Saturday 31 December 2016

The whole and the parts

The whole and the parts 

Cycling through the Dutch countryside, wondering why the flocks of Canadian geese haven't left yet, despite the time of the year, despite the temperature that has been around the freezing point for some time now, I listen to a podcast of The infinite monkey cage about ghosts. Its enjoyable but predictable, until Neil deGrasse Tyson remarked that we shouldn't be talking about bodies without heads but about heads without bodies; not "off with his head" but "off with his body". It's a clever remark: there are too many prejudiced embodied in our languages and our ways of thinking. We know that the head is the critical part of a person but we insist on talking about it as if it were a secondary limb. We equate the body with the person rather than seeing it as an extension of the head. Looking around, I have to acknowledge that similar biases exist everywhere, mostly in favour of the interfaces through which we interact with things: computer screens are the computer (especially now that many respond to touch); the tabletop is often the table. But with bodies and heads, it's different and more intriguing. Is it just that the biggest of the two dominates or does it have with old ideas like Plato's belief that the head is just a blood cooler? I think it's more than that. We don't often fall in love with just a head but falling in love with just a body is rather common. In the domain of intricate relations between the whole and the parts, bodies occupy a particular position.

Friday 30 December 2016

Ginnels and snickets

Ginnels and snickets

It's fascinated when words become quite specific, when they relate to particular variations of things widely familiar, especially variations of type and context. For example, one can find narrow, pedestrian alleyways between the back yards of houses in many countries. In the Netherlands it's through such alleyways that one often enters his back yard with a bicycle in tow . In contrast to streets, these alleyways usually have no name; despite being familiar to the whole neighbourhood, one can only refer them by reference to the houses they separate.

In the north of England, these alleyways are called ginnels or snickets and I cannot hear these words without immediately thinking of long vistas, strictly defined by brick walls, fences and sheds under clouded skies - images from films and television dramas. Reversely, when some Northern drama visits such stereotypes and the words immediately come to my mind, making me rather proud that I know such terms, despite having never lived in the north of England.

Thursday 29 December 2016

Rituals of access

Rituals of access

In Andrea Camilleri's Paper Moon, following frustrating experience with a secure bank entrance, inspector Montalbano considers writing a text on the ceremony of access and how it is intended to make you feel secure while there is no guarantee that you actually are. This is something more and more people realising with various security measures, including the demanding ones at airports. However, such rituals predate current security issues and are built in the affordances many entrances. For example, revolving doors are intended to restrict air flow and reduce drafts between indoors and outdoors. They also regulate pedestrian flow, making us slow down and go in or out in small numbers, ensuring that we've paid a ticket or that we don't go in the wrong direction (as with turnstiles). They manage to constrain our behaviour so effectively that we seldom rebel against their tyranny; we accept them as part of the experience and even welcome the adjustment they offer. When I see unobtrusive yet major design successes, I realise how natural the built environment can be.

Wednesday 28 December 2016

Publish or perish

Publish or perish

Literature reviews are getting harder by the day, not only because there are too many papers published in scientific journals and conference but also because most of them tell little if anything new. The pressure to publish regularly and the constraints journals impose in the name of proper research are trivialising publication. I'd rather have people publish one significant thing every five years than cut it up into ten pieces so that two papers can be publish every year.

Another thing is that we shouldn't equate publication with research. Publications and citations are useful indications but essentially proxies of one's work. Research is about getting to know stuff and many times it amounts to replicating what others have already done in order to fully understand it. How does one measure this deep, thorough understanding? Review papers could be a way but journals do not encourage them. Finally, one should not underestimate reading: big chunks of research time go into reading - not just browsing the abstracts and conclusions in order to collect citations for one's own papers but proper reading, with full comprehension. That's not just a preamble to doing one's research, it's a core research activity and performance.

Tuesday 27 December 2016

Art or science

Art or science 

Is architecture (or design, in general) an art or a science? I've had the feeling that this was a rather unproductive debate long before I came across the suggestion that both art and science are just two facets of the same human intellectual attempt at improvement, exploration and understanding (e.g. in Lisa Jardine's work) or unifying approaches to human cognition through viewpoints like information processing or problem solving (e.g. by Herbert Simon). My key problem with such lofty debates is that they are exactly sidetracking us from fundamental issues in our cognition and history towards superficial demarcations that simply confine our thinking within conventions and arbitrary goals. I'd rather spend my time trying to unravel the former issues than servicing supportive silos. One doesn't get thanks for doing so but the satisfaction that comes from even minor revelations can be great.

