Note, 2003: The title of this chapter is as written in 1984 when I was still willing to be convinced that 'his' applied to both genders.
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 coloured images on the web.
When this text was submitted as part of a PhD thesis in 1996, the Notes were greatly extended. Most readers may prefer to ignore them. They have been collected at the end of each chapter, with internal links leading to them and back to the text. They are a mixture of: simple page references; additional examples or quotations to justify generalisations; and some afterthoughts.
Introduction.
The three topics, history, philosophy and aesthetics will be reviewed very briefly in subsequent chapters. First, however, it is appropriate to look briefly in this chapter at just what an architect does, how he sees himself and his work and how others see him. The following chapter will deal with the major differences of outlook and approach between architects and engineers.
There is of course no such thing as a 'typical architect'. Some are sober conformists whose interest in life is in providing the client with the maximum of functional efficiency and physical comfort for least cost. Others think that once the client has appointed an architect he has no further rights whatsoever to interfere with the work of the 'artist' and should merrily foot the bill for (and live with) whatever turns up. These types have been classified as 'systems boys' and 'art boys' (Arup, 1966, p.355).
The majority, fortunately, lie between these extremes, trying to practice what has been called "the most complex of arts"; one in which human reaction and sensibility must be considered alongside practical details of physical needs and all within the bounds of numerous scientific disciplines including, of course, the theory of structures. (Scott 1924, p.2 of 1961 reprint.)
The architect's roles.
The majority of architects in the western world work as partners or employees in small private firms which provide a consultancy service. The role of the architect is thus most easily illustrated by sketching the progress of a consultant through the design of a small project for which he is the principal.
His first task is normally to discuss the client's needs and resources and inform him of the options open to him. This stage is necessary because the client often has only a vague idea of the sort of building he wants, and even if his ideas are firm, his concept may not be by any means an optimum design.
If the project is a public building such as a school, hospital or community housing, the architect may also consult the people who will actually be using the building and as we saw in Chapter 5 study their interaction and the flow of people and materials through their current buildings. If the project is a domestic house the architect may try to find out about the client's tastes and his life-style. Some architects have actually moved in and lived with their client's family for a period of months in order to do this.
As this period of research progresses the architect begins to form ideas about the nature of the building that would best suit his client. Depending on the individual, the process will be coloured to a greater or lesser extent by the architect's desire to express his own philosophies and to establish his reputation as a designer. This last is not simply a matter of conceit, because without a reputation he will not receive the commissions he needs to maintain his livelihood.
Even if the architect is concerned solely with the best interests of the client an ethical problem arises if the latter holds strong views which conflict with those of the architect. Is the architect the servant of the client? Should he follow directions against his will, or should he try to force the client to accept what he, as an expert, thinks he knows is best? Usually the architect accepts a compromise, going some way to meet his client's desires but at the same time trying to 'educate' him to accept professional advice. [Note 1.] A practical-minded architect may save his client a great deal of money at this stage, while one with artistic inclinations may persuade him to expand his budget. There is room for debate about the ethics of 'educating' the client in this manner, particularly with regard to questions of planning and aesthetics, but this applies to all professions and will not be considered here.
As a result of these discussions, the architect will begin to conceive an arrangement of space, a choice of materials, and an aesthetic scheme which cater as far as possible for the desires and needs of the client within the available budget. At this stage he will produce preliminary drawings showing the major features of his scheme.
If the project is anything more than a small dwelling the architect will have to enlist at some stage in these proceedings the help of structural, mechanical and electrical engineers. An accountant and quantity surveyor may be required to help work out the estimates and the financial feasibility of alternative schemes. To some extent the Architect must now take the part of 'client' to his engineering consultants. To a lesser or greater degree the advice of his consultants will cause him to modify his original concept.
By the time the basic form of the building, its structure and its services has been determined, the architect should have considered an enormous range of factors from functional planning, psychological impact, aesthetics and relationship to the environment, through to lighting, insulation, and structure.
He must then approach government authorities for planning permission. This will require compliance with zoning regulations, and in some countries approval of the aesthetics of the building and its relationship to its neighbours. The local authority will also be concerned with such things as the location of the building on its block of land, and with room dimensions, window sizes, drainage and sewerage.
