Reflections : the journal of the School of Architecture, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

The Journal of the

School of Architecture

University of Illinois

Urbana-Champaign

Reflections

The Journal of the School of Architecture
University of Illinois at Urbana-Ghampaign

No. 10
Spring 1995

Board of Editors 1994-1995

R. Alan Forrester,
Director, School ofArchi

Paul J. Armstrong,
Chairmaii and Managing Edil

Kevin Hinders
Anne Marshall
Jory Johnson

Lisa Busjahn
Copy Editor

Mark Witte
Graphic Design

Reflections is a journal dedicated to theory
and criticism. The Board of Editors of Reflec-
tions welcomes unsolicited contributions.
All submissions will be reviewed by the Board
of Editors. Authors take full responsibility
for securing required consents and releases
and for the authenticity of their articles.

Address all correspondence to:

Reflections

The Journal of the School of Architecture/

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University of Illinois

at Urbana-Ghampaign

608 E. Lorado Taft Drive

Champaign, IL 61820

© 1995 by

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Printed in the USA

1SSN:07399448

Contents

Architecture Between Tradition and Progress 4

Andrzej Pinno

Invasion of the Building Snatchers 22

A Contemporary Architectural

A-vant Garde and Its Heritage

Thomas L. Schumacher

Architecture of Liberative Movement 36

A Design Thesis 1992-1993
Benjamin K. Nesbeitt

What's Behind the Wall 50

Why Progressive Public Memorials are

Designed for Private Commemoration

Jhennifer A. Amundson

Learning and Labor In Architecture 66

A Pavilion for Virginia Park
Jefferv S. Poss

Projections 70

Kevin Hinders

Cover: Master Architecture Thesis Project "Architecture of Liberative Movement"
by Benjamin Nesbeitt. Henry Plummer, thesis critic. See page 36.

Architecture Between
Tradition and Progress

Andrzej Pinno

University of Texas
at Arlington

The paper discusses the present debate between modem and postmodern architecture in
terms of a conflict inj^rained in human nature: a conflict between structure and evolution,
traditiim and pro^i^ress. It tries to show the inevitability ami indispensability of such a
conflict for architecture and, at the same time, its apparent flitility. It gives a brief overview
of some ideological battles for and against progress fought since the Industrial Rcvoluti(m,
presents examples of their interweaving through history and how, for better or worse, they
have influenced the evolution of architecture. It sees the present architectural struggles
blurred by the plurality of various trends, lost in esoteric philosophical and aesthetic
concerns, and mostly directionless. It links the causes of this malaise to the impasse of the
once progressive tradition of Enlightenmeiit and suggests that the emerging Ecological
Revolution may, as the Industrial Revolution before, change the hierarchy of values and, in
this way, refocus ami redress the never emling conflict between the old and the new in
architecture.

Modern science and technology progress with
frightening speed. New achievements in
biology or medicine, physics or information
multiply ever faster, and together with global
economy, intercontinental communication,
or supersonic travel open new possibilities
for man. At the same time, however, the very
achievements of Western Civilization destroy
traditional structures of societies. Ethics is
helpless in the face of the alleged objectivity
of science; families disintegrate, and the
individual is lost in the ambiguity of moral
precepts. Knowledge is replaced by infor-
mation, books by TV, dignity by success.
Examples like these abound and force us to
ask whether progress can be stopped and
whether tradition can be disregarded.

In such a schizophrenic society, various fields
of human endeavor try to define their
character anew. Architecture, too, seeks a
relevant role for itself and in this process
oscillates among diverse trends. Some idolize
high technology, others indulge in historical
forms and popular culture, and still others
agonize over the ambiguities of language.
The progressive architects believe that it is
the future, especially the technoscientific
future, that can offer what the present is
unable to deliver; the conservatives beUeve
that a return to the past can give us back the
lost values; while a third group shows
indifference toward the outside world and
concentrates on the internal order of
architecture, on architecture for its own

sake. Amonji the progressives and the
conservatives, as Aldo van Eyck su^ests,
the technocrats sentimentaHze about the
future, and the antiquarians sentimentaUze
about the past. But our attitude toward the
future and toward the past is more than a
question of sentiment: it is a conflict deeply
ingrained in human character. Although we
live in the present we plan for the future and
remember the past. We cannot ignore either,
and, thus, are condemned to a life between
these two poles. Can we, however, find a
balance between the future and the past,
between progress and tradition? ('an we
rationalize this situation?

To answer this question we must turn to histopi'
which, in spite of our present irreverence for
its truths, can still offer us some insights and
teach us, for example, that the battle between
the old and the new is old itself.

Toward the end of the 17th century a famous
quarrel between the "Ancients" and the
"Moderns" took place in France. Thequerelle
des ancients et des modernes, as it was
called, pitched against each other two types

of thinking, two ways of looking at the world.
The moderns believed in the logic of rational
thinking, in the power of science: in progress.
Their adversaries, the ancients, sought
knowledge among the authorities of antiquity
and history. The progressives heralded the
rise of the Enlightenment and, thus, built the
foundations of modern, rational civilization.
The conservatives believed that Plato and
Aristotle had more to offer than the assertions
of science and, thus, defended wisdom and
tradition against an uncritical science. Today
this quarrel seems to be losing direction.
Rationalism, the tradition of Enlightenment,
and scientific thinking are under attack and
there is nothing available to replace them.
The so-called pluralism of ideas and opinions
reflects the existing situation in which
nothing is clear, univocal, or decided.
Western Civilization, threatened by its own
successes-the ecological crisis or the nuclear
threat for example-tries to reevaluate its
very foundation and wonders whether
progress promises a paradise on earth, or
leads to ruin; whether tradition is a panacea
for today's ills, or an escape from the
uncertainties of the new.

.Inhn Ruskiu. "Rinfkin Windiiw." Oxford Museum

Conflict between these two approaelies in
architecture has a long history. Riiskin and
Paxton, Sitte and Sant'EHa, Aspkmd and Le
Gorbusier, \'an Ryek and Woods, N'enturi
and Eisennian are some of the architects
who have represented these opposite
positions and whose role in this conflict is
still being disputed. But the debate is not
over. It will go on from generation to
generation for, as Leszek Kolakowski says in
Modernity cm Endless Trial:

The detail between the ancientand the modem
is probably everlasting and we will never get
rid of it, as it expresses the natural tensifjn
between structure and evolution, ami this
tension seems to be biologically rooted; it is,
we 7nay believe, an essential characteristic of
life. It is obviously necessary for any society
to experience the forces both of consei-vaticm
and of change.'

The hidustrial Revolution caused such a clash
through unprecedented changes which it
introduced in almost all domains of social and
individual life. The speed of their succession
was of such a magnitude that the society of
those days could hardly comprehend their
meaningand significance. Thenewcivilization
suddenly faced new problems which required
and generated new ideas and solutions. Some
of them were Utopian, others remedial; some
promoted revolutionary thinking, others
introduced piecemeal reforms. Saint Simon,
Fourier, Owen, and later, Godin-the Utopian
socialists-belonged to the first group. Being
great critics of their civilization, they were
aware that the old cities, its centers, were
unfit for the new industrial society. They were
convinced that these cities, often of medieval
origin, could not serve well the new society,
and concluded that new communities should
be established. In this spirit they introduced

not only new solutions in architecture, but
also suggested new ways of thinking.- Their
social consciousness and sensitivity to social
injustices lead them to belie\'e that the
character of man was shaped by tlie human
environment. (Consequently, they directed
their attention to the relationship between
architecture and morality. They thought that
the depressing and unhealthy dark, narrow
streets bred poverty and degeneration; and to
eliminate them, an environment of sun, air
and greenery had to be created. To achieve
this goal they declared that the continuity of
space must take precedence over the
continuity of buildings; the continuity of voids
over the continuity of solids. Thus, the existing
urban fabric with its narrow streets was put to
trial; the isolated buildings-objects in space-
gained significance, and, consequently, a way
was paved for the future Modem Movement-
a way lasting some one hundred years. ^ Today
we can wonder whether their true legacy lies
in their intentions or in the consequences of
their intentions, whether they contributed to
the modern world through their dreams of
creating a new and a better society, or through
their ideas which lead to streetless and,
unfortunately, incoherent cities.

When the 19th century Mctorian England
celebrated the glory of the Industrial
Civilization- the "golden age"- it also
witnessed a steady disintegration of its
society. This complex situation polarized
opinions and generated new struggles
between the ancients and the moderns. In
architecture these contradictory attitudes
existed side by side and fought for domin-
ance. On one side, John Ruskin, hostile to
progress, and on the other, his contem-
porary, Joseph Paxton, expressing it so well
in the Crvstal Palace.

Ruskin was aware of the changes which
industrialization ushered into Western
Civihzation, but one may wonder whether
he was able to appreciate their true signific-
ance. His reaction to them was simply one
of regret. He deplored the railroad, the
smog, the pollution; he despaired of the new
society with its constant rush and stress; he
hated the new hectic life style which
prevented people from living a dignified life
and distanced them from beauty and art. In
other words, he preferred to ignore the
emerging new world order and was unable,
or unwilling, to fight its symptoms. He was
not interested in social problems to the
extent Owen and Fourier were but
submerged himself in the beautiful with the
sublime. Within these constraints he
advocated the superiority of the Gothic
over classical style, and glorified its
rationality and its bond with nature. But
the Italian Gothic advocated by him, besides
its aesthetic qualities, had practical reasons
too. It "included convenient floor plans and
the ease of relating facades to internal
structure... [it ]could unite generous window-
openings with the much-desired sense of
massiveness...[it] created the opportunity
for almost continuous fenestration." The
propagation of these functional values of
the Gothic constituted, however, only a
side effect of Ruskin's activity, "for the
problem so important in the 1850s and
1860s (was] of expressing Victorian
aspirations in great civic buildings. "■* Thus,
the role played by Ruskin in tracing new
directions for architecture seems
ambivalent. On the one side, he was slowing
down the victory of mediocrity brought
about by progress, modernity and their
utilitarian concerns, on the other, he was
ushering in new and advanced functional
ideas; on one side, he deepened the

appreciation of beauty, on the other, he
seemed to slow down the growth of welfare
and a healthy human environment.

Paxton, on the other hand, was a practical
man of action who based his work on different
premises; he searched for systematic and
comprehensive solutions to problems he
confronted and the Crystal Palace presented
for him a unique opportunity. Since it was
not to be a great civic building but an
exhibition pavilion, he was able to experiment
with technology and select a method of
construction best suited for this clearly
defined objective. Perhaps this limited goal
helped him in achieving such a forceful object.
In a very short period of time, Paxton's office
"turned out. . .hundreds of sheets of exquisite
and entirely original details" and, thus,
created "the first miracle of pre-fabrication...
which for nearly one hundred years, was
without sequel."'^ But the Crystal Palace,

Joseph Paxton. Crystal Palace

i

^s^^

^^v

Camillo Sine. Votive Church Plaza. Vicini,,

although not the first building of iron, was
"the first structure to attempt seriously the
transference of metallic building from the
purely 'utilitarian' field to that of 'architecture'
-where the whole building was not just
ornamented but was an aesthetic concept.""
Here one can see the pioneering role of
Paxton in establishing the roots of a modern,
universal and efficient way of building which ,
at the same time, was anonymous and culture-
blind. To what extent the Crystal Palace is an
art of building and to what extent archi-
tecture, is still being discussed.

The example of these two contemporaries
illustrates the complexity of the conflict.
Although their intentions were clear, the
roles they played were much more complex.
One protected old cultural values from
erosion and disintegration but also helped to
articulate the architecturally functional
needs of a new society; the other, in an
ingenious and precursory way, lead
architecture toward a new civihzation and.

at the same time, contributed to the shattering
of its old cultural meaning. Theeontriliution
of these two men to the evolution of
architecture will lie discussed for years to
come. Vet it seems oinious today that what
Colin Rowe and the brothers Krier owe, at
least partially, to Ruskin; Foster, Piano, and
Rogers owe to the work of Paxton.

Similar situations developed when Camillo
Sitte, in the^Ji de siecle Vienna, ignored the
advances of technological society and, some
fifteen years later, Sant'Elia revolted against
tradition and the "old" culture which he
considered obstacles to progress. The first
wanted to protect the spiritual and cultural
heritage of mankind,' the second dreamt of
moving humanity forward to a better future.
Sitte wrote in the introduction to his book that:

perhaps lit] will permit us tofind the means
of satisfying the three principal requirements
of practical city building: to rid the modem
system of blocks and regularly aligned
houses; to save as much as possible of that
which remains from ancient cities; and in
our creation to approach more closely the
ideal of the ancient models.'^

P"or Sant'Elia

the problem posed by Futurist architecture
(was) not... a question of finding new
mouldings and frames for windows and
doors, of replacing columns, pilasters and
corbels with caiiatids, flics and frogs... We
must invent and rebuild the Futurist city
like an immense and tumultuous shipyard,
agile, mobile and dynamic in every detail;
a nd the Futurist house must be like a gigantic
machine. The lifts must no longer be hidden
away like tapeworms in the niches of
stairwells; the stairwells themselves.

rendered useless, must be abolished, and
the lifts 7nust scale the lengths of the facades
like sei-pents of steel and ghuss."

P'or many years it seemed that Sitte had lost
the battle. The Futurists, the revolutionary
Russian architects, the heroes of the Modern
Movement, all were eager to build a new world
ofmechanization, efficiency, and speed. They
considered themselves radicals, progressives
and x'isionaries, and such was their
contribution to contemporary architecture.
Their rational thinking, their concern with
function and structure and their devotion to
honesty in formal expressions cannot be
belittled even by the fact that, in reality, they
often compromised their revolutionary' ideas
for the sake of aesthetics and often, like many
others, served the auto industry, greedy
developers, and big business. Not surprisingly,
however, the time has come when Sitte's
sensitive and contextual proposals influenced
postmodern architects and restored to a full
respect all that Sant'Elia and the Moderns
despised and hated: the context of the
traditional city, the arcaded plazas, the
ceremonial axes, the romantic squares and
courts, and the ornate buildings that fit those
plazas so well. Slowly, the oversimplifications
of the Modern Movement became recognized
and lead to a reaction-to the understanding
that the complexity and richness of life require
more than rationality and efficiency. But
again, as often happens in life, some of the
wonderful dreams of Ruskin and Sitte tinned
into bad dreams of Walt Disney.

The controversy between tradition and
progress still goes on. The science-fiction of
iVrchigram and Metabolists gave way to the
pastiches of postmodern historicism, which
in turn fights for dominance with Decon-
struetion and High-Tech. The conflict takes

a new dimension with the participation of the
Prince of Wales in England and the in-
\'olvement in the grand travmwc in Paris of
President Mitterand. As the debate widens,
the question of its deeper meaning seems to
be gaining importance. To elucidate it further,
let us turn to another debate: to an argument
between utility and spirituality.

Wliile utility is closely related to technology
and material progress, spirituality thrives on

tradition and feeds on art. Wliile the flrst is
based on the secular world, the second traces
its roots to the mystery of the sacred. Both
are governed by different laws and bloom in
different forms. Architecture embraces both
thereby obtaining its complex and ambiguous
character. Paul Ricoeur, in his essay Ihii-
•ver.sal Civilization and National Cidtures,
suggests that "everyone experiences the
tension between the necessity for the free
access to progress and, on the other hand,
the exigency of safeguarding our heritage."'"

10

The necessity of prot-ress is basically served
by the logic of scientific thinking, while the
safeguarding of heritage is largely fulfilled by
imagination, creativity and the arts. The
first results in universal civilization, the
second in unique, national cultures. Ricoeur
says that science and technology develop
and contribute to progress through the
accumulation of means and tools, and through
their constant improvement. The successes
of a civilization stem from the continuous
defeats of its previous shortcomings and from
an uninterrupted replacement of old tools by
new ones. They are improved step by step
but, as Marshall McLuhan used to say, the
moment they work they become obsolete.
Thus, within this process, the old means-
theories, inventions, or tools-cease to have
practical value and, like the theories of
Newton or the inventions of Edison, belong
today to history. Nevertheless, without
generations of great scientists and without
their contributions to the growth of scientific
thought, there would be no Einstein, no
Heisenberg, no quantum theory, no
electronic revolution and no progress.

Culture, on the other hand, or, more
precisely, cultures, develop in a different
way. According to Ricoeur, "unlike a set of
tools which accumulates, sediments, and
becomes deposited, a cultural tradition stays
alive only if it constantly creates itself anew. " "
Culture, as he says, is based on "fidelity and
creation." An artist must be faithful to the
culture of his nation and, at the same time, in
the name of this very culture, must constantly
tear it down and build it again. But as
civilization increases the efficiency of means
and stores away layers upon layers of the old
ones, cultures grow by creative leaps and
bounds, in a spontaneous and intuitional
manner and without any concern for utility,

efficiency, or progress. Creativity cannot be
planned and can be recognized only in
retrospect; to know beforehand what to create
would negate the very act of creation. An
artist, in his lonely effort destroys old
appearances and cliches and creates things
which -although initially incomprehensible-
later become an "authentic expression of
his people."

Thus, the struggle of an artist is of a different
character than the effort of a scientist,
although both share creativity and discipline.
It is not a sediment of layers of ideas and
in\'entions but an unceasing rebirth of
culture. Hence, Phidia cannot be displaced
by Michelangelo, as Michelangelo cannot be
displaced by Rodin, and Rodin by Brancusi.
Rembrandt's paintings are today as much
part of a living culture as the paintings by
Monet or Picasso; and the architecture of the
Parthenon, Chartres, and Ronchamps.

Can this distinction between civilization
and culture, utility and spirituality shed
some light on the role of architecture in
society? Can architecture be reduced to
art, to "art for art's sake" or, on the other
hand, to sheer utility?

The idea that architecture belongs at the
same time to the world of material progress
and to the world of spiritual values-to the
world of techno-science and to the world of
art, to civilization and to culture-although
questioned by some, not only persists but
still gives architecture its ambiguous
character and its tendency to oscillate
between art and engineering. Reyner
Banham, in The Architecture of Well-
tempered Environment called it "the
infantile fallacy that architecture is
necessarily divisible into function and form,

and that the mechanical and cultural parts of
the arts are in essential opposition."'- Yet ,the
same Banham, a few pages later, sujigests that:

the point of studying Las Vegas, ultinuucly,
would be to see an example of lio-w far
environmental technology can be driven
beyond the confines of architectural practice
by designers who (for worse or better) are
not inhibited by the traditiims of arch itectimic
culture, training and taste.''