Monday 26 December 2016

Wind farms and Futurism

Wind farms and Futurism 

The aesthetic arguments against wind farms, voiced mainly in artistic circles, amaze me. That people would single out wind turbines among the ugliness that surrounds us is puzzling and rather hypocritical, especially when supported by comparisons with other machines that are supposedly beautiful, like locomotives. Even worse, the beauty of locomotives and the like is chiefly by reference to what Futurists used to preach.

I hear such arguments and want to scream at them, tell them that they're just reiterating what Futurists had said 100 years ago, that they lack the critical capacity to understand and interpret it for our times. I'm certain that if those Futurists were alive today, they would be ecstatic about wind turbines. Just the idea that electricity is being generated and flowing in them would bring them to the brink of an orgasm; the mere size of turbines would fascinate them; the dramatic movement of the blades would enthuse them; and the repetition of turbines in artificial ridges on top of a tamed landscaped would probably form the ultimate example of the triumph of technology. Yes, I'm sure Futurists would be fervent proponents of wind farms primarily on aesthetic grounds.

Sunday 25 December 2016

Architecture and criminality

Architecture and criminality 

Almost a year ago, in an article for the Sunday Times, the then UK Prime Minister David Cameron (a lot can happen in less than a year) described sink estates as concrete slabs dropped form on high, brutal high-rise towers and dark alleyways that are a gift to criminals and drug dealers, adding that decades of neglect have led to gangs and antisocial behaviour. The solution he proposed was to knock the worst estates down and redevelop them with private capital (I guess that some estates are at prime locations). The government would inject 140 million pounds to rehouse occupants and tear up planning rules to speed up the process (every time I hear about speeding up planning and design processes I think it's a great way to escape scrutiny).

I heard about it back then on The News Quiz. Miles Jump who was presenting it commented: "Of course, that's what drives most people to crime: architecture".

Saturday 24 December 2016

South Bank, London

South Bank, London

When I first went there is 1986, it was an unloved and underused area. The concrete terraces exposed the clumsy side of Brutalism to both people and the elements. Under the overcast London sky, it was a desolate and uninviting landscape. People expressed negative opinions about it. Concrete, Brutalism, Modernism were all out and the empty terraces suggested that the complex was well past it prime. If I'm not mistaken, there was talk of demolishing it back then. Still, I must admit I like it. It's not just that I have a soft spot for Modernism (provided that the building is not just a collection of morphological elements), I actually liked the space it offered.

A couple of decades later, the South Bank was completely transformed into a lively area, full of people and activities. The same spaces that used to be empty and looked rather forlorn now accommodated them apparently well. How can one explain the change? I double that people's perceptions of exposed concrete have changed. It remains a material that ages ungracefully and feels rather unfriendly. Granted, Modernism and even Brutalism have now entered the retro sphere and so have become more acceptable. But I suspect that above all people care less about all that because they can bow focus on what is happening, join in and enjoy themselves. The built environment no longer oppresses them; it becomes a fuzzy background to their lives - and this can be a great compliment to any design, regardless of style.

Friday 23 December 2016

What is architecture?

What is architecture? 

Is architecture what architects do, make, think, believe? Boring old question and the answer is obviously not: architecture is possible without architects (whether these are defined by training or inclination). One doesn't even have to be a builder to produce architecture (as in vernacular traditions). It's probably safer to define architecture as a fundamental human tendency and capacity, similarly to poetry, music or technology: we need architecture to add meaning to the environments we construct and inhabit, to move beyond the basic yet critical achievement of shelter and accommodation. Architecture should be considered as a societal and cultural layer that architects service rather than determine. I've been told that only a minority of buildings is designed by architects, yet practically every building has architectural aspirations, for example decoration in a possibly recognisable architectural style.

This doesn't make architects superfluous or irrelevant; they remain custodians of architecture, which gives them the opportunity to introduce and interpret, to redirect and safeguard - and they can do it, provide it they manage to avoid hubris: they shouldn't believe they're entitled to do whatever they want, that they are infallible, as was the case with high-rise council flats in post-World War 2 England. These did not develop as social reformers and architects naively believed, bringing much discredit to British modernism, which was ironically following rather interesting directions at the time (late modernism).

Thursday 22 December 2016

Audiences

Audiences

Architecture manages to affect us all in profound ways. We live in architecture, work in architecture, recreate in architecture, spend at least one third of our life income on architecture. Still, most people don't seem to take architecture seriously enough. In comparison to other design and construction products, we tolerate too much in architecture and we are willing to pay too much for what it has to offer. Perhaps we are used to low performance and high costs, so a little more or a little less hardly matters.