If prospects for approval look hopeful all parties will commence preparation of detailed drawings of those aspects of the building for which they are responsible. This requires close liaison because for instance, the architect may detail the finish to stair treads and the design and fixing of the handrail on a staircase for which the structural concrete and reinforcement is being detailed by the engineer.
Once approval is obtained the architect must with the aid of the specialist consultants call tenders for construction and advise the client on acceptance of the most suitable one. Again with the aid of the specialists he must then supervize the actual work to ensure compliance with the drawings and specifications and authorizes progress payments to the builder as the work progresses.
The architect thus has a great deal more to do than concern himself with aesthetics and the layout of rooms. It is easy to fall into the trap of assuming that 'architecture' is synonymous with 'aesthetics' and to forget that practical administration and building construction should be a part of any competent architect's repertoire. [Note 2.]
The experience of architectural work.
Introduction.
Accounts of what it feels like to work as an architect are as rare as their equivalents in the field of engineering but provide a valuable insight into the experience. One of the most striking impressions is of the arduous nature of independent architectural practice caused partly by the struggle for survival in an over-supplied market, but also by a striving for excellence in their own terms. Arup (1959) considered that the architect's role is harder than that of the engineer because he has to divide his personality over more contradictory fields, switching from exercising his artistic imagination to drafting contract documents and supervizing construction.
Like engineers, architects see theirs as a grossly underpaid and overworked profession, and feel that they do not receive the recognition due to them from society. They seek their real reward in the conviction that they are reaching high standards in the performance of a worthwhile task, in the satisfaction of serving the community, and in their fascination with the process and products of design. Many speak of the euphoria that goes with finding the 'right' solution to a design problem.
There is considerable disillusionment for young architects when they leave university, particularly if they work for a large firm where they are likely to find themselves assigned full-time to mundane tasks such as detailing stair treads while the principals carry out the conceptual design. [Note 3.]
Like engineers, architects who remain with large firms find that their career paths lead towards executive duties by the age of about thirty-five, so that drawing and design must be left behind if they want to 'progress'.
The experience of architectural design.
Most accounts of the nature of the design process in architecture tend to be highly systematized and the process appears as a series of well-defined consecutive stages. [Note 4.] They give no real impression of the muddled and overlapping phases of design as it is experienced in practice (Chapter 13). There are, however, a few descriptions which attempt to capture the essential nature of the process. [Note 5.]
Boyd's description of the experience is particularly good and is worth quoting at some length. He begins by stating that often the client sincerely wishes the architect to produce a fine example of his art. The latter has first, however
"a puzzle to be solved, a practical matter, a useful shelter of some specific kind to be made as efficiently as possible. The puzzle is familiar, yet different with every new project that comes to the architect. The kind of shelter required may be quite new to him, and even if it is in a field with which he is familiar the relevant regulations and the budget and the available materials and the personalities involved may all be different this time …" (1965, 7-8.)
Boyd draws the analogy of a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces lying in a jumble, "some face down", and representing the design considerations mentioned in the previous chapter.
The architect's objective is now:
"to combine all the factors into a whole: one artistic form built so spontaneously and convincingly that it might appear to belong to some natural or intellectual pattern of creation." (1965, p.7)
The architect knows that somehow, subconsciously his mind will shift the pieces, and will throw up a "guide picture" in which the pieces interlock inevitably. Once it has been conceived, this stays with him "through the hopeful hours of preparation of sketch plans, through the early bold scribbles and the last satisfying details of planning." (1965, p.8)
Finally he is able to produce perspective drawings or a model and the puzzle may be considered "solved". (1965, p.8)
Turnbull in Shellenbarger (c.1979) confirms the importance of the 'guide picture' in producing the "productive energy" necessary for the ensuing routine work.
"The secret is knowing what to do, and that's a really super day when you walk away and say yes, I know what the answer should be. That's a terrific day when you find it. Sometimes it carries for six months." (p.158.)
After this come weeks or months of labour on detailed working drawings and specifications. Lionel Todd, a partner in the firm which took over the Sydney Opera House commission after Utzon, describes the task of fitting out the interior.
