Subnature: Architecture's Other Environments

Subnature subnature_00_FN2.indd 1 5/26/09 6:43:58 PM DA N K N ESS SMO K E at mosph er es At mosph er es subnature_00_FN2.indd 2-3 5/26/09 6:44:02 PM DA N K N ESS SMO K E at mosph er es At mosph er es subnature_00_FN2.indd 2-3 5/26/09 6:44:02 PM G AS E X HAUST at mosph er es at mosph er es subnature_00_FN2.indd 4-5 5/26/09 6:44:07 PM G AS E X HAUST at mosph er es at mosph er es subnature_00_FN2.indd 4-5 5/26/09 6:44:07 PM Dust Puddl es m atter m atter subnature_00_FN2.indd 6-7 5/26/09 6:44:10 PM Dust Puddl es m atter m atter subnature_00_FN2.indd 6-7 5/26/09 6:44:10 PM m ud De b r is m atter natter subnature_00_FN2.indd 8-9 5/26/09 6:44:13 PM m ud De b r is m atter natter subnature_00_FN2.indd 8-9 5/26/09 6:44:13 PM W e e ds Insec ts Life Life subnature_00_FN2.indd 10-11 5/26/09 6:44:18 PM W e e ds Insec ts Life Life subnature_00_FN2.indd 10-11 5/26/09 6:44:18 PM Pig e o ns C rowds Life Life subnature_00_FN2.indd 12-13 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Pig e o ns C rowds Life Life subnature_00_FN2.indd 12-13 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM David Gissen At mosph er es At mosph er es Architecture’s Other Environments M atter M atter Life Life Princeton Architectural Press New York subnature_00_FN2.indd 14-15 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM David Gissen At mosph er es At mosph er es Architecture’s Other Environments M atter M atter Life Life Princeton Architectural Press New York subnature_00_FN2.indd 14-15 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e C o n t e n ts 019 Acknowledgments 021 Introduction At mosph er es Pa rt o n e 030 Dankness 044 Smoke Published by Princeton Architectural Press 058 Gas 37 East 7th Street, New York, NY 10003 072 Exhaust For a free catalog of books, call 1-800-722-6657 Visit our website at www.papress.com © 2009 David Gissen All rights reserved Printed and bound in China 12 11 10 09 4 3 2 1 First edition The author gratefully acknowledges the generous support of the Chalsty Research Award, part of the Chalsty Aesthetics and Philosophy Initiative, made possible by a grant from the Chalsty Foundation. Pa rt Tw o 088 Dust M atter No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher, except in the 100 Puddles context of reviews. 118 Mud Every reasonable attempt has been made to identify owners of copyright. Errors or omissions will be corrected in 132 Debris subsequent editions. Editor: Laurie Manfra Designer: Paul Wagner Special thanks to: Nettie Aljian, Bree Anne Apperley, Sara Bader, Nicola Bednarek, Janet Behning, Becca Casbon, Carina Cha, Penny (Yuen Pik) Chu, Carolyn Deuschle, Russell Fernandez, Pete Fitzpatrick, Wendy Fuller, Jan Haux, Clare Jacobson, Aileen Kwun, Nancy Eklund Later, Linda Lee, John Myers, Katharine Myers, Lauren Nelson Packard, Dan Simon, Andrew Stepanian, Jennifer Thompson, Joseph Weston, and Deb Wood of Princeton Architectural Press Pa rt T h r e e 150 Weeds —Kevin C. Lippert, publisher 168 Insects Life Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gissen, David. Subnature : architecture’s other environments / David Gissen. 180 Pigeons —1st ed. p. cm. 192 Crowds Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-56898-777-4 1. Architecture—Environmental aspects. 2. Architecture— Human factors. 3. Buildings—Environmental engineering. 210 Epilogue I. Title. II. Title: Architecture’s other environments. 215 Bibliography NA2542.35.G57 2009 710’.47—dc22 219 Index                             2009008062 224 Illustration Credits 016 017 subnature_00_FN2.indd 16-17 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e C o n t e n ts 019 Acknowledgments 021 Introduction At mosph er es Pa rt o n e 030 Dankness 044 Smoke Published by Princeton Architectural Press 058 Gas 37 East 7th Street, New York, NY 10003 072 Exhaust For a free catalog of books, call 1-800-722-6657 Visit our website at www.papress.com © 2009 David Gissen All rights reserved Printed and bound in China 12 11 10 09 4 3 2 1 First edition The author gratefully acknowledges the generous support of the Chalsty Research Award, part of the Chalsty Aesthetics and Philosophy Initiative, made possible by a grant from the Chalsty Foundation. Pa rt Tw o 088 Dust M atter No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher, except in the 100 Puddles context of reviews. 118 Mud Every reasonable attempt has been made to identify owners of copyright. Errors or omissions will be corrected in 132 Debris subsequent editions. Editor: Laurie Manfra Designer: Paul Wagner Special thanks to: Nettie Aljian, Bree Anne Apperley, Sara Bader, Nicola Bednarek, Janet Behning, Becca Casbon, Carina Cha, Penny (Yuen Pik) Chu, Carolyn Deuschle, Russell Fernandez, Pete Fitzpatrick, Wendy Fuller, Jan Haux, Clare Jacobson, Aileen Kwun, Nancy Eklund Later, Linda Lee, John Myers, Katharine Myers, Lauren Nelson Packard, Dan Simon, Andrew Stepanian, Jennifer Thompson, Joseph Weston, and Deb Wood of Princeton Architectural Press Pa rt T h r e e 150 Weeds —Kevin C. Lippert, publisher 168 Insects Life Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gissen, David. Subnature : architecture’s other environments / David Gissen. 180 Pigeons —1st ed. p. cm. 192 Crowds Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-56898-777-4 1. Architecture—Environmental aspects. 2. Architecture— Human factors. 3. Buildings—Environmental engineering. 210 Epilogue I. Title. II. Title: Architecture’s other environments. 215 Bibliography NA2542.35.G57 2009 710’.47—dc22 219 Index                             2009008062 224 Illustration Credits 016 017 subnature_00_FN2.indd 16-17 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e Ac kn o w l e dg m e n ts Subnature was realized with the inspiration, commentary, and support of numerous people. First, I would like to thank the commit- tee for the Chalsty Research Award at the California College of the Arts (CCA), and the award’s benefactor, whose incredibly generous grant enabled the realization of this book. Second, as I finish this project and begin transforming my dissertation into a book, I must thank my advisors Matthew Gandy and Adrian Forty for steering me deep into the history and theory of nature-space dynamics. I am sure that they are as surprised as I am that the literature they recom- mended and architectural work they wanted me to understand could come together in this particular form. My fellow PhD space-nature traveler, Ben Campkin, has been tremendously supportive, and I both refer to his research and pay particular attention to steer clear of his forthcoming work on concepts of filth and urban development. Colleagues at CCA have both inspired and warmly challenged me in ways that most academics rarely enjoy. Good friends that either discussed the material with me or provided welcome respites from work-related discussion include Mitchell Schwarzer, Andrew Kudless, Jordan Geiger, Miriam Paeselack, Thom Faulders, Anna Reiner, C. Greig Chrysler, Hugh Pocock, Javier Arbona, Federico Windhausen, Joseph Tanke, Molly Slota, and Patrick Wright. Friends and editors who read chapters include Ronald Rael, Ray Ryan, and Thomas Weaver. At Princeton Architectural Press, I would like to thank Clare Jacobson for approaching me about writing a new book and editor Laurie Manfra for discussing the book with me and helping me transform the following chapters into a more carefully crafted argument. Nick Brown provided assistance gathering images from the contemporary architects included in this book. I would like to thank my family, the Dreyfuses, Porters, Schreibers, Mayers, and Schulmans, and particularly Linda Gissen, my mother, who has patiently endured my work schedule. This book is dedicated to my father, Ira Gissen, who passed away in 2005; he is sorely missed by his family and friends. My wife Rachel Schreiber is on my mind as I complete this project. When we first met, Rachel reopened my eyes to the pleasures of intellectual inquiry; her friendship, humor, inspi- ration, and intimate companionship over the past eight years is one of the greatest pleasures of my life. 018 019 subnature_00_FN2.indd 18-19 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e In t roduc tio n Five years ago I began a PhD on the subject of architecture and nature, but like most doctoral students, I was not entirely certain what I would explore. When I began, my advisors suggested that I investigate contemporary literature for existing texts and images related to the concepts of nature in both architecture and urbanism. They encouraged me to search far and wide, to dredge historical and contemporary architectural, urban, and geographic literature, exhibitions, and websites. The results of mining these secondary sources were collected in files. Categorizing what I had encountered, I found myself drawn to many peculiar things, much of it overlooked in the more general discussion of what might be termed natural architecture. Such hoarding of information typifies the earliest stages of any research project, and these efforts are usually pitched and forgotten as research and a serious thesis take shape. When I was finishing my dissertation (an exploration of nature in modern buildings in New York City in the 1970s), I received a letter from Princeton Architectural Press inviting me to develop a new book on nature in architecture. Initially I assumed that I would turn down this opportunity and instead focus on publishing my dissertation, but I soon realized that my collection of quotes, images, and contemporary projects on the subject of nature and architecture was a modest treasure. I had amassed a considerable amount of information that, as a whole, is simply not discussed in contemporary debates on the intersections of architecture and nature. I realized that this material on smoke, exhaust, dust, the heat of crowds, and mud addressed a type of nature that was wholly undertheorized, underdiscussed, and undervisualized in architecture. It seemed that my secondary material was, in fact, worthy of revisiting. I decided to do three things: first, I wrote to Princeton Architectural Press, explaining that rather than pursue another book on “nature,” they might consider this other, stranger form of nature that I had been exploring; second, I added to my existing collection of material additional studies of forms built upon the sources I had already explored; and third, I decided to take a closer look at how these alternative natural forms appear in contemporary architectural practice. The sum of this material is gathered here. This book explores contemporary and historical imagery and writings, identifying a new material-aesthetic between architecture and nature. I draw on architectural and urban design theorists’ key texts and contemporary practitioners’ recent designs to examine how both groups envision peripheral and often denigrated forms of nature, which I refer to as “subnature.” I argue that, forms of nature become subnatural when they are envisioned as threatening to 020 021 subnature_00_FN2.indd 20-21 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e Ac kn o w l e dg m e n ts Subnature was realized with the inspiration, commentary, and support of numerous people. First, I would like to thank the commit- tee for the Chalsty Research Award at the California College of the Arts (CCA), and the award’s benefactor, whose incredibly generous grant enabled the realization of this book. Second, as I finish this project and begin transforming my dissertation into a book, I must thank my advisors Matthew Gandy and Adrian Forty for steering me deep into the history and theory of nature-space dynamics. I am sure that they are as surprised as I am that the literature they recom- mended and architectural work they wanted me to understand could come together in this particular form. My fellow PhD space-nature traveler, Ben Campkin, has been tremendously supportive, and I both refer to his research and pay particular attention to steer clear of his forthcoming work on concepts of filth and urban development. Colleagues at CCA have both inspired and warmly challenged me in ways that most academics rarely enjoy. Good friends that either discussed the material with me or provided welcome respites from work-related discussion include Mitchell Schwarzer, Andrew Kudless, Jordan Geiger, Miriam Paeselack, Thom Faulders, Anna Reiner, C. Greig Chrysler, Hugh Pocock, Javier Arbona, Federico Windhausen, Joseph Tanke, Molly Slota, and Patrick Wright. Friends and editors who read chapters include Ronald Rael, Ray Ryan, and Thomas Weaver. At Princeton Architectural Press, I would like to thank Clare Jacobson for approaching me about writing a new book and editor Laurie Manfra for discussing the book with me and helping me transform the following chapters into a more carefully crafted argument. Nick Brown provided assistance gathering images from the contemporary architects included in this book. I would like to thank my family, the Dreyfuses, Porters, Schreibers, Mayers, and Schulmans, and particularly Linda Gissen, my mother, who has patiently endured my work schedule. This book is dedicated to my father, Ira Gissen, who passed away in 2005; he is sorely missed by his family and friends. My wife Rachel Schreiber is on my mind as I complete this project. When we first met, Rachel reopened my eyes to the pleasures of intellectual inquiry; her friendship, humor, inspi- ration, and intimate companionship over the past eight years is one of the greatest pleasures of my life. 018 019 subnature_00_FN2.indd 18-19 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e In t roduc tio n inhabitants or to the material formations and ideas that constitute by these authors—and the additional forms collected in this book— architecture. Subnatures are those forms of nature deemed primitive as subnature, as they are positioned below other forms of nature. (mud and dankness), filthy (smoke, dust, and exhaust), fearsome (gas If the supernatural is a world of miracles, a religious world above or debris), or uncontrollable (weeds, insects, and pigeons). We can nature, and the natural is the world in which human society is contrast these subnatures to those seemingly central and desirable located, then the subnatural is the realm in which we can barely forms of nature—e.g., the sun, clouds, trees, and wind. These latter exist in the state that we currently conceive ourselves, both socially forces are generally worked into the forms, practices, and ideas that or biologically.3 It is that zone that is most fearsome, because it constitute the primary realization of nature within architecture. While describes the limits in which contemporary life might be staged. It several books examine the historical engagement between architec- is thus no coincidence that subnatures are generally marginalized in ture and these more normative forms of nature, this book is the first architecture. When they appear in architectural thought in a nonmar- to uncover the story of the subnatural in architecture.1 It examines ginal way, they are often used to describe the passage of societies: how a wide range of architects and theorists identify lesser forms of in drawings of weeds, puddles, and dusty ruins by Giovanni Battista nature and the complex ways that they engage with them. Piranesi and Robert Adam; in sketches of debris from the ravages While most practitioners viewed architecture as a refuge from and recovery from war by Alison and Peter Smithson and Arata subnature, a few modern and many more contemporary architects Isozaki; or the possibilities for something more or less than human, examined how architecture might negotiate a rapprochement with in images of people, insects, and animals cohabitating by François subnature. They reached out to forms of subnatural life, such as Roche, Efran Garcia Grinda, and Cristina Diaz Moreno. But the pigeons, as metaphors for a socially liberated architecture or con- subnatural is not the apocalyptic edge of society. Rather, it reveals sidered how buildings might literally incorporate puddles and other another possible form of nature in which we can be something more inundations of water into their forms. More radically, a few contem- or less than is currently possible within our conceptions of nature. porary architects imagine how architecture might produce subnatural I believe that an understanding of subnature is a crucial addi- forms and experiences, envisioning buildings as places in which tion to contemporary debates regarding architecture, urbanism, formerly desirable plants suddenly appear as invasive weeds, or in and nature. Subnature: Architecture’s Other Environments offers an which buildings release the dankness of the earth into the spaces of alternative vision to those contemporary municipalities, developers, a home. As this book will demonstrate, the story of subnature is deep and architects who seek to remake cities and buildings through the and complex. Nothing is inherently subnatural in architecture; rather, parameters of a more natural framework based on sustainable prin- these forms arise from a particular set of social and architectural ciples. Subnature also offers an alternative to the emerging vitalist practices. Nevertheless, I argue that any approach relating architec- discourse on “flow” as the dominant effect of nature in architecture. ture to nature must acknowledge this “other” nature embedded within The recent green movement has advanced a laudable critique of con- the history of architectural thought, appearing in aggressive ways temporary building practices. In numerous books, we have learned to throughout the most progressive contemporary practices. engage sunlight, climatic systems, and the wind currents that stretch Aspects of what I term subnature have been partially labeled across the Earth’s surface.4 While these strategies address energy by recent historians and theorists. They are found in what Antoine conservation and foster an appreciation of nature, as employed, they Picon refers to as anxious landscapes and what the landscape archi- advance a seemingly neo-Victorian and neo-Haussmannite vision tect Gilles Clément terms the third landscape. Both terms often of urbanism in many global cities. I call this approach neo-Victorian describe postindustrial spaces at the peripheries of cities, where because, like the reformers of the nineteenth century, green archi- rusting buildings, weeds, and industrial debris coalesce. It may be tecture often entails the utilization of nature as an instrument that identified in what architect François Roche terms corrupted biotopes cleans the world, increases productivity and efficiency, and trans- to describe, among other things, the polluted water and air that pro- forms our existing natural relationship, while advancing the social duces hermaphroditic fish and polar bears. 2 These authors ask that sphere as it exists. I consider these approaches neo-Haussmannite we consider how a more radical concept of nature might enable us because, like the remaking of Parisian space under Georges-Eugène to imagine a significantly modified architectural and social milieu. Haussmann, the introduction of green building often enhances the I argue that we might more aptly identify the forms of nature identified power of urban wealth in the name of mending a natural relationship. 022 023 subnature_00_FN2.indd 22-23 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e In t roduc tio n Five years ago I began a PhD on the subject of architecture and nature, but like most doctoral students, I was not entirely certain what I would explore. When I began, my advisors suggested that I investigate contemporary literature for existing texts and images related to the concepts of nature in both architecture and urbanism. They encouraged me to search far and wide, to dredge historical and contemporary architectural, urban, and geographic literature, exhibitions, and websites. The results of mining these secondary sources were collected in files. Categorizing what I had encountered, I found myself drawn to many peculiar things, much of it overlooked in the more general discussion of what might be termed natural architecture. Such hoarding of information typifies the earliest stages of any research project, and these efforts are usually pitched and forgotten as research and a serious thesis take shape. When I was finishing my dissertation (an exploration of nature in modern buildings in New York City in the 1970s), I received a letter from Princeton Architectural Press inviting me to develop a new book on nature in architecture. Initially I assumed that I would turn down this opportunity and instead focus on publishing my dissertation, but I soon realized that my collection of quotes, images, and contemporary projects on the subject of nature and architecture was a modest treasure. I had amassed a considerable amount of information that, as a whole, is simply not discussed in contemporary debates on the intersections of architecture and nature. I realized that this material on smoke, exhaust, dust, the heat of crowds, and mud addressed a type of nature that was wholly undertheorized, underdiscussed, and undervisualized in architecture. It seemed that my secondary material was, in fact, worthy of revisiting. I decided to do three things: first, I wrote to Princeton Architectural Press, explaining that rather than pursue another book on “nature,” they might consider this other, stranger form of nature that I had been exploring; second, I added to my existing collection of material additional studies of forms built upon the sources I had already explored; and third, I decided to take a closer look at how these alternative natural forms appear in contemporary architectural practice. The sum of this material is gathered here. This book explores contemporary and historical imagery and writings, identifying a new material-aesthetic between architecture and nature. I draw on architectural and urban design theorists’ key texts and contemporary practitioners’ recent designs to examine how both groups envision peripheral and often denigrated forms of nature, which I refer to as “subnature.” I argue that, forms of nature become subnatural when they are envisioned as threatening to 020 021 subnature_00_FN2.indd 20-21 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e In t roduc tio n I do not think most “green” architects wish this to be so, but one only engage strategically with subnature, forming para-urban social net- has to consider the recent green building booms in New York's Times works, as with pigeon breeders or weed tillers working on abandoned Square and Battery Park City, and the corresponding production of urban sites. Subnature will not save us from our inequities, but its a homogenous and elite social sphere, to understand how the resto- inherently alienating character enables us to consider how more ration of nature is used to re-establish a specific class-based idea of comforting forms and dynamic images of nature are often used to the city. The above criticism of green architecture may also be slightly reproduce existing forms of power in society.8 Ultimately, we can mar- redirected to critique the transformation of human experience with ginalize the subnatural in architecture in the name of the natural, or respect to related parameters of fields and emergence. Antoine Picon we might consider the possibilities of exploiting subnature as a form has already noted that what is often termed field theory, self-organi- of agitation or intellectual provocation. zation, or emergence often relies on a “strange, vitalistic conception Subnature is a book that advances ideas about denigrated forms of the world.”5 But we might also add that more explicit theories of of nature from a predominantly theoretical and historical vantage dynamic flow view nature as little more than a circulatory construct point. It differs from recent books—such as Earth Architecture, or whose role is to erase all of the stagnancies that stand in its way. more established books such as The Granite Garden—that recuper- Nothing could provide a more apt metaphor for the recent rebuilding ate the hidden technological sophistication or unrecognized beauty of cities for a global society on the move.6 of underappreciated forms of nature, such as mud and weeds.9 These Subnatures are the very natures that stand in contrast to the works explore how architects and landscape architects might stake above processes. In comparison to the demographic distribution out a new appreciation of these forms based on economy, technol- of green architecture, what I identify as subnatures are primarily ogy, and environmental health. In contrast, Subnature focuses on the experienced as aspects of the seemingly subhuman conditions of historical circumstances that make recoveries of mud and weeds contemporary urbanization and its subcultural peripheries. They interesting and aesthetically powerful. I argue that the power of are also those natures that stand against the remaking of the world modern earth buildings or weed-infested landscapes draws from his- into a pulsing circulatory apparatus. Like the processes described torical ideas and images about these forms of nature. Furthermore, above, these relationships extend back to the nineteenth century. many of the architects of the contemporary projects in this book have For example, if we consider documentary literature of nineteenth- a pronounced and deep relationship with the particular history of century England, we see how—in Karl Marx’s passages on English denigration that moves through architectural engagements with mud, working conditions, in Friedrich Engel’s accounts of Manchester, in weeds, dankness, or debris—a historical awareness expressed in Henry Mayhew’s accounts of “mudlarks,” or in Gustave Doré’s draw- their architecture and writings. ings of the London gasworkers—a seemingly unnatural and often In pointing out the theoretical and historical dimensions of this stagnant nature is navigated by those at the margins of the urban book, I would also like to note that the concept of subnature differs social structure.7 In these accounts, dust, dirt, puddles, and vermin from the relatively recent theories of weathering advanced by authors are the repulsive, murky, frictional natures of industrial urban life. such as Mohsen Mostafavi and David Leatherbarrow.10 The theories Perhaps more interestingly, subnature is also wielded by those at the proposed by these authors have resulted in a recent appreciation of margins as a form of social change. If we shift from London to Paris, materials that decay or show the stains that architecture accumu- we see how, in 1848 and 1871, revolutionaries erected barricades to lates over time. Their theories of weathering opened a profound new block the use of streets (as conduits) with the socionatural detritus critique in which modern architecture’s resistance to the surround- of industrial urbanization: mud, garbage, debris, and even animal ing elements appeared questionable. In proposing a critical new carcasses. The statement made at the barricades in 1968, 120 years concept of buildings that are open to the elements, Mostafavi and after these early Parisian riots—“under the street, the beach”—and Leatherbarrow advanced a curiously uncritical conceptualization of oft-quoted by neo-avant-garde architects in the early 1970s is about the environment. Within these theories of weathering, environments the power of social and physical transformation and the correspond- appear as fixed and stable systems relative to a dramatically chang- ing, strange appearance of subnature. In recent subcultural urban ing architectural object. This concept has influenced a whole host movements, images of mud, bones, smoke, and exhaust are wielded of building practices in which architects have “revealed” rain, air, as provocations within the contemporary urban sphere. Individuals or urban grit through patinas and staining. In contrast, subnature 024 025 subnature_00_FN2.indd 24-25 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e In t roduc tio n inhabitants or to the material formations and ideas that constitute by these authors—and the additional forms collected in this book— architecture. Subnatures are those forms of nature deemed primitive as subnature, as they are positioned below other forms of nature. (mud and dankness), filthy (smoke, dust, and exhaust), fearsome (gas If the supernatural is a world of miracles, a religious world above or debris), or uncontrollable (weeds, insects, and pigeons). We can nature, and the natural is the world in which human society is contrast these subnatures to those seemingly central and desirable located, then the subnatural is the realm in which we can barely forms of nature—e.g., the sun, clouds, trees, and wind. These latter exist in the state that we currently conceive ourselves, both socially forces are generally worked into the forms, practices, and ideas that or biologically.3 It is that zone that is most fearsome, because it constitute the primary realization of nature within architecture. While describes the limits in which contemporary life might be staged. It several books examine the historical engagement between architec- is thus no coincidence that subnatures are generally marginalized in ture and these more normative forms of nature, this book is the first architecture. When they appear in architectural thought in a nonmar- to uncover the story of the subnatural in architecture.1 It examines ginal way, they are often used to describe the passage of societies: how a wide range of architects and theorists identify lesser forms of in drawings of weeds, puddles, and dusty ruins by Giovanni Battista nature and the complex ways that they engage with them. Piranesi and Robert Adam; in sketches of debris from the ravages While most practitioners viewed architecture as a refuge from and recovery from war by Alison and Peter Smithson and Arata subnature, a few modern and many more contemporary architects Isozaki; or the possibilities for something more or less than human, examined how architecture might negotiate a rapprochement with in images of people, insects, and animals cohabitating by François subnature. They reached out to forms of subnatural life, such as Roche, Efran Garcia Grinda, and Cristina Diaz Moreno. But the pigeons, as metaphors for a socially liberated architecture or con- subnatural is not the apocalyptic edge of society. Rather, it reveals sidered how buildings might literally incorporate puddles and other another possible form of nature in which we can be something more inundations of water into their forms. More radically, a few contem- or less than is currently possible within our conceptions of nature. porary architects imagine how architecture might produce subnatural I believe that an understanding of subnature is a crucial addi- forms and experiences, envisioning buildings as places in which tion to contemporary debates regarding architecture, urbanism, formerly desirable plants suddenly appear as invasive weeds, or in and nature. Subnature: Architecture’s Other Environments offers an which buildings release the dankness of the earth into the spaces of alternative vision to those contemporary municipalities, developers, a home. As this book will demonstrate, the story of subnature is deep and architects who seek to remake cities and buildings through the and complex. Nothing is inherently subnatural in architecture; rather, parameters of a more natural framework based on sustainable prin- these forms arise from a particular set of social and architectural ciples. Subnature also offers an alternative to the emerging vitalist practices. Nevertheless, I argue that any approach relating architec- discourse on “flow” as the dominant effect of nature in architecture. ture to nature must acknowledge this “other” nature embedded within The recent green movement has advanced a laudable critique of con- the history of architectural thought, appearing in aggressive ways temporary building practices. In numerous books, we have learned to throughout the most progressive contemporary practices. engage sunlight, climatic systems, and the wind currents that stretch Aspects of what I term subnature have been partially labeled across the Earth’s surface.4 While these strategies address energy by recent historians and theorists. They are found in what Antoine conservation and foster an appreciation of nature, as employed, they Picon refers to as anxious landscapes and what the landscape archi- advance a seemingly neo-Victorian and neo-Haussmannite vision tect Gilles Clément terms the third landscape. Both terms often of urbanism in many global cities. I call this approach neo-Victorian describe postindustrial spaces at the peripheries of cities, where because, like the reformers of the nineteenth century, green archi- rusting buildings, weeds, and industrial debris coalesce. It may be tecture often entails the utilization of nature as an instrument that identified in what architect François Roche terms corrupted biotopes cleans the world, increases productivity and efficiency, and trans- to describe, among other things, the polluted water and air that pro- forms our existing natural relationship, while advancing the social duces hermaphroditic fish and polar bears. 2 These authors ask that sphere as it exists. I consider these approaches neo-Haussmannite we consider how a more radical concept of nature might enable us because, like the remaking of Parisian space under Georges-Eugène to imagine a significantly modified architectural and social milieu. Haussmann, the introduction of green building often enhances the I argue that we might more aptly identify the forms of nature identified power of urban wealth in the name of mending a natural relationship. 022 023 subnature_00_FN2.indd 22-23 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e In t roduc tio n is not only about exposing the realities of external environments. 1. For recent books on the “La Cittá Nuova: Modernity and history, theory, and design Continuity,” in Architectural Rather, the theory of subnature proposed within this book supports concepts of natural architec- Theory: An Anthology from 1871 to the notion that architecture and the environment are produced simul- ture, see James Wines, Green 2005, ed. Harry Francis Mallgrave Architecture, ed. Philip Jodidio and Christine Contandriopoulos taneously. In fact, many of the projects in Subnature effectively invert (New York: Taschen, 2000); Sarah (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008), 474– the paradigm of weathering. They appear to recode the surrounding Bonnemaison and Christine Macy, 75; and Stanley Allen, “From Object environment, infusing new concepts of nature and time into their Architecture and Nature: Creating to Field,” Architecture After the American Landscape (London: Geometry, Architectural Design surroundings. It is that latter aspect that adds to our often troubling Routledge, 2003); Alessandro Roca, (1998): 24–31. experiences of subnature. Natural Architecture (New York: 6. I first heard a critique of Admittedly, Subnature emerges from a complex intersection of Princeton Architectural Press, this type during a lecture by Nils 2007). Norman at the Maryland Institute concepts, but this book is intended to appeal to architectural stu- 2. Antoine Picon, “Anxious College of Art, Spring 2004. See dents and emerging professionals. It contains twelve brief, heavily Landscapes: From the Ruin to Rust,” Nils Norman, The Contemporary illustrated chapters conveying the potential for architecture and Grey Room 1 (Fall 2000): 64–83; Picturesque (London: Book Works, Gilles Clément and Philippe 2000). theory to be grounded in the concept of the subnatural. Each chapter Rahm, Environ(ne)ment: Approaches 7. For accounts of these authors’ provides an examination of a particular form, such as dust, debris, for Tomorrow (Montreal: Canadian impressions of what is termed exhaust, and its actualization in contemporary practice. These are Centre of Architecture, 2006); here as subnature, see the various François Roche, DD 05R&Sie: chapters in William Cohen and organized from the most atmospheric, dankness; to those found in Corrupted Biotopes (Seoul: Damdi, Ryan Johnson, eds., Filth: Dirt, life, crowds. In the text of each chapter, I uncover the concepts sur- 2005). Disgust, and Modern Life rounding these subnatures in architectural thought, typically moving 3. The relationship between (Minneapolis: University of the supernatural and subnatural Minnesota Press 2005); and Lynda from the origin of modern Western architectural theory from the is partially inspired by Robert Nead, Victorian Babylon: People, eighteenth century to the present. Some chapters concentrate on Notes Scholes, Structuralism in Streets, and Images in Nineteenth- particular struggles or geographies where pronounced engagements Literature: An Introduction (New Century London (New Haven: Yale Haven: Yale University Press, University Press, 2000). with a particular form of subnature now resonates with contempo- 1975), 119–20. 