The text presented here is not precisely as published by OUP, but modifications are minor. Illustrations are another matter. Where images used in the original book were not my copyright, I have in most cases been able to substitute links to sources on the web. See Image Acknowledgements.
Note. When this text was submitted as part of a PhD thesis in 1996, the Notes were greatly extended. As the reader may prefer to ignore them, they have been collected into separate web pages. They are a mixture of: simple page references; additional examples or quotations to justify generalisations; and some afterthoughts. As there are so many, the existence of a Note is indicated discreetly in the text below in the form [7.x]. (These are not links.) [Notes to Chapter 7.]
Introduction.
From an engineer's point of view there is a particular attraction in the idea that beauty may be almost guaranteed when the form of an object is particularly well adapted to a rigidly defined set of objectives and constraints. However, as Edward de Zurko (1957) has pointed out, the labels of 'functionalism' and 'fitness for purpose' have been linked with a vast range of characteristics from mechanical efficiency, logic, originality, and biological form, to order, morality, personal fulfilment, and symbolism. [7.1] It is appropriate to review such interpretations briefly before discussing what relationship there might be between the fitness of an object for its function and its degree of beauty or its worth. This review suggests that much of the hostility directed at functionalism is aimed at interpretations which an engineer would have no wish to defend, and that debate about 'functionalism' in aesthetics and design philosophy is often rendered pointless because the participants are discussing completely different things.
The basic concepts of functionalism can be identified throughout the long history of philosophy. A glance at its pedigree will clarify many of the modern interpretations and demonstrate that it was not, as some suppose, invented in the twentieth century by engineers and modernists wishing to overturn an old-established 'natural order' of architecture. A word of caution is necessary regarding such a brief study of the history of ideas. The gradual drift in the meanings of words makes a precise interpretation of texts impossible, and a reasonably faithful one can be obtained only through a thorough immersion in the works of the author and of contemporary culture. It must also be remembered that many of the quotations represent the more 'functionalist' statements of philosophers whose general outlook would not place them in this camp.
Whilst the history of aesthetics charts some progress over the centuries towards a clearer definition of terms, it is a confusing record of highly divergent opinions in which the world's greatest philosophers frequently contradict one another. The pragmatist might feel that such a study is futile, but it does provide us with a clear idea of where our loyalties lie and of how our views differ from those of others.
Not all formulations of functionalism to be considered here are concerned with whether the functional is necessarily the beautiful. The majority are concerned with whether utility rather than appearance should be the guiding principle in design. They thus come under the heading of design philosophy or architectural theory, rather than that of aesthetics (as it is currently understood) and it will be necessary in the following treatment to avoid straying too far into this vast field.
The summary offered below depends heavily on de Zurko (1957), Ligo (1984), Collins (1965), and Handler (1970). The engineer's point of view will be left to a later section where it will be examined in the light of the initial survey.
Functionalist ideals in the history of philosophy and architectural theory.
Aesthetics prior to the seventeenth century.
In classical times, the study of beauty was concerned more with the 'goodness' or worth of objects than with their visual qualities. We have already seen [Chap. 1] how Socrates compared the respective beauties of a dung basket and a golden shield. He also saw beauty in the fact that a house provides a pleasant retreat and a safe storage for the owner's possessions (from Xenophon's "Memorabilia"). Aristotle recognized a form of beauty which is visible only to the eye of reason because it can see beyond superficial effects into the functional and 'structural' basis of forms. [7.2] When Vitruvius formulated the essentials of architecture as "convenience, strength and delight" he gave due weight to functional considerations and his text shows a healthy interest in the practicalities of building. In a longer and much less often quoted list he includes economy, and suggests that the architect should not demand "things which cannot be found or made ready without great expense". [7.3]
In the early Christian era, St Augustine maintained that aesthetic pleasure is produced by "agreement between an object and the whole of man's nature: mind and body" and that "the aesthetic object must be delightful not to the senses only but to the mind through the senses." (Chapman 1939). His moralism is evident in his belief that beauty is produced by the union of truth and goodness. He saw the aesthetic experience as a form of love, and wrote: "to love with a love that conforms to order is good, and by this fact it is also beautiful, for whatever is in order is beautiful". [7.4]
In the middle ages, St Thomas Aquinas maintained that "if a work is to be judged good it must conform to the end peculiar to it". Some of his statements would appeal to a functionalist rather than a classicist. He observed that "the rules must grow out of the thing itself" and that "the artist has every time a fresh and utterly unique way of conforming to the end, and so regulating the matter" because the aim and purpose of each work of art is unique. As a result, he maintained, its form will always be somewhat novel and unpredictable.
The school surrounding Aquinas held that integrity was an important constituent of beauty. De Zurko explains that an object was considered to have integrity if it lacked no essential parts, functions, or elements. The concept of 'proportion', also described as 'harmony', was not related to the geometrical rules we have met in Chapters 3 and 4, but to the aim of the work. Another constituent, splendour or clarity, was described as the "shining forth of the form of a thing such that it is presented to the mind with all the fullness and richness of its perfection and order". [7.5]
Renaissance to Baroque.
