the end of an era I think.
Moving the house, finishing Uni, saying goodbye to people, breaking up, dreams shattered new dreams formed. getting old, nothing new there. Melbourne is still Melbourne, except everything now is so fucking expensive it hurts to get a haircut, or even have a decent dinner. I need a job.
Sometimes I am lost but most of the time I just walk around without that strong sense of identity I used to be able to feel. I believe in working hard but I just don't know what to work hard for. I have expectations for myself, true, but usually it goes nowhere, like really, no where.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
urbanism, architecture, and prostitution
ok, last post of the day.
There has been a discussion in the studio room about urbanism and the role of architecture in it. F couldn't stress enough how strengthless architects are when it comes to urbanity. "Architects build buildings" Full stop. Urbanism, if it can ever be initiated by a work of architecture, must be as an included derivative but not the fundamental driver. To embed an architectural agenda in the systematic fabrics of an urban agenda, in an already developed city at least, is pointless, and dangerous.
I would probably go further. Everyone loves his profession, so whilst architects consider the city as a latticed web with buildings as its nodes, urban designers think that architecture is simply the solids that fills in the voids in the matrix of streets and roads, and landscape designers may just as well think that modernization is meaningless without the foundation of greens and natural colours. What if for a moment, we consider all these designers' points of views to be complete fallacies, and that the city is merely the city. People goto work, go home, go to the park, to the ball games, to the concerts, to the barbeques, grow old, and die, all in the city, but nothing more than that. It is completely possible that urbanity does not exist for the individual except the absolute essentials that evolve around his limited scope of life. In that case a building, at best, can try to be a prostitute selling her flesh on the side of the street, desperately hoping to catch the pedestrians attention whilst at the same time smoking her thoughts away into some deep philosophical questions.
It all then makes sense, urbanism to architecture is that momentary glimpse into the prostitute's cleavage whilst one walks past on that dodgy laneway; if he stops for the prostitute, they will be engaged in urban activities, and if he doesn't, it would be as if she has never existed, disappeared into the crowd. So then, architecture is, to quote Che Guevera's diary, from memory, "this is not some tale of heroic deeds but the story of two lives running parallel for a short period of time"
There has been a discussion in the studio room about urbanism and the role of architecture in it. F couldn't stress enough how strengthless architects are when it comes to urbanity. "Architects build buildings" Full stop. Urbanism, if it can ever be initiated by a work of architecture, must be as an included derivative but not the fundamental driver. To embed an architectural agenda in the systematic fabrics of an urban agenda, in an already developed city at least, is pointless, and dangerous.
I would probably go further. Everyone loves his profession, so whilst architects consider the city as a latticed web with buildings as its nodes, urban designers think that architecture is simply the solids that fills in the voids in the matrix of streets and roads, and landscape designers may just as well think that modernization is meaningless without the foundation of greens and natural colours. What if for a moment, we consider all these designers' points of views to be complete fallacies, and that the city is merely the city. People goto work, go home, go to the park, to the ball games, to the concerts, to the barbeques, grow old, and die, all in the city, but nothing more than that. It is completely possible that urbanity does not exist for the individual except the absolute essentials that evolve around his limited scope of life. In that case a building, at best, can try to be a prostitute selling her flesh on the side of the street, desperately hoping to catch the pedestrians attention whilst at the same time smoking her thoughts away into some deep philosophical questions.
It all then makes sense, urbanism to architecture is that momentary glimpse into the prostitute's cleavage whilst one walks past on that dodgy laneway; if he stops for the prostitute, they will be engaged in urban activities, and if he doesn't, it would be as if she has never existed, disappeared into the crowd. So then, architecture is, to quote Che Guevera's diary, from memory, "this is not some tale of heroic deeds but the story of two lives running parallel for a short period of time"
Monday, November 9, 2009
three degrees of alienation
After a few hours of driving and waiting the powder printed model arrived.
We have a lot of expectations. This is something we have worked so hard for, and yet with all the calculations and detailing, we are completely vulnerable now as the fate of our design is well beyond our controls, but in the hands of some machines far away from here.