Maybe that's why many architects pay little attention to the users of their designs. They pay more attention to their clients but often treat them too as a necessary evil and simply tolerate them because they are paying for their services. Their true audience is other architects: with every design they want to impress other architects, outdo them and improve their standing (perhaps we should have rankings for architects, just like in tennis; it could be fun). Even worse, I often have the feeling that the main part of this audience consists of students; neophytes and novices hungry for knowledge and success. Architectural education remains a matter of imitation rather than apprenticeship.

Wednesday 21 December 2016

Architecture in comedy

Architecture in comedy

Architecture is serious business and architects do their best to radiate seriousness. This is probably why architects and architecture are not among the favourite subjects of comedy, together with all other pompous professions - or maybe it's because architects, despite their desire for gentrification, never managed to become real authority figures, so they do not attract (or merit) ridicule as much.

If you ask an architect what their favourite film on architecture is, they'll probably say The Fountainhead or something similarly earnest or artistic. Mine has to be a comedy: Mr Blandings builds his dream house. It has everything: city folks desirous of living in the country; an architect powerless to control clients or builders; a builder who's a bit of a cheat - and all the trimmings of a clever American comedy of the 1940s.

There are two parts that really make me laugh. The first is when Mr Blandings gets advice from various builders as to what to do with the house he has just bought in the country. In a sequence of quick cuts everybody tells him to tear it down - I love it when experts agree. The second is when Mrs Blandings meticulously specifies the colours of the interiors by reference to all kinds of stuff including a specific kind of butter; the builder just nods, accepts samples and when she leaves he turns to his painter and says: "White, green, yellow ...".

The same had happened to me when I was a student and had taken a job with a construction firm that was building a factory for a Japanese company. The Japanese engineers who were supervising the project were quite precise; one day they insisted that some railings should be painted in a particular RAL value. My boss was mystified and asked me to find out what the colour was (and what RAL was). I explained it was a yellow hue, so he summarily decided on the standard yellow colour the firm was using in all projects. The result made the Japanese happy. Proudly they told me that it was thanks to them insisting on using RAL. Standardization helps communication, they said.

Tuesday 20 December 2016

Uses of theory

Uses of theory 

Architectural theory has often been used to distinguish between tendencies, styles and architects, while one would expect a domain theory to unify, without morphological or other prejudice, to uncover common elements and explain underlying factors. Instead, architectural theory is laden with manifestos and polemics, attempts to justify and promote. Comparisons are often made only to damn opponents or subjugate the past to arbitrary conclusions.

One might appreciate architects' passion for their ambitions and preoccupations but when it comes to theory, a dispassionate attitude would be better. If I were cynical, I might claim that there is little that qualifies as theory in architectural writing. Statements, opinions and the like appear to carry too much weight if uttered by the currently famous but who does still remember those who used to be famous a few decades ago, let alone read what they had written?

I've tried to return to such texts and most of them seemed too dated and superficial. Yesterday's news may wrap today's fish but architectural theories of the past don't even merit such a re-use. They just gather dust in some neglected corner of a library. Very few show any interest because such theories fail to establish continuity, to develop lines along which they are propagated to reach us in the present (except of course the stubborn attachment of many teachers, especially to what they'd learned as students).

Monday 19 December 2016

The wood and the trees

The wood and the trees

When it comes to digital design, computer-aided design, computational design, design computing or whatever you want to call it, I have increasingly the feeling that we cannot see the wood for the trees. We're always into something -some approach, some technology, some technique- that seems to absorb us completely. I look back at the considerable literature produced in this area and such matters appear to dominate: there's arguably too much research done into issues that appeal to the initiated only. One should not underestimate the technical challenges involved in applying computer technologies to architecture but however elegant, intriguing or fundamental, these challenges are only part of the story and moreover a part that doesn't promote the story to a wider audience. If there's some value in computational applications in architecture, we should surely search for it in cognitive and social areas. While we struggle with BIM servers, social media are proliferating society; we talk about 4D, 5D etc. but pay little attention to how one recognizes an architectural representation.Having worked with enough computing technologies, I've grown less sensitive to new ones that essentially repeat the promise of earlier ones and even to new applications (after all, they tend to be structurally similar to earlier ones) but my interest in what happens in one's head and between it and the world remains undiminished.

Sunday 18 December 2016

5D, 6D and even more

5D, 6D and even more 

3D goes without saying: the things architects design are made in 3D, so it's an obvious necessity. 4D is interesting, especially if the addition of the temporal dimension is not just an arbitrary time stamp but a product of interdependence between objects and actions: it's logical that a wall should be painted after it has been plastered but it does happen that even these basic things are poorly planned.