8. In emphasizing these last rary architectural work. In illustrating these chapters, I chose a few 4. Consider G. Z. Brown and points, I should mention that key images from architectural history, complementing these with Mark DeKay, Sun, Wind, and Light: many of the subnatural historical Architectural Design Strategies and contemporary works in this many more from architectural practices of the past fifteen years. (New York: Wiley, 2001) or more book emerge directly from official, Most chapters conclude with discussions of the most recent proj- theoretical texts such as William instantiated forms of power— ects that, I believe, illustrate a particular form or relationship under McDonough, “Design, Ecology, museums, governments, and the Ethics and the Making of Things,” wealthy patrons who often examination. This format locates the book somewhere between an in Theorizing a New Agenda for commission architects to design exhibition catalog and an architectural theory book. It makes these Architecture: An Anthology of their residences. Nevertheless, concepts accessible and useful for the student and professional, and Architectural Theory 1965–1995, I believe the potential of sub- ed. Kate Nesbitt (New York: nature is locked within the idea it provides both a theoretical-historical backbone and a method for Princeton Architectural Press, of producing forms of nature as considering the ideas under review. This book could be the first of 1996), 398–407; or the book that instruments against the dominant numerous efforts identifying the complexity and social power that McDonough coauthored with Michael appearance of spatial power. Braungart, Cradle to Cradle: 9. Ronald Rael, Earth emerges when we consider all of the peripheries of architecture- Remaking the Way We Make Things Architecture (New York: Princeton nature relations. (New York: North Point Press, Architectural Press, 2008); and 2002). Anne Whiston Spirn, The Granite 5. See Antoine Picon, Garden: Urban Nature and Human “Architecture, Science, Design (New York: Basic Books, Technology, and the Virtual Realm,” 1985). in Architecture and the Sciences: 10. Mohsen Mostafavi and David Exchanging Metaphors, ed. Antoine Leatherbarrow, On Weathering: Picon and Alessandra Ponte(New The Life of Buildings in Time York: Princeton Architectural (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1997). Press), 307. For more on field theory, see Sanford Kwinter, 026 027 subnature_00_FN2.indd 26-27 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e In t roduc tio n I do not think most “green” architects wish this to be so, but one only engage strategically with subnature, forming para-urban social net- has to consider the recent green building booms in New York's Times works, as with pigeon breeders or weed tillers working on abandoned Square and Battery Park City, and the corresponding production of urban sites. Subnature will not save us from our inequities, but its a homogenous and elite social sphere, to understand how the resto- inherently alienating character enables us to consider how more ration of nature is used to re-establish a specific class-based idea of comforting forms and dynamic images of nature are often used to the city. The above criticism of green architecture may also be slightly reproduce existing forms of power in society.8 Ultimately, we can mar- redirected to critique the transformation of human experience with ginalize the subnatural in architecture in the name of the natural, or respect to related parameters of fields and emergence. Antoine Picon we might consider the possibilities of exploiting subnature as a form has already noted that what is often termed field theory, self-organi- of agitation or intellectual provocation. zation, or emergence often relies on a “strange, vitalistic conception Subnature is a book that advances ideas about denigrated forms of the world.”5 But we might also add that more explicit theories of of nature from a predominantly theoretical and historical vantage dynamic flow view nature as little more than a circulatory construct point. It differs from recent books—such as Earth Architecture, or whose role is to erase all of the stagnancies that stand in its way. more established books such as The Granite Garden—that recuper- Nothing could provide a more apt metaphor for the recent rebuilding ate the hidden technological sophistication or unrecognized beauty of cities for a global society on the move.6 of underappreciated forms of nature, such as mud and weeds.9 These Subnatures are the very natures that stand in contrast to the works explore how architects and landscape architects might stake above processes. In comparison to the demographic distribution out a new appreciation of these forms based on economy, technol- of green architecture, what I identify as subnatures are primarily ogy, and environmental health. In contrast, Subnature focuses on the experienced as aspects of the seemingly subhuman conditions of historical circumstances that make recoveries of mud and weeds contemporary urbanization and its subcultural peripheries. They interesting and aesthetically powerful. I argue that the power of are also those natures that stand against the remaking of the world modern earth buildings or weed-infested landscapes draws from his- into a pulsing circulatory apparatus. Like the processes described torical ideas and images about these forms of nature. Furthermore, above, these relationships extend back to the nineteenth century. many of the architects of the contemporary projects in this book have For example, if we consider documentary literature of nineteenth- a pronounced and deep relationship with the particular history of century England, we see how—in Karl Marx’s passages on English denigration that moves through architectural engagements with mud, working conditions, in Friedrich Engel’s accounts of Manchester, in weeds, dankness, or debris—a historical awareness expressed in Henry Mayhew’s accounts of “mudlarks,” or in Gustave Doré’s draw- their architecture and writings. ings of the London gasworkers—a seemingly unnatural and often In pointing out the theoretical and historical dimensions of this stagnant nature is navigated by those at the margins of the urban book, I would also like to note that the concept of subnature differs social structure.7 In these accounts, dust, dirt, puddles, and vermin from the relatively recent theories of weathering advanced by authors are the repulsive, murky, frictional natures of industrial urban life. such as Mohsen Mostafavi and David Leatherbarrow.10 The theories Perhaps more interestingly, subnature is also wielded by those at the proposed by these authors have resulted in a recent appreciation of margins as a form of social change. If we shift from London to Paris, materials that decay or show the stains that architecture accumu- we see how, in 1848 and 1871, revolutionaries erected barricades to lates over time. Their theories of weathering opened a profound new block the use of streets (as conduits) with the socionatural detritus critique in which modern architecture’s resistance to the surround- of industrial urbanization: mud, garbage, debris, and even animal ing elements appeared questionable. In proposing a critical new carcasses. The statement made at the barricades in 1968, 120 years concept of buildings that are open to the elements, Mostafavi and after these early Parisian riots—“under the street, the beach”—and Leatherbarrow advanced a curiously uncritical conceptualization of oft-quoted by neo-avant-garde architects in the early 1970s is about the environment. Within these theories of weathering, environments the power of social and physical transformation and the correspond- appear as fixed and stable systems relative to a dramatically chang- ing, strange appearance of subnature. In recent subcultural urban ing architectural object. This concept has influenced a whole host movements, images of mud, bones, smoke, and exhaust are wielded of building practices in which architects have “revealed” rain, air, as provocations within the contemporary urban sphere. Individuals or urban grit through patinas and staining. In contrast, subnature 024 025 subnature_00_FN2.indd 24-25 5/26/09 6:44:22 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es At mosph er es Dankness Smoke Gas Exhaust 028 029 subnature_01_FN2.indd 28-29 5/26/09 6:42:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es At mosph er es Dankness Smoke Gas Exhaust 028 029 subnature_01_FN2.indd 28-29 5/26/09 6:42:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Dankness We begin this book’s exploration of the history, theory, and design of subnature in the dark, wet, and cool spaces that mark the origins of architecture. The negotiation of that which we might term dankness At mosph er es refers to a surprisingly large aspect of the visual, textual, and techno- Da n k n ess logical culture of modern architecture. It appears in early discussions of the origins of architecture, tracts on infrastructural improve- Fig. 1.1 ments to cities, manifestos on modern construction systems, and The builder emerging from a dark cave to become as a growing aspect of a more environmentally attuned architecture. an architect, Philibert de Architectural theorists once associated dankness with natural and l'Orme, 1568 artificial subterranean spaces, such as caves and grottoes, but in the nineteenth century it increasingly became associated with types of underground spaces brought into being by urbanization, like sewers and basements. In the nineteenth century, architects and urban- ists sought to remove dank spaces from the city and countryside. But in more recent years, they have begun to embrace the qualities that characterize dankness, seeing them as signifying the repressed within modern architecture or as representing sites of uncharted and immense particularity. As we shall see, there has always been some debate as to the virtue of dankness in architecture; for some, it represents one of the vilest types of architectural atmosphere; was a metaphorical space of ignorance, and he drew an image of an for others it offers a unique and underexplored spatial milieu. architect emerging from a cave as a symbol of the profession. [Fig. 1.1] From Vitruvius onward, architectural commentators and theorists This latter concept of the cave draws on Plato, who famously wrote viewed dark and wet caves as one of the earliest and fundamen- of the cave as a site where all knowledge is suspended in a represen- tally deficient spaces of human habitation. Vitruvius saw them as tational world of shadowlike images.2 the primitive and wild habitats of early humans. Architecture for Despite the intense denigration of the cave in much archi- Vitruvius was precisely the art that provided an environment distinct tectural theory, this type of space, where darkness and moisture from those of caves and other natural dwellings. French architec- intermingle, was curiously embraced in several other forms of archi- tural theorist Marc-Antoine Laugier wrote of the cave as an inferior tectural thought and practice. The grotto—essentially a dark cavelike space of early habitation for primitive man—the “darkness and foul space that incorporated dripping fountains—became a central air make his stay unbearable.”1 For Laugier, the cave and architecture aspect of architectural thinking from the Renaissance to early moder- are opposed, as the flight from the dank space of the cave led to the nity. Grottoes often featured quasinaturalistic and mythic scenes construction of the first form of architecture, the “primitive dwelling.” of underground worlds with technically sophisticated waterworks. French architectural theorist A. C. Quatremère de Quincy viewed the They also invoked ideas of alchemic science—in which darkness, cave somewhat more positively. He saw this dark subterranean space light, water, and earth combined. Also significantly, grottoes featured as one of three original types upon which all subsequent architecture a specific type of atmosphere; within Italy and England, the dank was based; the other two were the tent and the hut. But, like other climate of the grotto became associated with the production of a architectural theorists, Quatremère de Quincy believed that the cave pleasing comfort. During Italy’s hot summer months, grottoes were was the most inadequate of his three types and the most resistant to valorized for their cool and stable temperatures. In many ways, these architectural development. Finally, the dark, cool, and wet atmosphere spaces bridged the premodern and modern worlds by combining of the cave served as a more explicitly metaphorical model in archi- darkness and rustic forms with water technologies. A grotto devel- tecture. French classicist Philibert de l'Orme believed that the cave oped by Jean-Jacques Lequeu for a Parisian park illustrates this 030 031 subnature_01_FN2.indd 30-31 5/26/09 6:42:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Dankness We begin this book’s exploration of the history, theory, and design of subnature in the dark, wet, and cool spaces that mark the origins of architecture. The negotiation of that which we might term dankness At mosph er es refers to a surprisingly large aspect of the visual, textual, and techno- Da n k n ess logical culture of modern architecture. It appears in early discussions of the origins of architecture, tracts on infrastructural improve- Fig. 1.1 ments to cities, manifestos on modern construction systems, and The builder emerging from a dark cave to become as a growing aspect of a more environmentally attuned architecture. an architect, Philibert de Architectural theorists once associated dankness with natural and l'Orme, 1568 artificial subterranean spaces, such as caves and grottoes, but in the nineteenth century it increasingly became associated with types of underground spaces brought into being by urbanization, like sewers and basements. In the nineteenth century, architects and urban- ists sought to remove dank spaces from the city and countryside. But in more recent years, they have begun to embrace the qualities that characterize dankness, seeing them as signifying the repressed within modern architecture or as representing sites of uncharted and immense particularity. As we shall see, there has always been some debate as to the virtue of dankness in architecture; for some, it represents one of the vilest types of architectural atmosphere; was a metaphorical space of ignorance, and he drew an image of an for others it offers a unique and underexplored spatial milieu. architect emerging from a cave as a symbol of the profession. [Fig. 1.1] From Vitruvius onward, architectural commentators and theorists This latter concept of the cave draws on Plato, who famously wrote viewed dark and wet caves as one of the earliest and fundamen- of the cave as a site where all knowledge is suspended in a represen- tally deficient spaces of human habitation. Vitruvius saw them as tational world of shadowlike images.2 the primitive and wild habitats of early humans. Architecture for Despite the intense denigration of the cave in much archi- Vitruvius was precisely the art that provided an environment distinct tectural theory, this type of space, where darkness and moisture from those of caves and other natural dwellings. French architec- intermingle, was curiously embraced in several other forms of archi- tural theorist Marc-Antoine Laugier wrote of the cave as an inferior tectural thought and practice. The grotto—essentially a dark cavelike space of early habitation for primitive man—the “darkness and foul space that incorporated dripping fountains—became a central air make his stay unbearable.”1 For Laugier, the cave and architecture aspect of architectural thinking from the Renaissance to early moder- are opposed, as the flight from the dank space of the cave led to the nity. Grottoes often featured quasinaturalistic and mythic scenes construction of the first form of architecture, the “primitive dwelling.” of underground worlds with technically sophisticated waterworks. French architectural theorist A. C. Quatremère de Quincy viewed the They also invoked ideas of alchemic science—in which darkness, cave somewhat more positively. He saw this dark subterranean space light, water, and earth combined. Also significantly, grottoes featured as one of three original types upon which all subsequent architecture a specific type of atmosphere; within Italy and England, the dank was based; the other two were the tent and the hut. But, like other climate of the grotto became associated with the production of a architectural theorists, Quatremère de Quincy believed that the cave pleasing comfort. During Italy’s hot summer months, grottoes were was the most inadequate of his three types and the most resistant to valorized for their cool and stable temperatures. In many ways, these architectural development. Finally, the dark, cool, and wet atmosphere spaces bridged the premodern and modern worlds by combining of the cave served as a more explicitly metaphorical model in archi- darkness and rustic forms with water technologies. A grotto devel- tecture. French classicist Philibert de l'Orme believed that the cave oped by Jean-Jacques Lequeu for a Parisian park illustrates this 030 031 subnature_01_FN2.indd 30-31 5/26/09 6:42:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e concept. Lequeu included numerous waterfalls and a central pool in a quasisubterranean space that contained statuary evoking ancient mythology. In describing this mysterious space, Lequeu argued that it would offer “purification” to the user through an immersion in its waters. Such a claim relates to ancient mythological imagery, but At mosph er es it also engages emerging concepts of urban water use for hygiene. Da n k n ess Fig. 1.2 Lequeu’s project is a harbinger for the gradual reworking of the city’s The mythological character of the grotto, section of a water systems and underground spaces.3 [Fig. 1.2] proposed cave structure by Conflicting perceptions of dank spaces in early modernity Jean-Jacques Lequeu, 1792 gradually disappeared within the nineteenth century. Modern archi- tects and urbanists warred against the dark, wet, and tepid spaces associated with the undergrounds of cities, most notably sewers and cellars. These previously mysterious areas within cities were now associated more explicitly with disease and vice. In the urban underground, air stagnated, moisture collected, and crime fomented. Within the context of modern architectural theory, Georges-Eugène Haussmann and Le Corbusier stand apart as two critical assessors of the modern city’s underground regions. Haussmann charted and expanded the existing Parisian sewer system. Curiously, his work was an extension of earlier efforts by de L'Orme. In the sixteenth century, de L'Orme was commissioned by Henry II to explore Paris’s medieval sewers but failed due to the cavernous and disgusting nature of the medieval sewerage system. In 1802, Napoleon Bonaparte commis- sioned Pierre-Emmanuel Bruneseau to chart the sewer system, and he succeeded after much effort. Bruneseau’s maps were studied by Haussmann, who rebuilt and constructed new gas-lit, widened, and Fig. 1.3 ventilated sewers as part of his immense transformation of the city.4 Rationalizing the dark, wet, underground spaces of Paris, [Fig. 1.3] Haussmann’s sewers turned what was previously one of the interior of a sewer, Nadar, most notoriously vile spaces in the city into a well-illuminated and circa 1860 ventilated underground system. In the early twentieth century, Le Corbusier, who admired Haussmann, further developed this trans- formation of the urban underground as part of an examination of the domestic cellar. Le Corbusier viewed the cellar as a type of dark, wet, unhygienic, and outmoded space that emerged from masonry bear- ing-wall construction. [Fig. 1.4] Writing of this construction system and its dank spaces, he proclaimed: Before concrete and iron, to build a house in masonry, wide trenches were dug in the ground to find a firm soil for the foundations. As the earth along the trenches would slide down, it was easier to remove the earth between them. Thus were created cellars, mediocre spaces, dark or poorly lit and generally damp.5 032 033 subnature_01_FN2.indd 32-33 5/26/09 6:42:30 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e concept. Lequeu included numerous waterfalls and a central pool in a quasisubterranean space that contained statuary evoking ancient mythology. In describing this mysterious space, Lequeu argued that it would offer “purification” to the user through an immersion in its waters. Such a claim relates to ancient mythological imagery, but At mosph er es it also engages emerging concepts of urban water use for hygiene. Da n k n ess Fig. 1.2 Lequeu’s project is a harbinger for the gradual reworking of the city’s The mythological character of the grotto, section of a water systems and underground spaces.3 [Fig. 1.2] proposed cave structure by Conflicting perceptions of dank spaces in early modernity Jean-Jacques Lequeu, 1792 gradually disappeared within the nineteenth century. Modern archi- tects and urbanists warred against the dark, wet, and tepid spaces associated with the undergrounds of cities, most notably sewers and cellars. These previously mysterious areas within cities were now associated more explicitly with disease and vice. In the urban underground, air stagnated, moisture collected, and crime fomented. Within the context of modern architectural theory, Georges-Eugène Haussmann and Le Corbusier stand apart as two critical assessors of the modern city’s underground regions. Haussmann charted and expanded the existing Parisian sewer system. Curiously, his work was an extension of earlier efforts by de L'Orme. In the sixteenth century, de L'Orme was commissioned by Henry II to explore Paris’s medieval sewers but failed due to the cavernous and disgusting nature of the medieval sewerage system. In 1802, Napoleon Bonaparte commis- sioned Pierre-Emmanuel Bruneseau to chart the sewer system, and he succeeded after much effort. Bruneseau’s maps were studied by Haussmann, who rebuilt and constructed new gas-lit, widened, and Fig. 1.3 ventilated sewers as part of his immense transformation of the city.4 Rationalizing the dark, wet, underground spaces of Paris, [Fig. 1.3] Haussmann’s sewers turned what was previously one of the interior of a sewer, Nadar, most notoriously vile spaces in the city into a well-illuminated and circa 1860 ventilated underground system. In the early twentieth century, Le Corbusier, who admired Haussmann, further developed this trans- formation of the urban underground as part of an examination of the domestic cellar. Le Corbusier viewed the cellar as a type of dark, wet, unhygienic, and outmoded space that emerged from masonry bear- ing-wall construction. [Fig. 1.4] Writing of this construction system and its dank spaces, he proclaimed: Before concrete and iron, to build a house in masonry, wide trenches were dug in the ground to find a firm soil for the foundations. As the earth along the trenches would slide down, it was easier to remove the earth between them. Thus were created cellars, mediocre spaces, dark or poorly lit and generally damp.5 032 033 subnature_01_FN2.indd 32-33 5/26/09 6:42:30 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e a conceptual recovery of the basement or “cellar” within modern consciousness. Inspired by Carl Jung’s concept of psychological archetypes, Bachelard believed that our understanding of space was fundamentally rooted in the experience of home that each of us car- Fig. 1.4 ries with us in our daydreams and random thoughts. Modern space At mosph er es The basement as lacked the primordial aspects of our domestic dreams. Bachelard Da n k n ess countermodern space, in Le Corbusier’s Five Points developed a type of science of the oneiric or dreamlike house, believ- diagram, reprinted from La ing that our images of home were situated precisely between the Ville Radieuse (The Radiant City), 1935 two spaces banished by Le Corbusier: the cellar and attic. The attic spoke of a house’s climate—including snow, rain, and wind—it is the more rational space of the house; while the cellar, he wrote, “is first and foremost the dark entity of the house, the one that partakes of subterranean forces. When we dream there, we are in harmony with the irrationality of its depths.”7 Bachelard wrote that the cellar was a space of “fear” and “buried madness.” With the weight of the earth Le Corbusier’s Five Points, as they would eventually be termed, behind it, dark spaces and stagnant water reveal how the apparent sought to employ concrete and industrialized building materials to autonomy of the house is haunted by links to primordial waters and produce new forms of space and domesticity, effectively banishing other underground subnatures. Bachelard’s influence within archi- the cellar (and the attic) from residential architecture. He wrote of the tecture was broad. In concert with ideas from philosopher Martin differences: Heidegger, he instilled a return to concepts of place over space, and by the mid-1970s this involved a far more sophisticated exploration of With reinforced concrete you get rid of walls completely. Floors are metaphor and physical sensation within contemporary architecture. carried on thin columns spaced far apart. To found them, a small well is A second type of exploration of a house’s underground also dug out for each one down to good soil. Then the column is raised above relied on psychoanalytical theory but from a less Jungian and more ground. And at this moment one takes advantage of the situation. I don’t explicitly Freudian-inspired understanding of the unheimlich or need to take away this inevitable mass of earth in the heart of the house. unhomely. This exploration of the underground wrestled with the My ground is intact, unbroken....I draw an automobile on this regained modern home’s apparent autonomy over the psychological trauma ground, and I let air and vegetation go through.6 of modern existence. This approach, represented by the work of architect Peter Eisenman and historian Anthony Vidler, interro- In a drawing comparing his new system to older construction gated the home’s false promise of stability—its groundedness. In technologies, Le Corbusier compared the salubrité of his concrete Eisenman’s work, this exploration initially entailed the manipulation construction method to the damp and dark spaces of earlier masonry of building components, such as walls and columns, held in tension dwellings. Within modern architecture and planning, the dark, wet, against programmatic elements. But by the late-1970s, Eisenman and cold spaces of the urban underground had to go. pushed this exploration of the unhomely further by exploring an The clean-up of the urban sewer and the banishment of the cellar image of the stable “ground” of the house. In the Cannaregio project from modernity represented a victory of the rhetoric of light and air (1978), he situated a version of House Eleven in a large “excavation,” over the dark, the tepid, and the dank. But some midcentury theorists as he termed it, open to the elements above. [Fig. 1.5] Within this dark viewed the loss of this quality as a loss of history and the sanitiza- “tomb,” as it was labeled by Vidler, Eisenman construed a series of tion of domesticity as a form of repression. Postwar discussions of building volumes that themselves appeared as excavations.8 Much the dark spaces of premodernity engaged more with psychology than has been made of the links between the operations of Eisenman and with the hygienic science examined by Haussmann and Le Corbusier. psychoanalytical and poststructuralist theory. The excavated ground Reacting to housing schemes proposed by Le Corbusier and other represents “the presence of absence,” but in addition to under- modern urbanists, the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard sought standing the particular philosophical strands that move through 034 035 subnature_01_FN2.indd 34-35 5/26/09 6:42:31 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e a conceptual recovery of the basement or “cellar” within modern consciousness. Inspired by Carl Jung’s concept of psychological archetypes, Bachelard believed that our understanding of space was fundamentally rooted in the experience of home that each of us car- Fig. 1.4 ries with us in our daydreams and random thoughts. Modern space At mosph er es The basement as lacked the primordial aspects of our domestic dreams. Bachelard Da n k n ess countermodern space, in Le Corbusier’s Five Points developed a type of science of the oneiric or dreamlike house, believ- diagram, reprinted from La ing that our images of home were situated precisely between the Ville Radieuse (The Radiant City), 1935 two spaces banished by Le Corbusier: the cellar and attic. The attic spoke of a house’s climate—including snow, rain, and wind—it is the more rational space of the house; while the cellar, he wrote, “is first and foremost the dark entity of the house, the one that partakes of subterranean forces. When we dream there, we are in harmony with the irrationality of its depths.”7 Bachelard wrote that the cellar was a space of “fear” and “buried madness.” With the weight of the earth Le Corbusier’s Five Points, as they would eventually be termed, behind it, dark spaces and stagnant water reveal how the apparent sought to employ concrete and industrialized building materials to autonomy of the house is haunted by links to primordial waters and produce new forms of space and domesticity, effectively banishing other underground subnatures. Bachelard’s influence within archi- the cellar (and the attic) from residential architecture. He wrote of the tecture was broad. In concert with ideas from philosopher Martin differences: Heidegger, he instilled a return to concepts of place over space, and by the mid-1970s this involved a far more sophisticated exploration of With reinforced concrete you get rid of walls completely. Floors are metaphor and physical sensation within contemporary architecture. carried on thin columns spaced far apart. To found them, a small well is A second type of exploration of a house’s underground also dug out for each one down to good soil. Then the column is raised above relied on psychoanalytical theory but from a less Jungian and more ground. And at this moment one takes advantage of the situation. I don’t explicitly Freudian-inspired understanding of the unheimlich or need to take away this inevitable mass of earth in the heart of the house. unhomely. This exploration of the underground wrestled with the My ground is intact, unbroken....I draw an automobile on this regained modern home’s apparent autonomy over the psychological trauma ground, and I let air and vegetation go through.6 of modern existence. This approach, represented by the work of architect Peter Eisenman and historian Anthony Vidler, interro- In a drawing comparing his new system to older construction gated the home’s false promise of stability—its groundedness. In technologies, Le Corbusier compared the salubrité of his concrete Eisenman’s work, this exploration initially entailed the manipulation construction method to the damp and dark spaces of earlier masonry of building components, such as walls and columns, held in tension dwellings. Within modern architecture and planning, the dark, wet, against programmatic elements. But by the late-1970s, Eisenman and cold spaces of the urban underground had to go. pushed this exploration of the unhomely further by exploring an The clean-up of the urban sewer and the banishment of the cellar image of the stable “ground” of the house. In the Cannaregio project from modernity represented a victory of the rhetoric of light and air (1978), he situated a version of House Eleven in a large “excavation,” over the dark, the tepid, and the dank. But some midcentury theorists as he termed it, open to the elements above. [Fig. 1.5] Within this dark viewed the loss of this quality as a loss of history and the sanitiza- “tomb,” as it was labeled by Vidler, Eisenman construed a series of tion of domesticity as a form of repression. Postwar discussions of building volumes that themselves appeared as excavations.8 Much the dark spaces of premodernity engaged more with psychology than has been made of the links between the operations of Eisenman and with the hygienic science examined by Haussmann and Le Corbusier. psychoanalytical and poststructuralist theory. The excavated ground Reacting to housing schemes proposed by Le Corbusier and other represents “the presence of absence,” but in addition to under- modern urbanists, the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard sought standing the particular philosophical strands that move through 034 035 subnature_01_FN2.indd 34-35 5/26/09 6:42:31 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Da n k n ess Fig. 1.5 Excavated ground as uncanny space, Cannaregio proposal for Venice, Italy, by Peter Eisenman, 1978 Fig. 1.6 Sections and plans of the Underground Houses, by Philippe Rahm Architects, Eisenman’s late-1970s work, we might also connect these excava- Vassivière, France, 2005 tions with the larger postwar recovery of subterranean space that Eisenman’s philosophical opposites, such as Bachelard, also explored. In considering the role of dankness in recent contemporary work, Fig. 1.7 it appears that architects are less taken with the particular psycho- Aerial rendering of the Underground Houses, logical impact of the underground’s “return.” The underground might by Philippe Rahm Architects, offer more than just a confrontational image against architecture’s Vassivière, France, 2005 normative social roles. Rather, work by contemporary experimental architects, such as Philippe Rahm, Aranda\Lasch, and SeARCH, con- siders the particularities offered by its cool, dark, and moist qualities, repurposing the underground into an entirely new milieu in which architecture is conceived and experienced. This work certainly relies on the unfamiliarity of the underground explored by Bachelard, Eisenman, and others, but such unfamiliarity is directly linked to the potential new forms of sensation. For example, in the Underground Houses (2005), designed for the French region of Vassivière, Rahm envisioned how the material qualities of subterranean space might transform our concept of home. [Figs. 1.6 + 1.7] Rahm writes that the aim of the Underground Houses is to construct an architecture for which the climate is in profound relation with the Earth and the subsoil. The interior space, its chemical and physi- cal nature, is here a product of the local soil, literally produced in the Earth. Heat, produced underground, baked with geothermal energy, 036 037 subnature_01_FN2.indd 36-37 5/26/09 6:42:36 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Da n k n ess Fig. 1.5 Excavated ground as uncanny space, Cannaregio proposal for Venice, Italy, by Peter Eisenman, 1978 Fig. 1.6 Sections and plans of the Underground Houses, by Philippe Rahm Architects, Eisenman’s late-1970s work, we might also connect these excava- Vassivière, France, 2005 tions with the larger postwar recovery of subterranean space that Eisenman’s philosophical opposites, such as Bachelard, also explored. In considering the role of dankness in recent contemporary work, Fig. 1.7 it appears that architects are less taken with the particular psycho- Aerial rendering of the Underground Houses, logical impact of the underground’s “return.” The underground might by Philippe Rahm Architects, offer more than just a confrontational image against architecture’s Vassivière, France, 2005 normative social roles. Rather, work by contemporary experimental architects, such as Philippe Rahm, Aranda\Lasch, and SeARCH, con- siders the particularities offered by its cool, dark, and moist qualities, repurposing the underground into an entirely new milieu in which architecture is conceived and experienced. This work certainly relies on the unfamiliarity of the underground explored by Bachelard, Eisenman, and others, but such unfamiliarity is directly linked to the potential new forms of sensation. For example, in the Underground Houses (2005), designed for the French region of Vassivière, Rahm envisioned how the material qualities of subterranean space might transform our concept of home. [Figs. 1.6 + 1.7] Rahm writes that the aim of the Underground Houses is to construct an architecture for which the climate is in profound relation with the Earth and the subsoil. The interior space, its chemical and physi- cal nature, is here a product of the local soil, literally produced in the Earth. Heat, produced underground, baked with geothermal energy, 036 037 subnature_01_FN2.indd 36-37 5/26/09 6:42:36 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Da n k n ess Fig. 1.10 Descending into the underground chamber, Underground Houses, by Philippe Rahm Architects, Vassivière, France, 2005 Fig. 1.8 Section diagram of climate system, Underground Houses, by Philippe Rahm Architects, Fig. 1.11 Vassivière, France, 2005 Fig. 1.9 View of the subterranean Perspective view of the chamber, Underground Underground Houses, Houses, by Philippe Rahm by Philippe Rahm Architects, Architects, Vassivière, Vassivière, France, 2005 France, 2005 038 039 subnature_01_FN2.indd 38-39 5/26/09 6:42:37 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Da n k n ess Fig. 1.10 Descending into the underground chamber, Underground Houses, by Philippe Rahm Architects, Vassivière, France, 2005 Fig. 1.8 Section diagram of climate system, Underground Houses, by Philippe Rahm Architects, Fig. 1.11 Vassivière, France, 2005 Fig. 1.9 View of the subterranean Perspective view of the chamber, Underground Underground Houses, Houses, by Philippe Rahm by Philippe Rahm Architects, Architects, Vassivière, Vassivière, France, 2005 France, 2005 038 039 subnature_01_FN2.indd 38-39 5/26/09 6:42:37 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e air cooled within the cold darkness of the ground, the quality of a soil lived and breathed, the soil of Vassivière. A certain quality of air is sought above all, a certain freshness, drawn out from underground and stored in the inertia of the soil, as if we succeeded in giving the interior air of these houses an earthy taste, a slightly brownish tone.9 At mosph er es Da n k n ess Each Underground House is organized as a two-story struc- ture that sits nestled within a cavernous excavation—a trap for the atmosphere released by spaces within the earth. [Figs. 1.8 + 1.9] Rahm organized each space of the house relative to this cavern so that those rooms one might desire to be most open to moist, tepid air (the bathrooms) open to it, and those spaces that one might desire to be more isolated (the sleeping quarters) are largely protected from it. The underground chamber imparts a new type of strange zone within our image of domesticity. [Figs. 1.10 + 1.11] But Rahm’s point is that once in touch with this uncanny space, we begin to understand it as an unactualized form of architecturally produced nature that reorients the house to the earth. The above explorations of the underground continue in Villa Vals by SeARCH and Christian Mueller and in the Grotto project by Aranda\Lasch. Within Villa Vals the architects examine the very interface between above- and underground. They replace the craggy entrances of the formerly mysterious grotto with a pure platonic construct: a simple circle that makes the underground appear far less interstitial or alienating than those earlier explorations. The ter- raced underground house is oriented toward this circular opening. Fig. 1.12 [Figs. 1.12 + 1.13] Architect Christian Mueller described the project as a Inhabiting the dark and cool regions of the Swiss Alps, “landscape project rather than a building,” explaining that it produced perspective view of Villa Vals, an interior effect, like the Underground House, that he considered by SeARCH and Christian Mueller, Vals, Switzerland, “weirdly comfortable”—an acknowledgement of the underground’s 2009 conflicting image in late modernity. Finally, the architects Aranda\ Lasch developed a project that explicitly returns us to the historical experience of those dark, cool underground spaces so prevalent in early-modern architectural thought. Grotto by Aranda\Lasch recon- ceptualizes the artifice of early explorations of underground spaces through contemporary modes of production, in a project constructed from digitally fabricated foam boulders. [Figs. 1.14 – 1.16] They write: The grotto is an artificial structure or excavation in a garden made Fig. 1.13 to resemble a cave. It is always elaborately artificial, absurdly fake. Underground rendering of Villa Vals, by SeARCH and Against this backdrop of theatricality, forbidden pleasures can occur: Christian Mueller, Vals, hidden and discovered, stolen and intimate. The grotto found its hey- Switzerland, 2009 day in eighteenth-century English gardens, providing a dark and erotic 040 041 subnature_01_FN2.indd 40-41 5/26/09 6:42:38 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e air cooled within the cold darkness of the ground, the quality of a soil lived and breathed, the soil of Vassivière. A certain quality of air is sought above all, a certain freshness, drawn out from underground and stored in the inertia of the soil, as if we succeeded in giving the interior air of these houses an earthy taste, a slightly brownish tone.9 At mosph er es Da n k n ess Each Underground House is organized as a two-story struc- ture that sits nestled within a cavernous excavation—a trap for the atmosphere released by spaces within the earth. [Figs. 1.8 + 1.9] Rahm organized each space of the house relative to this cavern so that those rooms one might desire to be most open to moist, tepid air (the bathrooms) open to it, and those spaces that one might desire to be more isolated (the sleeping quarters) are largely protected from it. The underground chamber imparts a new type of strange zone within our image of domesticity. [Figs. 1.10 + 1.11] But Rahm’s point is that once in touch with this uncanny space, we begin to understand it as an unactualized form of architecturally produced nature that reorients the house to the earth. The above explorations of the underground continue in Villa Vals by SeARCH and Christian Mueller and in the Grotto project by Aranda\Lasch. Within Villa Vals the architects examine the very interface between above- and underground. They replace the craggy entrances of the formerly mysterious grotto with a pure platonic construct: a simple circle that makes the underground appear far less interstitial or alienating than those earlier explorations. The ter- raced underground house is oriented toward this circular opening. Fig. 1.12 [Figs. 1.12 + 1.13] Architect Christian Mueller described the project as a Inhabiting the dark and cool regions of the Swiss Alps, “landscape project rather than a building,” explaining that it produced perspective view of Villa Vals, an interior effect, like the Underground House, that he considered by SeARCH and Christian Mueller, Vals, Switzerland, “weirdly comfortable”—an acknowledgement of the underground’s 2009 conflicting image in late modernity. Finally, the architects Aranda\ Lasch developed a project that explicitly returns us to the historical experience