Functional comedy

Functional comedy 

What people call "function" in architecture (a term I consider quite misleading) is a frequent sort of bemusement and frustration. It's not surprising, therefore, that it is a frequently used source of comedy: many comedic situations arise from mismatches between what users want to do and what a building affords. The combination of architects and "function" in not as common; in fact, I'm aware of only one instance: Monty Python's The architects sketch, where Cleese proposes to design an apartment block as a slaughterhouse as if it were the most normal thing for a residential building. To the apparent disbelief of the clients he responds in a similarly matter-of-fact manner: he hadn't fully divined their attitude towards the tenants. 

This is textbook comedy, based on the displacement of an activity in an alien context with disastrous results. It's a pity that architects don't realise that they also produce comedic moments when they dare propose new-fangled ways for doing things without properly appreciating the consequences. At least, we should laugh more at many proposals architects make in the firm belief that they know better than their users, that they can shape and better the users' lives.

Analysis and synthesis

Analysis and synthesis 

I've always been fascinated by analysis, by the means that help explain something and the insights they produce. Especially with computers, their ability to calculate large quantities of complex data in quite short times made me believe that computer simulations are the most important contribution of digital means to designing. When it comes to synthesis, however conceptually elegant, automatic generative systems are no match to human creativity yet.

The problem is that the promise of computerised analysis has yet to be fulfilled. Technical progress seems to be limited by the lack of serious interest by those who would benefit from analyses that go beyond the capacities of rules of thumb, normative abstractions and the usual conventional stuff that serves as alibi in architectural design. I spend days in meetings on computational and data-driven approaches that are mostly about decision support but it's unclear where the support is founded on; it's all about the decisions. Well, as far as I'm concerned, analysis is the foundation of any decision, any design action, as well as most communication. Unfortunately, there seems to be an important prerequisite: some goal to be achieved, some constraint to be met, something that requires transparent, effective and reliable reasoning. If synthesis is about other matters, a self-contained exercise, then analysis is a just formality.

Architecture and aspiration

Architecture and aspiration

I'm often bemused by architectural nostalgia: the admiration for old buildings that are no longer feasible or required - garnish gothic railway stations, overdecorated stuffy theatres, austere and oppressive classical banks. Architects but also lay people tend to bemoan the reduction of such buildings into utilitarian, often anonymous architecture. The post office is no longer a public grand hall but an insignificant small shop or even just a counter in another shop. We appear to find this evolution a kind of degradation; we prefer monumental designs, expensive materials and rich decoration. The success of digital architecture but also the renewed interest in urban-centre high-rise is related to that.

While every building should receive the care and attention it deserves, I fear that we fail to understand a fundamental difference in the role and hence function and character of buildings in different periods. A railway station in the nineteenth century wasn't just a transport hub; it was a transport hub for the affluent. It had to be upmarket to attract the right customers, those interested in luxury and comfort. At the same time, to other people, less affluent, it was aspirational" if you wanted to improve your station in life, this was the kind of environment you should try to get into - from the clients' side, although the servants' side to such places wasn't a bad beginning.

Much of the nostalgia for old-fashioned buildings comes from such aspirational connotations rather than pure aesthetic or historical value: there are not just nice old stuff; they are old stuff we link to luxury, success and high social status - status that could be acquired with money, the Orient Express nostalgia. Architecture has always been aspirational -just think of the Renaissance and Classicism and their role in elevating society; architectural ornamentation as a status symbol; eponymous architecture (labels) and our current keenness to enrich our life with it. In the case of past architecture it is even more so: past aspirations refer not only to historical high points but also to analogies with today's aspirations. Promoting the preservation of even doubtful old buildings is also a mark of culture; supporting such actions has its aspirational aspects, too. Moreover, old aspirational buildings tend not to be as controversial as new ones. On the contrary, they are objects of civic pride, cultural achievement or at least technical achievement.

Citizens

Citizens

In research and policy circles, one often hears of citizens or even "the citizen": dear, vulnerable, oppressed human beings that must be protected and helped. In historical studies, however, e.g. of what happened in Nazi German or communist countries, one also gets a different side of the citizen: people taking advantage or manipulating a system for personals reasons; thousands of denunciations by neighbours, colleagues, friends, even family. Most of the damage is done by citizens, not the relatively few agents of the secret services. It wasn't the Gestapo or the Stasi who kept everyone under observation; it was the citizens doing it to each other; the secret police often had a hard time just processing all the anonymous and eponymous denunciations they received.

