficulties, generally going nowhere other than collecting a lot of disconnected material and then at the 11th hour the focus sharpens and it all falls together. In real life things rarely fall together. Narratives drift, like dreams, into new stories, none of which ever really end. Perhaps this is why detective fiction is so popular: the genre guarantees that the story will end. How attractive. There is retribution, there is payback, I like it. It doesn't often happen
Early detectives - Holmes, Poirot, Whimsy - shot straight through all the clues. The story was complex, but logical. New detectives are plagued by personal demons, nothing is as it seems. This too is attractive. Life is very confusing. They bring order to it.
Thinking about architecture and how by its very nature it solves problems, whether those problems are program, density, image, brand, materiality or energy consumption. There is an end point, the building is done and its post-occupation narrative is not allowed to wander too far off expectations. Compared to other arts where difficulty and inconclusiveness have long been the norm, architecture is like a tightly plotted detective novel with no surprises. Should this be a measure of its success -- that it responds to our desire for the tidy ending in a sloppy uncontrollable world? Or, should architecture lean towards the fluid accommodation of extremely fluid and migratory life in the world today?
Jonathan Glancy wrote yesterday about this project in the Guardian, with a quick survey of informal building practices from found materials, from the precision of Walter Segal and the eccentricity of handmade houses in the 1970s to more current informal architecture in European cities.
A theatre out of pallets and scrap wood, ephemeral, shaggy; a political and social project. Kaltwasser and Kobberling's projects appear to be quite loved and propose an alternative to, as Glancy says, 'more public places and shopping malls'.
Here, and I can't see why it would be any different in Europe, building is so regulated and so narrowly conceived, that the thought of alternatives to our increasingly tedious urban environment is both fragile and socially provocative. It speaks to an intolerance of any kind of alternative ideas for everyday life. Propriety is a powerful social force, from Mrs Grundyism to repressive community associations that pass visually illiterate judgement on all new buildings proposed for their neighbourhoods.
We seem to be out of love with things that can be valued for their materials, or their cleverness, or their inherent beauty. Instead we seem to love brands and all that they represent. City branding is a particularly hot topic. Calgary is abandoning its previous brand, 'Calgary, the heart of the new west' underlined by a crayon cowboy hat, and has hired Gensler Los Angeles to come up with something better, which is going to be, evidently, 'Canada's most dynamic city'. As long as we think of a city or a building, or a house or a pair of shoes as a brand, it doesn't really matter what it actually is: the thing becomes invisible behind the brand.
Will there be room in Canada's most dynamic city for a theatre made out of pallets? Um. I don't think so, but we do have an enormous new Holt Renfrew, dazzling and white, and just like the Vancouver one.
The Canada Council has announced this year's Prix de Rome: it is Lateral Office, Lola Sheppard and Mason White, who have proposed a research project called Emergent North. They are off to Nunavut, the Yukon and the Northwest Territories, Alaska and Greenland to find and document northern settlements: 'the public realm, civic space, landscape and infrastructure emerging from a unique geography'.
Good, and grand. At last a Prix de Rome which is not dependent on going off to Europe or Asia, and while we are at it, might we also not shed the colonial name Prix de Rome and call it Prix d'Ottawa?
There are three components of Lateral's proposal. In Ice Road Truck Stops, ice road reinforcement mesh acts as a self-maintaining road building process and a support habitat for lake fish.
Caribou Pivot Stations are installations which provide feeding oases for migrating caribou (which find it hard uncover moss and lichen under an increasing number of ice layers in the snow pack). These micro-climates are made by a building which manipulates snow and wind to keep a clear feeding field throughout the winter.
Liquid Commons is a water-borne education system of school boats that operate between eleven Nunavut settlements: the opposite to the aggregate medical and educational facilities in the north that draw people out of their communities to a central hub.
The projects are a combination of ecological, social and infrastructural propositions. Yes there are physical things drawn out that one could call buildings, but which really are less relevant than the ambitions of each proposal. This is profoundly political architecture, moving the very definition of architecture from stylish spatial modulations of surface – especially in the north of metal siding in bright colours, to charts of concerns and how they might be addressed.
I think it is the first significant and independent Prix de Rome we have had.