"Often we advanced our drawings to approximately 95% working-drawing stage and let our consultants work off accurate spaces and dimensions. Only after workshop drawings were prepared by the major sub- contractors (air-conditioning, electrical, special electrical and fire protection) could we confidently instruct work to commence. To carry out this drill, co-ordinate all the services and receive the green light from the structural engineers involved 16 stages of checking and proving. Any calamity in any one of these could lead to a complete re-design." [Note 6.]
Then comes the "prodigious routine" of supervising building to the plans. Most architects, wrote Boyd, reach even this stage with their confidence complete.
"Occasionally doubts crowd in … when pieces refuse to fit together, though usually these difficulties can be dispelled by modifications to the central idea … But sometime after this … the architect will tell himself, or a friend or critic will tell him, that his guide vision was not the only possible one after all, and was not even the best possible one. There were other solutions to the problem which would have been just as practical but perhaps less stylized, or more relaxed, or more imaginative, or more realistic, or less romantic, or less pretentious. Was he right in selecting the image he did?" (1965, p.8-9)
The architect's task is thus, like the engineer's, '5 per cent inspiration and 95 per cent perspiration', but he is left at the end of it much more open to criticism and self-doubt.
The architect's approach to design.
How does the architect set about the creative stage when he is trying to get the pieces of the puzzle to fall into position? What is he trying to achieve? What factors does he consider most important in his initial visualization of form?
There are two major sources of answers to these questions: accounts of the work of major architects written by people who have worked with them or who have researched their designs post facto; and accounts given by architects themselves either in the form of books or recorded interviews. [Note 7.] It is natural to assume that the latter would be the more reliable, but there is a school of thought that an artist or designer is less able to analyze the workings of his own mind than an independent observer.
To an engineer, the major impression gained from these accounts is of a strange mixture of pragmatism and romance, of logic and emotion. To Wright a cube was a noble form, so his Unity Temple had to be a cube. But then it had also to house 400 people at low cost, so it had to be made of unfaced concrete for cheapness. In keeping with the current architectural ideal, the fact that flat roofs were more expensive than pitched roofs and present greater problems with waterproofing was ignored. [Note 8.]
The following extract from Cook and Klotz (1973, p.202) illustrates how Louis Kahn arrived at his basic concept for the plan of a projected Congress Hall in Venice, by going to a blackboard and drawing a circle, then cutting off the top and bottom of it by a pair of parallel lines. [Note 9.]
Fig. 7.1.
(a) Kahn's basic concept: "participation within a narrow site".
(b) [modified for internet] The author's highly schematic account of how, in plan, the seating arrangements reflect the initial concept. The plan is symmetrical about both axes. There are large foyers at each end.
"I don't know how one identifies the first idea, but for me it is usually the sense of the building in its core, its full meaning, its nature, not its shape. Its nature was that of involvement, of participation. A simple shape which only emphasizes a direction doesn't have the nature of participation in it. It is, on the contrary, analogous to watching or hearing, not participation. The circle, to me, was participation. The fact that I could adjust to a site which was narrow has to require that one side looked to the other. But the shape could not be adjusted to that narrow site in such a way that it becomes purely directional, because there would be no participation."
Note that if practical matters such as sight-lines and acoustics were considered at this stage, Kahn did not feel the need to mention them in his account.
It may take more than these brief glimpses to convince the reader that real buildings are actually conceived in this way, but there is a mass of evidence in the literature.
Of course not all architects approach their work in this romantic fashion. Many adopt a largely pragmatic approach. The philosophy of Welton Beckett, head of a large and successful firm in the U.S., is described by Hunt (1972, p.3). To paraphrase Hunt:
Welton Beckett knew where he was going at a time when most architects were searching for a philosophy. He made a lot of money producing architecture which was, perhaps, not the sort that many young people looking for 'relevance' or 'commitment' might appreciate. It was derided as "Businessman's Architecture" but it was saleable to clients at a profit, valid and worthy, and ordinary people liked it.
The results, amply illustrated in Hunt's book, are very different from the products of the more celebrated individual architects.
