Cercle Review 007. March 2013
Cercle INDEX
INTRODUCTION. ANOTHER COMMON GROUND: REALISM, SITUATIONISM AND LOW FIDELITY. INTRODUCCIÓ. UN ALTRE COMMON GROUND: REALISME, SITUACIONISME I LOW FIDELITY.| Eduard Bru (ENG) GO_00 (CAT) GO_00
NOTES ON LO-FI | Amanda Montanari (ENG) GO_01
ARTISTIC EXPRESSION AND ITALIAN COASTAL TOWNS | Gianluca Porcile (ENG) GO_02
CIVIC REALISM, DIRTY REALISM, HARD REALISM: REALISMS 2012 | Eduard Bru (ENG) GO_03
ON THE KNIFE'S CUTTING EDGE, FOUNDATIONAL IMAGE FOR A POETICS OF CONTEMPORARY ARCHITECTURE. EN EL FILO DE LA NAVAJA, IMAGEN FUNDACIONAL PARA UNA POÉTICA DE ARQUITECTURA CONTEMPORÁNEA. | Enric Llorach (ENG) GO_04 (ESP) GO_04
AURS CONGRESS 2012 | Eduard Bru, Anne Lacaton, Jeremy Till and others (ENG) GO_05
STRUCTURAL TRANSFERS: MIES · KAHN · WACHSMANN. TRANSFERÈNCIES ESTRUCTURALS
MIES · KAHN · WACHSMANN. | Eva Jiménez Gómez (ENG) GO_06 (CAT) GO_06
LA CALLE COMO SISTEMA: VIA LAIETANA. UN LUGAR A UNA CALLE Y LA CALLE COMO LUGAR | Davide Lorenzato (ESP) GO_07
PROYECTO DE UNA BIBLIOTECA. COMO LEYES AUTOIMPUESTAS... DOCÈNCIA | PROJECTES X | DPA - ETSAB -UPC | 2on Q 2010-2011 | Pau Bajet (ESP) GO_08
ARCHITECTURAL STRATEGIES (MARKETING, ICON, POLITICS, MASSES, DEVELOPER, THE No .1) | BOOK | EDUARD SANCHO (ENG) GO_09
CERCLE ARCHITECTURAL REVIEW ISSN 2014-0142
CERCLE D'ARQUITECTURA RESEARCH GROUP
Departament de Projectes Arquitectònics | Escola Tècnica Superior d'Arquitectura de Barcelona | Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya
Cercle INTRODUCTION
ANOTHER COMMON GROUND: REALISM, SITUATIONISM AND LOW FIDELITY.
Eduard Bru
Does Italy return from its long silence?
If it does, and there is information that makes us believe it, it will be most probably from the periphery of its traditional sources of emission, perhaps with the exception of Venice or, more specifically, a tendency of the IUAV- which seems unlikely to have the splendid headquarters that, together with Benedetta Tagliabue, our friend and colleague Enric Miralles designed – tendency that would be just now taking place.
The built form can now be seen light and variable, close to the programme and to what is contingent. Architecture of Low Resolution or Low Fidelity: the Lo-Fi formulated by Mario Lupano (at the same IUAV), by Marco Navarra in Sicily, by Amanda Montanari (IUAV), by Luca Emanueli (Ferrara).
Realism or, now, Neo-Realism is, perhaps, and under various formulations, the Common Ground in origin of the proposals by these authors. A new Realism that has to do, we like to think, with the Situationist project: it obtains the formal codes not necessarily from the background of Arte Povera, as was common in the 60's, but from a careful reading of the situation from the place and, also, from the programme, the most overlooked in other formal springs.
We consider the work of Marco Navarra to be seminal for all this movement, particularly in his Linear Park along the railway line of Syracuse, in Sicily, published again at the moment, and improved (In walk about city 2.0) with a prologue (maybe his last text?) by recently departed Manuel de Solà-Morales .
From a consciousness of proximity and also complicity we recently invited Amanda Montanari to the Barcelona University (ETSAB), like we had done before, repeatedly, with Luca Emanueli. For the rest we are usually awaiting Mario Lupano, firmly anchored to his IUAV of Venice. Cercle, like now with Montanari, will follow the trace of these tendencies.
It is from a reading of the programme, - if worthy of its name, as it is for its lifestyle and space occupancy-, that young Gian Luca Porcile accurately describes room typologies of Genoa, his city. Gian Luca goes beyond reductionisms and formal stereotypes, of supposedly universal standards, and it brings us near, him as well, to an architecture attached to what is most contingent.
It will be, perhaps, due to a conversation with Gian Luca that, when reading it, we believe to perceive Fabrizio di Andre singing in the background of a Genovese room?
It is the resumption of Realism, and the same Lo-Fi, a heritage exclusive to the Southern Europeans?. Is it not also a form of Hard Realism to solve the project, like OMA does, by making ad hoc containers for different parts of the programme, by piling them up afterwards without hesitation, like plates or books, and finally case them under a mesh, a tight like what the anti-system wear on their faces when they get into action?
Not far from the strategy we have just described, young Pau Bajet, in an exercise of Realism in the final project at ETSAB (Barcelona School), -a Library in the Plaça Catalunya, the central square of Barcelona-, sticks to the programme, shelves and shelves of books – in order to, serving it with precision- obtain a urban solution that transcends it.
Europe, especially the South, is going through difficult times.
The Italian resumption, with declared complicities with Catalonia, can return it to the forefront: the one that corresponds to our near future.
Eduard Bru, Barcelona
Cercle INTRODUCCIÓ
UN ALTRE COMMON GROUND: REALISME, SITUACIONISME I LOW FIDELITY.
Eduard Bru
Torna Itàlia del seu llarg silenci?
Si ho fa, i n’hi ha dades que ens ho fan creure, serà amb tota probabilitat des de la perifèria dels seus tradicionals focus d’emissió, potser amb l’excepció de Venècia o, més concretament, de una deriva de l’ IUAV -que sembla que mai tindrà la esplèndida seu que, amb Benedetta Tagliabue, va projectar el nostre amic i company Enric Miralles – deriva que s’estaria tot just ara formant.
La forma construïda s’entreveu ara lleu i variable, pròxima al programa i allò contingent. Arquitectura de baixa definició o de baixa fidelitat : el Lo-Fi formulat per Mario Lupano (al mateix IUAV), per Marco Navarra a Sicília, per Amanda Montanari (IUAV), per Luca Emanueli (Ferrara).
El Realisme o, ara, neorealisme es, potser, i sota diverses formulacions, el common ground en origen de les propostes d’aquests autors. Un Realisme nou que te a veure, ens agrada pensar, amb el projecte situacionista: obté els codis formals no necessariament dels voltants de l’arte povera, com era freqüent als 60’s, sinó de una lectura atenta de la situació a partir del lloc i, també, del programa, aquell gran oblidat en altres primaveres formals.
Considerem seminal per tot aquest moviment el treball de Marco Navarra, singularment en el seu Parc Lineal al llarg de la línia fèrria de Siracusa, a Sicília, tot just publicat ara de nou, i millor (In walk about city 2.0) amb un pròleg de Manuel de Solà-Morales (q.e. p.d).
Des d’una consciencia de proximitat, i també de complicitat, doncs, hem convidat recentment a la Escola de Barcelona (ETSAB) a Amanda Montanari, com abans ho havíem fet, repetidament, a Luca Emanueli. Pel demés estam habitualment a la espera de Mario Lupano, ancorat fermement al seu IUAV de Venezia. Cercle, com ara amb Montanari, seguirà la traça d’aquestes derives.
Es des d’una lectura del programa, -en tant, si mereix tal nom, ho és de formes de vida i d’ocupació de l’espai-, que el jove Gian Luca Porcile descriu amb precisió tipologies d’habitació de Gènova, la seva ciutat, que van mes enllà de reduccionismes i estereotips formals, d’estàndards suposadament universals, i ens aproxima, ell també, a un arquitectura arrapada a allò més contingent.
Serà, potser, per alguna conversa amb Gian Luca que, en llegir-lo, creiem percebre a Fabrizio di André cantant al fons d’alguna estança genovesa?
Es la represa del realisme, i el mateix lo-fi , un patrimoni exclusiu dels sud europeus?. No es també una forma de realisme dur resoldre el projecte, com fa OMA, tot fent contenidors ad-hoc pels diversos punts del programa, per amuntegar-los desprès sense contemplacions, com plats o llibres, i finalment enfundar-los sota una malla, una mitja com la que es col·loquen al rostre els antisistema per passar a l’acció?
No lluny de la estratègia que acabem de descriure, el jove Pau Bajet, en un exercici de realisme en el projecte final de la seva carrera, una Biblioteca a la Plaça central de Barcelona, s’arrapa al programa, lleixes i lleixes de llibres – per, servint-lo amb precisió-, obtenir una solució urbana que el transcendeix.
Europa, especialment la del sud, està en hores difícils.
La represa italiana, amb complicitats declarades a Catalunya, pot tornar-la al primer pla: aquell que correspon al nostre futur més proper.
Eduard Bru, Barcelona
Cercle ARTICLE
NOTES ON LO-FI
Amanda Montanari
Susan Sontag's writing inspired me to choose this form of thesis. In 1964, describing the sensibility "that goes by the cult name of Camp", she chose to use the notes: "to snare a sensibility in words, especially one that is alive and powerful, one must be tentative and nimble". This form suites to this essay, too. Some aspects of this special taste named of lo-fi is listed below:
1 - Lo-fi means low fidelity. Low definition. Low res is low resolution. To all effects, lo-fi is the non-finished, the non-resolved. In a wider sense and specularly, also the ruined or soiled.
2 - Music is lo-fi when the recording is poor. Video and photography when everything is pixeled or out of focus, in live shooting or random snaps.
3 - Lo-fi is the impulsive instrument of the creative flicker. The restoring of the immediate. This is one reason why it is often the resolution with which the real is documented: the real is great and is recorded with approximation.
4 - Lo-fi is referable to form. One expects that a work executed in low definition will be of high conceptual quality.
5 - Lo-fi is the form of a soul's need, the representation closest to creative energy.
6 - There is no counterfeiting in lo-fi. For example, in a photographic document of this type there are clear signs of a precise lifestyle: the kind of habits, rhythms, associations and values are not displayed but experienced and captured in low resolution. Von Trier's The Idiots is lo-fi.
7 - When it happens that lifestyle in photos is rendered in low definition it also happens that it turns out to be more intriguing and honest. The concept of nudity is also linked to this concept. Nakedness of the body in this case is not wilfully artistic, cut out in masterful black and whites, but random, as in Juergen Teller's work. In Richardson's it is stupid, provocative or real core pornography, cut out of an experience that seems real and, to all effects, if it is not yet real it becomes so.
8 - The glossy, the artificial, the constructed is not lo-fi. Duly built sets, for example, they are not the scenario of a lo-fi photograph.
9 - The use of recycled materials in planning a work is conceptually a lo-fi activity. The musician Papa M has composed a piece out of messages left on his answering machine: this is awareness of how to use the materials around you (in this case sounds) without inhibition. It is also the use of sounds that are without pretensions. In this case lo-fi is also somewhat intimist.
Tom Friedman makes the same natural use of materials in his art works.
10 - Lo-fi may be synonymous with ugly, because not defined, or bothersome because dirty.
Brunier's landscapes and maquettes probably smell of vinyl glue.
11 - For the artist or designer with a lo-fi approach to the work, anything in the world can become production material. The architect chooses his materials without limiting his imagination, Martin Margiela dyes garments by leaving them to soak in mould. It's all done not through purely aesthetic choice but from necessity: because taking freely from the word and using limitlessly responds to the need to channel creative energy in the most immediate and natural way. The most simple way.
12 - This is why the work most highly representative of an artist's creative energy is the sketch. When Giacometti did the sketch for a future work he seized the urgency of his genius in just a few lines. Chaplin too in the sound performance in Modern Times gets by with "Sing! Never mind the words". Punctuation is invented in Totò, Peppino e la malafemmina. Lo-fi as also the use of stratagem.
13 - The theory of a high quality project is generally repaid with a low definition model when available time or money has run out. If OMA had more money it wouldn't be spent on perfecting models but on further enriching its research. First and foremost the exhibition Content showed the theory of the project: the direct attitude of the lo-fi designer conveys power in the elaboration of the design. This is why the non-finished of the immanent idea is exhibited.
Or you can go for ready-mades. Duchamp was decidedly lo-fi. Detournement is a lo-fi practice.
14 - Finishing a project and correcting it to maximum definition is an action that suddenly interrupts the propensities of the open work.
15 - There are evidently different degrees of codification of the idea. An idea that becomes design demands greater codification, and the approximation typical of lo-fi remains only at a conceptual level. Droog Design projects use certain aspects of lo-fi as a concept: the dual purpose curtains, the armchair to modify with a hammer, the Short leg chair and many others.
16 - An Idea expressed in low fidelity is more charged with meaning than an idea expressed through the filter of high quality. The patina separates execution from idea, fixes the idea on very rigid terrain and as a result it becomes older and slower.
17 - Low definition contrarily ensures rapidity of execution, immediacy of recording and ease of transport. These features give it a young, reckless nature.
18 - Lo-fi is low cost. Giving back an idea in low definition is more economical than doing so in high. So it is more ethical and democratic.
19 - On the computer the files that shift faster are small size. So you can communicate more rapidly and consequently spread more information. This is precisely how digital potential is conceived in low definition: that is, it's powerful, fast and never definitive. But for the rest lo-fi prefers tape listeners, designers who don't feel blocked with regard to technical quality, craftsmanship, the one-off piece, DIY intended as a blend of heterogeneous elements with the purpose of obtaining the right sensation.
20 - Lo-fi contents itself with rendering suggestions. It does this with gestures, because gestures are honestly bound to the heart, and low definition is an instrument used in order not to lie.
21 - Lo-fi is a continuous tension towards transforming itself into hi-fi. It thus allows perfection to "hook up", it envisages the continual participation of the public who become, in part, designers.
In this sense, Open Source software (a clear example of open discourse) by its very nature comes under the category of lo-fi, inviting users to increasingly ensuing thoughts.
In the cinema the example of Star Wars is emblematic: a saga that begins in 1977 with the 4th episode envisages incompleteness right from its genesis.
And it is the intention and character of Lucas himself – renowned maniacal perfectionist and top innovator in cinema digital technology – that encourage fan-film festivals as free integration of the Star Wars world.
22 - Lo-fi is a praxis, and in the West its mechanisms have grown on soil prepared by early 20th century science with Goedel's Incompleteness Theorem (which points out the incompleteness of the formal system and takes cognisance of indeterminateness, an awareness that has existed for centuries in the East) and Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle: the unknowable nature of the universe makes it hard to work with perfection; openness is innate in everything.
Lo-fi makes peace with incompleteness.
23 - Seeing an exhibition at a museum is lo-fi, having the exhibition catalogue at home is hi-fi.
The self-taught man is lo-fi, the academically trained is hi-fi.
It's lo-fi to want to go on playing even when the game gets tough.
These reflections were drawn up by Amanda Montanari in December 2004 for her thesis in Master in Production and Culture of Fashion, University of Bologna.
Lo-fi as praxis
A formal low-profile helps emerging the value of the content. Weakness of action is strength of activity. This approach, more easily accepted by the western culture after the introduction of relativity and revolution of quantum theory, has been representing the fundaments of eastern philosophy for millennia, concerning whether Hinduism, Taoism or Buddhism.