What we also often see is a distinction between two kinds of citizens: on one hand, the active, well-educated initiators of actions and protectors of their rights and privileges, and on the other, a largely inert mass of low-income, poorly educated people who must be protected but can become surprisingly powerful and effective once brought into actions. This arguably suggests that citizens can achieve a lot if bothered to do so. The problem is that one cannot be certain why citizens may spring into action and what they will try to do. That's why places like the Internet can be wonderful and terrifying at the same time.

Naked architecture

Naked architecture 

As a young architect, I've spent many hours trying to take impressive photographs of famous buildings: well lit, from an interesting viewpoint that afforded some attempt at clever composition and always devoid of people. That last thing was often the most time-consuming, as I had to play a waiting game with passers-by.

Even when I switched to just taking informative photographs, reminders of what I'd seen and felt at this or that part of a building (not necessarily famous), it took me some time before I was ready to accept people in the photographs. That's how I'd learned it: the photographs of buildings should be free from clutter that obscured the architectural features. It was alright to have a single human figure somewhere in the periphery as an indication of scale but that was all.

More recently, this has been turned around: I have become more and more interested in the interaction of humans and buildings, so I'm taking an increasing number of photographs and films exploring just this interaction - registering how people interfere with architecture in their daily activities.

I was reminded of the old habits when a colleague has a problem with a memory bar and asked me to recover its content on my computer. Many photographs were indeed recovered, so I put them back on the memory bar and handed it back to him saying "Here's your porn". He was puzzled and shocked: what did I mean? Well, I explained, the photographs were mostly of buildings devoid of people - naked buildings.

We laughed about it but later I thought there was more to it: architectural photography has some pornographic traits, like nudity and exaggeration. We are taught to lust after famous buildings and their forms. They may remain unattainable to most of us but they are what we would love to possess. Well, at least we have the photographs.

Things that can go wrong with a model

Things that can go wrong with a model 

Architectural models attract attention to an almost fetishist level. Students have to make them, clients want them, every museum visitor enjoys them. Few have the courage to that them as tools of the trade. I remember one teacher who used to dismantle student models, almost physically attacking them while asking interesting questions about composition and alternatives. After that, one learned not to put too much time in their models and expect the worst.

In comedy, if something goest wrong with a model, it can be funny without getting too hurtful (we're getting rather sensitive about such things, robbing physical comedy of many opportunities like pratfalls). In Monty Python's The architects sketch, a spontaneous combustion and collapse of the model momentarily embarrasses the architect and, by the strange acceptance of the design by the clients, facilitates a jump to the subject of how to recognise a Mason. The most interesting thing about the model is the association between it and the behaviour and performance of the real building: that the model catches fire suggests that the building is highly flammable, despite the architect's claims; similarly, the instability of the model suggests failure of the load-bearing structure, which the architect is quick to admit. I suppose that the association between model and building is justified by that both are three-dimensional objects. This makes us forget the scale differences and the consequent differences between a simulation and the real thing.

As for what happens to the model  in One fine day, the least said, the best for all who have seen that forgettable comedy.

The artificiality of architecture

The artificiality of architecture 

It so happened that I've been reading two contrasting texts. The first was a linguistic research proposal on the use of words like "with" in various languages and how children learn them. The other was a critique of architectural education and practice. The difference was depressing. On the one hand, there was a detail of a fundamental human capacity. The more I read about it, the more fascinating in seemed. The research promised valuable insights and useful results. As a lay reader I was learning and getting to believe more and more in the value of the science and the particular research.

On the other hand, there was the production of a major human achievement - not as fundamental as language but really close. But the text wasn't about how societies use it, it was about what architects cared. In architecture there's still too much emphasis on how professionals create, not on what people actually make out of environments either designed on not. That's why stairs still cause too many accidents, buildings are energy inefficient, doors open in ways that annoy etc. The closed system imposed on the production of architecture makes its true performance of its products less relevant than insiders' opinions on them.

It's like imposing artificial languages on people: they'll mostly manage, despite the imposition, but having something imposed on them doesn't help. Last year there was enough about the words Shakespeare had coined, not to mention the phrases we keep on quoting. That's different: it's about providing people with building blocks, powerful symbols and images through which they can express themselves. It's a striking contrast with architectural environments that have to be kept pristine, as the architects want them, or photographs of buildings without people. Languages are more of an invention than buildings, yet buildings remain significantly more artificial than languages.