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Four Conversations on the Architecture of Discourse
Follow-up to Architecture on On the History of the Venice Biennale of Architecture, published by the Architectural Association in 2010. This volume contains discussions with writers, architects and academics in Chicago, Venice, London and New York on the theme of display.
- GenresArchitecture
191 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2012
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October 5, 2020
This book transcribes four conversations between a variety of architecture-related diners. Many of the names of the guests are (to me) unfamiliar, and a glance at the rear of the book reveals their profiles to be students, artists, historians, theorists, curators of exhibitions, deans of faculties, and so on. Imagine the banter that would eventuate from any wine-whine after-work dinner party, and you already have the general gist of what this book contains.
There are some great insights into the profession, including the notion that a biennale's main objective is to ask the question "what is architecture?"
In another discussion, one theorist announces that the winner of a biennale is not important, "what really matters is what the architectural community decides is important." One participant goes so far to say that architecture has little relevance because it is 'made by a few people for a few other people,' and "schools and books make audiences, not architects." In a similar vein of denying the moment you are participating in, another said; "exhibitions are precisely what we shouldn't trust, because they are so seductive." Aaron Betsky adds to the frustrating clichés, saying, "when architects try to explain what they are doing […] I want them to shut up. They make the architecture and I explain what it's about."
Tension often arises between participants from different fields. One attendee says that curators of exhibitions don't add value to the material they exhibit, all they do is 'play' and 'show off,' to which another participant states 'that's the whole point,' a biennale's purpose is 'entertainment,' an opportunity for 'spectacle.' [In Barthes' essay on wrestling, he states the same thing; instead of watching sport, the audience "abandons itself to the primary virtue of the spectacle, which is to abolish all motives and all consequences: what matters is not what it thinks but what it sees."] The risk of curating an architectural spectacle, is as Barthes suggests, generating an audience which stops thinking about architecture.
There are plenty of wonky-wanky statements throughout the book. When asked what their favourite pavilion at the biennale was, the first response from the group of diners was, 'I think it's more important to talk about the lowest common denominator and whether censorship is possible.' Later in the conversation, someone said that they had not been to the biennale, but their favourite design was the one from Croatia [which sunk en-route to Venice]; "I think it is actually my favourite pavilion, just because it was not there." To which someone else replies, "The perfect show is the one we all never saw." Other direct quotes include; "I refuse to go to biennales because I consider them to be the height of kitsch " or in a similar vein when confessing to being a late convert; "Now I love them all, they're great � they're always bad. Though this one is not as bad as it should have been."
In another exchange about books, the architect Mark Wigley says, "The purpose of an exhibition is not to be seen, but to have a good party that will allow the people who are engaged to engage with each other. It's the same with books. The purpose of books is not to be read. I buy books not to read them. I own a lot of books. I write books, I collect books, I think about books, I copy books, I pay for books � I'm in the book business. But I don't read books. Don't assume that exhibitions are meant to be seen, and that books are meant to be read. Buildings are by and large invisible, and that's to their credit." To which Andre Singer replies; "Words are not meant to be heard! I don't agree with this at all. So why are you talking?" Wigley shrugs it off and replies that architectural books act instead "as kinds of totems of a certain direction of thinking." Seen in this way, books, exhibitions, competitions and even iconic architecture, act as signposts and mascots if you will, rather than instruction manuals, reference markers rather than reference material.
Frustrating as some of these exchanges were, I accept that there can be merit in this sort of silence-is-golden, back-to-front, empty-the-vessel thinking. Derrida, Baudrillard, Eisenman and Tschumi were all advocates. Emphasising absence over presence, however, requires a deft touch and the right tone to avoid sounding pretentious. For example, Umberto Eco in his book on Semiotics refers to the importance of the white space between the text as having equal merit, and he writes about it in a way which makes us understand the notion of 'reading between the lines' without becoming too mystical, esoteric or nihilist in the process. Eco has the advantage of editing his ideas before publication, however, and these people do not; what they say goes (to print), no matter how clever or clumsy their approach. This book is a transcript, a true discourse on architecture, what Levy refers to as "a poetics of agreement."
My favourite idea from this book is raised by Srdjan Jovanovic Weiss when he wonders if architects can use the concept of 'delay' strategically. Ariane Lourie Harrison agrees, noting that the seeds of an exhibition are grown by students in the future. The idea that architecture can deliver delayed gratification is infinitely appealing. It reminds me of Bonta's revelation that Mies' Barcelona Pavilion, constructed in 1929, was ignored for decades, including in Pevsner's 1942 history book, and then suddenly in the 1960s he declared the pavilion the 'most perfect' building of its era. One era's trash is another era's treasure, or as Mark Wigley says in New York's conversation when it comes to success; "To not be seen and to be overlooked is the key" � but would Van Gogh agree?
Throughout the various dinners, the Venice Biennale model was expressed metaphorically as a variety of things including; a seismograph, a kamikaze mission, a supermarket, laboratories, and multimedia mythology.