With regards to this particular application of lo-fi in architecture, it is sufficient think about the Japanese wabi-sabi and make analogies.
My investigation of low definition as a design practice has evolved over the years: starting from an interest in its aesthetic results I have then reached the research of the ultimate meaning of movement and cyclical change.
A formal low-profile is able to express the essence of a present state furthermore, it is a light link in the chain of change, and its spirit remains faithful to the natural rhythms of happening.
Adopting the low-definition as a design practice we realize that, thanks to these characteristics (and to others previously mentioned as: stratagem, bricolage, ready-made, detournement, simple game; realism, ethics, democracy and the inclination to perfection with a peaceful attitude towards incompleteness) it holds in itself the usage of emerging possibilities.
If the sense of reality exists, and no one can doubt its existence, then there must also be something we will call sense of possibility. Those who own it will not say, for example: this has happened here, that will happen or must happen, they will imagine instead: this or that could or should happen; and if they are told that one particular thing is just as it is, they will think: it could also be different. So that the sense of possibility could also be defined as the ability of imagining everything that could actually be, without giving a greater importance to what it is, than to what is not.
A position that is basically smooth, despite its deep roots, responds to the need to give space to this sense of possibility. Openness is inborn within everything and the difficulties of this drift are mostly related to freedom. Fractal in its management, freedom asks those who exercise it to be continually open to future developments.
Everything leads us to believe that the future will accelerate the irreversible change in the behaviour and scenario of modern society. One day we will build cities for drifting. With slight changes we can use areas that already exist. We can use a few people who already exist.
Amanda Montanari, Venice
Cercle ARTICLE
ARTISTIC EXPRESSION AND ITALIAN COASTAL TOWNS.
Gianluca Porcile
Introduction
Since the mid-nineteenth century, the process of political unification of Italy highlights the problem of a corresponding process of cultural unification. Within the young nation coexisted huge differences, impossible to summarize in the gap between the North and the South of the country, but such as to define a real mosaic.
Equally considerable is the distance between coastal regions and inland: the unifying value of trade and maritime tradition has always constituted a common basis for the part of country nearest to the Mediterranean. Many cultural peculiarities can be found along the extensive outline of Italian coasts, these peculiarities reflect the geography defined by the maritime routes rather than simply represent the linear distance.
The place and the characters.
In an attempt to unify the Italian culture, each cities or each regions begin to be described in a rigid system of stereotypes. To each site were attributed characteristics that facilitate the identification; the active port, the industrial center, the city of art, the beautiful agricultural landscape are associated with certain geographical areas rather than to others. Similarly are defined the masks that will eventually characterize the stereotype of the inhabitants of the various regions in certain popular culture.
One of the most significant aspects to define the relationship between places and people, especially in some forms of artistic expression, is the relationship with modernity. In general terms, the popular masks were used to represent the exaltation of tradition in contrast with the negative and dehumanizing aspects of modernity.
In this context, the Genoese case is an anomaly. Especially in the early decades of the twentieth century, the port city was loaded from the stereotype of Italian capital for a particular form of modernization[1].
The habitual presence of the great ocean liners, which were also built near the town, the existence of large industries and the presence of infrastructures related to the transports and the commerce as well as the construction of the early Italian skyscrapers, had paved the way to the growth of the civic pride in the exaltation of the relationship between the rapid urban transformation and the diffusion of new technologies.
In 1949 a film entitled "Che tempi!"[2] allows us to describe this phenomenon. It is not a coincidence that the title of the film alludes to the unique character of the modern times: these words express the astonishment caused by the misunderstandings and sudden changes of society that may occur in a system of global trade.
In one of the most memorable scenes of the film the protagonists discuss about the choice of the restaurant for the lunch. The stereotype, that describes the Ligurian people as an irreducible greedy, would drive the characters to a popular and economic food: the farinata. However, the desire for modernity leads them to lunch in one of the most elegant places of the town, significantly placed on the roof of a skyscraper. It is important to note that the skyscraper in Piazza Dante, in those years, was the tallest building in Italy and one of the highest in Europe. If the expensive character of the place is a starting point for a comic scene, it is interesting the absence of a typical characteristic of Italian comedy: the staging of the superiority of popular traditions, with particular reference to the traditional foods, compared to the innovation. The presence in the film of the restaurant on the top of the skyscraper is destined to become the expression of a form of civic pride.
The same building appears in another scene of the same movie, where his shape is used to define the skyline of the city from a ship. In this movie, as in another film of the same year entitled "Le mura di Malapaga"[3], the city is presented to the spectator by the point of view of the characters that arrive by sea; a long tradition, which precedes the contemporary age, say that the first view of Genoa is from the sea[4]. Is also interesting to observe the ease with which is staging the presence of the ships; the great ocean liners, such as the large merchant vessels, were in Genoa an usual presence; from the decks of these ships travelers were watching the city but the Genoese people devoted only little attention to something as common.
Exactly the opposite is described in a movie filmed in 1973[5] but that is, however, set in the thirties. In "Amarcord" by Federico Fellini, the passage of the Rex in front of Rimini provides the director the inspiration for one of the most famous and meaningful scenes of Italian cinema. The great ocean liner slips, majestic and fantastic, in front of the inhabitants of the town, tightly packed in small boats to observe the passing of this "wonderful ship." The evocation of the stylized shape of the liner becomes an opportunity to feed the dreams of those who have merely the opportunity to witness the passage of the ship and could only imagine the splendor and richness of life that takes place in its halls.
The relationship between the space of the staging and the characters is well represented by other scenes of the motion picture by Fellini. If you want to generalize you can say that the Ligurian Sea and the Tyrrhenian Sea show a scenario often harsh and full of recognizable places that characterize the landscape, both natural and built. In contrast, in much of the Adriatic coast, the landscape, poor of relief or emerging elements, has led the artists to focus their attention on the characters. In another famous scene, always in "Amarcord", Fellini stage the fog that, completely denying the understanding of the location, displaces the characters and, with them, the spectator. But the most significant part of the movie to examine this relationship is the final scene. In a barren and bare landscape the director calls together all of his characters; the caricatured nature of their appearance is necessary to fill the scene in the absence of a real scenography. The distance from the movies set in Genoa is emblematic, in Fellini is not the place to define the action of the characters but are the characters themselves to define the aspects of the scene.
[1] M. Spesso, A proposito di Genova, Genova 2012, pp. 84-86.
[2] Che tempi! (1948) directed by Giorgio Bianchi with Gilberto Govi, Walter Chiari, Alberto Sordi.
[3] Le mura di Malapaga (1949) directed by René Clément with Jean Gabin, Isa Miranda.
[4] D. Astengo, L’altro sguardo. Artisti e viaggiatori in Liguria dal ‘700 al ‘900, Ventimiglia 2007.
[5] Amarcord (1973) directed by Fedrico Fellini.
[Fig. 1,2,3,] Che Tempi! (1948) Giorgio Bianchi
[Fig. 4,5,6] Amarcord (1973) Federico Fellini
Genoese interior
The theater allows us to investigate another specificity of the representation of places and space with regard to the city of Genoa. Genoa is commonly defined as a city of interiors[6]; this element is common also in other port cities. But the fact that many activities, essential to understand the city life, take place indoors is sometimes seen as a metaphor of the reserved nature of the Genoese people. Besides, the particularities of the interior spaces of the city are known not only for students of urban studies and architecture, but also to those involved in real estate and fiscal matters.
Another feature was the presence, and the prominence, of a bourgeois theater that was able to represent with ironic but generally good-natured tones a petty bourgeoisie that often, in Italy, has found poor visibility, especially in reason of the strength and importance of popular theater. Just in Genoa that, compared to other Italian cities, had not seen the presence of a strong local tradition in the commedia dell'arte, the representation of this part of society could emerge more easily. With respect to the popular theater, which in many cases took place (and was set) in the streets, this bourgeois theater finds its natural setting in interior spaces.
One of the most interesting signs to understand the character of these kind of interior spaces is the description of the ingresso alla Genovese (Genoese entrance). In the city, the apartments of the bourgeoisie reached a larger size than in other Italian cities and their internal distribution was not provided by a corridor but by a large entrance hall. This ingresso, on which the rooms open as in a small hotel or in a bed & breakfast, was not dissimilar from the parlor of French and English tradition and constitute a hybrid local: at the same time private and public, where the private sphere of the family mingled with the public dimension of social life. Gilberto Govi, the most prominent figure of the Genoese Dialectal Theatre, understood and staged the extraordinary narrative opportunities offered by this space that, albeit transposed without great care in theater sets, became a background realistic but, at the same time, full of possibilities for the action of the characters.
Another kind of interior is the scagno, a small office managed by a petty bourgeoisie often linked to the maritime economy. Also in this case the public and private come together in a sort of neutral ground, an intermediate space that seems to deny the clear separation between the urban space and intimate places of work and family life that in other European cities are clearly distinct.
[6] R. Giardina, L’Europa e le vie del Mediterraneo. Da Venezia a Istanbul, da Ulisse all’Orient Express, Milano 2006, p. 225.
[Fig. 7,8,9] Scenes from comedies of Gilberto Govi, recorded from 1957 to 1960.
The house by the medlar tree.
The Sicilian literature occupies a position of particular prominence for the development of novel in Italy. To understand the relationship between places and artistic expression, one of the masterpieces of Italian verismo (realist literature) is one of the most interesting sources of ideas and information. "I Malavoglia"[7], by Giovanni Verga, in the first English edition was significantly entitled "The House by the Medlar Tree" from the name of the house where the family of the protagonists lives and around which is focused a large part of the story. In the novel are shown the complex relationship between the house and the urban space, the town of Acitrezza in this case. For the family, which gives its name to the novel, the loss of the house corresponds to the loss of the possibility of social progress and ability to improve their condition compared to that of humble fishermen. Owning a home means occupying a position in the town, in a perfect correspondence between the logic of spatial relationships and the social dimension, the loss of the first corresponds to the loss of the second.
Several decades after the writing of Verga's masterpiece, Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa in "Il Gattopardo" (The Leopard) tells a story set in a completely different social milieu; however, the author, describing the spaces in which is set the story of the noble Prince of Salina, shows the same attention that Verga had dedicated to the house of the Malavoglia. In both the novels is described the strict adherence that binds men to the places in which they live. Both the nobles and the fishermen appear bound to their homes by a link impossible to cut. This relationship becomes the symbol of the relationship between mankind and the society in which they live, a connection that provides them with a form of security, but that imprisons them in a condition that is impossible to change.
The attention for the description of the link between the environment and characters is also present in a contemporary author, Andrea Camilleri; in his historical novels that make up the most interesting part of his literary production, the Sicilian author has often staged the imaginary town of Vigata, transposition of his native Porto Empedocle. The approach of this author to the historical novel is often based on a form of choral narration in which the society expresses itself through documents reconstructed, imaginary newspaper articles or false administrative documents, all reconstructed with meticulous precision. However, one of the most interesting cases for understanding the way in which the author describes the urban space is the case of the novel entitled "Il birraio di Preston"[8].
The story is set in the days before and after the opening of an opera house; an highly significant moment in the life of an Italian town of the nineteenth century. The conflicts born around the construction of the theater, but also about the choice of the opera that will inaugurate it ("Il birraio di Preston" by Luigi Ricci that gives the title to the novel) allows the author to describe, at the same time, the city and its inhabitants. The burning of the theater during the day of the inauguration becomes the material expression of the tensions, potentially explosive, present in the Sicilian and Italian society in the decades following the unification of the country.
One of the most interesting examples to understand the relationship between the characters of Camilleri and the environment in which they move is another historical novel entitled "La mossa del cavallo"[9]. The protagonist, native of Sicily but lived for a long time in Liguria, thinks, and consequently acts, in Ligurian language. This makes him somewhat immune to the interests and relationship of the region where he has returned; but at the same time leaves the man exposed to hazards that is not able to counteract. To save himself the protagonist will have to start thinking in its original language, the Sicilian, reconstructing the inevitable link between the man and the place; a link from which does not seem possible any form of detachment.
It is interesting to note how different it is from this approach of another masterpiece of Italian literature: “La coscienza di Zeno”[10] by Italo Svevo. The novel, written and set in Trieste in the early decades of the twentieth century, shows how the town was culturally, as well as geographically, near to Vienna, the birthplace of psychoanalysis. The focus of the story is always the relationship between a person and the society in which he lives. The central element, which the protagonist defines as “his illness”, ends up being described as a disease of the society itself. It is this consciousness, that the protagonist reaches only in the last pages of the novel, to allow him to considered himself cured. In contrast to the people around him, Zeno became aware of the problems of the society in which he lives, allowing him to understand the reasons for immobility in which the other characters are forced. In a novel set in Trieste, in the most northern point of the Adriatic Sea and under the influence of the Mittel-European culture, the link between the scene and the character is loosened and the psychology of the protagonist ends up prevailing on the constraints that society imposes.
Gianluca Porcile, Genoa
[7] G. Verga, I Malavoglia, Milano 1881; first english translation by Mary A. Craig: The house by the medlar-tree, 1890.
[8] A. Camilleri, Il birraio di Preston, Palermo 1995.
[9] A. Camilleri, La mossa del cavallo, Milano 1999.
[10] I. Svevo, La coscienza di Zeno, Trieste 1923.
[Fig. 10] Giovanni Verga.
[Fig. 11] Aci Trezza.
[Fig. 12] I Malavoglia by Giovanni Verga, first edition.
[Fig. 13] Il birraio di Preston by Andrea Camilleri, first edition.
[Fig. 14] La coscienza di Zeno by Italo Svevo (pseudonym of Ettore Schmitz) first edition.
Cercle ARTICLE
CIVIC REALISM, DIRTY REALISM, HARD REALISM: REALISM
Eduard Bru
Casa Ugalde, J.A. Coderch, 1953. Francesc Català Roca Archive.
I
For decades, I have been defending the Realist architecture for its, in my opinion, principal values:
- It is the Architecture that recognises change, indeterminacy and contingency of everyday life.
- It is the Architecture that gives prominence to links, to the non predetermined, volatile, identity; the architecture of the associations.
-The one that accepts time not as a natural enemy but as a partner:
The passing by of time adapts, completes, and updates architecture.
- Architecture of the pre-eminence and quality of the intermediate spaces. The Architecture of the active void.
- Architecture that adds, through time, layers of use and meaning (Ferran Grau).
The Catalan Architecture of the immediate post Civil War could not be anything other than Realist.
Isolated from power for belonging to the Republican side, the loser against Franco's fascists. Without fundamental raw materials such as, among many others, laminated iron profiles. Without money, as an obvious consequence of the Civil War. Without clients.
Thus Coderch, architect of the State – the only entity with economical capacity of that time-, employee in an agency of the country’s physical reconstruction, he opts for the vernacular / fisherman village styles, either by stylistic choice and/or material need: the constructive, material, economical, and technical resources available of the moment, were not very different from those popular architectures that Coderch refines.
In 1947, he also builds his house in the Calvó Square of Barcelona.
But his encounter (1950) with the artistic avant-garde (mostly Catalan) is decisive, this took place in Spain’s Pavilion at the Triennale of Milan of which design he was responsible. Miró, Pons, Tharrats, gave him a look from the avant-garde of those popular materials that he had read till then from a continuing tradition.
Coderch will then give a giant leap, that will change all his work and he will produce, two years later, his greatest work: the Ugalde house, incomprehensible by its genesis and outcome unless one understands that it comes from the intersection between tradition and avant-garde that he experienced.
