March 01, 2003
Practically all the books they published, often many years later, depart from Corbusian narratives, critiques and manifestos, only then to confront them in a veritable dialectic with Miesian ideas and thereby synthesize their own work.
Without Rhetoric (1973) could be read as a parable of that creative tussle. While the book opens with ‘When Le Corbusier assembled Vers une architecture …’, it quickly moves on to show Candilis and Woods, Corbu’s site staff, on the roof of the Unité d’habitation under construction in Marseilles. As soon as they touch on their own work, it is the ‘without rhetoric’ quality of the quiet, almost uncommunicative work of Mies that is lauded.
In the light of recent discussions of the architect’s position and role in the design process, a story could be told about the rise of architectural stardom. The argument could be made that the architectural superstars of past eras lacked the essential, trend-setting role they have acquired in recent decades. A parallel could be drawn with more mediagenic forms of cultural entertainment. After all, pop stars and cult television personalities have never been as omnipresent as they are today. We might go on to consider the way pop luminaries are packaged. A short analysis would unmask the powerful machinery, the communicative device being the pop idol himself, as the tip of the iceberg, with the rest remaining invisible. It would, finally, become arguable that practices of this kind have a very peculiar way of dealing with the genuinely creative work, which is concealed deeper within the machinery. Robbie Williams does not write his own songs, Milli Vanilli had someone else do the vocals for their hit singles, and so on.
We could follow with due fascination the revolutions that take place in software development. It was intriguing to see how the contest for survival among operating systems took a new twist, well after the battle seemed decided, upon ‘discovery’ of the open source system Linux – a name which was then burnt into our retinas by the dazzling media hype. The sudden interest was such that the open-source counterpart of the commercial operating system was capable of competing as a serious candidate in the next round of the operating system wars. The open source operating system placed the source code in the public domain, so that it became more accessible and cheaper, and suddenly turned into a politically correct alternative to the well-known operating system monopolist. In consequence, ‘open source’ became a kind of catch phrase, a metaphor for any kind of rebellion in network form against the established order.
Several myths are extant about the applicability for architecture of the (social) events that surround us. They are all, to a certain degree, false. Stories of a social/cultural nature tend to be picked up from the real world and make their way via all kinds of parallels and associations into the mystique of architectural practice, where they begin a second life. They are then remarketed, using awkward, contrived metaphors, to the (incredulous) outside world. Furious efforts are made over and over again to sell the latest thing, to celebrate the latest discovery. First there was chaos theory, then the folding of the programme, and now it is ‘open source’.
In what respect could architectural practice be ‘open source’? Is there in some sense a source code which was previously confidential but can now be released and thus regarded as ‘open’ by a progressive elite? It looks improbable. What could that source code be, that holy grail, that magic formula, hitherto unknown to the average architectural designer?
There might be arguments for telling a story about the failure of the superstars. It could be a sad story, a story with one or two reservations. It could have a cautionary ending, a conclusion that, like the arrival of ‘open source’ software, raises new hope and finally pins it on the main pack of promising also-rans. The star wars story would thus end with a glimpse of optimism, with the dark forces behind the media-besotted star system terminally discombobulated. It is not a story I intend to tell. It’s the self-delusion of the unexceptional.
The idea of open source-type architecture rests on the myth of authorless art. It ensconces itself sleeper-like in the inconsequential middle zone, where production and communication are mixed into an inextricable tangle. Communication about collaboration is ultimately confused with communication as creation. The ‘undirected’ architectural process is elevated into a goal in its own right, and tries to present itself as such. Architecture discloses itself solely as process, with whoever is responsible for the project conveniently forgotten. ‘We’re collaborating’ is interpreted as a metaphor for ‘we are exchanging information’, and hence as being open source.
A misunderstanding has arisen in the shadow of a few individuals. The star architect, the architectural superstar, has gained a bad name. Thus the star should be countered by a sea of process-type mediocrity, which tries to depict the process of architectural dialectics through its mimetic alter ego. The upshot is a metaphorical confusion, which has elevated the process to the status of achievement and meanwhile forgotten to make architecture.
The most important consequence of the mediatization of architecture is not the emergence of architectural stars. That is merely a side-effect, no more than a variant of the age-old myth of the hero-architect. Perhaps the most disturbing result of the media attention is that it has made it impossible for architecture to tell stories. The superficial staging of the communicative image, and hence of architecture as image for image’s sake, has turned architecture into a farce.
Architecture nowadays tries to be all kind of things, ranging from web design through open-source movement to graphic design, but in doing so it consistently forgets to be first and foremost architecture. It has become a Potemkin architecture, an architectural facade which has hidden itself behind the boggy impossibility of the process and which prefers making a show of that process to solving it. The open source movement has become a metaphor for denying the significance of architecture. The ‘process’ is a failed attempt to escape authorship – but why attempt it in the first place? Isn’t a stage director an author, isn’t a producer or a mixer? Tipping authorship from its pedestal is actually an evasion of responsibility. Without responsibility, architecture becomes ‘Nothing But Production’. In this way, architecture abandons its last remaining shred of meaning, perhaps for good.
Let us embrace authorship.
Let us go in search of a new paradigm and not get bogged down in fashion-conscious debates about the productive network.
Let us construct networks of authors, authors who will engage in an architectural debate that is once again about content.
And let us communicate this real content – instead of elevating communication to the status of content as happens now, for that is a painful misunderstanding.
Kersten Geers is an architect and writer.
Dtn#4: Eating authorship / Kersten Geers
Dtn is a loose collaboration of changing individuals.
Dtn #3 was published independently. Dtn #2 appeared in AS, no. 161.
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