I believe in buildings. I believe they can change lives, and that they will make a human future possible in light of the extraordinary challenges we face. I believe they are one of the essential conditions of civilization, like agriculture, politics and medicine. Sadly, I also fear contemporary architecture, especially as it is taught in schools, has strayed far from this calling.
The preference for impractical and unwarranted projects is not going away. In mainline academic architecture, budget, logistics, and even ecological concerns (yes), in short, everything pragmatic and real, are subjugated in the name of the "concept" or "idea" which is pursued without compromise. This single-minded focus makes the architecture "stronger," and the idea, arguably, allows the work to be classified as a type of "art." Ignoring the fact that from the public's perspective the resultant forms are often strange and obnoxious, there are three sizeable issues: first, since the value of these ideas themselves goes untested (bizarre, but true), the arguments are tautological; second, it presupposes an esoteric knowledge that makes it difficult to appreciate, and finally, it is simply an ineffective way to design buildings.* Which cuts to the heart of the issue. What do you want: occupiable sculptures that make you to think, or inhabitable buildings that help you live? I know where I stand.
This world is not in great shape, and we are running out of time to fix it. Our human habitat is rife with internal problems, and the the toll our species is taking on the planet is immeasurable. The way we build our cities can make a huge difference if we are going to slow this destructive trend; in fact, it may be the only option. The failure of architecture schools to frontline this urgency is indefensible. And while the work I'm arguing for may not win self-congratulatory design awards, so what — it is nevertheless an important kind of work. Is it worthy of being called architecture? You better believe it. To separate architecture into two types, as academics tend to do — one spelled with a capital 'A' (the kind that matters) and one with a lowercase 'a' — is a a weak semantic distinction which only exposes the fact that schools continue to shirk the need to confront difficult problems, preferring instead to treat the academy as black box where they can pursue their aesthetic agenda with autonomy. This does not put the institution in the avant-garde; it is an educational model that is embarrassingly out of date.
There are absolutely ways of designing and building that serve the population more effectively, more economically, and which incentivize healthy living in body and spirit. I'm talking about carbon-negative structures and feasible greenhouse roofs; I'm talking about market-rate affordability in dense urban environments; about civic structures and public space that ennoble the body politic. I'm also talking about leveraging economies of scale, about a close relationship with finance and construction from the outset, and about prototyping and post-occupancy analysis which mitigate risk and develop products that bring real value to their users.
It doesn't matter what a building says, or worse yet, what an architect wants it to say. It only matters what it does. And when it comes to what buildings do, all the ideas and the weird forms just get in the way. At best, they might correlate** with some positive experience had by the general public, but the bottom line is that 99% of buildings have more important things to do than express ideas that matter to architects. That this even needs to be said I find rather tragic. A good building is many things, but it need not be profound or spectacular in any way. In fact, the opposite is more often the case. More often than not, a good building goes without notice, operating in shadows of consciousness, quietly supportive — a balance to the chaos and shock of modern life. There is work to be done.
The preference for impractical and unwarranted projects is not going away. In mainline academic architecture, budget, logistics, and even ecological concerns (yes), in short, everything pragmatic and real, are subjugated in the name of the "concept" or "idea" which is pursued without compromise. This single-minded focus makes the architecture "stronger," and the idea, arguably, allows the work to be classified as a type of "art." Ignoring the fact that from the public's perspective the resultant forms are often strange and obnoxious, there are three sizeable issues: first, since the value of these ideas themselves goes untested (bizarre, but true), the arguments are tautological; second, it presupposes an esoteric knowledge that makes it difficult to appreciate, and finally, it is simply an ineffective way to design buildings.* Which cuts to the heart of the issue. What do you want: occupiable sculptures that make you to think, or inhabitable buildings that help you live? I know where I stand.
This world is not in great shape, and we are running out of time to fix it. Our human habitat is rife with internal problems, and the the toll our species is taking on the planet is immeasurable. The way we build our cities can make a huge difference if we are going to slow this destructive trend; in fact, it may be the only option. The failure of architecture schools to frontline this urgency is indefensible. And while the work I'm arguing for may not win self-congratulatory design awards, so what — it is nevertheless an important kind of work. Is it worthy of being called architecture? You better believe it. To separate architecture into two types, as academics tend to do — one spelled with a capital 'A' (the kind that matters) and one with a lowercase 'a' — is a a weak semantic distinction which only exposes the fact that schools continue to shirk the need to confront difficult problems, preferring instead to treat the academy as black box where they can pursue their aesthetic agenda with autonomy. This does not put the institution in the avant-garde; it is an educational model that is embarrassingly out of date.
There are absolutely ways of designing and building that serve the population more effectively, more economically, and which incentivize healthy living in body and spirit. I'm talking about carbon-negative structures and feasible greenhouse roofs; I'm talking about market-rate affordability in dense urban environments; about civic structures and public space that ennoble the body politic. I'm also talking about leveraging economies of scale, about a close relationship with finance and construction from the outset, and about prototyping and post-occupancy analysis which mitigate risk and develop products that bring real value to their users.
It doesn't matter what a building says, or worse yet, what an architect wants it to say. It only matters what it does. And when it comes to what buildings do, all the ideas and the weird forms just get in the way. At best, they might correlate** with some positive experience had by the general public, but the bottom line is that 99% of buildings have more important things to do than express ideas that matter to architects. That this even needs to be said I find rather tragic. A good building is many things, but it need not be profound or spectacular in any way. In fact, the opposite is more often the case. More often than not, a good building goes without notice, operating in shadows of consciousness, quietly supportive — a balance to the chaos and shock of modern life. There is work to be done.
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*To me, good design method is a delicate art of compromise, the careful balance of ten thousand decisions so that not one seems to dominate the other. It is not bullishly seeking "clarity" of "design intent" at the expense of everything else. The former is how you conceal artifice, the latter is how you accentuate it.
**To cause anything directly the general public would have to understand what is going on, and assuredly, they do not. Architects themselves have enough trouble sorting through their own obfuscations, let alone clarifying them to the uninitiate.