Does, then, the "fallacy" stem from the
architects' inhihitions and the traditions of
architectural culture? Paradoxically,
Banham seems to be confirming the
existence of the conflict between these two
forces by aligning himself with one of them:
with technological progress and against
architectural "traditions." Ten years later,
Colin Rowe, who subscribed to the other
side of this conflict, ridiculed in Collage
City "...the architect as an athlete in a race
with time and technology, beloved by
Ilannes Mayer and Reyner Banham...."'^

But it is Franeoise Choay, who in The Modern
City: Planning in the 19th (Jentury
distinguishes two models of spatial
organization as manifestations of two
legitimate visions:

One of these models, looking to the future
and inspired by a vision of social progi-ess
we shall call progressist. The other, nostalgic
in outlook, is inspired by the vision of a
cultural community and may therefore by
called cidturalist. "'

In this light one can approve or disapprove as
much of the battles fought by Sant'Pvlia and
the Modernists against tradition and its
spiritual \alues, as of Ruskin's and Sitte's

neglect of material progress and prosperity.
And it is this richness and ambiguity of
architecture that forces us to say that all of
them were at the same time right and wrong.

When formulating "revolutionary ideas" no
one can judge them and no one can predict
their long term impact on society. History

U Cdrlmsicr. Plan Voinin. Paris

pro\idcs us with examples of eonser\'ativc
ideas leading to progress, and revolutionary
ideas producing no good besides harm and
pain. As Kolakowski says, "It is trivially true
that very often the blessings and horrors of
progress are inseparably tied to each other,
as are the enjoyments and the miseries of
traditionalism.""" This seems to be the case
of architecture, too. Colin Rowe illustrated
it well when comparing the project for the
Stockholm Ghancellary by Asplund, with Le
Corbusier's revolutionary Plan Voisin. He
pointed out that the attention to context, to
the fabric of the city displayed by Asplund
represented a more subtle and penetrating
attitude toward architecture than the
progressive, but in reality "destructive," ideas
of Le Corbusier. On the other hand, who
can blame Le Corbusier for trying to relate
architecture to the radical social, economic,
and political changes occurring in the

Western W'oiki at the he,i;imniij;<)t' tlie 2()tli
century? Today one can wonder whether
the Plan Voisin or the Ville Radieuse are
merely layers of techno-scientific solutions
or, like the project of Asplund, a lasting
contribution to urban culture. The conflict
of the old and the new goes on, but the
present pluralistic world makes it more
complex and our inquiry more difficult. It
generates e\'en a trend that would like to
deprive not only this conflict, but
architecture as such, any meaning
whatsoever.

Guunar Aspluml. Stockholm Clninccllaiy

Let us turn in this search to a group
representing such a trend which seems to
avoid the snares of commitment: a group
concerned with architecture as such, and
indifferent to its social and environmental
implications. Its members are influenced by
a presently fashionable linguistic theory and
literary criticism, deconstructionism. Some
representatives of this group, often called
deconstructivists, claim that architecture,
like language, is an independent of reality
system able to express accurately only itself.
Unfortunately, they add, architecture, like

language, masks in this process the true
meaning of what it expresses. Ilcnce,
abandoning the search for meaning, the
deconstructionists concern themselves with
the order and structure of architecture.
Although the question whether architecture
can be considered a language is too broad to
lie discussed here, it suffices to say that this
idea limits the deconstructionists' concept
of architecture and reduces its social role to
mere self-referentiality. Consequently, the
deconstructionists reject the nf)tion of
complexity and depth of architectural
problems, concentrate on perfecting formal
solutions, and limit architecture to the
technicalities of "how" to aehiexe them-to
mere virtuosity. Indeed, their fascinating
projects, prepared often with the aid of
computer graphics, show an extraordinary
exuberance of inventiveness and forms but,
alas, a lack of content and purpose.

In the search for suitable means of expression
the deconstructionists reclaimed from history
the architectural vocabulary of Russian
Constructivism. They ignored, however, the
fact that theirs and the constructivists" aims
belonged to opposite worlds. While
constructivism was a movement rooted in
social revolution, deconstructivism in
architecture is a style based on linguistic
theory. WTiile one tried to change the world,
the other decided to ignore it. ^\^^ile one
sought solutions to satisfy the needs of a new
society, the other lead architecture away
from socio-political and economic reahties
into a wonderland of language games,
textuality and narratives. But is decon-
struction innocent? And is it really as
indifferent to the outside world as it claims to
be? As the constructivists wanted to be part
of the communist society, so the decon-
structionists are part of the consumer society

( represented mainly by wealthy clients, elite
patrons, and glossy journals and magazines).
They do not attempt to "build a new world"
and do not intend to criticize the existing
one. Simply, as Mark Wigley says, "they
produce a devious architecture. ..in which
form distorts itself in order to reveal itself
anew."'' Thus, they go on producing new
forms, interested in mere novelty or, to put
it differently, in "otherness." This benign
goal masks, however, their complicity in the
non-ideological workings of the "free market,"
in the struggle for dominance of sleek
publications, of media recognition, and of

their conviction (in spite of their belief in
pluralism) that theirs is the truth.

There is yet another side of deconstruction
that requires attention. Eisenman tries to
transfer the newest developments in science
to architecture. He uses fractal geometry,
Bolean cubes, and DNA as inspiration for his
forms and, in this way, situates himself at the
cutting edge of science and progress. But is
he? Wlien the constructivists, who were
overwhelmed by the spate of unprecedented
technological inventions, used airplanes and
engines as inspiration for their forms, they

.lukcv Chcrnikhov. Fantas

Bernard Tschumi, Park dc la ViUcttc

14

searched not only for ways of expressing the
new epoch but also for ways of bringing
about the dreams of the new society. No
matter how superficial their efforts were,
how little they were concerned with the
workings of airplanes and engines as
inspiration for their forms, they searched
not only for ways of expressing the new
epoch but also for ways of bringing about the
dreams of the new society. Their main
objective was to move the society forward
and to express it in new forms. For Eisenman ,
the newest achievements of science are
sources of new forms too , but for architecture ,
which he understands "as an independent
discourse, free of external values."" Here we
seem to witness the irony of history. The
Russian constructivists, in spite of their
diverse points of view described, for example,
by Catherine Cooke,''' were well aware of

their historical mission, of participating in
the making of history. The decon-
structionists, on the other hand, seem to
reflect, what some would call, the "twilight of
the West." Unlike the constructivists who
belie\'ed in science and technology and their
power to improve the world, the decon-
structionists witness the inertia of a techno-
science devoid of direction and goal. They
witness a drastic change in the meaning of
cultural production and abandon the
"senseless" and shapeless postmodern world
as not worthy of their attention, reflection
and interpretation. Consequently, they turn
inward and concentrate on a world they
build for themselves. In this situation the
enthusiasm which accompanied the efforts
of the constructivists has been replaced by
the disenchantment, cynicism and nihilism
of the deconstructivists. The fact that these

Frank Gchry, Office Building, Venice, California

two moments in history generated formally
close and yet ideologically distinct
approaches to architecture seems only to
confirm the idea that architecture cannot be
separated from the outside world.

But what has happened in the meantime to
the historicists? The serious concerns of
Ruskin, Sitte, or Asplund have been replaced
by the frivolous populist imagery, pastiches
of historical forms and Disneyland fantasies
of such architects as Graves, Moore, or
Venturi. Although their architectural
languages differ substantially from each
other, their general attitude is the same.
One wonders where this attitude may lead.
And, looking at the Seven Dwarfs facade of
the Disney headquarters in Burbank,
California by Michael Graves, one wonders
whether this could be the icon of the
historicists' approach. Can we consider it a
contribution to the conflict between
tradition and progress or rather, as Charles
Jencks seems to suggest, to a conflict
between culture and kitsch? -"

There exists another movement which, in
contradistinction to deconstruction, and to
a lesser extent to historicism, concerns itself
with the present reality. It wants to solve the
problems of contemporary society with the
help of technology, and is considered by
some a spearhead of teehno-scientific thought
in architecture: the "High-Tech" of Late-
Modernism. The movement sees the world
with optimism, and believes that the advances
of technology derived from the studies of
NASA and the aerospace industry, for
example, can make a positive impact on the
built environment. Martin Pawley, an
enthusiast of what he calls "technology
transfer," gives examples of the possibilities
offered to architecture by

industries far removed from construction:
solvent-welded PVC roofing derived
originally from swimming-pool liners;
flexible neoprene gaskets using a material
developed originally for cable-jacketing;
adhesive-fixed glazirig transferredfrom the
automobile industry; superplastic

15

16

Canditis. .losic. Wooch: Flue I'nivursiry. Berlin

aluminum panels and metallic fabric
fireproo/ing from aerospace; tensioning
devices from trailer sidescreens; raised-
floor systems from jetliners; photochromatic
glazing from jet bombers.-'

Architecture cannot lightly ignore such
possibilities. But to be able to take full
advantage of the ever progressing achie\'e-
ments of technology it must pay a price: it
must relinquish its traditional role in society
as an agent of culture and must expedite
society's adaptation to the world yet to come.
Along this line of reasoning Pawley suggests
that "unlike the 'historic' contribution of
permanent architecture, the architecture of
the future must be in continual transition. "--
Here is an unequivocal position in the conflict
between tradition and progress: architecture
is no more; what is left is a utilitarian

mechanism whose \ alidity is reduced to mere
efficiency and adaptability. From this point
of view, Pawley seems to chastise such
ruchitects as Norman Foster and Richard
Rogers for compromising High-Tech and for
abandoning the ideal of total flexibility: the
ideal of Buckminster Fuller, Arehigram, Yona
Friedman and the Metabolists. lie seems to
forget, however, that already Team X
concerned itself with flexibility, change and
adaptability, and was defeated (for now, at
least) by the forces of life. The Free University
of Berhn by Candilis, Josic and Woods, an
instrument ofadaptability and change which
magnified these notions to almost symbolic
proportions, is all but forgotten today.

Yet at closer inspection High-Tech seems to
be another case of ambiguity in the
understanding of architecture. The question
arises to what extent High-Tech belongs to
the sphere of civilization and represents
another layer of technological sediments,
and to what extent it is part of the world of
culture-a constant renewal of the timeless
heritage of mankind. Is, for example, the
Lloyds of London a "historical document"
representing a distinct level of technological
de\'elopment at a particular time in history
or an object of culture which will make a
lasting imprint on the skyline of London?
Must architecture choose between art and
technology, culture and civilization? And if
so, where does the Eiffel Tower, for example,
belong? Should we consider it a "historic
contribution of permanent architecture," or
an example of 19th century technique whose
time has passed? Should we, as Pawley does,
describe architecture as "an occult world of
ignorance and obsolete mystery,"--^ or should
we be less orthodox and more broad-minded?
The problem certainly is more complex than
Pawley would like us to believe.

The De Menil Museum by Renzo Piano in
Houston offers an example of architecture
that goes beyond High-Tech. It respects
context and local character and in scale,
material and color relates with great subtlety
to its residential surroundings. As far as high
technology is concerned, it uses it sparingly.
On the other hand, the Hongkong and
Shanghai Bank by Foster which, one must
admit, fits equally well into the skyline of
Hongkong's Central Business District, is an
exercise in the most advanced technology.
Its technological splendor achieved at an
exorbitant cost seems, however, to question
its real meaning. Is it, like the Lloyds of
London, an experiment in technology
condemned to obsolescence and demolition,
or a contribution to the financial culture of
the late 2()th century? Will the bank become
a lasting monument to human aspirations, to
human creativity-to culture, or, in the name
of the endless flow of inventions, is it destined
to the dustbin of history? As the significance
of science and technology in the present

Rithanl Riificrs. Lloyds ii/Limdon

society grows, so the traditional meaning of
architecture diminishes. But this symptom
of our times indicates a deeper problem: a
danger that the spirit of techno-science will
spread across the globe and create its own
anonymous and transitory civilization
deprived of any character, identity, and
meaning. And such will be its architecture.
Can our present rational, scientific and
technological mode of thinking overcome its
own limitations and reach beyond itself?
Can the value judgments, excluded from the
world of science, gain legitimacy again?

Richard Rogers reached, perhaps, the heart of
the matter when he said that "what has failed is
not modem architecture but our ethical system.
Science and technology have outstripped our
capacity to deal with them. This we must
redress."-^ Yet we cannot escape the vicious
circle of intentions, compromises and results.
In his hands, as in the hands of other High-
Tech architects, technological efficiency has
been transformed into its mere symbol, into
show-pieces of corporate clients. Here lligh-
Techjoins forces with historicism: the Lloyds
of London by Rogers and the Hongkong and
Shanghai Bank by Foster, like the New York
AT&T Building by Johnson, or the Humana
Building by Graves, are all aesthetically
different, yet all belong to the same category.

Can the conflict between tradition and
progress, between material well-being and
spiritual values, between civilization and
cultures be declared invalid? The skeptical
mind will always question and attack the
Utopian one- the one that seeks a perfect
world; the progressive mind will always revolt
against the complacency of the conservative
one - the one that sees in the good old days an
image of the future. Without this conflict, to
quote Kolakowski again.

18

the victory of Utopian dreams would lead us
to a totalitarian nightmare and the utter
downfall of civilization, whereas the
unchallenged domination of the skeptical
spirit would condemn us to a hopeless
stagnation.-'^

Thus the conflict between these two forces
seems to be our only hope. What constitutes
danger is the attitude of those who declare
indifference to "all that takes place within
civilization," who consider architecture an
independent of reality system, and who
abandon the battie for a better environment.
Those architects, although immersed in
contemporary problems, dilute them in
language games, whimsical aesthetics and
novelty at any cost. They concern themselves
with such esoteric notions as "futile
permanence," "errant signification," or
"indeterminate signifieds," but stop short of
critically assessing problems of our society and
our civilization . This attitude is understandable.
But is it commendable? As David Harvey
writes in The Condition of Postmodemity "In
period of confusion and uncertainty, the turn
toaesthetics [ofwhateverform] becomesmore
pronounced." Later he adds:

The experience of time and space has
changed, the confidence in the association
between scientific and moral judgments has
collapsed, aesthetics has triumphed over
ethics as a prime focus of social and
intellectual concern, images dominate
narratives, ephemerality andfragmentation
take precedence over eternal truths and
unified politics....-^

Although this condition may be a passing
mode, architects who thrive on it ignore its
temporality and act as if theirs were the final
truths. By turning to aesthetics and ignoring

ethics they seem to forget that to "refuse to
acknowledge the inevitability, or even the
reality, of evil, is also to kill or weaken the
will that is needed to triumph over matter."-'
It is no wonder then that those architects
who set themselves apart from the present
undefinable world escape into the sphere of
aesthetics and, in essence, surrender to a
consumer society and to its aims of publicity
and profit.

Perhaps for a consumer civilization - the
logical child of Enlightenment - it does not
matter whether the old or the new triumphs.
Perhaps for technology only efficiency
matters. And perhaps for language nothing
matters at all. But for architects the problem
still remains the same; even the most daring
inventions of the human mind will not change
the human spirit and the human heart. Man
lives today surrounded by electronic codes,
signs, images and gadgets but he also carries
with him the weight of a biologically based
inner nature. He may employ the most
powerful computers in the pursuit of material
well-being, but he will never cease searching
for his roots, for sources of his dignity. And
it is culture that provides him with a link to
his past, with the understanding of who he is.

Perhaps, as some say, there is no role for
architecture in the contempory society;
perhaps architecture has no future; perhaps
it is a remnant of the past. But, if that is not
true, why should architecture abandon its
cultural and spiritual role in society?
Likewise why should architecture prevent
man from moving forward, from trying to
improve his lot? This is the dilemma of
architecture, its essence and its soul. The
struggle for this soul will continue with every
new generation of architects imtil archi-
tecture ceases to exist.

But it is not only architecture whose existence
is threatened today. The world itself is
threatened. The real danger to both comes
now from a new source. It comes from the
ecological crisis caused by our fragmented
and directionless civilization. And perhaps,
like the Industrial Revolution centuries ago,
the Ecological Revolution today may change
the face of the world again, for the threat is of

r.V.s,,, I'cIIl Ciihiry Whuif. London

global proportion and concerns everybody
independent of place, age, and race: the poor
and the rich, the young and the old, the
educated and the ignorant. It may give new
meaning to our coexistence with nature-**
and to our mutual interdependence. If that
happens, architects will have to be ready for
new challenges, new tasks, and new conflicts.

1. Leszek Kolakowski, Modernity on Endless Trial
(Chicago and London: The University of Chicago
Press, 1990) p. 4.

2 . See Nicholas Riasanowski , The Teaching of Charles
Fourier, (Berkeley: University Press, 1969) Jonathan
Beecher and Richard Bienvenu, editors, The Uto-
pian Vision of Charles Fourier, (Columbia: Univer-
sity of Missouri Press, 1983) Robert Owen, A New
View of Society and Other Writings, (London: J.M.
Dent & Sons Ltd., 1949).

3. Francoise Choay, TheModem City: Planning in the
19th Century, (New York: George Braziller, 1969)

Michael W. Brooks, Ruskin and Victorian Arch itec-
ture. New (Brunswick and London: Rutgers Univer-
sity Press, 1987) p. 192.

Robert Foumeaux Jordan, Victorian Architecture,
(City: Penguin Books, 1966) p. 130.

7. See Carl E. Schorske, Fin de Steele Vienna: Politics
and Culture, (New York: Random House) 1980.

8. Camillo Sitte, The Art of Building Cities- City
Building According to its Artistic Fundamentals,
Hyperion reprint edition, (Westport, Connecticut:
Hyperion Press, Inc., 1979) p. 2.

9. Antonio Sant'Elia, Manifesto of Futurist Architec-
ture 1914, in Umbro Appolonio, editor, Futurist
Manifestos, (New York:The Viking Press), 169, 170.
See also Donald Drew Egbert, Social Radicalism
and the Arts, (New York: Alfred Knopft, 1970)
pp. 279-280.

10. Paul Ricoeur, History and Truth , (Evanston: North-
ern University Press, 1965) p. 271.

12. Rayner Banham, The Architecture of the Well-tem-
pered Environment, (London: The Architectural
Press, 1973) p. 265.

20

6. Ibid., p. 131.

13. Ibid; p. 269.

Colin Rowe and Fred Koetter, Collage Cit\\ (Citv.
The MIT Press, 1978) p. 98.

Choay, The Modem City, p. 31.
Kolakowski,Mo(r/t'ni!t.v on Endless Trial, p. 12.

Mark Wigley, Deconstructivist Archl
ton: Little, Brown and Co., 1988) p. 1

Peter Eisenman, "The End of Classical," Perspecta
21, The Yale ArchitecturalJoumal, 1984. p. 166.