of those dark, cool underground spaces so prevalent in early-modern architectural thought. Grotto by Aranda\Lasch recon- ceptualizes the artifice of early explorations of underground spaces through contemporary modes of production, in a project constructed from digitally fabricated foam boulders. [Figs. 1.14 – 1.16] They write: The grotto is an artificial structure or excavation in a garden made Fig. 1.13 to resemble a cave. It is always elaborately artificial, absurdly fake. Underground rendering of Villa Vals, by SeARCH and Against this backdrop of theatricality, forbidden pleasures can occur: Christian Mueller, Vals, hidden and discovered, stolen and intimate. The grotto found its hey- Switzerland, 2009 day in eighteenth-century English gardens, providing a dark and erotic 040 041 subnature_01_FN2.indd 40-41 5/26/09 6:42:38 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e narrative to the landscape gardener’s palette. This proposal for a temporary summer pavilion takes advantage of the grotto’s essential feature: there is something to discover within, and that something is often wet.10 At mosph er es In all of these projects, the dankness of architecture is both Da n k n ess reconceptualized and redesigned; it may still haunt space, but it also impacts new pleasures in our concepts of dwelling and home. Through these works, we realize what might pejoratively be termed dankness actually contains qualities relative to specific local materials or regions (a terroir, so to speak). These projects embrace the underground as a zone of expression, and they enable us to see that the seemingly undesirable quality of dankness can be filled with pleasure and that we may one day be able to recognize the under- ground’s particular and varying features. Fig. 1.15 Model of Grotto, by Aranda\Lasch, Queens, New York, 2006 Fig. 1.16 Interior view of Grotto, by Aranda\Lasch, Queens, New York, 2006 Fig. 1.14 Diagram of Grotto, by Aranda\Lasch, Queens, New York, 2006 042 043 subnature_01_FN2.indd 42-43 5/26/09 6:42:39 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e narrative to the landscape gardener’s palette. This proposal for a temporary summer pavilion takes advantage of the grotto’s essential feature: there is something to discover within, and that something is often wet.10 At mosph er es In all of these projects, the dankness of architecture is both Da n k n ess reconceptualized and redesigned; it may still haunt space, but it also impacts new pleasures in our concepts of dwelling and home. Through these works, we realize what might pejoratively be termed dankness actually contains qualities relative to specific local materials or regions (a terroir, so to speak). These projects embrace the underground as a zone of expression, and they enable us to see that the seemingly undesirable quality of dankness can be filled with pleasure and that we may one day be able to recognize the under- ground’s particular and varying features. Fig. 1.15 Model of Grotto, by Aranda\Lasch, Queens, New York, 2006 Fig. 1.16 Interior view of Grotto, by Aranda\Lasch, Queens, New York, 2006 Fig. 1.14 Diagram of Grotto, by Aranda\Lasch, Queens, New York, 2006 042 043 subnature_01_FN2.indd 42-43 5/26/09 6:42:39 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Smoke Ancient, early-modern, and modern architectural theorists specu- late that social collectives first formed around fires. Vitruvius, whose At mosph er es writings are the oldest surviving texts on architecture, argued that the first aggregations of people took place around open fires created Smoke Fig. 2.1 in forest clearings. His ideas were expanded in the lush Renaissance A domestic interior emitting smoke, The Roman House, treatises of Antonio di Pietro Averlino and Cesare di Lorenzo illustrated by Cesare di Cesariano depicting entire societies centered around primordial Lorenzo Cesariano, 1521 fires. Hundreds of years later, during a period in which earlier classical theories of architecture were rejected, Gottfried Semper developed an architectural theory based on a belief that architecture began as a protective act surrounding the open-pit fire or hearth. Semper argued that primitive people developed earthworks, roofs, and wall coverings to help maintain the central hearth of their dwell- ings. Fire is a key aspect of architectural thinking on the origins of Fig. 2.2 The smoke-filled Black social collectives. Within these and other writings on architecture Country of the English and fire, smoke is relegated to a lesser position and considered a nui- Midlands, mid-19th century sance. While Vitruvius mentions the significance of fire, his writings on smoke describe it as a potentially destructive presence in the home, something that soils and stains architecture. [Fig. 2.1] Semper wrote extensively about fire in his Four Elements of Architecture but did not incorporate smoke as a significant aspect of his theory. Reyner Banham, who offered one of the most evocative and contem- porary theories of fire in his essay “A Home is Not a House,” considers the smoky aspects of fire to be one of its key defects. Like other forms of subnature, smoke cannot be easily absorbed into architectural thought; when discussed, it is often visualized as strange and alienating. This is particularly true within architects’ reactions to smoke-filled cities and spaces characterized by indus- trial modernization. We see this in architectural writings and imagery of the French Revolution, German idealist architectural theory, the English Arts and Crafts movement, and the Chicago School. In these various movements, smoke appears as strange emissions from chim- neys and smokestacks and as exhalations within spaces through the very act of people smoking indoors. It is within these writings that we witness how smoke often intertwines ideas about bodies and buildings with additional concepts of class and health.Understanding this architectural relationship to smoke is important, as it enables us to develop a more considered role for this most unwanted form of subnature, especially in an era in which the sophistication and wealth of contemporary cities is defined by the absence of smoke. 044 045 subnature_01_FN2.indd 44-45 5/26/09 6:42:40 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Smoke Ancient, early-modern, and modern architectural theorists specu- late that social collectives first formed around fires. Vitruvius, whose At mosph er es writings are the oldest surviving texts on architecture, argued that the first aggregations of people took place around open fires created Smoke Fig. 2.1 in forest clearings. His ideas were expanded in the lush Renaissance A domestic interior emitting smoke, The Roman House, treatises of Antonio di Pietro Averlino and Cesare di Lorenzo illustrated by Cesare di Cesariano depicting entire societies centered around primordial Lorenzo Cesariano, 1521 fires. Hundreds of years later, during a period in which earlier classical theories of architecture were rejected, Gottfried Semper developed an architectural theory based on a belief that architecture began as a protective act surrounding the open-pit fire or hearth. Semper argued that primitive people developed earthworks, roofs, and wall coverings to help maintain the central hearth of their dwell- ings. Fire is a key aspect of architectural thinking on the origins of Fig. 2.2 The smoke-filled Black social collectives. Within these and other writings on architecture Country of the English and fire, smoke is relegated to a lesser position and considered a nui- Midlands, mid-19th century sance. While Vitruvius mentions the significance of fire, his writings on smoke describe it as a potentially destructive presence in the home, something that soils and stains architecture. [Fig. 2.1] Semper wrote extensively about fire in his Four Elements of Architecture but did not incorporate smoke as a significant aspect of his theory. Reyner Banham, who offered one of the most evocative and contem- porary theories of fire in his essay “A Home is Not a House,” considers the smoky aspects of fire to be one of its key defects. Like other forms of subnature, smoke cannot be easily absorbed into architectural thought; when discussed, it is often visualized as strange and alienating. This is particularly true within architects’ reactions to smoke-filled cities and spaces characterized by indus- trial modernization. We see this in architectural writings and imagery of the French Revolution, German idealist architectural theory, the English Arts and Crafts movement, and the Chicago School. In these various movements, smoke appears as strange emissions from chim- neys and smokestacks and as exhalations within spaces through the very act of people smoking indoors. It is within these writings that we witness how smoke often intertwines ideas about bodies and buildings with additional concepts of class and health.Understanding this architectural relationship to smoke is important, as it enables us to develop a more considered role for this most unwanted form of subnature, especially in an era in which the sophistication and wealth of contemporary cities is defined by the absence of smoke. 044 045 subnature_01_FN2.indd 44-45 5/26/09 6:42:40 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Beginning in the late eighteenth century, architects discussed and visualized smoke as a form of nature that must be dealt with in industrialized societies. On the one hand, architects have attempted to curb the environmental onslaught of industrial modernization by harnessing smoke; on the other, architects have grappled with the At mosph er es appearance of smoke and its perceived threat to architecture and culture. The former effort may be observed in a number of eighteenth- Smoke century French practices, including those of Claude-Nicolas Ledoux and Étienne-Louis Boullée. Both architects developed stunning images of buildings releasing smoke into their surroundings. The lat- Fig. 2.3 ter type of engagement appears in a range of architectural literature An allegorical image of the and imagery emerging in early- and mid-nineteenth-century England. smoky Midlands, Pegasus Above the City, Karl Freidrich The industrial and smoky transformation of the towns of the English Schinkel, 1837 Midlands drew the attention of several architectural and spatial commentators. [Fig. 2.2] The imagery of English industrialization in architectural theory is particularly illuminating, especially consider- ing its severity. England was one of the first nations to industrialize at a massive scale and one of the most innovative in developing the industrial architecture of factories. Numerous European emissar- ies traveled to tour the factories of England in the early nineteenth century and their impressions ranged from awe to disgust. The 1826 English diaries of German architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel partially illustrate how architectural theories of smoke were born in the English Midlands. Schinkel’s journey to the region has been noted by architectural historians for its particular focus on industrialized construction methods, but less examined is his focus on the evidence of smoke in the industrialized towns he toured. [Fig. 2.3] In his diary, he wrote of the “smoke from hundreds of tall obelisks,” the frightening sight of a “grey, smoke-filled town built on hills and in valleys” and towns where “buildings appear as blackened with smoke as if they had been in use for a hundred years. It makes a Fig. 2.4 dreadful and dismal impression.”1 In a letter to his wife, he remarked “A Catholic town in the Middle on the impropriety of the smokestacks, a trope that will continue Ages compared with how it was imagined to be in the throughout modern architectural theory engaged with the problems nineteenth century,” A. W. N. of industrial buildings. He wrote of “thousands of smoking obelisks Pugin, 1836 from steam-engines. . . whose height of eighty to one hundred feet destroys all the impact of the church towers.”2 This image of the smokestack-laden English Midlands also appears in architectural discourse in the book Contrasts by English architect A. W. N. Pugin. In this contemporaneous work, Pugin visualized the Midlands factory town as a moral outrage and used its image to enormous rhetori- cal effect. Like Schinkel, Pugin comments on the relation between smokestack and church spire, but for him the smoke-dominated 046 047 subnature_01_FN2.indd 46-47 5/26/09 6:42:40 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Beginning in the late eighteenth century, architects discussed and visualized smoke as a form of nature that must be dealt with in industrialized societies. On the one hand, architects have attempted to curb the environmental onslaught of industrial modernization by harnessing smoke; on the other, architects have grappled with the At mosph er es appearance of smoke and its perceived threat to architecture and culture. The former effort may be observed in a number of eighteenth- Smoke century French practices, including those of Claude-Nicolas Ledoux and Étienne-Louis Boullée. Both architects developed stunning images of buildings releasing smoke into their surroundings. The lat- Fig. 2.3 ter type of engagement appears in a range of architectural literature An allegorical image of the and imagery emerging in early- and mid-nineteenth-century England. smoky Midlands, Pegasus Above the City, Karl Freidrich The industrial and smoky transformation of the towns of the English Schinkel, 1837 Midlands drew the attention of several architectural and spatial commentators. [Fig. 2.2] The imagery of English industrialization in architectural theory is particularly illuminating, especially consider- ing its severity. England was one of the first nations to industrialize at a massive scale and one of the most innovative in developing the industrial architecture of factories. Numerous European emissar- ies traveled to tour the factories of England in the early nineteenth century and their impressions ranged from awe to disgust. The 1826 English diaries of German architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel partially illustrate how architectural theories of smoke were born in the English Midlands. Schinkel’s journey to the region has been noted by architectural historians for its particular focus on industrialized construction methods, but less examined is his focus on the evidence of smoke in the industrialized towns he toured. [Fig. 2.3] In his diary, he wrote of the “smoke from hundreds of tall obelisks,” the frightening sight of a “grey, smoke-filled town built on hills and in valleys” and towns where “buildings appear as blackened with smoke as if they had been in use for a hundred years. It makes a Fig. 2.4 dreadful and dismal impression.”1 In a letter to his wife, he remarked “A Catholic town in the Middle on the impropriety of the smokestacks, a trope that will continue Ages compared with how it was imagined to be in the throughout modern architectural theory engaged with the problems nineteenth century,” A. W. N. of industrial buildings. He wrote of “thousands of smoking obelisks Pugin, 1836 from steam-engines. . . whose height of eighty to one hundred feet destroys all the impact of the church towers.”2 This image of the smokestack-laden English Midlands also appears in architectural discourse in the book Contrasts by English architect A. W. N. Pugin. In this contemporaneous work, Pugin visualized the Midlands factory town as a moral outrage and used its image to enormous rhetori- cal effect. Like Schinkel, Pugin comments on the relation between smokestack and church spire, but for him the smoke-dominated 046 047 subnature_01_FN2.indd 46-47 5/26/09 6:42:40 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e factory town is both an abomination of propriety and a symbol of a largely secular political economy. Pugin, a devout Catholic, viewed the smoke-ridden landscapes of the Midlands as indicative of a modern capitalist society without core religious beliefs. Pugin’s interpretation of the industrial town contrasts with an earlier fif- At mosph er es teenth-century image of the same town dominated by Gothic church spires versus industrial smokestacks. [Fig. 2.4] The noticeably less Smoke Fig. 2.5 smoky and far more picturesque medieval town illustrates the The smoke-filled air of Chicago, Illinois, 1920s harmony of precapitalist religious society.3 Pugin’s outrage at the industrial town and his moral turn toward medievalism would eventually be married with the German ideal- istic philosophy that fueled Schinkel’s views in what later became known as the English Arts and Crafts movement. Within this move- ment, industrialization—its architecture, exhalations, and working conditions—was viewed as a total environment that overdetermines society and culture as a whole. Such thinking was exemplified by one of the movement’s chief conceptualizers, John Ruskin. Like Pugin, it is certainly improper to direct attention to the chimney. . . where smoke Ruskin wrote of the English Midlands as smoky, spoiled, and dena- is ugly, decoration directs attention to its ugliness.4 tured wastelands. But his own theory of smoke was more complex; within the context of industrialization taking over the English coun- Ultimately, we may discern that Ruskin’s theory of smoke is tryside, he increasingly romanticized the seemingly benign smoke focused on issues of class, labor, and the particular economic system of the humble country home. Smoke is imagined as the center of a that produces it. Smoke is not inherently vile; it is vile when its odors moral industry with the fireplace being the seat of domestic work. For and colors evoke the unfair economic systems that were transforming example, in The Poetry of Architecture, Ruskin wrote of the chimneys English life; thus, it is desirable when it strongly contrasts with the emerging from the residences of the English countryside in Romantic smoke of industry and imparts the atmosphere of an earlier, seem- terms, strongly contrasting with those of more wealthy dwellings. ingly more moral economy. A vociferous critic of industrial smoke, he wrote: By the late nineteenth century the modern industrial city was fundamentally understood as a smoke-laden entity. Manchester, There is no motion more uniform, silent or beautiful than that of smoke; Birmingham, and London in England; Bremen, Berlin, and Essen in and, therefore, when we wish the peace or stillness of a scene to be Germany; and Pittsburgh and Chicago in the United States were impressive, it is highly useful to draw the attention to it. In the cottage, considered some of the smokiest cities of the industrialized world. therefore, a building peculiarly adapted for scenes of peace, the chimney, [Fig. 2.5] Within modernity, smoke is both matter and metaphor for the as conducting the eye to what is agreeable, may be considered as impor- emerging paradoxes of modern urbanization, and this extends from tant, and, if well managed, a beautiful accompaniment. industrial to domestic smoke as well as to the act of smoking tobacco and to the imagined smoke from human bodies. As the contemporary Such humble smoke is contrasted to that of laborers within larger historian Alain Corbin said, within a society stratified by class rela- domestic buildings. Ruskin states: tions, by the very factory system examined by Schinkel, Pugin, and Ruskin, smoke is a signifier of class, and the ability to command one’s But in buildings of a higher class, smoke ceases to be interesting. . . smoky exhalations is a signifier of class position. What type of smoke the associations it arouses are not dignified; we may think of a comfort- one engages with and the kinds of smoke that cling to us are indica- able fireside, perhaps, but are quite as likely to dream of kitchens, and tive of social rank and the level of command one has over his or her spits, and shoulders of mutton....Now, when smoke is objectionable, environment. Coal, wood, and tobacco smoke become new signifiers in the city.5 048 049 subnature_01_FN2.indd 48-49 5/26/09 6:42:41 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e factory town is both an abomination of propriety and a symbol of a largely secular political economy. Pugin, a devout Catholic, viewed the smoke-ridden landscapes of the Midlands as indicative of a modern capitalist society without core religious beliefs. Pugin’s interpretation of the industrial town contrasts with an earlier fif- At mosph er es teenth-century image of the same town dominated by Gothic church spires versus industrial smokestacks. [Fig. 2.4] The noticeably less Smoke Fig. 2.5 smoky and far more picturesque medieval town illustrates the The smoke-filled air of Chicago, Illinois, 1920s harmony of precapitalist religious society.3 Pugin’s outrage at the industrial town and his moral turn toward medievalism would eventually be married with the German ideal- istic philosophy that fueled Schinkel’s views in what later became known as the English Arts and Crafts movement. Within this move- ment, industrialization—its architecture, exhalations, and working conditions—was viewed as a total environment that overdetermines society and culture as a whole. Such thinking was exemplified by one of the movement’s chief conceptualizers, John Ruskin. Like Pugin, it is certainly improper to direct attention to the chimney. . . where smoke Ruskin wrote of the English Midlands as smoky, spoiled, and dena- is ugly, decoration directs attention to its ugliness.4 tured wastelands. But his own theory of smoke was more complex; within the context of industrialization taking over the English coun- Ultimately, we may discern that Ruskin’s theory of smoke is tryside, he increasingly romanticized the seemingly benign smoke focused on issues of class, labor, and the particular economic system of the humble country home. Smoke is imagined as the center of a that produces it. Smoke is not inherently vile; it is vile when its odors moral industry with the fireplace being the seat of domestic work. For and colors evoke the unfair economic systems that were transforming example, in The Poetry of Architecture, Ruskin wrote of the chimneys English life; thus, it is desirable when it strongly contrasts with the emerging from the residences of the English countryside in Romantic smoke of industry and imparts the atmosphere of an earlier, seem- terms, strongly contrasting with those of more wealthy dwellings. ingly more moral economy. A vociferous critic of industrial smoke, he wrote: By the late nineteenth century the modern industrial city was fundamentally understood as a smoke-laden entity. Manchester, There is no motion more uniform, silent or beautiful than that of smoke; Birmingham, and London in England; Bremen, Berlin, and Essen in and, therefore, when we wish the peace or stillness of a scene to be Germany; and Pittsburgh and Chicago in the United States were impressive, it is highly useful to draw the attention to it. In the cottage, considered some of the smokiest cities of the industrialized world. therefore, a building peculiarly adapted for scenes of peace, the chimney, [Fig. 2.5] Within modernity, smoke is both matter and metaphor for the as conducting the eye to what is agreeable, may be considered as impor- emerging paradoxes of modern urbanization, and this extends from tant, and, if well managed, a beautiful accompaniment. industrial to domestic smoke as well as to the act of smoking tobacco and to the imagined smoke from human bodies. As the contemporary Such humble smoke is contrasted to that of laborers within larger historian Alain Corbin said, within a society stratified by class rela- domestic buildings. Ruskin states: tions, by the very factory system examined by Schinkel, Pugin, and Ruskin, smoke is a signifier of class, and the ability to command one’s But in buildings of a higher class, smoke ceases to be interesting. . . smoky exhalations is a signifier of class position. What type of smoke the associations it arouses are not dignified; we may think of a comfort- one engages with and the kinds of smoke that cling to us are indica- able fireside, perhaps, but are quite as likely to dream of kitchens, and tive of social rank and the level of command one has over his or her spits, and shoulders of mutton....Now, when smoke is objectionable, environment. Coal, wood, and tobacco smoke become new signifiers in the city.5 048 049 subnature_01_FN2.indd 48-49 5/26/09 6:42:41 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Within the city of Chicago, in particular, various negotiations of these types of smoke became the practice of a new modern archi- tecture and a new type of architect. Stretching from designs for skyscrapers, to residences, to the ways in which architects were portrayed in photographs, Chicago emerged as another key site of At mosph er es architectural engagement with smoke. One of the first buildings to purposely negotiate the dirty smoke of the city was the Reliance Smoke Fig. 2.6 Building, an office building in the downtown financial district. The Soot stains on the building’s unusual cladding of non-load-bearing terra cotta has been Reliance Building, Chicago, Illinois, circa lauded for its lightness, but it also protected the facade’s exterior 1910 surfaces from the surrounding environment of coal smoke. In 1895, Charles Jenkins, a journalist with Architectural Record magazine, noted that with terra cotta, one was “able to wash your building and have it as fresh and clean as the day it was put up.”6 In early photo- graphs of the Reliance Building, the structure appears as a gleaming white tower in a sooty city, but as a material object resistant to Chicago’s smoky climate, the terra cotta presented contradictions. The material may have been vitreous, but it presented a flimsy skin of glass and clay, placing interiors in a more open relationship to Fig. 2.7 the “vile soup” of the city. In photographs of the building from the A portrait of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe smoking, early twentieth century, the Reliance Building’s terra cotta skin Life magazine, 1957 appears completely overwhelmed by the surrounding urban smoke— blackened by the city’s atmosphere. [Fig. 2.6] In the suburbs of Chicago, Frank Lloyd Wright’s exploration of the hearth and chimney as central elements in the home might be understood as offering an ironic focus within an otherwise intolerably smoky city. Wright described how fire from the hearth illuminates the family, but the smoke, as an exterior symbol of the gathered family, also imparted itself into the larger urban-industrial atmosphere that he disdained. Wright’s focus on the hearth as the center of the home was influenced by concepts from Semper and Ruskin. Like Ruskin, Wright spoke out against the smoky atmosphere of the city, though he also concentrated on the fireplace as a central aspect of modern domesticity, particularly at a time when wealthy American homes increasingly utilized more advanced heating systems such as steam. It is within the very flatness and inarticulate form of Wright’s sym- bolic chimneys that we see ambivalence. In considering significant architectural engagements with smoke in this city, we should also consider the smoke moving through the interiors of buildings; here, as in other cities, the smoking of tobacco radically transformed the interior atmospheres of built spaces and perceptions of the city.7 For example, the Chicago architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe cultivated his image as a smoker of cigars to 050 051 subnature_01_FN2.indd 50-51 5/26/09 6:42:41 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Within the city of Chicago, in particular, various negotiations of these types of smoke became the practice of a new modern archi- tecture and a new type of architect. Stretching from designs for skyscrapers, to residences, to the ways in which architects were portrayed in photographs, Chicago emerged as another key site of At mosph er es architectural engagement with smoke. One of the first buildings to purposely negotiate the dirty smoke of the city was the Reliance Smoke Fig. 2.6 Building, an office building in the downtown financial district. The Soot stains on the building’s unusual cladding of non-load-bearing terra cotta has been Reliance Building, Chicago, Illinois, circa lauded for its lightness, but it also protected the facade’s exterior 1910 surfaces from the surrounding environment of coal smoke. In 1895, Charles Jenkins, a journalist with Architectural Record magazine, noted that with terra cotta, one was “able to wash your building and have it as fresh and clean as the day it was put up.”6 In early photo- graphs of the Reliance Building, the structure appears as a gleaming white tower in a sooty city, but as a material object resistant to Chicago’s smoky climate, the terra cotta presented contradictions. The material may have been vitreous, but it presented a flimsy skin of glass and clay, placing interiors in a more open relationship to Fig. 2.7 the “vile soup” of the city. In photographs of the building from the A portrait of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe smoking, early twentieth century, the Reliance Building’s terra cotta skin Life magazine, 1957 appears completely overwhelmed by the surrounding urban smoke— blackened by the city’s atmosphere. [Fig. 2.6] In the suburbs of Chicago, Frank Lloyd Wright’s exploration of the hearth and chimney as central elements in the home might be understood as offering an ironic focus within an otherwise intolerably smoky city. Wright described how fire from the hearth illuminates the family, but the smoke, as an exterior symbol of the gathered family, also imparted itself into the larger urban-industrial atmosphere that he disdained. Wright’s focus on the hearth as the center of the home was influenced by concepts from Semper and Ruskin. Like Ruskin, Wright spoke out against the smoky atmosphere of the city, though he also concentrated on the fireplace as a central aspect of modern domesticity, particularly at a time when wealthy American homes increasingly utilized more advanced heating systems such as steam. It is within the very flatness and inarticulate form of Wright’s sym- bolic chimneys that we see ambivalence. In considering significant architectural engagements with smoke in this city, we should also consider the smoke moving through the interiors of buildings; here, as in other cities, the smoking of tobacco radically transformed the interior atmospheres of built spaces and perceptions of the city.7 For example, the Chicago architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe cultivated his image as a smoker of cigars to 050 051 subnature_01_FN2.indd 50-51 5/26/09 6:42:41 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e enormous rhetorical effect, often appearing with cigar in hand or emphasize movement, above all else. Recent architectural efforts to amidst a swirl of smoke. In depicting Mies, photographers from Life redesign these spaces have simply instantiated them without ques- magazine made an extraordinary but simple collage that linked smok- tioning their inherent logic. ing, interior space, architecture, and the city. [Fig. 2.7] Reclining in a As difficult as it is to imagine architects entangling spaces with chair, we see Mies releasing a plume of smoke that mingles with the smoke in a more direct manner, we might see a new type of engage- At mosph er es plume of emanations from an industrial smokestack reflected in the ment with smoke in some contemporary projects. Some architects exterior glass of his Lakeshore Drive Apartments. In this image, the increasingly train their design acumen on a more subtle development Smoke trans-somatic link of smoking, interior, body, city, and the smoothness of airport and urban smoking rooms, and other architects more force- of modern cladding collapse together.8 The image continues a visual fully and convincingly speculate that due to the very banishment of trope in which smokers are depicted lost in thought, surrounded by smoke we might be able to experience it as both a form of unique their own smoky emissions, but the trope is adjusted to suggest the socionature in the city and as an aspect of history. In other words, creation of new spaces through smoke—the architect’s creations smoke is becoming a curiosity, even as it is recognized as a nuisance launch a new atmosphere into the city. Smoke is carried into the air, in many de-industrialized cities. For example, in a project to renovate where it interacts with the surrounding glass architecture, once again and preserve Philip Johnson’s Glass House, the experimental pres- resistant but visually open to the industrial atmosphere of the city. ervationist Jorge Otero-Pailos proposed reintroducing the smell of The architectural visualizations of smoke formed in Chicago cigarette smoke into the space. Examining historical photos, similar and the English Midlands have practically vanished over the past in many ways to those of Mies and his cohorts smoking in his building thirty years. Smoke is less explored within architectural thought. This designs, Otero-Pailos argued that tobacco smoke was a significant coincides with efforts by Western municipal governments to elimi- aspect of the perception of this space. The smell of tobacco smoke nate all types of urban smoke. Within the last twenty years, numerous (as well as wood and cologne) was missing in the historical pres- cities effectively banned factory smoke, incinerators, chimney smoke, ervation of the space. In a publication on the project, Otero-Pailos grill smoke, and perhaps most controversially, tobacco smoke. If a developed scented panels so that readers could familiarize them- city’s economic health was once represented by its smokiness; now, selves with the scents of the original house. [Fig. 2.8] In a similar effort, the sign of a thriving Western city might be the complete absence I proposed a historical reconstruction of the noxious plumes inside of smoke. In fact, one might argue that the truly global character a former San Francisco bus shed originally designed by SOM (1951) of a city is marked by a lack of both industrial and cigarette smoke. Responding to recent efforts to eliminate such emissions from cities, architectural critic Herbert Muschamp attempted a recov- ery of smoke as an architectural concept. Muschamp lamented the loss of the smoky interior atmospheres of New York City following the ban on smoking tobacco in restaurants. He argued that, in the city, smoke functions as a type of veil for obscuring the city’s rough edges, adding glamour to its interiors and surroundings. He linked Fig. 2.8 the elimination of smoke from the city to the larger culture of eviction Proposal to reconstruct the smoky odor of the that was overtaking the city, dispersing working-class sites of labor Glass House, Olfactory (factories) and relegating working- and middle-class residents to the Reconstruction, by Jorge Otero-Pailos, 2008 city’s peripheries, like smoke itself. Architects, he argued, give form to this smoke-free, cleansed urban atmosphere through a type of complacency with its underlying purge of unpleasantry.9 Perhaps we experience this eviction of the smoker most literally in those specially demarcated smoking rooms in large urban airports, where smok- ers are collected into glass rooms and their enjoyment of tobacco becomes a suspect form of pleasure, a strange pause in spaces that 052 053 subnature_01_FN2.indd 52-53 5/26/09 6:42:42 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e enormous rhetorical effect, often appearing with cigar in hand or emphasize movement, above all else. Recent architectural efforts to amidst a swirl of smoke. In depicting Mies, photographers from Life redesign these spaces have simply instantiated them without ques- magazine made an extraordinary but simple collage that linked smok- tioning their inherent logic. ing, interior space, architecture, and the city. [Fig. 2.7] Reclining in a As difficult as it is to imagine architects entangling spaces with chair, we see Mies releasing a plume of smoke that mingles with the smoke in a more direct manner, we might see a new type of engage- At mosph er es plume of emanations from an industrial smokestack reflected in the ment with smoke in some contemporary projects. Some architects exterior glass of his Lakeshore Drive Apartments. In this image, the increasingly train their design acumen on a more subtle development Smoke trans-somatic link of smoking, interior, body, city, and the smoothness of airport and urban smoking rooms, and other architects more force- of modern cladding collapse together.8 The image continues a visual fully and convincingly speculate that due to the very banishment of trope in which smokers are depicted lost in thought, surrounded by smoke we might be able to experience it as both a form of unique their own smoky emissions, but the trope is adjusted to suggest the socionature in the city and as an aspect of history. In other words, creation of new spaces through smoke—the architect’s creations smoke is becoming a curiosity, even as it is recognized as a nuisance launch a new atmosphere into the city. Smoke is carried into the air, in many de-industrialized cities. For example, in a project to renovate where it interacts with the surrounding glass architecture, once again and preserve Philip Johnson’s Glass House, the experimental pres- resistant but visually open to the industrial atmosphere of the city. ervationist Jorge Otero-Pailos proposed reintroducing the smell of The architectural visualizations of smoke formed in Chicago cigarette smoke into the space. Examining historical photos, similar and the English Midlands have practically vanished over the past in many ways to those of Mies and his cohorts smoking in his building thirty years. Smoke is less explored within architectural thought. This designs, Otero-Pailos argued that tobacco smoke was a significant coincides with efforts by Western municipal governments to elimi- aspect of the perception of this space. The smell of tobacco smoke nate all types of urban smoke. Within the last twenty years, numerous (as well as wood and cologne) was missing in the historical pres- cities effectively banned factory smoke, incinerators, chimney smoke, ervation of the space. In a publication on the project, Otero-Pailos grill smoke, and perhaps most controversially, tobacco smoke. If a developed scented panels so that readers could familiarize them- city’s economic health was once represented by its smokiness; now, selves with the scents of the original house. [Fig. 2.8] In a similar effort, the sign of a thriving Western city might be the complete absence I proposed a historical reconstruction of the noxious plumes inside of smoke. In fact, one might argue that the truly global character a former San Francisco bus shed originally designed by SOM (1951) of a city is marked by a lack of both industrial and cigarette smoke. Responding to recent efforts to eliminate such emissions from cities, architectural critic Herbert Muschamp attempted a recov- ery of smoke as an architectural concept. Muschamp lamented the loss of the smoky interior atmospheres of New York City following the ban on smoking tobacco in restaurants. He argued that, in the city, smoke functions as a type of veil for obscuring the city’s rough edges, adding glamour to its interiors and surroundings. He linked Fig. 2.8 the elimination of smoke from the city to the larger culture of eviction Proposal to reconstruct the smoky odor of the that was overtaking the city, dispersing working-class sites of labor Glass House, Olfactory (factories) and relegating working- and middle-class residents to the Reconstruction, by Jorge Otero-Pailos, 2008 city’s peripheries, like smoke itself. Architects, he argued, give form to this smoke-free, cleansed urban atmosphere through a type of complacency with its underlying purge of unpleasantry.9 Perhaps we experience this eviction of the smoker most literally in those specially demarcated smoking rooms in large urban airports, where smok- ers are collected into glass rooms and their enjoyment of tobacco becomes a suspect form of pleasure, a strange pause in spaces that 052 053 subnature_01_FN2.indd 52-53 