From this necessary "Realism" derive the great episodes of the time, such as the residential building in the Pallars Street in Barcelona (Bohigas- Martorell) and, later on, the Georgina House or the House on the island of Pantelleria,
-that is to say the best of Clotet & Tusquets-, up to the works that Clotet did by himself or with Ignacio Paricio- constructive realism and environmental-, and other components of what was called School of Barcelona. Also Alejandro de la Sota, alone, in Madrid.
Enric Miralles claimed for himself the adjective of realist, rightfully if we consider the benefit he obtained precisely from the programme, -as his friends and mentors, the Smithsons- since the school La Llauna, which meant his breakthrough into the local Catalan scenario, until the Archery facilities for the '92 Olympics and further on.
Realism inspired expressly in the most trivial and situationist gesture. Take a look at the catalogue of the meaningful exhibition organised at the MACBA by the same Miralles, and another baroque realist, Elias Torres, along with Xavier Costa, dedicated precisely to Situationism.
The Olympics gave the opportunity to some, as whom this signs, to implement this realism, contextual and pragmatic on an urban scale: Vall d'Hebrón. It is also, in its own way, the Olympic Village, although entangled with another possible commitment option with reality, stylistic eclecticism which is often sustained by MBM.
An architect of similar age and in a comparable situation also did it: Josef Kleihus in the IBA of Berlin.
II
In a period of general optimism, Peter Rowe published his “Civic Realism”.
Barcelona was the main part of the book. The Barcelona that was transformed with the impulse and money related to the ‘92 Olympics, served Rowe to identify Realism (attentive, by definition, to the programme) with the attention to the public programme and, therefore, to the urban space, constituted this way in civic space.
That civic realism is the cross produced in Catalan lands between the programmatic and constructive realism and the urban ambition imposed by the teaching of Manuel de Solá- Morales.
III
"Dirty realism" is the option posed for the large-scale architecture paid with private money to obtain profit (tax havens to the margin). They propose it, each one in their own way:
1.
LO-FI Group: Marco Navarra, Luca Emanueli, Mario Lupano, or (in architecture and fashion) Amanda Montanari.
It consists on setting the corresponding elements of the basic programme traces and allows time, taste or the user's need to finish and modify, with the help of time, the project.
2.
R. Koolhaas-OMA, wounded, made relative, dismissed that Realist-Civic idyll in word and deed probably by considering it artificial and subsidized (by the state) and, therefore, outside the mainstream of history, which would be articulated around the Market, that is precisely where he himself always wanted to be located in order to obtain a large-scale architecture capable of being paid with ordinary Money, not necessarily from the state.
His Dirty realism, in the architecture section, demands greater empathy with the "really real" distributive, formal, object-based, and vital standards of the moment. An architecture in the market, with the dirty hands, if it is necessary.
See its formal translation: boxes that correspond to diverse programme containers, approximately superimposed, fitted in a tight with a mesh structure, like the faces of the assailants of any corporate building.
I am aware of the different moral position of the two examples with which I have illustrated Dirty realism, but I believe to find in them coincidences of project strategy and formalization.
Years ago I published a small book on Koolhaasian positions.
BORDEAUX, VENEZIA, BARCELONA, LAGOS. De la biennale a Mutations, 2001.
Click per a llegir. (ESP-ENG-FR)
R.Koolhaas ha estat nominat Director de la Biennal de Venezia 2014. Reproduïm en facsímil un text de l’Eduard Bru, publicat per l’ETSAB, relatiu a les dues grans mostres internacionals d’arquitectura que van tenir lloc a l’any 2000, en les que indirecta i directament R.K. va tenir altes responsabilitats.
Nota: el logotip de l'ETSAB que apareix a la publicació es una reelaboració de l’escut de la primera Escola d’Arquitectura de Catalunya, la de la Llotja de la Cambra de Comerç, -realitzada per Ramon Prat-, i origen del vigent escut.
IV
At this stage, a phase of progressive income transference towards the upper classes and/or directly to crooks who used to be called of white collar, disappearance phase, therefore, of that public (state) money which precisely paid that civic realism, or that kept the dirty version within the inherent limits of the so-called welfare society, there is no longer other realism than hard realism: hardcore architecture.
Hard realism is the one forced to work with what is given, or with what is diminishing, without more options.
If the first realism could operate with realities, materials, and new objects, and also recycle objects in the réaction poétique – interiors of the Smithsons, for example - hard realism can no longer operate with anything else than with the layout.
Its field of action is to give the void a semantic, vectorize the vacuum: making visible what can be determined in it as relational and pervadable.
To tell the truth, it does not seem to me a necessarily objectionable situation: the void has always been what is essential in architecture, since we need the solid precisely to create the void that we inhabit. If we cannot qualify the vacuum from the quality of the solids that make it, we will have to do it from its layout and, also, or ultimately, from the basic solid: our bodies.
It is this importance of the void what brings it near to the hard realism, on one flank, by the deprived classicism of the Tendenza, and this is also what can make this text understandable in the framework in which it is disseminated. Also to the stoic, even voluptuous, acceptance of time passing by, - proper of what is classical and of the body as an archetype -, opposite the neurosis of the derivatives of the modern movement, always concerned about being removed from the neurotic continuum of what is up to date.
Body and void are, therefore, the defining elements of hard realism, to which in addition to all the attributes that it has pointed out for the generically realist architecture, must now add the following:
-The crisis of the perpetuous new or the beauty of the specific.
The actual world wants confidence, for economical reasons, no more experiments are needed, but of course to maintain ourselves alive we do need perpetuous changes.
But there is a possible common path for the known and the new: I defend architectures that repeat solutions, with strategic changes. Then, beauty appears bonding the general, checked, procedures, with each specific situation.
-The dissolution of the puritan joint: it is to say that is no longer convincing, we should underline in a hysterical manner the passing by of time between two architectural moments. The bondage between adequate architectures is used to express the difference made out of novelty and generally, progress, both qualities in abeyance nowadays.
- The body’s come back: If beauty that appears with the specific is needed, the main specific, and usually forgotten, item is our body.
Our body has been assimilated like a machine, all its senses, all its spaces, of the MM formula.
Nowadays the most fashionable designers are very often characterized by the increasing stupid solutions to inexistent problems, being modern by forgetting -today always less than tomorrow- the common sense.
The physical and emotional possibilities, our body expects, creates and suggests, are usually put aside of the architectural narrative, that focus itself on ridiculous geometric variations of elemental miss functional standard solutions.
Just check the evolution of bathroom fittings.
-Architecture (and urbanism of course) as a process of progressive corrections
-Beauty made out by differences, oppositions and contradictions. Yes, let’s be Venturians but with more gravitas and sensuality, at least we are old Europeans like Richardson (almost), Nash, Perret, Puillon, Rossi, Asnago and Vender…
V
Let’s multiply beauties
The idea of beauty should change, must change, is already changing
The “new” beauty will be related with strong changes of the Modern M. items, like: impure for pure, instable for permanent, sensual by puritan, intense by beautiful, alive by frozen.
Let`s multiply beauties, let’s be hard
Eduard Bru.
Barcelona January 2013
Cercle ARTICLE (ENG)
ON THE KNIFE'S CUTTING EDGE
FOUNDATIONAL IMAGE FOR A POETICS OF CONTEMPORARY ARCHITECTURE
Enric Llorach
In the interview conducted by Crane.tv to Shohei Shigematsu one can appreciate well the spirit that presides over the OMA Office in New York 1. Shohei Shigematsu's words, though mild in tone, are eloquent. In his explanation, it is clear that OMA does not have a set for preset forms of architecture, but does have, however, a way of thinking. In view of the results the second statement is very credible while the first one is a lot less. My starting point here is that OMA’s architecture has a specific foundational image: a painting. And more specifically, the female figure that appears in the painting.
It is the "Angelus", by Jean-François Millet, one of the founders of the École de Barbizon together with Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot, Charles-François Daubigny and Théodore Rousseau. Painted in 1857, it is today preserved at the Musée d'Orsay in Paris. On the canvas one can appreciate a couple of peasants praying the evening prayer of the Angelus in a field near Barbizon. The man has taken off his hat which he holds in his hands while the woman withdraws her gesture with clasped hands.
The painting gave origin to a book written by Salvador Dalí in the decade of the 30s of the past century, the manuscript of which was lost in 1941 in Arcachon, and which was subsequently published by the editor Jean-Jacques Pauvert in 1963 in Paris. The original title was Le mythe tragique de “L’Angélus” de Millet2 . In this book Dalí unravels one of his fixed images - the painting by Millet -, as could also be the rhinoceros’ horn or the grasshoppers. A great reader of Freud, whom he was able to meet in 1948 in London, Dalí invents the Paranoiac-Critical Method in 1929.
Such a method apprehended things in their underlying purpose. Armed with psychoanalysis, Dalí chose paranoia as the place where daily life is stirred with violence and it becomes uncanny. Once caught -subject with needles- the unconscious is dissected, analyzed and ultimately explained: rationalizing the delirium and transforming it into a story. The whole of Dalí’s work is teleological, that is to say that it revolves around this research about himself, where Oedipus will emerge as the main character.
The Angelus by J.F. Millet also raised a series of oil paintings and drawings by Dalí that illustrated what was assayed in the book. Succinctly, the book develops a tale for the painting in a subliminal order and which finds its form in the classical myth of Oedipus. Dalí attributed the immense popularity of the painting to its underlying or hidden meaning. The meaning that appears in a sinister way in the thought of Dalí since his childhood and which he is now able to discern its fundamental elements. Such images will be related to eroticism and death. And in its Oedipal translation: infanticide, parricide and incest.
Dalí visited the city of New York in 1935. Four decades later on, in 1978, Rem Koolhaas published Delirious New York3 , which main thesis will be the urban congestion in the city of New York. And as the same title suggests, it will be the delirium what will explain it. Such an attempt of rationalization will come from the hand of Dalí and his paranoiac-critical method.
RK explains in the book how Le Corbusier sees his visions for New York frustrated because he is not capable of comprehending it. In return, the city of New York does not even pay attention to LC. Nevertheless, Dalí’s visit is different. Dalí interprets the urban phenomenon of congestion in New York -Manhattanism, in the words of RK- from its underlying logic: the paranoiac state.
RK remembers Dalí’s words about New York:
The paranoiac-critical conquest of Manhattan on behalf of Dalí is an economic model, especially when, with a final gesture, it transforms the entire city into a show, represented only for its pleasure.
"Every evening, the skyscrapers of New York adopt the multiple and giant anthropomorphic figures of the Angelus by Millet […] immobile, and ready to perform the sexual act and devour each other [...]. It is this bloodthirsty desire what illuminates them and makes all the central heating and the whole central poetry circulates within its ferruginous bone structure".
For a moment, his interpretation leaves all the other functions of the city in suspense. It is there for him only.
"New York, why, why did you erect my statue time ago, before I was born, higher than any other, more desperate than any other?”.4
According to RK, Dalí interprets the city of New York as an economic model for the spectacular representation of himself. Thus, the city of New York becomes the giant materialization of his self-representation: the myth of Oedipus and his image, which is none other than the couple of peasants of the Angelus. The anthropomorphic skyscrapers are now ready for the cannibal act that will join death and eroticism. The Dalinian story sublimated in urban congestion, capitalist economy and entertainment society, working as a team for the greater glory of Dalí, the great egocentric.
Delirious New York contains, among other documentary images, the illustrations by Madelon Vriesendorp. The most famous between them is the one that is on the cover and on page 160 of the edition of Gustavo Gili5 . Entitled Flagrant offense. In a New York penthouse, a couple of buildings lie on a bed in a post-coital scene. They are the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building. Barely hidden under a sheet, they are discovered by the Rockefeller Center that observes them illuminating them with a spotlight from the threshold of the door. On the bedside table, the forearm of the Statue of Liberty illuminates the bedroom, while the Dutch grid of Manhattan and Central Park covers the carpet that is swallowed by the bed. On the outside, the skyscrapers of New York contemplate with a hypnotic gaze the now spectacular scene. As proof, at an edge of the bed hangs a Goodyear piece of tire. Its way of hanging is unmistakable. It reminds us of the soft pocket watches painted by Dalí in The Persistence of Memory, of 1931. In addition, the act committed by the two anthropomorphic skyscrapers is forbidden, as the acts that occur in the myth of Oedipus are.
The text of RK and illustrations of MV constitute a double allusion to the Dalinian paranoiac-critical method. The manhattanism, the delirium of New York, Can only be explained from the irrationality of the urban process, for its essentially paranoiac dynamics. Pathologically, New York is at the margin of modernity. The Hygienist and Cartesian criterion of Le Corbusier becomes useless in New York, which advances according to the swerves of an economical model that is found placed under the spotlights of show business. Does a city that has been filmed more than this one exist?
Thus, Manhattanism is the expression of a capitalist system in an exacerbated state, in its greater degree of concentration. According to David Harvey6, the Supreme precept of capitalism is the compound growth rate consisted of 3 per cent. Such a requirement causes the system to permanently subsist "on the knife’s cutting edge", so that the crises succeed one another, becoming "irrational rationalisers": the very description of Dalí’s paranoiac-critical method.
Thus, it can be said that the paranoid nature of New York’s congestion is analogous to the paranoiac-critical method, representation of which is the Angelus of Millet, and more specifically, the figure of the woman who is ready for the sexual and cannibal act. For RK, and in a foundational way in his work, the woman of the Angelus will be the image of the economic and urban processes that define the city. Such processes will be paranoiac and will have a formal effect on architecture. The buildings of RK will offer a murderous sensuality. And to be more precise, they will offer the attitude of the peasant of the Angelus.
In another of the books of RK, Content7 , the subtitles attract attention: Perverted Architecture, Homicidal Engineering, Sweat shop Demographics, Slum Sociology, Big Brother Skyscrapers, Al Qaeda Fetish, Martha Stewart Urbanism and Paranoid Technology. To sum up, the subtitles constitute a set of notes on what is pathological and spectacular; of the paranoiac states and the cannibal sensuality. And that is where the architecture of RK shall arise and grow, under the auspices of a woman of great resemblance with the religious mantis: the peasant of the Angelus by Millet. The RK buildings will rise with difficulty. Their insect suffering, more than human, will be reflected almost always in a withdrawn gesture8.
Content has plenty of examples, like the illustrations of the OMA buildings that have come to life now converted into anthropomorphic villains, ready for the sexual act and crime, designed by Simon Brown and Jon Link, of &&&. One can also find in Content, the article of Fenna Haakma Wagenar, “Astrology. Protect us from what we want” 9, gives a good account of the paranoiac state of OMA’s activity. FHW exposes the many conflicts between the models of thought and method between OMA-Rotterdam and Herzog & de Meuron-Basel. For OMA, FHW describes a febrile condition of production on the edge of delirium that RK deals with rationalizing from time to time. Although never in excess: comfort does not exist in OMA.
Enric Llorach, Barcelona

[1] Crane.tv, Shohei Shigematsu OMA member. In New York, format: video, architecture journal Metalocus, online edition, 21.12.2012
[2] Salvador Dalí, Le mythe tragique de “L’Angélus” de Millet, Société Nouvelle des Éditions Jean-Jacques Pauvert, Paris, 1963. Spanish version: El mito trágico de “El Ángelus” de Millet, Tusquets Editores, Barcelona, 2004. 1ª edición en colección Marginales: March 1978. 1ª edición en colección Esenciales: January 2004.
[3] Rem Koolhaas, Delirious New York, 1978. Spanish version: Delirio de Nueva York. Un manifiesto retroactivo para Manhattan, Gustavo Gili, Barcelona, 2004.