During the Renaissance and Baroque periods, architectural treatises, although based on Vitruvius, paid little attention to function. [7.6] This does not mean that function was entirely neglected in practice, but it was not a major subject for theoretical consideration. The first important architectural treatise of the period, written by Alberti, did however contain some functionalist ideas. He maintained that architecture should be "of the greatest convenience to mankind in all respects", and that "a building which has no other quality than that it be functional will be a delight to look upon." However, being "a delight to look upon" is not quite the same thing as being beautiful. In his preface, Alberti wrote how he had studied the principles of design of many different types of buildings and had identified what sort of beauty was proper to each type of building. He thus subscribed to the concept of relative beauty. [7.7]
From the time of the Renaissance, when architectural design was carried out by people who were also painters and sculptors, formalist and technical objectives co-exist in a complex relationship, though the latter are normally seen as subservient to the former. [7.8]
Aesthetics in Britain from 1700 to 1850.
Surveying the period in Britain from 1700 to 1850, de Zurko calls it a period of moralism, rationalism, and naturalism, including amongst its major themes the development of the concept of associationism; an admiration of perfection and order; and a strong faith in the beauty of nature. In influential circles, the ancient view was current that beauty of form is related, but inferior to, moral beauty. The cultivation of a taste for the arts was seen as a preparation for moral development. After 1700 a new interest emerged in novelty and surprise as a component of the aesthetic experience. [7.9]
Francis Hutcheson's treatise "An Enquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue" (1725) introduced the concept of taste into his version of absolute or "original beauty". His definition of relative or comparative beauty included both the beauty of proportion and the beauty of elegance in the design of mechanisms.
"Every one has a certain pleasure in feeling any design well executed by curious mechanism, even when his own advantage is in no way concerned." [7.10]
He recognized the paradox that it is possible to derive this pleasure even when the exact functioning and purpose of mechanisms are not immediately evident. He also admired the elegance of "many useful or beautiful effects flowing from one general cause". This is, of course, the source of an engineer's appreciation of an optimum solution to the conflicting demands of a complex problem.
In his "Analysis of beauty" (1753), Hogarth identified "fitness" for purpose as a major component of beauty and, importantly, recognized familiarity as a valid part of the aesthetic experience. He noted that, even if an object does not strike us as beautiful at first sight, we may begin to see it as beautiful as we become accustomed to it. He considered fitness to be the origin of good proportion and noted that the "dimensions of every part" of a ship are "confined and regulated by fitness for sailing". He accepted the concept of beauty in action and in the achievement of high-performance design objectives.
He also subscribed to the organic analogy of functionalism, identifying the beauty of "nature's machines" as the beauty of perfect fitness for certain ends. Here he also identified different types of beauty, contrasting the proportions of the race horse with those of the war horse. He saw these as related to the fitness of the individual parts of the body for their purpose, and to their interrelationship to each other and to the whole, noting that the parts of one type of horse could not be interchanged for those of the other without destroying the beauty of the whole! [7.11]
Adam Smith in 1759 recognized as a valid part of the aesthetic experience our appreciation of the designer's skill in achieving an elegant solution.
"The spectator enters by sympathy into the sentiments of the master and necessarily views the object under the same agreeable aspect which the master experienced in the process of creation; we thus find added pleasure in discovering the intent or purpose of the creator." [7.12]
Smith considered that "the appearance of utility bestows beauty on all productions of art …" but he saw this as a particular species of beauty.
The increasing interest in honesty in building is illustrated by Loudon's "Encyclopedia of cottage, farm and villa architecture" (1833) in which he stated that "every building should appear to be what it is, and every part of a building ought to indicate externally its particular use". [7.13]
Romanticism, mechanics, and biology.
The late eighteenth century saw the introduction of the picturesque as an aesthetic category distinct from the sublime and the beautiful. [7.14] In architecture it was characterized by the type of farm house whose form had evolved over the years through addition and modification, determined by the needs of its occupants, the nature of local materials, skills, and climatic conditions, and by the local topography. One author noted that irregularity was visually attractive and was often the best way of accommodating different sizes and shapes of room. [7.15] Peter Collins remarks that
"Utility and picturesqueness thus in great measure coincided, to such an extent that for the next century it proved impossible to distinguish between the two." [7.16]
Another contemporary pointed out that by insisting that windows face the best view it was possible to inspire architects to invent novel forms and layouts. [7.17] The idea that characteristics such as irregularity and novelty were good represented a challenge to classical principles of order and formal planning. [7.18] Part of the classicist's opposition to functionalism is thus due to an overflow of antagonism directed to the picturesque and the romantic.