21. Martin Pawley, Theory and Design in the Second
Machine Age, (Oxford: Basil Blackwell Ltd., 1990)
p. 153.

22. Martin Pawley, "Technology Transfer," The Archi-
tectural Review (September 1987) p. 35.

23. Ibid., p. 39.

24. Richard Rogers, Directions in Current Architec-
ture, (New York: London/St. Martin's Press, Acad-
emy Editions, 1988) p. 10.

25. Kolakowski.MorferMit.v im Emllcss Tried, p. 145.

, Catherine Cooke, "Professional Diversity and its
Origins," The Avant-Garde, Russian Architecture
in the Twenties, Architectural Design Profile 93,
(London: Academy Editions, 1991) pp. 9-21.

, Charles Jencks, "Post-Modernism Between Kitsch
and Culture," Post-Modernism on Trial, Architec-
tural Design Profile 88, (London: Academy Edi-
tions, 1990) p. 27.

26. David Harvey, The Cotulition of Po.stmodeniity,
(Oxford: Basil Blackwell Ltd., 1989) p. 327, p. 328.

27. Kolakowski, Modernity on Endless Trial, p. 28.

28. Magdalena Abakanowicz, Arboreal Architecture,
catalogue of the exhibition at the Marlborough Gal-
ler\' in New York, Summer 1992.

Invasion of the Building Snatchers

A Contemporary Architectural Avant Garde
and Its Heritage^

Thomas Schumacher

University of Maryland

22

"The future is always the same; it's the past
that changes. " -Beniaminn Plucido

"...criticism is a device to detect false
claims. " -Thomas McEvillev

In Architecture schools and in magazines
around the globe, the new architecture of
DECONSTRUGTIVISM heralds the eclipse
of Postmodernism. The new style is
everywhere, from Seattle to Atlanta, London
to Venice, Tokyo to Buenos Aires. Few
schools of architecture (outside of
Switzerland) have resisted. Fueled by the
publishing industry (three DECON-
STRUGTIVISM issues of the London-based
Architectural Design have appeared to date)
the new style also announces the eclipse of
the old modernisms, from the International
Style and the New Objectivity to the New
Brutalism. Neo-Rationalism and virtually all
the other movements of the last 70 years are
also ousted. Except Futurism and
Gonstructivism.

Deconstructivism, or DEGON, is most
certainly a misnomer, like the term
'Rationalism' used to denote the Italian avant-
garde of the 20s and 30s, and it would be
unfair and oversimplified to lump all the
buildings and architects of this new ortho-

doxy of diagonal intersections, glass shards,
and asymmetrical unbalance into the single
category of DEGONSTRUGTIVISM. Many
corporate and commercial firms have been
influenced by Deconstructivist projects.
Some have even been able to combine the
language of Deconstructivism with that of
Postmodernism.

The term is already in widespread use and we
can easily recognize the duck when it appears
in a full-color magazine spread. I will,
however, not employ the "D-word" here with
a broad brush to include all buildings,
projects, (and architects) with a similar
quack. Rather, I am interested in discussing
those architects who maintain that the new
style goes ineluctably and irrevocably with
the times. 1 will question the premise that
Deconstructivism is more 'in step' with our
time than any of the other architectural
styles around.

The new architecture is the architecture of
angst, pain, and turmoil; Peter Eisenman,
one of the 'movement's' most vocal
proponents, has called it the architecture of
the post-nuclear/post-holocaust age. This
new architecture which seeks to replace an
ancien regime. That ancien regime is
Postmodernism, but the new architecture is
not the old modernism. It is rather an

architecture grounded in the specific
reahties of today; it is hyper-modern.

As such, Deconstructivisni has pulled off a
terminology coup. Like the Red Guards
during the Cultural Revolution, the
Deconstructivists are 'more modern than
thou.' Like the 'hawks,' who commanded the
American flag during the Vietnam war,
modernity has become the exclusive domain
of those architects who use multiple
diagonals, tilt-out walls, and plan-rotations.
This coup parallels an earlier one by the
original Modern Movement architects of the
'20s and '30s. Like their counterparts in the
inter-war period, Deconstructivist archi-
tects and their apologists have usurped the
term 'Modern.' 'Decon' is now the only
modern game in town. Other modernist
architects, including those who would
subscribe to many of the original tenets of
the Modern Movement, are retardataire .
They are made to feel as if they aren't modem
enough. In the thirties, architects were made
to feel the same way by the proponents of the
International Style. Architects like August
Perret, Paul Cret, Gio Ponti, Peter Behrens,
W.M. Dudok, and Eliel Saarinen were modern
architects, too.

Deconstructivism is avowedly not a revival
of the modernism of the '20s in terms of
social agenda, the organization of space for
use, and the role of advanced technology. It
rejects the nationalisms and regionalisms of
the '30s. It abjures the Neo-Realism of the
'40s, the optimism of the '50s, the social
determinisms of the '60s, the Postmodernism
and Neo-Rationalism of the '70s, and the
bourgeois formalism of the early '80s. The
new movement has brought back the human
body, we are told (was it ever missing?), but
this revival gives us the body 'in pain.'

The new architecture is propelled by an
intellectual fuel composed of an elan vital, a
pure symbolic essence. Its legitimization is
based on its capacity to represent today
through pure charisma. What this may
mean in historical, intellectual, and logical
terms is interesting to consider. In this
essay, I will first examine the basis of
Deconstructivism's self-justifications. I will
then question some of Deconstructivism's
avowed purposes, in particular its need to
reflect a presumed contemporary Zeitgeist
of angst and uncertainty. I will conclude
with what I rekon is Deconstructivism's real
essence: a highly decorative style, less
revolutionary than most of its proponents
would like to admit. Most important, I will
argue why Deconstructivism would better be
called Neo-Futurism.

1 . During the period Reyner Banham called
'The First Machine Age' the German
philosopher and economic theorist , Max Weber,
wrote a book called The Theory of Social and
Economic Organization.- In it he set out a
simple set of ideas for how governments, regimes
and socio-economic systems justify their very
existence. Weber identified what he called 'the
pure forms of legitimate authority.' They were
the rational, the traditional, and the
charismatic. Nations, peoples, and govern-
ments consider themselves to have legitimacy,
Weber argued, because of rational or
traditional reasons, or via the charisma of
their leaders or their ideologies. This is not
difficult to illustrate, although the pure forms
are hard to find in almost any particular
governmental system, especially in this
century. The 'Divine Right of Kings,' an
extreme version of the traditional, no longer
passes muster in most monarchies. The British
Royal Family may retain a traditional right to
the throne, but not to govern.

23

In the modern worki the pure forms of
legitimate authority are intertwined; they
resemhle certain chemical elements ( sodium ,
for example) which exist free in nature hut
only in compounds or ores. Western
democracies are widely accepted to he
primarily rational systems, with certain
strong traditions (like the Anglo-yVmeriean
legal system), exuding a modicum of
charisma. But these governments never
possess so much charisma that it over-
shadows the rational.

Tradition still dominates in eoimtries like
Saudi Arahia. Fascist Italy and Nazi Ger-
many relied heavily on charisma and
discarded tradition. Rationality was almost
non-existent. In Italy under Fascism, the
famous dictum "Mussolini is always right"
serenely demonstrates such lack of ration-
ality. Socialist societies have sought to
balance the rational and the charismatic; the
traditional has no part in the operations of
the system. That is, in theory, at least.

Weber's lens can be placed neatly over the
phenomenon of architecture. Certain styles,
periods, or movements are heavily rational,
others are primarily traditional or
charismatic. Renaissance protagonists
elaborated the rational in a parade of
treatises. They also blatantly paraded a love
for tradition. Palladio, for example, wrote
that because the Ancients made such beautiful
temples we should study them in order to
know how churches ought to be built.

architecture needs nourishment from each:
the ratioiud, traditional and charismatic.
Like Vitruvius's Firmitas, Commoditas, and
Vcnustas, (FIRMNESS, COMMODITY, and
DFLIGIIT), "well building" requires at least
sontcthiufi of all three.

Out of all the influential architectural
movements of our century. Futurism was the
most charismatic. This helps us to under-
stand the relation between its founder,
F.T. Marinetti, and Benito Mussolini.
Constructivism, while proposing a kind of
rationalism, was also heavily charismatic.
Neither of these movements had much
interest in tradition . Architects closer to the
mainstream of the Modern Movement,
architects like Gropius, Le Corbusier,
Mendelssohn and Oud, tended to balance
the three pure forms of legitimate authority,
although the traditional was dragged along,
out of sight, way back in third place. While
the protagonists of the Modern Movement
tended to play up the ratioiud, which, in
their eyes, would make their architecture
charismatic , they also downplayed tradition
in the polemical writings of the propaganda
war. And for good reason. Wliat combatant
wants his enemies to think they share even
part of his ideology? History has taught us
that such pamphleteering portrayed an
incomplete, if not systematically distorted
portrait of the architecture of the '20s and
'3()s; the traditional was much more
important to those architects than they
originally admitted.

The Greek revival of the early 19th century
was short on the rational, but very long on
the traditional. Viollet-le-duc tried to
rationalize the charismatic. Without pressing
the point too far, it might be reasonable to
that a balanced, deep, and significant

Postmodernism was an attempt to infuse the
rationalism of modernism with a height-
ened sense of tradition. This is not to say
PoMo lacked charisma. Movements cannot
be launched without charisma, whether it
be proffered with the statesmanlike control

of Venturi's Complexity and Contradiction,
or as a call to arms like Le Corbusier's
Towards a New Architecture. Decon-
structivism has now pushed the pendulum in
the other direction. It is a self-proclaimed
anti-rational movement, at least in terms of
architectural rationality as we have
hitherto known it; Deconstructivism
purports to reflect the times: chaos,
uncertainty, unclarity, a foreboding Zeitgeist.
It overtly rejects tradition, at least in its
theory. A deconstructivist might well argue
that the exclusion of the traditional and the
rational is exactly what makes the movement
so unique and unprecedented. We should
not forget Futurism, however.

Deconstructivism, like Postmodernism, was
hatched in the academic communities of
Europe and America, and its anti-rational
agenda is well represented in numerous
design studio projects and methodologies
within academe. One of the more popular
methods is for students to make 'conceptual'
(albeit physical, that is, real, i.e., palpable,
what 1 mean here is 3-D) of architectural
ideas deriving from fantasies about, say,
literary or filmic themes, or the LA freeway
system. Copper, brass, wire mesh, wire
glass, etc. , are employed to make 'conceptual'
models. These models are not intended to be
literal depictions of buildings; they are not
scale models, but rather the adumbration of
'ideas,' 'meta-models.' Figuration portrays
abstraction. Brass in the model doesn't
mean brass in the building, it just means
brass in the model. (In the past, students
used abstract models to portray real spaces
and buildings.) Students then carefully draw
shadow-renderings of the model. The shadow
pattern becomes the initial parti, or
organizational idea, for the building.
(Assuming they cast their shadows

accurately, students at least get a good
descriptive geometry lesson. And these
studios are tame).-*

Parallel to these methodologies is the interest
in drawing and representation as an end in
itself, what Robin, Evans called a, "...
consumability [that] has most often been
achieved by redefining [drawings'] ...role as
similar to that of early twentieth-century
paintings, in the sense of being less concerned
with their relation to what they represent
than with their own constitution. And so the
drawings themselves have become the
repositories of effects and the focus of
attention, while the transmutation that
occurs between drawing and building remains
to a large extent an enigma."^

This sort of method and its attendant
fetishized drawing-objects are purveyed as
an antidote to the 'false rationalism' of
programmatic bubble-diagrams or nine-
square grids, typical of traditional plan
generators. Behind it is a very modern
concept; the acceptance of the relativity of
all initial architectural decisions. The
method, which assumes that all points of
origin are equally valid, might well be the
ultimate DEGONSTRUCTION (as compared
to deconstructivism). Deconstruction, the
literary theory from which some of the
principles of Deconstructivist architecture
flow, holds that all interpretations of 'texts'
are equally valid. A building, like a poem, is
a 'text.' As the deconstructors of literature
tell us, no one person can hold the key to the
'proper' interpretation of any text.
Interpretation is open to interpretation. If
interpretation is open to interpretation, then
why not the generation of 'text'? So goes the
logic; meaning anything goes in the logic.
Mere is where we enter the world of Big Julie

25

26

from Damon Runyon'sGimsam/Do/Zs. lie's
the gambler-hoodlum who shoots craps with
his own dice, from which the dots have been
removed. "I remembers where the dots was,"
he tells his associates.

Post-Structuralism, the movement of which
DEGONSTRUCTION is but one mani-
festation, tends to assert multiplicity of
meanings, individual accessibility, and the
ultimate subjectivity of all understanding.
The viewer puts his/her own interpretation
into the act of 'reading.' Post-Structuralism
abjures elitism. Railing against modernist
criticism, the post-structuralists might be
better placed alongside the architectural
radicals of the late 60s, in particular those
behaviorists of the so-called 'user-needs'
movement.

Post-Structuralism is, in fact, aligned with
Postmodernism in literature and art. The
connection which architectural DEGON-
STRUCTIVISM has assumed to exist with
post-structuralism of other disciplines is a
paper connection, existing solely in the minds
of the architectural deconstructivists. Like
postmodernism in art and literature,
Postmodernism in architecture was a pluralist
idea, allowing for multiple interpretations of
the modern world, while Deconstructivism
is a single-interpretation theory, assuming
an overarching technologicalZeit^eist which
eclipses all other interpretations. The single-
Zeitgeist doctrine marches in step with the
anti-rationalism of the movement. Such
anti-rationalism is typical of theories which
exude univalent, totalitarian ideas of how
things ought to be done. Rationalism, by
contrast, is moderate, as Peter Collins has
explained.^ "Rationalism has always been
essentially a tolerant doctrine," writes
Collins. "It is as uncongenial to those for

whom architectural creativity is analogous
to Action Painting as it is to technocrats who
dream of creating an everlasting urban Utopia
within five years.""

In practice, the formal repertory of the style
closely reflects the vocabulary of Futurism
and Constructivism, with even less interest
in establishing geometric, spatial, and social
order than the Futurists and (especially) the
Gonstructivists had. The relationship
between our present 'avant garde' and
Futurism has been underplayed; the style
might be better called "Neo-Futurism," or
"Futurist Revival." Futurism, like Decon-
structivism, but unlike Constructivism, was
nihilistic. Like Deconstructivism, Futurism
took an essentially passive and uncritical
role towards the excesses of urban squalor
and unbridled technological pollution, with
its acceptance of virtually anything that
industrial development and science fiction
have tossed in our path. Marinetti argued
for, among other things, the destruction of
Venice. Violence was the catchphrase of his
Manifesto: "We want to glorify war-the only
cure for the world -militarism, patriotism,
the destructive gesture of the anarchists..."'
{ Marinetti literally went into the streets with
his squads in acts of symbolic violence.) A
contemporary parallel can be found on
Donald Bates's flyer for his architecture
program at the Le Gorbusier Unite at Briey:
"This endeavour is... a speculation on the
mode of working which anticipates that the
grasping of understanding be seen as a
particular act of violence. This potential
brutality is found readily in that apparatus of
thought and experience named
'architecture'."

Marinetti's attitude toward his craft is shared
by certain protagonists of the new

architecture. The following description of
Marinetti's Futurist Variety Theatre by James
Joll might do for a few contemporary
personalities.

"Everything must be absurd: the actresses
would have green hair, violet arms, blue
bosoms, and orange chignons: glue would be
placed on the seats of the theatre and the
same seat sold to two people; itching and
sneezing powder would be scattered among
the audience: free seats would be offered to
notorious eccentrics, and so on.'"*

Like the Deconstructivists, Futurist apologists
attempted to claim certain architects and
other artists as part of their movement,
"...attempts were made to claim Stravinsky
and even Richard Strauss as the true Futurist
musicians."" Frenk Gehry has been
appropriated by the Deconstructivists,
despite his lack of interest in their agenda.

In the 6()s Archigram, Archizoom,
Superstudio and other neo-futurist
movements stood for a technological
Zeitgeist, but these architects were not simply
interpreters ofthe status quo. Their schemes
and dreams were not merely reflections of
the apparent technological /social /cultural
conditions. They were rather statements
about what ought to be. how people ought to
live. Today the squalor of 'Blade Runner'
becomes a paradigm for a 'new urbanism.'

The revival of these seventy year-old
architectural standards and theories casts
suspicion on the idea ofthe Deconstructivist
(read: Neo-Futurist) rejection of tradition
and proves once again that the Emperor's
clothes cannot be tailored without employing
an existing bolt of conceptual cloth (or is it a
conceptual bolt of cloth?). But despite such

logical inconsistencies-indeed, perhaps
because of them-c/iarisma seems to be the
name of the game, as it was for Futurism.

2. Is modern life truly chaotic and unstable,
and if so, is architecture an appropriate
vehicle to express our atomized society? If
we consider the half-century since the end of
WWII, our evaluation must be mixed. On the
one side, we have had a nuclear threat, a
global population explosion, a depletion of
natural resources, terrorism, and the
greenhouse effect; in 1961 we teetered on
the brink of nuclear holocaust.

On the other side, we have also witnessed
over the past 4-1/2 decades one of the most
prosperous periods of economic growth in
history. Advances in agricultural science,
medicine, and domestic technology have
made much of the world a more productive
and more prosperous place. It might even be
argued that after Nuremburg our moral fibre
has improved. (Most civilized nations have
even outlawed the Death Penalty.)

Modern life, in the West at least, is more
predictable than it ever was. (None of the
Deconstructivists has asserted that the new
architecture expresses the angst of East
Africa.) We can reasonably expect to live to
a ripe old age and not get cut down by
communicable diseases like plague,
diphtheria, or polio. We have pensions for
our old-age, seat-belts and air-bags for our
cars, even the Heimlich maneuver to avert
accidental suffocation on an errant chicken
bone. We can avoid the roulette of sex: birth
control or abortion to prevent or terminate a
pregnancy, and 'safe' techniques to prevent
disease. We can even replace some defective
organs. And much of our future is in our own
hands: we can choose not to smoke or eat

27

28

saturated fats. Such knowledge and
techniques were unavailable to Raphael,
Mozart, Schubert or H.H. Richardson.

WTiere are the uncertainties and insecurities
of modern life? The Gold War is over. The
real possibility of a nuclear holocaust-that
dark cloud hanging over the generation of
the 1960s-recedes from consciousness as
world tensions ease. Those 1960s architects
were committed to represent the potential
stability of modern life through 'rational' and
structurally stable forms. There were even
attempts to extend rationality into design
methods, as witnessed by the work of
Christopher Alexander and others. WTiy
didn't those architects interpret their age as
unstable, and 'express' that instability in
their designs? One possible answer is that
they didn't think of it, they who were so
moralistically engaged in making a "better
world." 'Chaos,' it would seem, can be
connected to the rational only tenuously,
and to the traditional not at all. Yet it
attaches itself quite easily to the charismatic.