What if it doesn't look good, or if it doesn't fit together? With our knowledge thus far in this area we know that if it works in computer usually it wouldn't be too far off in reality, but then being in this faculty for long enough, we also know that shit happens, very often. This is also some new experience for us, like the first time we used the large format printer or the laser cutter, the process was not gradual; it is input and output, very sudden, almost magical, if it fails the only option is to start from zero. The gap between creation and the creators.
For a few months now I have been asking myself, so how are all these relevant? We have by now tons of explainatary diagrams, photographs, models and process documentation. The book that was compiled is almost unrecognizable. Suddenly without realization we have produced so much work. But for the passersby this would read like some mythical codes only to be appreciated from a distance but never to be understood. What if it does get built, would we then have answered a lot of questions, or posted more? Will we strike some social debate? Will our form even be appreciated and treasured? I just don't know. The excitement and challenge of this way of approach to architecture is that, I guess, the inevitable gap between the architects and the finished product. Yes, We did make it, but like something organic on its own, it grows and manifests its existence in ways that are unpredictable, sometimes beautifully so, sometimes, just unpredictable. Here we have, the gap between perception and reality.
In a way, however, this unpredictability is what we really appreciate about architecture. Photos tell a lot of stories of buildings, but there are always the hidden, the symbolic and the extremely subtle qualities of the materiality itself that can only be appreciated in person. Parametrics, in this way, create a whole new depth to this subtle beauty that previously only existed on a philosophical level. We can't control the unpredictable, but we set up parameters for the materiality, the form, and the mathematical contemplations to interact with each other; they will present themselves as a unique, spectacular object.
Then there is the problem of preservation. It is one thing to preserve physically this fragile model in a well protected box; another to preserve the experiences that we gain from this project, process them, and carry onward. Is it even possible to be carried onwards? What the hell have we really learnt from this? Somewhere along the lines, the repeated precedures of complications and simplifications, somehow prevent us from remembering what it is that we have created? And more importantly, if the project does get realized, what will be preserved in the collective conscious: the form, the urban gesture, the materiality, the colour, or maybe just this big piece of the emptiness in the subconscious map? As our project gets more sophisticated and intricate, the more difficult it is to describe in words, or remember, too. Until the point when we have to call it "that thing". We then again, have to face this gap between the existence and its meanings.
We have a lot of expectations. This is something we have worked so hard for, and yet with all the calculations and detailing, we are completely vulnerable now as the fate of our design is well beyond our controls, but in the hands of some machines far away from here.
What if it doesn't look good, or if it doesn't fit together? With our knowledge thus far in this area we know that if it works in computer usually it wouldn't be too far off in reality, but then being in this faculty for long enough, we also know that shit happens, very often. This is also some new experience for us, like the first time we used the large format printer or the laser cutter, the process was not gradual; it is input and output, very sudden, almost magical, if it fails the only option is to start from zero. The gap between creation and the creators.
For a few months now I have been asking myself, so how are all these relevant? We have by now tons of explainatary diagrams, photographs, models and process documentation. The book that was compiled is almost unrecognizable. Suddenly without realization we have produced so much work. But for the passersby this would read like some mythical codes only to be appreciated from a distance but never to be understood. What if it does get built, would we then have answered a lot of questions, or posted more? Will we strike some social debate? Will our form even be appreciated and treasured? I just don't know. The excitement and challenge of this way of approach to architecture is that, I guess, the inevitable gap between the architects and the finished product. Yes, We did make it, but like something organic on its own, it grows and manifests its existence in ways that are unpredictable, sometimes beautifully so, sometimes, just unpredictable. Here we have, the gap between perception and reality.
In a way, however, this unpredictability is what we really appreciate about architecture. Photos tell a lot of stories of buildings, but there are always the hidden, the symbolic and the extremely subtle qualities of the materiality itself that can only be appreciated in person. Parametrics, in this way, create a whole new depth to this subtle beauty that previously only existed on a philosophical level. We can't control the unpredictable, but we set up parameters for the materiality, the form, and the mathematical contemplations to interact with each other; they will present themselves as a unique, spectacular object.