During this period the disciplines of engineering and architecture were starting to follow separate paths, and the corresponding tension between functionalism and formalism was evident in the ideals of the French architect Claude-Nicolas Ledoux. On the one hand, he admired the mécanicien and his machines, suspension bridges, dams, and domes, and advised architects to understand the principles of mechanics. On the other he pleaded for simplicity in architecture and a return to essentials, represented by pure and "expressive" geometrical forms. [7.19]
In the early nineteenth century architects, especially in France, considered that a good plan automatically produced a good elevation. There was room for consideration of function in their definition of what was a 'good' plan. Later, however, the Académie des Beaux Arts was to develop its preoccupation with the plan drawing as a thing of beauty in itself, a position that was to be fiercely condemned by the modernists. [7.20]
In the early nineteenth century, the philosopher Friedrich Weinbrenner held that beauty lies in perfect concord of form with purpose. However he distinguished between perfection and beauty, maintaining that certain objects can only attain the former, and that any beauty they possess is fortuitous. Weinbrenner subscribed to the moralistic view that it takes a noble and lofty purpose to make a useful object beautiful in the highest sense of the word, and this should be a public rather than a private or selfish purpose. He tackled the problem of 'truth to materials' maintaining that the proportions used in timber construction should not be the same as those for masonry or iron, because our knowledge of its true strength is offended. (This was necessary because the classical orders would prescribe the same proportions regardless of material.) However, he recognized that our annoyance disappears once a column is painted and we can no longer recognize the material. [7.21]
Towards the middle of the nineteenth century, the record shifts away from the philosophy of aesthetics towards the theory of architecture. The majority of quotations in the literature now come from those who practised or theorized about architecture. Support for functionalist positions may be found in the writings of many who are remembered mainly as revivalists. These include Pugin and Ruskin, and the neo-classicist Schinkel. [7.22] There was a definite trend in interest away from formalist concepts of beauty, and it was generally accepted that "the most powerful emotions were due not to beauty but to the sublime and the picturesque".
The American sculptor Horatio Greenough is often thought of as the first modern functionalist. He is considered to have inspired the architect Louis Sullivan, renowned for his dictum "form follows function". [7.23] Writing in the middle of the century, Greenough advocated the scientific arrangement of spaces and forms to suit functions and site. He condemned the practice of choosing a prescribed form for the sake of visual effect, association, or fashion, and of expecting function to fit within it. He admired the beauty of perfected mechanisms, and anticipated Le Corbusier in writing that buildings "may be called machines". He recognized that beauty of function may exist even in tools of destruction, but suggested that the word "character" should be used for this quality. He also admired the "organic" design of the engineers (or "mechanics") of the United States. He considered adaptation to be the fundamental law of nature, and felt this should govern architecture and the arts, noting that in nature there is no model of form, and no arbitrary law of proportion.
Greenough demanded the "majesty of the essential instead of the trappings of pretension", noting that simplicity in design is often achieved only by great effort. He argues that qualities such as grace, grandeur, and majesty are to be achieved not directly, but by paying attention to function. He anticipated Adolf Loos in equating excessive ornament with the adornment of the savage, writing that "we turn from him in horror and gaze with joy on the naked Apollo". Thus, as is often the case with architects, Greenough managed to combine his functionalism with an admiration for the architecture and art of the ancient Greeks. He maintained that the statues surrounding Greek temples had a "function" in lifting the worshippers out of everyday life, and preparing them for the deity within. [7.24]
Ideas such as these were nevertheless in sharp contrast to the prevailing opinion that the styles of former eras, whether classical or Gothic, could not be bettered, and that architects should concentrate on applying them to the new demands of the nineteenth century. Those architects who did not subscribe to this viewpoint demanded a new type of architecture, and some began to look to the work of the engineer as a source of alternative notions. James Fergusson wrote
"Of those arts which in this country have been cultivated on the most common sense principles, and consequently which have been essentially most progressive, there is none more remarkable than that of Civil Engineering." [7.25]
Others proposed that the basis of a "living architecture" would be "our ordinary or vernacular architecture". A challenge was made to the "pernicious" Italian Renaissance idea that architecture was one of the three arts of design, along with painting and sculpture. [7.26] Such changes in thinking played a large part in preparing the way for the modern movement. It would, however, be wrong to imagine that the drive for a new architecture and a new aesthetic was dominant during this period. The work of engineers was by no means universally admired. [7.27]
A contemporary approach to architecture which has much bearing on functionalism and might easily be confused with it, is that of rationalism. It was particularly important in France during the latter half of the eighteenth century and throughout most of the nineteenth. Certain elements were reminiscent of functionalism. There was an interest in rational planning and in load-bearing structure, the merit of Gothic construction being clearly recognized. However there was a strong interest in the "elemental" or "fundamental" in architecture, which showed itself in a preoccupation with "ideal" forms such as the sphere, cylinder, and cube. This interest extended to the classical prototype buildings. Utility often came second to the objective of an "ideally" symmetric plan-form. One of the rationalists' aims was to reconcile contemporary architecture with science and industry, but they saw this as a preliminary to the more elevated task of accomplishing "the alliance of architecture and sentiment". [7.28]
The Chicago School.
The 'Chicago School' which flourished in the last half of the nineteenth century occupies a central place in the history of functionalism. Louis Sullivan's dictum continues to be a focus for supporters and opponents alike. The factors governing the design of city buildings were very similar to those which apply today, even though the transition was in progress from load-bearing masonry wall construction to the steel-framed building in which masonry serves as infill and fire-protection. Developers demanded the optimum marketable space per unit cost of construction. However, they also desired a marketable architectural 'image' and thus architectural ideas still played a large part in design. To our eyes the buildings look 'functional' only in comparison to what went before. Most of the architects involved had spent some time at the Ecole des Beaux Arts. They considered ornament an integral part of architecture, and this tended to have the oriental flavour which was then fashionable. The round-arched Rundbogenstil, based on romanesque architecture, influenced many of the new 'skyscrapers'. The early buildings of Sullivan employed heavy vertical and horizontal strips of ornamented masonry or terra-cotta and, in the classical tradition, had a 'base', 'shaft', and 'top' [see Chapter 3, Section on 'Movement and Rhythm in Buildings'].