5/26/09 6:42:42 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Smoke Fig. 2.9 View of a reconstructed plume inside a former bus shed at the California College of the Arts, by David Gissen, San Francisco, California, 2008 but now used as classrooms and studios for the California College Fig. 2.10 of the Arts. The project, called PlumeIdling, reconstructs the space’s Engaging with smoke in the late-modern city, Pilot former exhaust clouds by projecting a videotape of smoke emanating Plant, by NL Architects, from one of the few remaining industrial facilities in the neighbor- Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 hood. These contemporary plumes are projected horizontally on the ground, making it appear more like the exhaust whorls formerly inside this shed. [Fig. 2.9] By linking the old bus shed with the current indus- trial plant, the project comments on how gentrification processes and the elimination of subnature work hand in hand. At a much larger scale, the Pilot Plant by NL Architects for the industrial sector of Rotterdam suggests that a more significant reconsideration of industrial smoke is underway. In this enormous unrealized project, NL Architects proposes a type of space that brings inhabitants into a direct but protected relationship with industrial smoke, through innovative architectural forms and pro- gramming. The Pilot Plant’s enormous concrete shells wrap a small, low-risk industrial facility near the port of Rotterdam, mitigating the plant’s toxic emissions and enabling a programmatic rapprochement Fig. 2.11 Fig. 2.12 between industry, recreation, and institutional sectors. Crowning Section diagram of Pilot Diagram of the Pilot Plant, Plant, by NL Architects, by NL Architects, Hoogvliet, these shells is a two-story facility that contains several community Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Rotterdam, the Netherlands, programs, including a cafe, convention facilities, and outdoor recre- Netherlands, 2002 2002 ational areas. The architects envision trees and greenery surrounding 054 055 subnature_01_FN2.indd 54-55 5/26/09 6:42:44 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Smoke Fig. 2.9 View of a reconstructed plume inside a former bus shed at the California College of the Arts, by David Gissen, San Francisco, California, 2008 but now used as classrooms and studios for the California College Fig. 2.10 of the Arts. The project, called PlumeIdling, reconstructs the space’s Engaging with smoke in the late-modern city, Pilot former exhaust clouds by projecting a videotape of smoke emanating Plant, by NL Architects, from one of the few remaining industrial facilities in the neighbor- Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 hood. These contemporary plumes are projected horizontally on the ground, making it appear more like the exhaust whorls formerly inside this shed. [Fig. 2.9] By linking the old bus shed with the current indus- trial plant, the project comments on how gentrification processes and the elimination of subnature work hand in hand. At a much larger scale, the Pilot Plant by NL Architects for the industrial sector of Rotterdam suggests that a more significant reconsideration of industrial smoke is underway. In this enormous unrealized project, NL Architects proposes a type of space that brings inhabitants into a direct but protected relationship with industrial smoke, through innovative architectural forms and pro- gramming. The Pilot Plant’s enormous concrete shells wrap a small, low-risk industrial facility near the port of Rotterdam, mitigating the plant’s toxic emissions and enabling a programmatic rapprochement Fig. 2.11 Fig. 2.12 between industry, recreation, and institutional sectors. Crowning Section diagram of Pilot Diagram of the Pilot Plant, Plant, by NL Architects, by NL Architects, Hoogvliet, these shells is a two-story facility that contains several community Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Rotterdam, the Netherlands, programs, including a cafe, convention facilities, and outdoor recre- Netherlands, 2002 2002 ational areas. The architects envision trees and greenery surrounding 054 055 subnature_01_FN2.indd 54-55 5/26/09 6:42:44 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e the concrete shells; inside the facility, views of a surrounding indus- trial world provide a new vision of the city. The project suggests ways that nonindustrial and industrial uses might coalesce, and the archi- tects address pollution from industrialization as a key contemporary Fig. 2.13 concern for bringing these spheres back into a physical and, in turn, At mosph er es Model of the Pilot Plant, by social dialogue. It advances something quite different than reclaim- NL Architects, Hoogvliet, ing former industrial areas of cities by turning them into recreational Smoke Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 sites for members of the postindustrial urban economy. It returns us to smoke and to the issues of industry, labor, and environmental degradation that smoke suggests. The Pilot Plant implies that smoke, like trees and plants, is one of many forms of nature within a city. One can only hope that this re-exploration of smoke will extend to other spheres, where smoke now appears as a peripheral and denigrated aspect of society and its practices. [Figs. 2.10 – 2.15] Fig. 2.14 View from the lecture hall of Pilot Plant, by NL Architects, Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 Fig. 2.15 Aerial view of the Pilot Plant, by NL Architects, Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 Fig. 2.15 Aerial view of the Pilot Plant, by NL Architects, Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 056 057 subnature_01_FN2.indd 56-57 5/26/09 6:42:44 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e the concrete shells; inside the facility, views of a surrounding indus- trial world provide a new vision of the city. The project suggests ways that nonindustrial and industrial uses might coalesce, and the archi- tects address pollution from industrialization as a key contemporary Fig. 2.13 concern for bringing these spheres back into a physical and, in turn, At mosph er es Model of the Pilot Plant, by social dialogue. It advances something quite different than reclaim- NL Architects, Hoogvliet, ing former industrial areas of cities by turning them into recreational Smoke Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 sites for members of the postindustrial urban economy. It returns us to smoke and to the issues of industry, labor, and environmental degradation that smoke suggests. The Pilot Plant implies that smoke, like trees and plants, is one of many forms of nature within a city. One can only hope that this re-exploration of smoke will extend to other spheres, where smoke now appears as a peripheral and denigrated aspect of society and its practices. [Figs. 2.10 – 2.15] Fig. 2.14 View from the lecture hall of Pilot Plant, by NL Architects, Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 Fig. 2.15 Aerial view of the Pilot Plant, by NL Architects, Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 Fig. 2.15 Aerial view of the Pilot Plant, by NL Architects, Hoogvliet, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2002 056 057 subnature_01_FN2.indd 56-57 5/26/09 6:42:44 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Gas The word gas was coined by the scientist Jan Baptista van Helmont to describe the vaporous matter that lifted off coal when it was heated. The term hails from the Greek word for “void,” emphasiz- At mosph er es ing gas’s inherent mutability. A vaporous substance, gas appears in architecture in factories, as fuel for artificial illumination, and from Gas the emanations of people aggregated in cities. While we tend to associate the engineering of water systems with the modernization of cities, the provision for and negotiation of gas also played a role in urban industrialization. Architectural historian and theorist Siegfried Giedion argued that controlling gas was central to emerging con- cepts of modernity in the mid-nineteenth century.1 He wrote that the production of coal gases, the use of gas for the manufacture of indus- trial materials, the mechanization of breadmaking with pumped gas, and the emergence of hot-air gas balloons were all interconnected attempts to harness the ineffable in industrial cities. These practices emerged at a time when scientists and inventors were fascinated by gas’s ability to transform matter and space. To Giedion’s list, we can add urbanists’ attempts to harness and remediate the unpleasant gases associated with human and animal waste from cities. Images of the mapping, capture, and release of various gases move through Fig. 3.1 some of the most exhilarating and horrifying technological concepts Map of the “disease mist,” miasmatic gas within the London neighborhood of Bethnal Green. Hector Gavin, 1848 and experiments. Gas might be used to illuminate cities or to create [Fig. 3.1] Gavin drew a hovering cloud of stagnant brown air layered landscapes of death, and these simultaneously utopian and disturb- over a diagram of this working-class neighborhood’s spaces and fee- ing aspects of gas are harnessed in dialectical form in contemporary ble sewerage system. The “pestilent disease mist,” as Gavin labeled architectural projects. the cloud of gas, reinforced existing relations between poverty and Some of the first architectural and urban considerations of environmental degradation.3 With their language of objectivity, his gas involved explorations of urban miasma. The term chiefly mappings mobilized an emerging upper- and middle-urban class to described the gaseous odor emanating from human waste; the simultaneously fear and address the gaseous atmosphere of modern strong odors were feared as carriers of disease and pestilence. As urbanization through replanning. In the case of Bethnal Green, the was the case with the perception of smoke, the ability to perceive neighborhood was slated for demolition and reworking to make the miasma was somewhat historically conditioned; these gases did not interiors of buildings and public spaces incapable of holding stagnant become sources of fear until the eighteenth century. A new sensitiv- air. The solutions to ridding urban spaces of miasma also involved an ity to gases coincided with a produced alienation from human waste, increased use of plumbing systems. In London, extensive sewerage through transformations in urban spaces such as the separation of systems rid urban dwellings of potentially dangerous human and ani- living and working spaces and the distancing of stables and cess- mal wastes while helping alleviate the powerful odors that overcame pools away from everyday life within European cities.2 Miasmatic these neighborhoods. But as beneficial as these systems were, they odors were difficult to trace and to quantify, as the gases that carried only produced new forms of gases of their own. Sewer gas, which col- them were fleeting and ephemeral. In an effort to understand their lected from the decomposing waste, became a new type of urban gas reach, nineteenth-century urban reformers began conducting olfac- that required negotiation in urban spaces and streets. Sewer pipes tory surveys of urban spaces. In one of the most famous of these, filled with gases often tore apart city streets in violent explosions. English reformer Hector Gavin developed an entire cartography of 058 059 subnature_01_FN2.indd 58-59 5/26/09 6:42:45 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Gas The word gas was coined by the scientist Jan Baptista van Helmont to describe the vaporous matter that lifted off coal when it was heated. The term hails from the Greek word for “void,” emphasiz- At mosph er es ing gas’s inherent mutability. A vaporous substance, gas appears in architecture in factories, as fuel for artificial illumination, and from Gas the emanations of people aggregated in cities. While we tend to associate the engineering of water systems with the modernization of cities, the provision for and negotiation of gas also played a role in urban industrialization. Architectural historian and theorist Siegfried Giedion argued that controlling gas was central to emerging con- cepts of modernity in the mid-nineteenth century.1 He wrote that the production of coal gases, the use of gas for the manufacture of indus- trial materials, the mechanization of breadmaking with pumped gas, and the emergence of hot-air gas balloons were all interconnected attempts to harness the ineffable in industrial cities. These practices emerged at a time when scientists and inventors were fascinated by gas’s ability to transform matter and space. To Giedion’s list, we can add urbanists’ attempts to harness and remediate the unpleasant gases associated with human and animal waste from cities. Images of the mapping, capture, and release of various gases move through Fig. 3.1 some of the most exhilarating and horrifying technological concepts Map of the “disease mist,” miasmatic gas within the London neighborhood of Bethnal Green. Hector Gavin, 1848 and experiments. Gas might be used to illuminate cities or to create [Fig. 3.1] Gavin drew a hovering cloud of stagnant brown air layered landscapes of death, and these simultaneously utopian and disturb- over a diagram of this working-class neighborhood’s spaces and fee- ing aspects of gas are harnessed in dialectical form in contemporary ble sewerage system. The “pestilent disease mist,” as Gavin labeled architectural projects. the cloud of gas, reinforced existing relations between poverty and Some of the first architectural and urban considerations of environmental degradation.3 With their language of objectivity, his gas involved explorations of urban miasma. The term chiefly mappings mobilized an emerging upper- and middle-urban class to described the gaseous odor emanating from human waste; the simultaneously fear and address the gaseous atmosphere of modern strong odors were feared as carriers of disease and pestilence. As urbanization through replanning. In the case of Bethnal Green, the was the case with the perception of smoke, the ability to perceive neighborhood was slated for demolition and reworking to make the miasma was somewhat historically conditioned; these gases did not interiors of buildings and public spaces incapable of holding stagnant become sources of fear until the eighteenth century. A new sensitiv- air. The solutions to ridding urban spaces of miasma also involved an ity to gases coincided with a produced alienation from human waste, increased use of plumbing systems. In London, extensive sewerage through transformations in urban spaces such as the separation of systems rid urban dwellings of potentially dangerous human and ani- living and working spaces and the distancing of stables and cess- mal wastes while helping alleviate the powerful odors that overcame pools away from everyday life within European cities.2 Miasmatic these neighborhoods. But as beneficial as these systems were, they odors were difficult to trace and to quantify, as the gases that carried only produced new forms of gases of their own. Sewer gas, which col- them were fleeting and ephemeral. In an effort to understand their lected from the decomposing waste, became a new type of urban gas reach, nineteenth-century urban reformers began conducting olfac- that required negotiation in urban spaces and streets. Sewer pipes tory surveys of urban spaces. In one of the most famous of these, filled with gases often tore apart city streets in violent explosions. English reformer Hector Gavin developed an entire cartography of 058 059 subnature_01_FN2.indd 58-59 5/26/09 6:42:45 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e As neighborhoods rid themselves of undesirable gases, they were also pumped with new usable gases oriented toward other radical transformations of urban space. Coal gas, one of the chief combustible fuels of the nineteenth century, was harnessed for artificial light throughout virtually all major Western cities. Coal At mosph er es gas was manufactured in enormous gas factories or retorts, where workers raked mounds of coal into ovens; the gas given off by these Gas smoldering chunks was collected in pipes overhead, fed into large gasometers, and then distributed to urban neighborhoods. [Fig. 3.2] The entire enterprise of coal gas distribution created new urban scenes in Berlin, London, Paris, and New York that “turned night into day,” but coal gas factories also imparted new stenches into the city, horribly polluting their urban surroundings. One urban critic wrote of the coal gas factories: Wherever a gas-factory—and there are many such—is situated within the metropolis, there is established a centre whence radiates a whole neighborhood of squalor, poverty and disease. No improvement can ever reach that infected neighborhood—no new streets, no improved dwell- ings, not even a garden is possible within a circle of at least a quarter of a mile in diameter, and not so much as a geranium can flourish in a window-sill.4 Fig. 3.2 “The Gas Works at Courcelles,” Ernest Jean Delahaye, 1884 Like miasmatic gas, nineteenth-century writers understood coal gas to pollute both the physical and social structures of society. It is not only abysmal, it is a form of human-produced nature that is imagined to impart both new forms of environmental and social degradation. By the twentieth century, this aspect of the production of gases became more deadly and more literal with the industrial production of dyes, the chemical vapors of which were lethal. These industrially produced gases contained concentrated chemicals as Fig. 3.3 vehicles for transferring color, and they crippled workers with their The poison gas toxicity. The German dye-making factories also produced poison clouds of World War I gases for World War I, as they were equipped to handle the chief com- ponents of poison gas, chlorine and urea. If the manufacture of coal gas produced horrific working conditions, the manufacture of known lethal gases lent industrialization a new inhumanity.5 [Fig. 3.3] The engineering of gas out of the city and the manufacture of gases for industrial and military use illustrate the ways modern architecture and cities have engaged with and produced new forms of subnature, but in considering the historical relationship between modern society and gas we should consider one final aspect—the capture of ephemeral gases in architectural structures. We have 060 061 subnature_01_FN2.indd 60-61 5/26/09 6:42:46 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e As neighborhoods rid themselves of undesirable gases, they were also pumped with new usable gases oriented toward other radical transformations of urban space. Coal gas, one of the chief combustible fuels of the nineteenth century, was harnessed for artificial light throughout virtually all major Western cities. Coal At mosph er es gas was manufactured in enormous gas factories or retorts, where workers raked mounds of coal into ovens; the gas given off by these Gas smoldering chunks was collected in pipes overhead, fed into large gasometers, and then distributed to urban neighborhoods. [Fig. 3.2] The entire enterprise of coal gas distribution created new urban scenes in Berlin, London, Paris, and New York that “turned night into day,” but coal gas factories also imparted new stenches into the city, horribly polluting their urban surroundings. One urban critic wrote of the coal gas factories: Wherever a gas-factory—and there are many such—is situated within the metropolis, there is established a centre whence radiates a whole neighborhood of squalor, poverty and disease. No improvement can ever reach that infected neighborhood—no new streets, no improved dwell- ings, not even a garden is possible within a circle of at least a quarter of a mile in diameter, and not so much as a geranium can flourish in a window-sill.4 Fig. 3.2 “The Gas Works at Courcelles,” Ernest Jean Delahaye, 1884 Like miasmatic gas, nineteenth-century writers understood coal gas to pollute both the physical and social structures of society. It is not only abysmal, it is a form of human-produced nature that is imagined to impart both new forms of environmental and social degradation. By the twentieth century, this aspect of the production of gases became more deadly and more literal with the industrial production of dyes, the chemical vapors of which were lethal. These industrially produced gases contained concentrated chemicals as Fig. 3.3 vehicles for transferring color, and they crippled workers with their The poison gas toxicity. The German dye-making factories also produced poison clouds of World War I gases for World War I, as they were equipped to handle the chief com- ponents of poison gas, chlorine and urea. If the manufacture of coal gas produced horrific working conditions, the manufacture of known lethal gases lent industrialization a new inhumanity.5 [Fig. 3.3] The engineering of gas out of the city and the manufacture of gases for industrial and military use illustrate the ways modern architecture and cities have engaged with and produced new forms of subnature, but in considering the historical relationship between modern society and gas we should consider one final aspect—the capture of ephemeral gases in architectural structures. We have 060 061 subnature_01_FN2.indd 60-61 5/26/09 6:42:46 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e briefly discussed the capture of gas in gasometers, but the contain- ment of gas was also an important aspect of utopian imagery in architecture and urbanism of the mid-twentieth century. Historian Marc Dessauce traces this utopian sentiment to French experiments with balloons in the late eighteenth century. The ability to escape the At mosph er es surface of the earth through the harnessing of gas carried notions of earthly transcendence, and the ability to turn the new milieu of Gas gas into a “thing” also enforced the notion of modernity as having transformative effects on space and time.6 While the capture of gas appears in numerous architectural works, the utopian flavor of pres- surized environments reached an apex in the experimental practices of the late 1960s and early 1970s. In the development of inflatables, architects explored building shapes pumped with breathable air, helium, and hydrogen gases. What is particularly interesting is the way architects saw inflatable architecture as providing refuge from other gases. For example, in the 1960s the architectural and art col- lective Ant Farm was inspired by images of protesting students fired upon with clouds of tear gas by local police, as well as by environ- mentalist discussions of air quality. Ant Farm sought to develop an inflatable refuge from an external environment plagued by emis- sions of both forms of social power—the police power wielded at the campus and potential forms of emergencies and warfare. Inside, an interior of pumped, safe, breathable air is contrasted with the poten- Fig. 3.4 tially noxious air of political contention. Ant Farm begins to express A symbolic refuge from maintenance of ventilation standards in buildings, would mitigate gas, the Clean Air Pod, how gas began to take on simultaneously chilling and absurd conno- by Ant Farm, University of these gases in building interiors.8 But our fears of contemporary tations.7 [Fig. 3.4] The practices of Ant Farm were mirrored in the work California, Berkeley, 1970 gas also involve the exterior of buildings. More recently, fears of an of the Parisian Utopie group, who also used inflatables to politically urban gas attack have led architects and engineers to collaborate on expressive ends, and of course, the Archigram group in Britain. methods for turning office buildings into refuges that protect their Recent years may have witnessed a return to an earlier Victorian inhabitants from the external atmosphere. In Times Square, engi- ethos in which our fear of socially produced natures, such as gas, neers funded by the United States Department of Homeland Security drives forms of architectural and urban development. Fears of spa- developed pressurized building technologies to work in a manner that tialized gases and the need for refuge from them has continued in is precisely the opposite of those envisioned in green designs. These contemporary discussions of architecture. In the 1970s and 1980s, building skins are designed to limit the exchange of air between inhabitants of office buildings increasingly became ill with “sick interior and exterior. Additionally, fears of terrorism in the midtown building syndrome,” an ailment that causes headaches, dizziness, neighborhood have led scientists to develop new ways of charting the and nausea. Investigations into the causes of this syndrome revealed movement of gases in cities, in many ways echoing the early work of that among the culprits were the off-gassing materials and improper gas cartographers such as Hector Gavin. ventilation. Architects and manufacturers increasingly understood Within this troubling contemporary milieu, recent architectural that industrially produced materials, such as those found in office projects explore our discomfort, dislike, and fear by conceiving of furniture, tend to evaporate their chemical finishes and glues, many gas in new ways, different from the experimental work of thirty years of which contain derivatives of oil and coal. Architectural scientists ago and from recent green designs. Among contemporary works, we such as Michael Braungart maintained that a turn toward produc- might look to Lars Spuybroek’s Blow Out project as attempting a rap- tion practices that relied on inert materials, in addition to the prochement with the seemingly most taboo of gases. In this design 062 063 subnature_01_FN2.indd 62-63 5/26/09 6:42:47 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e briefly discussed the capture of gas in gasometers, but the contain- ment of gas was also an important aspect of utopian imagery in architecture and urbanism of the mid-twentieth century. Historian Marc Dessauce traces this utopian sentiment to French experiments with balloons in the late eighteenth century. The ability to escape the At mosph er es surface of the earth through the harnessing of gas carried notions of earthly transcendence, and the ability to turn the new milieu of Gas gas into a “thing” also enforced the notion of modernity as having transformative effects on space and time.6 While the capture of gas appears in numerous architectural works, the utopian flavor of pres- surized environments reached an apex in the experimental practices of the late 1960s and early 1970s. In the development of inflatables, architects explored building shapes pumped with breathable air, helium, and hydrogen gases. What is particularly interesting is the way architects saw inflatable architecture as providing refuge from other gases. For example, in the 1960s the architectural and art col- lective Ant Farm was inspired by images of protesting students fired upon with clouds of tear gas by local police, as well as by environ- mentalist discussions of air quality. Ant Farm sought to develop an inflatable refuge from an external environment plagued by emis- sions of both forms of social power—the police power wielded at the campus and potential forms of emergencies and warfare. Inside, an interior of pumped, safe, breathable air is contrasted with the poten- Fig. 3.4 tially noxious air of political contention. Ant Farm begins to express A symbolic refuge from maintenance of ventilation standards in buildings, would mitigate gas, the Clean Air Pod, how gas began to take on simultaneously chilling and absurd conno- by Ant Farm, University of these gases in building interiors.8 But our fears of contemporary tations.7 [Fig. 3.4] The practices of Ant Farm were mirrored in the work California, Berkeley, 1970 gas also involve the exterior of buildings. More recently, fears of an of the Parisian Utopie group, who also used inflatables to politically urban gas attack have led architects and engineers to collaborate on expressive ends, and of course, the Archigram group in Britain. methods for turning office buildings into refuges that protect their Recent years may have witnessed a return to an earlier Victorian inhabitants from the external atmosphere. In Times Square, engi- ethos in which our fear of socially produced natures, such as gas, neers funded by the United States Department of Homeland Security drives forms of architectural and urban development. Fears of spa- developed pressurized building technologies to work in a manner that tialized gases and the need for refuge from them has continued in is precisely the opposite of those envisioned in green designs. These contemporary discussions of architecture. In the 1970s and 1980s, building skins are designed to limit the exchange of air between inhabitants of office buildings increasingly became ill with “sick interior and exterior. Additionally, fears of terrorism in the midtown building syndrome,” an ailment that causes headaches, dizziness, neighborhood have led scientists to develop new ways of charting the and nausea. Investigations into the causes of this syndrome revealed movement of gases in cities, in many ways echoing the early work of that among the culprits were the off-gassing materials and improper gas cartographers such as Hector Gavin. ventilation. Architects and manufacturers increasingly understood Within this troubling contemporary milieu, recent architectural that industrially produced materials, such as those found in office projects explore our discomfort, dislike, and fear by conceiving of furniture, tend to evaporate their chemical finishes and glues, many gas in new ways, different from the experimental work of thirty years of which contain derivatives of oil and coal. Architectural scientists ago and from recent green designs. Among contemporary works, we such as Michael Braungart maintained that a turn toward produc- might look to Lars Spuybroek’s Blow Out project as attempting a rap- tion practices that relied on inert materials, in addition to the prochement with the seemingly most taboo of gases. In this design 062 063 subnature_01_FN2.indd 62-63 5/26/09 6:42:47 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e for a public restroom in an urban park, Spuybroek approaches, if not ridicules, the historically conditioned fear of human-produced gases. [Figs. 3.5 + 3.6] Blow Out is a design for a public toilet that both eliminates and propels human-produced gases into the surrounding space. Spuybroek writes of the project: At mosph er es This building establishes a dynamic equilibrium between internal pres- Gas sure (“gotta go”) and huge external forces. It is modeled in such a way that the wind blows through it at high speed (with the “grill” on the male side and the “exhaustion-pipe” on the female side). The doors in the completely distorted passage are too large for the limited space and this, together with the vector of the wind, produces, prior to total release on the luxury toilet, an additional external pressure of increased intimacy. . . the vector of the wind carries the smell of others, their noises, their inte- riors. This liquid machine connects one interior with another, it shapes intimacy, builds it up, and releases it. Finally, sitting on the toilet, orthog- Fig. 3.5 onal to the direction of the geometry, one can relax and let go.9 A building for moving gas, Blow Out, by Lars Spuybroek/ NOX, Neeltje Jans, the Mixing humor with the ridiculous, Spuybroek produces the type Netherlands, 1997 of territory of gas once mapped by Victorians. Gas is positioned as a breach between the imagined line that separates the individual from a surrounding space. A somewhat different but still territorial con- cept of gas is taken up in the project Big Leaks. In this work, Jeffrey Inaba asks us to consider accidental releases such as gas disasters, radioactive leaks, and oil spills as a type of architecture that might be controlled. Rather than just fearing and lamenting these occurrences, he takes the somewhat radical position that the leak could be envi- Fig. 3.6 sioned as something that might be designed. [Fig. 3.7] Accompanying a Interior of Blow Out, by Lars Spuybroek/NOX, Neeltje map of these leaks and their devastating effects, Inaba writes: Jans, the Netherlands, 1997 In civil, mechanical, and environmental engineering the prevention of releases of volatile, combustive, or hazardous materials often involves the design of a leak...to avoid a catastrophic big leak. When a massive failure happens, engineers are hurried in to design a response. Apart from the emergency act of containment, where the immediate spread of the seepage is impeded, most often a designed leak is implemented to divert or dissipate the material as part of the process of recovery and remediation. Instances such as Love Canal, Bhopal, and Warri plainly show that it is when these latter leaks are not introduced that harmful substances remain, causing further contamination. . . it is conceivable to operate at the scale of a city or regional environment using extensive means and manpower to engineer a fix in the face of disaster.10 064 065 subnature_01_FN2.indd 64-65 5/26/09 6:42:49 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e for a public restroom in an urban park, Spuybroek approaches, if not ridicules, the historically conditioned fear of human-produced gases. [Figs. 3.5 + 3.6] Blow Out is a design for a public toilet that both eliminates and propels human-produced gases into the surrounding space. Spuybroek writes of the project: At mosph er es This building establishes a dynamic equilibrium between internal pres- Gas sure (“gotta go”) and huge external forces. It is modeled in such a way that the wind blows through it at high speed (with the “grill” on the male side and the “exhaustion-pipe” on the female side). The doors in the completely distorted passage are too large for the limited space and this, together with the vector of the wind, produces, prior to total release on the luxury toilet, an additional external pressure of increased intimacy. . . the vector of the wind carries the smell of others, their noises, their inte- riors. This liquid machine connects one interior with another, it shapes intimacy, builds it up, and releases it. Finally, sitting on the toilet, orthog- Fig. 3.5 onal to the direction of the geometry, one can relax and let go.9 A building for moving gas, Blow Out, by Lars Spuybroek/ NOX, Neeltje Jans, the Mixing humor with the ridiculous, Spuybroek produces the type Netherlands, 1997 of territory of gas once mapped by Victorians. Gas is positioned as a breach between the imagined line that separates the individual from a surrounding space. A somewhat different but still territorial con- cept of gas is taken up in the project Big Leaks. In this work, Jeffrey Inaba asks us to consider accidental releases such as gas disasters, radioactive leaks, and oil spills as a type of architecture that might be controlled. Rather than just fearing and lamenting these occurrences, he takes the somewhat radical position that the leak could be envi- Fig. 3.6 sioned as something that might be designed. [Fig. 3.7] Accompanying a Interior of Blow Out, by Lars Spuybroek/NOX, Neeltje map of these leaks and their devastating effects, Inaba writes: Jans, the Netherlands, 1997 In civil, mechanical, and environmental engineering the prevention of releases of volatile, combustive, or hazardous materials often involves the design of a leak...to avoid a catastrophic big leak. When a massive failure happens, engineers are hurried in to design a response. Apart from the emergency act of containment, where the immediate spread of the seepage is impeded, most often a designed leak is implemented to divert or dissipate the material as part of the process of recovery and remediation. Instances such as Love Canal, Bhopal, and Warri plainly show that it is when these latter leaks are not introduced that harmful substances remain, causing further contamination. . . it is conceivable to operate at the scale of a city or regional environment using extensive means and manpower to engineer a fix in the face of disaster.10 064 065 subnature_01_FN2.indd 64-65 5/26/09 6:42:49 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e EEXXON 1 EX 7 XXO N VALD XX XXON XXO 1770km 17 77 VVALDEZ VAL ALD ALDEZ ALDE ALDEZ DEZ EZZ 70km2 / 4 death d deaths eath eea aths a ath at tths h hs s At mosph er es Gas LLOVE LOV OVE VE CCA 65000m 6 50 000m 0m CAN CANAL ANAL NAL AL m2 / 0 deaths d th KAATTTRRRI KA 72 726 26km 6k km k RIN IINNNAA INA m2 / 1 106 10069 06 0 69 dea 69 de d deat death deaths eaths e eaaths aths s WARRI-K WWAR WA AR ARRR R II--K -KADU -KAADD UUNA NNAA PIPEL PIPELI PIPE PPIP IPEL IPPPELI PELINE PELEELIN LLINE /1 I NNEE 108 100 082 0882 d dea deaths eat ea aths h Area affected Casualties Fig. 3.7 A map of gaseous clouds and other deadly leaks, Big Leaks, RECONNAISSANCE 2: OUTBREAK by Jeffrey Inaba/C-Lab, 2005 066 067 subnature_01_FN2.indd 66-67 5/26/09 6:43:00 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e EEXXON 1 EX 7 XXO N VALD XX XXON XXO 1770km 17 77 VVALDEZ VAL ALD ALDEZ ALDE ALDEZ DEZ EZZ 70km2 / 4 death d deaths eath eea aths a ath at tths h hs s At mosph er es Gas LLOVE LOV OVE VE CCA 65000m 6 50 000m 0m CAN CANAL ANAL NAL AL m2 / 0 deaths d th KAATTTRRRI KA 72 726 26km 6k km k RIN IINNNAA INA m2 / 1 106 10069 06 0 69 dea 69 de d deat death deaths eaths e eaaths aths s WARRI-K WWAR WA AR ARRR R II--K -KADU -KAADD UUNA NNAA PIPEL PIPELI PIPE PPIP IPEL IPPPELI PELINE PELEELIN LLINE /1 I NNEE 108 100 082 0882 d dea deaths eat ea aths h Area affected Casualties Fig. 3.7 A map of gaseous clouds and other deadly leaks, Big Leaks, RECONNAISSANCE 2: OUTBREAK by Jeffrey Inaba/C-Lab, 2005 066 067 subnature_01_FN2.indd 66-67 5/26/09 6:43:00 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Inaba is interested in the territory of these spaces as both disasters and as engineered failures. Modern societies must con- front enormous forms of risk, and in this project, concepts of risk become conjoined with a spatial program. He is not arguing in favor of poisonous matter being released into populated areas; rather, he At mosph er es is arguing that the idea of leaks, of the frightening moments when material transgresses boundaries, should become part of the design Gas approach in order to avert potential disasters. Lastly, in Sean Lally’s proposal for the port of Reykjavík, the design of leaks informs the entire strategy of an urban plan. He proposes tapping into the ther- mal energy of the earth, releasing clouds of warmed air to produce new zones of pleasurable, inhabitable space that will then generate a new form of urban planning. [Figs. 3.8 + 3.9]. In this project, the fearsome territories of Spuybroek and Inaba are reconsidered, and the release of gas enables a new form of social aggregation. Lally produces a vision of cities in which individuals gather together within a cloud of gaseous vapors. [Fig. 3.10] Perhaps this experience is only possible in contexts in which actual fears of the atmosphere are mitigated or suspended. This vision suggests that the utopian image of captured gas will be replaced by amore amorphous one. Fig. 3.8 (opposite) An urban plan based on the gaseous vapors of the city, Vatnsmyri Urban Plan, by Sean Lally/Weathers, Reykjavik, Iceland, 2007 Fig. 3.9 (right) Plan detail, Vatnsmyri Urban Plan, by Sean Lally/Weathers, Reykjavik, Iceland, 2007 Fig. 3.10 (overleaf) People enveloped in gaseous cloud, Vatnsmyri Urban Plan, by Sean Lally/Weathers, Reykjavik, Iceland, 2007 068 069 subnature_01_FN2.indd 68-69 5/26/09 6:43:07 PM Su b n at u r e pA rt o ne Inaba is interested in the territory of these spaces as both disasters and as engineered failures. Modern societies must con- front enormous forms of risk, and in this project, concepts of risk become conjoined with a spatial program. He is not arguing in favor of poisonous matter being released into populated areas; rather, he At mosph er es is arguing that the idea of leaks, of the frightening moments when material transgresses boundaries, should become part of the design Gas approach in order to avert potential disasters. Lastly, in Sean Lally’s proposal