Above: stairwell in Daniel Libeskind’s Extension to the Jewish Museum in Berlin. Image copyright 2006 Alexandre Kinney.

6 June 2020

Perhaps no tenet has more profoundly defined modern architecture than “form follows function,” originating in the writings of Louis Sullivan, an early pioneer of skyscraper design. Though Sullivan applied this principle in highly artistic ways – the idea that tall buildings should evoke a “soaring” feeling, and that their intricately ornamental facades should be organized with a base, shaft, and capital (like a classical column) – “form follows function” has more often equated architecture to technology. Not only did Le Corbusier famously state that “a house is a machine for living in,” he admired the rational design and production of various industrial machines, from airplanes to automobiles to ocean liners. He suggested, like many other modernists, that the aesthetics of modern architecture should be the inevitable result of its industrial production and modern construction methods, stripped of unnecessary ornament. To this day, the form of contemporary buildings is often justified either by their internal programmatic arrangement, or by the constraints of repetitive structural systems – both arguments grounded in functional requirements. The ubiquity of rectilinear forms, glass facades, and “honestly” expressed structure and materials like steel and concrete (which, because of their smooth surfaces, are assumed to serve only functional purposes) suggests that that functionalism really does have an inherent, almost scientifically justifiable formal language. However, a closer examination of modern architecture quickly reveals that the “machine” aesthetics of Miesian modernism, while highly influential, were and continue to be but one of numerous different architectural languages claiming to be grounded in functional, rational design. Even Mies’ “exposed” structural elements on the façade of the Seagram building are in fact decorative – their intention being to express the idea of structure, since for fire safety (i.e. functional) reasons, the actual structure could not be left exposed.

As Alberto Pérez-Gómez points out in his analysis of architecture under the influence of Durand, the focus on function as deterministic ironically necessitates its complimentary opposite: purely subjective aesthetics, used to make the functional object pleasing. The extraordinary heterogeneity of approaches to modern architecture historically and today is proof that functional requirements can be satisfied in myriad ways, and that the particular formal and aesthetic expression of different buildings can be radically different, while satisfying the essentially the same functional requirements. Yet, the desire to justify architectural decisions based on pragmatic reasons – functional and code requirements, budgetary constraints, environmental sustainability, quantifiable human health and productivity – is stronger than ever.

If buildings are merely the inevitable result of a rational process of data collection and analysis, leading to logical results, what need is there for architects? The fear that architects might be entirely replaced by engineers and specialized consultants (or worse yet, automated design software) might be what made some of my professors in architecture school intent on demonstrating that architects do more than just make functional buildings look pretty.  But rather than search for value in something other than functionalism, it seems to me that architects want the world to believe we are indispensable for the same reason as engineers.

Some architects and critics like to say that “theory is dead,” and that it doesn’t matter what architecture means – what matters is what it does. The “performative” approach to architecture underlies the most prominent trends of the last two decades: sustainability and Parametricism. Sustainability seeks to quantitatively prove the long-term economic and ecological benefits of architectural design (and furthermore to convince clients that the services of architects are essential for the survival of the world). Parametricism promises to allow architects to integrate endless functional constraints and performative criteria into a design system that can generate “optimized” results, making design, construction, and building operations more efficient and effective. Together, sustainability and Parametricism give architects the ultimate tools to justify every decision they make through function. In opposition to Baukunst (German for “building art”, as architecture was called in the early days of the Bauhaus), I would call this “building technology.”

While I studying with Alberto Pérez-Gómez, he often spoke about the collapse between meaning and function brought about by modern science – the assumption that things simply are what they are, and they do what they do. The Modern viewpoint seeks to describe the objective, “true” reality of things at the atomic level. It is concerned only with how this world functions and the practical purpose of all that occurs. Like modern architecture, the entire modern world can then be explained in terms of how it performs. Ascribing symbolic meaning to the phenomena that we experience in life becomes irrelevant to understanding.

However, if consumer technology (perhaps the most pervasive product of modern science in our daily lives) is driven purely by function, why are there so many cars, smart phones, and computers, all of which serve the same purpose and have essentially the same performance, but which look and feel different? Why do product designers design different things to meet the same requirement? We could say that it is just marketing – a desire to appeal to people by making something that looks different even if it is the same. But why does it look different? Where do the ideas come from? Is it just meaningless aesthetic play?

I don’t know much about marketing, but I do know that brands spend a lot of time and money trying to get people to associate a certain lifestyle with their products – the lifestyle that their customers want, and therefore will buy. In other words, different objects performing the same functions can express different ideas – ideas that in most cases have little or nothing to do with the functionality of the object itself.

Even if we accept that architecture is technology, largely determined by functional requirements, it has at least as much capacity to express different ideas as a car or a cell phone. Off course, I believe that it can and does express much more!