Overall, the book is short and easy to read, with not a picture in sight. This publication is no coffee-table book. Instead, it's an on the-bus-book all the way (there and back). In our image-heavy era, it felt almost subversive to read about architectural designs without accompanying illustrations, meaning that the words and your mind's eye had to work harder to spell it out, as it were. Embrace the fly-on-the-wall-voyeur role and eavesdrop to your heart's content. These are four (presumably) uncensored, occasionally a little silly, and often enlightening conversations.
There are some great insights into the profession, including the notion that a biennale's main objective is to ask the question "what is architecture?"
In another discussion, one theorist announces that the winner of a biennale is not important, "what really matters is what the architectural community decides is important." One participant goes so far to say that architecture has little relevance because it is 'made by a few people for a few other people,' and "schools and books make audiences, not architects." In a similar vein of denying the moment you are participating in, another said; "exhibitions are precisely what we shouldn't trust, because they are so seductive." Aaron Betsky adds to the frustrating clichés, saying, "when architects try to explain what they are doing […] I want them to shut up. They make the architecture and I explain what it's about."
Tension often arises between participants from different fields. One attendee says that curators of exhibitions don't add value to the material they exhibit, all they do is 'play' and 'show off,' to which another participant states 'that's the whole point,' a biennale's purpose is 'entertainment,' an opportunity for 'spectacle.' [In Barthes' essay on wrestling, he states the same thing; instead of watching sport, the audience "abandons itself to the primary virtue of the spectacle, which is to abolish all motives and all consequences: what matters is not what it thinks but what it sees."] The risk of curating an architectural spectacle, is as Barthes suggests, generating an audience which stops thinking about architecture.
There are plenty of wonky-wanky statements throughout the book. When asked what their favourite pavilion at the biennale was, the first response from the group of diners was, 'I think it's more important to talk about the lowest common denominator and whether censorship is possible.' Later in the conversation, someone said that they had not been to the biennale, but their favourite design was the one from Croatia [which sunk en-route to Venice]; "I think it is actually my favourite pavilion, just because it was not there." To which someone else replies, "The perfect show is the one we all never saw." Other direct quotes include; "I refuse to go to biennales because I consider them to be the height of kitsch " or in a similar vein when confessing to being a late convert; "Now I love them all, they're great � they're always bad. Though this one is not as bad as it should have been."
In another exchange about books, the architect Mark Wigley says, "The purpose of an exhibition is not to be seen, but to have a good party that will allow the people who are engaged to engage with each other. It's the same with books. The purpose of books is not to be read. I buy books not to read them. I own a lot of books. I write books, I collect books, I think about books, I copy books, I pay for books � I'm in the book business. But I don't read books. Don't assume that exhibitions are meant to be seen, and that books are meant to be read. Buildings are by and large invisible, and that's to their credit." To which Andre Singer replies; "Words are not meant to be heard! I don't agree with this at all. So why are you talking?" Wigley shrugs it off and replies that architectural books act instead "as kinds of totems of a certain direction of thinking." Seen in this way, books, exhibitions, competitions and even iconic architecture, act as signposts and mascots if you will, rather than instruction manuals, reference markers rather than reference material.
Frustrating as some of these exchanges were, I accept that there can be merit in this sort of silence-is-golden, back-to-front, empty-the-vessel thinking. Derrida, Baudrillard, Eisenman and Tschumi were all advocates. Emphasising absence over presence, however, requires a deft touch and the right tone to avoid sounding pretentious. For example, Umberto Eco in his book on Semiotics refers to the importance of the white space between the text as having equal merit, and he writes about it in a way which makes us understand the notion of 'reading between the lines' without becoming too mystical, esoteric or nihilist in the process. Eco has the advantage of editing his ideas before publication, however, and these people do not; what they say goes (to print), no matter how clever or clumsy their approach. This book is a transcript, a true discourse on architecture, what Levy refers to as "a poetics of agreement."
My favourite idea from this book is raised by Srdjan Jovanovic Weiss when he wonders if architects can use the concept of 'delay' strategically. Ariane Lourie Harrison agrees, noting that the seeds of an exhibition are grown by students in the future. The idea that architecture can deliver delayed gratification is infinitely appealing. It reminds me of Bonta's revelation that Mies' Barcelona Pavilion, constructed in 1929, was ignored for decades, including in Pevsner's 1942 history book, and then suddenly in the 1960s he declared the pavilion the 'most perfect' building of its era. One era's trash is another era's treasure, or as Mark Wigley says in New York's conversation when it comes to success; "To not be seen and to be overlooked is the key" � but would Van Gogh agree?
Throughout the various dinners, the Venice Biennale model was expressed metaphorically as a variety of things including; a seismograph, a kamikaze mission, a supermarket, laboratories, and multimedia mythology.
Overall, the book is short and easy to read, with not a picture in sight. This publication is no coffee-table book. Instead, it's an on the-bus-book all the way (there and back). In our image-heavy era, it felt almost subversive to read about architectural designs without accompanying illustrations, meaning that the words and your mind's eye had to work harder to spell it out, as it were. Embrace the fly-on-the-wall-voyeur role and eavesdrop to your heart's content. These are four (presumably) uncensored, occasionally a little silly, and often enlightening conversations.
Displaying 1 of 1 review
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