[4] Rem Koolhaas, Delirious New York, 1978. Spanish version: Delirio de Nueva York. Un manifiesto retroactivo para Manhattan, Gustavo Gili, Barcelona, 2004, pages 263-264.
[5] Ibid, p. 160.
[6] Such structural features of the capitalist system are described in the following pages of David Harvey’s book, The Enigma of Capital and the Crises of Capitalism, 2010. Spanish version: El enigma del capital y las crisis del capitalismo, Ediciones Akal, Madrid, 2012, pages. 64-65. Harvey explains how financialization periods like the present always precede a change of hegemony. The US National Intelligence Council published at the beginning of the Obama era that the world's economic centre will have moved to Asia by the year 2025, due to the relentless flow of capital from West to East. RK has already directed his attention to these areas of the planet, as well as he has managed to conquer Manhattan, the city that inspired his dream of architecture and that had been refused to LC.
[7] AMOMA / Rem Koolhaas / &&& | Simon Brown | Jon Link, Content. Perverted Architecture. Homicidal Engineering. Sweat shop Demographics. Slum Sociology. Big Brother Skyscrapers. Al Qaeda Fetish. Martha Stewart Urbanism. Paranoid Technology, Taschen, Köln, 2004.
[8] The soft melting pocket watches that are found in the painting The persistence of memory (1931), by Salvador Dalí, exert at the same time a foundational image for the OMA-Rem Koolhaas architecture. In this occasion the resemblance must be found in the soft slabs that abound in his work and that Dalí would have called “eatable architecture”.
[9] Fenna Haakma Wagenar, “Astorology. Protect us from what we want”, ibid. [7], pages 204-207.
Note: All the images are downloaded from internet, in particular from: http://www.metalocus.es/, http://www.oma.nl/ and http://www.google.es/
Cercle ARTICLE
EN EL FILO DE LA NAVAJA
IMAGEN FUNDACIONAL PARA UNA POÉTICA DE ARQUITECTURA CONTEMPORÁNEA
Enric Llorach
En la entrevista realizada por Crane.tv a Shohei Shigematsu se aprecia bien el espíritu que preside la oficina de OMA en Nueva York1. Las palabras de Shohei Shigematsu, aunque leves en el tono, son elocuentes. De su explicación se desprende que OMA no tiene un set de formas de arquitectura preestablecido, pero que sí tiene, sin embargo, un modo de pensar. A la vista de los resultados lo segundo resulta muy creíble mientras que lo primero mucho menos. Mi punto de partida aquí es que la arquitectura de OMA cuenta con una imagen fundacional concreta: un cuadro. Y más específicamente, la figura femenina que aparece en dicho cuadro.
Se trata de “L’Angélus”, de Jean-François Millet, uno de los fundadores de la École de Barbizon junto a Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot, Charles-François Daubigny y Théodore Rousseau. Pintado en 1857, se conserva hoy en día en el Musée d’Orsay, en París. Sobre la tela se aprecia a una pareja de campesinos rezando la oración vespertina del Angélus en un campo próximo a Barbizon. El hombre se ha quitado el sombrero que sostiene entre sus manos mientras la mujer recoge el gesto con las manos entrelazadas.
El cuadro dio origen a un libro escrito por Salvador Dalí en la década de los 30 del siglo pasado, cuyo manuscrito se extravió en Arcachon en 1941, y que fue posteriormente publicado por el editor Jean-Jacques Pauvert en París en 1963. El título original fue Le mythe tragique de “L’Angélus” de Millet2. En este libro Dalí desgrana una de sus imágenes fijas -el cuadro de Millet-, como pudieron serlo también el cuerno del rinoceronte o los saltamontes. Gran lector de Freud, a quien pudo conocer en Londres en 1948, Dalí inventa en 1929 el Método Paranoico-Crítico.
Tal método aprehendía las cosas en su propósito subyacente. Armado de psicoanálisis, Dalí escogió a la paranoia como el lugar dónde lo cotidiano se revuelve con violencia y se torna siniestro. Una vez atrapado -sujeto con agujas- el inconsciente es diseccionado, analizado y en última instancia explicado: racionalizando el delirio y transformándolo en relato. El conjunto de la obra de Dalí es teleológica, es decir que gira alrededor de esta investigación de sí mismo, donde Edipo se erigirá como carácter principal.
L’Angélus de J.F. Millet suscitó también una serie de óleos y dibujos de Dalí que ilustraron lo ensayado en el libro. De modo sucinto, el libro elabora un relato de orden subliminal para el cuadro y que encuentra forma en el mito clásico de Edipo. Dalí atribuirá la inmensa popularidad del cuadro a su significado subyacente u oculto. Aquel significado que aparece de forma siniestra en el pensamiento de Dalí desde su infancia y del que ahora es capaz de discernir sus elementos fundamentales. Tales imágenes estarán relacionadas con el erotismo y la muerte. Y en su traducción edípica: el infanticidio, el parricidio y el incesto.
Dalí visita la ciudad de Nueva York en el año 1935. Cuatro décadas más tarde, en 1978, Rem Koolhaas publica Delirious New York3, cuya tesis principal será la congestión urbana en la ciudad de Nueva York. Y como el mismo título indica, será el delirio quien la explique. Tal intento de racionalización vendrá de la mano de Dalí y su método paranoico-crítico.
RK explica en el libro cómo Le Corbusier ve frustradas sus visiones para Nueva York porque no se muestra capaz de comprenderla. A cambio, la ciudad de Nueva York ni siquiera presta atención a LC. No obstante, la visita de Dalí es distinta. Dalí interpreta el fenómeno urbano de la congestión en Nueva York -el manhattanismo, en palabras de RK- desde su lógica subyacente: el estado paranoico.
RK recuerda las palabras de Dalí sobre Nueva York:
La conquista paranoico-crítica de Manhattan por parte de Dalí es un modelo de economía, en especial cuando, con un gesto final, transforma toda la ciudad en un espectáculo, representado sólo para su placer.
“Cada anochecer, los rascacielos de Nueva York adoptan las figuras antropomórficas de múltiples y gigantescos Ángelus de Millet […] inmóviles, y listos para realizar el acto sexual y devorarse unos a otros […]. Es este deseo sanguinario lo que los ilumina y hace que toda la calefacción central y toda la poesía central circule por dentro de su ferruginosa estructura ósea”.
Por un momento, su interpretación deja en suspenso todas las demás funciones de la ciudad. Está ahí para él solo.
“Nueva York, ¿por qué, por qué erigiste mi estatua tiempo atrás, antes de que yo naciera, más alta que ninguna otra, más desesperada que ninguna otra?”.4
Según RK, Dalí interpreta la ciudad de Nueva York como un modelo de economía para la representación espectacular de sí mismo. Así, la ciudad de Nueva York deviene la materialización gigante de su auto-representación: el mito de Edipo y su imagen, que no es otra que la pareja de campesinos del Ángelus. Los rascacielos antropomórficos están ahora listos para el acto caníbal que unirá muerte y erotismo. El relato daliniano sublimado en congestión urbana, economía capitalista y sociedad del espectáculo, trabajando en equipo para la mayor gloria de Dalí, el gran egocéntrico.
Delirious New York contiene, entre otras imágenes documentales, las ilustraciones de Madelon Vriesendorp. La más célebre entre ellas es la que se encuentra en la portada y en la página 160 de la edición de Gustavo Gili5. Lleva por título Delito flagrante. En un penthouse neoyorquino, una pareja de edificios yacen sobre una cama en una escena poscoital. Se trata del Chrysler Building y el Empire State Building. Apenas ocultos bajo una sábana, son descubiertos por el Rockefeller Center, que los observa iluminándolos con un foco de luz desde el umbral de la puerta. En la mesilla de noche, el antebrazo de estatua de la Libertad ilumina el dormitorio, mientras que la retícula holandesa de Manhattan y el Central Park tapizan la alfombra que es engullida por la cama. En el exterior, los rascacielos de Nueva York contemplan con mirada hipnótica la escena ahora espectacular. A modo de prueba, en un borde de la cama cuelga un trozo de neumático Goodyear. Su forma de colgar es inequívoca. Recuerda los relojes blandos pintados por Dalí en La persistencia de la memoria, de 1931. Asimismo, el acto cometido por los dos rascacielos antropomórficos está prohibido, como lo son los actos que se suceden en el mito de Edipo.
El texto de RK y las ilustraciones de MV constituyen una alusión doble al método paranoico-crítico daliniano. El manhattanismo, el delirio de Nueva York, sólo puede explicarse desde la irracionalidad del proceso urbano, por su dinámica esencialmente paranoica. Patológicamente, Nueva York está al margen de la modernidad. El criterio higienista y cartesiano de Le Corbusier no sirve de nada en Nueva york. Nueva York avanza según los bandazos de un modelo de economía que se encuentra situado bajo los focos del espectáculo. ¿Existe alguna ciudad más filmada?
Así pues, el manhattanismo es la expresión de un sistema capitalista en estado exacerbado, en su mayor grado de concentración. Según David Harvey6, el precepto supremo del capitalismo es la tasa de crecimiento compuesto del 3 por 100. Tal exigencia produce que el sistema subsista permanentemente “en el filo de la navaja”, de modo que las crisis se suceden, convirtiéndose en “racionalizadoras irracionales”: la descripción misma del método paranoico-crítico de Dalí.
De este modo, puede decirse que la naturaleza paranoide de la congestión neoyorquina es análoga al método paranoico-crítico, cuya representación es el Ángelus de Millet, y más concretamente, la figura de la mujer que se encuentra lista para el acto sexual y caníbal. Para RK, y de un modo fundacional en su obra, la mujer del Ángelus será la imagen de los procesos económicos y urbanos que definen la ciudad. Tales procesos serán paranoides y tendrán un efecto formal sobre la arquitectura. Los edificios de RK ofrecerán una sensualidad asesina. Y para ser más precisos, ofrecerán la postura de la campesina del Ángelus.
En otro de los libros de RK, Content7, los subtítulos llaman la atención: Arquitectura Pervertida, Ingeniería Homicida, Demografía de Sweat-shop, Sociología Informal, Rascacielos Big Brother, Fetiche al Qaeda, Urbanismo Martha Stewart y Tecnología Paranoide. En suma, los subtítulos constituyen un conjunto de apuntes sobre lo patológico y lo espectacular; de los estados paranoides y la sensualidad caníbal. Y es ahí donde nacerá y crecerá la arquitectura de RK, bajo los auspicios de una mujer de gran semejanza con la mantis religiosa: la campesina del Ángelus de Millet. Los edificios de RK se elevarán con dificultad. Su sufrimiento de insecto, más que humano, se verá reflejado casi siempre en un gesto recogido8.
Content cuenta con un sinfín de ejemplos, como las ilustraciones de los edificios de OMA que han cobrado vida convertidos ahora en villanos antropomórficos, listos para el acto sexual y el delito, diseñados por Simon Brown y Jon Link, de &&&. También en Content, el artículo de Fenna Haakma Wagenar, “Astorology. Protect us from what we want”9, da buena cuenta del estado paranoico de la actividad de OMA. Fenna Haakma Wagemar expone los múltiples conflictos entre los modelos de pensamiento y método entre OMA-Rotterdam y Herzog & de Meuron-Basilea. Para OMA, Haakma Wagemar describe un estado febril de producción en el límite del delirio que RK se ocupa de racionalizar de vez en cuando. Aunque nunca en exceso: la comodidad no existe en OMA. Al igual que la inestabilidad del sistema capitalista, en el filo de la navaja.
Enric Llorach, Barcelona
Ver imágenes en la edición en inglés. GO_PICS
[1] Crane.tv, Shohei Shigematsu miembro de OMA. En Nueva York, formato: vídeo, revista de arquitectura Metalocus, edición online, 21.12.2012
[2] Salvador Dalí, Le mythe tragique de “L’Angélus” de Millet, Société Nouvelle des Éditions Jean-Jacques Pauvert, París, 1963. Versión castellana: El mito trágico de “El Ángelus” de Millet, Tusquets Editores, Barcelona, 2004. 1ª edición en colección Marginales: marzo 1978. 1ª edición en colección Esenciales: enero 2004.
[4] Rem Koolhaas, Delirious New York, 1978. Versión castellana: Delirio de Nueva York. Un manifiesto retroactivo para Manhattan, Gustavo Gili, Barcelona, 2004, pp. 263-264.
[5] Ídem, p. 160.
[7] AMOMA / Rem Koolhaas / &&& | Simon Brown | Jon Link, Content. Perverted Architecture. Homicidal Engineering. Sweat shop Demographics. Slum Sociology. Big Brother Skyscrapers. Al Qaeda Fetish. Martha Stewart Urbanism. Paranoid Technology, Taschen, Köln, 2004.
[8] Los relojes blandos que se encuentran en el cuadro La persistencia de la memoria (1931), de Salvador Dalí, ejercen a su vez de imagen fundacional para la arquitectura de OMA-Rem Koolhaas. En esta ocasión la semejanza debe encontrarse en los forjados blandos que tanto abundan en su obra y que Dalí habría denominado “arquitectura comestible”.
[9] Fenna Haakma Wagenar, “Astorology. Protect us from what we want”, ídem [7], pp. 204-207.
Nota: Todas las imágenes están descargadas de internet, en especial de: http://www.metalocus.es/, http://www.oma.nl/ y http://www.google.es/
Cercle MEDIA
CERCLE PROMOTED COLLECTIVE DISCUSSION ON REALISM AT THE RECENT ARCHITECTURAL PROJECTS DEPARTMENT CONGRESS CELEBRATED LAST JUNE IN BCN.
Participants: Eduard Bru, Jeremy Till, Anne Lacaton, Stephen Bates, Luca Emanueli.
(and Albert Civit, Ignacio Paricio, Lluís Hortet, José Zabala, Xavier Ros, Amadeu Santacana and Ferran Grau)

Roundtable, June 13th, 2012, AURS.
Check the video from the roundtable here:
All videos from AURS 2012 are available at the following link:
http://upcommons.upc.edu/video/handle/2099.2/3220
Information about the AURS 2012 congress:
http://aurs2012.upc.edu
Cercle ARTICLE (ENG)
STRUCTURAL TRANSFERS
MIES · KAHN · WACHSMANN
Eva Jiménez Gómez, architect and PhD in Architectural Design
On 27th July of 2012 I read my PhD thesis entitled “The column in Mies van der Rohe. The lexicon of the steel“. One of the main subjects considered was the structural transfers between Mies van der Rohe and other architects like Albert Kahn and Konrad Wachsmann. Mies incorporated the new structures designed by Kahn and Wachsmann into his work, but not literally. He added some variations in order to apply his architectural language, directly related to the Neoplasticism and the European avant-garde of the early twentieth century.
During the twenties, Mies defined the steel structural system that he would apply to all his projects. He used the existing technology of riveted small profiles published in different construction handbooks of the time. Mies had learned to construct with this structural system when he worked with Peter Behrens. But in the twenties he began to use it in a different way. Basically Mies removed some structural elements to turn the structure into lines and planes. So, these elements, superimposed in the space, responded to his space concept. Mies developed his architectural typology of court houses, using this structural system with star columns.

1. Models of the Resor House and a court house, 1938
2. Group of court houses, 1938
3. Interior view of a court house, 1938
4. Model of the Resor House, 1938
When Mies moved to the United States, he knew the industrial architecture of Albert Kahn, the architect of Henry Ford, and as Grant Hildebrand says, his architecture would change significantly at that time (1).