Thus Boyd sees the architect faced with a real dilemma as he enters the initial creative phase. Should he
"do the best possible with the scientific or rational approach, knowing it can take him a long way but never to the end - or should he scrap science and rely on intuition, springing on ahead to any place his imagination will lead him?" (1965, p.162)
Granted the complexity of their task and the difficulty of tackling it, it is small wonder that many leading architects have written 'manifestos' setting out a simplistic guiding philosophy which can be seized upon by the less secure. The most well-known of these is probably Corbusier's 'Vers une Architecture' (1923). These tracts provide a further insight into the approach of the architect and they will be discussed briefly under the heading of 'philosophy' in Chapters 10 and 11.
Images of the profession.
If one wishes to work well with another person it is useful to know how he sees himself and his role in relation to the common purpose. Richards (1974) and McLaughlin (1962) provide straightforward accounts of the architect and his profession for those considering a career in the field. Presumably these represent the image that the average career architect would like to project to the public.
One of the more romantic descriptions of the architect and his work is given by Fry (1969). He describes the creative act as a "sort of falling in love" (p.38) and sees the final stage of design as
"a re-descent into the world in which the architect is in his workshop with his assistants about him, the centre of a great coming and going of technicians, experts, engineers and estimators." (p.44)
The re-descent obviously gives cause for regret and Fry wishes that the more mundane tasks were not a part of architecture. In his workshop the architect finds himself
"directing with exactitude a hierarchy of technicians … It would be better if such exactitude could be dispensed with …" (p.50)
The architect also has an educational role to play:
"The engineer who tells me that I must have eight air changes in a certain room knows little of the struggle to preserve a humanised interior, and must either go away with a flea in his ear or widen his horizons; and for lack of this humanising contact with architects … structural engineering in this country [the UK] became mechanical and stupid." (p.50)
To most engineers these pronouncements would sound arrogant and irresponsible. Fry is however an architect who was nurtured in the 'Heroic' age of the 'Modern Movement' in architecture prior to World War 2. In recent times there has been a great deal of soul-searching in reaction to what is seen as the failure of the Modern Movement to live up to early expectations and a related failure of the profession to earn the respect of the general public. At the other end of the spectrum therefore come comments such as these by Ivan Chermayeff, a partner in a successful New York practice:
"It's too bad that architects are commonly so egocentric as to actually believe, despite evidence to the contrary, that they are best qualified to make architecture. The best of them have all died, the second-best prove limited points, the third-best do the obsolete and unnecessary superbly, the fourth drop out into academia and discuss the irresponsibility of those who stay in, and the balance just make a living or try to, wisely ignored, along with their more intelligent and talented colleagues, by 80 per cent of those really responsible for building and developing." [Note 10.]
Although this statement is obviously made tongue-in-cheek, many practising architects admit that routine design, specification writing and contract administration are their weakest points.
We have already seen that many consider themselves overworked, underpaid and unappreciated.
Such contrasting attitudes as Fry's and Chermayeff's demonstrate something of the schizophrenia which characterizes the profession's view of its role in the world. The reason for this state of mind seems to lie in the fact that most architects embark on their training with an artistic or idealistic outlook, which the schools do nothing to temper.
Allsopp (1974) states that
"In the hot-house atmosphere of a school of architecture, or in the committee rooms of a professional institute, it is only too easy to be infected with the belief that architects control the social climate in which they work. One is prone to take the biographies of the masters of modern architecture at their face value and see the architect as a god-like being … the architect is conscious of his superior nature and his mission to mould the environment for the good of mankind. In the hard world of commercial practice this vision quickly fades … but the architects, and their assistants, have learned a way of design which tends to stay with them for the rest of their lives …" (p.15)
However, the hard world of commercial practice does take its toll on the artists and idealists.
Boyd estimates that
"of all who enter architecture schools only two or three in each generation will achieve distinction; only one in a hundred will reach eminence in his home town; only one in twenty-five will become a private practitioner with any reputation. Of the few fortunate ones, most are kept busy with a hundred routine jobs other then designing. Only an hour or two per week is spent by the average practitioner in designing even a detail." (1965, p.37.)
Those who become resigned to this situation
"make no pretence of wishing to create anything other than a commercially satisfactory shelter using appropriate empirical structural methods with a sensible application of the latest manufactured components; standard windows, doors, facing panels and so on, all selected with moderate imagination and care in regard to their neatness of appearance as well as their practicability." (1965, p.20.)