But to give 'chaos' the benefit of the doubt let
us for the moment accept that the 'chaos'
interpretation is but one among many
acceptable interpretations of the essential
Zeitgeist of our time. The 'order' inter-
pretation would be another. By what measure
is the 'chaos' interpretation better or more
accurate than the 'order' interpretation?
Viewed through a deconstructor's lens, the
'order' interpretation of modern society is
just as valid as the 'chaos' interpretation. If
the point is at best moot, then it seems
patently absurd that an architectural style
purporting to represent either interpretation
could claim to represent the Zeitgeist of
contemporary life. Yet Deconstructivism
claims such hegemony.

There is another side to the 'chaos' inter-
pretation, however. This is the 'uncertainty-
in-science' principle: the fact that scientific
certainty was shattered over and over again
during the 20th century by Einstein,
Heisenberg, and more recently by scientists
who speak of 'chaos' — rather than order — as
the normal state of the Universe. Today's
architects who wish to make a parallel
architectural theory should remember what
happened when early 20th century theorists
made similar connections to the science of
their day. Theo Van Doesburg believed that
4-dimensional, non-Euclidian estimates in
space-time would make everything "very
easy." The resultant Space-Time concept
became the watchword for several genera-
tions of architects. The most strident of
these architects and apologists fooled
themselves (and many others as well) into
thinking that the Mies's Barcelona Pavilion
expressed dynamism and spatial simultaneity
better than-rather than slightly differently
from-the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles or the
Mosque of Cordoba. As Giorgio Grassi
explained in 1983: "It is actually pathetic to
see the architects of the 'heroic' period
...trying with difficulty to accommodate
themselves to. ..'isms' [cubism, suprematism,
neo-plasticism]; experimenting in a
perplexed manner because of their
fascination with the new doctrines, measuring
them, only later to realize their
ineffectuality. ..."'"

Numerous Avant-Garde architects, and
untoUed students enrolled in American
architecture schools, would like architec-
ture to behave like certain other artistic
disciplines. Many purveyors of these
disciplines examine the 'underside' of
contemporary life; the nitty gritty and the
unpleasant. The architects are envious of

playwrights, and novelists, filmmakers, and
performance artists. This is perfectly
understandable. Various artists evoke the
uncertainties, chaos and atomization of
modern life, just as artists from Velasquez to
Brecht to Godard have done. Moreover,
artists whose work mirrors the brighter side
of modern life are usually dismissed as
saccharine and sentimental. It's difficult to
imagine, however, that Brecht would have
wanted his house to do what his plays did.

Further, it is eminently possible that liter-
ature, performance art, theatre, film, etc.,
are naturally more conducive to expressing
our collective angst than are the applied
design disciplines of architecture, urban
design, landscape architecture, civil
engineering, or industrial design. Should
automobile designers design unsafe cars?
Should refrigerator designers create units
which periodically malfunction so that we
may better understand the life cycle of growth
and decay? Computer programs that crash
without warning would certainly call
attention to the 'best laid plans of mice and
men.' To be made aware of the ultimate
fragility of all human existence doesn't
dictate that those who are innocent of its
causes should physically suffer for it. Perhaps
architects should admit that architecture
portrays angst rather poorly, and rather
cheaply. A disintegrating masonry wall, a
distorted and rotated frame, and an
unfathomable zig-zag mass, are paraded as
the emblems of an age of anxiety. These
gestures pale as anemic trivialities compared
to the themes of alienation which inhabit the
novels of Gunter Grass, the films of Werner
Herzog, or the plays of Samuel Beckett.

There is a wonderful irony here. Despite the
rhetoric about angst-ridden modern realities.

Deconstructivist projects and buildings are
extraordinarily picturesque. They are directly
accessible to a generation raised on TV, Star
Wars-style special effects, and abstract art
movements. The forms are, in short, nothing
new. The architecture is pretty, the way
driftwood is pretty. In a society inured to
shock and jaded by an overload of stimuli,
the architectural projects of the avant-garde
are probably more dangerous physically than
culturally. (Teachers of architecture might
consider getting a tetanus shot before
handling their students' models.) This new
architecture is not shocking; it does not test
our assumptions or our sensibilities; it does
not question our 'norms' and our bourgeois
lives. It simply titillates. Futurism and Dada
are part of history. Their revival is the
ultimate in sentimentality.

Assuming we can intuit the essence of an
'age' while we are still living in it. does it
matter whether architects are self-
consciously interested in expressing it?
Won't their products express their age-at
least after the fact-whether they like it or
not? Nobody, even a layman, will mistake
the work ofMcKim, Meade and White for that
of Bramante. Nor will most persons mistake
the work of Leon Krier or Michael Graves for
that of Paul Cret, or even the buildings of
Richard Meier for those of Le Corbusier.

The 1920s is often called the Jazz Age. It was
also the First Machine Age, as Banham called
it; the Age of Political Ferment; the Age of
Greed, the 7\ge of Nationalism, etc. How do
architects choose which Zeitgeist
designation|s] to follow? If recent events in
Eastern Europe are any indication.
Nationalism and regionalism might well be
the victorious Zeitgeist of the 1990s. For
architecture, this might imply all manner of

29

vernacular and traditional revival, hardh
consistent with the Deconstructivist agenda

Longhena, He
scores of othei

md I'alladio, amoiij;

It is difficult to imagine that Jay Gatsby
would have been a more representative
character of his era had he lived in a house by
Gropius, or even Behrens. If Gatsby's neo-
Renaissance villa in East Egg could neatly
represent the Jazz Age ( and the Age of Greed ) ,
then what artifact doesn't symbolize its age?
The revival of Gatsby-era tweeds in the 1980s,
enhanced by the popularity of numerous
films set in the '20s, is as emblematic of the
'80s and '90s as the personal computer.
Subtle changes in fabric and cut, like the
differences between the architectures of
Lutyens and Soane, make it unlikely that
Ralph Lauren's clothes will ever be mistaken
for the 'originals.' And if they are, so what?
When the tower of St. Mark collapsed in
1902, the Venetians rebuilt it dove'era
com'era, ("where it was, how it was") by
decree of the mayor. But the new tower was
built of reinforced concrete and equipped
with an elevator. Despite the reservations of
some of the foreign press of the time, the
Venetians decided that the expression of
20th century technology was less important
than the continuity of culture. To interpret
artifacts as the representation of aspirations
and nostalgia, not reality, is an accepted
norm of historiography.

Further, many historians chronicle the
decline of the Republic of Venice well before
the creation of many of her greatest palaces ,
churches, and paintings. Veronese's and
Titian's paintings came at a time when
Venice's cultural and economic influence
was already on the wane. In order to
establish an instrumental connection
between Venice's glory and much of its art,
then, we would be forced to deny Carpaccio,

The Zeitgeist is not a ventriloquist, with
architecture and other cultural artifacts as
its dummies (this is a variation on British
historian Eric Hobsbawm's idea that
economic development is not a ventriloquist,
with the rest of history as its dummy ) . " Even
if contemporary architects could accurately
intuit the Zeitgeist and convince it to speak
through their buildings, would this be so
wonderful? Designers in other disciplines
are somewhat more sanguine about such
temporal specificity. They seek timelessness
and 'classical' continuity. Certain auto-
mobiles from the '3()s-but not all-are deemed
CLASSICS. The Citroen DS, first introduced
in 1957, looks remarkably modern even
today. The designer of the 1990s generation
Mercedes Benz SL roadster was recently
interviewed by the editors of an American
automobile magazine. He described his new
coachwork as not having "too much
Zeitgeist" [sic], because with "too much
Zeitgeist"' the car would age too quickly.
The Porsche 911 has passed the quarter
century mark with only cosmetic changes, a
fact that undoubtedly makes Dr. Porsche
very happy. Even considering the short life-
span of today's buildings, annual aesthetic
obsolescence might not be desirable for most
architects or their clients.

Most architects have big egos. They want
their imprimatur on the buildings they design .
They want everyone to know who designed
them . But the more their buildings represent
their age, the less they are identifiable as the
work of an individual artist. The works
become anonymous. This was ardently
desired by some of the more radical architects
and theorists of the '20s and '30s, from

Hannes Meyer to Massimo Bontempelli.
Today's architects and students most
certainly do not want anonymity. The more
their buildings share the Zeitgeist, the less
the architects share the glory.

Thirty years ago Aldo Van Eyck lamented
that architects had forgotten about those
aspects of contemporary life which were
essentially the same as they were decades
and centuries ago. The contemporary avant-
garde might do well to heed Van Eyck's
remark. I recently heard a story about a
student who could not allow himself to design
a building with a courtyard because
courtyards are an architectural configuration
from the past. An astute critic asked the
student if he was against drinkinggin because
gin was medieval, or against drinking
champagne because champagne was
Baroque. '- What about buttons or shoelaces?
Should we 'button' our shirts and 'tie' our
shoes only with velcro? As if the student's
courtyard would ever be mistaken for a
medieval cloister or a Renaissance cortile; as
if Alvar Aalto's courtyard at Saynatsalo would
ever be confused with the monastery of Le
Thoronet. I have more than once heard
students claim that the geometric figure the
octagon represents a pre-modern era. Yet
octagons would exist even if humans didn't.

In the early 1930s a controversy erupted
between two influential figures in Italian
architecture, Marcello Piacentini, the most
powerful Italian architect of his day, and Ugo
Ojetti, the most influential art critic. The
polemic was over whether Classical Roman
arches and columns were required for an
appropriate official Italian Imperial
architecture. Ojetti said yes; Piacentini,
taking an uncharacteristically modern
stance, said no. After all, Piacentini argued.

"You wouldn't have us wear a toga, would
you, Signer Ugo?" Ojetti replied, " Palladio
didn't wear a toga." Mussolini got his arches
and columns.

There is another, and rather comical, parallel
to these attitudes within the Futurist
movement, albeit late in the movement. In
1930, at a banquet to launch the Futurist
Cookbook, Marinetti railed against the staple
of the Italian diet: pastascuitta. "Futurist
cooking," claimed Marinetti, "will be liberated
from the ancient obsession of weight and
volume, and one of its principal aims will be
the abolition o(pastasciutta. Pastasciutta,
however grateful to the palate, is an obsolete
food; it is heavy, brutalizing, and gross; its
nutritive qualities are deceptive; it induces
skepticism, sloth, and pessimism."'^ Here
we have Pasta, defying the Zeitgeist.

Courtyards, octagons, vertical windows,
mouldings, etc., are among the myriad of
architectural devices and forms which are
allegedly inconsistent with a highly
particularized - and doctrinaire - architects'
view of the contemporary world. These
proscriptions are corruptions of some of the
more 'fundamentalist' Modern Movement
beliefs concerning the appropriateness or
inappropriateness of particular forms and
formal relationships. The most common
offender is symmetry. Why symmetry should
have born the brunt of the modernists' frontal
attacks is easy to explain, and refers to the
charismatic. Classicism required symmetry,
therefore, modern architecture, in order to
express the non-classical view, must deny
symmetry. Contemporary symmetrical
buildings are unnatural, improper, even
deranged. How, then, can we account for the
fact that the two types of structures most
conspicuously emblematic of modern life-

31

32

skyscrapers and bridges-are almost always
symmetrical? F"urther, they are symmetrical
in two or more axes, and those which are not-
like Michael Graves's Humana Building in
Louisville -often represent a return to more
traditional forms. Deconstructivists might
also look to some of their own heroes from the
early 20th century, like Antonio Sant'Elia,
Ivan Leonidov, and the brothers Vesnin,
architects who designed symmetrical buildings
in the name of a technological avant-garde.

3. Like any Avant-Garde, Deconstructivism's
successes have brought it closer to the
mainstream, blunting its sharp edges (in
some cases literally). To date we have seen
precious few Deconstructivist buildings
actually executed, but many of those we
have seen, like Bernard Tschumi's Pare de
La Villette, are follies; they are 'fun'
constructions which don't require heated
rooms and weather seals. And they are quite
wonderful, to be sure. Other Deconstructivist
buildings are rather small. Still other built-
works are interiors; they do not have to shed
rain or snow. (Is this starting to sound like
the Modern Movement around 1930?) One
of the larger public examples of the 'new
architecture' which I have had seen is Rem
Koolhaas's Dance Theatre of the Netherlands
in the Hague. What surprised me about this
building was how traditional it is in every
respect except its exterior surfaces. The site
plan completes a traditional square; the
groundplan is a rather orthodox modern
assembly, with cleanly flowing spaces; the
interior is composed of standard modern
spaces, halls, lobbies and auditoria. Like
Venturi's idea of the 'decorated shed,' this
'ordinary' massing is overlaid with cladding,
only this cladding is composed of zig-zags of
metal and glass. Koolhaas has transformed
an extremist and 'pure' version of a

charismatic idea into something more
palatable and ideologically neutral. He seems
to be playing Dudok to Peter Eisenman's (or
Daniel Liebeskind's) Van Doesburg.'^ One
has the impression, however, that the
cladding of Koolhaas's Dance Theatre could
be easily removed for a renovation. If the
building were renovated in Gropius's style of
the 1950s, would that be an intolerable
exercise in reactionary taste?

Deconstructivism has continued the Modern/
Postmodern debate at the same scale and at
the same level of discourse. And judging by
the similarities of decorative excess, both
POMO and DECON share a common
ornamental point of origin . They differ merely
in the source material of their applique.
Despite all the talk of a technological Zeit-
geist, they are both architectures in the
scenographic, rather than the tectonic
tradition, as Kenneth Frampton has shown.
For Frampton, "...building remains
essentially tectonic rather than scenographic
in character, and, it may be argued, that it is
an act of construction first, rather than a
discourse predicated on surface, \'olume and
plan,. ..."'" Modernism was primarily tectonic
and eschewed the scenographic, at least in
its original theoretical professions. Futurism
was one of the few styles of modernism that
was predicated on scenography, as well as
charisma.

But the Neo-Futurists do share a few ideals
with mainstream modernism. One is the idea
that buildings should not be 'veneered.' Veneer
hides the 'truth' of the construction process.
But for most building tasks, in most climates,
using most contemporary installations,
covering the skeleton is as normal and as
important as covering the frame of an
automobile, an airplane or a motorcycle.

Projects in schools of architecture make
Deconstructivism appear to be constructed
with the most advanced technology;
proponents argue that such technology is 'the
way we build today.' Actually, at the level of
detail these projects are presented, they would
be extremely expensive, hand-made buildings,
more like the Space Shuttle than the latest
robot-built automobile. In reality, the way we
build today is not all that different from 100 or
400 years ago, not to mention how the Romans
built: strong, cheap and plentiful materials
underneath. Durable, fancy and expensive
materials on the outside. We build like the
ancient Romans, only thinner, and with more
plumbing. (Actually, compared to the Romans,
with not even that much more plumbing.)
But whatever the relationship may be bet-
ween old and new construction methods and
materials, the exigencies of the construction
industry are not what has generated the forms
of Deconstructivism, no more than it gener-
ated the forms of the original Futurism of
Sant'Elia and Ghiattone.

If this talk is a plea for anything it is a plea for
better balance among the traditional, the
rational, and the charismatic. The antidote
to the charismatic excesses of Decon-
structivism is not Prince Charles's
Romanticism, any more than de Stilj was the
antidote to Eclectic Classicism, or POST-
MODERNISM was the antidote to the 1960s
concrete bunkers in oceans of parked cars.
In the end, most of the stylistic bickering among
architects is painfully parochial and trivial.

The difficulties and problems caused by
modern architecture are urban, not styUstic.
The Postmodern reaction to modernism
should have been at the urban scale, not the
scale of details and claddings. While some of
the theory of the past 20 years has focused on

the urban scale, little of that theory has been
put into practice; Postmodernism was an
almost wholly stylistic movement. It is
possible to make good cities using modern
architecture, as the Amsterdam School
proved back in the 1930s. If Dutch architects
could plan and execute a modern city back
then, one which continues to function
beautifully in the face of the technological
changes of the past 60 years, then we should
be able to do it now.

There is good news, however, for those
mainstream modernists, post-modernists or
'independents' who are put off by Neo-
Futurism's lack of social agenda, its disdain
for all varieties of tradition, its lack of order,
its self-proclaimed absence of rationality,
and especially its anti-urbanism. Like pure
sodium when it's exposed to the air, pure
charisma has a short life span before it literally
burns up. Or else it combines with other
elements (like sodium with chlorine) and it
becomes something as innocuous as taffle
salt, something that gives a little more flavor
to an already established recipe.

Conclusion:

Much of my argument here is prompted by
the fact that architects and critics in
architecture schools are engaging in
activities which take them away from the
original object of their studies: the building
and the urbanism which groups of buildings
create. This is not to say that the influences
on architecture and design that arise from
other disciplines-be they history, anthro-
pology, literary criticism, etc.- ought to be
avoided. An enormous amount has been
learned from these disciplines, and others,
in the past quarter century, and 1 have
myself engaged in research using both literary
criticism and sociology.

33

At a recent internal symposium at Princeton
University involving Professors of Archi-
tecture and Art History, a teacher of Art
History asked the architecture faculty to define
architecture. The first response by an
architecture professor was, "Architecture is a
system of representation." The historians
response was, "I always thought of architecture
as Baukunst: the Art of Building."'"

form."'' But even literature has its 'pragmatic'
side. The literal sense of a novel - the story -
supports the allegory, interacts with the
allegory, informs the allegory, and it is not
simply the inadequate sustenance of an
allegory that we could dispense with if only
our audience were sophisticated enough to
not require an understandable story to hold
its atavistic attention.

34

Architecture is the art of building, however,
before it is a system of representation. Were
it only a system of representation we would
not have to teach technical courses in
professional programs; but, more import-
ant, we would not have to worry about the
relationship of literal to allegorical modes of
thinking; they would be manifest, or at least
more transparent then they are, as in
literature or painting. But the inability of
architects and students to distinguish the
literal from the allegorical has perhaps been
the cause of much of the academic, unreal
(in more than one sense of the word) design
work of the past decade.