What about 5D, 6D and more - which are these dimensions, where do they come from? In most cases, 5D in BIM refers to cost. This feels like a letdown. Technically, one could find support for adding a new information type to a representation and calling it a dimension. However, looking at it from the viewpoint of semantic information, cost is derivative information: something that can be calculated on the basis of primary information, i.e. quantities and qualities in the model, contextual information that determines difficulty in execution, the need for special equipment etc. Any additional information like prices for materials and labour derive from external, linked sources rather than the model itself.

A basic rule in any information system is to never include derivative information. For example, the birth date of a person is explicitly found in a database but the age of this person is just calculated on the basis of their birth date. Similarly, in BIM the floor area of a space is not a dimension we add to the object but a calculation of two properties corresponding to two dimensions. Consequently, I'm inclined to dismiss 5D, 6D etc. in BIM as redundant and counterproductive - and I don't care to hear counterarguments about metaphors and the like: such constructs should elucidate, not obfuscate.

Saturday 17 December 2016

3D

3D

When most people talk about 3D, it's about depth perception, about combining two pictures of a scene (as we do with our two eyes) to actually see rather than infer the distance and relative position of objects. In architecture, when we talk about 3D, it's about the height of objects, the Z axis in our representations. This is arguably typical of architecture: we don't look at the world, we look at our own tools and conventions. Perhaps the saddest thing is that we don't appear to celebrate the ingenuity of these tools: 2D representations aren't boring, stupid means to be replaced by 3D representations as soon as possible; at least some of them are great ways of describing aspects of the real world, making them accessible and manageable.

No, I'm wrong: the saddest thing was that many years ago, when I was pushing for 3D and making people work towards it by putting floor plans on top of each other and cross sections at the right places, discrepancies of even 50 cm between floors were not uncommon. Of course, at the same time, when we put floor plans of adjacent buildings next to each other we discovered gaps of up to fifteen degrees. That's the saddest: not being able to use one's tools properly - and this won't improve with 3D.

Friday 16 December 2016

Filling forms

Filling forms

I've spent yet another day talking to people about research - or rather how we could fund research. Good intentions and willingness to make something of it all round but it melted down to filling yet another grant form, highly redundant and over-analytical. It's not easy making a distinction between research output and research results, deliverables, products, proofs of concept, demonstrations, pilots and all other near-synonyms. An officious young agent or official from the grant organisation, with full hipster insignia, was getting impatient with out lack of knowledge and understanding of their jargon. The group, large and varied, was confused and confusing, slow and difficult to move but in the end, with the help of tiredness, we managed to reach an almost satisfactory result. With growing impatience I tried to push ahead, making my voice heard a bit too often. I regret that; I prefer to be in the background and contribute at crucial points rather than pull the group towards any direction.

One could have called it a successful day in all. Even the travel (by Thalys train, a real joy despite the overcrowding) was relaxed and efficient. Still, I can't help feeling failed and betrayed. We talked with complete disregard for real research and its applications. If anyone in the group knew the state of the art in the areas involved, they didn't let on. What we had written could have been compiled by a high-school student doing a school project on the basis of a cursory Internet search. Weak, weak researchers: rather than doing our work properly and showing people what should and could be done, letting them gather round and forge great new things, we beg at the tables of the accidentally powerful and derive our research agenda from incoherent, incomplete and often obvious policy documents.

Thursday 15 December 2016

Prado revisited

Prado revisited 

Back in 1978 I'd spent a couple of joyous days at the Prado Museum. It was my first time at a major art museum and the opportunity to study at close proximity (they used to be less protective of artworks back then) so much stuff I'd seen only in small, often greyscale photographs was fascinating. This autumn I went back to Madrid and took the opportunity to revisit the Prado. The visit gave rise to mixed feeling. On the one hand, the collection still enthuses me. Being able to observe the real paintings reveals so much. Once again I admired how Greco makes me look towards the heaven with his multitiered religious compositions but also how he worked the outlines of his figures. Goya is an undeniable master of composition and mood but there seemed to be something wrong with the foreshortening of some arms and thighs, as if the limbs were slightly dislocated. Above all, Velazquez was the star of the visit: what a painter! I couldn't help admiring practically everything he has made.