MIES AND KAHN
Albert Kahn was the architect of Henry Ford and other Detroit automobile industrialists at the beginning of the twentieth century. The most important innovations by Ford and Kahn in architecture were result of the incorporation of the assembly line into the car factory. This meant a challenge for industrialists and architects, since the organization and arrangement of the interior and exterior spaces were crucial for the enterprise success.
In 1939 George Nelson published the book “The industrial architecture of Albert Kahn”, and Myron Goldsmith, Mies’ student and collaborator, recalls his teacher poring over the book (2). In this time Mies began a process of assimilation of the work of Albert Kahn. This process began in 1942, when Mies projected a Concert Hall with his IIT students. This project was a photomontage where Mies superimposed his elementarist space concept to an image of the interior of the Glenn Martin Assembly Plant by Albert Kahn. The parallelism in the work of both architects is evident throughout the next works of Mies.
With this collage, as it were an architectural manifesto, Mies made explicit his will to assume a new scale as it was a challenge. He used the structure of Albert Kahn as a support of his own project. With this decision he incorporated in his work a second generation of steel structures, to which Mies superimposed the same neoplastic space concept of the Barcelona pavilion and the Tugendhat house.

5. Albert Kahn, Glenn Martin Assembly Hall, Baltimore, 1937.
6. Mies van der Rohe, Concert Hall, 1942.
With the industrial architecture of Albert Kahn, Mies found out a new steel structures generation. At the end of the thirties, the steel American technology produced bigger profiles and the welding technique had been incorporated into the building, and it replaced the riveting and allowed clearer joints (3). This new technology increased the space possibilities of the architecture, and it allowed bigger spans and high-rise buildings. From that moment Mies definitely left the star column of small riveted profiles and began to work with the wide-flange column.
An important innovation in industrial architecture by Albert Kahn was to spread out the structural module to all the buildings of an industrial plant because of practical reasons. He did it for the first time in 1906 at the Pierce Company factory, a luxury car manufacturer, and optimized its application when Henry Ford incorporated the assembly line into the mass car manufacture.
The rail networks, that carried raw materials to the plant, were distributed in a capillary system of conveyor belts. These belts had to pass from one building to another at different stages of the manufacturing and assembly process. And, finally, the conveyor belts brought the finished product back to the railway line, which distributed it to the foreign market. Kahn turned the structural module into the system of order for all the buildings of the plant. This optimized the manufacturing and assembly process of the car factory, and it foresaw the future growth of the plant.

7. A. Kahn, Ford Co, Detroit, 1922
8. A. Kahn, Ford Co, Detroit, 1936
9. A. Kahn, H. Ford, Glenn Martin, C. Sorensen
10-11. A. Kahn, Chrysler Co., Detroit, 1937

12. A. Kahn, Pierce Co, Buffalo, 1906
13-14. Mies van der Rohe. First (1938) and second project (1942) for the IIT campus.
Mies turned this approach into a strong project idea and, in order to make the most of it, he turned the structural module into the visual and comprehensive order system of groups of buildings.
If we compare the two proposals by Mies for the IIT campus, before and after knowing Albert Kahn’s work, we can see how in the first one, of 1938, every building has a different structural module, and the column continues being star-shaped and interior, like the column of the Tugendhat House. However, in the second proposal of 1942, the structural module, beyond the building, arranges the whole campus and exterior space. Thereafter, Mies would always do it in all his projects.
The structural module not only ordered the buildings, but also the exterior space and it provided proportion, rhythm and other architectural and visual aspects to the set, through the building enclosure system. For Mies, the idea of the structure as a comprehensive system of order implied to manifest the structure outside. And Mies would do it in two ways. When the structure could be seen, it would be manifested by itself. And when it had to be hidden because of the fire protection, it would be manifested outside through the building skin by the mullion system. And this mullion system would have its own laws. For instance, the mullions would be placed on the column axis to maintain the module, and they would not arrive to the ground neither the roof, just to manifest its enclosure condition. So, the structure modulated the outside of the buildings, and this was a significant difference from the projects of Albert Kahn. Mies reinvented the Kahn’s architecture by adding some variations to apply his architectural language. If we compare the concrete structures of Kahn and Mies, both architects show the structure and they level the enclosure with the exterior face of the structure. Both architects propose brick spandrels and large windows of similar proportions. The parallelism is clear.

15. A. Kahn, Plant Number Ten, Packard Motor Car Co, Detroit, 1905
16. A. Kahn, Ford Motor Co Plant, Highland Park, Detroit, 1913
17-18. Mies van der Rohe, Physics and Electrical Engineering Research Building, IIT, 1955
Also, the first Mies’ American projects with steel structures were almost identical to Kahn's buildings. In these early buildings Mies, as Kahn did, kept the steel structure inside, but soon the idea of the module as a visual system of order became a strong project idea and Mies decided to manifest it outside. So, the buildings of a same group shared the same architectural proportions, rhythms and textures, even though they were of different heights and uses.

19-20. A. Kahn, General Motors, Diesel Engine, 1937
21. A. Kahn, Lady Esther Clearing, Illinois, 1938
22. A. Kahn, American Locomotive Co, Auburn, New York, 1942

23-24. Mies van der Rohe, IITRI Minerals and Metals Research Building, 1942-1943
25. Mies van der Rohe American Association of Railroads Complex, IIT, 1948-1949
26. Mies van der Rohe, Wishnick Building, Perlstein Building and Alumni Memorial Hall, IIT Campus, 1945-1946

27. Mies van der Rohe, Lafayette Park, Detroit, 1953-1963
28. Mies van der Rohe, Toronto Dominion Center, 1964-1969
Throughout the forties Mies worked with the wide-flange column and one of the last projects developed with this column was the 50x50 house, for which Mies designed a new structure for the first time: a waffle roof. This innovation in his work would lead to the raising of a new star column, the third column of Mies, resulted of the interaction between Mies and Konrad Wachsmann through their IIT students.
MIES AND WACHSMANN
In 1949, when the Institute of Design (4) joined the IIT, and while Mies van der Rohe was the director of the Department of Architecture at IIT, Konrad Wachsmann (5) was appointed director of the Department of Advanced Architecture, which would be part of the Institute of Design (6). Wachsmann got the sponsorship of the US Air Force to develop within the IIT the research in large hangars structures for airplanes. Just keep in mind that the political context was the Cold War, where the two main world powers, the US and the USSR competed in arms and espionage. In this context, the United States had the need to build large and quite lightweight hangars for airplanes, easy to be transported, assembled and disassembled for unqualified staff and without generating waste. To design them, Wachsmann projected with his IIT students three-dimensional structures from the basic shape of the tetrahedron. This form optimized the industrial production because all the components had the same dimension (7). With these premises, Wachsmann raised a repeatable three-dimensional structural module, built with metallic tubes and nodes which were capable of receiving up to twenty structural tubes. With this project an exchange between Mies and Wachsmann began, through their IIT students. Wachsmann designed three-dimensional structures which Mies would simplify in waffle structures.
The first graduating group of designers who finished their studies with Wachsmann (8) were accredited to design large span structures, but not to build them. That’s why the IIT fitted its curricula, so that, these students could finish their training as architects. So, these design students completed their training with Mies van der Rohe, by developing the Convention Hall as their master thesis.
29-32. K. Wachsmann, Hangar for airplanes, US Air Force, 1951
Some of Mies’ drawings show the exchange between both architects, through their students. To express the structure outside again, Mies moved the supports of the three-dimensional structure of Wachsmann to the façade, and turned the tetrahedrons into the columns of the Convention Hall. It’s clear that the initial shape of both structures matches. In the first sketches of the Convention Hall, Mies designed tree-shaped supports, which he simplified in later versions. What Mies developed with their students was to simplify that three-dimensional structure they had learned from Wachsmann. These new structures allowed to build much larger span than the frame structures did. And to simplify them, Mies built them on standard profiles and perpendicular joints. So, he substituted the complicated joints of Wachsmann for simple welded joints that any architect could solve with any metalworker. The result was the waffle structure of the Convention Hall, which would culminate with the Berlin National Gallery.
33-35. K. Wachsmann, Hangar for airplanes, US Air Force, 1951. Model and joints.
36. Mies van der Rohe, Convention Hall, 1951. Joints
37-39. Mies van der Rohe, Convention Hall, 1951. Drawings and model
As well as in the Concert Hall for his second structure, Mies made a collage as an architectural manifesto for his third structure with the Convention Hall. He made explicit his will to superimpose his spatial concept on a new generation of metallic structures.

40. K. Wachsmann, Hangar for airplanes, US Air Force, 1951.
41. Mies van der Rohe, Convention Hall, 1952-1953
Finally, as well as a transfer of technology was produced from Wachsmann to Mies, we can appreciate an exchange in the other direction. After the Convention Hall, Wachsmann designed similar structures in size and proportion to the Convention Hall. But Wachsmann would apply those more mechanised aspects he was interested in. The parallelism is evident, even the way of drawing the structures. But if Wachsmann developed the more technified side of the architecture; Mies developed the craft side of the technique.
Eva Jiménez, Barcelona
42. Mies van der Rohe, Convention Hall, 1952-1953
43. K. Wachsmann, student project, University of Southern California, 1963
Notes:
(1). “A new American Factory”, by Grant Hildebrand, Architectural Record 05.98
(2). “A new American Factory”, by Grant Hildebrand, Architectural Record 05.98
(3). According to conversations with David Sharpe in 2002.
(4). The Design Institute had been the former New Bauhaus that Moholy Nagy had restored at Chicago in 1937, a year before Mies arrived to Chicago.
(5). Konrad Wachsmann was a German architect of a younger generation than Mies. He had wanted to study at the School of Bauhaus, but his family, of conservative ideas, was opposed. He trained at the School of Applied Arts in Berlin and at Academy of Art in Dresden and Berlin. This last one institution conserves his archives. He had specialized in industrialized architecture, and moved to the United States in 1942.
(6). Macauley, Irene. The Heritage of Illinois Institute of Technology. Chicago: privately printed, 1978.
(7). According to conversations with Rüdiger Wormuth during 2010 and 2011, Wachsmann preferred the tetrahedron and octahedron because both structures have only one component. Rüdiger Wormuth is an architect and professor of the Hochschule Osnabrück, University of Applied Sciences.
(8). The IIT is the first university in the United States that conferred the official degree of Design, after the Institute of Design was incorporated to the university.
Images credits:
1-4, 13-14, 23-26, 36-39, 41-42. Mies van der Rohe, Ludwig. The Mies van der Rohe archive: An illustrated catalogue of the Mies van der Rohe drawings in the Museum of Modern Art. Schulze, Franz; Danforth, George E. (ed.) New York; London: Garland, 1992. Garland Architectural Archives.
5, 8, 11, 19, 21. Nelson, George. Industrial Architecture of Albert Kahn, Inc. Nova York: Architectural Book Publishing Company, 1939.
6. AAVV. Mies van der Rohe: architect as educator. Achilles, Rolf; Harrington, Kevin; Myhrum, Charlotte (ed.). Chicago: Illinois Institute of Technology, 1986.
7. S. Flavio Espinoza (3D model), Andreas Backer (render).
9-10, 12. Grant, Hildebrand. Designing for Industry: The Architecture of Albert Kahn. London: Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) Press, 1974.
15, 20, 22. Ferry, W. Hawkins. The legacy of Albert Kahn. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1987.
16. The Henry Ford and the Ford Motor Company Archives, at the Henry Ford Museum, Dearborn.
17-18. The University Archives of Illinois Institute of Technology, Chicago.
27. Schulze, Franz. Mies van der Rohe: Una biografia critica. Madrid: Hermann Blume, 1986.
28. Mies van der Rohe, Ludwig. Mies in America. Lambert, Phyllis (ed.). New York: Whitney Museum of American Art, Harry N. Abrams, 2001.
29-32, 34, 43. Stiftung Archiv der Akademie der Künste Berlin.
33, 35, 40. Arts & Architecture. Mai 1967
Cercle ARTICLE (CAT)
TRANSFERÈNCIES ESTRUCTURALS
MIES · KAHN · WACHSMANN
Eva Jiménez Gómez, arquitecta i doctora en Projectes Arquitectònics per la UPC
El dia 27 de juliol del 2012 vaig defensar la meva tesi doctoral titulada “El pilar en Mies van der Rohe. El lèxic de l’acer”. Un dels aspectes que plantejava la tesi eren les transferències tecnològiques entre Mies van der Rohe i altres arquitectes com Albert Kahn i Konrad Wachsmann en l’àmbit de les estructures metàl·liques. Mies incorporarà a la seva obra noves estructures dissenyades per aquests arquitectes, però no literalment, sinó reinventant-les, afegint algunes variacions que li permetin aplicar el seu llenguatge arquitectònic, un llenguatge directament vinculat amb el Neoplasticisme i les avantguardes europees de principis del segle XX.
Durant la dècada dels anys vint, Mies va definir el seu sistema estructural que aplicaria en tots els seus projectes. I ho va fer a partir de la tecnologia existent de petits perfils reblonats que es publicava en diferents manuals de construcció de l’època. Mies havia après a construir amb aquest sistema quan va treballar al despatx de Peter Behrens. Però als anys vint comença a utilitzar-lo d’un manera diferent. Bàsicament el que fa és eliminar alguns elements de muntatge, per tal de convertir els elements estructurals en línies i plans. Així, aquests elements superposats a l’espai, respondran al seu concepte d’espai neoplàstic. Mies va desenvolupar la seva tipologia arquitectònica de cases pati utilitzant aquest sistema estructural amb pilars cruciformes.
1. Maquetes de la casa Resor i una casa pati, 1938
2. Grup de cases pati, 1938
3. Vista interior d’una casa pati, 1938
4. Maqueta de la casa Resor, 1938
Quan Mies es trasllada als Estats Units coneix l’arquitectura d’Albert Kahn, l’arquitecte de Henry Ford, i tal com diu Grant Hildebrand, la seva arquitectura canvia significativament (1).
MIES I KAHN
Albert Kahn és l’arquitecte de Henry Ford i altres industrials de l’automòbil de Detroit a principis del segle XX. Les innovacions més importants de Henry Ford i Albert Kahn en arquitectura són resultat de la incorporació de la cadena de muntatge a les fàbriques de cotxes, la qual cosa va suposar tot un repte per als industrials i arquitectes, ja que l’organització de la fàbrica i la distribució dels espais tant interiors i com exteriors era absolutament crucial per a l’èxit de l’empresa.
El 1939 es publica el llibre de George Nelson “L’arquitectura industrial d’Albert Kahn”, i Myron Goldsmith, alumne i col·laborador de Mies, recorda al seu professor absolutament embrancat en el llibre (2). En aquest moment comença un procés d’assimilació per part de Mies de l’obra d’Albert Kahn. Concretament el 1942, quan Mies projecta una Sala de Concerts amb els seus alumnes de l’IIT. El projecte el va representar amb un fotomuntatge on superposava els seu concepte d’espai elementarista a una imatge de l’interior de la nau d’assemblatge de la Glenn Martin de Albert Kahn. El paral·lelisme en l’obra d’ambdós arquitectes és evident al llarg dels propers projectes de Mies.
Amb aquest collage, a mode de manifest arquitectònic, Mies fa explícit la seva voluntat d’assumir un nou repte d’escala. Mies utilitza l’estructura d’Albert Kahn com a suport del seu projecte. Amb aquesta decisió incorpora a la seva obra una nova generació d’estructures metàl·liques, a la qual Mies superposa el mateix concepte d’espai neoplàstic del pavelló de Barcelona i la casa Tugendhat.