MYCC consists of three Spanish architects who studied variously in Dresden, Rotterdam, Vienna and Dortmund and then all arrived at ETSAMadrid, graduating in 2005. Carmina Casajuana specialises in housing and urban design, Beatriz Casares works with Arquitectura Viva and Marcos Gonzalez is a specialist in urban environments.
The project shown here is a pre-fabricated house in Galiza: Prefab House Cedeira. MYCC's statement about prefabrication and modularity clearly distinguishes between houses that are manufactured and those that are built – 'Something that leads us to believe in the efficient assembly line of an industrial building, covered and controlled, unlike a traditional work setting at the mercy of external factors that determine the construction.'
Nothing too controversial here, this has been the argument for pre-fabrication for decades. However, there isn't a great history of pre-fab housing in Europe: it simply isn't in their architectural tradition as it is in North America. MYCC appears to be unhindered by the conventions of pre-fabrication with which our manufactured homes seem to struggle.
Right, so it is about the design, not the process. Perhaps. This house has a loft, it has a glass front, it has a rusted steel screen over the glass front with workable shutters in it. It is really beautiful, minimal, efficient, romantic. It looks like an art gallery, it really is a cabin in the woods.
Side walls and roof are the same material: from the photos it looks like an insulated steel panel. We have these. They are made in Airdrie and used to make ghastly imitation new urbanism housing for northern reserves. However, here in the Casa Cedeira, the side walls and roof wrap the two storeys: the gable end walls are glass and steel. How do we know this isn't Canada? None of the steps have handrails and so they read as plane changes. The main view of the ocean is screened, protected, rationed. The relationship between house and landscape, even given that this house is newly constructed and the site is still scarred, is pretty uncompromising: it sits like a barn — neither the house nor the landscape are mediated or softened. The hard line between building and site seems to have an urban sensibility to me. Anything romantic about it is contained within the building itself, in the screen, in the light and shadows inside, not in its relationship with nature.
I wonder if in Canada with our well discussed and theorised relationship with nature and survival, our cabins and cottages, camps and summer houses aren't too apologetic in their architecture, trying to either be invisible, or so deferential to things such as 'the view' that nature (whether it be the beach, the woods, or the front street) is over-exposed and unremitting. Cedeira is more like a little fortress, autonomous and very much in control of its position.
João Mendes Ribeiro is a Portuguese architect, set designer, performance artist, theorist. The core of Ribeiro's work, according to Vasco Pinto whose essay on Ribeiro one can read in the usual bizarre translation provided by Google, is Uma Mala-Mesa, a table which packs itself in and out of a suitcase. This transformative action is minimal in form, going from motion to stasis, from parts to construction to object, from solidity to spatiality. The suitcase-table has been constructed many times for different locations from Morocco to Berlin to Prague with slight variations each time, and presented as installation, performance, film and dance. Inherent in the suitcase-table is its double referencing, which Ribeiro takes into his architecture.
Ribeiro came to my attention through a Portuguese architectural photographer, Fernando Guerro, FG+SG who regularly sends us portfolios of new projects. Ribeiro and Cristina Guedes collaborated on the 2009 Casa das Caldeiras, a new art studies building at the University of Coimbra which used an old steam plant and added a new building to house a cafeteria, bookstore, academic spaces for graduate studies. Exhibition space is in the old coal room.
Pinto, writing from within Portuguese culture sees the Casa das Caldeiras as about the primacy of form, and in the 100 or so photographs of this project you can see the theatricality of many of the spatial decisions: staircases are great wood sculptures in white-walled galleries, an outside deck is as narrow and precarious as a gangway over a stage.
If there are any double references it is in the elision of architecture and performance, the conceptual underpinning to Ribeiro's work. The sense of architecture here is not narrowly described as programme, or brand, or image, or budget, or context. If these five conditions circumscribe one's architecture, then that is the architecture that results. Last week I went to an absolutely numbing lecture by a well-known and respected Canadian architect who spoke only in these terms. When I wrote the other day about work being used merely as a trigger for topical critical discourse, it has to be understood that there must be something in the work to initially nourish the discourse, something more than a preoccupation with image and brand.
Why does new work from Europe often look so beautiful? I don't think it is my un-decolonised self asking this question, rather it is a recognition that the terms of reference we work under are not the only ones that contribute to the making of architecture.