On the other hand, the building could have been much better. It's not only that the crowds are not facilitated at critical points like the thoroughly disappointing entrance where brusque staff herds and hurries them, there were also few rooms in the museum where visitors could form some overview of their meanderings in relation to the galleries. Everyone relied too much on their little floor plans and still managed to pass the same rooms again and again. Of course, this gave opportunities to see stuff one might have missed the previous times, as the worst with the museum was that so many great works of art were positioned too close to each other, making me feel uncomfortable. There was precious little room and time to really appreciate each magnificent painting. One pace was often enough for something different to enter my field of vision and distract me from what I was enjoying, and in a crowded museum one can't often pick the perfect spot. So, while I'm thankful that they've gathered so much and made it available, I wonder why museums have grown into non-places: physical catalogues for quick browsing or physical swiping and do not afford a leisurely stroll through art.

Wednesday 14 December 2016

A modern amphitheatre

A modern amphitheatre 

At a concert in the main auditorium (Grote Zaal) of the TivoliVredenburg in Utrecht. It's the only part that remains of the original Vredenburg theatre by Herman Hertzberger. During the recent restoration it was spared much change: its morphology, furniture and furnishings remain rooted in the modernism and brutalism of the 1960s and 1970s. In comparison to earlier and later theatres it has an inexpensive, informal appearance that does little to endear it to the visitor, although it is deeply familiar, reminiscent of so many formative environments from that period - schools, libraries, hospitals, neighbourhood cafés.




The space of the octagonal amphitheatre helps one go beyond such matters: it's a large hall that nevertheless feels intimate, probably because many parts are dimensioned smaller than one would expect. This clever trick works admirably well in the auditorium but not so well around it. There, all one experiences is a labyrinthine network of corridors, lots of small, complex circulation spaces, with little room to stand and wait, except for a number of cute little niches. The number of the niches may be large enough but their size and dispersion make them seem more like incidental appendages to the corridors.



I admit to having a soft spot for this kind of architecture but I try to be objective about my darlings. The bottom line is that I'm glad they preserved the Grote Zaal; as a theatre it's worth having; as a monument of past Dutch architectural tendencies it's worth studying.



A few words on the TivoliVredenburg building

Tuesday 13 December 2016

Conceptual design

Conceptual design 

The purpose of a conceptual design is to provide evidence for the solution of a problem and to show what distinguishes this particular solution from the others. It is therefore important to know which features or other information should be present in a conceptual design to perform this dual task.

Firstly, we need to know what the problem entails, how it is composed from the goals and requirements of the brief, the constraints of the location, the challenges designers undertake (aesthetic, typologic, structural etc.). This calls for an inclusive approach that does not prioritise or neglect.

Secondly, we need some objective criteria for describing and evaluating design claims: a basis for analysing features of the design and linking them not only to behaviour and performance but also to similar designs in comparisons that explain. Typology used to promise a lot in this respect.

So, in conclusion, it may be time for different conceptual design representations, less elliptical in terms of information and more robust and analytical than the sketches and diagrams we have been using for too long now.

Monday 12 December 2016

Montagne de Bueren

Montagne de Bueren, Liège, Belgium

Liège is not a city I've ever considered exploring, learning and appreciating its pleasures. I've passed it many times on the way to and from the Ardennes but it was only this autumn that I decided to stop and see something of the city. Having just six hours at my disposal, I'd made a note of a couple of apparently decent restaurants for lunch and a couple of museums with local themes. In the end I visited just one place, the one on the top of my short list: the Montagne de Bueren.

Liège did not disproved expectations as the car moved from the Ardennes highway to the city centre: everything seemed drab and tired; lively on a Sunday morning but uninspiring. I parked the car at the first available spot near my destination, much to the frustration of several cars behind me, who weren't thrilled at the good luck of a vehicle with Dutch number plates. For about five minutes I walked along a street that didn't even give a single sign of former glory but suddenly I saw to my right the 374 steps, bathed in the pale light of the misty noon.



Climbing the stairs was a transition in time, from the disappointing present to past decades reflected in the morphology of buildings that were often in poor repair but nevertheless quite joyful as they perched on their plots enjoying the sunshine and the view. The air remained misty but even so it was clear why people braved the discomforts of living along a steep stairway.



The Citadelle at the top of the hill was little more than a colourless urban park. With delight I left it largely unexplored and returned to descend the Montagne. The only thing I regretted was the growing number of tourists. Perversely, I always expect to be the only one among the locals.


Sunday 11 December 2016

Shifts

Shifts

I just found an old note from a book I'd read in the 1980s (Niels Lund Prak, 1968. The languages of architecture. Mouton, The Hague): architecture symbolises ideal worlds, what people should aspire to culturally as well as materially. Both Classicism and Modernism represent a harmonious system that may contrast with the real world. It is no accident that both stress 'pure' and simple forms from which the rest evolves.