Then there is the problem of preservation. It is one thing to preserve physically this fragile model in a well protected box; another to preserve the experiences that we gain from this project, process them, and carry onward. Is it even possible to be carried onwards? What the hell have we really learnt from this? Somewhere along the lines, the repeated precedures of complications and simplifications, somehow prevent us from remembering what it is that we have created? And more importantly, if the project does get realized, what will be preserved in the collective conscious: the form, the urban gesture, the materiality, the colour, or maybe just this big piece of the emptiness in the subconscious map? As our project gets more sophisticated and intricate, the more difficult it is to describe in words, or remember, too. Until the point when we have to call it "that thing". We then again, have to face this gap between the existence and its meanings.
the story of tunnel vision
3 o'clock in the morning, 18 degrees, feels like 32.
A few things prevent me from sleeping. this prolonged state of adrenaline rushed life, endless worries and anxieties about the design project, and even worse worries and anxieties about the future. There are so many what ifs and only ifs sparkling in my brain that it just refuses to take in too much of reality. Architecture sounds like so remote a dream now that I really think about it.
To comment on a few things.
The MUJI addiction. As a gaijin, an alien, I expect that if there's a something that's nice, it's supposed to be unique and going to the place itself is already an event on its own, like Paris. But in Tokyo, MUJI is on top of every major train station, and to pick up a few essentials is so convenient that it doesn't present itself as an experience at all. It explains that, on the other hand, the most expensive item in Tokyo is experiences. The sex industry works in a similar way; whereas in any other city "getting it" is the ultimate content of the service, in Tokyo, "not getting it", and how to creatively not getting it, seems to be the drive behind so many bizarre inventions and innovations. Food is similar too, whereas a trip to Tsukiji market five o'clcok in the morning and two hours of waiting in a long line may be considered experience, the actual fresh fish is sold in such a straight forward traditional way that they don't really charge any higher than anywhere else; whereas a pot of extremely terrible instant tea in Akihabara, just because it's served by some young girls dressed in maid costumes, is nearly just as expensive. The ultimate reasoning after all these is certainly the land price, which makes doing the same thing in Ginza much more expensive than doing the same thing in some outer suburb, as Place in Japan is so deeply embedded in the collective consciousness.
Another thing is Panadol. A recent box that I bought was hermeneutically sealed in plastic wrapping. As a drug they must be so proud that they take extra precautions for their customers to make sure the tablets inside are safe, but as a product, for a skeptical Chinese like me it has raised more questions than answered. It is plainly a statement that says don't believe in the convenient stores that sell their tablets, as they may be secretly swapped; and what if it was opened before and re-wrapped by some dodgy underground operations? It is like Ebay sellers call their Gucci bags genuine, makes themselves all the more suspicious.
A third thing that caught my attention recently is an survey of girls in Shibuya.
http://neojaponisme.com/2009/08/11/kyabajo-japan/
Apparently the average income for a 20 something girl who works as a Kyabajo is 6 million yen a year, and one in five girls aged between 15 and 22 wanted to participate in this profession, according to a mobile phone survey in 2007 and 2008. Whereas the social/moral implications were discussed in the article, here's an interesting comparison, 6 million yen, that's about 80 thousand Australian dollars, that is the graduate salary of high end jobs in Melbourne, such as engineers and financial analysts. Given the nature of the income they will be largely untaxed, which means their income more than doubles ours as lowly architecture graduates, and we are only talking about averages here. One may argue that as a characteristic of the trade one only has a limited time in the industry, but on the other hand it has the best exposure to potentially very rich clients and contacts in the most intimate ways, the industry being the best thermometer of the economy, these girls can practically predict the future of the financial market.
A proposal is that a girl can gather together four of her colleagues and start an investment account. Assuming they are active for five years, and pool in 3million yen into the pot each per annum, the fund will have a value of 75 million yen, or 1 million Australian dollars. And if one gathers 100 of such girls, or twenty accounts, we will end up with a 20 million AUD fund. To spread this money over real estate and low risk financial instruments, it's not unreasonable to achieve 20% returns per annum. And remember that we are talking about 20 million in plain cash, not on credit swap papers, the return will be much higher with a higher risk profile.
I have no idea why I am still awake doing these calculations, but here's a serious challenge to the traditional morale: say no to quick cash. It turns out that, in this credit crunched world, quick cash, rather than empty promises on future returns, is a much lower risk way to live. So it seems.