Worse, many architecture students today
seem uninterested in any dialogue between
the literal and the allegorical, between the
"art of building" and a "system of
communication." They desire pure com-
munication, as if this actually occurs in any
other discipline which can be regarded as a
system of representation. This anxiety over
the pedestrian and pragmatic essense of one's
discipline is not solely the deformation
professionelle of the architect. Even writers
share it. E.M. Forster once wrote about the
novel: "Yes - oh dear yes - the novel tells a
story. ... That is the highest factor common to
all novels, and I wish it was not so, that it
could be something different-melody, or
perception of the truth, not this low atavistic

In this regard let me briefly return to some
research I did a few years ago on Giuseppe
Terragni and his methodological inspiration,
Dante Alighieri. Terragni, I believe, under-
stood the difference between the 'art of
building' and 'a system of representation,'
and between the literal and allegorical senses
of both Dante'sDTOnie Comedy and the project
he dedicated to that great poem and poet.

Terragni relied on his source, Dante, for a
method of dissecting his own architectural
allegory, and to explain the relation of the
corporeal, literal 'sense' of his building to his
allegory. Dante in his turn, using a long-lived
and well-worn tradition of Medieval "Fourfold
Exegesis" explained his Divine Comedy to
his patron, in a famous letter called the
"Epistle to Can Grande della Scala."''' What
is central to both Dante's and Terragni's
allegorical meaning, is that it is constructed
upon the literal meaning. The building is a
building before it is the embodiment of
Dantesque compositional criteria or Fascist
allegorical ideals.

Too many students, professors, and architects
today do not understand this very simple
necessity. My purpose here has been to show
that nothing is new. This stuff is old hat,
but is apologists are either trying to pull the
wool over unsuspecting eyes, or have a ver\'
poor grasp of history themselves.

1. My thanks to Steven W. Hurtt, Andrea Ponsi, Janet
Zweig, and Patricia Sachs for criticisms and
comments on this essay.

2. See M.Weber, The Theory qfSncial and Economic
OrHunizutUm (New York, The Free Press, 1<)47).

3. hi the Princeton University Student Course Guide
tor 1992 the following entrj- is recorded for the
Sophomore Studio: "Project #1: Design a religious
experience for a smurf and a duck in two dimensions,
with four colors, a baseball bat, and a sheet of
aluminum foil. Draw a section of the experience and
relate it to your interpretation of Senator Kennedy
as a symbol of purity. Drawings should be at a scale
of r=2 million feet." (p. 3). Observers not privy to
the Princeton scene have been confused as to
whether this is in fact tongue-in-cheek.

4. Evans, Robin, "Translations from Drawing to
Building, " London, AA Files, 12, Date?, p. 5.

5. Peter Collins, Architectural Judgement, Montreal,
McGil-Queen's University Press, 1971, 42.

F.T. Marinetti, "Futurist Manifesto," inLe Figaro,
20 February 1909, translation in J. Joll, Three
hitellectuals in Politics. New York, Pantheon, 1960.

8. .lull, op. eit.,p. 150,

9. ,Joll, op. cit., p. 147.

. Grassi, G., "Avant Garde and Continui
Opposition.s 21, p. 2d-27,

11. See Hobsbawm, The Age of Empire, New York:
Vintage Books, 62: "Economic development is not a

sort of ventriloquist with the rest of history as its
dummy."

12. The incident occured at Cornell University. The
critic was Colin Rowe. *

13. Quoted in E. Da\id, kalian Food, llarmond.sworth:
Penguin, 1954, p. 93.

14. W.M. Dudok was an extremely talented and
successful architect in Holland in the '20s and '30s,
the designer of the Bijenkorf Department Store in
Rotterdam and the Hilversum Town Hall, among
numerous other fine works. He was awarded the
AIA Gold Medal, one of two foreigners to receive that
award in the pre-\VWll period (the other was Sir
Edwin Lutyens). In Space, Time and Architecture ,
Siegfried Giedion dismissed Dudok as 'sentimental.'
It seems that Dudok used bricks and, sometimes,
pitched roofs. He wasn't avant-garde enough for
Giedion.

15. Frampton, K., Rappel "a L'Ordre: The Case for the
Tectonic," in AD, The New Architecture, London:

Academy Editions, 1990, p. 20.

16. Re-told to the author by Professor .lohn Pinto.

EM, Aspects of the Novel, New York,
Harcourt Brace and World, 1927, 1955, paperback,
ed., 1965, p. 25-26.

IS. See Toynbee, Paget, Dantis Alaghcrii Epistolae,
London, 1907.

Architecture of
Liberative Movement:

A Design Thesis 1992-1993

Henry Plummer
Thesis Critic

Benjamin K. Nesbeitt Mo\'ement is the creative poetry of liberty,

University of Illinois . ,. , . ,. . ,

Urbana-Chmnpaisn eni''"ating from the expression ot inherent

mobility; it is a manifestation of the graceful,

vibrant tensions between equilibrium and

imbalance, safety and risk, gravity and levity.

The Architecture of liberative movement is a
thesis aimed at generating a built
environment which engages that dynamic
mobile nature of man - an environment which
invites participation and investigation,
challenges mental and physical abilities, and
allows users to be interactive with
architecture. Users of this architecture can
then become participants. By endowing
these participants with opportunities for
choice, spontaneity, and creativity,
architecture gains vital freedoms, becoming
ali\'e and liberative.

The need for such an architecture is definite
and unmistakable when traced to the more
inventive stages of human mobile life. As
children we are explorers of an expanding
world, probing the tactile environment and
testing gravitational limits. Ingenuity defies
convention. Precarious places are reached
through remarkably resourceful sequences
of physical effort. We are free to ascend
vertical rock faces if we dare. This inventive
clambering and grappling is part of play and
discovery; it is a curious, sometimes ecstatic

revery of our liberation from the immobility
of infancy. However, we are then conditioned
to avoid risk. We employ ever diminishing
degrees of creativity in motion. With the
passage of time, the memory of excited
exploration grows faint, or submerges into
amnesia. This progressive restraint and loss
of motivation is analogous to atrophy, only
here it pertains not only to strength and
agility, but also to those creative sensibilities
which might infuse built environments with
activation.

Some rediscover what was known and natural
in childhood through reviving movements
and imaginations. This is exemplified by the
diverse physical techniques and mental
gymnastics required to solve the planar relief
labyrinths of rock climbing. In the climb, an
entirely different sense of balance, alien to
the horizontal world, is engaged. The ascent
allows one to become free, to be vertically
intrepid, to vulnerably inhabit another terrain
apart from conventional topography.
Climbing has been compared to a tense
vertical ballet. Sequence is critical to this
dance, whose choreography is in part
suggested by the features of the cliff
formations and in part improvised and
discovered by the climber. The challenges,
choices, and creativity of rock climbing make
it perhaps the strongest analogy for an

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architecture of movement because it is these
quahties which imply participation with the
environment. These mobile and tactile
freedoms-the liberative essence of climbing-
can be imparted to architecture.

Architecture, unfortunately, has done little
to revive the creative interplay between man
and the physical world. The majority of the
built environment currently offers few
opportunities for creative motion, instead
maintaining level, predictable, pedantic
circulational patterns. The liberative
movement advocated here is arguably
counter to what is safe and buildable
according to codified regulations presently
in use. Although liberative possibilities
certainly exist within the letter of the code,
some precedents studied would not comply.
This is largely due to the proliferation of ever
tightening restrictions, which can be
excessively hmiting-and which should at
times be subverted. Without ignoring the
welfare of participants, it should be stated
that vulnerability is the counterpart of

security. If one is to participate in a free
arena of motion, both safety and risk should
be available as choices to the mobile
experimenter. For architecture to depart
from its sedentary status quo does not imply
the seeking of danger, thrills, or sensation.
Rather, it suggests an architecture which re-
engages the potentials of the body and the
faculties of the mind in an extensive and
integral way. It calls for involvement-not
only of the legs and feet, but also the torso,
arms, hands, and eyes-in an ongoing act of
architecture.

The goals of a mobile, liberative architecture
may thus be defined as creative movement,
spontaneous movement, and freedom of
movement, achieved through participation
with architecture. For creative movement to
occur there must be multiple choices or
paths. These should offer variation in
topography and difficulty, and should require
exploration and creativity from participants.
Because of this diversity, participants are
freed to act spontaneously. They are granted

the liberty to improvise. Freedom of
moN'ement is the liberty of movinj;
innovatively (aswellaseonventionally). It is
the possibility of participating with space in
three dimensions, both climbing and
traversing at will.

Participation may be defined as interaction
with architecture in either of two ways.
The first is an interaction whereby the
built environment is able to elicit physical
responses from users-the building acts
upon its occupants, and they "participate."
The second is a reversal of the first such
that inhabitants act upon architecture to
alter the physical environment, and as
such, are able to participate In the ongoing
generation of that architecture. It is these
two modes of participation which can recall
childhood's probing and testing of the
environment.

It is here that I return to the analogy of rock
climbing as one of the most experimental of
all movement activities. Climbing implies a
range of creative motions which activate
the entire body in participation, fluctuating
among balance, strength, and sequencing
skills. The language of movement that
evolves from the activity of ascension,
combined with the vocabulary of numerous
architectural precedents (see bibliography ) ,
can be used to generate liberated
architectural design. The sense of wonder
found in exploratory environments can be
regained, and the childhood freedom to
experience them creatively can be
recovered. Static, prescriptive architecture
which rigidly determines modes of
movement gives way to liberated,
challenging environments. The result is an
architecture of participation and vitality.

In exploring the liberative possibilities of
movement there is an implicit critical
approach to convention. There is a need to
depart from lifeless and sedentary terrains
which are almost inhumanely monotonous.
But it should be realized here that the
experience of any terrain is just that — an
experience that should be tested
experientially. Experiential testing can yield
feedback otherwise unobtainable . Participants
can raise questions and issues, and can be
genuinely informed as they articulate their
perceptions on the movement which they
encounter. This rationale clearly directs the
design investigation toward a method of full-
scale experimentation. To conceive ideas on
the activity of motion solely on paper, or
through reduced-scale models, would be to
suffer from the illusion that one can know the
ascent of a cliff by viewing its face.

This full-scale testing began in the P'all of
1992, with the construction of an actual
size "detail." The one-to-one experiential
character of the project became an asset in
perceiving movements from a realized (not
imagined or simulated) perspective. The
piece is fully usable and deals with several
phenomena.

A steep, ladder-like stair was chosen to
embody key theoretical ideas, which involve
the entire body in the activity of ascent.
Drawing upon precedents of battlement
stairs and ships' ladders, its treads are
alternating trapezoids, suggesting an
energetic rhythm of climbing. The ladder
can be used in multiple ways: It can be
climbed using an ordinary rhythm; climbed
more quickly and athletically; or descended
by sliding down its right rail, somewhat like
the descent down a ship's ladder. Thus, it

offers choice and multiplicity while deviating
from the typical ascent. For some parti-
cipants in requires thought; for others, it is
intuitive. The varied treads and risers
comprise a continuous vertical terrain like
that of a cliff face, only more accommodating
and less strenuous. The phenomenon of
irregularity is paired with phenomenon of
stability, as embodied by periodic ledges in
a rockscape. Broader treads provide for a
stance at mid-climb and at the crest, while
asymmetrical rails provide aid at the
beginning and end of the journey . The ladder
stair is constructed of light-gauge folded
perforated steel, evocative of ideas of terrain
and of lightweight "free" climbing. The stair
also uses vertical displacements to represent
energy, rhythm, and grace of movement. It
thus begins to explore the psychological
phenomena of invitations made by flotation
and decollage.

The lessons of this piece as a full-scale
design experiment lead to the pursuit of
thesis work through further full-scale
constructions, expanding the exploration
to larger choreographies and sequences.

In selecting a site for experimentation, two
types of potential may be considered. The
first is its direct potential, in which a location
geometrically, volumetrically, or otherwise
suggests passage and movement. In this
case, movement is inherent and awaits
augmentation through architecture. A
second, indirect potential exists in static,
lifeless sites which are at first contradictory
to the intended design activity. In being
contrapuntal, such a site may offer, if not
invite, the rigor of improbable trans-
formational workings. It is a base \'oid, a
dead cavity awaiting an infusion of life.

The challenge of this second avenue was
chosen in the form of a workable full-scale
site. A construction/installation site within
an existing building envelope was sought,
requiring minimal footprint area, but favoring
high volumetric spaces which permit
movement in the third dimension. Such a

space was graciously made available at 811
N. State Street, Champaign, Illinois, for the
work of this thesis.

The site is a vacant, time-worn room in a
brick and concrete icehouse dating to 1916.
The space is a mere 700 square feet, but
offers a ceiHng which slopes from seventeen
to eighteen feet, suggesting multi-level
possibilities. Moreover, its vertical dimen-

sions were considered expandable. The aging
floorboards rest on top of four feet of cinder
fill, which could be partially excavated to
allow level changes and descent in the space.
iMthough the space is devoid of fenestration,
laterally closed except for an exterior door
and three interior doors, the site suggests the
possibility of opening the ceiling upward to
the sky. This raw and ruinous space was a
seemingly latent site, brooding with
anticipation.

An experimental studio, or architect's atelier,
was selected as a functional scenario for the
investigation, stemming from the notion that
experimental design work is generated in
creative and interactive environments. The
experimental studio can also serve to educate
a public unfamiliar with the possibilities of
such an active, participational realm. It
should be noted here that participational,
multivalent architecture has a tendency to
resist functional typology and obvious
pragmatics. Although the space may be
designed with an aim toward a specific
scenario (the studio), its nature (experi-
mental) allows it to surpass any singular
functional capability. The work is instead
made and remade, according to the will and
desire of the participants, in a process of
being and becoming.

The aim was, thus, to make a radical but
indeterminate intervention in the icehouse.
Early models began to study a "building
within a building" concept with sloped,
hinging, transformable floor and wall
topographies. The wall and floor became a
continuous folded terrain, and a curving
system of screens began to speak of the
notion of the swing or radius of a folding
hinge. The sloping wall became a stair, and
as cladding of the wall eroded, shelves of the

reference library ambiguously became stairs.
Wall and floor pieces also could be
transformed to become work surfaces, and a
mobile flat screen was allowed to descend
into a vertical projection position from behind
its arcing parent. The parallelogram-like
geometry of the porous inner building was
used to perspectivcly emphasize diagonal
dimensions, creating the illusion that the
completed space is larger than the original
space of the site-a demonstrable contrast
when juxtaposed with the unaltered (identical
volume) workroom adjacent to the site.
Layering added to this effect, through depth
and indeterminacy of distance at the edge.
Levitation and aeration of the architecture
brought a sense of weightlessness, making
psychological invitations to participate in
an active place -a free zone.

With many elements of design not finalized,
construction began in early February, 199v^.
The building process was also a design process
during which numerous alterations occurred.
Movement sequences were refined and
expanded. Details and mechanisms were
developed and tested. Idiosyncrasies of the
existing structure were accounted for. All of
these modifications were essential to the
maturation of the work, and often were
arrived at serendipitously. The greatest such
case arose as a reaction to the structural
failure of the aged concrete beams, which
bore gaping cracks at their inboard ends,
their thin steel tendons straining. Before the
designed excavation or framing could begin,
footings were placed, and two steel columns
were retrofitted to insure the safety of the
existing roof structure. In a sense, they
inter\'ened in the intervention, yet became
an asset in many ways. Their assertion of and
connection to the pre-existent order of the
site created a powerful intersection with the

new construction, simultaneously
emphasizing important pathways in the main
wall. The balance of the construction process
saw modifications to virtually every element
of the design, from excavation and subfloor
to the overhead screens and entry piece. The
eroded configuration of the wall received

thorough study, as did the steel railings,
which became increasingly three-dimen-
sional and multivalent. The making process
continually gathered speed, culminating in
substantial completion on April 21, 1993,
the date of the on-site final review.

The experimental studio truly is an arena of
participation, both through interactions with
kinetic elements of the architecture and

through one's own mobile reactions to its
interior terrain. The choreography of this
activated terrain is initiated outside, while
still in the parking lot. Arrival begins with a
hybrid ramp/stair climb to the loading dock;
a foretaste of discoveries beyond the
threshold. The ramp/stair is a fragment of
the floorings to be found inside, and foretells
the configuration of the floor-to-wall
transition. Crossing the existing threshold,

one reaches a second threshold, defined by a
virtual door overhead (a skeletal, unclad
screen frame) and by a gap which one
descends into or bridges over. This moment
calls for either a jump or a downward step: a
choice between travel to the highly active
inner building or to the more sedate
peripheral zones.

Once on the main floor, several trans-
formable pieces are found. A wall panel and
a floor panel fold outward and upward to
symbiotically form an adjustable drafting
station, whose seat might be a similar fold of
the wall or floor. The manipulation of these
pieces exposes shelves behind the wall/
tabletop, allowing storage or ascent to upper
levels. A lifted panel of floor becomes a
conference table, where the legs of seated
participants occupy the interstitial space
between floor and subfloor. Hinging panels
of floor give access to storage or flat flies, or
become theatrical trapdoors. In essence,
the floor becomes an immense cabinet for
the participant to discover, explore, and
even inhabit.

Cloth screens overhead are an immense
filter of natural light, diffusing the sky
through the transformed space. The large
flat projection screen is lowered by hand
into the vertical projection position where
it serves for presentation or theatrical events.
The lowering of this piece requires exertion

at the hands, arms, and back, gradually
easing at the end of actuation. When the flat
screen is lowered it further defines the
conference area and a gallery passage behind
itself. With the screens in place, projection
viewing can occur from many locations. In
particular, the sloping floor allows
participants to sit in groups, or to lay back
on the incline; images may be projected on
the vertical screen in front, or on the cur\'ed
ceiling screen above. These screens can
also serve theatrically for backdrops, or for
shadow plays, or as a play of solar and
atmospheric events. They are amazing to
watch in a lightning storm.

The sloped floors, varying from four and
one-half to fourteen and one-half degrees,
are activators of muscles and sensitizers of
balance. They call for response and
adaptation, suspending notions of the level
datum in favor of an awakened climb. After
traversing and ascending this ramping floor,
an ambiguous wall is reached. On the wall,
the birch plywood cladding of the floor
erodes progressively from frontal to rear
mounted position, then into absentia. The
revealed shelves become treads, and one
questions whether the stair is a wall or the
wall is a stair. One is able to move vertically.

laterally, and also through the wall. The
wall becomes the site of numerous,
unpredictable activities, including child-
hood games. A group of students had the
impulse to chase one another on and around
this structure, illustrating a recovery of
spontaneous play. The steel rails further
promote this improvisation, becoming not
only vertical handholds, but also treads,
footholds, and horizontal traverses. The
rails step in at the mezzanine level,
facilitating transitional movements. The
right-hand rail then bends into the mezz-
anine, behind the wall. It becomes a curved
backrest at the top of the stair, forming an
elevated perch, which allows one to sense
the elevation attained by the climb.