How different the world seems now! Firstly, the dipoles: it used to be Classicism versus Modernism, capitalism versus socialism - always two opposites fighting for a clear prize. Nowadays it's more about pluralism, about all kinds of variations that can coexist (although the latest populist tendencies may put an end to that).

Secondly, the cultural aspirations: architecture has always been about aspiration but for a long time now it has been mostly about the material side. Associations with ideologies, including aesthetic ones, have been weakening rapidly, with lifestyle taking their place, not as a means to improvement (social and cultural) but as a goal by itself. More recently, cultural issues have been promising a comeback, as one can see in the environmental awareness of young people. I wonder how this will turn out.

Thirdly, the 'pure' and simple forms: these no longer constitute the basis of architectural composition and morphology, as one can see in digital architecture. Instead, we are more into complexity, both in form and in the processes that produce form.

Taking all three together, I can't say if the world has improved; it has certainly become less predictable.

Saturday 10 December 2016

Promenade des Artistes

Promenade des Artistes, Spa, Belgium

The town of Spa is a strange sprawl, probably the amalgamation of hamlets, possibly also in relation to the water sources that have formed the main attraction of the town for so long. There are many sources to visit, all strikingly devoid of tourists in the autumn. The water tastes funny, so it must be healthy, full of stuff that doesn't come out of your tap at home. Next to each source there's always a café or restaurant, often a bit worn out, with frequently indifferent staff, Still, they serve as a refuge from the mostly middle-aged visitors, usually hikers without great sporting ambitions and hence also without real hiking gear. There they can get a warm or cold drink, depending on what they need in the particular season, a snack or a hearty meal - an alternative to just drinking source water.

For these visitors there are many enjoyable routes around Spa, usually leading nowhere special - just an opportunity to stretch one's legs in the woods and get a tiny Ardennes experience. One that I have enjoyed was the Promenade des Artistes. I left the car on the side of the road and climbed down to the path next to a stream called La Picherotte. It's an easy terrain, comfortable even for city shoes. You can walk there without much care, just enjoying the scenery and your own movement through it. The path crosses over the stream many times, with picturesque wooden bridges, affording visitors many views of the trees and the mossy rocks.

I'd been walking for some times, lost in the mild, humid atmosphere of the Ardennes, when I started thinking it was time to walk back to the cart before it got too dark while I was deep in the woods but I still kept on going. Suddenly, I heard the sound of an ice cream van. Looking for such a wondrous meeting in the woods, I realised that I'd reached Spa. In fact, I'd been next to it all the time; it was just an illusion of the dense landscape that I was lost in nature.

A walk along the Promenade des Artistes

Friday 9 December 2016

Vintage buildings

Vintage buildings

One still sees hipsters around: beards, clothes and hats from bygone eras and from minority groups, at that. Cute and funny, mostly. I've always been in favour of beards, even if it's for the wrong reasons, and I've always had a soft spot for the 1950s, especially in terms of style. Those simplified yet elegant forms of furniture from that period had still remains a strong personal favourite. The clothes from the same period hold no appeal to me; I wouldn't buy them - and I wouldn't buy old stuff, second-hand or vintage, as the current euphemism goes (with a few exceptions like fountain pens).

'Vintage' suggests that the value of the thing increases or at least remains substantial. I could never see that with clothes, even if they weren't visibly worn. Second-hand clothes are just cheap - unlike vintage wine. The strange thing is that old buildings are treated like vintage. Value keeps increasing, as if demand never wanes and as if supply can never satisfy it. An old building may cost as much as a similar new one, even though the former may need more extensive and intensive maintenance (just think of energy-related performance). Prices tend to increase with any new development and drop only temporarily if a building is in a really bad state or the location becomes really uninviting - the equivalent of the bottom falling off a pair of trousers. However, if the building is repaired or the location improves, then prices go up again.

This reminds me of the sale of the former building of the Statistics Netherlands (CBS), the Dutch public statistics body: it was sold for only 6,4 million euro, while it was valued at 26 million, so quite a few people started crying scandal. The real scandal is that we value an old, hardly usable pair of trousers at 26 million - the price of a band-new, superior pair. And it's not just big buildings; the Netherlands is full of row houses, often quite old, that get sold and mortgaged for prices that are unquestioningly too high - and everyone seems to be glad about it.