5. Albert Kahn, nau d’assemblatge de la Glenn Martin, Baltimore, 1937.
6. Mies van der Rohe, Concert Hall, 1942.
Amb l’arquitectura industrial d’Albert Kahn, Mies descobreix una nova generació d’estructures metàl·liques. A finals dels anys trenta, la tecnologia americana de l’acer produeix perfils més grans i la tècnica de la soldadura s’ha incorporat a l’edificació, una tècnica que substitueix el reblonat i permet unions més clares (3), augmenta les possibilitats espacials de l’arquitectura, i permet construir llums més grans i edificis de gran alçada. A partir d’aquest moment Mies abandona completament el pilar cruciforme de petits perfils reblonats i comença a treballar amb el pilar grey.
Una important innovació tècnica en l’arquitectura industrial d’Albert Kahn és l’extensió del mòdul estructural a tots els edificis d’un mateix complex industrial per una qüestió pràctica. Ho fa per primer cop el 1906 per a la Pierce Company, una fàbrica de cotxes de luxe, i l’optimitza quan Henry Ford aplica la cadena de muntatge a la fabricació de cotxes en massa.
Les xarxes de ferrocarril que porten les matèries primeres a les fàbriques de cotxes deriven en un sistema capil·lar de cintes transportadores que han de passar d’un edifici a l’altre al llarg de les diferents fases del procés de fabricació i muntatge, i finalment recollir el producte acabat i portar-lo de nou a les línia ferroviàries que distribuiran el producte al mercat exterior. Aquest plantejament fa que Kahn converteixi el mòdul estructural en el sistema d’ordre del conjunt d’edificis. Optimitza així el procés de fabricació i muntatge dels cotxes i preveu el futur creixement de les fàbriques, fent extensiu el mòdul estructural.
7. A. Kahn, Ford Co, Detroit, 1922
8. A. Kahn, Ford Co, Detroit, 1936
9. A. Kahn, H. Ford, Glenn Martin, C. Sorensen
10-11. A. Kahn, Chrysler Co., Detroit, 1937
12. A. Kahn, Pierce Co, Buffalo, 1906
13-14. Mies van der Rohe. Primer (1938) i segon project (1942) per al campus de l'IIT.
Mies convertirà aquest plantejament estructural en idea de projecte, i amb la intenció de portar-lo a les màximes conseqüències, convertirà el mòdul estructural en el sistema d’ordre visual i integral de conjunts d’edificis.
Si comparem les dues propostes que Mies fa per al campus de l’IIT, abans i després de conèixer l’obra d’Abert Kahn veiem com en la primera de 1938 cada edifici te un mòdul estructural diferent, el pilar continua sent cruciforme i interior, com el de la casa Tugendhat. En canvi, en la segona proposta, de 1942, el mòdul estructural, més enllà de l’edifici, ordena tot el conjunt del campus i l’espai exterior. A partir d’aleshores, això ho farà Mies sempre en tots els seus projectes.
Aquest mòdul estructural que incorpora Mies no només ordenarà els edificis en planta sinó també l’espai exterior i aportarà al conjunt proporció, ritme i altres aspectes visuals i arquitectònics a través del sistema de tancaments. Per a Mies, la idea de l’estructura com a sistema d’ordre integral implicar que s’ha de manifestar en l’exterior a través de la pell de l’edifici pel sistema de muntants. Aquest sistema de muntants té les seves pròpies lleis. Per exemple, els muntants es col·locaran a eix de pilar per mantenir el mòdul i no arribaran al terra ni a la coberta, precisament per manifestar la seva condició de tancament. Així, l’estructura modularà l’exterior dels edificis, i aquesta serà una diferència significativa amb els projectes d’Albert Kahn. Per tant, podem dir que Mies reinventa l’arquitectura d’Albert Kahn, afegint algunes variacions per tal d’aplicar el seu llenguatge arquitectònic. Si comparem els edificis d’estructura de formigó de Kahn i Mies, ambdós arquitectes mostren l’estructura i enrasen el tancament amb la cara exterior de l’estructura. Ambdós arquitectes proposen ampits de totxo i grans finestres longitudinals de proporcions semblants. El paral·lelisme és clar.
15. A. Kahn, Plant Number Ten, Packard Motor Car Co, Detroit, 1905
16. A. Kahn, Ford Motor Co Plant, Highland Park, Detroit, 1913
17-18. Mies van der Rohe, Physics and Electrical Engineering Research Building, IIT, 1955
També els primers projectes americans de Mies amb estructures metàl·lica eren gairebé idèntiques a les de Kahn. En aquests primers edificis de Mies, com fes Kahn, manté l’estructura metàl·lica en l’interior, però aviat la idea de mòdul com a sistema d’ordre visual es converteix en idea de projecte i Mies decideix manifestar-la en l’exterior. D’aquesta manera, els edificis d’un mateix grup compartiran les mateixes proporcionals arquitectòniques, ritmes i textures, encara que siguin de diferents alçades i usos.
19-20. A. Kahn, General Motors, Diesel Engine, 1937
21. A. Kahn, Lady Esther Clearing, Illinois, 1938
22. A. Kahn, American Locomotive Co, Auburn, New York, 1942
23-24. Mies van der Rohe, IITRI Minerals and Metals Research Building, 1942-1943
25. Mies van der Rohe American Association of Railroads Complex, IIT, 1948-1949
26. Mies van der Rohe, Wishnick Building, Perlstein Building and Alumni Memorial Hall, IIT Campus, 1945-1946
27. Mies van der Rohe, Lafayette Park, Detroit, 1953-1963
28. Mies van der Rohe, Toronto Dominion Center, 1964-1969
Durant tota la dècada dels quaranta Mies treballa amb el pilar grey i un dels últims projectes desenvolupats amb aquest pilar és la casa 50 x 50, per a la qual Mies planteja per primer cop una nova estructura: una coberta reticular. Aquesta innovació en l’obra de Mies desembocarà en el plantejament d’un nou pilar metàl·lic, el tercer pilar de Mies, resultat de la interacció entre Mies i Konrad Wachsmann a través dels seus alumnes de l’IIT.
MIES I WACHSMANN
El 1949, quan l’Institut de Disseny (4) s’incorpora a l’IIT i, sent director del Departament d’Arquitectura Mies van der Rohe, la institució li encarrega a Konrad Wachsmann (5) la direcció del Departament d’Arquitectura Avançada, que formarà part de l’Institut de Disseny (6). Wachsmann aconsegueix el patrocini de les Forces Aèries dels Estats Units per a la recerca de la construcció de grans hangars per a avions. Hem de tenir en compte que el context és el de la Guerra Freda, on les dues grans potències mundials, els Estats Units i la URSS, competeixen entre elles en armament i espionatge. I és en aquest context que els Estats Units tenen la necessitat de construir grans hangars per a avions, lleugers, fàcils de traslladar, muntar i desmuntar per personal no qualificat i sense generar residus. Per al seu disseny, Wachsmann planteja estructures tridimensionals a partir de la forma bàsica del tetràedre. Aquesta forma optimitza la producció industrial perquè tots els components tenen la mateixa dimensió (7). Amb aquestes premisses Wachsmann planteja un mòdul tridimensional estructural repetible, construït amb tubs metàl·lics i nusos capaços de rebre fins a vint tubs estructurals. Amb aquest projecte comença un intercanvi entre Mies i Wachsmann a través dels seus alumnes de l’IIT. Wachsmann plantejarà estructures espacials que Mies simplificarà en estructures reticulars.
La primera promoció de dissenyadors que acaben els seus estudis amb Wachsmann (8) estan acreditats per dissenyar estructures de gran llum, però no per construir-les. Per això demanen a l’IIT continuar la seva formació com a arquitectes, i és així com aquests mateixos alumnes acaben formant-se amb Mies van der Rohe desenvolupant el projecte del Convention Hall com a tesi de master.
29-32. K. Wachsmann, Hangar per a avions, US Air Force, 1951
Alguns dels dibuixos de Mies són prova de l’intercanvi entre els dos arquitectes a través dels seus alumnes de l’IIT. Per manifestar l’estructura en l’exterior, Mies desplaça el sistema de suports de l’estructura tridimensional a la façana, i converteix el sistema de tetraedres en el suports del Convention Hall. És clar que la forma inicial d’ambdues estructures coincideixen. En els primers dibuixos del Convention Hall Mies va dissenyar suports amb formes arbòries, que simplificarà en versions posteriors. Allò que Mies planteja amb els seus estudiants és simplificar aquella estructura tridimensional que han aprés de Wachsmann. Aquestes noves estructures permeten construir llums molt més grans que els pòrtics. I per simplificar-les, Mies les planteja a partir de perfils estàndards i encontres perpendiculars. Mies així, pretén simplificar i substituir el nus complex i especialment dissenyat de Wachsmann per unions soldades d’encontres senzills, de tal manera que qualsevol arquitecte amb qualsevol metal·lista pugui plantejar aquestes grans estructures. El resultat va estar l’estructura metàl·lica reticular del Convention Hall, que culminaria amb la National Gallery de Berlín.
33-35. K. Wachsmann, Hangar per a avions, Forces Aèries dels Estats Units, 1951. Maqueta i nusos.
36. Mies van der Rohe, Convention Hall, 1951. Nusos.
37-39. Mies van der Rohe, Convention Hall, 1951. Dibuixos i Maqueta.
I amb aquest projecte Mies planteja de nou, com ho fes una dècada abans amb el projecte del Concert Hall, un collage, també a mode de manifest arquitectònic, on fa explícita la seva voluntat de superposar el seu concepte d’espai neoplàstic a una segona generació d’estructures metàl·liques.
40. K. Wachsmann, hangar per a avions, Forces Aèries dels Estats Units, 1951.
41. Mies van der Rohe, Convention Hall, 1952-1953
I de la mateixa manera que es produeix un traspàs de tecnologia de Wachsmann a Mies, també es produeix un intercanvi en l’altre direcció, de Mies a Wachsmann. Després del Convention Hall, Wachsmann plantejarà amb els seus alumnes estructures semblants en dimensió i proporcions al Convention Hall. Però Wachsmann aplicarà aquella vessant més tecnificada que a ell més l’interessa investigar en el seu departament de recerca. El paral·lelisme és evident, fins i tot en la manera de dibuixar les estructures. Però si Wachsmann planteja l’arquitectura des de la vessant més tecnificada, Mies ho fa des de l’ofici i el domini de la construcció.
Eva Jiménez, Barcelona
42. Mies van der Rohe, Convention Hall, 1952-1953
43. K. Wachsmann, projecte d'estudiant, University of Southern California, 1963
Notes:
(1). “A new American Factory”, Grant Hildebrand, Architectural Record 05.98
(2). “A new American Factory”, Grant Hildebrand, Architectural Record 05.98
(3). Segons converses amb David Sharpe el 2002.
(4). L’Institut de Disseny havia estat l’antiga Nova Bauhaus que Moholy Nagy havia instaurat a Chicago el 1937, un any abans de l’arribada de Mies a Chicago.
(5). Konrad Wachsmann, arquitecte alemany d’una generació més jove que Mies, havia volgut estudiar a l’escola de la Bauhaus però la seva família, d’idees conservadores, es va oposar, i finalment es va formar en l’Escola d’Arts Aplicades de Berlín, i en les Escoles d’Art de Dresden i Berlín. Aquesta última conserva el seu arxiu. Es va especialitzar en arquitectura industrialitzada i l’any 1942 es va traslladar als Estats Units.
(6). Macauley, Irene. The Heritage of Illinois Institute of Technology. Chicago: privately printed, 1978.
(7). Segons converses amb Rüdiger Wormuth durant els anys 2010 i 2011, Wachsmann preferia el tetràedre i l’octàedre perquè ambdues formes tenen un únic component. Rüdiger Wormuth és arquitecte i professor del Hochschule Osnabrück, University of Applied Sciences.
(8). L’IIT va estar la primera universitat dels Estats Units que va atorgar el grau oficial de Disseny, després que l’Institut de Disseny s’incorporés a la universitat.
Crèdits de les imatges:
1-4, 13-14, 23-26, 36-39, 41-42. Mies van der Rohe, Ludwig. The Mies van der Rohe archive: An illustrated catalogue of the Mies van der Rohe drawings in the Museum of Modern Art. Schulze, Franz; Danforth, George E. (ed.) New York; London: Garland, 1992. Garland Architectural Archives.
5, 8, 11, 19, 21. Nelson, George. Industrial Architecture of Albert Kahn, Inc. Nova York: Architectural Book Publishing Company, 1939.
6. AAVV. Mies van der Rohe: architect as educator. Achilles, Rolf; Harrington, Kevin; Myhrum, Charlotte (ed.). Chicago: Illinois Institute of Technology, 1986.
7. S. Flavio Espinoza (3D modelatge) i Andreas Backer (renderització).
9-10, 12. Grant, Hildebrand. Designing for Industry: The Architecture of Albert Kahn. London: Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) Press, 1974.
15, 20, 22. Ferry, W. Hawkins. The legacy of Albert Kahn. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1987.
16. The Henry Ford and the Ford Motor Company Archives, al Henry Ford Museum, Dearborn.
17-18. The University Archives of Illinois Institute of Technology, Chicago.
27. Schulze, Franz. Mies van der Rohe: Una biografia critica. Madrid: Hermann Blume, 1986.
Cercle ARTICLE
VIA LAIETANA
UN LUGAR A UNA CALLE Y LA CALLE COMO LUGAR
Davide Lorenzato.
Tesina de máster dirigida por el catedrático Xavier Monteys en el programa de doctorado del Departamento de Proyectos Arquitectónicos, ETSAB, UPC.
Cada vez menos, dedicamos tiempo a observar con atención los espacios de las ciudades donde vivimos. En muchos proyectos contemporáneos, la originalidad y la búsqueda de la novedad son los principales y únicos objetivos, abandonando el análisis sobre lo que ya existe o dejándolo al margen del proceso proyectual. Esta investigación, en cambio, nace del convencimiento que entre este análisis y el proyecto no existe ninguna diferencia. Estudiar un lugar es el primer acto de un proyecto, entenderlo es la primera y más sensata proposición.
El lugar donde en este caso se enfoca la mirada es Vía Layetana en Barcelona. Un lugar que, no obstante su especificidad, se revelará durante este estudio como un ejemplo para entender que cualquier espacio, también el más obvio o conocido, puede esconder cuestiones todavía abiertas. Depende del ojo con que lo miramos. La traficada y ruidosa Vía Layetana, que cotidianamente los ciudadanos barceloneses recorren de prisa, es la imagen de un sitio que parece haber “perdido” algo, casi como si con el tiempo hubiéramos olvidado el interés derivado de su ubicación urbana, su historia, su conformación espacial y su arquitectura. Más allá de una reconstrucción histórica o de un análisis funcional, esta investigación quiere ofrecer una visión literalmente pro-yectual, sugiriendo temas que derivan directamente del “material” existente y que podrían ser útiles para una nueva re-interpretación urbana y una sensata re-apropiación de este espacio.