Thus the ideals of the Chicago School, which were later to be quoted in support of modernist concepts of functionalism, must be seen in the wider perspective of its general approach to architecture. Its major impact on design was due to the attention devoted to functional planning of interior spaces, and to practical matters such as acoustics and ventilation. Progress was made in taking advantage of, and revealing, the nature of the structural system. Mullions came to be more clearly distinguished from columns. The wide 'Chicago window' was developed and spreader beams were introduced to open up the ground floor facade. Gradually, the amount of ornament was reduced, and certain architects developed a leaner style, which is a precursor of the work of Mies. [7.29]
In pursuit of ugliness and beauty.
An intriguing phenomenon occurred towards the end of the nineteenth century which seems to have affected subsequent attitudes towards functionalism. This was the development of an interest in ugliness and deformity in art and architecture (Fig. 1.2). It was in keeping with the new concept of realism in literature embodied in the works of writers such as Zola and has been attributed to a desire on the part of artists to break free from the stranglehold of middle-class 'good taste'. Naturally it evoked a strong reaction from traditionalists and classicists who equated it with barbarism and saw it as evidence of a "dread of beauty" and a desire to shock. These are charges which are now laid by classicists against functionalists and modernists. [7.30]
Peter Collins sees this phase as having provided an important opportunity for architects to experiment with the rejection of traditional aesthetic criteria, and as having been necessary for the acceptance of the new abstract forms produced in the 1920s by the modernists. He compares this movement with that of the Brutalists of the 1950s, seeing them as inspired by a similar "romantic aesthetic craving". [7.31]
In total contrast was the development of theories of formal analysis and appreciation of art by Wölfflin, Schmarsow, and von Hildebrand between 1886 and 1908. [7.32] Their ideas form the basis for treatments such as that given in Chapters 3 and 4, and may be seen as an attempt to grasp the secret of what was conventionally recognized as beauty. Paul Zucker (1951) comments that although for these theorists psychological and physiological reactions provoked by an art work were the decisive factor.
"The least important part of Schmarsow's theory, namely the influence of purpose and function on form, was the one accepted by architects at the beginning of the century. However, the architects were satisfied if the purpose was functionally expressed in the layout and from there transferred to the facade." [7.33]
From this dichotomy was to spring much of the confusion about functionalism which occurred in the modern movement.
Functionalism in the modern movement.
Overview.
Three major phases can be discerned in the history of 'functionalism' in twentieth-century architecture. In the first decade or so, despite the competing influence of the Art Nouveau movement, remnants of classic and Gothic rationalism lingered, influencing even the 'factory aesthetic' of the Germans, as can be seen in buildings such as the AEG Turbine Hall (Fig. 7.1). During this time there was, however, a genuine interest in non-architectural structures such as railway signal gantries, especially within the Deutscher Werkbund. This was an organization founded in Germany in 1907 to improve the quality of industrial design by bringing together designers, craftsmen, and industrialists. [7.34]
Fig. 7.1. Classicist influence on the utilitarian. AEG turbine works, Berlin. 1909. (Archt: Peter Behrens.) Photo. [See also: archINFORM.]
This early, more convincing, functionalism was soon overshadowed by a curious fascination with 'the machine' which was perceived to have mystical qualities, and yet express the 'cold rationality' of its designer. The most extreme advocates of this viewpoint were the Futurists. Perhaps affected by the role of the machine in modern warfare, they and others injected a note of callousness into architectural theory. The expressionist architect Bruno Taut asserted that "an artist needs to be cold in our century - as cold as steel and glass". [7.35]
During the 1920s theoretical texts continued to move towards a strict functionalism, advocating that form should be chosen to satisfy clearly stated functions without prior concern for appearance. However, in practice, the everyday considerations of building science were often badly catered for. The better modernist architects gave careful thought to the planning of space, but adopted a style which produced elegant and smooth white boxes with flat roofs, strip windows, and cantilevers. This could be justified as a demonstration of the structural potentialities of modern materials. Sometimes, railings and other details reminiscent of ships were employed to provide an overall impression of mechanical efficiency.
Despite the hollowness of this approach, many people were convinced by the accompanying propaganda, and modernist architecture acquired a reputation for functionalism which was quite inappropriate. Thus when many of the modernist buildings failed to function on the technical as well as the social plane, much of the blame was, ironically, placed on 'functionalism'.
After the Second World War, efforts to provide mass housing included schemes for prefabricated or industrialized building, or for provision for adaptability in buildings. As usual these ideas attracted the attention of architects who used them as an inspiration for distinctly un-functional fantasies. The period saw a range of built and unbuilt projects with a technological bias, from the relative practicalities of the CLASP system of school building (Fig. 7.2), through the relatively symbolic functionalism of Brutalism, to the adventures of the Metabolists (Fig. 7.3) and the science-fiction visions of the Archigram Group (Fig. 6.3). [7.36] All were liable to be labelled 'functionalist' by one critic or another.
