GHASSAN ALSERAYHI
MSc. Arch, M. Arch, B. Arch, Assoc. SCE
ARCHITECT + EDUCATOR + RESEARCHER
Architecture’s Duality of Death and Life
In Exploring how capitalism and technology have
shaped the real and fictional worlds of 20th-century architecture
In Exploring how capitalism and technology have
shaped the real and fictional worlds of 20th-century architecture
In 2014, Steven Kearns and Jane Jacobs authored "Buildings Must Die," addressing the lifespan of structures and emphasizing the need to anticipate their end, especially given the architectural boom. Nature's decay of buildings has shifted to modern man-made wastage. Abandoned 20th-century structures worldwide, ranging from power plants to cities like Detroit, are documented by researchers and photographers. They investigate reasons for neglect, honor these structures, or suggest repurposing solutions. Modern "post-industrial cities" feature commercial markets and gated areas that may soon disappear or be discarded. With technology, architects often ignore environmental factors, leading to "Junkspace," a term coined by Rem Koolhaas. These are sprawling spaces built for luxury and pleasure, which exist momentarily and they are considered as an “in-between.” They surpass the architectural marvels of previous generations. In contrast to historic landmarks like pyramids, the 21st century largely produces fleeting structures. Junkspace emphasizes continuity, integrating every innovation, from elevators to air conditioning. Its ambiguous nature, using reflections and sound, often confuses occupants. It's more of a connecting membrane than a solid entity. While developing countries contribute pollution through production, developed regions do so with consumption. Still, developing nations' environmental toll is minor compared to the excessive wastage of Junkspace. It is inherently political, suppressing criticism under the guise of comfort. As comfort becomes the prime goal, many nations adopt Junkspace as a political agenda, promoting engineered confusion and advocating organized chaos.
Historically, architects followed a linear approach, designing buildings with a set timeline from inception to eventual demolition or preservation. This growth-focused perspective limited their foresight for future outcomes. They primarily aimed for an optimistic future, neglecting the potential for downturns or the need for disassembly, perhaps aspiring for their designs to be timeless legacies. This mindset overlooked the fact that they might not dictate their buildings' ultimate fate. Capitalism, anchored in perpetual growth, celebrates technology as an answer without probing deeper issues. As Cedric Price noted, "Technology is the answer, but what was the question?" Many architectural schools embraced technology for continuous creation of permanent structures instead of adaptable ones. By the late 20th century, a shift towards flexible architecture emerged, with designs that can adapt to changing needs. Price, endorsing this, challenged the extensive listing of UK buildings for preservation, advocating for repurposing recently constructed buildings for modern needs within ever-changing socio-economic landscapes. Buildings, crafted for distinct eras, often vanish, reflecting historical norms, but increasingly as fleeting entities in growing urban landscapes.
In 2009, The New York Times noted the rise in U.S. bank branches, likening them to the McMansions abandoned post-2008 crisis. Driven by housing loans and pre-crisis credit, this trend contended with online banking's emergence. Christopher Guenon, in 2010, introduced the "Architecture for Retreat"—a bank design adaptable to economic flux. This design could shift from a bank to an auction hall or storage in downturns, using repurposable materials like wood and copper. Cedric Price's question, "Do we really need a building?", underscores capitalism's impulse to build. Given that assets, like real estate, often yield more than actual work, the building's purpose is questioned. Middle Eastern cities showcase a paradox: prevalent luxury apartments remain vacant amidst a housing crisis for average earners. This discrepancy has its roots in the Reagan neoliberal policies, which valued buildings as capital over functional entities. Such thinking spurred cycles of construction, demolition, and displacement for profit. David Harvey regards this ongoing demolition as a capitalist trait, but also a step toward sustainable architecture. However, capitalism also impacts historical areas. Places like Sulukule, Istanbul, and Brooklyn, New York, have undergone gentrification, inflating property values and displacing lower-income residents. This "class replacement" decreases a building's value, revamps it, and then boosts its market worth. Capitalism's adaptability absorbs various architectural strategies, pivoting their essence from problem-solving to profit-maximization.