In Boyd's view, one of the major reasons for this is that the aspiring artist-architect needs a patron with a great deal of money. (1965, p.39.) Whereas a painter can throw away his first sketches without great financial loss, an architect must achieve a fair degree of competence with his first attempt or he is unlikely to get another chance. Even if he does obtain a first commission, he is likely to be "led by bread-and-butter reasons to such stern concentration on the practical business" that he has "no time or talent left for communication of any visual ideas". (1965, p.20.)
Nevertheless, a great many architects still cling to their vision or at least see it as an ideal towards which they should continually strive. This produces collective schizophrenia of the profession, with some of its members yearning for the role of god-architect, others angrily rejecting it, and most torn between the dream and the reality.
The average engineer is thus likely to encounter an average architect whose attitude lies somewhere between the extremes of resignation and inspiration and many indeed alternate between the two.
Of course the engineer will himself have suffered something of the same sort of disillusionment on leaving university, but he would have been perhaps less idealistic in the first place, would have suffered a more humbling experience in grappling with a course in which his lecturers are most of the time demonstrably right and he demonstrably wrong and incompetent, and entered a profession in which the 'cult of the individual' is the exception rather than the rule.
While Boyd declared himself concerned that the profession still retains the autocratic image of the old "frock-coated gentleman"; the lone artist in a world full of specialists, where crafts have been replaced by modern technology. Even he could not fully relinquish the ideal:
"One man only must be in final control if the building is to work physically, not to say artistically. So the architect tries still to understand all and finally to shape all, just as great-grandfather did." (1965, p.27.)
This insistence on leadership of the design team is one point on which the profession is virtually unanimous [Note 11] and there are many engineers who sympathise with this view. According to Arup:
"the design which does justice to the three-fold disciplines of art, building and commodity can only be done by a team. And the question we must then ask is: How can a team produce art? The architect would say: by putting me in charge. This insistence on leadership by the architect is more than a lust for power, or job-greediness. It is the natural point of view of an artist." (1966, p.357.)
To sum up, it might be predicted that the more successful an architect has been in the commercial sense of the word, the more likely he is to want to take the opportunity to express his artistry and the more difficult it will be for the engineer to understand him. The more depressed members of the profession; those who are resigned to concentrate on minutiae; will appear to the engineer to be sensible and dependable.
Given the ferocity with which architects point out the shortcomings of their own kind it might be thought hardly necessary for others to join in. However, sociologists and anthropologists criticize them for an alleged lack of concern for the real needs of the human beings who must use their buildings. [Note 12.]
The assumption underlying this criticism is that a building should first and foremost satisfy the physical and social requirements of its users and that it is only secondarily a work of art. This functional rationale is common to most engineers and will therefore be considered in the next Chapter on relations between the architect and the engineer.
The reader may feel at this stage that not enough space has been given to those architects who think that the profession does perform its task competently. However, until it recently became necessary to defend the Modern Movement, people have not felt the need to write specifically on this topic. Their views are presented, like Fry's, as a straightforward exposition of the practice and significance of architecture and this attitude will be reflected in Chapters 10 and 11.
One very complimentary study of architects was that carried out by the psychologist MacKinnon (1962). His investigation was intended to discover the personality traits of 'creative' people. MacKinnon chose to study architects because he felt architecture was an obviously creative profession.
The 'creative' architects to be studied were recommended by a panel of five professors of architecture. Second opinions were obtained from editors of architectural journals and from within the group of architects themselves. This procedure may be criticized on various counts, but the chosen group would obviously represent the image held up to the average architect by the architecture schools and the journals as the pinnacle of achievement.
Sixty-three of these recommended architects were invited to attend Berkeley for a weekend of assessment by a team of psychologists. The latter built up the following composite picture of the characteristics of the creative architect who:
- enjoys aesthetic impressions, is aesthetically reactive
- has high aspiration for self
- values his own independence and autonomy
- is productive; gets things done
- appears to have a high degree of intellectual capacity
- genuinely values intellectual and cognitive matters
- is concerned with his own adequacy as a person
- is a genuinely dependable and responsible person
- has a wide range of interests
- behaves in an ethically consistent manner
- has social poise and presence
- enjoys sensual experience
- is critical, sceptical
- appears straightforward, forthright, and candid in his dealings with others
- is a talkative individual.