Fig. 7.2. Industrialization of architecture. The CLASP building system. 1957. Consortium of Local Authorities, UK.
Fig. 7.3. A study in building for change. Takara Beautilion, Expo '70, Osaka, Japan. (Archt: Kisho Kurokawa.) [Photo: Kisho Kurokawa..]
A similar range of approaches exists amongst designers currently grouped by critics under the label of 'High-Tech'. [7.37] Some search earnestly for functional efficiency, albeit inspired by a sense of vision of the future and a concern for 'design' in the 'industrial design' sense. Others are at least equally inspired by the fascinating visual impact of the High-Tech style.
From rationalism to the Werkbund.
Six decades before the design of the Pompidou Centre, the Viennese architect Otto Wagner used exposed heating and plumbing pipes in the corridors of the Vienna Postal Savings Bank. Although his exteriors were highly decorated, he declared that "nothing that is not practical can be beautiful". [7.38] Adolf Loos, also based in Vienna, admired the work of engineers, and considered that form should be governed at least partly by technical considerations.
"Each material has its own form and no material can employ the forms of another material … The individual human being is not able to create a form, neither is the architect."
The deterministic nature of the final statement was anathema to the romantic, who believed in the total freedom of the artist, and to the classicist, who believed that the architect should be autonomous within the code of classical tradition. However, his views on ornament did not prevent him from giving a special place to the concept of art in the traditional sense, and his concern was to keep it pure. [7.39]
The founder of the Werkbund, Hermann Muthesius, wrote in 1913 that "a good deal of engineering structures, bridges, station halls, lighthouses, and grain silos, are good aesthetically". [7.40] Walter Gropius, also a member and now recognized as one of the founding fathers of modernist architecture, wrote:
"The grain silos of Canada and South America, the coal bunkers of the leading railroads and the newest work halls of the North American industrial trusts, can bear comparison, in their overwhelming monumental power, with the buildings of ancient Egypt." [7.41]
The 1920s: art and the romanticized machine.
After World War One the artistic inclinations of the leading modernist architects began to dominate their theoretical commitment to functionalism. To an engineer their approach seems ambivalent but, for many present-day critics, the 1920s were the heyday of architectural functionalism. The stream of supposedly functionalist rhetoric continued. Ornament was still proscribed. Admiration for the machine was still expressed. Gino Severini, an ex-Futurist declared:
"The construction of a machine is analogous to the construction of a work of art … we may conclude that the effect produced on the spectator by the machine is analogous to that produced by the work of art." [7.42]
For a while absolutely everything had to be described as a machine for doing something. A book became "a machine for reading", or "a machine to think with". A painting was "a machine for moving us", and a house was a "machine for living in". [7.43]
At the same time, more conventional artistic ideals influenced the leading personalities in the movement. The dichotomy is well illustrated in the contemporary writings of two of the major figures of the modern movement: Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe.
As Reyner Banham has noted [7.44] Le Corbusier's seminal work, "Vers une architecture" (1923), contains two themes. One is mechanistic and deals with "the aesthetic of the engineer": liners, aircraft, automobiles, and mass production. The other is artistic and deals with matters more appropriate to the Académie: surface, volume, mass, plan, and tracés regulateurs. The two themes are connected to some extent because the academic principles are illustrated by photographs of silos and factories, and the classic Greek temple (represented by the Parthenon and the Propylaea) is described as a machine for arousing emotions.
Le Corbusier wrote that the works of engineers "can bring those of us who have something of the poet in us to the very extreme of enthusiasm and emotion". This is because engineers design
"not in pursuit of an architectural idea, but simply guided by the results of calculation derived from the principles that govern our universe, and the conception of a living organism. The engineers of today make use of primary elements, and by co-ordinating them in accordance with the rules, provoke in us architectural emotions and thus make the work of man ring in unison with the universal order."
The plurality of his views is evident even in this paragraph, as he shows a very un-functional interest in biology, primary forms, emotions, and philosophy. There is romanticism in his perception of machinery.
"If we forget for a moment that a steamship is a machine for transport … we are facing an important manifestation of temerity, of discipline, of harmony, of beauty that is calm, vital and strong."
It pervades his concept of art in architecture.
"Architecture goes beyond utilitarian needs. You build houses and palaces. That is construction. Ingenuity is at work. But suddenly you touch my heart, you do me good, I am happy and I say "this is beautiful". That is architecture. Art enters in."
While he condemned the Beaux-Arts practice of treating the plan as a work of art in itself, his fundamental classicism is evident when he commends the "lesson of Rome, pure creation of the mind". There is formalism in his statement that one thing remains constant through all change in architectural history: the influence of forms, lines, and colours. "Past, present and future, it is plainly the reactions of the same man to the same agents of stimulation". Thus, in some of his statements, Corbusier seems to approach a strict functionalist position, but in general he reveals himself as a true artist. [7.45]
The writings of Mies van der Rohe show a similar capacity to combine an intense interest in technology with an artist's sensibility. In 1923 he wrote
"The office building is a house of work … of organization, of clarity, of economy. Bright, wide, workrooms, easy to oversee, undivided except as the undertaking is divided. The maximum effect with the minimum of expenditure of means. The materials are concrete, iron, glass."