for the port of Reykjavík, the design of leaks informs the entire strategy of an urban plan. He proposes tapping into the ther- mal energy of the earth, releasing clouds of warmed air to produce new zones of pleasurable, inhabitable space that will then generate a new form of urban planning. [Figs. 3.8 + 3.9]. In this project, the fearsome territories of Spuybroek and Inaba are reconsidered, and the release of gas enables a new form of social aggregation. Lally produces a vision of cities in which individuals gather together within a cloud of gaseous vapors. [Fig. 3.10] Perhaps this experience is only possible in contexts in which actual fears of the atmosphere are mitigated or suspended. This vision suggests that the utopian image of captured gas will be replaced by a more amorphous one. Fig. 3.8 (opposite) An urban plan based on the gaseous vapors of the city, Vatnsmyri Urban Plan, by Sean Lally/Weathers, Reykjavik, Iceland, 2007 Fig. 3.9 (right) Plan detail, Vatnsmyri Urban Plan, by Sean Lally/Weathers, Reykjavik, Iceland, 2007 Fig. 3.10 (overleaf) People enveloped in gaseous cloud, Vatnsmyri Urban Plan, by Sean Lally/Weathers, Reykjavik, Iceland, 2007 068 069 subnature_01_FN2.indd 68-69 5/26/09 6:43:07 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Gas 070 071 subnature_01_FN2.indd 70-71 5/26/09 6:43:10 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Gas 070 071 subnature_01_FN2.indd 70-71 5/26/09 6:43:10 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Exhaust We have explored the origins of architecture in dankness, the for- mation of smoke in spaces and cities from pre- to early modernity, and the negotiation of gas in modern practices. We conclude our At mosph er es examination of atmospheric subnatures by examining how architects E x h aust have engaged exhaust. These vaporous and malodorous emissions from automobiles are the only form of subnature explored in this book that cannot be traced to a premodern phase of architecture. As the byproduct of vehicles, roads, and highways, exhaust is largely a twentieth-century phenomenon. The experience of exhaust in cities is similar to that of smoke and gas. That is, modern cities are rid- den with exhaust despite efforts by planners and urban engineers Fig. 4.1 to control and harness it. The removal of exhaust has involved not A City of Towers, illustration habitation and into distinct routes that carried cars through cities of a city set apart from only the redesigning of roadways but the creation of new forms of automobile pollution, from but were surrounded by open spaces. In an important drawing from architecture, such as exhaust towers, and new forms of urbanism Vers une architecture, Le Vers une architecture (first translated as Towards a New Architecture), Corbusier, 1923 to reconceptualize the relationship between buildings and roads. In Le Corbusier compares the nineteenth-century city, where vehicles total, we might argue that the attempted elimination of this modern pumped their emissions into the built surroundings, to a new urban subnature is intimately related to the development of architectural roadway surrounded by greenery. [Fig. 4.1] He believed that a buffer forms of coordination and integration between buildings and road- of greenery would provide refuge from vehicle exhaust, a concept ways—what would eventually lead to the concept of the urban system that extends attitudes toward streets developed by nineteenth- and the monumental form known as the megastructure. As fanta- century British reformers. Equally significant was his belief that if sies of urban coordination diminished, architects simply addressed people were aggregated into housing towers, it would be possible to exhaust through forms of disengagement. Increasingly, they sealed further mediate the deleterious effects of modern urbanization. For building interiors from the real and imagined threats of the roadway. Le Corbusier, the tower promoted a better urban environment, as it Exhaust would continue to be examined by environmental planners permitted the planting of more green space and the surrounding of and automobile technicians and would become part of the material urbanites with fresh air.2 While the tower in the park, as latter aspects language of those subcultures that expressed themselves within of this strategy were eventually termed, was not conceived solely in the dynamics of automobile engines. Only recently has exhaust relation to urban road pollution, this illustration demonstrates that re-emerged in startling new forms of architectural expression by the presence of such matter certainly informed his thinking. experimental practices. Le Corbusier’s ideas and those of the Parisian urbanist Eugene Some of the first architectural ideas regarding the control of Henard influenced planning in New York, where the construction of vehicle exhaust appear in the work of Le Corbusier. In his reflec- new roadways and bridges became an important aspect of regional tions on Paris, Le Corbusier depicted the inadequacies of existing development. The movement of automobiles through the city was nineteenth-century street networks in response to environmental not just an issue of traffic circulation but also air circulation. In the pressures for improved mobility. Le Corbusier did not write of exhaust proposal for the Lower Manhattan Expressway, Le Corbusier’s pair- as a distinct substance; rather, he considered it part of the general ing of verdure-clad highways with residential apartment towers was unpleasantness of roadways, which he referred to as “noise, gasoline re-envisioned for American cities. In addition to the isolation of road- stench, and dust.”1 Le Corbusier sought ways to mitigate the general ways with greenery, we see how towers set away from the road play a effluvia that vehicles stirred up within cities; this included both their significant role in exhaust-proofing the city. Planners in New York also emissions and the atmosphere churned up by them when moving considered the presence of exhaust in other circulatory constructs, down streets laced with ash and dried animal manure. This involved such as tunnels. With the construction of the Holland Tunnel, one of strategies of sequestration; moving vehicles away from spaces of the first large-scale tunnel projects explicitly devoted to automobile 072 073 subnature_01_FN2.indd 72-73 5/26/09 6:43:11 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Exhaust We have explored the origins of architecture in dankness, the for- mation of smoke in spaces and cities from pre- to early modernity, and the negotiation of gas in modern practices. We conclude our At mosph er es examination of atmospheric subnatures by examining how architects E x h aust have engaged exhaust. These vaporous and malodorous emissions from automobiles are the only form of subnature explored in this book that cannot be traced to a premodern phase of architecture. As the byproduct of vehicles, roads, and highways, exhaust is largely a twentieth-century phenomenon. The experience of exhaust in cities is similar to that of smoke and gas. That is, modern cities are rid- den with exhaust despite efforts by planners and urban engineers Fig. 4.1 to control and harness it. The removal of exhaust has involved not A City of Towers, illustration habitation and into distinct routes that carried cars through cities of a city set apart from only the redesigning of roadways but the creation of new forms of automobile pollution, from but were surrounded by open spaces. In an important drawing from architecture, such as exhaust towers, and new forms of urbanism Vers une architecture, Le Vers une architecture (first translated as Towards a New Architecture), Corbusier, 1923 to reconceptualize the relationship between buildings and roads. In Le Corbusier compares the nineteenth-century city, where vehicles total, we might argue that the attempted elimination of this modern pumped their emissions into the built surroundings, to a new urban subnature is intimately related to the development of architectural roadway surrounded by greenery. [Fig. 4.1] He believed that a buffer forms of coordination and integration between buildings and road- of greenery would provide refuge from vehicle exhaust, a concept ways—what would eventually lead to the concept of the urban system that extends attitudes toward streets developed by nineteenth- and the monumental form known as the megastructure. As fanta- century British reformers. Equally significant was his belief that if sies of urban coordination diminished, architects simply addressed people were aggregated into housing towers, it would be possible to exhaust through forms of disengagement. Increasingly, they sealed further mediate the deleterious effects of modern urbanization. For building interiors from the real and imagined threats of the roadway. Le Corbusier, the tower promoted a better urban environment, as it Exhaust would continue to be examined by environmental planners permitted the planting of more green space and the surrounding of and automobile technicians and would become part of the material urbanites with fresh air.2 While the tower in the park, as latter aspects language of those subcultures that expressed themselves within of this strategy were eventually termed, was not conceived solely in the dynamics of automobile engines. Only recently has exhaust relation to urban road pollution, this illustration demonstrates that re-emerged in startling new forms of architectural expression by the presence of such matter certainly informed his thinking. experimental practices. Le Corbusier’s ideas and those of the Parisian urbanist Eugene Some of the first architectural ideas regarding the control of Henard influenced planning in New York, where the construction of vehicle exhaust appear in the work of Le Corbusier. In his reflec- new roadways and bridges became an important aspect of regional tions on Paris, Le Corbusier depicted the inadequacies of existing development. The movement of automobiles through the city was nineteenth-century street networks in response to environmental not just an issue of traffic circulation but also air circulation. In the pressures for improved mobility. Le Corbusier did not write of exhaust proposal for the Lower Manhattan Expressway, Le Corbusier’s pair- as a distinct substance; rather, he considered it part of the general ing of verdure-clad highways with residential apartment towers was unpleasantness of roadways, which he referred to as “noise, gasoline re-envisioned for American cities. In addition to the isolation of road- stench, and dust.”1 Le Corbusier sought ways to mitigate the general ways with greenery, we see how towers set away from the road play a effluvia that vehicles stirred up within cities; this included both their significant role in exhaust-proofing the city. Planners in New York also emissions and the atmosphere churned up by them when moving considered the presence of exhaust in other circulatory constructs, down streets laced with ash and dried animal manure. This involved such as tunnels. With the construction of the Holland Tunnel, one of strategies of sequestration; moving vehicles away from spaces of the first large-scale tunnel projects explicitly devoted to automobile 072 073 subnature_01_FN2.indd 72-73 5/26/09 6:43:11 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e traffic, we witness how engineers effectively urbanized exhaust in their efforts to remove it. The Holland Tunnel spanned an enormous 8,500 feet. At each end, engineers designed ten-story ventilation tow- ers that would push air through tunnels above the cars, drawing the vehicle exhaust upward, where it would be blown back through the Fig. 4.2 At mosph er es tops of the towers and over industrial areas of the city. [Fig. 4.2] The The Holland Tunnel E x h aust exhaust tower, 1926 exhaust towers provided a strange new building type in the city—a looming blank tower that oscillated between a work of engineering and architecture. Critic Lewis Mumford proclaimed that the ventila- tion towers of the Holland Tunnel heralded a new advance in building Fig. 4.3 Lower Manhattan that collapsed architecture and engineering. Mumford wrote of these Expressway, drawing by strange buildings: Paul Rudolph, 1972 While the path toward an appropriate modern architecture was kept open by the excellent individual work of Frank Lloyd Wright, a corresponding communal advance was being made by the engineers who standard- ized building processes, invented new units of heating and plumbing and occasionally, almost without knowing it, threw up fine engineering structures of their own, such as the Ford Plant at Baton Rouge or the ventilator units of the Holland Tunnel in New York. Conscious of quantita- tive relations alone, impervious to the human effects of their processes, innocent of the aesthetic result, the engineer nevertheless had a real contribution to make. It was through his inventions and processes that architecture ceased to be the concern solely of the carpenter and the stonemason: a new battalion of trades and techniques entered it.3 For Mumford, the engineering of exhaust in the city as a quan- titative problem of atmospheric dynamics enabled a new type of architecture that matched the novelty of the particular environmental problem it was designed to solve. The Holland Tunnel—its under- ground tubes and ventilators—was a new typology that was both engineered infrastructure and architecture. The fantasies of coordination between engineering, architec- ture, and infrastructure expressed in the Holland Tunnel reached an apex in postwar proposals for urban precincts integrated within, around, and over roadways, such as in Paul Rudolph’s renderings of the proposed Lower Manhattan Expressway. [Fig. 4.3] This peculiar and intense embrace of the roadway by architects was mostly due to real estate pressures in dense urban areas that made the open area above roadways attractive sites for relatively cheap development. Of the postwar proposals by architects such as Paul Rudolph, Ulrich Franzen, and others,4 one of the more famous was the Washington Bridge Extension Complex of 1963. The entire structure, which 074 075 subnature_01_FN2.indd 74-75 5/26/09 6:43:12 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e traffic, we witness how engineers effectively urbanized exhaust in their efforts to remove it. The Holland Tunnel spanned an enormous 8,500 feet. At each end, engineers designed ten-story ventilation tow- ers that would push air through tunnels above the cars, drawing the vehicle exhaust upward, where it would be blown back through the Fig. 4.2 At mosph er es tops of the towers and over industrial areas of the city. [Fig. 4.2] The The Holland Tunnel E x h aust exhaust tower, 1926 exhaust towers provided a strange new building type in the city—a looming blank tower that oscillated between a work of engineering and architecture. Critic Lewis Mumford proclaimed that the ventila- tion towers of the Holland Tunnel heralded a new advance in building Fig. 4.3 Lower Manhattan that collapsed architecture and engineering. Mumford wrote of these Expressway, drawing by strange buildings: Paul Rudolph, 1972 While the path toward an appropriate modern architecture was kept open by the excellent individual work of Frank Lloyd Wright, a corresponding communal advance was being made by the engineers who standard- ized building processes, invented new units of heating and plumbing and occasionally, almost without knowing it, threw up fine engineering structures of their own, such as the Ford Plant at Baton Rouge or the ventilator units of the Holland Tunnel in New York. Conscious of quantita- tive relations alone, impervious to the human effects of their processes, innocent of the aesthetic result, the engineer nevertheless had a real contribution to make. It was through his inventions and processes that architecture ceased to be the concern solely of the carpenter and the stonemason: a new battalion of trades and techniques entered it.3 For Mumford, the engineering of exhaust in the city as a quan- titative problem of atmospheric dynamics enabled a new type of architecture that matched the novelty of the particular environmental problem it was designed to solve. The Holland Tunnel—its under- ground tubes and ventilators—was a new typology that was both engineered infrastructure and architecture. The fantasies of coordination between engineering, architec- ture, and infrastructure expressed in the Holland Tunnel reached an apex in postwar proposals for urban precincts integrated within, around, and over roadways, such as in Paul Rudolph’s renderings of the proposed Lower Manhattan Expressway. [Fig. 4.3] This peculiar and intense embrace of the roadway by architects was mostly due to real estate pressures in dense urban areas that made the open area above roadways attractive sites for relatively cheap development. Of the postwar proposals by architects such as Paul Rudolph, Ulrich Franzen, and others,4 one of the more famous was the Washington Bridge Extension Complex of 1963. The entire structure, which 074 075 subnature_01_FN2.indd 74-75 5/26/09 6:43:12 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e spanned the narrow end of Upper Manhattan, included a new high- the city’s environment. Megastructural projects often appear to way extension topped by a bus station and four apartment towers. bring mobility into the more traditional language of infrastructural The complex fed and received traffic from the George Washington systems—catchments, reservoirs, and distribution hubs—that we Bridge and the Bronx. Pier Luigi Nervi designed the bus station, and associate with water. Further, several megastructural projects in it he developed a design in cast concrete that would purposely contain robust exhaust towers rising above roadways—a possible At mosph er es move roadway exhaust through and over the building. [Fig. 4.4] A series nod to the architectural iconography of the Holland Tunnel, in E x h aust of triangular vents rise over the bus station’s main receiving area, which architects and engineers first sought to systematize high- providing ventilation and light. For the apartment towers, architects way exhaust.5 Brown + Guenther took an opposite approach. They attempted to seal As architects proposed more tightly coordinated spaces of the building from the roadway’s fumes, providing a space for safe mobility and habitation, engineers had more carefully identified habitation above the highway. For architectural historian and theorist the specific chemical composition of exhaust and its potential Reyner Banham, the Washington Bridge Apartment Complex’s inte- health effects. Exhaust was composed of a number of dangerous gration of roadways, service, and apartment buildings represented a substances, including aerosolized lead, carbon monoxide, and new type of architectural assemblage, the megastructure. Within such hydrocarbons. In certain concentrations, these components of megastructures, architectural form, infrastructural systems, and gas produced disorientation, physical pain, and potentially death. urban planning coalesced into monumental objects that appeared to Historians of the mid-twentieth century have noted Western fears rectify the disconnections between modern architecture and urban of cities consumed in a holocaust of radioactivity, but a review of context. In light of the automotive imagery within so many infra- newspapers from the same period reveals that many individuals structural projects, we might view the megastructure as an attempt also feared that the city would be consumed by clouds of automobile to resolve the automobile’s often enormously negative impact on exhaust.6 The impending ruin of the modern city was captured in photographs of exhaust clouds as much as in imagined billows of radioactive fallout. [Fig. 4.5] Although such whorls were primarily tied to industrialization, in the 1950s and 1960s exhaust had slippery asso- ciations. It was associated with certain subcultural groups that imagined roadways as sites of expression. With the rise and eventual downturn of coordinated urbanization, exhaust became the dominant subnature of the road and the matter expelled by motorcycle gangs and drag racers, both of which viewed roads as sites of personal transformation, signifying the power of mobility. Fig. 4.4 Due to both the inherent dangers of linking urban spaces with Washington Bridge exhaust-ridden roadways and the enormous costs associated with Extension Complex, view from the air, 1963 such projects, by the mid-1970s, the idea of using urban planning to either utilize the area above highways or to alleviate automobile- related pollution begins to appear increasingly naive. For example, by the mid-1970s, the Washington Bridge Apartments were deemed a failure, as the buildings became inundated with exhaust and the bottom four floors were virtually uninhabitable.7 Rather than attempt a massive recoordination between buildings and roadways, a more reasonable approach to remediating exhaust involved developing new legislation for lowering the emissions of automobiles and protecting individual buildings by removing them from direct engagement with highways, as well as through improvements in building-skin technol- ogy. The use of catalytic converters and other technical means in 076 077 subnature_01_FN2.indd 76-77 5/26/09 6:43:12 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e spanned the narrow end of Upper Manhattan, included a new high- the city’s environment. Megastructural projects often appear to way extension topped by a bus station and four apartment towers. bring mobility into the more traditional language of infrastructural The complex fed and received traffic from the George Washington systems—catchments, reservoirs, and distribution hubs—that we Bridge and the Bronx. Pier Luigi Nervi designed the bus station, and associate with water. Further, several megastructural projects in it he developed a design in cast concrete that would purposely contain robust exhaust towers rising above roadways—a possible At mosph er es move roadway exhaust through and over the building. [Fig. 4.4] A series nod to the architectural iconography of the Holland Tunnel, in E x h aust of triangular vents rise over the bus station’s main receiving area, which architects and engineers first sought to systematize high- providing ventilation and light. For the apartment towers, architects way exhaust.5 Brown + Guenther took an opposite approach. They attempted to seal As architects proposed more tightly coordinated spaces of the building from the roadway’s fumes, providing a space for safe mobility and habitation, engineers had more carefully identified habitation above the highway. For architectural historian and theorist the specific chemical composition of exhaust and its potential Reyner Banham, the Washington Bridge Apartment Complex’s inte- health effects. Exhaust was composed of a number of dangerous gration of roadways, service, and apartment buildings represented a substances, including aerosolized lead, carbon monoxide, and new type of architectural assemblage, the megastructure. Within such hydrocarbons. In certain concentrations, these components of megastructures, architectural form, infrastructural systems, and gas produced disorientation, physical pain, and potentially death. urban planning coalesced into monumental objects that appeared to Historians of the mid-twentieth century have noted Western fears rectify the disconnections between modern architecture and urban of cities consumed in a holocaust of radioactivity, but a review of context. In light of the automotive imagery within so many infra- newspapers from the same period reveals that many individuals structural projects, we might view the megastructure as an attempt also feared that the city would be consumed by clouds of automobile to resolve the automobile’s often enormously negative impact on exhaust.6 The impending ruin of the modern city was captured in photographs of exhaust clouds as much as in imagined billows of radioactive fallout. [Fig. 4.5] Although such whorls were primarily tied to industrialization, in the 1950s and 1960s exhaust had slippery asso- ciations. It was associated with certain subcultural groups that imagined roadways as sites of expression. With the rise and eventual downturn of coordinated urbanization, exhaust became the dominant subnature of the road and the matter expelled by motorcycle gangs and drag racers, both of which viewed roads as sites of personal transformation, signifying the power of mobility. Fig. 4.4 Due to both the inherent dangers of linking urban spaces with Washington Bridge exhaust-ridden roadways and the enormous costs associated with Extension Complex, view from the air, 1963 such projects, by the mid-1970s, the idea of using urban planning to either utilize the area above highways or to alleviate automobile- related pollution begins to appear increasingly naive. For example, by the mid-1970s, the Washington Bridge Apartments were deemed a failure, as the buildings became inundated with exhaust and the bottom four floors were virtually uninhabitable.7 Rather than attempt a massive recoordination between buildings and roadways, a more reasonable approach to remediating exhaust involved developing new legislation for lowering the emissions of automobiles and protecting individual buildings by removing them from direct engagement with highways, as well as through improvements in building-skin technol- ogy. The use of catalytic converters and other technical means in 076 077 subnature_01_FN2.indd 76-77 5/26/09 6:43:12 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e the Western urban environment as superior to that of developing countries. In this sense, exhaust represents a denigrated and less sophisticated urban environment from an environmental, social, and geographical point of view; in many ways, exhaust represents an uncivilized past from which a more clean and global city will emerge. At mosph er es It is within this context that we might consider a recent project E x h aust that explores exhaust as an environmental, urban, and social form— the B_mu Tower by the architectural firm R&Sie(n). In the B_mu Tower (2002), R&Sie(n) suggests more provocative ways to conceive architecture’s engagement with the dusty, dirty exhaust-ridden air of urban roadways. This project is less about providing protection from exhaust or eliminating such nuisances altogether, and more about Fig. 4.5 enabling us to understand our historically conditioned attitudes Observing the smog- toward urban pollution and the ironic posture we often take when filled air of New York City, circa 1953 attempting to remediate it. For the B_mu Tower, R&Sie(n) was asked to design a highrise—containing a gallery, offices, and cafe—for the polluted context of downtown Bangkok. [Fig. 4.6] Rather than simply create a climate-controlled and environmentally filtered space for the people of the city, the firm used the building to “breed” the exhaust of the city onto the structure’s exterior surfaces; they went as far as developing an inspirational image of a woman being enveloped by automotive exhaust. [Fig. 4.7] The firm organized the building into several architectural volumes that maintained the contemporary parameters of internal environments; surrounding this multilevel stack, they wrapped these spaces in an electrostatic skin that actu- ally draws the exhaust of the street toward the structure. R&Sie(n) ultimately developed a new interior for the pollution-ridden environ- ment of Bangkok that considers the role of the tower as refuge from automobile engines helped control pollution in Western cities, and a spoiled environment—a role we have seen from the early twentieth instead of establishing new planning standards, architects sought century to the present. [Fig. 4.8] But as aggressive as this project is, the ways to restructure individual buildings to protect inhabitants against skin that attracts the dusty exhaust also filters air, partially on the exhaust, particularly for intensely urban building types such as sky- outside and more thoroughly on the inside, in order to maintain stan- scrapers. For example, the development of double-skin facades in dards of health and conservation inside the space. [Fig. 4.9 – 4.11] In this skyscraper construction helps filter outdoor pollutants even though way, R&Sie(n) designed a building that simultaneously pulls exhaust their primary use is energy efficiency. toward it while developing a protected context from it. It enables us Like smoke, exhaust is being expunged from daily experience to view the pollution of the city within a programmatic context and in the city in the name of environmental health, but in a manner that formal type known for a high degree of environmental control—an art suggests unarticulated forms of social control. Exhaust is tied to gallery and a tower. This project also enables us to see the ironies particular vehicles and spaces that also invoke specific practices and potential loss of historical understanding inherent in seeking to and urban classes—buses, bus stations, motorcycles, older vehicles, achieve an ever-more depolluted and rarified milieu. In bringing us and raceways. Exhaust is also linked to particular geographies, as close to exhaust, R&Sie(n) enables us to see its expulsive vapors, developing countries, such as China and India, are often deemed striking textures, climatic effects, and qualities. [Figs. 4.12 + 4.13] incapable of controlling vehicle exhaust. Such assessments position 078 079 subnature_01_FN2.indd 78-79 5/26/09 6:43:13 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e the Western urban environment as superior to that of developing countries. In this sense, exhaust represents a denigrated and less sophisticated urban environment from an environmental, social, and geographical point of view; in many ways, exhaust represents an uncivilized past from which a more clean and global city will emerge. At mosph er es It is within this context that we might consider a recent project E x h aust that explores exhaust as an environmental, urban, and social form— the B_mu Tower by the architectural firm R&Sie(n). In the B_mu Tower (2002), R&Sie(n) suggests more provocative ways to conceive architecture’s engagement with the dusty, dirty exhaust-ridden air of urban roadways. This project is less about providing protection from exhaust or eliminating such nuisances altogether, and more about Fig. 4.5 enabling us to understand our historically conditioned attitudes Observing the smog- toward urban pollution and the ironic posture we often take when filled air of New York City, circa 1953 attempting to remediate it. For the B_mu Tower, R&Sie(n) was asked to design a highrise—containing a gallery, offices, and cafe—for the polluted context of downtown Bangkok. [Fig. 4.6] Rather than simply create a climate-controlled and environmentally filtered space for the people of the city, the firm used the building to “breed” the exhaust of the city onto the structure’s exterior surfaces; they went as far as developing an inspirational image of a woman being enveloped by automotive exhaust. [Fig. 4.7] The firm organized the building into several architectural volumes that maintained the contemporary parameters of internal environments; surrounding this multilevel stack, they wrapped these spaces in an electrostatic skin that actu- ally draws the exhaust of the street toward the structure. R&Sie(n) ultimately developed a new interior for the pollution-ridden environ- ment of Bangkok that considers the role of the tower as refuge from automobile engines helped control pollution in Western cities, and a spoiled environment—a role we have seen from the early twentieth instead of establishing new planning standards, architects sought century to the present. [Fig. 4.8] But as aggressive as this project is, the ways to restructure individual buildings to protect inhabitants against skin that attracts the dusty exhaust also filters air, partially on the exhaust, particularly for intensely urban building types such as sky- outside and more thoroughly on the inside, in order to maintain stan- scrapers. For example, the development of double-skin facades in dards of health and conservation inside the space. [Fig. 4.9 – 4.11] In this skyscraper construction helps filter outdoor pollutants even though way, R&Sie(n) designed a building that simultaneously pulls exhaust their primary use is energy efficiency. toward it while developing a protected context from it. It enables us Like smoke, exhaust is being expunged from daily experience to view the pollution of the city within a programmatic context and in the city in the name of environmental health, but in a manner that formal type known for a high degree of environmental control—an art suggests unarticulated forms of social control. Exhaust is tied to gallery and a tower. This project also enables us to see the ironies particular vehicles and spaces that also invoke specific practices and potential loss of historical understanding inherent in seeking to and urban classes—buses, bus stations, motorcycles, older vehicles, achieve an ever-more depolluted and rarified milieu. In bringing us and raceways. Exhaust is also linked to particular geographies, as close to exhaust, R&Sie(n) enables us to see its expulsive vapors, developing countries, such as China and India, are often deemed striking textures, climatic effects, and qualities. [Figs. 4.12 + 4.13] incapable of controlling vehicle exhaust. Such assessments position 078 079 subnature_01_FN2.indd 78-79 5/26/09 6:43:13 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Fig. 4.9 Fig. 4.6 Perspective rendering of The exhaust-filled air of At mosph er es the B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) Bangkok, Thailand, circa 2000 Architects, Bangkok, E x h aust Thailand, 2002 Fig. 4.7 Conceptual study for the B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Bangkok, Thailand, 2002 Fig. 4.10 Section diagrams of the B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) Fig. 4.8 Architects, Bangkok, Drawing of the B_mu Tower Thailand, 2002 emerging from vaporous air, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Bangkok, Thailand, 2002 080 081 subnature_01_FN2.indd 80-81 5/26/09 6:43:15 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Fig. 4.9 Fig. 4.6 Perspective rendering of The exhaust-filled air of At mosph er es the B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) Bangkok, Thailand, circa 2000 Architects, Bangkok, E x h aust Thailand, 2002 Fig. 4.7 Conceptual study for the B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Bangkok, Thailand, 2002 Fig. 4.10 Section diagrams of the B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) Fig. 4.8 Architects, Bangkok, Drawing of the B_mu Tower Thailand, 2002 emerging from vaporous air, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Bangkok, Thailand, 2002 080 081 subnature_01_FN2.indd 80-81 5/26/09 6:43:15 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Fig. 4.11 E x h aust Skin detail, B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Bangkok, Thailand, 2002 Fig. 4.12 Fig. 4.13 Conceptual section Conceptual study model, diagram, B_mu Tower, B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) by R&Sie(n) Architects, Architects, Bangkok, Bangkok, Thailand, 2002 Thailand, 2002 082 083 subnature_01_FN2.indd 82-83 5/26/09 6:43:16 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e At mosph er es Fig. 4.11 E x h aust Skin detail, B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Bangkok, Thailand, 2002 Fig. 4.12 Fig. 4.13 Conceptual section Conceptual study model, diagram, B_mu Tower, B_mu Tower, by R&Sie(n) by R&Sie(n) Architects, Architects, Bangkok, Bangkok, Thailand, 2002 Thailand, 2002 082 083 subnature_01_FN2.indd 82-83 5/26/09 6:43:16 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Dankness (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2. Alain Corbin, The Foul and 3. Lewis Mumford, The Brown 1. Marc-Antoine Laugier, An 1993), 140. the Fragrant: Odor and the French Decades: A Study of the Arts in Essay on Architecture, trans. 2. Ibid., 180. Social Imagination, trans. Miriam America, 1865–1895 (New York: Wolfgang and Anni Herrmann (Los 3. A. W. N. Pugin, Contrasts: Or, Kochan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Dover, 1955), 81. Angeles: Hennessey & Ingalls, A Parallel Between the Noble University Press, 1986). 4. For some of these schemes, 1977), 11. Edifices of the Middle Ages and 3. On Gavin’s map and the see Peter Wolf, The Evolving City: 2. For further examinations of Corresponding Buildings of the charting of miasma, see “Rookeries Urban Design Proposals by Ulrich At mosph er es this literature see Joseph Rykwert, Present Day, Shewing the Present and Model Dwellings: English Franzen and Paul Rudolph (New York: On Adam’s House in Paradise: The Decay of Taste (1836; Edinburgh: Housing Reform and the Moralities Whitney Library of Design, 1974). NOTES Idea of the Primitive Hut in John Grant Publishers, 1898). of Private Space,” in Robin Evans, 5. Reyner Banham, Megastructure: Architectural History (New York: 4. John Ruskin, The Complete Translations from Drawing to Urban Futures of the Recent Past Museum of Modern Art, 1972); and Works of John Ruskin, vol. I (New Building and Other Essays (London: Thames and Hudson, 1976), Harry Francis Mallgrave, Modern York and Chicago: National Library (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1997); 30–32. Architectural Theory: A Historical Association, 1905), 62–63. and Erin O’Connor, Raw Material: 6. Robert A. M. Stern, Thomas Survey, 1673–1968 (Cambridge, UK: 5. Alain Corbin, The Foul and the Producing Pathology in Victorian Mellins, and David Fishman, New Cambridge University Press, 2005). Fragrant: Odor and the French Culture (Durham, NC: Duke York 1960: Architecture and 3. On the development of the Social Imagination (Cambridge, MA: University Press, 2000). Urbanism Between the Second World grotto see Naomi Miller, Heavenly Harvard University Press, 1986). 4. Lynda Nead, Victorian War and the Bicentennial (New York: Caves: Reflections on the Garden 6. Quoted in Joanna Merwood, “The Babylon: People, Streets, and Monacelli Press, 1995), 99–100. Grotto (New York: George Braziller, Mechanization of Cladding: The Images in Nineteenth-Century 7. For the history of these 1982). Reliance Building and Narratives London (New Haven, CT: Yale buildings see David Gissen, 4. See Victor Hugo, “The of Modern Architecture,” Grey Room University Press, 2000), 94. On “Exhaust and Territorialisation Intestine of the Leviathan” in Les no. 4 (2001): 52–69. See this essay gasworks, from a more theoretical at the Washington Bridge Misérables (New York: Signet, for more on the image of smoke in perspective, see Steven Connor, Apartments, 1963–1973,” Journal 1987), 256-75. Matthew Gandy, the Reliance Building. “Gasworks,” 19: Interdisciplinary of Architecture 12, no. 4 (2007): “The Paris Sewers and the 7. Some of the thinkers we have Studies in the Long 19th Century 449–61. Rationalization of Urban Space,” been exploring throughout this 5. See Steven Connor, “An Air Transactions of the Institute of study of smoke carried strong that Kills: A Familiar History of British Geographers 24, no. 1 opinions about tobacco smoke’s Poison Gas,” http://www.bbk.ac.uk/ (1999): 23–44. ultimate effects. Ruskin, the english/skc/gas. 5. Le Corbusier, Precisions: On cartographer of smoke, was 6. Marc Dessauce, The Inflatable the Present State of Architecture virulently antismoking, being Moment: Pneumatics and Protest in and City Planning, trans. Edith parodied in an antismoking ad by ’68 (New York: Princeton Schreiber Aujame (Cambridge, MA: the British tobacco company, Copes. Architectural Press, 1999). MIT Press, 1991), 38. His disciple, William Morris, had 7. See Felicity Scott, 6. Ibid., 38–40. great appreciation for smoking, Architecture or Techno-Utopia: 7. Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics and was lauded as one of the many Politics after Modernism of Space, trans. Maria Jolas Victorian intellectuals who (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2007), (Boston: Beacon, 1994), 23. “worshipped at the altar of 208–45. 