A few things prevent me from sleeping. this prolonged state of adrenaline rushed life, endless worries and anxieties about the design project, and even worse worries and anxieties about the future. There are so many what ifs and only ifs sparkling in my brain that it just refuses to take in too much of reality. Architecture sounds like so remote a dream now that I really think about it.
To comment on a few things.
The MUJI addiction. As a gaijin, an alien, I expect that if there's a something that's nice, it's supposed to be unique and going to the place itself is already an event on its own, like Paris. But in Tokyo, MUJI is on top of every major train station, and to pick up a few essentials is so convenient that it doesn't present itself as an experience at all. It explains that, on the other hand, the most expensive item in Tokyo is experiences. The sex industry works in a similar way; whereas in any other city "getting it" is the ultimate content of the service, in Tokyo, "not getting it", and how to creatively not getting it, seems to be the drive behind so many bizarre inventions and innovations. Food is similar too, whereas a trip to Tsukiji market five o'clcok in the morning and two hours of waiting in a long line may be considered experience, the actual fresh fish is sold in such a straight forward traditional way that they don't really charge any higher than anywhere else; whereas a pot of extremely terrible instant tea in Akihabara, just because it's served by some young girls dressed in maid costumes, is nearly just as expensive. The ultimate reasoning after all these is certainly the land price, which makes doing the same thing in Ginza much more expensive than doing the same thing in some outer suburb, as Place in Japan is so deeply embedded in the collective consciousness.
Another thing is Panadol. A recent box that I bought was hermeneutically sealed in plastic wrapping. As a drug they must be so proud that they take extra precautions for their customers to make sure the tablets inside are safe, but as a product, for a skeptical Chinese like me it has raised more questions than answered. It is plainly a statement that says don't believe in the convenient stores that sell their tablets, as they may be secretly swapped; and what if it was opened before and re-wrapped by some dodgy underground operations? It is like Ebay sellers call their Gucci bags genuine, makes themselves all the more suspicious.
A third thing that caught my attention recently is an survey of girls in Shibuya.
http://neojaponisme.com/2009/08/11/kyabajo-japan/
Apparently the average income for a 20 something girl who works as a Kyabajo is 6 million yen a year, and one in five girls aged between 15 and 22 wanted to participate in this profession, according to a mobile phone survey in 2007 and 2008. Whereas the social/moral implications were discussed in the article, here's an interesting comparison, 6 million yen, that's about 80 thousand Australian dollars, that is the graduate salary of high end jobs in Melbourne, such as engineers and financial analysts. Given the nature of the income they will be largely untaxed, which means their income more than doubles ours as lowly architecture graduates, and we are only talking about averages here. One may argue that as a characteristic of the trade one only has a limited time in the industry, but on the other hand it has the best exposure to potentially very rich clients and contacts in the most intimate ways, the industry being the best thermometer of the economy, these girls can practically predict the future of the financial market.
A proposal is that a girl can gather together four of her colleagues and start an investment account. Assuming they are active for five years, and pool in 3million yen into the pot each per annum, the fund will have a value of 75 million yen, or 1 million Australian dollars. And if one gathers 100 of such girls, or twenty accounts, we will end up with a 20 million AUD fund. To spread this money over real estate and low risk financial instruments, it's not unreasonable to achieve 20% returns per annum. And remember that we are talking about 20 million in plain cash, not on credit swap papers, the return will be much higher with a higher risk profile.
I have no idea why I am still awake doing these calculations, but here's a serious challenge to the traditional morale: say no to quick cash. It turns out that, in this credit crunched world, quick cash, rather than empty promises on future returns, is a much lower risk way to live. So it seems.
Friday, November 6, 2009
F*** REALITY
or how architecture must be completely self indulgent
The Parallax view describes a curious condition when the apparent conditions of the observed object changes due to the varying position of the observer(s). As perfectly as each of the individual observation is conducted, their results differ, not only quantitatively but qualitatively. Zizek may have proposed that to grasp the essence of the object we should not exhaustively embrace all of the views but rather concentrate on the process of shifting, of going from one position to another; but in reality how much a person has to be able to negate his own subjectivity and his own standpoint to pursue the endless task of floating in between, and remain post-critical?