La abertura de Vía Layetana, realizada entre 1908 y 1958, fue una gran operación de saneamiento de la ciudad histórica y permitió la conexión del centro más antiguo con la nueva expansión del plan Cerdà. El mismo Ildefons Cerdà entrevió muchos de los problemas básicos para la transformación de Barcelona: en su plano del 1848 ya se puede observar un primer esbozo de la que será la futura Vía Layetana, que junto con otras dos avenidas, cruzaban de forma perfectamente rectilínea el casco antiguo. A partir de este esbozo inicial, pasando por los avances propuestos con el plan Baixeras y las importantes últimas variaciones de Domènech i Montaner, Puig I Cadafalch y Ferran Romeu, el proyecto fue adaptado varias veces y generó un intenso debate, impidiendo levarlo a cabo en su totalidad. La actual Vía Layetana es entonces sólo una pieza de un proyecto más ambicioso que tan sólo se materializó de forma parcial. La larga duración del proyecto, que tardó 60 años en tener una realización concreta, hace que el mismo tenga que responder a diferentes objetivos, alguno heredado del S. XIX y otros nacidos sucesivamente y relativos a las exigencias de la clase dominante a principios del S. XX. Para destacar los más importantes, tenemos que recordar los cincos siguientes: el saneamiento de los barrios del casco antiguo; la conexión vial entre el área portal y el nuevo Ensanche apropiada a la circulación de nuevos medios de transporte; la voluntad de crear un moderno centro de negocios y oficinas; la construcción de nuevas tipologías arquitectónicas funcionales con las nuevas actividades y la valorización de patrimonio histórico de la ciudad.
CONSTRUIR DEMOLIENDO
Si debiésemos elegir dos palabras clave que sintetizan el origen del proyecto de Vía Layetana, probablemente habría que escoger los términos construir y demoler. El significado de construir nos habla de la acción de hacer algo, fabricar, componer elementos entre ellos para crear uno nuevo; demoler, al contrario, nos sugiere la acción de deshacer, destruir o disgregar una masa. Pero si hablamos de este proyecto, esta antítesis pierde parte de su sentido: la construcción de esta calle ha sido posible sólo gracias a una enorme obra de demolición. Un proceso que es interesante entender en cuanto fue lo que preparó el “territorio” sobre el cual realizar la nueva “idea” urbana, y sin el cual no habrían existido ni la calle ni los edificios actuales. El verdadero proyecto de Vía Layetana empezó no poniendo la primera piedra, sinó quitándola.
El primer estado de este proceso que interesa poner en relieve es lo que había en el lugar “Layetana” cuando todavía no se habían empezado ni los derribos ni las nuevas construcciones. Antes de 1908, excluyendo pocos episodios, la situación del centro de Barcelona era la de una ciudad con riesgo de ahogamiento: el tejido urbano era un “macizo” edificado continuo, con calles muy estrechas e intrincadas, edificios profundos y oscuros, y donde los únicos “respiros” de aire y luz eran las pocas y diminutas plazas situadas delante de las iglesias y los antiguos cementerios. Es curiosa la anécdota que comenta M. Sola Morales, según la cual en la Barcelona del siglo XVIII, “saltando por las azoteas y los tejados podía recorrerse desde el campanario del Pi hasta Santa María del Mar, sin tener que descender nunca de los tejados”.[1]
Fig.1 El Desaparecido Carrer Malla (derecha) y una foto de Francesc Catalá Roca de Vía Layetana en 1952.
Dentro de este escenario empiezan los trabajos de la llamada “Reforma” del centro de Barcelona: el 10 marzo de 1908, durante una solemne ceremonia, el Rey, el presidente del gobierno Antonio Maura y el alcalde Domingo Sanllehy, declaran con una pica en mano, el inicio de las obras. En menos de 5 años, se pasó de aquel tejido condensado e impenetrable, a un enorme vacío que todavía hoy es difícil de imaginar: en 1913 lo que se veía era una superficie plana y polvorosa de unos 900m de largo, con una anchura media de 80m, que llegaba desde el mar hasta el antiguo convento de las Jonqueras (actual edificio “Caja Pensiones”). Las fotografías (fig.2) y la literatura de la época describen muy bien la sensación de la gente frente a este “chocante” espectáculo. El escritor Joan Maragall, que vivió toda su juventud en la parte de ciudad que se cayó al suelo, describe sus contrastantes emociones escribiendo: “el sol que ahora se filtra en la estrechez, centelleará anchamente dorando las grandes nubes de polvo de los derribos; y el viento correrá libre a lo largo de lo que fue ciudad vieja. [...] Al fin este barrio que va a morir me agobia y me enternece, y me voy, y me lo llevo dentro; por mi, ya pueden derribarlo”.[2] Versos que resumen poéticamente todas las contradicciones y las expectativas que en sí conlleva el proyecto “Vía Layetana”: la dificultad y el drama de la gente que ve caer al suelo su casa, y al mismo tiempo, la ilusión que se tenía viendo cómo crecía la nueva ciudad, un lugar donde por primera vez entraba luz (y no es obvio decirlo!), circulaba aire sano, y donde se podían desarrollar nuevas actividades colectivas y comerciales.
Fig.2 Las obras y túneles del futuro metro en noviembe de 1913.
Fue durante estos años cuando también se impuso la idea de realizar en el subsuelo los túneles para una futura línea metropolitana. Una decisión que contribuyó a dibujar en un determinado momento un espacio totalmente irrepetible en la ciudad: no existiendo excavadoras subterráneas, la herida que sufrió Barcelona llegó a penetrar su subsuelo, excavando un lecho difícil de cruzar de no ser por las mismas estructuras de los futuros túneles, utilizados en aquel momento como puentes entre un lado y otro (fig.3-4) Una situación curiosa, debida a cuestiones “banalmente” técnicas, pero que por su radicalidad podría superar muchas nuestras utopías urbanas.
Fig.3 "En la Reforma", caricatura sobre los túneles C.Guma. Publicado en L'Esquella de la Torratxa, nº1722, pag.822
En este indeterminado y poco usual territorio urbano empezarán a partir del 1914 a construirse las nuevas edificaciones. Los solares desocupados fueron vendidos a grandes instituciones, empresas y bancos, que allí pensaban emplazar sus nuevas sedes. Arquitectónicamente, las nuevas construcciones fueron pensadas para conseguir una nueva perspectiva monumental, la de una calle cuya modernidad y escala debía manifestarse a través de las nuevas fachadas. Fueron por esto permitidas dimensiones y alturas mayores de las que componen el centro histórico antiguo, generando edificios que se orientan claramente hacia el nuevo frente y rompen el pequeño y denso tejido medieval. Confrontando las características de la nueva Vía Layetana con los datos de la situación anterior a 1908 es posible, entonces, el impresionante cambio que hubo: un total de 335 fincas expropiadas fueron substituidas por apenas 60 nuevas. De unas parcelas de pequeñas dimensiones (la media era de 200m2), muy profundas (la mayoría entre 10 y 22 m) y estrechas (fachadas entre 4 y 9 metros) se pasó a los bloques actuales que oscilan entre15 y 70m de largo. De unas calles tortuosas que no superaban los 4 o 5m de ancho se pasó a una perspectiva de 1 km, perfectamente rectilínea y de anchura 20m. Mirando un mapa del parcelario actual (fig.8), se aprecia visualmente lo que estos números dicen, la diferencia de “grano” y de dimensiones entre las partes nuevas y la trama urbana gótica.
Si dibujamos por separado los diferentes estadios que se acaban de describir (fig.4-5-6) y luego los volvemos a superponer (fig.7), se descubre como cada uno de estos momentos se refleja en lo que es la actual Vía Layetana. Cada una de las acciones que han sucedido ha dejado una traza que hoy sigue todavía evidente: se puede reconocer lo que era el tejido antiguo; reconstruir los trazados de las viejas calles; ver los bordes del enorme vacío creado durante las demoliciones y también notar el contraste entre antiguos y nuevos edificios. Por decirlo a la manera de Aldo Rossi, se notan aquellas “permanencias” que influencian el presente de los lugares, en cuanto “signos físicos de un pasado que aún experimentamos”[3]. Vía Layetana se ha creado no como una sucesión de momentos historicos distintos si no, mas bíen, por la “suma” de todas estas fases y, de manera increíblemente clara, ejemplifica un proceso que puede considerarse la base del desarrollo de cualquier otro lugar urbano.
Fig.4 Estadio antes de 1908 Fig.5 Estadio entre 1908 y 1958 Fig.6 Estadio tras 1958 Fig.7 Superposición temporal Fig.8 Parcelario actual
LAS HERMANAS FERRAN Y PRINCESA
El proyecto de Vía Layetana se inserta en un cuadro de grandes intervenciones urbanas que, empezando por Londres y Paris, muchas ciudades europeas llevaron a cabo para recalificar sus densos centros medievales entre la segunda mitad del S.XIX y principios del S.XX. El estudio de sólo alguno de estos casos comparado con Vía Layetana podría ofrecer material suficiente para recorrer la historia de la urbanística europea reciente. Pero hay un ejemplo, quizá mas modesto, pero que merece una atención especial, en cuanto comparte el mismo territorio social y urbano de Vía Layetana: se trata del eje “Ferran-Princesa” (fig.9). Sus cercanía permite una comparación inmediata, como si se tratara de una pareja, o más bien, como si fueran dos hermanas: nacen de una misma familia y dentro del mismo entorno, pero acaban creciendo de manera muy distinta.
La calle Ferran se realiza en Barcelona entre 1822 y 1862, y por ello, puede considerarse precursora de lo que será la operación de Vía Layetana. Ambos proyectos nacen principalmente para resolver la difícil situación urbana que se ha descrito, y para conseguirlo, ambas proponen una calibrada “operación quirúrgica” de vaciado, capaz de dar forma a un nuevo tipo de “calle”. Las estrechas y tortuosas vías medievales eran el resultado de una simple necesidad de tránsito y se adaptaban a lo que quedaba entre edificios, siguiendo lo que antes eran caminos de animales, cursos de agua, o simples itinerarios que se habían consolidado en el tiempo. Su importancia difícilmente llegaba mas allá de la relación funcional entre pocos edificios y su carácter urbano era relativo a la pequeña escala del barrio en que se situaban. Era una ciudad cerrada en los palacios, en las casas, en las torres o iglesias, y lo que interesaba era principalmente todo lo que llamaríamos hoy el “lleno”. En cambio, lo que proponen las calles Ferran y Layetana es una manera de pensar totalmente nueva: frente a la medieval saturación de llenos, se impuso la lógica del “vacío”, pensado no como residuo entre un volumen y otro sino como espacio en si, capaz de estructurar y ordenar la ciudad, además de adaptarla a las nuevas necesidades representativas y comerciales. La “dolorosa” operación de corte que se decide efectuar es testigo de este claro cambio de prioridad: más allá de cualquier interés particular, lo importante es el espacio colectivo y unificador, al cual los edificios tienen que adaptarse, en función de un interés general a gran escala.
Fig.9 Plano del centro de Barcelona, en negro el vacío de las calles ferran-Princesa y Layetana
El episodio de la calle Ferran anticipa todos estos temas, que después en Vía Layetana serán desarrollados en proporciones mayores. Pero no son solo puntos en común los que podemos destacar. Como para dos hermanas, las diferencias empiezan a notarse observando cómo han crecido a lo largo del tiempo. Es útil referirse directamente a algún dato concreto (fig.10): si la dimensión longitudinal es similar (960m y 1020m), lo que cambia radicalmente son las otras dos: calle Ferran-Princesa respeta en todo su recorrido y de manera constante la anchura de 9m y una altura de 5 plantas, marcada por una cornisa continua que une fachadas que, desde el principio, el proyecto ha intentado mantener ordenadas y regulares. Vía Layetana en cambio llega a un ancho mucho mayor, 20m, y no tiene una altura constante, variando de 6 hasta 9 plantas, aumentando puntualmente por la presencia de varias linternas, cúpulas y capiteles. Este conjunto de fachada es todo lo contrario de lo que se puede apreciar en la calle Ferran: como si fuera una “suma de individualidades”, cada edificio pretende desarrollarse de forma única, manifestando su propia figuración arquitectónica y contribuyendo a crear un perfil accidentado.
El conjunto de Calle Ferran-Princesa demuestra entonces una clara voluntad “unificadora” con un trabajo orientado a construir una misma perspectiva, un único orden y reglas constantes, dejando el protagonismo a la propia calle. Su línea “perfecta” organiza una clara sucesión de puntos urbanos (Rambla - Plaza Real - Plaza dels Angels - Parque de la Ciutadela) y cada uno de ellos mantiene su unívoco papel urbano: las plazas tienen formas bien definidas, los bordes de la calle nunca pierden su definición, los cruces son especialmente claros y determinados.
Vía Layetana, al contrario, reacciona por cada diferentes “accidentes” que atraviesa. La variedad de situaciones que su recorrido encuentra al cortar una trama existente, fragmenta y quiebra sus bordes, obteniendo un espacio variable y mucho más complejo. En este sentido, entonces, Layetana es “mucho menos una calle” respecto a su hermana Ferran-Princesa. Esta condición ambigua es al mismo tiempo lo bueno y lo malo de este lugar: por un lado da argumentos suficientes para las críticas y denota un proyecto quizá poco coherente y lleno de dificultades; por otra parte, esta “variabilidad” le permite adaptarse a muchas situaciones distintas y estar abierto a nuevos posibles cambios.
Fig.10 Comparación entre Ferran-Princesa y Layetana. Axonometría fotográfica.
LA OTRA CARA DE VIA LAYETANA
La manera en la cual experimentamos un lugar, así como la distancia y el punto desde el cual observamos, puede condicionar la percepción que tenemos de él. Analizando desde un punto de vista más cercano Vía Layetana, lo que antes hemos descrito a nivel general empieza a ser condicionado por un elemento más: la experiencia. Si miramos Layetana desde un punto de vista central, como puede ser la visual de un conductor de un coche, la fuerza de la monumental perspectiva que tenemos delante hace que sea difícil poder notar otras cosas; si, en cambio, recorremos o cruzamos esta calle paseando en sus aceras, seguramente esta recta “absoluta” se matiza y empiezan a notarse otros detalles. De una observación de este tipo, “anotando miradas” más que estudiando un plano, han salido las siguientes interpretaciones.
Fig.11 Analogias entre conjuntos arquitectónicos Fig.12 Experimentos de recomposición
El análisis empieza enfocándose en los bordes. Hemos visto como, en comparación con la calle Ferran Princesa, Layetana tiene un perfil más irregular. Existen especialmente dos tramos a lo largo del recorrido en los cuales estos pequeños desajustes modifican sensiblemente la percepción del espacio: el primero se sitúa desde el edificio de la Caja de Pensiones hasta la esquina del Colegio de Ingenieros; el segundo empieza con la casa Cambó frente de la plaza Ramón Berenguer y termina en la esquina con el edificio de “los Sindicatos”. Al confrontarlos surgen una serie de coincidencias, que son aún más evidentes si, en lugar de verlos en manera consecutiva como están en realidad, dibujamos estos espacios uno al lado del otro (fig.11-14). Ambos tramos están definidos por 14 esquinas, correspondientes a 12 bocas de calles cada uno, y 8 bloques de edificios. Entre estos bloques, 1 se diferencia de los demás porque no define los bordes del espacio, sino, parece estar dentro de él: la casa del Gremi dels Velers en el primer tramo y del conjunto entre plaza Ramon Berenguer y la plaza dels Angels en el segundo. En los dos casos destaca un conjunto histórico especialmente importante (Palau de la Música Catalana y el conjunto de las antiguas murallas romanas) y en los dos casos se remarca una diagonal que se relaciona con un elemento lejano de la ciudad (la Catedral y la Iglesia de Sant Pere). Estas observaciones junto a los dibujos restituyen toda la complejidad de estos espacios “gemelos” y describe una Layetana nueva, que supera la idea de calle como simple “corredor-infraestructura” y se acerca mucho más a la de un lugar urbano complejo, en el cual “la calle” es sólo una entre sus varias posibilidades.