He was fascinated with structure.
"Skyscrapers reveal their bold structural pattern during construction … When the outer walls are put in place, the structural system which is the basis of all artistic design is hidden in a chaos of meaningless and trivial forms."
He also showed a streak of determinism, declaring that the glass cladding, which was now feasible, "imposes new solutions".
"Greek temples, Roman basilicas, and medieval cathedrals are significant to us as the creations of a whole epoch, rather than the works of individual architects … They are pure expressions of their time. Their true meaning is that they are symbols of their epoch. Architecture is the will of the epoch translated into space. If we discard all romantic conceptions, we can recognise [these buildings] all as bold engineering achievements … Our utilitarian buildings can become worthy of the name of architecture only if they truly interpret their time by their perfect functional expression."
He also made strong attacks on traditional ideas, and those arising from the recent theorizing of Heinrich Wölfflin and other analysts and historians of art.
"We refuse to recognize problems of form: we recognize only problems of building. Form is not the aim of our work, only the result. Form by itself does not exist. Form as an aim is formalism, and that we reject."
The "problems of building" he defined as "structure", "planning", and "industrialization". It can be seen why classicists and other formalists were concerned. Nevertheless, the artist in Mies regulated his actual output, and continued to do so after the war.
In 1950 Mies wrote that technology reveals its true nature "only where it is left to itself, as in gigantic structures of engineering".
"Whenever technology reaches its real fulfilment, it transcends into architecture. It is true that architecture depends on facts but its real field of activity is in the realm of significance." [7.46]
A major theme which was shared by engineers and architects about this time was the idea of the objet-type. The term has been translated into English as "form-type", "norm", or "standard". The idea is that if form is closely linked to function, and if function is tightly specified, then all designers must arrive at almost identical, perfectly adapted forms for identical tasks. [7.47]
Even in the development of this seemingly purely technical concept artistic movements were involved. The purist movement in art claimed the idea as its own, and Banham and Collins share the view that art rather than engineering was the driving force behind the concept. [7.48] Peter Collins equates the concept to the "classical notion of standardization",
"a notion (so often and so paradoxically rejected by those architects who have always sought primarily to create dramatically original works of art) which implies that once a perfect planning solution has been found, there is good reason to repeat its dispositions with minor variations and improvements in every situation where it is required. For as Pierre Patte himself remarked [in 1782]: "it may be objected that theatres will henceforth have only one form, and that it will then be necessary, as in Antiquity, for all theatres to look alike; but why not?"." [7.49]
Paradox and tension.
The dual aspects of theorizing continued after the World War Two, drawing especially on rationalist, functionalist, and biological ideas of earlier times. On the one hand there was a genuine excitement regarding the perceived characteristics of the 'machine age'. On the other was the continuing artistic tradition, with its origin in the Renaissance, which strongly influenced the training and outlook of architects. The drive for simplicity and elegance in design would seem laudable to an engineer, especially when, as Collins puts it, purity was conceived mainly in terms of economy of effort. However, this principle was realized almost exclusively in artistic terms.
"In architecture, surfaces were left completely unmodulated … structural features [caution!] were plastered over … tiled roofs and cornices disappeared, interiors were reduced to blank walls hung with a few paintings. The whole of architecture was given an aseptic appearance." [7.50]
Thus, "purity" in design was connected with Corbusier's definition of "pure art" as "a concentrated thing free from all utilitarian motives". Pure form had nothing to do with function and little to do with structure. [7.51] J.J.P. Oud's reason for preferring concrete to masonry construction was that the brick and its supporting timber or 'iron' members were
"generally too heterogeneous to lead to satisfactory solutions … if it is not plastered over, then neither a strict clear line in the brickwork, nor a pure homogeneous plane is established … Against this, reinforced concrete offers a homogeneous coherence of supporting and supported parts … and the possibility of co-ordinating pure planes and masses." [7.52]
What emerged has been described as 'white architecture' (Fig. 4.22), characterized by plain white box-like forms, with a 'streamlined' appearance incorporating the favoured strip windows, curtain walls, slender columns, long spans and cantilevers, and handrailing reminiscent of ships. The style was not successful from a functional point of view. As Robin Boyd (1965) remarked, the flat roof leaked, and the brick walls which had been plastered and painted white to resemble a machined surface, cracked and peeled. [7.53]
Reyner Banham states that a watershed now divided
"the pre-war Futurist attitude to machinery as the agent of private, romantic, anti-Classical disorder, from the post-war "Machine Aesthetic" that saw the machine as the agent of collective discipline and an order that drew nearer and nearer to the canons of Classical aesthetics." [7.54]
Commentators opposed to the modern movement now argue that its propagandists distorted current events and rewrote history in order to give the impression that the present and the future of architecture belonged rightly to modernism. [7.55] Accusations of insincerity seem unjust. Much of the difficulty for present-day critics is due to differing perceptions of the nature of functionalism, and much is caused by the fact that genuinely functional buildings have rarely been considered worthy of mention in the architectural literature. However, there is no doubt that the propagandists were carried away by their enthusiasm.