Architecture is such an unusual creative activity because it can be looked at quantitatively and qualitatively – and both views contain truth. Architecture is technology, but it is also art. If we compare architecture to other art forms, it is curious how the modern intolerance for architecture having meaning beyond what it is (a school, a house, an office building) or what it does (provide shelter, facilitate learning, enable people to conduct their work) is not present in other art forms. It is acceptable for an artist to have an intention behind a sculpture or a painting – whether the painting is abstract or representational – and interpretations of the meaning of the artwork that are different than the artist’s stated intentions are also considered to hold truth and even be valuable. At the same time, a beautiful work of art does not need explanation in order to be enjoyed – knowing an artist’s intentions or reading a critic’s interpretations only enhances my appreciation of the work of art.

However, with architecture I have often perceived (and myself had) an expectation that if there is an intended meaning to the architecture that goes beyond its functional performance, this meaning must be immediately evident to anyone and everyone, without any prior study or knowledge of architecture, let alone of the intentions of the building’s architect. If the meaning is not easily discerned, it is considered ineffective, and therefore design arguments based on meaning are looked at with suspicion or simply deemed irrelevant. It is interesting to contrast this with art forms that explicitly make use of language, the most direct expression of intended meaning. Arabic and Chinese calligraphy convey spiritual and philosophical ideas through words, but I appreciate them as beautiful works of art without understanding their intended meaning. Does this mean it is useless for calligraphers to be writing things that many people won’t understand, or that it is wrong for me to enjoy and appreciate the beauty of these works without knowing the deeper meaning their authors intended? Another example is music. Instrumental classical music often describes scenes from nature or stories, and songs convey meaning through lyrics. But I can enjoy listening to Dvorjak’s The Moldau even if I don’t know that it represents a river; knowing this only causes me to marvel more at musical the expression of that idea. Similarly, I can be moved emotionally by a powerful aria even if I don’t understand Italian or I don’t know the story of the opera from which the aria comes; but knowing where the aria fits into a tragic story can make the music even more powerful.

Perhaps no form of design is more explicitly concerned with meaning than communications design. Communications design seeks to convey ideas and information, primarily through the written word. But even the exact same information (words) can convey different meaning depending on how it is presented. Communications designers bring concepts and ideas to their graphic design – ideas that aren’t inherent to the meaning of the words alone. Some might argue that the only good graphic design is that which communicates the meaning of the words clearly, but personally I very much enjoy graphic design that plays with color, layout and typeface to create a visual (and even tactile) experience that is beautiful in itself, enhancing my experience of the meaning of the printed words.

Architecture is no different. As I said in another post, all architecture embodies ideas, and what makes critical architecture is just a conscious choice of what ideas I express in my architecture. It is possible and absolutely relevant for architects to intend their architecture to mean something beyond what it does – this is what can inspire a variety of architectural expression, and what can account for the great variety in responses to similar functional requirements.

This brings us to the question of style. One of the contradictions of saying that architecture contains meaning, and that there is a relationship between the intended meaning of a building and the artistic expression of the building, is that many buildings that look similar are intended to represent different ideologies. For example, classicism and its numerous derivatives have been the architectural style of Soviet communism, NAZI fascism, and American capitalism, and were the architecture of choice for centuries of European monarchies. However, perhaps the choice of architectural style shows what all of these political systems have in common: the desire to express power and authority. Similarly, the Cartesian grid and rectilinear forms extruded from it have been the dominate Modern formal language of city planning, rural property division, and the design of everything from corporate skyscrapers to private homes. This modern design language can be found in countries with different political systems, cultures and climates. That may be because most modern nations seek to express freedom, equality, and a progressive, secular view of the world. The grid is associated with neutrality and scientific objectivity, making it well-suited as a formal language for modern democracies all over the world. Ultimately, the particular meaning of two buildings with a similar style will be changed depending on two things: first, the physical and cultural context, and second, the particular interpretation of each person who experiences the building.

Much of what I have written implies that in order for a building to be meaningful, intended meaning must be present at the beginning of a project, and that a design must be based upon it. What I have begun to learn from the “normal” world of architectural practice that this is not always the case. Creating a building can be an incredibly messy process, influenced by many often contradictory forces – budget, engineering, client expectations, and the technical constraints imposed by numerous consultants. It can be a process in which it would be almost impossible to trace exactly why certain design decisions were made. In such cases, it would be false to suggest that the architect had a clear concept of what ideas their building was to express, and that the final outcome is the direct expression of that idea. However, if an architect sees what their architecture means in retrospect, that post-rationalization is not merely “bull-shitting” as we liked to call it in architecture school. It is the meaning that arises from the architect’s interpretation of the built work, just as other meanings may arise as critics, theorists, and the general public interpret that same building. I have learned that while sometimes the ideas for a project inspire its form, other times intuition, or indeed, functional constraints guide the form – and meaning arises after, as an interpretation. My professional experiences have given me a way to be at with peace with my desire for meaning in architecture, a way to reconcile the potential discrepancy between the architect’s intended meaning for a building (or lack thereof) and the meaning perceived by others.

Copyright 2020 Alexandre Kinney.