Which comes to the role of the architect. Generations of architects assign a very important role to themselves in that their work should be obliged to reflect, comment, or criticize on the conditions of the society. From something as detailed as the order of Roman columns used in a temple, to as broad as a social and cultural movement such as post modernism, architects want to get a piece of the action. Then somewhere came the generation of architects who deliberately did not offer any response and ride with the flow of capitalism. Or whatever ism. The pragmatic bunch. The rise of such prominent architects in this genre such as Koolhass should not be a problem for the whole profession, for they are but a branch of big tree, until every major job in the world has been taken away, every spotlight stolen, and every publication is written about/by them. Suddenly one opens a magazine of new Tokyo architecture and sees nothing but the same monolith over and over again. Whatever happened to the voices?
The reasoning behind the phenomenon is simple. In the current world there's only one measurement of success, Money. London was described as such an amazing city with endless possibilities, two years ago, when the banks were thriving; and now that the banks have collapsed, the city suddenly comes to be depicted as a city of sin and greed with poor people exploited by the rich bloodless elite. Although London itself is pretty much the same. When all the clients in the world measure themselves with such a standard, architects don't have a choice but to follow. It's more about survial instinct.
But Money, when you really think about it, is but a derivative expression of supply and demand, which, now we know, may not even have anything to do with the real supply and demand, let alone other more intricate and complicated measurements in our societies and cultures. That is why, unfortunately, the traditional architect couldn't fit in. Forever he is looking through his eyes at this big Real that is so mythical and unattainable, but opens the window only to face a world which looks at reality from a much more superficial and simpler viewpoint. There is your impossible parallax gap.
One day, however, the modern architect decides to give up the self struggle and frustration, walks out of the ivory tower and submits himself to the rules of the Money game. A losing match is immediately guaranteed. As a purely mathematical function of supply and demand, the building industry simply does not need architects. We are possibly the only party involved in the construction process that do not contribute anything material to the pool; builders have their physical strength, client has land and capital, developer has basically everything, and even engineers have their concrete measurements that make sure the building does not collapse; but we, the architects, come up with form, that most of the time only contribute to higher costs. Our criticism and aesthetics have been abandoned by ourselves, and our expertise, as so highly we valued it, is being replaced by computers and repeatable templates.
So how should architects wake up each morning and view themselves in the mirror?
Somewhere along the five years of education in this university, among the endless existentialist conversations and postapocalyptal imaginations of our own futures, it suddenly occurs to me the beauty and power of architecture, at this age, is no longer the final product of the creative process, but rather the process from which the final product is born. In any other faculty, no groups of young people in their 20s will be awake 2 o'clock in the morning constantly discussing the juxtaposition between urbanity and modernity, society and history, computer graphics and presentation. Whereas the product of architecture can never stir the same social response as much as the Pyramid, the Forbidden City, or even the stupid CCTV tower once did, this process is on the other hand something much more than a mere degree: a completely developed and developing vocabulary, a consistent history and aesthetics, an endless pursuit of novelty, endless self creation of problems and solutions to them through self-justified logic....architecture for us, like JRR Tolkien and JK Rowling, Google and Facebook, has become a parallel reality. The only way to survive and prosper, i.e. Pragmatic, whatever that means, is to engage passionately in this parallel reality with the courage to make no compromises.
My thesis project, the Parallax Tower, building on this firm belief of mine, is hence a complete set of bullshit. I reject the idea of the site, I don't really care about the brief, I am not bothered to put a single human in the presentation and I don't even know most of the numbers in my building. I'm sure they are all about right, but beyond that I just don't really care. I'll in all good faith accept criticism on these grounds. But on the other hand, it's a self justified set of bullshit. It's a world with endless references that I create and I absolutely love it. The only way to convince me that it's rubbish this way is to build it in reality and show me the undeniable facts.
There's no room for compromise. I'm not dwelling on some proud utopian dreams of a soon to be graduate; I'm talking about survival, as the second I give up my own parallel world all that I have is 12 A1 sheets of lines and colour blocks that are never going to be realized or remembered; and in reality, the moment the architect drops his own world, he immediately becomes a business man, usually an unsuccessful one, who doesn't even have a say in anything. There is no shortage of such business men in other parts of the society.
