Essay by Gregory La Vardera published in the June 1992 issue of Progressive Architecture, Perspectives column

 

Faithful readers of Perspectives will have followed the "dueling" in these pages over the uses and abuses of contemporary architectural theory. Whether you are familiar with the arguments or not, I would like to call your attention to four of the essays published on the subject; Sylvia Lavin's in August 1990 issue, Jeffrey Kipnis' response in November of that year, and companion pieces by Robert McCarter and editor Thomas Fisher, which appeared in May 1991. The opinions voiced in these articles still reflect clearly the diverse and often contrary feelings in the architectural community today.

At this time we are experiencing a break between theory and practice that is similar to the break between design and construction occurred during the Renaissance. While some architects maintain that the ideas explored in the academic pursuit of theory have opened up new opportunities for design, others hold that theory has grown remote from building. In the worst cases, the "easy" visual image generated by certain contemporary ideas has been thoughtlessly repeated, and voided of the insights from which it emerged. This sort of empty manipulation has resulted in a predisposed distrust for any work whose imagery may be associated with contemporary theory.

If I could beg a bit more leeway than the preceding writers allowed one another, I would like to make some suggestions about the way we use the theories and ideas that concern us. My desire is not only to find a resolution to the disparate feelings, but also to propose a more successful means of creating theoretical works of architecture. It will be proposed that theory become part of the value system that governs our choices in the design process -- rather than being the object of those decisions.

In order to consider the mood of our community, allow me to briefly describe my impressions of the previously published positions: Sylvia Lavin spoke of the excess of theory today. By reviewing the typical transformation of theoretical movements into meaningless styles, she tried to demonstrate how today's "critical theory" is not only subject to the same progression, but appears to be indirectly grounded in that phenomenon, being somehow reinforced and rewarded by its own convenient capacity to become a commodity.

Jeffrey Kipnis justly criticized Lavin's assumptions. He opposed Lavin's position that theory, as conceptual intentions, and architecture, as a practice of making, are irreconcilable. He asserted that this debased architecture by separating it from culture. As a consolation for Lavin, Kipnis' tedious undoing of her writing may be seen as a clear example of the the excess she condemned.

Kipnis' "wordy" rebuttal of Lavin may have partly inspired Robert McCarter's response, which called into question the linkage between language and architecture. This provoked criticism from editor Thomas Fisher who argued against McCarter's withdrawal from language. Fisher went on to discuss how the two are inseparably tied together by culture.

I don't believe that McCarter was advocating the abandonment of language as a design tool, or even as a basis for design. I interpret his intention to be more of a reminder that in the end all we may offer by way of explanation is the experience of the places we have created. On those terms, much of what we build falls short of our stated intentions. He pleads for the examination of known works, of whose power is recognized by consensus, and based on nothing save their presence.

I would like to further explore where McCarter's good intentions may take us. Without making too many assumptions about how others apply theory, I will describe contrasting situations for the sake of suggesting an alternative. The extreme is intended to lend clarity to what I propose, and not to be definitive of contemporary architectural theory. Depending on your point of view, you may or may not recognize the situations I describe.

In considering value systems I must ask you not to think of them in terms of morals or ethics, but in the sense of evaluation and measure. Our values, like the arms of a scale, weigh and determine our decisions, including those entailed in design. This value system is formed over years, shaped by the many lessons and experiences of life including our intellectual inquiries. When we attempt to infuse these conscious stimuli into a work of architecture it is very easy to handle them in a self-conscious manner. Acting in conscious of our them, we may inadvertently focus on their agenda, and not on its influence on our value system. The idea simply generates an architecture. The architecture becomes a means of representing that idea which generated it. It is self referential.

Often, a self-conscious posture produces architecture that is less about theory and more about being theoretical. When a idea is represented in this way, as a concept is represented in language, it is given to us like a page in a book. It is to be read. But without fluency in the language, little can be understood. (This is not to deny that architecture may be beautiful despite its obscurity. When we design, however, we endeavor to incorporate meaning, and not only beauty.)

The disturbing result of this condition is familiar. We have all seen work that takes a radical departure from convention as a result of its underlying ideas. Yet what they actually are remains a mystery. An example of this situation can be found if we examine one intention of a complex project such as Peter Eisenman's Wexner Center for the Visual Arts (P/A, October 1989, p.00). Aiming to reveal our perceptions of reality as purely subjective, Eisenman intends to dislocate us. He strives to accomplish this through the creation of architecture as fiction -- an architecture which, despite its fulfilling specific functions, does not present itself as such. This may be contrasted with a conventional position where order responds to and represents its function.

Since he can no longer rely on function to order space, Eisenman turns to other sources. The order of the building becomes remote from the function and as a result it may not be discerned from one's activity in the building. A gap is opened between an absence of order and a deliberate act of construction.

How does one perceive such a place? Do we confront the tenuous grounds for a shared reality, or is the dislocation seen as a deliberate disorder? If the latter, then little has actually changed from the conventional model. The function remains the same, but disorder stands in for order, both being contrived and imposed. Since the form of the building is the instrument of the dislocation, the function is isolated and the intended meaning is lost. It is possible that the dislocation may not be experienced without taking an approach which subverts the very program that gave rise to the building. In any case, the animosity towards program well represents Eisenman's stance, but not his intent. While a perceivable disorder is apparent, its significance is not.

It would be foolish to abandon our theoretical investigations, or to reduce their intensity. But we must endeavor to stop applying ideas in this manner. We must be prepared to set aside our fascination with language, representation, theater, texts, deconstruction, and the like. The ideas associated with these realms were not formulated for the purpose of formal expression in design, but to increase our insight and objectivity. We investigate these theories, we participate in discourse, we learn about these broader cultural concepts in order to enrich the way we interpret our world and the situations we design for.

The enrichment of our interpretations, and our design decisions comes about through a fundamental change in our value system, brought on by the study (our experience) of our intellectual inquiries. Theory as motivation for design concepts may only truly be embodied into our work when the resulting architecture brings on a similar fundamental change in the value system of those who experience it. In the endeavor to do so, the consideration of ideas and theories serves as a tool for the design of the places which we experience. These experiences should not be about theory or philosophy. Rather, theory and philosophy should shape a place which is designed to enrich us.

In our inquiries there should be no shying away from language. The resulting dialogue though, must not be about which realm we consider, but about the significance of the experiences that our work evokes in its inhabitants. Once posited as such, our inquiries may not only be of the sources we are accustomed to, but may also be of the most personal nature. They need not be validated by the authority of their reference.

We must recognize and refrain from the making of architecture which is merely a representation of theory and philosophy. Our efforts must turn towards the making of architecture that through these cultural concerns enriches the people that dwell there. By directing our designs as such, the places we make become more meaningful and significant to those who use them, experience them. Only then will emerge the inextricable ties to the places where we may lead our lives, and the significance that we all strive to achieve in our work. Through experience we, the designers, and all people stand on common ground. Perhaps this is the "middle ground" which editor Fisher was looking to.