A number of reasons have been advanced for the force with which they pressed their claims and the apparently simplistic nature of their theories. In the 1930s, the ideals of the modern movement were under attack from political elements, as well as from the 'aesthetic establishment' in Germany, Russia, and Italy. Banham suggests that apologists for the movement made a conscious decision to fight on a narrow front, choosing functionalism as their keynote because it was politically neutral. It has also been suggested that architects were keen to place their theory 'on a firm foundation' for commercial reasons. (Practising architects sometimes admit that they use the language of theorists only when they need to impress clients and convince them to accept a design arrived at by intuition.) Of course, a few architects were genuine absolutists and, given the chance, would have designed truly functional buildings, without regard for formal considerations. [7.56]
The general acceptance of modernist architecture by wealthy clients, large business organizations, and government in the 1950s, led to a reaction towards the end of the sixties. Architects and clients, and especially the general public, became bored with the artistic constraints imposed by a minimalist style. This reaction was reinforced by the failings of contemporary buildings in the technical and sociological spheres. [7.57]
Architects began to seek means of breaking away from the tenets of the modern movement. Most still felt obliged to remain faithful to the basic principles, but worked within a wider definition of functionalism. Articulation of volumes, as employed in the Bauhaus buildings (Fig. 5.4) came to be seen as functional in itself. Lift shafts, stair towers, and exhaust stacks were emphasized to enliven the overall form and "break the box". Providing complexity of surface and volume was another option. [7.58] John Johansen likened the planning of his Clark University Library to an electronic circuit layout and a critic described it as looking like "the back of a washing machine". [7.59] The fact that structure was now concealed behind the curtain wall led to a renewed interest in expressing it despite the wall, on the grounds that this was somehow 'functional'. Artistically contrived forms of sun-shading were similarly justified. [7.60]
The shift in perception was given further stimulus by the publication of Venturi's appeal for "Complexity and contradiction in architecture" (1966). Following the wide acceptance of this text, the artistic and ideological bases of architectural design could once again be openly admitted.
Unselfconscious functionalism and its interpreters.
Throughout the century, engineers continued to produce large numbers of genuinely functional utilitarian structures such as dams, bridges, mine head-frames, oil rigs, transmission lines, and gantries. In these structures there is little or none of the need for the provision and enclosure of voids which dominates habitable structures. In this sense, the requirements of function are less intrusive on the structural and visual plane, and the forms are more strongly sculptural. J.M Richards is one architect who has recognized this. Eric de Maré's photographs preserve many individual examples, although the structures have been selected, and the photographs composed, with artistic sensibility. [7.61]
Most commentators on architecture and aesthetics have ignored these examples of design. Although bridges are the subject of many popular books, the details of their aesthetics have been left mainly to interested engineers. It is true that such structures do not have the sanction of the art establishment as aesthetic objects, but the only thing which distinguishes them in this way is the lack of an artistic intention on the part of their designer. [Note 2003: this situation has changed greatly since the time of writing, with architects taking the lead in many design competitions for prominent bridges.]
Occasionally an individual engineer is singled out for praise by the architectural critics. One such was Owen Williams, whose Boots Pharmaceutical Factory appears in many texts. Others include Maillart, Torroja, Nervi, and Calatrava. [7.62] It is interesting to speculate why certain engineers should be picked out in this way. It obviously helps to have a coherent philosophy of design, forcefully and simply expressed, with a flair (and a perhaps a need) for publicity. It is an advantage if the philosophy contains a strong mystical element, a measure of symbolism, or a utopian vision. This is perhaps why Buckminster Fuller has received much more attention in architectural than in engineering circles.
The case of Maillart illustrates some of these principles. Although he could be described as a functionalist in that his structures were sufficiently economical to win tender competitions and were designed with great understanding of structural mechanics, they show a concern for elegance of form, and what David Billington has described as a "passion for thinness". [7.63] Thus, as with many such designers, his vision (or his obsession) was of great importance in dictating the nature of his structures and guaranteeing critical acclaim.
Other designers who have attracted critical attention have been preoccupied with the industrialization of building. [7.64] Prominent amongst the systems developed after the Second World War are two originally intended for mass school-building and later applied to other needs: the CLASP system in Britain (Fig. 7.2), and the SCSD system in the USA. There was also a drive to produce mass housing in precast concrete. [7.65] It would be wrong to say that formal considerations were ignored in these projects because few traditionally trained architects are capable of thinking in a non-formal manner. However, formal rules were certainly given a lower priority than is normally the case.
The attempt to develop radically new systems in a single step proved in many cases to have been too ambitious. Major faults were revealed as buildings were subjected to use, weather, and the passage of time. These have given the concept of system-building, and with it functionalism, a bad name, and provided formalists with a weapon in debate which they have not hesitated to use. [7.66] The problem was, of course, that the designers applied too little functionalism, rather than too much.