Rests such as this are a necessary counterpart
to movement if authentic freedom is desired,
and such choices of stillness are a stabilizing
factor amidst vulnerability. Many points of
rest can be improvised. The tread/shelves of
the wall dissipate to broader intervals at
higher elevation, creating niches large
enough to be used as seats. The erosion of
the wall creates a window from which one
may securely lean out. Raised fragments of
floor in the mezzanine create seats,
encouraging reading, viewing, or conver-

45

satioii. The subtle inelined cant of the floors
allows the mezzanine itself to ser\'e as a
seating area (with the right-haiui rail as
footrest). In the case of the corner loft, left of
the screens, the floor is low enough to invite
participants to sit, legs dangling over, while
still allowing passage beneath. All of these
rests call one to stop and become a voyeur of
events in the studio-in participating, one is
also an audience. These many possibilities

A "diving lioard" (in a metaphorical sense
linked to the "lifeguard chair" atop the stair)
cantilevers from the mezzanine to the far
corner of the space, oscillating with a sense
of airiness. It floats, quivering and resonating
under footfalls, just above the loft which is its
destination. Although its pine plywood
surface is smooth, its motion yields tactile
feedback, imparting a vital sense of terrain.
The crossing of the bridge begins with a

r T

46

to rest as well as to move throughout the
work defeat any sense of crowding, even at
gatherings of fifty people. The architecture
simply becomes activated as its multiplicity
is invoked.

Various vertical passages exist, in addition to
the stairs of the wall. Other vertical con-
nections might be constructed within the
framework because the floors "breathe,"
floating away from the walls, and the unclad
studs suggest an armature for future
modifications. Likewise, holes in the existing
masonry can become an improvised ladder
for reaching the mezzanine. This is definitely
among the more difficult movements, but it
is an intimate connection to the rugged
envelope, and is one of the least expected
routes of ascent.

wooden rail (the structure which carries the
plane) on the right, which drops away just as
a steel rail is encountered on the left. The
crossing may certainly be made entirely
without the aid of rails. This is often the case,
as travelers respond to the piece by jumping
energetically to the corner loft. From the
corner loft, still more vertical passage
possibilities exist. They are sometimes less
than obvious avenues, such as sliding down
the steel rail, or climbing its brackets through
the floor of the loft.

Several feet above that loft is another loft, a
nest behind the screens. Access to the nest is
a return to childhood, requiring one to
clamber up and onto its floor, and only
partially allowing an upright stance once in
it. Low clearance of beams overhead rein-

forces the already present sense of altitude,
making invitations to sit, crawl, or lie down;
the space implies the assuming of mental
and physical postures of rest. The nest is an
elevated haven, cradled yet exposed, invisible
yet commanding of views. It is a perch among
cloth and branches where one can regenerate.
After all the mobile activities of the studio,
this is a still and contemplative place in the
light-a place of repose.

practiced to its full potential, surpassing the
limitations of functional and technical
problem-solving approaches to design. Such
approaches invariably result in little more
than missed opportunities. In contrast, the
experimental studio, by accounts of critics
and visitors, verifies that a conceptual agenda
can indeed be concretized, yielding
experiential readings-both instinctual and
intellectual. This is then a question of agenda.

In retrospect, it seems that a full-scale design
study is an almost requisite method for
investigating freedoms of movement. The
experiential nature of the experiment allows
decisions and learning to occur which would
be otherwise impossible. The built work
may be short lived, but the forceful
implications of its transient happening have
bearing on the nature of work to come -this
is but the beginning of a synthesis.

The implications are both broad and specific.
Some may seem obvious, others left to be
inferred. As Thom Mayne stated, "This is a
rather positive shock.... This is an aggressive
demonstration ofa conceptual agenda." This
thesis attempts to manifest the poetics of
movement. This is also an implicit illustration
of the need for architecture to be taught and

Architecture of liberative movements posits
the making of interactive places, as a catalyst
of vitality in built environments. The
conceptual design activity is approached
phenomenologically, the intent being a
tangible choreography of the adjectival
qualities of mobile, participational events.

To achieve this implies a questioning of
process and limitations. The experimental
studio was the result of a conceptual process
and a making process which were never
considered to be separate activities or
sequential phases. This made the process, as
well as the result, immediate and particip-
ational. Many of the participational devices
created sought to overcome the limitations
of convention or type, leading to a multivalent
ambiguity. The questioning of function and

47

typolojSy, as well as the subversion of their
primaey, is not then a rash rebellion, but an
opening of poetie possibilities. The
c|iiestioninK of codified limitations, and
resistance t(j their constraint, has been
previously discussed. The built work of the
thesis was necessarily set free of such
restrictions, thereby raising the issue of
safety. On this subject, Herman Hertzberger,
affirming the sensitized engagement of the
body which occurs in such a free zone, said,
"You should invite children here, and also
the building officials-so the officials can see
that the children do not fall."

In adopting such critically questioning yet
pro-active stances, the architect takes on a
highly political role-an act which itself
interrogates current convention. Archi-
tecture of liberative movement, as a thesis,
advocates a blurring of conventions and roles.
The architect moves beyond typical capacity
to become both a maker and a participant;
while the client or user becomes a participant,
with uncharacteristic involvement with and
impact upon architecture. Through this
expansion, the architect takes on the role of
an educator whose work is a continual activity
of straining to expand potentials of design
while striving to open society to a more vital
architecture.

It is my hope that in this built thesis the
world of architectural education may be
seen as integrated with that of professional
practice. It has, to be sure, deeply affected
both my teaching and my work. It is also my
hope that the experimental studio, though
now dismantled, has imparted some
liberative life here. To me, it is a powerfully
latent space, capable of intense energy or
absolute silence.

Selected Bibliography

Carlo Scaqfta. A+U Extra Edition. Oct. 1Q.S5.

I'liimmer, Henrv: "Stairway." -V+f. Aug. V)Hh
pp. 75-79,81, "83-84,85,89.

Plummer, Henry: "Prismatic Space." A+U. May 199]
pp. 10-74.

"Strata Via: The Street as a Mode of Existence." Book
review bv Henrv Plummer. Journal of Architectural
Eilucation. Summer 19S8 vol.41, pp. 58-64.

Ndrberg-Schulz, Christian. Genius Loci: Towards a
I'hetiomenolo^' of Architecture. New York: Rizzoli
International Publications, Inc.

Anchoring. Steven Holl Selected Projects 1975-1991.
Jrd edition. New York, Princeton Architectural Pres

Hines, Thomas S. Franklin I). /.sriiL-/
Projects New York. Rizzoli Intern:
Inc. 1992.

Coop llimmclblau. El Ooquis. June

1989 no. 40,

Ed. Tokvo, A.DA.

1 Hertzberger. A+U 1991 Extra Editioj

49

What's Behind The Wall

Wliy Progressive Public Memorials are
Designed for Private Commemoration^

Jhennifer A. Amundson

Unteed Nelson Slack

Anderson Ltd.

Champaign, Illinois

50

The study of memorials stems from an interest
in the human need for remembrance. It is a
natural reaction in all of us to immortalize
our own accomplishments and memories in
permanent forni: photo albums, family Bibles,
yearbooks, ticket stubs and love letters are
tools by which we all act as historians, if only
on a personal and modest scale. The necessity
for a collective memory across a group of
people is served by the erection of public
memorials, which make our landscape itself
a record of our common achievements, and
a mirror of our values as Americans. Both
the values embodied in monuments, and
their physical expression, have changed
dramatically in the last thirty years to reflect
the diverse memories of our pluralist society.
An obvious formal distinction can be drawn
between early nineteenth-century,
classically-inspired monuments of white
marble, and late twentieth-century geometric
compositions hewn from dark granite.
However, the difference between the two is
much more than cosmetic: aesthetic
evolution in civic monuments was preceded
by a change in the character of contemporary
designers, patrons, and viewers.

The history of American monuments
developed concurrently with that of the
country itself.- Small scale folk crafts like
quilts were a memory-inspiring comfort to

the first settlers. As the country grew in
wealth and materials, people in the new
nation copied the art forms and techniques
of their European homelands, even when
commemorating the patriots of the
Revolutionary War. This trend corresponded
to a reliance on European architectural styles
for American homes and public buildings.
For over one hundred years memorial design
for the strong, courageous, male leaders of
this country was predominated by the neo-
classical and Beaux- Arts styles; American
patriots were immortalized in forms once
reserved for Roman emperors.

These commemorative sculpture pieces were
large-scale reminders of greatness, glory,
sacrifice, and leadership; the subjects of
veneration were patriotic events and national
heroes, usually holders of high political or
military office. By the early decades of the
nineteenth and through the beginning of the
twentieth centuries, they were sculpted by
artists who had studied the vocabulary of
classical forms during a grand tour or study
abroad, or who were at least familiar with the
monuments of antiquity through published
folios. Either means was an intellectual
mark of distinction which the artist shared
with his upper-class patrons. Although at
times "Americanized"- for example, the
substitution of corn cobs for the acanthus, or

Linciiln Mt'imirkd. Washinfiton, D.C.

the inscription of states' names in the frieze
of the Lincoln Memorial-the classical
imagery was probably best understood by
those Americans who had enjoyed classical
educations. While most nineteenth century
Americans viewing a work like Baltimore's
War of 1812 Monument would be impressed
by its artistry, size, and materials, a minority
would understand the greater significance of
the column's form taking its precedent from
ancient Rome's Column of Trajan.

Typically in this period, government bodies
and wealthy individuals supported the
construction of monuments. These patrons
were of similar learning and economic
backgrounds as their objects of veneration.
In effect, through their financial support one
segment of the American populace decided
which memories were worthy of being kept,

and which cultural icons' contributions were
deemed meritorious enough for eternal
celebration. As a result, an under-represented
segment of the country was without a voice
not only in the writing of America's history
books, but also in the tradition of monument-
maldng. This group includes not only women,
racial and religious minorities, but also rural
inhabitants who composed the majority of
the American population for decades, and
had little contact with the great marble works
being erected in the cities.

During the City Beautiful movement, a
response by Beaux-Arts planners to the
increasing concentration of people and
building in growing cities, classically-inspired
mommients in city parks, boulevards, and
squares were a means by which the ever-
inereasingly urban lifestyle was beautified.

51

H'a.s/iiii^roii A/o(i!(»iciit, Baltimore, MD

In this period and the following decades,
three of the country's most prominent
monuments were constructed or completed
in the nation's capitol: the Washington
(1885), Lincoln (1922) and Jefferson (1943)
Memorials marked the great axes first
envisioned by Pierre-Charles L'Enfant in his
grandiose baroque plan of 1791. The great
Beaux-Arts monuments are amplified
versions of the common nineteenth-century
neo-classical obelisk and column. Effigies of
two past presidents are housed in their own
temples, just as the great Greek gods were,
making no small analogy for the prospering
Republic.

With the World Wars passed the first great
phase in American monument construction,
during which millions of dollars were spent
on large-scale, totally non-functional
buildings- save the function of veneration.'
The waning of Beaux-Arts customs, especially
in the construction of momuncnts, would

Washington Mojiument, Richmond, VA

see not just an end to this non-functionalism
in civic building, but conversely, a turn
towards functionalism in the act of
commemoration, due to the Modernist
disdain for classical traditions and a lack of
funds resulting from the Depression and
wartime. Wliere the desire to commemorate
America's heroes was greater than the funding
available for it, a more pragmatic type of
commemoration was borne by bridges,
highways, and sports arenas.

Since that time, and especially within the
past three decades, monuments have again
emerged as a prominent building type as the
pace of their construction has increased.
The new aesthetic which has appeared during
the past generation draws from recent
developments in sculpture and landscape
design. The sixties and sc\-cntics ushered in
a new appreciation for outdoor art , as modern
sculpture pieces were positioned in plazas
across the country. Artists rejected

conventional, realistic forms and worked at
large scales and with architectural materials,
making sculpture which engaged the viewer
physically and defined space, rather than
existing simply as an object for viewing. This
"Plop Art" was the '7()s counterpart to the
earlier Beaux-Arts park decoration, although
its only aim was to be site specific and
aesthetically pleasing. Landscape design too
became more architectural in a sense, the
use of abstract built forms accentuating and
framing an otherwise organic design. The
growing alliance between professionals in
architecture and landscape design which
began with building and planning projects
was applied to monument design. The
blending of disciplines developed new kinds
of monuments which engage the landscape
and define processional spaces. This
prevailing memorial aesthetic is more
appropriate to contemporary needs for
commemoration, although not as much in
stylistic terms as in the manner by which
events and people are remembered.

^Vhile this country has its very roots in a
diverse mix of races, creeds, and interests,
homogenous views were expressed by public
memorial sponsorship until recently when
the under-represented segments of the
population organized themselves as patrons
to support the commemoration of happenings
and individuals outside of the mainstream.
This trend reflects a curious kind of nostalgia
and historical revisionism, which, in some
cases, more than compensates for the
discrimination of earlier decades. For
example, Arlington National Cemetery is
crowded with memorials to various
individuals and groups who served in the
military- mostly men. A recent competition
for a memorial honoring the service of women
in the military claimed the Beaux-Arts

McKim, Mead, and White hemicycle at the
entry to Arlington National Cemeter>' as its
site. On the one hand, it is impressive that
this under-represented group will finally gain
well-deser\'ed recognition. On the other,
one may well wonder if the siting of their
monument at this prominent location may
be misleading.^ In any event, this project is
representative of the kinds of minorities
finally receiving their due largely because of
recent efforts towards inclusion and political
correctness.

The past decade has seen a second crest in
the history of American monuments as
dozens of proposals were made in Washington
D.G. alone, many of which seemed designed
to be either a consciousness-raising effort or
a catharsis to American denial. Painful events
like Vietnam and the 1970 demonstrations
at Kent State have been gaining overdue
acknowledgement as smaller groups of
citizens speak out on behalf of their own
heroes, so that they may join the ranks of
more typically venerated historical figures
who enjoy more wide-spread recognition.
The patronage of commemoration, typified
in the nineteenth century by the elite building
memorials of people from their own ranks, is
no different; it is the patrons themselves
who have changed, and therefore, the kind of
hero and event commemorated. The sheer
numbers of new patrons has also expanded
greatly, as seen in the variety of monument
projects which are proposed annually.

Just as classical traditions were not altogether
replaced by the Modern movement, certain
memorial customs are present today as well.
Small-scale obelisks and statue groups guard
city halls across the country; traditional
heroic monuments featuring cannons and
eagles have been erected since the 194()s to

Astro7iauts ' Memorial

honor veterans of the World Wars. These are
still erected in courthouse squares for those
who bask in the light of undisputed pride,
such as veterans of the Gulf War. Formally
speaking, these traditional monuments
typically consist of an object of artistic focus,
a symbol of the country's strength or the
soldiers' valor, while the soldiers' names are
placed on great tombstone-like plinths to the
side or beneath the message-bearing emblem.
The view is directed to the symbol of strength,
courage, and valor.

This basic pattern can be seen even in one of
the most visually innovative monuments of
this decade. Although completed nearly fifty
years after the close of World War II, the
Astronauts Memorial at the Kennedy Space
Center is very much in the tradition of great
monuments like the Washington Memorial,
although clad in a high-tech, ingeniously
engineered pretense which obscures its
conventional format.' Selected in a
competition of 1987, the design features a

black granite bill board-like screen, which is
positioned on a mechanical armature
engineered to continually track the path of
the sun across the sky. Computer-operated
dishes behind the screen reflect sunlight
through the names engraved in the black
stone of astronauts who have died on NASA
voyages; lights in the dishes compensate for
overcast days and nighttime.

Like the more traditional monuments
positioned or focused on historic
battlegrounds and harbors, recalling the
place of sacrifice for those they honor, this
monument continually mirrors the clouds
and tracks the heavens where the astronauts
perished. An inspiring, noble, and
indisputably heroic monument, in high-
tech attire it celebrates the men and women
to whom it pays tribute as proudly as any
marble obelisk. Like those traditional
monuments, it dictates a message of valor
which all viewers are expected to share.
Appropriately, a runner-up in the com-

petition, which is displayed in the nearby
visitors' center, is a resin obelisk with
aerodynamic features recalling the
silhouette of a space shuttle.

As visually impressive as it is, the Astronauts'
Memorial is flawed in the same way as the
more intricate of the neo-classical
monuments are, in that the acknowledgment
of the skill of the engineer/artist risks
subordinating the recognition of the
astronauts' achievements, goals, and
sacrifice. Certainly, many viewers spend at
least as much time admiring the construction
and mechanics of the kinetic monument, all
of which are exposed, as they do
contemplatingthe lost lives further removing
the commemoration from those who died.
Critics have even suggested that the
monument was meant to reestablish faith in
the machine, which was crucial to NASA
after the explosion of the Space Shuttle
Challenger and as public and federal support
for space missions diminished with the fading
of the Cold War."

Truly ambitious contemporary memorial
designs are separated from their traditional
precursors by more than just a new visual
aesthetic. One of the prominent differences
between progressive and traditional
memorials is a shift from objects (as seen in
both the Battle Monument and the
Astronauts' Memorial) to 'experiential
spaces.' Unlike sculpture pieces to look at
and walk around, the more imaginative
designs are more architectural in character
and, at the same time, highly site-specific.
Like the better examples of modern outdoor
art, they embrace the landscape rather than
sitting on it. Often sequences are a part of
the memorializing process, as the project is
designed to guide the visitor on a particular

path of discovery. These experiential spaces
encourage touch, and a pause for reflection,
allowing for personal interpretations.

This change from expressive element to
space-defining form would not have occurred
without a shift in the kinds of events and
people being commemorated. Some
contemporary heroes, such as veterans of
particularly successful military endeavors,
sports figures, and authors, are held in the
same regard as their counterparts of several
generations ago, and therefore often receive
similar treatment in their memorials. Several
contemporary conflicts demand a different
approach due to the wider audience now
participating as patrons and viewers who
bring a greater variety of opinions to the
commemorating process. This is especially
true of those events which form the rather
dark pages in American history.

Memorials constructed to honor Vietnam
veterans are some of the most powerful,
and most divergent of war monuments.
When one considers the lack of enthusiasm
which met the returning veterans, it is no
surprise that few, if any, memorials were
constructed to commemorate those
soldiers' war in the years immediately
following their return. Local and federal
government agencies had no intention, or
need, from their non-supportive const-
ituencies, to erect monuments to this
conflict. To deny its presence on the
physical landscape would aid in abolishing
it from the collective memory.

