The craze for harbour baths in Denmark continues, with CF Møller set to build a trio of floating classrooms to provide “aqua learning” and water sports training for the new Copenhagen International School. (more…)
Dezeen promotion: French furniture brand Roche Bobois has produced a movie featuring its Mah Jong sofa, which has been reinterpreted by a group of artists for a charity auction (+ movie). (more…)
From the architect. The commission consisted of a simple program: a space for various public activities in the house: living, working, and eating, in addition to integrating an exhibition area for pre-Columbian artworks, with an independent kitchen, bedrooms and bathrooms.
The main difficulty was to achieve a quality space for the owner, who was used to living in large areas, and was building a detached house for a new period of life.
The site was an old plot with houses and existing park, subdivided among the children, leaving a remnant where the new house would be located, with access and parking for the entire site, disrupting as minimum as possible the trees and vegetation.
These conditions combined with the views and sunlight, define clear relations with the outside, which were conditioned and defined. The south and west facades should be closed, the former due to regulations and the latter due to the parking area.
To continue to maintain the visual relationship with the park, we opted for a second level connected through a ramp, which seeks to predict an uncertain future and allows easy access to the library wall.
The house is configures as 2 rectangles turned on the first and second floors. Looking for the best visual and sunlight orientations, these are connected through a double height and the ramp-library. This turn generates intermediate spaces, which on one side give privacy to the various uses, exposing the pre-Columbian figures, concentrating in one space the entire public space required. Outside, through these walls and turns, 5 courtyards of different qualities are built, creating openings and closings that condition the relationship with the outside and the existing landscape.
Three were originally invited to draw up plans for a ‘Nordic’ pavilion: the Finnish partnership Reima and Raili Pietilä, Sverre Fehn from Norway, and the Swede, Klas Anshelm. Following the selection of Fehn’s proposal in 1959, Gotthard Johansson wrote in the Svenska Dagbladet of the project’s “stunning simplicity […], without too many architectural overtones”[1] – a proposal for a space able to unite a triumvirate of nations under one (exceptional) roof.
Over five decades later the ‘Nordic Pavilion’—as it would later become known—has come to reflect, consolidate and embody Nordic architectural traditions. Look a little deeper, however, and it becomes clear that Fehn actually sought to invert them entirely. In place of heavy timber beams Fehn chose slender concrete lamellae, pigmented to glow (reflecting, for one common metaphor, sunlight falling on a quilt of snow). Rather than create a closed space to shut the elements out—a typical vernacular in Norway—he completely removed two of the building’s four boundary walls. In designing the roof to be essentially open to the skies, Fehn was able to specifically control how the rain would fall into the space. In this sense, it is a building in possession of the world around it – accepting its direct context while tentatively suggesting another, distant world.
Fehn did not seek to mimic a Nordic vernacular – the Pavilion is not an act of mimesis in the conventional sense. He sought to rewrite (as opposed to translate) something hitherto indescribable: the sense of a ‘Nordic’ architecture for the Venetian climate and situated in the uninhabited, uniquely fragmented context of the giardini of la Biennale di Venezia. Just as Walter Benjamin described the act of translation as a “mode” rather than an act,[2] Fehn recognised that the orchestration of space by assemblage is different to that of contextually grafting—and thereby crafting from, and into—a new environment.[3]
Distilling Fehn’s architectural moves into a collection of articulated elements—roof, ground, wall, stair and beam—belies its complexity as a consolidated spatial gesture. Just as the Palazzo Ducale (a ten minute journey away by water) should only be read as one part of a “metamorphosis” (in the words of Giulia Foscari[4]) between surface, object and space that comprise Piazza (and, by extension, Piazzetta) San Marco, the Nordic Pavilion is more than an assemblage of parts. It is the culmination of an orchestration of spatial ideas and atmospheric intentions between wall, ground, step, ‘roof’, landscape, light, and ‘interstitiality’ – all framed by its relationship to the topography of the site.