The Minister answers questions about the sale of the CBS building

A major Dutch newspaper reports on the housing market in 2016

Thursday 8 December 2016

Getting away with it

Getting away with it: privileges of eminent architects 

Reasonable doubts do not seem to occur to eminent architects - or apply to them. When they make designs more complex than apparently feasible, many assume that they know what they're doing, that they have done the necessary investigations to ensure that what they propose can be made. Somehow people expect eminent architects to achieve innovation relatively easily, not just because of their presumed capacities, experience and resources but also because of their status. If anyone can do something, its surely the ones we all know and admire. So, when they fail, people are mystified: how is this possible? Some start having doubts, others develop schadenfreude, yet others remember how weak the profession can be, how opinionated and self-indulgent. When something goes wrong, there's always someone else to blame. And don't forget that even bad publicity is publicity, after all. Once one has reached a high status, not even disgrace can remove them from the public eye and, quite often, public sympathy. So, it's possible that eminent architects never fail; it's just their buildings (including clients, users, contractors etc.) that fail them.

Wednesday 7 December 2016

Tiger & Turtle

Tiger & Turtle, Duisburg 

On the flat top of a green hill with all the charm of a suburban playground, overlooking a rather drab industrial landscape but also affording a panorama dominated by dense trees behind which you can catch glimpses of the residential neighbourhoods of Duisburg, stands a strange and impressive sculpture: a staircase with varying pitch, including a couple of loops, that undulates along illogical lines like the ribbons of rhythmic gymnasts.


I stopped there on my way to Cologne, curious to see the amazing staircase with my own eyes, eager to climb its entire length - how many can boast they've walked upside down on a staircase, closing a full loop?




The ascent to the hill with various views of the Tiger & Turtle did not disappoint. The staircase itself was a different matter. You can walk around it, under it and start walking on it but when the pitch starts becoming really steep and hence interesting, you encounter an abrupt termination in the form of a closed gate that prohibits any attempt at upside-down stair-climbing. The loops are inaccessible - not a staircase but a mere sculpture, after all.




Disappointed I didn't even put a foot on a single tread.

http://www.duisburg.de/micro2/tat/

Tuesday 6 December 2016

Failure

Failure 

The subject of failure in architecture is a tricky one. We are more inclined to dismiss buildings on aesthetic grounds than to criticise them for practical (function) shortcomings. Perversely, we often choose to defend interesting buildings against such criticism: eminent buildings are allowed to have leaky roofs, draughty windows or uncomfortable rooms. This attitude relates to the higher norms architecture is expected to serve. When a building is primarily judged with respect to the classical canon, modernist morphology, its use of folding or the complexity of its form (as produced with digital tools), then there is little attention for pedestrian circulation, interior air quality or energy consumption.

This also creates tolerance for neglect. If higher norms are the focus of designers, then other aspects may be neglected and roofs may therefore leak. The mistakes designers make are excused or ignored. Of course, humans make mistakes and we should be prepared to forgive them, especially if they do not destroy the whole or if they are honest mistakes, stuff one could not have anticipated. However, one of the human strengths is to correct mistakes: to realise that they were made and do one's best to reduce or remove their effects, even if this entails heavy costs or embarrassment.

The capacity to correct mistakes and so improve buildings and their performance has its place in designing, which we are fond of describing as a cyclical process. Each cycle offers opportunities for improving a seemingly arbitrary concept and progressively adapting it to the problem, but also for correcting mistakes made or detected in the previous cycle. The only imaginable reason for failing to remove mistakes from a design is neglect, often caused by blindness to the mistakes, stubborn attachment to a design or its features, or lack of appropriate training. With today's digital means that facilitate precise and accurate analyses, as well virtual prototyping, there are few justifications for failing to detect mistakes.

So, should we tolerate roofs that leak or rooms with poor air quality because they happen to be in a beautiful building or designed by eminent architects? I guess it depends on the threshold of acceptability, of satisfication: a building should be good enough to justify its existence - not just meet the original specifications but also present enough potential for improvements in cycles of use and redevelopment (the cyclical process is not restricted to designing), including rectification of wrong assumptions concerning use and changes in society. No roof should leak but what counts most is that we are able to fix leaks.