8. See Anthony Vidler, The Nicotina.” 8. See the various notes on off- Architectural Uncanny: Essays in 8. For more on this image see gassing and material responses in the Modern Unhomely (Cambridge, the essay by Beatriz Colomina, David Gissen, ed., Big and Green: MA: MIT Press, 1992), 118–45. “Mies Not,” in The Presence of Toward Sustainable Architecture in 9. Philippe Rahm, Underground Mies, ed. Detlef Mertins (New York: the 21st Century (New York: House, board from the exhibition Princeton Architectural Press, Princeton Architectural Press, Anxious Climate, 2007. 1994), 193–202. 2003). 10. See Grotto in Benjamin 9. Herbert Muschamp, “Thank You 9. See http://www.archilab.org/ Aranda, Pamphlet Architecture 27: for Not Smoking,” New York Times, public/1999/artistes/noxa01en.htm. Tooling (New York: Princeton May 14, 1995. 10. Jeffrey Inaba, “Big Leaks,” Architectural Press, 2006), 80–89. Volume 5, 2005. Gas Smoke 1. Siegfried Giedion, Exhaust 1. Karl Friedrich Schinkel, The Mechanization Takes Command: A 1. Le Corbusier, Towards a New English Journey: Journal of a Visit Contribution to Anonymous History Architecture (Los Angeles: Getty to France and Britain in 1826, ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, Publications, 2007), 125. David Bindman and Gottfried Riemann 1948), 180–87. 2. Ibid., 124. 084 085 subnature_01_FN2.indd 84-85 5/26/09 6:43:16 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt o n e Dankness (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2. Alain Corbin, The Foul and 3. Lewis Mumford, The Brown 1. Marc-Antoine Laugier, An 1993), 140. the Fragrant: Odor and the French Decades: A Study of the Arts in Essay on Architecture, trans. 2. Ibid., 180. Social Imagination, trans. Miriam America, 1865–1895 (New York: Wolfgang and Anni Herrmann (Los 3. A. W. N. Pugin, Contrasts: Or, Kochan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard Dover, 1955), 81. Angeles: Hennessey & Ingalls, A Parallel Between the Noble University Press, 1986). 4. For some of these schemes, 1977), 11. Edifices of the Middle Ages and 3. On Gavin’s map and the see Peter Wolf, The Evolving City: 2. For further examinations of Corresponding Buildings of the charting of miasma, see “Rookeries Urban Design Proposals by Ulrich At mosph er es this literature see Joseph Rykwert, Present Day, Shewing the Present and Model Dwellings: English Franzen and Paul Rudolph (New York: On Adam’s House in Paradise: The Decay of Taste (1836; Edinburgh: Housing Reform and the Moralities Whitney Library of Design, 1974). NOTES Idea of the Primitive Hut in John Grant Publishers, 1898). of Private Space,” in Robin Evans, 5. Reyner Banham, Megastructure: Architectural History (New York: 4. John Ruskin, The Complete Translations from Drawing to Urban Futures of the Recent Past Museum of Modern Art, 1972); and Works of John Ruskin, vol. I (New Building and Other Essays (London: Thames and Hudson, 1976), Harry Francis Mallgrave, Modern York and Chicago: National Library (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1997); 30–32. Architectural Theory: A Historical Association, 1905), 62–63. and Erin O’Connor, Raw Material: 6. Robert A. M. Stern, Thomas Survey, 1673–1968 (Cambridge, UK: 5. Alain Corbin, The Foul and the Producing Pathology in Victorian Mellins, and David Fishman, New Cambridge University Press, 2005). Fragrant: Odor and the French Culture (Durham, NC: Duke York 1960: Architecture and 3. On the development of the Social Imagination (Cambridge, MA: University Press, 2000). Urbanism Between the Second World grotto see Naomi Miller, Heavenly Harvard University Press, 1986). 4. Lynda Nead, Victorian War and the Bicentennial (New York: Caves: Reflections on the Garden 6. Quoted in Joanna Merwood, “The Babylon: People, Streets, and Monacelli Press, 1995), 99–100. Grotto (New York: George Braziller, Mechanization of Cladding: The Images in Nineteenth-Century 7. For the history of these 1982). Reliance Building and Narratives London (New Haven, CT: Yale buildings see David Gissen, 4. See Victor Hugo, “The of Modern Architecture,” Grey Room University Press, 2000), 94. On “Exhaust and Territorialisation Intestine of the Leviathan” in Les no. 4 (2001): 52–69. See this essay gasworks, from a more theoretical at the Washington Bridge Misérables (New York: Signet, for more on the image of smoke in perspective, see Steven Connor, Apartments, 1963–1973,” Journal 1987), 256-75. Matthew Gandy, the Reliance Building. “Gasworks,” 19: Interdisciplinary of Architecture 12, no. 4 (2007): “The Paris Sewers and the 7. Some of the thinkers we have Studies in the Long 19th Century 449–61. Rationalization of Urban Space,” been exploring throughout this 5. See Steven Connor, “An Air Transactions of the Institute of study of smoke carried strong that Kills: A Familiar History of British Geographers 24, no. 1 opinions about tobacco smoke’s Poison Gas,” http://www.bbk.ac.uk/ (1999): 23–44. ultimate effects. Ruskin, the english/skc/gas. 5. Le Corbusier, Precisions: On cartographer of smoke, was 6. Marc Dessauce, The Inflatable the Present State of Architecture virulently antismoking, being Moment: Pneumatics and Protest in and City Planning, trans. Edith parodied in an antismoking ad by ’68 (New York: Princeton Schreiber Aujame (Cambridge, MA: the British tobacco company, Copes. Architectural Press, 1999). MIT Press, 1991), 38. His disciple, William Morris, had 7. See Felicity Scott, 6. Ibid., 38–40. great appreciation for smoking, Architecture or Techno-Utopia: 7. Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics and was lauded as one of the many Politics after Modernism of Space, trans. Maria Jolas Victorian intellectuals who (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2007), (Boston: Beacon, 1994), 23. “worshipped at the altar of 208–45. 8. See Anthony Vidler, The Nicotina.” 8. See the various notes on off- Architectural Uncanny: Essays in 8. For more on this image see gassing and material responses in the Modern Unhomely (Cambridge, the essay by Beatriz Colomina, David Gissen, ed., Big and Green: MA: MIT Press, 1992), 118–45. “Mies Not,” in The Presence of Toward Sustainable Architecture in 9. Philippe Rahm, Underground Mies, ed. Detlef Mertins (New York: the 21st Century (New York: House, board from the exhibition Princeton Architectural Press, Princeton Architectural Press, Anxious Climate, 2007. 1994), 193–202. 2003). 10. See Grotto in Benjamin 9. Herbert Muschamp, “Thank You 9. See http://www.archilab.org/ Aranda, Pamphlet Architecture 27: for Not Smoking,” New York Times, public/1999/artistes/noxa01en.htm. Tooling (New York: Princeton May 14, 1995. 10. Jeffrey Inaba, “Big Leaks,” Architectural Press, 2006), 80–89. Volume 5, 2005. Gas Smoke 1. Siegfried Giedion, Exhaust 1. Karl Friedrich Schinkel, The Mechanization Takes Command: A 1. Le Corbusier, Towards a New English Journey: Journal of a Visit Contribution to Anonymous History Architecture (Los Angeles: Getty to France and Britain in 1826, ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, Publications, 2007), 125. David Bindman and Gottfried Riemann 1948), 180–87. 2. Ibid., 124. 084 085 subnature_01_FN2.indd 84-85 5/26/09 6:43:16 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T W O Dust M atter M atter Puddles Mud Debris 086 087 subnature_02_FN2.indd 86-87 5/26/09 6:41:17 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T W O Dust M atter M atter Puddles Mud Debris 086 087 subnature_02_FN2.indd 86-87 5/26/09 6:41:17 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Dust We now switch from focusing on atmospheres to matter. Perhaps no form of subnatural matter haunts architecture more than dust. It appears in views of Roman ruins by Giovanni Battista Piranesi, in drawings of cityscapes by Le Corbusier, or more unexpectedly in places such as Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown’s examina- tions of Las Vegas; all of these undertakings contain images of dust. Dust seeps into the interiors of photographs in the architectural history books and, of course, into the interiors of everyday life. It’s a form of subnature that gathers itself, heaping, sifting but also ready to be unleashed by far-off winds or a passing automobile. Dust is the result of natural decay in buildings, pollution from cars and factories, and the result of landscapes transformed by disasters. Unlike many other forms of subnature under review in this book, dust is always pervasive; though infinitesimal, it is never not there. Architectural historian Teresa Stoppani emphasizes this aspect of dust, noting that it is difficult to conceptualize dust as a truly transgressive element in architecture, something that crosses into architecture unexpect- edly. She writes, “It does not transgress: it invades and pervades.”1 M atter Dust Stoppani sees dust as such a general part of everyday life that we must concentrate to even notice it. Within architectural theory, dust often appears as a type of architectural background, an element that registers time by way Fig. 5.1 of accretion. This is the type of dust we find in images of ruins by View of Campo Vaccino, Giovanni Battista Piranesi, in particular his Views of Rome. In these images, ruins Piranesi, 1757 appear half buried, slowly taken over by dust. [Fig. 5.1] In this strand of thinking, dust might ultimately consume space but only over hundreds if not thousands of years. Accreted dust eventually registers as dirt, then soil, and eventually as earth itself. John Ruskin was probably the first architectural theorist to consider the temporal aspects of dust and dirt in depth; in his philosophy, dust was a type of historical Fig. 5.2 record. To remove dust from buildings was, in some sense, to deny Section of Mount Vesuvius emitting dust, fire, and smoke, their own history. Ruskin lashed out at contemporary forms of resto- drawing by Gabriel Pierre ration involving cleaning the exteriors of buildings, renewing them, Martin Dumont, 1769 but also eliminating their very standing as historically conditioned structures.2 In these works and others, dust is largely innocuous; it registers its particular power against and over architecture, through neglect over expanses of time. Cultural theorist Georges Bataille pro- vided a more recent conceptualization of dust. He claimed that dust was an uncanny register of time. Imagine, he asked, the thick blankets of dust covering the character Sleeping Beauty after one hundred years of sleep. She would no longer be an image of beauty but of 088 089 subnature_02_FN2.indd 88-89 5/26/09 6:41:18 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Dust We now switch from focusing on atmospheres to matter. Perhaps no form of subnatural matter haunts architecture more than dust. It appears in views of Roman ruins by Giovanni Battista Piranesi, in drawings of cityscapes by Le Corbusier, or more unexpectedly in places such as Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown’s examina- tions of Las Vegas; all of these undertakings contain images of dust. Dust seeps into the interiors of photographs in the architectural history books and, of course, into the interiors of everyday life. It’s a form of subnature that gathers itself, heaping, sifting but also ready to be unleashed by far-off winds or a passing automobile. Dust is the result of natural decay in buildings, pollution from cars and factories, and the result of landscapes transformed by disasters. Unlike many other forms of subnature under review in this book, dust is always pervasive; though infinitesimal, it is never not there. Architectural historian Teresa Stoppani emphasizes this aspect of dust, noting that it is difficult to conceptualize dust as a truly transgressive element in architecture, something that crosses into architecture unexpect- edly. She writes, “It does not transgress: it invades and pervades.”1 M atter Dust Stoppani sees dust as such a general part of everyday life that we must concentrate to even notice it. Within architectural theory, dust often appears as a type of architectural background, an element that registers time by way Fig. 5.1 of accretion. This is the type of dust we find in images of ruins by View of Campo Vaccino, Giovanni Battista Piranesi, in particular his Views of Rome. In these images, ruins Piranesi, 1757 appear half buried, slowly taken over by dust. [Fig. 5.1] In this strand of thinking, dust might ultimately consume space but only over hundreds if not thousands of years. Accreted dust eventually registers as dirt, then soil, and eventually as earth itself. John Ruskin was probably the first architectural theorist to consider the temporal aspects of dust and dirt in depth; in his philosophy, dust was a type of historical Fig. 5.2 record. To remove dust from buildings was, in some sense, to deny Section of Mount Vesuvius emitting dust, fire, and smoke, their own history. Ruskin lashed out at contemporary forms of resto- drawing by Gabriel Pierre ration involving cleaning the exteriors of buildings, renewing them, Martin Dumont, 1769 but also eliminating their very standing as historically conditioned structures.2 In these works and others, dust is largely innocuous; it registers its particular power against and over architecture, through neglect over expanses of time. Cultural theorist Georges Bataille pro- vided a more recent conceptualization of dust. He claimed that dust was an uncanny register of time. Imagine, he asked, the thick blankets of dust covering the character Sleeping Beauty after one hundred years of sleep. She would no longer be an image of beauty but of 088 089 subnature_02_FN2.indd 88-89 5/26/09 6:41:18 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two disgust. For Bataille, dust is what lies in waiting, ready to invade a world without human beings. Dust haunts space; by our understand- ing, it is a type of material future that awaits. Not only will we turn into dust, but without the presence of human beings to remove it, dust begins to dominate space.3 In contrast to the image of dust that registers time, there is Fig. 5.3 another dust that most palpably emerges with sudden disasters or Dust storm on the American Great Plains, 1939 massive technological and ecological changes. This is a dust that is geographic and intense versus temporal and volumetric. This is the dust that the architect Gabriel Pierre Martin Dumont drew as erupting out of the crown of Mount Vesuvius—the famous volcano that buried Pompeii. In Dumont’s image, a remarkable cross-section of the mountain, Vesuvius appears as a geological engine spewing smoke, dust, and fire. [Fig. 5.2] The destruction wrought by Vesuvius is but one of the myriad “dust disasters” that move through human his- tory. In his examination of the social history of dust, historian Joseph Fig. 5.4 The dusty destruction of Amato documented the different ways in which dust both causes and the Pruitt-Igoe Housing is a marker of disaster. In examining the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, Complex, 1972 Amato noted that it “poured such large quantities of ash into the sky that four days afterward the cinders reached the Azores in the middle M atter Dust of the North Atlantic.”4 The island inhabitants of the Azores consid- ered the event a harbinger of an apocalyptical end. Amato goes on to cite another example of a geographic expanse of dust more familiar to North Americans; he writes, “dust imprinted the ‘Dirty Thirties.’ From 1932 to ’38, the so-called Dust Bowl covered 150,000 square miles of the American plains, causing 60 percent of the people there to emigrate. . . .Dust found its way into people’s beds and food; it tore at their skin and caused ‘dust pneumonia.’”5 Dust not only produced an environmental disaster, it became associated with the failures to coordinate modern development of land and settlement. [Fig. 5.3] Dust appeared as a vengeful force of mismanagement. Within the above examples, dust appears as a force of nature, an element exaggerated by social forms of development but largely outside of society. Within a modern context, we begin to see an understanding of dust as a social form. This aspect of dust can be found in architectural thought in the writings of Le Corbusier. As we explored in the section on exhaust, Le Corbusier proposed towers that rose above the dust-ridden atmosphere created by urbanization. For him, the street was a space of dust, but unlike earlier architec- tural cartographers, he saw dust as a swirling menace rather than a benign register of time; dust was more alive. He wrote, “Dust, smells and noise stifle our towns of today.” He proposed towers that worked against this dust-ridden street; they “are far removed from all this and 090 091 subnature_02_FN2.indd 90-91 5/26/09 6:41:19 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two disgust. For Bataille, dust is what lies in waiting, ready to invade a world without human beings. Dust haunts space; by our understand- ing, it is a type of material future that awaits. Not only will we turn into dust, but without the presence of human beings to remove it, dust begins to dominate space.3 In contrast to the image of dust that registers time, there is Fig. 5.3 another dust that most palpably emerges with sudden disasters or Dust storm on the American Great Plains, 1939 massive technological and ecological changes. This is a dust that is geographic and intense versus temporal and volumetric. This is the dust that the architect Gabriel Pierre Martin Dumont drew as erupting out of the crown of Mount Vesuvius—the famous volcano that buried Pompeii. In Dumont’s image, a remarkable cross-section of the mountain, Vesuvius appears as a geological engine spewing smoke, dust, and fire. [Fig. 5.2] The destruction wrought by Vesuvius is but one of the myriad “dust disasters” that move through human his- tory. In his examination of the social history of dust, historian Joseph Fig. 5.4 The dusty destruction of Amato documented the different ways in which dust both causes and the Pruitt-Igoe Housing is a marker of disaster. In examining the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, Complex, 1972 Amato noted that it “poured such large quantities of ash into the sky that four days afterward the cinders reached the Azores in the middle M atter Dust of the North Atlantic.”4 The island inhabitants of the Azores consid- ered the event a harbinger of an apocalyptical end. Amato goes on to cite another example of a geographic expanse of dust more familiar to North Americans; he writes, “dust imprinted the ‘Dirty Thirties.’ From 1932 to ’38, the so-called Dust Bowl covered 150,000 square miles of the American plains, causing 60 percent of the people there to emigrate. . . .Dust found its way into people’s beds and food; it tore at their skin and caused ‘dust pneumonia.’”5 Dust not only produced an environmental disaster, it became associated with the failures to coordinate modern development of land and settlement. [Fig. 5.3] Dust appeared as a vengeful force of mismanagement. Within the above examples, dust appears as a force of nature, an element exaggerated by social forms of development but largely outside of society. Within a modern context, we begin to see an understanding of dust as a social form. This aspect of dust can be found in architectural thought in the writings of Le Corbusier. As we explored in the section on exhaust, Le Corbusier proposed towers that rose above the dust-ridden atmosphere created by urbanization. For him, the street was a space of dust, but unlike earlier architec- tural cartographers, he saw dust as a swirling menace rather than a benign register of time; dust was more alive. He wrote, “Dust, smells and noise stifle our towns of today.” He proposed towers that worked against this dust-ridden street; they “are far removed from all this and 090 091 subnature_02_FN2.indd 90-91 5/26/09 6:41:19 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two set in clean air amidst trees and grass.”6 In this new city of towers, Le Corbusier provided a refuge from the urban dust storm. The irony of his proposal was that within the context of modernity, buildings participate in generating urban dust storms as much as providing refuge from them. The destruction of buildings as part of modern and contemporary development emits enormous amounts of dust into the atmosphere. Within Paris, the dust generated by the destruction of buildings by Georges-Eugène Hausmann’s planning projects was so intense that it spawned a new fashion. In the mid- and late eighteenth century, women walking down the streets and boulevards wore veils to alleviate the impact of dust spewing from demolition sites. These Fig. 5.5 images of women in veils can be seen in etchings from street scenes Observing the dust cloud hovering over the city, New and in several key impressionist works from the late nineteenth York, September 11, 2001, Four century.7 The image of dust as a signifier of urban change continued Days Later, by Laura Kurgan, 2001 in the paintings and drawings of New York City building construc- tion in the early twentieth century. In these works, notably those of George Bellows and other contemporary realist painters, images depict workers laboring in swarms of dust. Demolition techniques, particularly those used to destroy concrete towers, produce such enormous amounts of dust that the blocks surrounding them must M atter Fig. 5.6 Dust be evacuated before they are destroyed. [Fig. 5.4] In this latter aspect, Installation view of Four Days Later, by Laura Kurgan, 2001 as an atmospheric force, whether through disaster or not, dust not only represents a counter form of nature, it produces a new milieu, a new environment through the colonization of earth and air. Dust, from demolition and construction, blocks the sun, lowering the tem- perature of the spaces immediately beneath it by several degrees. It transforms the odor and, most disturbingly, the pH balance of air, and the dust produced from demolishing buildings contains alkali levels rivaling some the most powerful industrial cleaners. But in addition to all of these chemical and climatic aspects, dust is most often asso- work take on these aspects of dust. These understandings range from ciated with dirt, soiling the surfaces and windows of buildings and incisive social and political critique to more nuanced examinations of coming inside through openings and passages. architectural maintenance; they explore how contemporary explora- As much as we try to control it, dust pervades us, and as much tions of dust continue its position as historical marker, signifier of as it remains a nuisance—as a conveyor of destruction, hygienic disaster, and as an object of compulsive hygiene. For example, in New obssessiveness, and historical change—dust in architecture con- York, September 11, 2001, Four Days Later, Laura Kurgan considered tains a certain type of material and intellectual power that might be how the devastating attacks of September 11th were envisioned as engaged, even as we try to wash it away. Such an engagement with a cloud of dust and debris. Using a photo taken by the Ikonos satel- dust might produce a negotiation that neither relinquishes space to lite, she argued that this type of orbital imager only reinforces our dust nor rejects its prominence in urban life. By addressing dust, we understanding of disaster as a register of the transformation of can confront its particular physical and emotional power, its conno- matter—a cloud of dust and smoke—versus a massive loss of life. tations as a historical register, and its existence as a form of matter [Figs. 5.5 + 5.6] The satellite image of the World Trade Center is the image that moves with calamities and in the most banal moments of time. of disaster within a society in which methods of surveillance provide Recent architectural projects spanning installations to preservation our visual representations of cities. Kurgan laments that what is 092 093 subnature_02_FN2.indd 92-93 5/26/09 6:41:20 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two set in clean air amidst trees and grass.”6 In this new city of towers, Le Corbusier provided a refuge from the urban dust storm. The irony of his proposal was that within the context of modernity, buildings participate in generating urban dust storms as much as providing refuge from them. The destruction of buildings as part of modern and contemporary development emits enormous amounts of dust into the atmosphere. Within Paris, the dust generated by the destruction of buildings by Georges-Eugène Hausmann’s planning projects was so intense that it spawned a new fashion. In the mid- and late eighteenth century, women walking down the streets and boulevards wore veils to alleviate the impact of dust spewing from demolition sites. These Fig. 5.5 images of women in veils can be seen in etchings from street scenes Observing the dust cloud hovering over the city, New and in several key impressionist works from the late nineteenth York, September 11, 2001, Four century.7 The image of dust as a signifier of urban change continued Days Later, by Laura Kurgan, 2001 in the paintings and drawings of New York City building construc- tion in the early twentieth century. In these works, notably those of George Bellows and other contemporary realist painters, images depict workers laboring in swarms of dust. Demolition techniques, particularly those used to destroy concrete towers, produce such enormous amounts of dust that the blocks surrounding them must M atter Fig. 5.6 Dust be evacuated before they are destroyed. [Fig. 5.4] In this latter aspect, Installation view of Four Days Later, by Laura Kurgan, 2001 as an atmospheric force, whether through disaster or not, dust not only represents a counter form of nature, it produces a new milieu, a new environment through the colonization of earth and air. Dust, from demolition and construction, blocks the sun, lowering the tem- perature of the spaces immediately beneath it by several degrees. It transforms the odor and, most disturbingly, the pH balance of air, and the dust produced from demolishing buildings contains alkali levels rivaling some the most powerful industrial cleaners. But in addition to all of these chemical and climatic aspects, dust is most often asso- work take on these aspects of dust. These understandings range from ciated with dirt, soiling the surfaces and windows of buildings and incisive social and political critique to more nuanced examinations of coming inside through openings and passages. architectural maintenance; they explore how contemporary explora- As much as we try to control it, dust pervades us, and as much tions of dust continue its position as historical marker, signifier of as it remains a nuisance—as a conveyor of destruction, hygienic disaster, and as an object of compulsive hygiene. For example, in New obssessiveness, and historical change—dust in architecture con- York, September 11, 2001, Four Days Later, Laura Kurgan considered tains a certain type of material and intellectual power that might be how the devastating attacks of September 11th were envisioned as engaged, even as we try to wash it away. Such an engagement with a cloud of dust and debris. Using a photo taken by the Ikonos satel- dust might produce a negotiation that neither relinquishes space to lite, she argued that this type of orbital imager only reinforces our dust nor rejects its prominence in urban life. By addressing dust, we understanding of disaster as a register of the transformation of can confront its particular physical and emotional power, its conno- matter—a cloud of dust and smoke—versus a massive loss of life. tations as a historical register, and its existence as a form of matter [Figs. 5.5 + 5.6] The satellite image of the World Trade Center is the image that moves with calamities and in the most banal moments of time. of disaster within a society in which methods of surveillance provide Recent architectural projects spanning installations to preservation our visual representations of cities. Kurgan laments that what is 092 093 subnature_02_FN2.indd 92-93 5/26/09 6:41:20 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Figs. 5.7 + 5.8 (opposite and right) Engaging with fears of dust in Cloud, by An Te Liu, Venice Biennale, 2008 missing in these images of dust, smoke, and debris “are the missing.” This almost geological image of Manhattan enables us to distance ourselves from the full effects of the tragedy. In considering another M atter Dust recent examination of dust, we might recall that immediately after the attacks, households in Lower Manhattan were provided with air cleaners to both filter the atmosphere and to provide some sense of solace within an urban environment having unknown atmospheric content and potentially harmful effects. Such an environment is the context for the project Cloud by An Te Liu. This is certainly a different type of exploration of dust than Kurgan’s, but it nonetheless relates to Kurgan’s project through its focus on the monitoring and surveil- lance of space. In Cloud, Liu assembled numerous air cleaners into an apparatus hovering above an entryway to one of the gallery spaces in the Venice Arsenale. He wrote how this assemblage of cleaning apparati “wash, filter, ionize, ozonize, and sterilize our airspace, sep- arating us from bacteria, allergens, germs, spores, dust and other bad things.” [Figs. 5.7 + 5.8] He claimed that the project was not only a literal cleansing device but an urban representation: “a floating polis, per- haps of the future, but also recalling visions of futures past.”8 But the irony of this project is that the dust is simply moved, not removed. The idea is literally born out of the inner operations of each machine’s dust-storage chamber. Our desire to clean results in the transference and relocation of dust. But returning to our original concept of dust as marker of history, we might consider one last project that repre- sents a type of rapprochement with this substance—an experimental preservation project by Jorge Otero-Pailos, titled The Ethics of Dust. 094 095 subnature_02_FN2.indd 94-95 5/26/09 6:41:21 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Figs. 5.7 + 5.8 (opposite and right) Engaging with fears of dust in Cloud, by An Te Liu, Venice Biennale, 2008 missing in these images of dust, smoke, and debris “are the missing.” This almost geological image of Manhattan enables us to distance ourselves from the full effects of the tragedy. In considering another M atter Dust recent examination of dust, we might recall that immediately after the attacks, households in Lower Manhattan were provided with air cleaners to both filter the atmosphere and to provide some sense of solace within an urban environment having unknown atmospheric content and potentially harmful effects. Such an environment is the context for the project Cloud by An Te Liu. This is certainly a different type of exploration of dust than Kurgan’s, but it nonetheless relates to Kurgan’s project through its focus on the monitoring and surveil- lance of space. In Cloud, Liu assembled numerous air cleaners into an apparatus hovering above an entryway to one of the gallery spaces in the Venice Arsenale. He wrote how this assemblage of cleaning apparati “wash, filter, ionize, ozonize, and sterilize our airspace, sep- arating us from bacteria, allergens, germs, spores, dust and other bad things.” [Figs. 5.7 + 5.8] He claimed that the project was not only a literal cleansing device but an urban representation: “a floating polis, per- haps of the future, but also recalling visions of futures past.”8 But the irony of this project is that the dust is simply moved, not removed. The idea is literally born out of the inner operations of each machine’s dust-storage chamber. Our desire to clean results in the transference and relocation of dust. But returning to our original concept of dust as marker of history, we might consider one last project that repre- sents a type of rapprochement with this substance—an experimental preservation project by Jorge Otero-Pailos, titled The Ethics of Dust. 094 095 subnature_02_FN2.indd 94-95 5/26/09 6:41:21 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Figs. 5.9–5.12 (opposite, this page, and overleaf) Preserving dust as historical artifact, The Ethics of Dust, by Jorge Otero- Pailos, Balzano, Italy, 2008 M atter Dust Within an aluminum factory, he used a latex cleansing technique widely used in contemporary preservation for removing dust from the dirty surfaces of buildings. The pollution was lifted onto the latex and off the wall, where he hung “pollution casts” on a metal frame. [Figs. 5.9 – 5.12] The project is named after Ruskin’s treatise on dust. Describing how this particular thinker inspired the project’s develop- ment, Otero-Pailos wrote: Ruskin saw dust as an indication that materials were constantly chang- ing: dust crystallized into stone, which then became dust again. He also associated different material states with different ages (youth, middle age, old age). Ruskin’s thinking about dust made me think about pollution as a modern industrial material, and also about its connection to our conception of history. Arguably, pollution is like steel, glass, or concrete. But it is also unlike all other modern materials in that it is unintentionally produced. As it settles upon buildings, it assumes forms that are not intentional, but are still beautiful. The installation makes those unintentional forms 096 097 subnature_02_FN2.indd 96-97 5/26/09 6:41:22 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Figs. 5.9–5.12 (opposite, this page, and overleaf) Preserving dust as historical artifact, The Ethics of Dust, by Jorge Otero- Pailos, Balzano, Italy, 2008 M atter Dust Within an aluminum factory, he used a latex cleansing technique widely used in contemporary preservation for removing dust from the dirty surfaces of buildings. The pollution was lifted onto the latex and off the wall, where he hung “pollution casts” on a metal frame. [Figs. 5.9 – 5.12] The project is named after Ruskin’s treatise on dust. Describing how this particular thinker inspired the project’s develop- ment, Otero-Pailos wrote: Ruskin saw dust as an indication that materials were constantly chang- ing: dust crystallized into stone, which then became dust again. He also associated different material states with different ages (youth, middle age, old age). Ruskin’s thinking about dust made me think about pollution as a modern industrial material, and also about its connection to our conception of history. Arguably, pollution is like steel, glass, or concrete. But it is also unlike all other modern materials in that it is unintentionally produced. As it settles upon buildings, it assumes forms that are not intentional, but are still beautiful. The installation makes those unintentional forms 096 097 subnature_02_FN2.indd 96-97 5/26/09 6:41:22 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two visible by isolating them from the building. You can really see the pat- terns of the dust through the latex, especially when the sun comes through the windows behind. I was also interested to let people inhabit the space between the layer of pollution and the newly cleaned wall. I wanted to create a new experience of the relationship between the dust and the building, and possibly to open up a non-linear way to conceive of the changes that buildings undergo in time.9 Ortero-Pailos’s The Ethics of Dust, like François Roche’s B_mu Tower, forces us to coexist with both the image and matter of pol- lution—a counterimage to most images of pollution in architectural discourse. This project enables us to see dust as a type of historical record, and it helps us to see that “cleaning dust” never implies the absence of dust. It reinforces a more tempered notion of dust as a register of time, keeping at bay the dusty environment’s more trou- bling connotations. M atter Dust 098 099 subnature_02_FN2.indd 98-99 5/26/09 6:41:23 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two visible by isolating them from the building. You can really see the pat- terns of the dust through the latex, especially when the sun comes through the windows behind. I was also interested to let people inhabit the space between the layer of pollution and the newly cleaned wall. I wanted to create a new experience of the relationship between the dust and the building, and possibly to open up a non-linear way to conceive of the changes that buildings undergo in time.9 Otero-Pailos’s The Ethics of Dust, like François Roche’s B_mu Tower, forces us to coexist with both the image and matter of pol- lution—a counterimage to most images of pollution in architectural discourse. This project enables us to see dust as a type of historical record, and it helps us to see that “cleaning dust” never implies the absence of dust. It reinforces a more tempered notion of dust as a register of time, keeping at bay the dusty environment’s more trou- bling connotations. M atter Dust 098 099 subnature_02_FN2.indd 98-99 5/26/09 6:41:23 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Puddles Although we often think of puddles as inconsequential, they appear in architectural history in prominent ways—in drawings of ruins, photographs of decaying buildings, and experimental designs that attempt to use water in provocative ways. Architects and histori- ans typically draw or photograph these stagnant accumulations of water to represent specific forms of social transformation and loss. This use of the images of puddles connects eighteenth-century drawings of Roman ruins by architects such as Robert Adam with Fig. 6.1 contemporary imagery of puddle-strewn modern buildings as in the A puddle in the drainage works at Albano, Giovanni photographs of Leonardo Benevolo. Curiously, these stagnant pools Battista Piranesi, 1764 of water, once signifying society’s vulnerabilities, appear to have disappeared in much contemporary work; like the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century hydraulic specialists who fundamentally viewed stagnant water with suspicion, contemporary architects continue this propelled vision of water in designs that emphasize movement and flow. But while images of aqueous flows are enticing, the seemingly pathetic image of the puddle, the trickle, or the leak has the capacity P u dd l e s to represent social life in a more vulnerable, naked, and self-reflective M atter state. In a few contemporary works we begin to see this slower, more Fig. 6.2 stagnant image of water creep back in, suggesting a new type of “View of the Aqueduct which conveyed water from Salona socionatural interaction that architecture might initiate. to the Palace,” drawing by Some of the earliest images of puddles in architectural thought Robert Adam, 1764 appear in the intensely archeological climate of eighteenth-century architectural theory. Architects Giovanni Battista Piranesi and Robert Adam both documented the ruins of ancient Roman reser- voirs and drains in the town of Albano, a suburb of Rome. Their work was unusual in that despite representing Roman buildings in states of collapse, they conveyed the magnitude of ancient engineering. Piranesi in particular depicted many of the ruins at Albano with stag- nant puddles and pools of water, as if to emphasize this civilization’s eventual inability to manage water. In one image, we see an individual bent down in a former water storage building, inspecting a meager- looking puddle, and it reminds us of the space’s former grandeur. [Fig. 6.1] Following his work at Albano, Robert Adam also conducted an important survey of the Emperor Diocletian’s Palace at Split that included images of ancient waterworks. In one famous image, Adam drew the citizens of Split engaging with an ancient fountain that was still in existence in the city’s periphery. The ground on which the fountain pours water is in a state of ruin, spilling water into an undefined pool filled with peasants and farm animals. [Fig. 6.2] This image of water depicts the ruined state of Split and 100 101 subnature_02_FN2.indd 100-101 5/26/09 6:41:23 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Puddles Although we often think of puddles as inconsequential, they appear in architectural history in prominent ways—in drawings of ruins, photographs of