Fehn indicated his realisation of this approach to building, following a trip to French Morocco:
You suddenly feel as if the walls are not simply to bear a roof or make a house, but at one moment made to provide shade from the sun, the next to be support for your back, in the autumn a rack to dry dates on and in the spring a blackboard for the children to draw on. It is the same with the roof and the floor. The different parts of the whole house are regarded as domestic furnishings.[5]
During his travels through Italy which followed, Fehn became acutely aware of the different characteristics which light can take. Upon his return to Norway he was “able to recognize the distinct nature of Nordic light” like never before.[6]
Like any translator worth their salt, Fehn employed both original materials and those specific to the site—a concrete combination of white cement, white sand, and crushed white Italian marble—to sculpt a quality of light of incredible intensity, tranquility and, most importantly, steady homogeneity. He wanted to do nothing more than “construct a roof to protect the paintings and sculptures”—for the building’s first intended function was as a gallery—“from direct sunlight.”[7]
For the ‘roof,’ which would more accurately be described as a collection of light wells, Fehn designed two layers of concrete brise-soleil. These lamellae, each precisely one-metre tall and six-centimetres thin, blanket the internal space to create a plane of two-metre deep pockets set, by their width and height, at a ratio of 1:2. They stretch across the room in a single span, bracketing one another in intervals of 52.3 centimetres. Together they distil the heady, warm Mediterranean light into its ‘Nordic’ variation: at once shadeless, uniform and bright. It is a light that is “definite, but familiar”[8] and, in the words of Marco Mulazzani, provides a constant, homogenous sense of illumination.[9] In other words, a shadowless world.
The grid, which might otherwise appear monotonous in its rigidity, is interrupted by a series of openings through which the three remaining internal plane trees[10]—of which there were originally seven—erupt from the ground to punctuate vertically through, up and out of the space. The juxtaposition between the staticity of the structure and the twisting trunks which, to all intents and purposes do as they please, balances the room.
Beautiful his dwelling. Leaves on columns
Burn and quiver. They stand in the wild,
Rising among each other; above which
Surges a second mass,
The roofing of rock.
—Der Ister, Friederich Hölderlin (trans. Richard Sieburth)
Footnotes and References
[1] Marco Mullazzani, Guide to the Pavilions of the Venice Biennale since 1887 (Milan: Electa, 2014), pp.122-126
[2] Walter Benjamin, Harry Zorn trans., The Task of the Translator in Illuminations (London: Pimlico, 1999), pp.70-71
[3] In other words, just because wood, brick, mortar and concrete can be found or fabricated almost anywhere, does not mean that they should be used in the same way everywhere.
[4] Guilia Foscari, Elements of Venice (Zürich: Lars Müller, 2014), pp.12-27
[5] Richard Kearney, On Stories (London: Routledge, 2002) p.140 (via Neveu, On Stories: Architecture and Identity)
[6] Mark J. Neveu, On Stories: Architecture and Identity (Oslo: Arkitektur N, 02, 2008), accessed February 28, 2016, p.5
[7] Christian Norberg Schulz, Gennaro Postiglione, ed. Sverre Fehn: Samlede Arbeider, (Oslo: Orfeus Forlag, 1997) p.248 (via Neveu, On Stories: Architecture and Identity)
[8] Neveu, On Stories: Architecture and Identity
[9] Marco Mullazzani, Guide to the Pavilions of the Venice Biennale since 1887 (Milan: Electa, 2014), p.19
[10] According to Ole Gaudernack the three remaining trees within the pavilion are Celtis Australis, also known as the Mediterranean hackberry, the European Nettle Tree, or the Honeyberry).
Threefold Architects has combined a Victorian workshop and an old shop unit in east London to create a home and gallery for an art curator (+ slideshow). (more…)
Discovered by archaeologists in civilizations as old as ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, fritted glass is hardly a new technology. Yet thanks to its energy-saving abilities and the smooth, gradient aesthetic it produces, fritted glass has seen a rebirth in contemporary architecture.
Frit itself is a ceramic component that can be laid out into an assortment of patterns, most typically consisting of dots or lines. These patterns can then be silk-screened onto annealed glass using frit paint. Then, the glass is fired in a tempering furnace, which strengthens and improves the safety of the glass under thermal stress. The resulting product is glass of determined transparency that, when used in building facades, can reduce solar heat gain and even make buildings more visible and less deadly for birds.
While fritted glass can be used in many different ways, its most common aesthetic is a highly stylized one, with architects using frit to blur away the joints between glass panels (like in the Whitney Museum), create controlled views of higher transparency out a building (Frank Gehry’s IAC Building) or to produce a graphic statement (Snohetta’s Student Learning Center at Ryerson University). Many other high-style materials in recent history (think gold-tinted glass or brightly-colored marble) have eventually become seen as dated or gaudy, and therefore relegated to simply a trend. Has fritted glass returned to architecture for good, or is it destined to be seen as a fad?