The creative architects were seen as confident in social situations, but having no special need to be sociable; intelligent, outspoken, sharpwitted, demanding, aggressive and self-centred; persuasive and verbally fluent, self assured, and uninhibited in expressing their worries and complaints.
The control group of architects of average ability also showed up very well on the tests. Their personality profile was considered a remarkably favourable one. Vernon (1970) notes:
"The high points are on … 'the drive to achieve in an independent fashion' (rather than a conformist one), "capacity for status" and "interest in and responsiveness to the inner needs, motives and experiences of others". The general impression "is of men who are good citizens, responsible, productive, sensitive and effective"." (Vernon 1970, p.308, quoting MacKinnon 1962).
In general, MacKinnon noted that "one who studies a successfully practising architect will soon be impressed by his juggler-like ability to combine, reconcile and exercize the diverse skills of businessman, lawyer, artist, engineer and advertising man, to say nothing of author-journalist, psychiatrist, educator and psychologist". [Note 13.]
As might be expected, architects themselves soon attacked this glowing account. Broadbent casts aspersions on the accuracy and significance of psychological tests and agreed with Abercrombie's description of the profile as "sugar and spice and all things nice". [Note 14.]
However, the viewpoint of the psychologists represents a human assessment of the architects regardless of the validity of the psychological concepts and tests. The researchers were obviously very impressed with their subjects and if this influenced their measurements the general impression is no less real.
[Contents.] [References.]
[Previous Chapter.] [Next Chapter.]
Notes.
Note 1. Expressions of this desire were found in Fry (1969), 28-9, and in Allsopp,B. 'Educating the client' in Mikellides,B. (1980), pp.41-43. This concept is common to most professions including engineering and law. Interesting commentaries on the architect-client relationship were found in Architectural Review Jan. 1977, p.16 (Lord Oliver) and Construction Moderne (41), March 1985, p.20 (Michel Herbert). [Return.]
Note 2. Much of the criticism of the Montreal Olympic Stadiums came from architects who considered them 'bad architecture' because their dramatic form did not compensate for their practical faults. Lists of the factors which the ideal architect should consider were found in Broadbent (1973) Chapters 8 and 9, Isaac (1971), p.63, and Hamlin (1952). The daily routine of the architect was found described in the RIBA Handbook (1973), Rossman (1972), Willis and George (1974), and Turner (1974). [Return.]
Note 3. See e.g. Boyd (1965, pp.37-8), Wade (1977), p.8 and Foxhall (1975), Chap. 3. [Return.]
Note 4. RIBA Handbook (1973), Rossman (1972), Willis and George (1974). [Return.]
Note 5. Boyd (1965, Part 1 pp.7-40), Foxhall (1975), pp. 39-41, Gibberd (1968), Rossman (1975), and Fry (1969), p. 38 et seq.
Boyd's is a three-stage description: "The initial step is to set down a program. This means studying and analysing the brief supplied by the client. It means also investigating and understanding the background to the problem, and all the requirements, including the unrealized ones, of the people for whom one is building; that is, adding to the puzzle extra pieces, extra problems which the architect believes must be solved in order to produce the best building.
The next step is to scrabble and examine all the puzzle pieces and to draw from them a single unequivocal vision, a form-thought which appears to answer all problems; to conceive a solution in the broadest terms that will guide the design from this point on.
The final step in the design process is the interlocking of the puzzle pieces in accordance with the guide vision; the application of technique - in the drafting room, in the administrative office, on the building site - to develop the motivating vision throughout the structure, the finishes and details of a complete building." [Return.]
Note 6. Newsletter published by Hall, Todd and Littlemore, architects for Stage Three, Sydney Opera House. Progress at the Opera House: the end in sight Sydney, Sept. 1972. [Return.]