decaying buildings, and experimental designs that attempt to use water in provocative ways. Architects and histori- ans typically draw or photograph these stagnant accumulations of water to represent specific forms of social transformation and loss. This use of the images of puddles connects eighteenth-century drawings of Roman ruins by architects such as Robert Adam with Fig. 6.1 contemporary imagery of puddle-strewn modern buildings as in the A puddle in the drainage works at Albano, Giovanni photographs of Leonardo Benevolo. Curiously, these stagnant pools Battista Piranesi, 1764 of water, once signifying society’s vulnerabilities, appear to have disappeared in much contemporary work; like the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century hydraulic specialists who fundamentally viewed stagnant water with suspicion, contemporary architects continue this propelled vision of water in designs that emphasize movement and flow. But while images of aqueous flows are enticing, the seemingly pathetic image of the puddle, the trickle, or the leak has the capacity P u dd l e s to represent social life in a more vulnerable, naked, and self-reflective M atter state. In a few contemporary works we begin to see this slower, more Fig. 6.2 stagnant image of water creep back in, suggesting a new type of “View of the Aqueduct which conveyed water from Salona socionatural interaction that architecture might initiate. to the Palace,” drawing by Some of the earliest images of puddles in architectural thought Robert Adam, 1764 appear in the intensely archeological climate of eighteenth-century architectural theory. Architects Giovanni Battista Piranesi and Robert Adam both documented the ruins of ancient Roman reser- voirs and drains in the town of Albano, a suburb of Rome. Their work was unusual in that despite representing Roman buildings in states of collapse, they conveyed the magnitude of ancient engineering. Piranesi in particular depicted many of the ruins at Albano with stag- nant puddles and pools of water, as if to emphasize this civilization’s eventual inability ability to manage water. In one image, we see an individual bent down in a former water storage building, inspecting a meager-looking puddle, and it reminds us of the space’s former grandeur. [Fig. 6.1] Following his work at Albano, Robert Adam also conducted an important survey of the Emperor Diocletian’s Palace at Split that included images of ancient waterworks. In one famous image, Adam drew the citizens of Split engaging with an ancient fountain that was still in existence in the city’s periphery. The ground on which the fountain pours water is in a state of ruin, spilling water into an undefined pool filled with peasants and farm animals. [Fig. 6.2] This image of water depicts the ruined state of Split and 100 101 subnature_02_FN2.indd 100-101 5/26/09 6:41:23 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two the appropriation of an ancient aqueduct in contrast with the city’s former negotiation of water and engineering.1 These architectural images certainly captivated a European audience on account of their drama, but they also, both directly and indirectly, informed the management of water in European cities. For urban managers and architects, the negotiation of water supplies and discharges became an important and growing concern within cities such as Rome, Paris, and London. Particularly significant were the problems faced by floods, sewage, and other undesirable waters that emerged from urbanization processes. The eighteenth century might be known as the century of floods in Western Europe, with sig- nificant events ravaging cities in 1727, 1733, and 1740. In Paris, the flood of 1740, chronicled in a map by the architect turned geographer Philippe Buache, destroyed property stretching far past the banks of the Seine. [Fig. 6.3] Buache’s map, which charts the reach of the Seine and the large puddles and pools of water left as the waters receded, demonstrates the types of hybrid image-making that linked geologi- cal forms of cartography and the movements of bodies of water with more explicitly urbanistic forms of cartographic description, such as P u dd l e s maps of city streets.2 M atter The connection between ancient imagery and the above metro- Fig. 6.3 politan concerns of flooding registers in several projects, particularly Paris flood map, those concerned with river courses and roadways. Adam drew on his Philippe Buache, 1740 work at Split to develop new types of interactions between city and water in his Adelphi Terrace project along the Thames in London. The project provided a distinct boundary for the Thames and its upper avenues that, quite literally, recalled the sea wall of Diocletian’s Palace. Piranesi’s etchings of Roman ruins were distributed throughout Paris by architect and architectural theorist Pierre Patte. Influenced by Piranesi’s etchings of Roman drainage works, the emerging French urban planning tradition, and the recent reconstruc- tion work following the 1755 earthquake in Lisbon, Portugal, Patte developed an image for a proposed section of a street that articulated Fig. 6.4 new ways of managing rain and wastewater. [Fig. 6.4] Patte’s image is Street section, considered one of the first cross-sections to include both the neigh- Pierre Patte, 1769 boring buildings that define the street and the interconnected works of engineering that link interiors to the urban underground. In this latter role, Patte’s drawing is also the first to articulate the fluid dis- charges of the city that arise within water and sewerage networks. Not only is wastewater conveyed from the building’s interior to the sewer, but Patte considered the way that water running off a build- ing’s roof and onto the street might also be sent into the underground sewer. The drawing of the street section articulates a prominent 102 103 subnature_02_FN2.indd 102-103 5/26/09 6:41:24 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two the appropriation of an ancient aqueduct in contrast with the city’s former negotiation of water and engineering.1 These architectural images certainly captivated a European audience on account of their drama, but they also, both directly and indirectly, informed the management of water in European cities. For urban managers and architects, the negotiation of water supplies and discharges became an important and growing concern within cities such as Rome, Paris, and London. Particularly significant were the problems faced by floods, sewage, and other undesirable waters that emerged from urbanization processes. The eighteenth century might be known as the century of floods in Western Europe, with sig- nificant events ravaging cities in 1727, 1733, and 1740. In Paris, the flood of 1740, chronicled in a map by the architect turned geographer Philippe Buache, destroyed property stretching far past the banks of the Seine. [Fig. 6.3] Buache’s map, which charts the reach of the Seine and the large puddles and pools of water left as the waters receded, demonstrates the types of hybrid image-making that linked geologi- cal forms of cartography and the movements of bodies of water with more explicitly urbanistic forms of cartographic description, such as P u dd l e s maps of city streets.2 M atter The connection between ancient imagery and the above metro- Fig. 6.3 politan concerns of flooding registers in several projects, particularly Paris flood map, those concerned with river courses and roadways. Adam drew on his Philippe Buache, 1740 work at Split to develop new types of interactions between city and water in his Adelphi Terrace project along the Thames in London. The project provided a distinct boundary for the Thames and its upper avenues that, quite literally, recalled the sea wall of Diocletian’s Palace. Piranesi’s etchings of Roman ruins were distributed throughout Paris by architect and architectural theorist Pierre Patte. Influenced by Piranesi’s etchings of Roman drainage works, the emerging French urban planning tradition, and the recent reconstruc- tion work following the 1755 earthquake in Lisbon, Portugal, Patte developed an image for a proposed section of a street that articulated Fig. 6.4 new ways of managing rain and wastewater. [Fig. 6.4] Patte’s image is Street section, considered one of the first cross-sections to include both the neigh- Pierre Patte, 1769 boring buildings that define the street and the interconnected works of engineering that link interiors to the urban underground. In this latter role, Patte’s drawing is also the first to articulate the fluid dis- charges of the city that arise within water and sewerage networks. Not only is wastewater conveyed from the building’s interior to the sewer, but Patte considered the way that water running off a build- ing’s roof and onto the street might also be sent into the underground sewer. The drawing of the street section articulates a prominent 102 103 subnature_02_FN2.indd 102-103 5/26/09 6:41:24 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two space for the sewer itself, opening such conduits to a more strictly engineered interpretation.3 This type of engineering and archaeologi- cal image advances the concept of the street as a strata of sloped and interconnected layers for effectively managing liquid waste streams. This notion of the street is maintained to this day in contemporary books on managing urban water. If the engineered movement of water through and out of a city marked a civilization’s height, then the breakdown of such a system also marked its vulnerabilities. While the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries provided the public with images of a fallen, grandiose ancient civilization, then in the mid- to late twentieth century, a new type of image of the wet ruin emerged to articulate the potential downfall of modern cities. Beginning in the 1960s in newspapers, film, architectural history, and design, we begin to see images of the undrainable city as a type of counterimage to Patte’s modern street concept. What differed from earlier images was not only that these city scenes appeared unmanaged and unengineered, but that the waters inundating the modern city rained from above and surged from below. From the mid-1940s to the mid-1980s, images of burst P u dd l e s water mains in New York City and other cities such as Chicago and M atter Boston signified the new, unnatural discharges in which urban sub- nature bubbled up and into the city’s spaces. In one image of New York City’s 42nd Street in 1977, we see the city as it might appear Fig. 6.5 after a rainstorm, but the water is coming up through mains below Nighttime flood in Midtown Manhattan, 1977 the street. [Fig. 6.5] The signs and streetlights of this already notorious section of the city are reflected in this image of a street—a type of antiboulevard against the drawings of Patte. Within works of archi- tectural history and design, images of puddles and undrained spaces highlighted the fragile nature of modern architecture as it interacted with the environment over time. Crumbling puddle-ridden photo- graphs of famous works of modern architecture appeared prominently Fig. 6.6 in Leonardo Benevolo’s History of Modern Architecture (1977). [Fig. 6.6] Puddles in front of the Bauhaus, Leonardo Benevelo, If the puddle conveyed urban decay in the images of New York City, 1970s in Benevolo’s photographs they communicated a type of realism. For him, the puddle demonstrated how modernist architecture is “lived” versus represented in a frozen state in most histories.4 Ultimately, the puddle acts as a provocation against the representation of modern architecture in photographs of weatherless contexts. This concept of the puddle also appears in the commissioned photographs of the Economist Building Group, by Alison and Peter Smithson. [Fig. 6.7] The photographer Michael Carapetian chose to shoot the buildings after a rainstorm, and the puddle-strewn plaza invoked a new image of modernity in architecture that appears far less 104 105 subnature_02_FN2.indd 104-105 5/26/09 6:41:25 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two space for the sewer itself, opening such conduits to a more strictly engineered interpretation.3 This type of engineering and archaeologi- cal image advances the concept of the street as a strata of sloped and interconnected layers for effectively managing liquid waste streams. This notion of the street is maintained to this day in contemporary books on managing urban water. If the engineered movement of water through and out of a city marked a civilization’s height, then the breakdown of such a system also marked its vulnerabilities. While the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries provided the public with images of a fallen, grandiose ancient civilization, then in the mid- to late twentieth century, a new type of image of the wet ruin emerged to articulate the potential downfall of modern cities. Beginning in the 1960s in newspapers, film, architectural history, and design, we begin to see images of the undrainable city as a type of counterimage to Patte’s modern street concept. What differed from earlier images was not only that these city scenes appeared unmanaged and unengineered, but that the waters inundating the modern city rained from above and surged from below. From the mid-1940s to the mid-1980s, images of burst P u dd l e s water mains in New York City and other cities such as Chicago and M atter Boston signified the new, unnatural discharges in which urban sub- nature bubbled up and into the city’s spaces. In one image of New York City’s 42nd Street in 1977, we see the city as it might appear Fig. 6.5 after a rainstorm, but the water is coming up through mains below Nighttime flood in Midtown Manhattan, 1977 the street. [Fig. 6.5] The signs and streetlights of this already notorious section of the city are reflected in this image of a street—a type of antiboulevard against the drawings of Patte. Within works of archi- tectural history and design, images of puddles and undrained spaces highlighted the fragile nature of modern architecture as it interacted with the environment over time. Crumbling puddle-ridden photo- graphs of famous works of modern architecture appeared prominently Fig. 6.6 in Leonardo Benevolo’s History of Modern Architecture (1977). [Fig. 6.6] Puddles in front of the Bauhaus, Leonardo Benevelo, If the puddle conveyed urban decay in the images of New York City, 1970s in Benevolo’s photographs they communicated a type of realism. For him, the puddle demonstrated how modernist architecture is “lived” versus represented in a frozen state in most histories.4 Ultimately, the puddle acts as a provocation against the representation of modern architecture in photographs of weatherless contexts. This concept of the puddle also appears in the commissioned photographs of the Economist Building Group, by Alison and Peter Smithson. [Fig. 6.7] The photographer Michael Carapetian chose to shoot the buildings after a rainstorm, and the puddle-strewn plaza invoked a new image of modernity in architecture that appears far less 104 105 subnature_02_FN2.indd 104-105 5/26/09 6:41:25 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two staged, or what the Smithsons might term “authentic.” It is quite close in sentiment to the photographs by Benevolo, in that the build- ings appear somewhat weak in their engagements with nature. Carapetian’s “wet” photos became the dominant representation of the Economist Building Group, reproduced in hundreds of articles and books discussing the complex. Like Benevolo, Carapetian sees the puddle as a provocation of both the experience of a building and the representation of it as a historically conditioned object—the puddle is an avenue to a slightly disturbed realism. This notion of the puddle as the “real” continues to the present, perhaps most literally in the WOS8 project, in which NL Architects wrapped a utilitarian building (a heat exchanger) in a completely detail-less rubberized shell con- taining spaces for people to climb and play ball, for birds and bats to nest, and for rainwater to linger. The architects intentionally designed the building’s skin to enhance the wet climate of the Netherlands—an aspect of the building’s perverse sense of contextualism. [Figs. 6.8 – 6.10] While many contemporary architects are intensely focused on enacting images of nature in flow, there has also been a renewed interest in images of stagnancy (described above) and nuanced P u dd l e s expressions of drainage that question its association within a well- M atter managed society. More novel architectural representations of the social impacts of water can be found in a series of projects designed within the last five years by Jason Johnson/Nataly Gattegno, Philippe Rahm Architects, and Thom Faulders Studio, among a small hand- ful of others. These projects extend the “wet” architecture of the Smithsons, NL Architects, and others interested in water as some- thing that provides a novel experience and that can be positioned as a type of critical evaluation. For example, in the Super Galaxy: NYC Tropospheric Refuge project by Jason Johnson and Nataly Gattegno, the architects imagine the upper floors of a highrise building inun- dated with water and urban wildlife. A robotically controlled floor adjusts its contours to produce puddles, wet zones, and large pools that might be appropriated by groups of people or migrating fowl. [Fig. 6.11] Above the wet surface, another area rises and lowers, pro- ducing a series of rooms. The architects imagine the entire surface as adjusting in response to natural, social, and cultural data. They write: Super Galaxy is an architectural system saturated in atmospheric and Fig. 6.7 Man on the plaza of the electronic phenomena. . . . As it fluctuates between states of varying Economist Building Group, coherence (solidity, liquidity, and gaseousness) its inner structure main- photograph by Michael Carapetian, 1964 tains an invisible, yet definable pattern. It is a responsive system capable of dynamically interacting with its surroundings on many levels. It is in a constant state of motion as it calibrates and recalibrates relative to 106 107 subnature_02_FN2.indd 106-107 5/26/09 6:41:26 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two staged, or what the Smithsons might term “authentic.” It is quite close in sentiment to the photographs by Benevolo, in that the build- ings appear somewhat weak in their engagements with nature. Carapetian’s “wet” photos became the dominant representation of the Economist Building Group, reproduced in hundreds of articles and books discussing the complex. Like Benevolo, Carapetian sees the puddle as a provocation of both the experience of a building and the representation of it as a historically conditioned object—the puddle is an avenue to a slightly disturbed realism. This notion of the puddle as the “real” continues to the present, perhaps most literally in the WOS8 project, in which NL Architects wrapped a utilitarian building (a heat exchanger) in a completely detail-less rubberized shell con- taining spaces for people to climb and play ball, for birds and bats to nest, and for rainwater to linger. The architects intentionally designed the building’s skin to enhance the wet climate of the Netherlands—an aspect of the building’s perverse sense of contextualism. [Figs. 6.8 – 6.10] While many contemporary architects are intensely focused on enacting images of nature in flow, there has also been a renewed interest in images of stagnancy (described above) and nuanced P u dd l e s expressions of drainage that question its association within a well- M atter managed society. More novel architectural representations of the social impacts of water can be found in a series of projects designed within the last five years by Jason Johnson/Nataly Gattegno, Philippe Rahm Architects, and Thom Faulders Studio, among a small hand- ful of others. These projects extend the “wet” architecture of the Smithsons, NL Architects, and others interested in water as some- thing that provides a novel experience and that can be positioned as a type of critical evaluation. For example, in the Super Galaxy: NYC Tropospheric Refuge project by Jason Johnson and Nataly Gattegno, the architects imagine the upper floors of a highrise building inun- dated with water and urban wildlife. A robotically controlled floor adjusts its contours to produce puddles, wet zones, and large pools that might be appropriated by groups of people or migrating fowl. [Fig. 6.11] Above the wet surface, another area rises and lowers, pro- ducing a series of rooms. The architects imagine the entire surface as adjusting in response to natural, social, and cultural data. They write: Super Galaxy is an architectural system saturated in atmospheric and Fig. 6.7 Man on the plaza of the electronic phenomena. . . . As it fluctuates between states of varying Economist Building Group, coherence (solidity, liquidity, and gaseousness) its inner structure main- photograph by Michael Carapetian, 1964 tains an invisible, yet definable pattern. It is a responsive system capable of dynamically interacting with its surroundings on many levels. It is in a constant state of motion as it calibrates and recalibrates relative to 106 107 subnature_02_FN2.indd 106-107 5/26/09 6:41:26 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Fig. 6.10 WOS8 project, by NL Architects, Utrecht, the Netherlands, 1999 Fig. 6.8 Drainage opening of the WOS8 project, by NL Architects, Utrecht, the Netherlands, 1999 both real-time global datasets (weather, pollution, warfare, etc.) P u dd l e s M atter and local datasets (desired micro-climates, heat exchange, light, and sound).5 If the weather changes, the pools disappear. During a warm month or in the event of a large migration of birds, the building’s floor can adjust into an entirely flooded interior landscape. Where NL Architects reinvigorate Benevolo and Carapetian’s notion of the puddle as “the real”—an imagined counterpoint to the appar- ent resistance of modern architecture to this particular socionatural milieu—the puddles of the Tropospheric Refuge suggest that the puddle is no longer a counterpoint to architecture but intrinsic to it. [Fig. 6.12] Neither traversed nor accidentally encountered, the puddle is utilized as an existing form of urban nature. A slightly more sub- versive notion of the flooded and leaky interior appears in the Mollier Fig. 6.9 Houses by Philippe Rahm. In developing the concept for this house, The wet skin of the WOS8 Rahm notes that the architectural interior is constantly inundated project, by NL Architects, Utrecht, the Netherlands, 1999 with invidious forms of moisture. He writes: An occupant of an indoor space produces water vapor, not in a constant manner, but according to the primary activity to which each room is dedicated. The presence of water vapor in the air originates naturally from respiration and hot water usage, leading to risks of condensation and damage to the construction. While today, the only solution to excess interior water vapor is the common use of technical ventilation systems, 108 109 subnature_02_FN2.indd 108-109 5/26/09 6:41:27 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Fig. 6.10 WOS8 project, by NL Architects, Utrecht, the Netherlands, 1999 Fig. 6.8 Drainage opening of the WOS8 project, by NL Architects, Utrecht, the Netherlands, 1999 both real-time global datasets (weather, pollution, warfare, etc.) P u dd l e s M atter and local datasets (desired micro-climates, heat exchange, light, and sound).5 If the weather changes, the pools disappear. During a warm month or in the event of a large migration of birds, the building’s floor can adjust into an entirely flooded interior landscape. Where NL Architects reinvigorate Benevolo and Carapetian’s notion of the puddle as “the real”—an imagined counterpoint to the appar- ent resistance of modern architecture to this particular socionatural milieu—the puddles of the Tropospheric Refuge suggest that the puddle is no longer a counterpoint to architecture but intrinsic to it. [Fig. 6.12] Neither traversed nor accidentally encountered, the puddle is utilized as an existing form of urban nature. A slightly more sub- versive notion of the flooded and leaky interior appears in the Mollier Fig. 6.9 Houses by Philippe Rahm. In developing the concept for this house, The wet skin of the WOS8 Rahm notes that the architectural interior is constantly inundated project, by NL Architects, Utrecht, the Netherlands, 1999 with invidious forms of moisture. He writes: An occupant of an indoor space produces water vapor, not in a constant manner, but according to the primary activity to which each room is dedicated. The presence of water vapor in the air originates naturally from respiration and hot water usage, leading to risks of condensation and damage to the construction. While today, the only solution to excess interior water vapor is the common use of technical ventilation systems, 108 109 subnature_02_FN2.indd 108-109 5/26/09 6:41:27 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two P u dd l e s M atter Fig. 6.11 Puddles as part of a large public zone situated within the central floors of a skyscraper, section diagram of Super Galaxy: NYC Tropospheric Refuge, by Jason Johnson/ Nataly Gattegno, New York City, 2005 110 111 subnature_02_FN2.indd 110-111 5/26/09 6:41:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two P u dd l e s M atter Fig. 6.11 Puddles as part of a large public zone situated within the central floors of a skyscraper, section diagram of Super Galaxy: NYC Tropospheric Refuge, by Jason Johnson/ Nataly Gattegno, New York City, 2005 110 111 subnature_02_FN2.indd 110-111 5/26/09 6:41:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two we propose in this project to shape the space in relation to the water vapor, in order to inaugurate a profound and complex relation between the inhabitants, their bodies, and the space according to its physical and chemical characteristics.6 Rather than simply removing or remediating this interior- generated moisture, Rahm proposes structuring a building to harness it—developing a sequence of spaces that move from dry to moist to a space of 100 percent humidity. The house’s plan is based on the Mollier humidity diagram, with Rahm suggesting that the most humid space contains a flooded room, with its humidity spreading into adja- cent areas of the house. [Figs. 6.13 – 6.16] Finally, where the above projects bring pools and puddles of water into architecture, an altogether dif- ferent concept of inundation emerges in the project Deformscape by Thom Faulders. Deformscape’s intensely warped surface returns us to the image of architecture as drainage, but it advances the need for drainage to the point that it overwhelms our ability to imagine inhabiting its surfaces. Once again, drainage appears as a represen- tation, but where the above projects advance a renewed appreciation Fig. 6.12 P u dd l e s of the stagnant pool in architecture, Faulders completely rejects the M atter Exploded axonometric diagram of Super traditional relationship between water management and urban inhab- Galaxy: NYC itation. In his proposition, water management is in full effect, but it Tropospheric Refuge, by Jason Johnson/ acts against the very idea of usability. [Figs. 6.17 + 6.18] Nataly Gattegno, The aforementioned contemporary projects, taken together New York City, 2005 with historical examples, suggest that the concept of stagnancy in architecture might be reconsidered in an era in which flow appears as the operative concept for urban interchange. As stagnancies literally produce images of social constructs in their glassy wet sur- faces, the concept of the stagnant suggests that all efforts of nature management in cities contain representations, and that these repre- sentations demand renewed and intense theorization. 112 113 subnature_02_FN2.indd 112-113 5/26/09 6:41:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two we propose in this project to shape the space in relation to the water vapor, in order to inaugurate a profound and complex relation between the inhabitants, their bodies, and the space according to its physical and chemical characteristics.6 Rather than simply removing or remediating this interior- generated moisture, Rahm proposes structuring a building to harness it—developing a sequence of spaces that move from dry to moist to a space of 100 percent humidity. The house’s plan is based on the Mollier humidity diagram, with Rahm suggesting that the most humid space contains a flooded room, with its humidity spreading into adja- cent areas of the house. [Figs. 6.13 – 6.16] Finally, where the above projects bring pools and puddles of water into architecture, an altogether dif- ferent concept of inundation emerges in the project Deformscape by Thom Faulders. Deformscape’s intensely warped surface returns us to the image of architecture as drainage, but it advances the need for drainage to the point that it overwhelms our ability to imagine inhabiting its surfaces. Once again, drainage appears as a represen- tation, but where the above projects advance a renewed appreciation Fig. 6.12 P u dd l e s of the stagnant pool in architecture, Faulders completely rejects the M atter Exploded axonometric diagram of Super traditional relationship between water management and urban inhab- Galaxy: NYC itation. In his proposition, water management is in full effect, but it Tropospheric Refuge, by Jason Johnson/ acts against the very idea of usability. [Figs. 6.17 + 6.18] Nataly Gattegno, The aforementioned contemporary projects, taken together New York City, 2005 with historical examples, suggest that the concept of stagnancy in architecture might be reconsidered in an era in which flow appears as the operative concept for urban interchange. As stagnancies literally produce images of social constructs in their glassy wet sur- faces, the concept of the stagnant suggests that all efforts of nature management in cities contain representations, and that these repre- sentations demand renewed and intense theorization. 112 113 subnature_02_FN2.indd 112-113 5/26/09 6:41:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Figs. 6.13 + 6.14 Fig. 6.15 Exterior and interior Plan and humidity diagram, perspectives of the Mollier Mollier Houses, by Philippe Houses, by Philippe Rahm Rahm Architects, Vassivière, Architects, Vassivière, France, 2005 France, 2005 P u dd l e s M atter Figs. 6.16 Interior of bathroom, Mollier Houses, by Philippe Rahm Architects, Vassivière, France, 2005 114 115 subnature_02_FN2.indd 114-115 5/26/09 6:41:33 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Figs. 6.13 + 6.14 Fig. 6.15 Exterior and interior Plan and humidity diagram, perspectives of the Mollier Mollier Houses, by Philippe Houses, by Philippe Rahm Rahm Architects, Vassivière, Architects, Vassivière, France, 2005 France, 2005 P u dd l e s M atter Figs. 6.16 Interior of bathroom, Mollier Houses, by Philippe Rahm Architects, Vassivière, France, 2005 114 115 subnature_02_FN2.indd 114-115 5/26/09 6:41:33 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two P u dd l e s M atter Figs. 6.17 + 6.18 (above + opposite) Deformscape, by Thom Faulders, San Francisco, California, 2009 116 117 subnature_02_FN2.indd 116-117 5/26/09 6:41:36 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two P u dd l e s M atter Figs. 6.17 + 6.18 (above + opposite) Deformscape, by Thom Faulders, San Francisco, California, 2009 116 117 subnature_02_FN2.indd 116-117 5/26/09 6:41:36 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Mud Mud, the viscous mixture of soil and water, appears in architecture in several ways. It is one of the original materials of architecture, cen- tral to concepts of the primitive in architecture. Mud is also a type of unstable ground that must be overcome in the construction of foun- dations. In the development of modern cities, rather than discussing mud as something wanted or desirable, it was identified as the product of poor drainage and ineffective engineering. Like puddles, mud often signifies a type of failed engineering, but it also takes on a larger metaphorical dimension in architecture. As an aspect of primitive architecture, mud was once associated with a lack of culti- vation—a type of degenerate architecture. As a viscous substance, it operates against modern concepts of circulation; it slows the city Fig. 7.1 down, like slush. As something dark and often very deep, mud con- Primitive mud huts predating architecture, from Treatise tains notions of history; it embalms things and contains the past. Like on Civil Architecture, William other subnatures in this book, the development of ideas about mud is Chambers, 1759 intimately related to the rise of modern economies, industrialization, urbanization, and the birth of the modern state. Mud has run counter to virtually all of these formations. When economic prospects went M atter Mud bad, in a sense, they turned into mud (or dust); urban routes were slowed, and mud infiltrated all manner of economic enterprises, from farms to mines. But within the formation of large nation states, mud’s role was most peculiar. It often became both the matter and metaphor that states attached to their colonized subjects’ appearances, build- ing practices, and cities. While the rise of all Western nations involved social negotiations of mud, we might focus our consideration within the modern, indus- trial, and colonial rise of the United Kingdom. Within this context, the conflict with mud is rife with historical imagery and concepts that extend from the eighteenth century to the present. Mud became associated with urban decrepitude, the primitive, and national libera- For example, in the eighteenth century, during the development tion. Within England and London, more specifically, we see some of of a distinctly British architectural theory, William Chambers, archi- the first architectural reflections on the history of mud construction tect to the King of England and surveyor of the monarch’s engineering and the first massive engineering efforts to remove mud from the city, works, provided one of the more cogent narratives of the role of mud as well as an embrace of the substance by former colonized subjects in architecture.1 In a drawing for his architectural treatise on the of the British Empire. Within this context, mud is a thoroughly coun- development of architecture, Chambers illustrates a series of build- termodern material, but it makes a surprising reappearance within ing types: a house of wooden beams and mud, a house of wooden the practices of those who wished to unshackle themselves from the beams and plaster, and finally a stone building. [Fig. 7.1] In this draw- very forms of governance that implicate mud with degenerate quali- ing, we see architecture as a process advancing toward refinement, ties and those who wish to critique the material prejudices of modern and this refinement is partially defined by a distance from primitive Western societies. forms of mud-and-stick construction. Chambers was, in fact, the first architect to use the word construction in his writing.2 In his 118 119 subnature_02_FN2.indd 118-119 5/26/09 6:41:37 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Mud Mud, the viscous mixture of soil and water, appears in architecture in several ways. It is one of the original materials of architecture, cen- tral to concepts of the primitive in architecture. Mud is also a type of unstable ground that must be overcome in the construction of foun- dations. In the development of modern cities, rather than discussing mud as something wanted or desirable, it was identified as the product of poor drainage and ineffective engineering. Like puddles, mud often signifies a type of failed engineering, but it also takes on a larger metaphorical dimension in architecture. As an aspect of primitive architecture, mud was once associated with a lack of culti- vation—a type of degenerate architecture. As a viscous substance, it operates against modern concepts of circulation; it slows the city Fig. 7.1 down, like slush. As something dark and often very deep, mud con- Primitive mud huts predating architecture, from Treatise tains notions of history; it embalms things and contains the past. Like on Civil Architecture, William other subnatures in this book, the development of ideas about mud is Chambers, 1759 intimately related to the rise of modern economies, industrialization, urbanization, and the birth of the modern state. Mud has run counter to virtually all of these formations. When economic prospects went M atter Mud bad, in a sense, they turned into mud (or dust); urban routes were slowed, and mud infiltrated all manner of economic enterprises, from farms to mines. But within the formation of large nation states, mud’s role was most peculiar. It often became both the matter and metaphor that states attached to their colonized subjects’ appearances, build- ing practices, and cities. While the rise of all Western nations involved social negotiations of mud, we might focus our consideration within the modern, indus- trial, and colonial rise of the United Kingdom. Within this context, the conflict with mud is rife with historical imagery and concepts that extend from the eighteenth century to the present. Mud became associated with urban decrepitude, the primitive, and national libera- For example, in the eighteenth century, during the development tion. Within England and London, more specifically, we see some of of a distinctly British architectural theory, William Chambers, archi- the first architectural reflections on the history of mud construction tect to the King of England and surveyor of the monarch’s engineering and the first massive engineering efforts to remove mud from the city, works, provided one of the more cogent narratives of the role of mud as well as an embrace of the substance by former colonized subjects in architecture.1 In a drawing for his architectural treatise on the of the British Empire. Within this context, mud is a thoroughly coun- development of architecture, Chambers illustrates a series of build- termodern material, but it makes a surprising reappearance within ing types: a house of wooden beams and mud, a house of wooden the practices of those who wished to unshackle themselves from the beams and plaster, and finally a stone building. [Fig. 7.1] In this draw- very forms of governance that implicate mud with degenerate quali- ing, we see architecture as a process advancing toward refinement, ties and those who wish to critique the material prejudices of modern and this refinement is partially defined by a distance from primitive Western societies. forms of mud-and-stick construction. Chambers was, in fact, the first architect to use the word primitive in his writing.2 In his 118 119 subnature_02_FN2.indd 118-119 5/26/09 6:41:37 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two drawing, the mud hut is firmly placed in a lower aesthetic position compared to the others. This concept, fully illustrated and empha- sized by Chambers, extends and elaborates on theories of Vitruvius, who wrote that early structures were largely dependent on the mate- rials at hand, versus those that could be cultivated through larger geographical developments of territories. Vitruvius described two primitive houses to articulate his idea—the House of the Colchians and the House of the Phrygians. The Colchians had abundant timber and built their houses out of wood, while the Phrygians had limited timber and instead created large mud embankments that were roofed with sticks and mud.3 Within Chambers’s work and in Vitruvian theory more generally, mud buildings were among the origins of classical architecture, but we should also understand that within an expanding colonial milieu, mud architecture has been the material of “savages” and the poor. The house illustrated by Chambers is close to that of the Phrygians described by Vitruvius, but it also invoked the types of structures colonialists were encountering in their expedi- tions abroad.4 We might add that the slightly less primitive structures illustrated by Chambers were very close to the types of buildings constructed by English, Irish, and Scottish