So what about money? Where on earth can a self indulgent architect who engages in his own world get clients and projects? Who would even listen to him? Of course there is no guarantee, and by the sound of it there seems to be much more risks, but it was the same situation for the two self indulgent computer geeks who wanted to download the whole internet onto their hard drive and catalogue it, which became Google. Who says architects can't create fashion, fine food, inter continental logistics modules, or financial investment strategies that actually work, and still, remain faithful to what they indulge in, this parallel universe of theirs? What's the point of calling oneself an architect, on the other hand, if all that one works on is building?
Coming back to the Parallax view, and Zizek's point that to understand and achieve something meaningful, to capture some qualities of the Real, one must be able to shift between the various parallax Views and experience the empty gap. My understanding of this shifting process will never achieve his Heideggerian depths but I consider it be a deliberate, artificial creation of something out of one's world, impossible to the Darwinian logic, but something that does not quite belong to another world either (a self justified circle). Due to its inherent fragility it can be easily negated and denied (e.g. you hate it), but in its brief moment of existence, it creates a unique sense of placelessness (in my case, the over crowded inferno) that gives us an insight into the impossibility of its fairy-tale quality; and from this negated impossibility (the inevitable fallacy of my tower), one is able to contemplate on its Other, i.e. the It. (negation of negation). To view one's own reflection, we use not bones and skin in the image of ourselves but rather something metallic with a smooth surface; sorry for the clumsy metaphor.
At the end I have been talking about my design method without really talking about it. But I think the point is made. As kids we like things that are unreal: marry-go-around, see saw, slides, monkey bars, and sand castle. Don't you just wonder what architecture can be more stupid and pointless, yet more radical and unique, than a ladder that directly leads to a slide, or a circular steel plate that transport you to exactly the same spot over and over again? But it's all about the existentialist process, isn't it?
m.
The Parallax view describes a curious condition when the apparent conditions of the observed object changes due to the varying position of the observer(s). As perfectly as each of the individual observation is conducted, their results differ, not only quantitatively but qualitatively. Zizek may have proposed that to grasp the essence of the object we should not exhaustively embrace all of the views but rather concentrate on the process of shifting, of going from one position to another; but in reality how much a person has to be able to negate his own subjectivity and his own standpoint to pursue the endless task of floating in between, and remain post-critical?
Which comes to the role of the architect. Generations of architects assign a very important role to themselves in that their work should be obliged to reflect, comment, or criticize on the conditions of the society. From something as detailed as the order of Roman columns used in a temple, to as broad as a social and cultural movement such as post modernism, architects want to get a piece of the action. Then somewhere came the generation of architects who deliberately did not offer any response and ride with the flow of capitalism. Or whatever ism. The pragmatic bunch. The rise of such prominent architects in this genre such as Koolhass should not be a problem for the whole profession, for they are but a branch of big tree, until every major job in the world has been taken away, every spotlight stolen, and every publication is written about/by them. Suddenly one opens a magazine of new Tokyo architecture and sees nothing but the same monolith over and over again. Whatever happened to the voices?
The reasoning behind the phenomenon is simple. In the current world there's only one measurement of success, Money. London was described as such an amazing city with endless possibilities, two years ago, when the banks were thriving; and now that the banks have collapsed, the city suddenly comes to be depicted as a city of sin and greed with poor people exploited by the rich bloodless elite. Although London itself is pretty much the same. When all the clients in the world measure themselves with such a standard, architects don't have a choice but to follow. It's more about survial instinct.
But Money, when you really think about it, is but a derivative expression of supply and demand, which, now we know, may not even have anything to do with the real supply and demand, let alone other more intricate and complicated measurements in our societies and cultures. That is why, unfortunately, the traditional architect couldn't fit in. Forever he is looking through his eyes at this big Real that is so mythical and unattainable, but opens the window only to face a world which looks at reality from a much more superficial and simpler viewpoint. There is your impossible parallax gap.