Here are some exemplary projects to help you come to a decision:
Krishna P. Singh Center for Nanotechnology / WEISS/MANFREDI
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Allianz Headquarters / Wiel Arets Architects
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High Line 23 / Neil M. Denari Architects
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Museum Of The History Of Polish Jews / Lahdelma & Mahlamäki + Kuryłowicz & Associates
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Princeton School of Architecture / Architecture Research Office
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Vol Walker Hall & the Steven L Anderson Design Center / Marlon Blackwell Architect
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The Diana Center at Barnard College / Weiss Manfredi
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Engineering 5 Building / Perkins+Will
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The Ice Cubes / Jun Mitsui & Associates Architects
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Milan 2016: Dutch furniture brand Lensvelt is producing a collection of “boring” office furniture intended to “restore the balance between work and play” in the workplace (+ movie). (more…)
Most Loved: in the next movie in our exclusive video series, London designer Tord Boontje explains how the decorative paper lampshade he designed in 2004 challenged the dominance of Minimalist design. (more…)
CCR1 Residence is a private home located in Cedar Creek Reservoir, Texas, USA. The 4,690-square-foot home was designed by Wernerfield. CCR1 Residence by Wernerfield: “The CCR1 Residence is located on a beautiful wooded site on Cedar Creek Reservoir. The project program included the design of a main residence, guest pavilion, storage barn and various ancillary architectural features. The goal of the design was to provide an artful and low maintenance..
This previously unpublished interview with Hans Hollein was conducted in July 2009 by Sanam Samanian (in collaboration with Parisa Kohbodi); Hollein passed away in 2014.
It was 2009, my first time in Vienna and I felt at home—as if I knew the city, its elegant architecture and its profound understanding of life. Vienna is quiet. It doesn’t make any noise about itself or ask for validation from the world; and when I walked into the studio of Hans Hollein it became clear that neither does he.
A a recent graduate of architecture school, I was trying to make it as a writer in the industry. With a bright friend, colleague and then-student from Waterloo University, we hopped on trains and traveled from country to country. In retrospect, I was probably looking for conversations with those I respected. I was looking to understand how they started their careers and what they were exploring. And I had no idea then that this may be the last interview with Mr. Hans Hollein, the man responsible for some of architecture history’s key postmodern buildings: the Austrian Embassy Building in Berlin, the Glass and Ceramics house in Tehran, and the Retti Candle Shop in Vienna. His Pritzker Prize was given to him before I was born, yet he began answering my questions as if I were an old friend.
Sanam Samanian: The Pritzker focuses on humanity in architecture; has the award changed anything in your architecture since receiving it?
Hans Hollein: It is the most important award in architecture; it is the Nobel Prize of architecture. I was the seventh award winner at that time and it was on its way to becoming the leading prize in architecture. Actually I may have been the last Pritzker award winner to receive a sculpture by Henry Moore.
[He points at the sculptural piece sitting on his mantel.]
For me it was certainly important, but I have won many more important prizes before.
SS: Which one has been most memorable?
HH: My very first building, a candle shop in Vienna, won an award three months after the opening of the building. It was $25,000 which was bigger than cost of the building. I didn’t get a big fee for the shop, so the award helped and also people were just fascinated that you could get an award that is more expensive than the building.
SS: Tell me about why you became an architect.
HH: I started working in architecture very early. When I was in Chicago I was very interested in skyscrapers, and had new ideas about skyscrapers , and I first started my own practice in 1964—one year prior to finishing my first commission. And then of course the Pritzker was given to me not much later.
SS: Did it coincide with any specific project?
HH: As you know, the Pritzker is not given to any specific building, but I got it right after I finished the Abteiberg Museum. I tried a new approach to architecture in that project, and I think it was honored by the Pritzker, as Frank’s Guggenheim Museum Bilbao in Spain was honored for his Pritzker prize.
SS: Did it change anything regarding how you practice architecture?
HH: It was encouraging. I immediately wanted to start an enormous new office.
SS: How did you go about that?
HH: I established a great connection with the United States and tried building in different parts of the world.
SS: Kenneth Frampton has stated that you were always comfortable in the theatrics of architecture. What do you think about that?
HH: Not really, I mean I am sort of in agreement and disagreement with him, and it’s not a question of theatrics.