Si continuamos el análisis fijándonos en su arquitectura veremos como, por su propia naturaleza, Vía Layetana permite hacer algo que en muchos otros casos resulta casi imposible: podemos “contar” sus edificios, distinguirlos exactamente uno del otro y estudiarlos como si de una “colección” de objetos se tratara. Podemos incluso tomarnos el privilegio de olvidarnos del tiempo, puesto que casi toda su arquitectura ha nacido en un periodo muy corto y responde a una lógica constructiva y estilística específica. A lo largo de sus 1020 metros, encontramos 72 edificios, 39 en el lado izquierdo (sur-oeste), y 33 en el lado derecho (norte-este). Éstos se agrupan en 24 bloques, 11 en el lado izquierdo, 13 en el derecho, distribuyéndose así en manera bastante equilibrada por cada lado. La discontinuidad más profunda en este alzado urbano se debe a la avenida de la Catedral, pero este corte no es el único: si dibujamos un alzado de lo que se ve en el “segundo plano” de Vía Layetana (fig.13), nos damos cuenta de como, por cuanto impenetrable parezca la cortina de sus edificios, existen muchas fracturas que permiten mirar lo que hay atrás. Este “segundo plano” nos reserva otra sorpresa interesante: en los puntos donde la fachada se interrumpe, no tenemos una perspectiva abierta a otras vías transversales, así como pasa en la mayoría de las calles de la ciudad, si no, al contrario, una visión “cerrada”, en la cual vuelven a aparecer los bordes del área derribada a principio de siglo.
Fig.13 Alzado del "segundo plano" de Vía Layetana. Sur-Oeste.
Es probablemente esta la situación la que manifiesta con más sinceridad el verdadero carácter de este lugar, lo de una “herida” urbana cuyos bordes todavía no se han sanado. Precisamente de esta idea nace el experimento propuesto en la fig.12-17, hecho con la atrevida y inocente actitud de un juego: imaginar si es posible ordenar esta “colección” de edificios de manera diferente, buscando maneras alternativas de disponer las “piezas”. Una de las opciones más interesantes es “dar la vuelta” a cada edificio colocando al revés sus fachadas, es decir, poniendo lo que ahora es el alzado principal mirando hacia la ciudad antigua y pegando las fachadas posteriores entre ellas, como si fueran medianeras. La provocación de esta propuesta por primero remarca como la calle actual, que se ha decidido construir de forma muy intencionada, es sólo una entre las configuraciones espaciales que hubieran sido posibles delante de aquel nuevo espacio libre. Probablemente la sociedad actual y la cultura proyectual contemporánea, delante del mismo espacio, producirían una solución muy distinta. En segunda instancia este experimento consigue evidenciar lo que la “escenografía” creada en el siglo XIX intenta esconder: lo obsoleto se enfrenta cara a cara con lo “nuevo”, obligando a una reflexión sobre momentos históricos radicalmente distintos y dando a entender la importancia que en la contemporaneidad vuelven a tener estos lugares híbridos. Richard Sennet en su libro “El Artesano” habla de la importancia de lo inacabado y de lo imperfecto, afirmando que “Lo difícil y lo incompleto deberían ser acontecimientos positivos en nuestra comprensión; deberían estimularnos como no pueden hacerlo los objetos completos”.[4] Según esta idea, los trozos “mal” conseguido de Vía Layetana son los que hoy podrían transformarse es su mas grande potencialidad.
Dar un paseo por estos espacios nos enseña una Layetana totalmente diferente a la que estamos acostumbrados a ver: los laterales de esta calle se han aprovechado como si fueran pequeñas plazas; aquí se encuentran niños jugando; gente sentada leyendo; parejas y abuelos que pasean con su mascota; incluso es aquí donde encontramos los únicos árboles presentes en el perímetro de Vía Layetana. Una situación sorprendente, que al margen de un aspecto poco cuidado, tiene un gran valor sea en cuanto a “refugio” de todo aquello que no encontraba sitio en la Layetana oficial, sea por su carácter de provisionalidad, que les permite estar potencialmente abiertos a cualquier uso que la gente quiera darles. Poniendo en un mapa estas observaciones (fig.15-16), los que antes aparecían como episodios aislados, en realidad crean un verdadero “sistema” de lugares y recorridos alternativos, tanto que sería posible moverse dentro del perímetro de Vía Layetana sin casi entrar en la que propiamente es la calle principal.
Fig.14 Conjunto arquitectónico Fig.15 Recorridos alternativos Fig.16 Plazas escondidas Fig.17 Experimento de recomposición Fig.18 Vacío derribos
El descubrimiento de esta Layetana alternativa no debe sólo despertar la curiosidad de los visitantes, sino que puede ayudar a la misma calle a salir de su problemático estatus urbano de vía “especializada” en tránsito vehicular. La manera de conseguir esta puesta en valor es un reto que Barcelona debe plantearse. En este sentido es interesante comentar una comparación con dos de las calles más representativas de la ciudad: la Diagonal y la Rambla. Viendo las tres primeras secciones de la fig.19, la diferencia es aplastante. Nos hablan de una calle muy alta en relación a su anchura, con unas proporciones poco “amables”, con aceras estrechas (3 metros), claramente orientada a la circulación rodada, sin un arbolado y sin puntos de especial interés en planta baja (si excluimos los cruces con otras calles). En cambio, esta situación podría cambiar radicalmente si, simplemente, abrimos nuestra mirada un poco mas allá, aprendiendo de las observaciones anteriores y como representado en las secciones 4 y 5. Considerando Layetana por lo que inicialmente eran sus bordes, el perímetro se ensancha hasta incluir no sólo la calle principal y sus edificios, sino también todos sus pasos laterales. De esta manera, deja de ser una simple calle y se convierte en un único espacio alargado, muy característico, dentro del cual co-existen sus edificios, vías de diferentes naturalezas y incluso los arboles y el verde que hasta ahora faltaban.
Así, vuelve a la memoria aquel enorme espacio vacío (fig.18) que, dentro de esta historia, parecía ser un insignificante momento de traspaso. La situación más provisional, el momento más incierto del proyecto es los que más han caracterizado este lugar y lo que nos ofrece “pistas” para pensar a nuevas posibles interpretaciones. La demolición, al final, ha construido más que la propia construcción.
Fig.19 Comparación entre secciones: Rambla, Diagonal, Layetana 1-2-3
BIBLIOGRAFÍA
AAVV. Ciutats, cantonades.
dirección de Manuel de Solà-Morales i Rubió. Barcelona. Fòrum Barcelona 2004, 2004.
AAVV. La Ciutat vella de Barcelona: un passat amb un futur
dirección de Joan Busquets. Barcelona: Ajuntament de Barcelona, Foment de Ciutat Vella, Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya.,Laboratori d’Urbanisme de Barcelona, 2004.
AAVV. La Construcció de la gran Barcelona: l’obertura de la Via Laietana 1908-1958.
Barcelona : Museu d’Història de la Ciutat: Institut de Cultura de Barcelona: Ajuntament de Barcelona, 2001.
DE SOLÁ-MORALES, Manuel. Diez lecciones sobre Barcelona: los episodios urbanísticos que han hecho la ciudad moderna. Barcelona. Col·legi d’Arquitectes de Catalunya,2008.
PARCERISA, Josep. RUBERT, Maria. La ciudad no es una hoja en blanco.
Santiago de Chile, 2000.
ROSSI, Aldo. La Arquitectura de la ciudad.
versión castellana de Josep Maria Ferrer. Barcelona. Gustavo Gili, 1999.
ROWE, Colin. Ciudad Collage.
Barcelona. Gustavo Gili, 1998.
SENNETT, Richard. El Artesano.
traducción de Marco Aurelio Galmarini. Barcelona. Anagrama, 2009.
[1] Manuel de Sola Morales, Diez lecciones sobre Barcelona. Barcelona. Col·legi d’Arquitectes de Catalunya,2008.
[2] Joan Maragall, “Ciudad de Ensueño”, 1908
[3] Aldo Rossi en La Arquitectura de la ciudad. Barcelona. Gustavo Gili, 1999.
[4] Richard Sennet en “El Artesano”. Barcelona. Anagrama, 2009
Cercle DOCÈNCIA
PROYECTO DE UNA BIBLIOTECA
COMO LEYES AUTOIMPUESTAS...
Pau Bajet
Curs 2010-2011
PROJECTES X | DPA | ETSAB | UPC
Professors: Eduard Bru, Andreu Arriola, Aquiles González Raventós, Mamen Domingo, Eduard Calafell, Lluís Vives, Jordi Mas i Joan Valls
Estaría bien que los proyectos no los hiciéramos nosotros. Que no surgieran caprichosamente deambulando del trazo de un lápiz en el papel, sino que en la narración de un proceso fueran revelándose unos inputs, un conjunto de leyes autoimpuestas totalmente arbitrarias (que no aleatorias), encontradas en los rastros del lugar y del uso, que aparecieran como la verdadera fuerza creadora del proyecto.
Tal vez así nacerían sistemas arbitrarios de inputs de arquitectura (el proceder de proyectos, a veces fotografiados como edificios) que pudieran analizarse desde sus elementos más simples, a la vez que desde la combinación de éstos en conjuntos complejos y contradictorios. Y de este modo podrían leerse -y hacerse- los proyectos desde las infinitas posibilidades que en su combinación potencial esconden el producto de sus partes.
Leyes arbitrarias, no aleatorias, que dejarían una arquitectura “entre subjetividad y sistema”...
Tantas leyes, o tan complejas, que desaparecieran al mirar el conjunto; o mejor dicho, se esconderían detrás como orden invisible...
PARTE I*, ENCONTRAR ALGUNAS LEYES**...
*Los documentos de esta parte son los dibujos de una primera entrega del proyecto, cuando se establecieron las leyes, antes de que hubiera ningún tipo de propuesta algo definida.
** Las leyes aparecen aquí falsamente ordenadas para poder ser leídas. En realidad no hubo una linea causa-efecto sino más bien unos saltos cortos y dispersos en múltiples direcciones, de ida y vuelta, de un problema al otro. Estas “leyes” no se las debe creer nadie: por supuesto, son inciertas, incompletas e incompatibles entre ellas... Sin embargo tratan de sostenerse en una “estable inseguridad”...
PARTE II, PROPONER UNA VARIACION.
Cercle BOOK
ARCHITECTURAL STRATEGIES
(MARKETING, ICON, POLITICS, MASSES, DEVELOPER, THE No.1) EDUARD SANCHO
El Doctor Eduard Sancho Pou, membre del Grup de Recerca Cercle-UPC, ha publicat a Ediciones Península el llibre ARCHITECTURAL STRATEGIES, conseqüència de la seva Tesi Doctoral dirigida per Eduard Bru.
Sancho aborda les relacions entre la producció de la forma i els marcs econòmics, productius, comercials, icònics, de la societat de masses, no sempre considerats –tant a nivell d’anàlisi com de projecte -, amb l'atenció que reclama el seu paper decisiu en l’actual context.
TITLE Architectural Strategies (Marketing, Icon, Politics, Masses, Developer, the no.1)
AUTHOR Eduard Sancho Pou / Foreword by Eduard Bru
FORMAT 15 x 23 cm
PAGES 208 pages (ills colour & bw, 20 photographs)
BINDING Paperback
LANGUAGE ENGLISH
EDITOR Ediciones Península (Grup 62 - Planeta)
ISBN 978-84-9942-195-7
PRICE EU: 19,50 € USA: 29.00 $
DISTRIBUTOR IDEA BOOKS (www.ideabooks.nl) Idea Code 12489
SYNOPSIS
This book studies the strategies used by architects to secure commissions, sell projects and erect buildings. Although their modus operandi might seem to be mere marketing techniques, the economic conditions in each stage of a project that determines the final result cannot be overlooked.
Selling strategies are not taught in school, since it has traditionally been considered that architects cannot market themselves. Nor are they discussed among practicing professionals, since no one is willing to reveal his recipes for success. Therefore, there is no specific bibliography in this area, although architects have always been excellent salesmen for ideas.
California is a place for opportunities where results matter more than theory. Everyone working there uses strategies to secure profits. Most of the architects in the study were born or developed their careers in the area: Gehry (who lives in Santa Monica), Gensler (who lives in San Francisco), Ma (who is dean of USC), Jerde (who works in L.A.), Koolhaas (who created Amo on the basis of a project for the Universal Building in L.A.), Jobs (who founded Apple and worked in Cupertino) and Page and Brin (the founders of Google in Palo Alto).
The inclusion of software architects in the list of building architects may come as a surprise; however the change undergone by architecture justifies it. Nowadays, corporations do not commission buildings to represent them, but rather strategies to improve their brands, efficiency and sales. Offering these is also the work of today's architects.
Nowadays architects are designing fewer buildings and focusing on designing strategies. Let's begin to study them. We shall discover how they work and where can they take us. We are certainly going to need them to convince society that we can still be useful.
AUTHOR
Eduard Sancho Pou is the head of an architecture studio where he combines his work as an architect with his strategic consultancy activities. In the past, he was the director of Barcelona Centre Arquitectura, where he organized architecture exhibitions, colloquia, and conferences attended by international architects. He has also been an architectural consultant with the Swiss multinational Holcim, for the announcement of the Holcim Architectural Awards. Sancho Pou holds a doctorate (cum laude) from the Polytechnic University of Barcelona. He is currently a member of Cercle d´Arquitectura Research Group (UPC) and teaches to Phd students at the same university.
AWARDS
The book in his doctoral thesis format, has been awarded with a Graham Foundation Grant 2011-2013, and a Mention in the FAD Architecture Awards of Theory and Criticism 2011
PUBLICATIONS
The journals Volume, Conditions, San Rocco, Monu, Cercle Review have published version of this research in recent years.
Several Schools of Architecture have allowed rehearsals of this material: GSD Harvard, Cardiff University, ETSAB Barcelona, ACSA2012, AURS2012.
Cercle CONTACTE
CERCLE is the online review by the “Cercle d’Arquitectura” Research Group from the Architectural Projects Department (DPA) - Escola Tècnica Superior d'Arquitectura de Barcelona (ETSAB) - Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya (UPC).
The members of the research group are the architects Andreu Arriola, Conxita Balcells, Joan Curós, Josep Maria Fort, Aquiles González Raventós, Xavier Llobet, Antoni Moragas, Rita Santos-Fernandes Pinto de Freitas, Eduard Sancho Pou, Antoni Soldevila, Antoni Ubach, David Oliva i Enric Llorach (edition) i Eduard Bru (direction)
ISSN 2014-0142
e-mail
CERCLE és la revista online del grup de recerca “Cercle d’Arquitectura” del Departament de Projectes Arquitectònics (DPA) - Escola Tècnica Superior d'Arquitectura de Barcelona (ETSAB) - Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya (UPC).
Els membres del grup de recerca són els arquitectes Andreu Arriola, Conxita Balcells, Joan Curós, Josep Maria Fort, Aquiles González Raventós, Xavier Llobet, Antoni Moragas, Rita Santos-Fernandes Pinto de Freitas, Eduard Sancho Pou, Antoni Soldevila, Antoni Ubach, David Oliva i Enric Llorach (edició) i Eduard Bru (direcció)
ISSN 2014-0142