Monday 5 December 2016

Crossroads

Crossroads

I started a recent research proposal with the bold statement that architecture is at a crossroads. My argument was that one could see it at the societal and professional level: many architects are unemployed or underemployed and buildings are being produced with the same mediocre methods, techniques and results for the last hundred years or so. Yet these problems are obscured by the stubborn attachment of architects to the same approaches and attitudes, as well as by local or temporary building booms, e.g. at high-demand areas like London or due to new, often public commissions relating to one-off events like the Olympic or to attempts to stimulate the construction business at times of economic crisis. Still, I claimed, it is undeniable that architecture and the built environment are not progressing at the same pace as other areas. This, I continued, is made abundantly clear at the scientific level: in many national and international research grant frameworks, such as Horizon 2020. architecture is absent from among the disciplines that benefit directly, despite that many issues and subjects in the same frameworks refer to urban environments and buildings, i.e. architectural products, as causes of societal problems as well as recipients of technological innovation.

Looking back at that text, I wonder how one recognises a crossroads. It presupposes first of all that architecture is following a path, possibly towards some end. I doubt that there would be consensus about that in architecture. Is there some progression from where we were e.g. in the post-World War II reconstruction period (an acknowledged high point)? Do we agree as to where we are going? I guess there are many opinions on that but I would be happier with a couple of substantiated views rather than temporary enthusiasm with this technology or that tendency. And if we manage to agree on the route we have been following, where are the crossroads? Which other intersecting routes do we encounter and when are the moments when we could take a decision? Here too one should expect a plethora of equally poorly substantiated options. And it's not just a matter of having too many different opinions in architecture, it's that we have so many aspects in architecture that need improvement. Each aspect seems to have its own evolutionary path and its presence among the priorities changes with the year; just think of the chequered history of sustainability in architecture.

So, in summary, we are not at a crossroads because there are no major roads, just a confused network of many paths. We have been following these paths in a haphazard way, reacting to opportunity and vogue rather than pursuing some well-defined and coherent goals. As for the future, even if we wise up and mend our ways, we may have to spend some more time following paths because there is no single road in front of us.

Perhaps more importantly, one should realise that metaphors have their dangers. They evoke powerful pictures that may explain a lot but the same pictures may also undermine the argument they are supposed to support.

Sunday 4 December 2016

An architect

An architect


Education



The subject is architecture, my profession. I went to study architecture with the modest ambition of becoming a competent professional architect, one who designs and produces decent buildings. Achieving greatness or fame, changing the history of architecture or other lofty ideas weren't even remotely in my thoughts. Understanding how to design was what motivated me and getting accepted by fellow professionals, clients and users was probably all that mattered in terms of success.

My teachers told me about this or that landmark in architectural history and however clever, beautiful or inspiring they were, I couldn't really tell what made them so important or more important than other buildings. Quite often it was just a first: the first block of flats in reinforced concrete, the first steel frame construction, the first open-plan office etc. They also told me of this or that prominent local architect and I would visit their buildings but, although there was something to be learned from practically each one, once again I couldn't tell what made them more significant than the building next door.

I soon realised that inspiration and beauty could be found even in anonymous, humble architecture (and by this I don't mean the vernacular buildings so patronisingly and sometimes hypocritically admired by great architects and critics). So, maybe because of my inability to perceive greatness in architecture, I ended up becoming more interested in other sensibilities, for which there were few ready solutions. When it came to functionality, architectural textbooks taught me enough to be cleverer than most lay people but how people (the users) might relate to a building aesthetically was far from clear.

Research


Opportunity and curiosity turned me into a researcher (with teaching becoming more and more a consequence of research). Looking back at my career, I've designed little, constructed even less and the last thing I did as a professional architect was a long time ago. Still, by training and interest I remain an architect and persist in looking at the world from an architect's perspective, with respect to what architects know or ignore. I'm still delighted by buildings that appear to work well; they make me feel proud of my profession. I'm also irritated by things that don't work, buildings poorly designed or constructed, instantly keen to understand how I might be able to rectify them or generally improve an environment or the processes leading to it.

Research is not about publications, projects or grants; primarily, it's a great way of learning. One has first to understand what is already known. This means a lot of critical reading (literature research), accompanied by attempts to synthesise what one learns from reading. That's what every academic should be doing. Teaching without it is merely repeating what others have said or presenting arbitrary, untested opinions. Unfortunately, there's a lot of ideas one gets from reading or just thinking, without ever managing to process it through reals research. They end up on scraps of paper, in journals and all kinds of notes to oneself. The purpose of this blog is to collect them and see what emerges then. So, bear with me while the plot hopefully thickens.

Saturday 3 December 2016

Prologue

The prologue 


Let's get started ...

It's going to be an experiment: posts will connect to each other and to themes; nothing will be self-contained. Notes I make occasionally will gather and hopefully result into an increasingly comprehensive network. That's the intention and I'm curious to see if something more substantial than a journal will come out of it.