Note 7. Broadbent (1973, Chapters 2 and 20) categorises the styles of arriving at a solution under the headings 'pragmatic', 'iconic', 'analogic', and 'canonic'. He then provides brief sketches of three of the 'old masters' of the Modern Movement at work and shows that they all made use of these techniques (pp. 40-54). Other glimpses have been provided by Le Corbusier himself (1970, 1974), Carter (1972), and Evenson (1966). Boyd (1965) provides an insight into the style of Eero Saarinen (pp. 120-6). Rossman (1975) gives a personal account. Cook and Klotz (1973) record glimpses of the approach of Kevin Roche (pp. 65-81) and Louis Kahn (p.202). Komendant (1975) provides a personalised account of the style of Louis Kahn from the viewpoint of a structural engineer. [Return.]
Note 8. An interesting debate on this subject was found described in Lane (1968) p.134. German conservatives argued in the 1920s that flat roofs were unsuitable for Germany and Hager claimed that the flat roof was 'oriental' in form. Blake (1976), p. xiii writes "Many of Frank Lloyd Wright's early flat roofs leaked …" The problem of waterproofing flat roofs has been largely solved, but they still require careful and relatively expensive maintenance. (Ransom,W.H. Building failures. 2edn Spon, London, 1988.) On the other hand, as Hellman (1986) points out (p.113) the geometric regularity of sloping roof forms (e.g. hipped, pyramidal, domical) places restrictions on the external wall plan of a building. [Return.]
Note 9. My account of this incident became distorted during frequent redrafting of TAISD. Cook and Klotz (1973), p. 202 relate that the incident occurred during a lecture and, although it is implied that Kahn used this process for design, this is not specifically stated. The extract from Cook and Klotz is reproduced below.
Klotz: Mr. Kahn, in a recent lecture, you discussed your project for the Congress Hall in Venice. Your first point was that you had to assemble a large crowd of people, and you went to the blackboard and drew a circle. The circle was somehow a symbol for you of the assembled crowd.
Kahn: Yes.
Klotz: Then you went on to say that the building had to be on a long, narrow lot. So you cut off the upper and lower parts of the circle. The remaining centre part you kept as the basic concept of the ground plan. Your conceiving, your thoughts about the needs of the building, somehow materialise and merge as primary forms.
Kahn: That's very well put. I don't know how one identifies … I don't know how one identifies the first idea, but for me it is usually the sense of the building in its core, its full meaning, its nature, not its shape. Its nature was that of involvement, of participation. A simple shape which only emphasises a direction doesn't have the nature of participation in it. It is, on the contrary, analogous to watching or hearing, not participation. The circle, to me, was participation. The fact that I could adjust to a site which was narrow has to require that one side looked to the other. But the shape could not be adjusted to that narrow site in such a way that it becomes purely directional, because there would be no participation. [Return.]
Note 10. The Atlantic Monthly Oct. 1974, 69-76. (Letters in reply to Blake, 1974.) [Return.]
Note 11. Salvadori and Heller (1975, p.8) write: "The architect is the leader of the construction team; the engineer is just one of its members. The architect has the responsibility and the glory, the engineer but a service to render, creative as it may be." Rapson, in his Foreword to Engel (1967) states: "The architect … must be sufficiently knowledgeable in economics and sociology, aesthetics and engineering, planning and design to enable him to integrate all into a creative synthesis." (Pages not numbered. Approximately pp.9-10.) During the debate over Utzon's resignation from the Sydney Opera House project, Gilling, president of the NSW Chapter of the Royal Australian Institute of Architects, wrote to the Minister: "It is a fundamental principle in any building project that the architect be the coordinator of the work of the various consultants employed." Baume (1967), p.89. [Return.]
Note 12. Wools (1970) writes of the "cuckoo mentality" of architects who "lay their egg" and never go back to find out how it turned out. See also Deasy, C. M. (1974) Design for human affairs, pp.8,9. [Return.]
Note 13. See Vernon (1970), p.289 and Taylor (1964), p.359. [Return.]
Note 14. Broadbent (1973), p.5 quoting Abercrombie,M.L.J. (1965) The nature and nurture of architects. Trans. Bartlett Soc., v.2, 1963-4, Bartlett School of Architecture, London. [Return.]
[Top.]
The art in structural design navigation:
[Chapter 6.]
[Chapter 8.]
[Contents]
[References]
Site navigation:
[Aesthetics of built form.]
[Papers.]
[Work of Jörg Schlaich.]
[John Monash's early engineering.]