Green architecture is on the rise in academia and professional practice. Though many structures incorporate eco-friendly features, they often still embody capitalist growth ideals, offering sustainable tools but not always transformative lifestyles. This mirrors capitalism's approval of "green" developments without questioning their societal implications. Slavoj Žižek, a Slovenian philosopher, posits that environmental awareness is often guilt-driven, creating an optimistic illusion of damage reversal. This fuels "conscious consumption", where eco-friendly purchases appease guilt without altering underlying consumption patterns. Naomi Klein attributes environmental degradation more to a powerful minority controlling resources, politics, and media than to general human indifference. She frames the issue as capital interests versus environmental health. For instance, while China's carbon footprint is large, it's often due to foreign businesses exploiting inexpensive labor, rather than China's inherent practices. Blaming humanity at large masks the real culprits: capitalism and neoliberalism. As Andrea Malm implies, vague blame is tantamount to blaming no one. Truly addressing environmental concerns requires architectural approaches that delve into root causes shaped by prevailing economic structures.
Demolition is no longer driven solely by building standards; it's influenced by factors like bankruptcies, loan crises, and declining locations. This dynamic enriches some groups and mirrors economist Schumpeter's 1950s "Creative Destruction" theory, which posits growth through cycles of technological advancement, demolition, and advanced construction. While post-WWII reconstruction rejuvenated economies under state supervision, today's global south reconstruction in places like Lebanon, Iraq, and the Balkans primarily benefits global companies, often without state oversight. This brings forward the concept of "anticipatory architecture," rooted post-WWII in Europe, where architects began planning for ongoing change, emphasizing user needs over architect visions. Fusing the Industrial Revolution's advancements with modernist ideals, figures like Le Corbusier championed adaptable spaces. While industrial open plans initially addressed shifting production demands, Le Corbusier viewed housing as embodiments of industrial flexibility. Such adaptable, neutral spaces served capitalism's unpredictable demands. Today, "Anticipatory Architecture" signifies self-adapting designs that anticipate a building's life cycle, planning for potential decline and adaptation rather than abandonment, leveraging modern tech to adapt to evolving societal needs.
Capitalism's ability to assimilate critiques stems from addressing its symptoms rather than its ideology. According to Howard and Elizabeth Odum, societal systems, much like natural ones, operate in cyclical patterns: growth (consumption until peak complexity), climax (optimal operation with limited resources), decline (system reduction and recycling), and rejuvenation (resource production outpacing consumption). This cyclical view, observed in domains from plant life to politics, contrasts the linear perspective that associates decline with future progress. In computational architecture, buildings too experience these cycles, accumulating information from each phase for subsequent ones, enhancing their adaptability to environmental changes. Not just reacting, these structures can also shape these shifts. Understanding systems as cyclical redefines buildings as dynamic entities. This prompts architects and users to create designs that resonate with these cycles. In the capitalist lens, both the creation and demolition of structures are seen as progression. However, recognizing architecture's capability to both manifest and mask potential alters this perspective. Decisions like "not to build" or "to dismantle" can actively shape environments, mirroring shifting needs and resources.
Diving into the other world of fictional realities, cinematic architecture and its essence in cinema" delve into the interplay between film and design. Films like Murnau's "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" (1920) and Wiene's "Nosferatu" (1922) meld dream and reality through distinct spaces, especially the latter with its dreamlike architecture. German Expressionism uses exaggerated spaces, turning settings into characters. Juhani Pallasmaa sees cinematic architecture as potentially superior due to its lack of practical restrictions. This is seen in designs like Paul Nelson's Maison Suspendue, leading to questions of the film's influence on architectural imagination. The concept of single-place design is epitomized in "Between Heaven and Earth" (1959) by Naguib Mahfouz, directed by Salah Abu Seif, where an elevator mishap becomes a life-affirming scenario for its trapped occupants, juxtaposed against a potential suicide outside, showcasing contrasting views on life within one spatial narrative.
Alfred Hitchcock, renowned for his astute use of settings in cinema, emphasized the critical role of architecture, as highlighted in the British Encyclopedia, stating, "An art director must have a profound grasp of architecture." This sentiment shines in "Rear Window" (1954), where setting becomes an integral narrative element. Through a confined room window, the viewer is ensnared in a tale of voyeurism shaped by architectural boundaries. The immobilized photographer, portrayed by James Stewart, bound by his ailment, becomes an obsessive observer of daily happenings across his courtyard. In this cinematic masterpiece, Hitchcock employs architecture as more than just a backdrop; it's a pivotal character. He pulls us into the realm of the mundane, spinning a suspenseful yarn set against the backdrop of a seemingly ordinary residential courtyard. As the narrative unfolds, the relationship between observer and the observed intensifies, leading to palpable tension. Hitchcock's manipulation of the gaze, directing it to the everyday occurrences, underscores architecture's inherent power to dictate and influence events. In "Rear Window", architecture does more than frame; it compels, drawing the audience into a world where the design, like the unfolding mystery, beckons a deeper look. Hitchcock's genius isn't only in his plot weaving but also in his ability to immerse audiences in an architectural ambiance, making him a masterful thematic curator. The film doesn't just portray a crime but encapsulates the urban essence, underscoring the dichotomy of city life – the simultaneous yearning for privacy amidst the inevitable proximity to others.