The period following the close of the Vietnam
War was ripe for grass roots groups to claim
their roles as patrons in monument-building
efforts. The partial erosion of national pride
due to this unsuccessful war effort, bolstered

55

56

by the incru.-ised political aeti\isni of the
sixties and seventies, and increasing distrust
of the government duringand after Watergate,
set the stage for individuals outside of the
traditional power structure. They organized
themselves to champion their own causes
and heroes; to ensure that through built form
the memory, good or bad, of this important
turning point in American history, and the
thousands of lives lost for it, would receive its
fair share of the collective memory.

In 1971, the first memorial for Vietnam
veterans was erected in New Mexico by parents
of a killed soldier with the proceeds from his
life insurance policy.^ In addition to erecting
a monument for an unpopular war, the family
introduced the idea of private sponsorship
taking an active role in enlarging the scope of
events which had previously been acceptable
for public commemoration. What would
become a massive movement to comm-
emorate the Vietnam, Korean, and other
neglected wars and events, began with this
personal effort, free from traditional patrons.

News of the tribute in New Mexico reached
Vietnam veteran Jan Scruggs, and inspired
him to establish the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
Fund for the sole purpose of erecting a national
monument.** The Fund sponsored a comp-
etition which attracted 1,421 entries; the jury
selected university student Maya Lin's project
of two black granite walls set deep into the
earth at an obtuse angle. The memorial's only
ornament was to be the list of the more than
58,000 dead or missing soldiers' names.

In this simple, striking gesture, Lin not only
deleted all traditional military symbols and
other patriotic elements, but also elevated
infantrymen by making them the focus of the
memorial, rather than its backdrop. By

neutralizing rank, race, creed, and gender,
all who served in the war received equal
treatment, listed chronologically in the order
they died or were reported missing. Rather
than glorifying a war effort, as earlier
memorials did, the Wall honors the .service
of those who made the ultimate sacrifice for
their country in Vietnam. No unfurled flags,
galloping horses, gallant soldiers or soaring
eagles, nor a single star or stripe grace its
severe lines. Void of all imagery, the Wall
was meant as a statement on the finality of
the sacrifices made in Vietnam, portraying
dutiful service and death as equalizers.

The black slabs set into the earth were a
jolting proposition in a city filled with white
sculptural pavilions and gilt equestrian
statues; the now infamous controversy began
long before the memorial's dedication in
1982. But the non-object, place-making
quality of the memorial is its strength, and
that which makes it important, appropriate,
and ambitious. Not a symbolic entity for
veneration, the Wall marks a deep, quiet
crevice in the otherwise active Washington
Mall. Maya Lin was the first in a series of
designers to provide a place, rather than a
symbol, for memory.

It is difficult, if not impossible, to just walk
past it. Visitors slowly stroll along its length,
leaving photographs, and flowers, reading
letters, and constantly reaching out to touch
the granite surface. It was designed to seek
completion by visitors- physically, with the
ubiquitous reflections of passers-by on the
mirror-like surface and with flowers, photos,
and other mementos, as well as emotionally.
Rather than expressing an artist's or patron's
opinion, the memorial collects all feelings of
grief, anger, hostility, shame, pride, peace,
and dignity. Its design enforces an uninter-

rupted procession during which one's
concentration cannot be distracted from the
symbol of sacrifice, loss, and service. The
linear path demands one's attention, and the
physical act of walking its length is just as
important as reading the names. F'acing
these personal feelings is as much a part of
the memorial as the person's reflection on
the thousands of names it will pass over. In
the midst of a great public monument, the
personal process of commemoration is an
integral part of the memorial itself: it
embraces the visitors' varied reactions
and the memories they conjure. Lin's
design is considered to inspire such potent
reactions that a visit to the Wall is a
culmination of several counseling
programs for Veterans." The Wall defines
a place, and holds the time, for personal
reflection and the memorializing process.
It thereby seeks to heal the wound in the
fabric of American history which was
rended by Vietnam.

Once the National Monument proved
successful and acceptable to the majority of
visitors- Lin's Wall has become the most-
visited monument in Washington D.(].-
smaller-scaled initiatives to honor Vietnam
veterans were made across the country.'"
One of the most successful regional
memorials built in honor of Vietnam, the
Maryland Vietnam Veterans Memorial
(1988), is as sensitive to its waterfront site
as the Washington memorial is to the Mall.
Removed from the commerce and tourism
of Baltimore's Inner Harbor and poised on a
slight hill in Middle Branch Park, the
memorial overlooks the Patapsco River.
Screened by shrubs, a ramping path leads
visitors on a circuitous route around the
insulated memorial before opening into the
open field designed by architect Paul

V'icm«»i and Korean Memorial. Morris. IL

Sprierigen. Dedicatory blocks and an eternal
flame bowl are flanked by the state and
national flags at the head of the memorial,
which is composed of a 100 foot ring of 64
low plinths. The bench-like segments
support triangular blocks, which are
inscribed with the names of the 1,046 dead
and 38 missing soldiers from Maryland.
Sixteen light posts, one for each year of the
war which lasted from 1959-75, stand like
sentries around the ring.

The memorial is shielded with thick
e\ergreens from the adjacent busy street and
hospital parking lot, but also provides views
across the harbor and to the green of the 57

park. Visitors ha\e a natural tendency to
circumambulate about the gently peaked,
grassy center; when they pause to sit on
the bench-height segments, their gaze is
directed toward the empty green. The
absence of a physical marker at the center
of this introverted, centralized space is an
important aspect of the design. The arch-
itect described the memorial as ". . . an
inward kind of place" with the outside
world all but unseen. Many citizens' groups
lobbied to have a sculpture or flag placed at
the center point, but Sprierigen was
successful in his argument that the center
must be left open and empty, because
"that's where the memories go." The
memorial is meant to adapt to visits by
individuals and families, as well as group
ceremonies. Like the national memorial
before it, the Maryland Vietnam Veteran's
Memorial is not so much an object meant
to identify allegorically with the war as a
place for personal reflection and tribute.
Void of "trivial symbolism," according to
the designer,'^ the memorial offers freedom
for interpretation without overt political
or military connotations.

Increasingly devoid of heroic and realistic
figure sculpture, the abstract forms of
contemporary memorials allow a broader
interpretation of the artist's intent, but also
serve an important function in what could be
termed a more culturally aware, if not more
diverse, period in American history. The
demand for inclusion, tolerance, acceptance,
and political correctness is met in these
monuments more readily than more
traditional forms and symbols which incur
problems associated with gender- or race-
specifics. The importance of these issues is
clearly illustrated by a number of altered
monuments.

The great equalizing effect of Maya Lin's
Wall was aesthetically and ideologically
comproihised by concessions made by its
patrons to critics who interpreted it as being
anti-heroic; government meddling at the
National Memorial prompted the designer
to disassociate herself from the project. In
an effort to alleviate the discontent the
Senate approved a bill to add a traditional
sculpture of troops to the design. ^•^ The
bronze figure group of three male soldiers,
which placed third in the original
competition, is now positioned near the
entry to the monument in such a way that it
is not visible from the Wall itself. Ironically,
this "solution" only exacerbated the
controversy surrounding the memorial, and
on two fronts. An outcry was heard from
supporters of Lin's original idea who
criticized the imposition of bureaucracy on
the artist's work and questioned the rights
of government to alter memorial designs
without the artist's consent. Women's
groups also joined the fray. \Vhile the
soldiers in artist Frederick Hart's sculpture
represent a variety of racial types thereby
including men of all races, the Vietnam
Women's Memorial Project argued that it
ignores the service of the 10,000 women
who served in Vietnam. In response, another
Senate bill resolved to add yet another
sculpture depicting nurses at the aid of a
male soldier.'^

A similar case of intervention to "correct"
the original design of competition winners
has been the subject of a recent law suit. The
Korean War Memorial, under construction
directly opposite from the Vietnam Memorial,
raised further questions about proper
memorial form and the creative rights of
designers whose work is government-
sponsored. The original competition of 1989

was won by an entry submitted by Penn
State faculty members.''' The design features
a large-scale landscape work in which lines
of larger-than-life soldiers march along a
120-yard path toward an allegorical field of
peace from one of discord. In the original
design, the bronze figures were conceptual
and meant to present a mood and define the
visitor's path rather than present a taxological
depiction of actual infantrymen. Once the
design was accepted, a committee suggested
that the figures be made realistic
representations of the various ranks and
races of soldiers who fought in Korea, which
will detract from the original concept of the
design as accepted by the jury.

Both of these examples illustrate the futility
of including realistic representation- except,
of course, in cases where a memorial is
dedicated to one distinct person. They also
argue the suitability of abstracted forms for
contemporary memorials, since they avoid
gender- and race-related conflicts, which is
especially important in our increasingly
anxious and sensitive society. Both the
National Vietnam and Korean War memorials
as first designed provided absolute inclusivity
by avoidance of particulars. Unfortunately,
the impact of bureaucracy has proven to
inhibit the popular success and artistic
integrity of these memorials.

agencies. Sited at a metro stop, the memorial
blends well with the activity passing through
it and is still an effective place of congregation
for gatherings or for individual visits. At the
time of its dedication, 12,901 names of officers
who had died in the line of duty since 1794
were engraved. A scriptural passage from
Proverbs was the inspiration for the sculpture:
"The wicked flee when no man pursueth but
the righteous are as bold as a lion." The

figural pieces chosen by architect Davis
Buckley cleverly avoid race, rank, and gender
issues; sets of courageous and alert lions and
lionesses guard their unaware cubs.

Kent State Memorial

The National Law Officers Memorial in
Washington D.C., dedicated in 1991,
succeeds in being both inclusive and
inoffensive through allegory rather than
abstraction. The site is a handsome urban
park in Judiciary Square with two tree-lined,
semi-elliptical "pathways of remembrance"
bordered by low cur\'ing walls inscribed with
the names of fallen officers of all ranks of
federal, state, and local law enforcement

In addition to their comprehensive nature,
abstract forms also allow public monuments
dedicated to an event over which public
opinion is divided to be interpreted by various
points of view. This aim was accomplished at
the National Vietnam Memorial, and also for
a memorial at Kent State University. The
student-National Guard confrontation of May
4, 1970, at Kent State has been described as
an event with no clear antagonist or victim.

59

Abraham and Is

:o)i (Rcjcvtcd Kent State Memorial)

Preceded by several days of rallies and violence
following President Nixon's announcement of
an "incursion" into Cambodia by U.S. troops,
on May 4 the Ohio National Guard was
summoned to police the campus. Tensions
peaked as protesting students and the Guard
converged on the campus commons; after
refusing to leave the area, the students were
tear-gassed. Following a brief period of
confusion, the Guard opened fire into a crowd
of students-some protesters, some spectators-
killing four and wounding nine others. In
subsequent court decisions, blame has been
laid neither on the students for refusing to

disperse when commanded, nor on members
of the National Guard for firing into a crowd
when they had no orders to do so.

Without a clearly-defined group to condemn
or celebrate, school officials were at a loss
when pressured by students and families of
the slain to permanently commemorate the
happenings which have been memorialized
by candle-lit vigils since 1970. Meanwhile,
many residents of the town of Kent and
university administrators-still bitter over
what they saw as an event which tarnished
their town's image and marked their
administration as inept- wanted the incident
to be forgotten, and certainly did not want to
reinforce the memory of radical student
activists. The urgency to erect a memorial
peaked in 1977 when the construction of a
gymnasium over part of the site of the protest
and shootings was planned. This proposal
prompted the formation of the May 4
Coalition, whose 200 members formed a tent
city to halt construction. The student group
organized to collect funds for a permanent
memorial, while opinion was divided on the
issue of its dedication.

Bending to the growing popular support, in
1978 the University commissioned a small
memorial sculpture by George Segal. His
offering, "In Memory of May 4, 1970:
Abraham and Isaac," based on the Old
Testament story, met with great hostility.
The bronze piece portrays a bound youth
kneeling before an adult holding a knife;
which could be understood as parental
sacrifice for an abstract cause, or as a
metaphor for generational conflict.''^
Although somewhat open to interpretation,
the realistic pose and attitude clearly leave
the youth at a severe disadvantage; the
clenched fist holding a knife is a jolting

image of an authority figure. The sculpture
was deemed too hteral, powerful and violent,
and was refused by Kent Statu admin-
istrators.'"

In an attempt to a\'oid a painfully specific,
controversy-attracting monument, the
Uni\'ersity launched a competition which
insisted that e\'ery proposal be an "artistic
incident" harmonious with the site, "neither
heroic nor accusatory."'' The jur\' was in a
difficult position to select a design which
would appease the varying viewpoints; they
favored projects which entirely avoided the
violent imagery of the Segal sculpture. The
memorial as built"* is a combination of plaza
and landscape sculpture. Dedicated at the
1990 anniversary, and designed by Chicago
architect Bruno Ast, the project is simply
entitled the "May 4, 1970 Memorial. " Avoiding
commentary on any group's role in the tragedy,
it simply honors the memory of the day.

Placed on the top of a hill, the memorial
overlooks the commons where the protests
began and the parking lot where the four
students died. Measuring roughly 70 feet by
22 feet, the area is scaled to accommodate
individuals and small groups, and be the
focus for the annual vigils. Defined by
orthogonal walls in two corners, the plaza is
vaguely crescent-shaped and well-suited to
the steep incline of the hillside, planted
with daffodils numbering the death toll of
the war. This area is separated from the
adjacent sidewalk by two low granite walls.
The walls and paving are alternately smooth
and jagged to indicate abrupt interruption
of normalcy.

Within the plaza, four circular paving stones
lie in a line reminiscent of trajectory paths,
continued by large monolithic blocks rising

from the earth. These simple forms and their
arrangement in a non-axial line make vague
references to bullets, grave stones and the
number of slain students, but without a
definite metaphor. The ambiguity allows for
personal interpretations. The threshold
which separates the main path from this
plaza is inscribed with the words "Inquire,
Learn, Reflect," in hopes of prompting
individual commemoration. Designed to
contain an experience, the memorial is
politically neutral and non-committal. In
the designer's desire to remain conceptual,
none of the students' names appeared on the
original design; there is no mention of the
National Guard.'''

Although its designer avoided symbolizing
the grief, anger, and confusion of any of the
several parties involved in the tragedy, the
memorial provides a locus for the sharing of
grief and loss. Its arrangement provides a
space for contemplation and gathering of
participants for the annual vigils. It is also an
educational device, encouraging passers-by-
especially today's Kent State students, most
of whom were not yet born in 1970- to
consider the past's conflicts and misunder-
standings. Like the National Vietnam
Memorial before it, the Kent memorial relies
on the ambiguity of abstract forms to refrain
from a didactic message; but it takes a step
farther in avoiding particular commentary.
Both memorials are silent, allowing for
personal reflection, but the Kent memorial
doesn't e\'en include the loss of students as a
part of the design. Engaging the landscape
which twenty-five years ago erupted in
confusion and tragedy, it is wholly concerned
with the incident to which it is dedicated, and
thereby includes all who were involved in it.
Maya Lin's success in memorial design was
exhibited again at one of the most poignant

62

memorials built in the last ducadc, dedicated
to the struggle for civil rights on November 5,
19(S9. Representing a movement of
remarkable conflict and courage, the
memorial is located at a traditional hub of
racial strife in Montgomery, Alabama, in
front of the new Southern Poverty Law
Center, which commissioned it.'" Amidst
this historically tense atmosphere and in the
extreme Alabama heat, the Civil Rights
Memorial stands, like its patron, as a cool
oasis of hope and compassion.

The memorial consists of three main
elements. Separating the elevated agency
porch from the street level, a nine-foot tall,
curving black granite retaining wall is
inscribed with a quote by Dr. Martin Luther
King, Jr. A stout cone set on its point is
positioned off-center in the street-level
plaza; its table-height top is inscribed with
major events and names of men, women,
and children who lost their lives in the
struggle for civil rights. Each entry on the
table is arranged in the attitude of hour
markings on a clock face, as these individual
sacrifices each indicate an important passing
moment in the long history of the civil
rights movement. The fact that the deaths
of these non-violent, "ordinary" people are
given the same emphasis as King's own
assassination, which is the last "mark" on
the dial, fulfills his prophesy of 1963 that
"One day the South will recognize its real
Heroes." The third design element is water,
which is pumped up through the cone,
bubbles from a hole on its surface, and
sweeps down its sloping sides before
splashing onto the concrete pavement. It
washes over the inscribed names of the
forty honored individuals, and references
the forty days and nights of the Biblical
flood. This metaphor is continued with the

inscription engra\ed on the cur\'ing black
wall, from King's "I Have A Dream" speech,
which reads, "...until justice rolls down like
water, and righteousness like a mighty
stream."

The bubbling and splashing noises and
promise of tactile coolness are appealing and
enticing. The water encourages inspection
of the memorial on this cramped urban site,
where Lin was prohibited from making a
sweeping gesture or experiential promenade
for visitors to move along. Instead, it is the
monument itself which is active. Even more
than the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in
Washington which Lin designed with the
intention of encouraging visitors' touch, this
memorial invites physical interaction. In
the glaring Alabama heat, the sight and sound
of splashing water invites curiosity. The
slow-moving water which bubbles onto the
top of the table stands thick over the events
and names and can be pushed, almost
shaped, through touch before it slides over
the edge of the table; on the cur\'ing wall one
can trace King's words under a cool, sheer
sheet of water.

The addition of a kinetic element to the
composition also enhances the meaning of
the monument. Not technically dedicated to
the movement of the fifties and sixties, for
which starting and ending events might be
defined, and from which period the inscribed
events have been chosen, the memorial
commemorates the ongoing stniggle for civil
rights. Through the wording of King's
quotation, ''until justice rolls down like
water," and the inclusion of active water
itself, Lin emphasizes the idea that the
struggle is still in progress; the passing of
time is represented by the monument's
moving element. The memorial is an

animated composition which invites
interaction and encourages further thought
on the progressive nature of the cause it
commemorates. Lin's simple geometric
forms, coupled with a kinetic element,
commemorate not a leader, or specific
martyrs, but a series of events within a long-
lasting struggle.

which gave birth to events like the fight for
civil rights, the Vietnam War, and Kent State
are products of the changing cultural
landscape in America which demands a new
attitude toward the designs to memorialize
these particularly twentieth-century
occurrences from different points of view.
Late twentieth century America, at least on

...UNTIL JUSTICE Rpll,$ DOWN LIKE WATERS
AND RIGHTEOUSNESS LIKE A MIGHTY mm

^^^«^^\\'» V'/V^^^

The change in forms visible in memorial
design is not as much the function of aesthetic
considerations as it is the result of patron
and audience motivations. The breakthrough
design, Lin's National Vietnam Memorial, in
its form as well as the way it was funded and
brought into being, set a pattern for
subsequent memorials dedicated to divisive
events. The abstracted forms allow a variety
of interpretations on the part of the viewer,
and aid the artist in avoiding editorializing.
The difficult decades and conflicting interests

Civil Rights Memorial, Montgomery', Alabama
its surface, as seen through its monumental
building efforts, is coming to terms with
superstition and prejudice.-'

Contemporary designers who work with
landscape features and in conceptual built
form recognize that each of us responds
differently to the dedicatory subjects
represented, and by presenting a neutral
judgment themselves, facilitate the visitor's
free thought about the subject. Since old
obelisks and new granite slabs alike will be 63

noticed and tlierct'orc take the initial step at
commemoration, tliese progrcssi\'e
memorial designs offer not so much a new
way to memorialize people and events but
also encourage remembrance through a
richer, more personal and active experience.
By avoiding direct symbolism and realistic
figures the memorials also avoid the
complexities associated with our increasingly
culturally aware society. This approach is
especially appropriate today, when every
faction is demanding to have its own objects
of veneration indelibly marked on the public
landscape.