One day, however, the modern architect decides to give up the self struggle and frustration, walks out of the ivory tower and submits himself to the rules of the Money game. A losing match is immediately guaranteed. As a purely mathematical function of supply and demand, the building industry simply does not need architects. We are possibly the only party involved in the construction process that do not contribute anything material to the pool; builders have their physical strength, client has land and capital, developer has basically everything, and even engineers have their concrete measurements that make sure the building does not collapse; but we, the architects, come up with form, that most of the time only contribute to higher costs. Our criticism and aesthetics have been abandoned by ourselves, and our expertise, as so highly we valued it, is being replaced by computers and repeatable templates.
So how should architects wake up each morning and view themselves in the mirror?
Somewhere along the five years of education in this university, among the endless existentialist conversations and postapocalyptal imaginations of our own futures, it suddenly occurs to me the beauty and power of architecture, at this age, is no longer the final product of the creative process, but rather the process from which the final product is born. In any other faculty, no groups of young people in their 20s will be awake 2 o'clock in the morning constantly discussing the juxtaposition between urbanity and modernity, society and history, computer graphics and presentation. Whereas the product of architecture can never stir the same social response as much as the Pyramid, the Forbidden City, or even the stupid CCTV tower once did, this process is on the other hand something much more than a mere degree: a completely developed and developing vocabulary, a consistent history and aesthetics, an endless pursuit of novelty, endless self creation of problems and solutions to them through self-justified logic....architecture for us, like JRR Tolkien and JK Rowling, Google and Facebook, has become a parallel reality. The only way to survive and prosper, i.e. Pragmatic, whatever that means, is to engage passionately in this parallel reality with the courage to make no compromises.
My thesis project, the Parallax Tower, building on this firm belief of mine, is hence a complete set of bullshit. I reject the idea of the site, I don't really care about the brief, I am not bothered to put a single human in the presentation and I don't even know most of the numbers in my building. I'm sure they are all about right, but beyond that I just don't really care. I'll in all good faith accept criticism on these grounds. But on the other hand, it's a self justified set of bullshit. It's a world with endless references that I create and I absolutely love it. The only way to convince me that it's rubbish this way is to build it in reality and show me the undeniable facts.
There's no room for compromise. I'm not dwelling on some proud utopian dreams of a soon to be graduate; I'm talking about survival, as the second I give up my own parallel world all that I have is 12 A1 sheets of lines and colour blocks that are never going to be realized or remembered; and in reality, the moment the architect drops his own world, he immediately becomes a business man, usually an unsuccessful one, who doesn't even have a say in anything. There is no shortage of such business men in other parts of the society.
So what about money? Where on earth can a self indulgent architect who engages in his own world get clients and projects? Who would even listen to him? Of course there is no guarantee, and by the sound of it there seems to be much more risks, but it was the same situation for the two self indulgent computer geeks who wanted to download the whole internet onto their hard drive and catalogue it, which became Google. Who says architects can't create fashion, fine food, inter continental logistics modules, or financial investment strategies that actually work, and still, remain faithful to what they indulge in, this parallel universe of theirs? What's the point of calling oneself an architect, on the other hand, if all that one works on is building?
Coming back to the Parallax view, and Zizek's point that to understand and achieve something meaningful, to capture some qualities of the Real, one must be able to shift between the various parallax Views and experience the empty gap. My understanding of this shifting process will never achieve his Heideggerian depths but I consider it be a deliberate, artificial creation of something out of one's world, impossible to the Darwinian logic, but something that does not quite belong to another world either (a self justified circle). Due to its inherent fragility it can be easily negated and denied (e.g. you hate it), but in its brief moment of existence, it creates a unique sense of placelessness (in my case, the over crowded inferno) that gives us an insight into the impossibility of its fairy-tale quality; and from this negated impossibility (the inevitable fallacy of my tower), one is able to contemplate on its Other, i.e. the It. (negation of negation). To view one's own reflection, we use not bones and skin in the image of ourselves but rather something metallic with a smooth surface; sorry for the clumsy metaphor.
At the end I have been talking about my design method without really talking about it. But I think the point is made. As kids we like things that are unreal: marry-go-around, see saw, slides, monkey bars, and sand castle. Don't you just wonder what architecture can be more stupid and pointless, yet more radical and unique, than a ladder that directly leads to a slide, or a circular steel plate that transport you to exactly the same spot over and over again? But it's all about the existentialist process, isn't it?
m.
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