In Hitchcock's films, there's a recurring theme of the relationship between the periphery and the center and how minor details gain significance within a broader context. "Shadow of a Doubt: Designing through doubt," a 1943 psychological horror, delves into this. Set in the naive town of Santa Rosa, Uncle Charlie, a possible suspect in the "happy widow" murder case, is surrounded by suspicion, intensified as he's not the only suspect. A central motif is the staircase, representing potential escape and the pervasive doubt where anyone could be the culprit. This staircase symbolizes the internal void and the anguish of dilemmas, mirroring design challenges where uncertainty is both an obstacle and a strategy. This approach to space, teetering between clarity and doubt, aligns with modern architecture's call for unburdened designs.
Films often anchor their narratives in specific settings, from interior elements like elevators and windows to whole cities. Architectural critic Jimmy Stamp highlights how Batman's story is deeply intertwined with Gotham's architecture. While earlier renditions leaned into timeless designs with Art Deco and Nouveau influences, Christopher Nolan's trilogy reimagines Gotham. Retaining the original comic essence, gothic edifices gave way to modern skyscrapers, drawing from diverse global architectural styles using techniques like collaging and kitbashing. This design shift made Gotham feel familiar, implying Batman could belong to any city. However, it also retained a sense of mystery, prompting reflections on transparency in today's urban landscapes and how architecture can enhance or dilute this transparency.
Screen architecture often preserves architectural diversity that reality struggles to maintain, despite shared elements. Modern cities bear uncanny resemblances, marked by ubiquitous global brands. Marc Augé termed this "non-place", alluding to the now-commonplace tall glass buildings. Factors like urban migration and soaring construction costs have shifted building design. Older buildings promoted community with about 10 apartments; today's large edifices often disconnect residents through vast corridors. Driven by housing demands and cost efficiencies, many buildings opt for repetitive designs, sidelining traditional architectural creativity. Michael Paglia even criticized Denver's makeover as an "architectural wasteland." A 2016 "Urban" study cites issues in contemporary Arab cities resulting from urban strains. Such urban pressures render many feeling trapped, a sentiment supported by Desmond Morris's "The Human Zoo", which connects urban living with heightened aggression. This invites reflection on the underlying socio-political values steering modern urban development.
In "The Dark Knight", the Joker challenges societal norms, arguing that only a lie maintains stability. Slavoj Žižek interprets the film as suggesting societies rely on foundational lies, with truth-tellers like the Joker causing chaos. This idea traces back to Plato's "noble lie" in "Republic", a fabricated myth ensuring societal cohesion by classifying souls with metals: gold for rulers, silver for aides, and bronze for the masses. The intention was societal contentment. Batman, the affluent businessman, represents this establishment, whereas Joker, affected by societal adversities, rebels. Joker's disinterest in wealth contrasts Batman's capitalist ethos. Society's architectural structures too can reflect such limited choices, promoting an illusion of freedom. This is echoed in "You've Got Mail", where Tom Hanks suggests Starbucks' extensive coffee options give patrons a faux sense of identity and choice, all for $2.95. It begs the question: does modern architecture also provide merely an illusion of choice, similar to a Starbucks order?
In cinematic portrayals, taxi drivers often represent choice and autonomy in decision-making. Martin Scorsese highlights this contrast, noting how taxi drivers in films, unlike reality, make choices for themselves. This sentiment is echoed by Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami, who uses the confined space of cars in his films to delve into intimate dialogues, with passengers communicating without direct eye contact. This small space, capturing varied emotions from its different riders, reflects life's ephemerality, a sentiment expressed by Macbeth. "Taxi Driver" by Scorsese, featuring the character Travis Bickle, exemplifies this. Bickle, a troubled ex-soldier, navigates New York, emblematic of urban isolation. Through its portrayal of NYC and Bickle's experiences, the film touches upon themes of solitude and urban chaos, reminiscent of poet Lorca's work. The story's cyclical structure, starting and ending in similar ways, emphasizes life's repetitive rhythm within urban constraints, making viewers reflect on the fleeting yet profound interactions we often have with strangers.
Bibliography
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