The movement in contemporary monuments
depends to a great degree on the interaction
of the people who historically were outside of
the ring of patrons and artists. To this new
inclusion we owe the Vietnam memorials
and the May 4, 1970 Memorial, and current
proposals commemorating sacrificial groups
which range from Black Revolutionary War
Patriots to American Housewives. "
Contemporary memorials aspire to become
a more accurate representation of our diverse
values. A vital distinction between these and
older monuments is that it is no longer
bureaucratic agencies which determine the
events and persons to be commemorated:
the people who experience the conflicts most
acutely make the decisions to choose which
memories are to be represented. We -the
patrons, financiers, audience, and historians
of our own time- are called upon to fill in the
gap between happening and history, between
private memory and public commemoration.

Fellowship CommittL-
coa,st memorials. Than
tor his helpful oomme-

L- Long Traveling
research on east
obertOusterhout,
»f this paper.

For another discussion ol the historical development of memo-
rials see Nicholas Capasso. "Constructing the Past: Contempo-
rary Commemorative Sculpture," Sculpture (November/De-
cember 1990): pp, 56-63.

.V The City 1

projects of great i
theatres.

4 For details concerning the selection process in this competition
see Douglas E. Gordon, "Military Woman's Memorial Winner
Announced," Archilccttire (January 1990,): 28, and Thomas
Vonier, "Two More D.C. Memorials," Progressive Architecture
(August 1989): p. 22.

5. For further description of the Astronaut's Memorial see
"Astronaut's Memorial," Progressive Architecture (January
1989): pp. 68-70.

7, For more on this early memorial in Angel Fire, New Mexico see
Melissa Brown, "Memorials, not Monuments," Progressive Ar-
chitecture (September 1985): pp. 43-46.

8, A competition for a suitable memorial was launched, open to all

that the motnimrrii
who died (.r uci. i

jlUMcllcctuiKpix-
"Facing the Wall.'

,,r;ill5s,17:
.hmathuLiii
' Life (Nover

lui tliat th

Washington Mununu
rial. SOURCE

See Lisa Grunwald,
pp. 24-36.

L-oln Memo
nber 19921

10, Not surprisingly, many memorials to the Vietnam and Korean
Wars have been designed in what must be considered "the Lin
style," as much as the designer is chagrined to ndmit it From the
large-scale, urban memorial in PhihidclpliiM to the modest slabs
outside of the Grundy County Courthouse in M<irris, Illinois,
dozens, if not hundreds, of black i-raiiiEL- phiiihs and walls
inscribed with soldiers' names exhibit the cosmetic style, if
lacking the substance, and seem to pay homage to the Washing-
ton memorial as much as to the war effort.

1 1 , Interview with Paul Sprierigen, July 1992.

12, The Bill passed in June of 1988 and also included provision for
a 60 fool flag pole to be planted at the meeting of the walls. See
Elena Marches Moreno, "Senate Votes to Add Statue to Vietnam
Memorial," Architecture (August 1988): p. 32; also Gapasso,
"Constructing the Past," pp. 56-63.

13. It should be noted that t!
in Vietnam are incKidi.'
Wall. For more on this
Marcheso Moreno, "Pm
Spark Controversy," Ai-

14. Veron

J women who died
inscribed on the
ctnient see Elena
letnam Memorial
>|: pp. 48-49,

15. William Robinson. "Commemorating the Past," Inland Archi-
tecture (July/August 1986): p. 4-8 or Stanley Mathews, "The
Persistence of Memory and Kent State," Inland Architect (July/
August 1990): p. 22 ff.

16. Segal's sculpture nowstands on thecampus of Princeton Univer-
sity, For more on the Kent State Memorial see Stanley Mathews
"The Persistence of Memory and Kent State," Inland Architect
(July/August 1990): p. 22 ff and Melissa Brown, "Memorials, not
Monuments," Progressive Architecture, (September 1985): pp.
43-46.

64

17. Ibid., p. 43.

18. The original first-place prize winner was disqualified due to a
technicality in the rules ( the head designer of the team entry was
not an American); the project as built was a reduced version of

-place entry by Chicago architect Bruno Ast, who had to

pare down his design when the fund raising efforts failed to meet
the projected budget. SOURCE.

19. Since the time of the memorial's dedication University admin-
istrators have added an unobtrusive plaque bearing the names
of the dead and wounded near one of the ends of the plaza.

20. Note. Historical Montgomery incident and the last building
occupied by the agency, which habitually monitors the actions
and movements of the KKK, was burned to the ground.

2 1 . Even the wrongs done to several seventeenth-century Massachu-

setts men and women have been righted as a memorial for the
Salem Witch Trials Tercentenary was dedicated last vear.

Hennessey, Christine. "Nineteenth Century Saw Explosion in U.S.-
Made Sculpture." Satje Outdoor Sculpture! Update (Spring
1992); published by the Smithsonian Institution.

"Living Memorial." rtmc, October 1992: p. 21.

"The May Fourth Site and Memorial: Inquire, Learn, Reflect."
informational brochure published by Kent State Universitv,
first in May 4, 1980. Text by Glenn W. Frank, Thomas R.
Ilensley, and Jerry M. Lewis.

23. BIBLIOGRAPHY

Braman, John K. "Monument for Miners." Frostburg State Unii
Brown, Melissa. "Memorials, not Monuments." Progressive

Moreno, Elena .Marcheso, "Proposed Additions to Vietnam Memorial
Sp:irU Cimlniversy ".Architecture (May 1988,): pp. 4«-9.

e to Vietnam Memorial. "jArchitecture

Capasso, Nicolas. "Constructing the Past: Contemporary Com-
memorative Sculpture."Scu/p(u re (November/December, 1990):
pp. 56-63.

Crosbv.Theo, T/ieAVi

"Prospect V-III; Monument for Miners," Department of Art and Art
Education, Frostburg State College, Maryland. Informational
booklet-
Reynolds, Donald Martin. Monuments and Masterpieces. Macmillan,

I Task." The Boston Globe, (25 May

Fisher, Thomas, Gavin Hogben, and Jeffrey Kipnis. "Case Study:
Holt, Hinshaw, Pfau, Jones." Progressive Architecture, (July
1991,): p. 71-79 ff.

Freiman, Ziva. "Saitowitz Wins New England Holocaust Memorial '
Progressive Architecture. (August 1991): p. 24.

Sprierigen, Paul. Various unpublished sketches and documents for
the Maryland Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Middle Branch
Park, for the Maryland Vietnam Veterans Memorial Commis-
sion, April 14, 1988.

■ial Design Chosen", Progres

aid, Lisa. "Facing the Wall," Li/e, November 1992, pp. 24-36.

"With a Little Help From My Friends: Quilts of the Gulf War."
Decatur House, a museum property of the National Trust for
Historic Preservation. Leaflet.

Ilartt, Frederick. A History o/ Art.

Davis, Dustin and Urbas, Anton J, Interview 26 June 1992, 1
MD.

Sprierigen, Paul. Interview 1 July, 1992, Washington, D.C

65

Learning and Labor In Architecture:

A Pavilion for Virginia Park

Jeffery S. Poss

University of Illinois at
Urbana-Champaign

Summer, 1994

Studio Participants:

Wembo Annios

David Greenwell

Auro Salam

Robert Wilson

Research Assistant:
Leigh Jerrad

This summer session studio project involved the design, construction, and erection of a
small pavilion in Virginia Park in East St. Louis, Illinois. The studio consisted offourfourth
and fifth year architecture students, a research assistant and the author as studio critic.
The pavilion that was ultimately constructed was the result of the whole studio's creative
thinking. The pavilion was the first visible evidence of a comprehensive master planfor the
dilapidated park, designed concurrejitly by members of the Department of Landscape
Architecture at the University of Illinois.

The co-sponsors of this project were the East St. Louis Park District and the University of
Illinois East St. Louis Action research Project, a consortium of faculty and studentsfrom the
School of Architecture, Department of Landscape Architecture, and Department of Urban
and Regional Planning at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (UIUC). The aim
of the Action Research Project is to unite the ideas and energies of the university design
community in order to help identify and initiate improvements in the impoverished East St.
Louis community.

66

The objectives of the studio were to:

- Develop teamwork as an essential
component of the design process.

- Emphasize design as a social activity where
the designer has a responsibility to the
environment, to the people, and to the
community in which the design activity is
taking place.

- Sensitize the student to the phenomenon
of architecture: space, light, materials,
and their connections; how the material
presence of a structure can relate to our
emotions and to all of our senses; how
these materials, when thoughtfully brought
together, can express an important idea.

- Recognize that creativity can occur at all

phases of a design project, from conceptual
design to construction.
- Explore the possibilities of whole-to-part
design relationships into an actualized
building project on a specific site.

A master plan for the placement, budget
and scheduling of site improvements for
Virginia Park was developed concurrently
by Professor Gary Kessler and his Research
Assistant, Mindy Cohen, both of the UIUC
Department of Landscape Architecture.
Their ideas, the result of earlier meetings
with the East St. Louis Park District, were
presented several times to the architecture
studio at the beginning of the design process.

Out of these presentations, several master
plan concepts were developed.

The entire design team then met with park
district officials, city council members, and
East St. Louis residents to discuss the master
plan concepts. As a result of these
discussions, four sites were identified as
possible locations for pavilions.

The East St. Louis Park District established
the following criteria for the pavilions:

- A total construction budget of S2,5()0
was made available through a IIUD Block
Grant awarded to the Park District for
this project.

- Any park structure needed to be designed
to withstand punishment.

Designs were to avoid the use of shingles
because they have been used as frisbees.
Any furnishings should be of heavy
construction, or integrated into the
structure; in the past, movable or chained
picnic tables have been stolen.
Metal should not be removable; any metal
will be stripped off and re-sold.
The Park District is open to a variety of
formal and programmatic ideas.
The park is heavily used on summer
evenings and on weekends for the following
activities: family picnics, church gatherings
and Softball games, basketball, children's
play, and passive activities. The pavilion
designs should address these activities, as
well as proposing additional uses.

67

There arc two methods ( known t( ) this autlior)
for developing a desiiiii-huild project in a
studio setting.

The Yale Model:

A design competition is conducted in the

studio. The winning solution is constructed.

The final design iiUegrates a large table and
benches seating up to 16 adults with a
translucent canopy of corrugated fiberglass.
The interlocking 2x4 structure combines
delicacy with strength. The organic, tree
inspired form nestles well into the tree
filled site.

The Bedanes Model:

The studio members generate a series of design
prototypes, periodically exchanging the
prototypes, so that each solution is a result of
the group's effort, (suggested to the author by
Steve Bedanes of Jersey Devil Architects)

In order to emphasize the objective of
teamwork, the cooperative Bedanes Model
was followed. Each of the four students
selected a different site to begin the design
exploration. Each site proposal tested

Design Development and (Construction

Because of the short period of time available
for development, construction and erection
(three weeks), portions of the selected
project-foundation, structure, and roof-
were developed by individual team
members. Meanwhile, the structure was
critiqued by a professor of structural design.
The construction sequencing and materials
list were developed to insure that the project
was within the budgetary guidelines.

program requirements, structural concepts,
and site forces. After three days, the schemes
were discussed, exchanged, and improved,
and then discussed, exchanged, and impro\'ed
again. After two weeks of this process, the
projects were presented to the park district
and residents of the Virginia Park
neighborhood. The selected project was then
ready for design development.

The pa\'ilion components were shop
fabricated by the students at the School of
Architecture in order to take advantage of
the studio workshop. The construction was
supervised by Leigh Jerrad, Wood Shop
Resource Assistant, who served as Research
Assistant on this project. The truss
configuration was laid out in masking tape
on the floor, the pieces cut to size and

bolted together. This process was repeated
for the columns and table components.

The components were then hauled to the site
170 miles away. Meanwhile, a backhoe dug
the foundation for the pavilion. The following
day, the components were unloaded,
prepared, and assembled on site with the
help of members of the Alternative Offenders

iVFimM]

Work Support Program, supervised by the
St. Glair County Sheriffs Department. Tiiis
second work day was complete when the
ready-mix truck anchored the pavilion firmly
to its site. On the final day, the roof panels
were attached to the structure.

Three days after construction was completed,
the pavilion served as the center-piece for a
large family reunion. With the success of this
project, the East St. Louis Park District is
enthusiastic about the continued involvement
of the entire design team in developing the
park's master plan, and in constructing
specific features of that plan.

Projections

Kevin Hinders

University of Illinois
Urbana-Champaign

Architecture 371-374

Summer Studio 1994:

Ashley Black

Scott Flannagan

Chriss Froramell

Susan Haggis

Duk Kim

George Lapa

Jyh-Mei Lee

Kirsten Olson

Jeremy Paris

Stephanie Ritz

Dominador Ruiz

Janet Yuan

"T/if projection of images onto the court-
yard screen of Temple Buell Hall has the
potential to be very important in the spirit of
the School of Architecture. School and
campus wide communicatioji of ideas,
sharing of studio investigations, outdoor
lectures and presejitations are but a few of
the possibilities. This project is rife with
potential. The communication benefits of
this element will be tremendous if the design
and execution is carried out in an out-
standing manner. "

- an excerpt from the course syllabus

The creation of a full scale element to be
placed in the Buell courtyard after the new
building's completion allows for students to
investigate a wide variety of form determin-
ants. The concentration is on the design
and construction of the projector/projection.

"The projection booth - this eleinent is to
enclose and protect a projector rack holding
three carrousel slide projectors. Require-
ments are relatively simple:

1) Copper and a related building system
will be comprise the building materials.

2) The projectors must be elevated + 6'-S"
above adjacent grade to facilitate the
movement of persons in front of the
projectors without disturbing the projected
image. Vertical circulation as necessary
must be incorporated into the design.

3) The projectors must be made safe from
theft and the elements (including both
moisture and overheating).

4) Students will construct the edifice to be
placed at a later date. "

- excerpt from project description

70

Representatives from the Copper Develop-
ment Association agreed to have the GDA
provide both technical and monetary support.
Perkins and Will and Associates and the
University Campus Architect agreed to assist
and review work produced.

Tlic process reciuircs di;il<)j;uc and yiowtli
tliroujih experimentation, exchange ami
discovery. Twelve individual investigations mo\ed
to three projects chosen by the students for
design development. After development and
review one project was selected for design and
construction. A practical process as designers
come to consensus.

The materials themselves are a major focus of the
design investigation. Copper as a building material
is examined, questioned and interpreted to inform
the making of the object. The students work the
material to understand its properties and its
potential.

"He had rolled in money
like pigs in vwd, Till it
seem'd to have entered
into his blood By
occult projection."
Hood: Miss Kilmansegg st.ll

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eccentric projection

the system of muscular sensations of mo\'ement
and the system of visual sensations are combined
to develop our perceptions of objective space and
its three dimensions.

Students build the edifice. The methods of con-
struction and tools used substantially influence
the manner in which metal can be cut, bent and
connected along with the construction of backup
systems. This process of making - the hands on
process - informs the project. Changes are made
to accommodate construction. New ideas spring
from the act of making.

The studio investigation budget was supported
with both monetary funding and supplied
materials. Economy became a part of the design
process, greatly affecting design decisions. The
project sponsors include the Copper Develop-
ment Association, Revere Copper Inc., Chris
Industries, Advanced Sheet Metal and Roofing
and the School of Architecture.

inform 1. to tell (a person) that of which he had
no knowledge before; 2. to give form, shape, or
vitality to; to imbue with life and actixity; fashion,
mold or shape.

The height of the projector-the image. The
projection that this edifice could benefit the
spirit of place. The height of the passerby versus
the lamp and the carousel. The need for security.
The School. ..How does it breathe?

The studio is indebted to Mr. Mike Cain and
Advanced Sheet Metal and Roofing for their
generous support through the use of their facilities.

insight 1. Power or faculty of immediate and
acute perception or understanding; intellectual
discernment; intuition whether that power is
regarded as a general inner faculty, a special
capacity for a particular field of view or the gift of
mystical vision. 2. The perception of the inner
nature of a thing; also the act of such inward
apprehension. 3. Mental engrossment in regard
to something. 4. An inspection; a scrutiny.

74

incite To rouse to a particular action; move to act
by inducement or persuasion; urge onward; stir
up; instigate; stimulate.

Reflections

RffleLtions S

ScTiiper and Two American Gla
Robert Dell Vuyosevich

Post Partum: Wexner Fragments
Kay Bea Jones

n Search of a Critical Middle
Brian Kellv

The Many Faces of Architecture, or, Universal
Civilization, Linguistic Insights, and
Architecture
Andi-zej Pinno

Talkinsi Takcv.iinese: An lnter\'ie\v with

MiiKiru Takeyania

Concept and Image: How Design Evoh'es
A Forum with Gunnar Birkerts, Joseph
Eshcrick and Minoru Takeyama

Reflections is the Journal of the School of
Architecture and is dedicated to theory and
criticism. Rejleccions 1-5 contains articles
and papers focusing on design theory and
pedagogy. Reflections 6: Landscapes,
Townscapes and Memorials is thematic.
Reflections 7 focuses on masters of modern
architecture.

Urbanis7n, a monograph series of the School
of Architecture, addresses social, economic,
political and cultural issues as they shape the
urban environment.

Reflections 9

Arcadia, Utopia and the Collapse of Post-
Modern Space: Mythologies of the Urban

David Walters

Kahn's Frames and Walls
afford Pierce

Reflections on the Nature of the Wall
Robert Dell Vuyosevich

Walter Burlev Griffin
PuulKnity

P( irtf< ilio of the Architecture of Walter Burley
Griffin: A Photographic Essay
Mali Muldre

New \'isi()ns for Philadelphia
Robert I. Sclby

En Charrette; Exhibition of Selected Projects
from the School of Architecture, University
of Illinois at Urbana-Ghampaign

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