SS: What about art?
HH: In the Venice Biennale—the first time I was there—I participated as an artist, not as an architect, which was long before I began working as an architect. I was an Austrian commissioner for the arts.
SS: How did that role did influence your architecture practice?
HH: I have always tried to look at architecture through an artistic lens. Art is the link between an era to the next. Modern art had a big influence on postmodern architecture.
SS: That’s right. Your work, particularly, seems to be a link between traditional and postmodern architecture. Do you think it’s because you were trained in a traditional manner and practiced in the postmodern era?
HH: My academic years were spent in Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna, as well as Illinois Institute of Technology and Berkley University. In Berkeley I completed my masters’ degree. There was a rather strong future-forward period there. There was also a very strong emphasis on traditional architecture and values. I also remember that during my time at Vienna Academy of Fine Arts, there was small group with a very interesting tendency for exchanges between between Eastern and Western approaches.
SS: What kind of exchanges?
HH: Ideas.
SS: How did you take part in that?
HH: I went to Sweden which was, at that time, a very progressive country in architecture; and it was also a country that didn’t suffer through the war. Vienna was a devastated city. During that time you didn’t have easy access to information as you do today. I mean there were books and magazines, but in that way I was looking to not continue the traditional curriculum.
SS: How did you explore the non-traditional?
HH: It came to be a question of city-building and architectural interventions.
SS: Any specific cities?
HH: We explored London, Tokyo, not New York but Chicago; and of course we looked at Vienna.
SS: How do you explore architecture these days? Do you have a method?
HH: I sit and think. It depends on the project, the specific site, the specific situation.
SS: Do you still enjoy it?
HH: Yes. I never wanted to be an architect that would drop his buildings anywhere in the world, but wanted to understand their situation, relationship to the site, to the history and the culture of the people. So, I have built in many countries and different civilizations.
SS: How do you choose your projects?
HH: Well it’s complicated. In the United States the client comes to you and wants a building by you. But many important buildings in Europe, even if they are privately funded, need to go through a public competition. In Europe I have difficulty getting direct commissions. In United States, however, there are better opportunities where the client and architect meet each other before and discuss the project. In a competition format you never meet the client beforehand.
SS: You have had a long and successful career in architecture. What do you find has evolved in the past 30 years?
HH: Well one thing is the amount of the information. 30 years ago you had to meet someone like Philip Johnson by accident in an office of a magazine and then make connections. So, I think access to information has changed things. Also time had become faster somehow, if that makes any sense.
SS: Time is relative. I get that.
HH: It also slows down sometimes, doesn’t it? Depending on the cultural and financial situation of a place. I think it also changes when you leave your hometown.
SS: Was that challenging?
HH: Yes. Very early in my life I tried to get out of my hometown and traveled to Scandinavian countries and the United States for two years. My first professorship was in the United States and the Vienna Academy. At that time communications over a long distance was very costly.
SS: As a practitioner and professor, do you think architectural education is missing anything these days?
HH: In North America, there are some very good universities and some not really good ones. Because of communications and access to information, some students are very informed these days. Same with Europe, I guess.
SS: Are there any architects that have impressed and influenced you?
HH: When I was in Chicago Mies Van Der Rohe really inspired me. He was maybe why I went to Chicago. At that time, in Europe there was only one book about his work.
SS: Are there any contemporary architects whose work you enjoy?
HH: A lot of friends from my generation in the United States, I know many of them well.
SS: If you look back to the buildings you have designed are there any of them you enjoyed more than others?
HH: That’s like if you ask a father or mother which one of their children they like more.
SS: I know. The difference is you can probably be honest whereas parents won’t be able to be.
[He laughed for a few minutes.]
HH: There are some key projects and buildings that unfortunately never got realized. I have no regrets for any of them. To me, the candle shop in Vienna is very dear. I also worked on a Guggenheim in Iraq, it never got built unfortunately.
SS: Are there any projects that you wish to do still?
HH: I’d like to transform a medieval castle to be used for all kind of strange purposes like a museum, an auditorium or concert hall.
SS: What do you think your projects, the spaces you create, do for people?
HH: At the ten year anniversary of one of my buildings all these people, children and teachers and parents of the children would come to me and tell me how they enjoyed the building in different ways throughout the years. That was very important to me. It was a great day and a testimony to what a building could do for people.