A number of architects have won the attention of the critics and the journals with more individual attempts to employ standardized components. In Britain, these include Cedric Price whose Potteries Thinkbelt has already been mentioned as an attempt to break out of conventional modes of thinking in semantic stereotypes, and whose Camden Town Community Centre (Fig. 7.4) explored the idea of using readily available components to construct a facility which could be altered easily to adapt to changing needs. [7.67] The components used included standard lightweight trusses and shipping container boxes which served as rooms. There is certainly little evidence of formal composition in this design.
Fig. 7.4. Adaptable architecture of ready-to-hand mass-produced components. Community Centre for Interaction Trust, London. 1977. (Archt: Cedric Price.) [Image not yet found online.]
The theme of adaptability as a chief functional requirement has been developed in various ways by architects of critical renown. The Metabolists in Japan and the Archigram Group in Britain 'celebrated' adaptability in an extravagant fashion (Figs 7.3 and 6.3). Such exercises have won the acclaim of critics and been accepted as a component of their definition of functionalism, but from the engineer's point of view the expense or impracticability of many of these projects is inconsistent with true functionalism. [7.68]
In projects which vary only a little from current practice, designers can claim, like Fuller, that they are building a prototype to show the way, and that if manufacturers would only recognize its potential, they could tool up and the components would be produced economically. [7.69] Kisho Kurokawa's 'Capsule Hotel' (Fig. 7.5) proves that people are able to accept mass-produced, intensely designed dwelling units. Kurokawa attempted to provide for flexibility by mounting such units in clusters attached to a central mast in his Nakagin Capsule Tower, but in his later Sony tower they are enclosed more within a cut-away envelope (Fig. 7.6). [7.70]
Fig. 7.5. A new concept in living space. Rooms at the Nakagin Capsule Tower, Tokyo, Japan. 1972. (Archt: Kisho Kurokawa.) [Photo: Kurokawa.] (Scroll down to find room interior.)
Fig. 7.6. An eroded volume achieved by the figurative unwrapping of a partially suggested envelope. Sony Tower, Osaka. 1976. (Archt: Kisho Kurokawa.) [Photo: Kurokawa.]
The mass production techniques which were seen by post-war pioneers as an integral part of functional building have triumphed in a quite different way from that envisaged. The technologically unsophisticated 'portable classroom' and the 'mobile home' or caravan provide service for many people. [7.71] Once again, the existence of these forms is recognized in few texts because they do not come within the conventional definition of 'architecture'. (Jencks and Chaitkin (1982) is a notable exception).
The definition of functionalism has been further complicated by the emergence of several other movements and styles having a high degree of artistic 'expression' of function. Brutalism advocated an 'as found' or at least an 'as fabricated' finish for materials, within a decidedly formalist approach. As Charles Jencks put it "Brutalism tries to face up to a mass-production society and drag a rough poetry out of the confused and powerful forces which are at work". [7.72]
Also classed as Brutalist was the early work of James Stirling (Fig. 5.1) which adopted architectural forms and standard components considered to be symbolic of industry. Risebero commented of his Engineering Faculty Building at Leicester University (1960-3) that its harsh, industrial materials were expressive of its function. [7.73] Others see 'function' of some sort expressed in the saw-tooth glazing of the drawing offices, the elevated water tank, and the now traditional wedge of the lecture theatre. [7.74]
Impressive examples of 'expression' of function exist in Japan (Fig. 7.7) and in British 'High-Tech' in the work of architects such as Norman Foster, Richard Rogers, Terry Farrell, and Michael Hopkins (Figs 4.5 and 7.8). All have a firm commitment to 'high technology'; to the celebration of structure and process; and, in many of their buildings, to adaptability. Considerable recognition has been given to the engineers involved in these developments such as Ted Happold, Peter Rice, and Anthony Hunt. [7.75] Documentation of the work of these architects and engineers is extensive and continuing. In what is recognized by the critics as High-Tech architecture, there is the same range of approaches as we have seen in earlier periods. At one end of the spectrum there is a pragmatic approach to the use of existing products. Next comes an earnest commitment to the pioneering of efficient new techniques and forms, using modern high-quality computer-aided methods of design, stress analysis, and manufacture, and exploiting modern materials technology. At the other end of the spectrum, there remains a purely artistic interest in striking form and in the artistic expression of function and of the spirit of the 'computer age'. Naturally, many designers combine elements of all three approaches.
Fig. 7.7. Ark Nishina Dental Clinic, Kyoto, Japan. 1983. Its machine-aesthetic styling overrides the visual chaos of its utilitarian surroundings. (Archt: Shin Takamatsu.) [Photo: Shin Takamatsu & Assocs. In the "English" version, select "Project" then "Commercial". Hover over the + signs to find "ark" and click. Use the small buttons to view photos of Ark. The second is the one I used in the book.
Fig. 7.8. The High-Tech aesthetic in steel lattice, masts, cables and membranes. Schlumberger Research Centre, Cambridge, England. 1986. (Archt: Michael Hopkins. Engrs: Ove Arup and Ptnrs.) [Photo: Galinsky.]
Acknowledgements. Linked images, Chapter 7.
archINFORM. Link.
Galinsky. Link.
Kisho Kurokawa & Co. Link.
Shin Takamatsu and Associates. Link.
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