peasants. In the late nine- M atter Mud teenth century, illustrations of indigenous mud dwellings, both within Fig. 7.2 architecture and outside of it, illuminated the experiences of English The Somerset House rises pavement and the flow of the river, were considered sites of urban from the muddy banks of the colonial expeditions while also cementing the notions that colonized Thames River, designed by alterity. In several instances, mud was associated with specific forms subjects produced structures that were part of architecture’s past. We William Chambers, 1790s of disease. Many believed that the corpses of animals that washed might see this as the groundwork for more explicit socially Darwinist up or the “river slime” that mixed with the mud were the causes of ideas of the early twentieth century, at which time the genealogy of cholera. The mud also contained the city’s past—bits of old ships, history became an act of social denigration and in which notions of crockery, and sometimes valuables appeared as the tide receded. “primitive” and “barbaric” were more strictly associated. The harvesting of objects from the Thames’s banks was the work Chambers was both an architectural theorist and more signifi- of so-called mudlarks. Often, these young boys were impoverished cantly the architect to King George III, who effectively expanded scavengers that searched the banks in teams for potentially usable, British interests in Ireland, the Caribbean, and India. The wealth if not valuable, objects. Their efforts were mirrored in other forms of brought back from these imperial conquests enabled the reconstruc- foraging, such as that of the pure-finders, who scoured the sewers for tion of the empire’s capital city, London. For George III, Chambers pure manure (for agriculture) and the toshers who searched sewer built the Somerset House, one of the largest urban plans realized in drains for coins and lost valuables.5 [Fig. 7.3] The muddy banks of the the city in the late eighteenth century. The Somerset House, a series Thames presented the city with a marginal space in the very center of of governmental offices, originally bordered the muddy banks of the the city, and it is this space that would become the focus of engineer- Thames, one of the chief sites where various improvements were ing efforts to restructure the urban environment. proposed and where conceptualizations of urban mud were formed. Although London never experienced the wholesale reconstruc- [Fig. 7.2] Both the Somerset House and the Adelphi Terrace (discussed tion of urban space, as in the Paris of Haussmann, by the 1860s in the section on puddles) provided direct access to the Thames and several select architectural and engineering projects were designed hardened the river’s muddy edge. The waters of the Thames ebb and to both rationalize urban space and eliminate marginal zones such flow with tidal cycles, and as the tide moved out, the muddy banks as the Thames’s mudflats. In concert with the Somerset House, were often exposed in the city. Such middle zones, between the hard Adelphi Terrace, the redevelopment of Bethnal Green, and the 120 121 subnature_02_FN2.indd 120-121 5/26/09 6:41:37 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two drawing, the mud hut is firmly placed in a lower aesthetic position compared to the others. This concept, fully illustrated and empha- sized by Chambers, extends and elaborates on theories of Vitruvius, who wrote that early structures were largely dependent on the mate- rials at hand, versus those that could be cultivated through larger geographical developments of territories. Vitruvius described two primitive houses to articulate his idea—the House of the Colchians and the House of the Phrygians. The Colchians had abundant timber and built their houses out of wood, while the Phrygians had limited timber and instead created large mud embankments that were roofed with sticks and mud.3 Within Chambers’s work and in Vitruvian theory more generally, mud buildings were among the origins of classical architecture, but we should also understand that within an expanding colonial milieu, mud architecture has been the material of “savages” and the poor. The house illustrated by Chambers is close to that of the Phrygians described by Vitruvius, but it also invoked the types of structures colonialists were encountering in their expedi- tions abroad.4 We might add that the slightly less primitive structures illustrated by Chambers were very close to the types of buildings constructed by English, Irish, and Scottish peasants. In the late nine- M atter Mud teenth century, illustrations of indigenous mud dwellings, both within Fig. 7.2 architecture and outside of it, illuminated the experiences of English The Somerset House rises pavement and the flow of the river, were considered sites of urban from the muddy banks of the colonial expeditions while also cementing the notions that colonized Thames River, designed by alterity. In several instances, mud was associated with specific forms subjects produced structures that were part of architecture’s past. We William Chambers, 1790s of disease. Many believed that the corpses of animals that washed might see this as the groundwork for more explicit socially Darwinist up or the “river slime” that mixed with the mud were the causes of ideas of the early twentieth century, at which time the genealogy of cholera. The mud also contained the city’s past—bits of old ships, history became an act of social denigration and in which notions of crockery, and sometimes valuables appeared as the tide receded. “primitive” and “barbaric” were more strictly associated. The harvesting of objects from the Thames’s banks was the work Chambers was both an architectural theorist and more signifi- of so-called mudlarks. Often, these young boys were impoverished cantly the architect to King George III, who effectively expanded scavengers that searched the banks in teams for potentially usable, British interests in Ireland, the Caribbean, and India. The wealth if not valuable, objects. Their efforts were mirrored in other forms of brought back from these imperial conquests enabled the reconstruc- foraging, such as that of the pure-finders, who scoured the sewers for tion of the empire’s capital city, London. For George III, Chambers pure manure (for agriculture) and the toshers who searched sewer built the Somerset House, one of the largest urban plans realized in drains for coins and lost valuables.5 [Fig. 7.3] The muddy banks of the the city in the late eighteenth century. The Somerset House, a series Thames presented the city with a marginal space in the very center of of governmental offices, originally bordered the muddy banks of the the city, and it is this space that would become the focus of engineer- Thames, one of the chief sites where various improvements were ing efforts to restructure the urban environment. proposed and where conceptualizations of urban mud were formed. Although London never experienced the wholesale reconstruc- [Fig. 7.2] Both the Somerset House and the Adelphi Terrace (discussed tion of urban space, as in the Paris of Haussmann, by the 1860s in the section on puddles) provided direct access to the Thames and several select architectural and engineering projects were designed hardened the river’s muddy edge. The waters of the Thames ebb and to both rationalize urban space and eliminate marginal zones such flow with tidal cycles, and as the tide moved out, the muddy banks as the Thames’s mudflats. In concert with the Somerset House, were often exposed in the city. Such middle zones, between the hard Adelphi Terrace, the redevelopment of Bethnal Green, and the 120 121 subnature_02_FN2.indd 120-121 5/26/09 6:41:37 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Fig. 7.3 Fig. 7.4 Mudlarks on the Thames, Cross-section of the Thames circa 1900 Embankment, 1867 Holborn Viaduct, engineers in London proposed the development of nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Massive paving projects were an embankment that would reconstruct the city’s muddy border into undertaken to remove muddy pockets from the centers of cities, and an image of rationalist engineering. Designed by Joseph Bazalgette, drainage efforts eliminated mud from most public parklands. The the Thames Embankment involved the reconstruction of several appearance of mud became emblematic of urban engineering failures sections of the Thames—most prominently the area surrounding and impending pathologies.8 In colonized states, European building M atter Mud the Somerset House. In his design for the three-story structure, practices that employed concrete, steel, and glass replaced many tra- Bazalgette included spaces for sewer and gas lines, locomotive ditional forms of construction. [Fig. 7.5] Mud, as matter and metaphor, travel, and paved roadways for carriages and pedestrians. [Fig. 7.4] The largely disappeared from the future imagination of city and nation. entire structure was finished in 1874, its construction occupying most By the mid-twentieth century, it had become a marginalized aspect of of the previous decade. Where there was once a space of viscous architectural practice, appearing in a few tracts on pisé or adobe con- urban nature, the Embankment offered an urban flow in which forms struction in American and European regionalist practice. While the of travel and waste management were equated.6 In developing a new absence of mud in European cities reflected the socionatural values thoroughfare in London, the Embankment all but eliminated the old of metropolitan capitalism, in the post–World War II era, a resurgence muddy shore, replacing it with an imposing edifice and sheer stone of interest in mud by former colonized subjects emerged as a type walls. Ultimately, the Thames Embankment not only represented the of counterpractice against European interests. For example, in the exertion of control over urban space but also over a far larger socio- postcolonial context of Egypt, the architect Hassan Fathy rejected the natural geography. A painting by John O'Connor, completed in 1874, concrete, steel, and glass architectural language brought to Egypt demonstrates the underlying concepts. Titled The Embankment, it by Europeans. Fathy theorized that the best construction material shows an image of Queen Victoria as the Empress of India standing for the emerging Egyptian state would relate to traditional forms of on the terrace of William Chambers’s Somerset House looking over a construction and materials adapted to contemporary forms of plan- regiment of troops marching through this new urban space. As Lynda ning. For these reasons, Fathy embraced mud construction, arguing Nead notes, the painting’s sweeping view and militarist sentiment is that it was literally free and that it was best suited to the hot climate. a “vision of London not as metropolis but as capital of an empire.”7 Reflecting on the use of mud, Fathy wrote: Within the larger context of England’s expanding reach, the Thames Embankment not only embodied control over the nature of the city, but Surely it was an odd situation that every peasant in Egypt with so control over the natures encountered throughout the British Empire. much as an acre of land to his name had a house, while landowners Projects such as the Thames Embankment in London were with a hundred acres or more could not afford one. But the peasant built repeated throughout Western and colonial cities in the late his house out of mud, or mud bricks, which he dug out of the ground and 122 123 subnature_02_FN2.indd 122-123 5/26/09 6:41:38 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Fig. 7.3 Fig. 7.4 Mudlarks on the Thames, Cross-section of the Thames circa 1900 Embankment, 1867 Holborn Viaduct, engineers in London proposed the development of nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Massive paving projects were an embankment that would reconstruct the city’s muddy border into undertaken to remove muddy pockets from the centers of cities, and an image of rationalist engineering. Designed by Joseph Bazalgette, drainage efforts eliminated mud from most public parklands. The the Thames Embankment involved the reconstruction of several appearance of mud became emblematic of urban engineering failures sections of the Thames—most prominently the area surrounding and impending pathologies.8 In colonized states, European building M atter Mud the Somerset House. In his design for the three-story structure, practices that employed concrete, steel, and glass replaced many tra- Bazalgette included spaces for sewer and gas lines, locomotive ditional forms of construction. [Fig. 7.5] Mud, as matter and metaphor, travel, and paved roadways for carriages and pedestrians. [Fig. 7.4] The largely disappeared from the future imagination of city and nation. entire structure was finished in 1874, its construction occupying most By the mid-twentieth century, it had become a marginalized aspect of of the previous decade. Where there was once a space of viscous architectural practice, appearing in a few tracts on pisé or adobe con- urban nature, the Embankment offered an urban flow in which forms struction in American and European regionalist practice. While the of travel and waste management were equated.6 In developing a new absence of mud in European cities reflected the socionatural values thoroughfare in London, the Embankment all but eliminated the old of metropolitan capitalism, in the post–World War II era, a resurgence muddy shore, replacing it with an imposing edifice and sheer stone of interest in mud by former colonized subjects emerged as a type walls. Ultimately, the Thames Embankment not only represented the of counterpractice against European interests. For example, in the exertion of control over urban space but also over a far larger socio- postcolonial context of Egypt, the architect Hassan Fathy rejected the natural geography. A painting by John O'Connor, completed in 1874, concrete, steel, and glass architectural language brought to Egypt demonstrates the underlying concepts. Titled The Embankment, it by Europeans. Fathy theorized that the best construction material shows an image of Queen Victoria as the Empress of India standing for the emerging Egyptian state would relate to traditional forms of on the terrace of William Chambers’s Somerset House looking over a construction and materials adapted to contemporary forms of plan- regiment of troops marching through this new urban space. As Lynda ning. For these reasons, Fathy embraced mud construction, arguing Nead notes, the painting’s sweeping view and militarist sentiment is that it was literally free and that it was best suited to the hot climate. a “vision of London not as metropolis but as capital of an empire.”7 Reflecting on the use of mud, Fathy wrote: Within the larger context of England’s expanding reach, the Thames Embankment not only embodied control over the nature of the city, but Surely it was an odd situation that every peasant in Egypt with so control over the natures encountered throughout the British Empire. much as an acre of land to his name had a house, while landowners Projects such as the Thames Embankment in London were with a hundred acres or more could not afford one. But the peasant built repeated throughout Western and colonial cities in the late his house out of mud, or mud bricks, which he dug out of the ground and 122 123 subnature_02_FN2.indd 122-123 5/26/09 6:41:38 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two dried in the sun. And here, in every hovel and tumbledown hut in Egypt, was the answer to my problem. Here, for years, for centuries, the peas- ant had been wisely and quietly exploiting the obvious building material, while we, with our modern school-learned ideas, never dreamed of using such a ludicrous substance as mud for so serious a creation as a house. But why not?9 Beginning with designs in 1937 and after several experimental developments were completed years later, Fathy developed mud construction techniques that employed the material for the sake of impoverished rural populations. His mud architecture was character- ized by its use of vaulted construction techniques, domes, and often spacious courtyards. [Fig. 7.6] He conjoined materials and subjects in ways that continue to inform contemporary architectural engage- ments with marginalized socioeconomic groups, as in the case of the work of Samuel Mockbee in the southern United States, and his experiments have been widely lauded and critiqued.10 But more significantly, Fathy’s work provided a material-based construction language for a postcolonial approach to architecture. As novel as Fathy’s efforts were in developing techniques for M atter Mud unshackling nations from colonial economies, he never fully untan- gled the range of implications associated with using mud or any other manner of “poor” material. Such notions were not possible within a modern episteme that emphasized material performance and econ- Fig. 7.5 omy over self-reflective representational concerns within particular Nigerian man building a mud construction materials. Fathy’s late-modern approach to the use of house, 1950s mud has continued to the present, with architecture that utilizes this material for economy, naturalism, and thermal efficiency. But the impression that mud is a substance that contains provocative histori- cal characteristics has mostly disappeared. In many contemporary projects, mud is quite literally dry. We begin to see something that explores a more expanded idea Fig. 7.6 of mud in a recent project for the Venice Biennale. In 2000, the nation Mud architecture in Egypt, of Ireland was invited to develop their first pavilion for the biannual Hassan Fathy event. For the pavilion, Tom dePaor Architects utilized mud from Irish bogs.11 In doing so, their embrace of mud fit squarely within contem- porary conflicts of Irish national consciousness. The Irish bog covers roughly a sixth of the island, and it is used as a source of agricul- tural nourishment and as fuel burned in power plants and domestic furnaces. But the bog is also a filthy place, often associated with Irishness in denigrating ways. The Irish poet Seamus Heaney wrote a series of poems in which the bog is described as “Earth-pantry, bone- vault, / sun-bank, enbalmer / of votive goods / and sabred fugitives.”12 124 125 subnature_02_FN2.indd 124-125 5/26/09 6:41:39 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two dried in the sun. And here, in every hovel and tumbledown hut in Egypt, was the answer to my problem. Here, for years, for centuries, the peas- ant had been wisely and quietly exploiting the obvious building material, while we, with our modern school-learned ideas, never dreamed of using such a ludicrous substance as mud for so serious a creation as a house. But why not?9 Beginning with designs in 1937 and after several experimental developments were completed years later, Fathy developed mud construction techniques that employed the material for the sake of impoverished rural populations. His mud architecture was character- ized by its use of vaulted construction techniques, domes, and often spacious courtyards. [Fig. 7.6] He conjoined materials and subjects in ways that continue to inform contemporary architectural engage- ments with marginalized socioeconomic groups, as in the case of the work of Samuel Mockbee in the southern United States, and his experiments have been widely lauded and critiqued.10 But more significantly, Fathy’s work provided a material-based construction language for a postcolonial approach to architecture. As novel as Fathy’s efforts were in developing techniques for M atter Mud unshackling nations from colonial economies, he never fully untan- gled the range of implications associated with using mud or any other manner of “poor” material. Such notions were not possible within a modern episteme that emphasized material performance and econ- Fig. 7.5 omy over self-reflective representational concerns within particular Nigerian man building a mud construction materials. Fathy’s late-modern approach to the use of house, 1950s mud has continued to the present, with architecture that utilizes this material for economy, naturalism, and thermal efficiency. But the impression that mud is a substance that contains provocative histori- cal characteristics has mostly disappeared. In many contemporary projects, mud is quite literally dry. We begin to see something that explores a more expanded idea Fig. 7.6 of mud in a recent project for the Venice Biennale. In 2000, the nation Mud architecture in Egypt, of Ireland was invited to develop their first pavilion for the biannual Hassan Fathy event. For the pavilion, Tom dePaor Architects utilized mud from Irish bogs.11 In doing so, their embrace of mud fit squarely within contem- porary conflicts of Irish national consciousness. The Irish bog covers roughly a sixth of the island, and it is used as a source of agricul- tural nourishment and as fuel burned in power plants and domestic furnaces. But the bog is also a filthy place, often associated with Irishness in denigrating ways. The Irish poet Seamus Heaney wrote a series of poems in which the bog is described as “Earth-pantry, bone- vault, / sun-bank, enbalmer / of votive goods / and sabred fugitives.”12 124 125 subnature_02_FN2.indd 124-125 5/26/09 6:41:39 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two M atter Mud Fig. 7.7 Fig. 7.8 Irish Pavilion, by Tom View from the interior of dePaor Architects, Venice the Irish Pavilion, by Tom Biennale, 2000 dePaor Architects, Venice Biennale, 2000 126 127 subnature_02_FN2.indd 126-127 5/26/09 6:41:41 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two M atter Mud Fig. 7.7 Fig. 7.8 Irish Pavilion, by Tom View from the interior of dePaor Architects, Venice the Irish Pavilion, by Tom Biennale, 2000 dePaor Architects, Venice Biennale, 2000 126 127 subnature_02_FN2.indd 126-127 5/26/09 6:41:41 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two M atter Mud Fig. 7.9 Fig. 7.10 Irish Pavilion, by Tom Detail of bog bricks, the dePaor Architects, Venice Irish Pavilion, by Tom Biennale, 2000 dePaor Architects, Venice Biennale, 2000 128 129 subnature_02_FN2.indd 128-129 5/26/09 6:41:42 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two M atter Mud Fig. 7.9 Fig. 7.10 Irish Pavilion, by Tom Detail of bog bricks, the dePaor Architects, Venice Irish Pavilion, by Tom Biennale, 2000 dePaor Architects, Venice Biennale, 2000 128 129 subnature_02_FN2.indd 128-129 5/26/09 6:41:42 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two In Heaney’s imagination, the bog functions in ways similar to the American frontier—as a boundary and a space of reinvention. But where the American frontier promises endless expanse, the bog offers mysterious and muddy depths. In their design for the pavilion, Tom dePaor Architects embraced the bog’s varied associations. The project simultaneously invokes the type of mud construction deni- grated by British commentators, while it negotiates mud’s history as a marginalized, viscerally inappropriate material for a city. In the pavilion, the mud building is presented as a wet collective entity con- taining matter far exceeding its immediate appearance. The pavilion uses over twenty-one tons of peat, which further contains approxi- mately 2,500 tons of water and sixty-three kilograms of sulphur. The dark-black bog bricks, with their moist sulphurous content, emit vaporous odors of the earth while also serving to cool the interior of the building. Mud confronts the space it houses through its dark, viscous, and wet character, but equally significant is the way mud confronts its historical condition when appropriated as an expression of statehood. [Figs. 7.7 – 7.11] Yet in this reappropriation, the architects further complicate mud’s historical role. In this context bog mud sug- gests an image of something provisional, of an era in which the state M atter Mud as a cohesive concept of peoplehood appears to have lost its natural foundation. When the Biennale was over, Tom dePaor Architects oversaw the shredding of the pavilion, and they released this bit of symbolic Irish earth into the city of Venice. Fig. 7.11 Plans, sections, and diagrams of the Irish Pavilion, by Tom dePaor Architects, Venice Biennale, 2000 130 131 subnature_02_FN2.indd 130-131 5/26/09 6:41:44 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two In Heaney’s imagination, the bog functions in ways similar to the American frontier—as a boundary and a space of reinvention. But where the American frontier promises endless expanse, the bog offers mysterious and muddy depths. In their design for the pavilion, Tom dePaor Architects embraced the bog’s varied associations. The project simultaneously invokes the type of mud construction deni- grated by British commentators, while it negotiates mud’s history as a marginalized, viscerally inappropriate material for a city. In the pavilion, the mud building is presented as a wet collective entity con- taining matter far exceeding its immediate appearance. The pavilion uses over twenty-one tons of peat, which further contains approxi- mately 2,500 tons of water and sixty-three kilograms of sulphur. The dark-black bog bricks, with their moist sulphurous content, emit vaporous odors of the earth while also serving to cool the interior of the building. Mud confronts the space it houses through its dark, viscous, and wet character, but equally significant is the way mud confronts its historical condition when appropriated as an expression of statehood. [Figs. 7.7 – 7.11] Yet in this reappropriation, the architects further complicate mud’s historical role. In this context bog mud sug- gests an image of something provisional, of an era in which the state M atter Mud as a cohesive concept of peoplehood appears to have lost its natural foundation. When the Biennale was over, Tom dePaor Architects oversaw the shredding of the pavilion, and they released this bit of symbolic Irish earth into the city of Venice. Fig. 7.11 Plans, sections, and diagrams of the Irish Pavilion, by Tom dePaor Architects, Venice Biennale, 2000 130 131 subnature_02_FN2.indd 130-131 5/26/09 6:41:44 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Debris The term débris originated in eighteenth-century France to describe Fig. 8.1 a type of broken, scattered substance that was once part of a build- The scattered fragments of the Parthenon, after a drawing ing or standing structure. The term differed from the French words by Julien-David Le Roy, 1758 moellon or décombres, both translating as “rubble.” Moellon refers to rough stones pulled from quarries or used for paving roads, and décombres describes the wreckage from building demolitions. Within early-modern and modern French architectural writing, authors often used the word débris to describe the scattered and atomized remains of structures that had been leveled by cataclysmic events such as war or natural disasters. In contrast, other terms describing rubble classicism) and what would eventually become the Picturesque suggested something larger, potentially salvageable, and local in movement (emphasizing the gradual decay of structures and their terms of its distance from the building that it was once part of.1 integration into natural surroundings). The slow creep of nature The emergence of the term débris coincides with two important on architectural structures underscored time and the impact of architectural developments. The eighteenth century witnessed the history on our experiences of buildings. These contributions have increased use of gunpowder in European warfare and the documen- been well documented by contemporary historians, but other tation of its effects on architectural structures, as well as, more significant ideas moving through Le Roy’s images of Greek ruins generally, an increase in the archaeological documentation of tiny have remained obscure. Although many of the structures he exam- fragments of destroyed structures. Unlike the study of ruins during ined had reached their current state as the result of the slow creep M atter De b r is the Renaissance, the latter method differed in that it involved tak- of time and nature, his image of the Parthenon represented a singular ing in the totality of bits that once composed earlier structures. An human-caused cataclysmic event. It is somewhat deceiving, as examination of débris, in this sense, was different from studying the he was not examining a well-aged, slowly decaying building but the architectural fragments of ruined sites, which generally focused on results of an approximately eighty-year-old attack by Venetian forces former building elements, apart from surrounding remains. A study that had exploded the ancient structure.2 Le Roy’s image of the of an architectural fragment could refer back to some physical Parthenon, with its side blown open and the resulting architectural whole—a column, an architrave, perhaps an entire structure, but fragments scattered in front of it, provides an evocative image of debris was often referred to as a collection of unrecognizable matter. debris as the product of an act of violence. [Fig. 8.1] In this image, we Debris takes in the total spatial transformation wrought by violence are witnessing the destruction of an important ancient artifact and and disaster, and it speaks of the ways that destroyed structures the resulting transformation of that artifact’s surroundings. This is transform their surroundings. far more than a Picturesque dialectic between an ideal building type Discussions of architectural debris—as both the remnant of and the onrushes of time. Coursing through Le Roy’s image is the destructive events and as a territory of fragments—can be traced notion that in one flash of a moment the distinction between social to the eighteenth century, specifically as an aspect of the French creation and nature are atomized. archaeological project in architectural theory. Architectural theorist The idea of destruction implicit in Le Roy’s studies of debris Julien-David Le Roy was one of the first to provide debris with a spe- becomes much more explicit 100 years later in the work of another cifically architectural visual character. Le Roy was among the first French architectural theorist and inspector of ruins, Eugène Europeans granted entry into the Ottoman-controlled regions of Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc. In his examinations of important French Greece. Prior to Le Roy’s expedition, knowledge of Greek structures monuments, the architect, theorist, and preservationist explored was limited to the writings of Vitruvius and surveys of the surviving the remains of numerous buildings throughout the state. Where Le temples at Paestum in Italy. Le Roy’s drawings of Greek structures Roy provides us with an emotive and atmospheric concept of debris, provided the groundwork for two movements in architecture: Viollet-le-Duc portrays debris as part of a rational engineering proj- the Neoclassical movement (the adoration of a simplified Greek ect of warfare and systematic destruction. In his book Annals of a 132 133 subnature_02_FN2.indd 132-133 5/26/09 6:41:45 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Debris The term débris originated in eighteenth-century France to describe Fig. 8.1 a type of broken, scattered substance that was once part of a build- The scattered fragments of the Parthenon, after a drawing ing or standing structure. The term differed from the French words by Julien-David Le Roy, 1758 moellon or décombres, both translating as “rubble.” Moellon refers to rough stones pulled from quarries or used for paving roads, and décombres describes the wreckage from building demolitions. Within early-modern and modern French architectural writing, authors often used the word débris to describe the scattered and atomized remains of structures that had been leveled by cataclysmic events such as war or natural disasters. In contrast, other terms describing rubble classicism) and what would eventually become the Picturesque suggested something larger, potentially salvageable, and local in movement (emphasizing the gradual decay of structures and their terms of its distance from the building that it was once part of.1 integration into natural surroundings). The slow creep of nature The emergence of the term débris coincides with two important on architectural structures underscored time and the impact of architectural developments. The eighteenth century witnessed the history on our experiences of buildings. These contributions have increased use of gunpowder in European warfare and the documen- been well documented by contemporary historians, but other tation of its effects on architectural structures, as well as, more significant ideas moving through Le Roy’s images of Greek ruins generally, an increase in the archaeological documentation of tiny have remained obscure. Although many of the structures he exam- fragments of destroyed structures. Unlike the study of ruins during ined had reached their current state as the result of the slow creep M atter De b r is the Renaissance, the latter method differed in that it involved tak- of time and nature, his image of the Parthenon represented a singular ing in the totality of bits that once composed earlier structures. An human-caused cataclysmic event. It is somewhat deceiving, as examination of débris, in this sense, was different from studying the he was not examining a well-aged, slowly decaying building but the architectural fragments of ruined sites, which generally focused on results of an approximately eighty-year-old attack by Venetian forces former building elements, apart from surrounding remains. A study that had exploded the ancient structure.2 Le Roy’s image of the of an architectural fragment could refer back to some physical Parthenon, with its side blown open and the resulting architectural whole—a column, an architrave, perhaps an entire structure, but fragments scattered in front of it, provides an evocative image of debris was often referred to as a collection of unrecognizable matter. debris as the product of an act of violence. [Fig. 8.1] In this image, we Debris takes in the total spatial transformation wrought by violence are witnessing the destruction of an important ancient artifact and and disaster, and it speaks of the ways that destroyed structures the resulting transformation of that artifact’s surroundings. This is transform their surroundings. far more than a Picturesque dialectic between an ideal building type Discussions of architectural debris—as both the remnant of and the onrushes of time. Coursing through Le Roy’s image is the destructive events and as a territory of fragments—can be traced notion that in one flash of a moment the distinction between social to the eighteenth century, specifically as an aspect of the French creation and nature are atomized. archaeological project in architectural theory. Architectural theorist The idea of destruction implicit in Le Roy’s studies of debris Julien-David Le Roy was one of the first to provide debris with a spe- becomes much more explicit 100 years later in the work of another cifically architectural visual character. Le Roy was among the first French architectural theorist and inspector of ruins, Eugène Europeans granted entry into the Ottoman-controlled regions of Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc. In his examinations of important French Greece. Prior to Le Roy’s expedition, knowledge of Greek structures monuments, the architect, theorist, and preservationist explored was limited to the writings of Vitruvius and surveys of the surviving the remains of numerous buildings throughout the state. Where Le temples at Paestum in Italy. Le Roy’s drawings of Greek structures Roy provides us with an emotive and atmospheric concept of debris, provided the groundwork for two movements in architecture: Viollet-le-Duc portrays debris as part of a rational engineering proj- the Neoclassical movement (the adoration of a simplified Greek ect of warfare and systematic destruction. In his book Annals of a 132 133 subnature_02_FN2.indd 132-133 5/26/09 6:41:45 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Fig. 8.2 Fig. 8.3 Images of debris from Debris-ridden Neighborhoods Annals of a Fortress, Eugène after the bombing of London, Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc,1872 1940 M atter De b r is Fortress (1872), Viollet-le-Duc explores the numerous sieges that in history, enormous cities in Europe and Asia were flattened, trans- befell a French stronghold. He uses the term débris consistently formed into little more than debris sites. [Fig. 8.3] Architects reacted throughout the text to capture the character of the physical matter to the debris-laden cities of World War II in a number of ways. For produced by the attacks and the sense of violence against the inhab- the European CIAM group (the International Congress of Modern itants of this place.3 The debris that Viollet-le-Duc inspected in his Architects), the ruined state represented opportunities for reimagin- examinations of French historical sites is imagined as the register ing cities as blank slates, obliterated of their premodern histories. of battering rams and the work of modern artillery. As in Le Roy’s Some architectural thinkers, such as Ludwig Hilberseimer, wished images, Viollet–le-Duc’s book portrays the ground as a site filled with to abandon cities altogether. Hilberseimer became concerned with shards, stones, and other material remnants. [Fig. 8.2] From both Le the increasingly catastrophic nature of modern warfare, particularly Roy and Viollet-le-Duc we realize that debris is matter that remakes the effects of debris from nuclear fallout.4 But for another group the ground in images of violence. Debris does not talk about decay of postwar architectural thinkers, the ruined sites of European and as a result of forces of nature but due to an incident, a cataclysmic Asian cities were opportunities for reflection on the thing itself—the socionatural event. massive accumulations of debris that these cities had become. Where Le Roy and Viollet-le-Duc developed some of archi- In England, the New Brutalists, centered on the work of Alison tecture’s earliest images of debris, something we might term an and Peter Smithson and their larger Independent Group of architects, architectural theory of debris did not emerge until eighty years later, artists, and designers, sought an “authentic” architecture focused in the mid-twentieth century’s aftermath of massive warfare at a on the everyday experiences of postwar urban life. In post–World global scale. Immediately after World War II, architectural theories of War II European cities, such an authenticity involved acknowledging debris emerged throughout Europe as well as within Japanese archi- the detritus that littered bombed and shelled urban centers. In the tectural culture. This was primarily in response to the destruction Smithsons’s work, debris became a type of authentic nature that con- of European and Asian cities by the Allied and Axis powers. While trasted with to the green parkways and fieldscapes of other postwar early-modern and modern wars in Europe and Asia unleashed incred- architects and planners. In their Patio and Pavilion, the constituent ible destructive forces on cities; during World War II, for the first time elements of the heavily bombed sector of London’s East End become 134 135 subnature_02_FN2.indd 134-135 5/26/09 6:41:46 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Fig. 8.2 Fig. 8.3 Images of debris from Debris-ridden Neighborhoods Annals of a Fortress, Eugène after the bombing of London, Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc,1872 1940 M atter De b r is Fortress (1872), Viollet-le-Duc explores the numerous sieges that in history, enormous cities in Europe and Asia were flattened, trans- befell a French stronghold. He uses the term débris consistently formed into little more than debris sites. [Fig. 8.3] Architects reacted throughout the text to capture the character of the physical matter to the debris-laden cities of World War II in a number of ways. For produced by the attacks and the sense of violence against the inhab- the European CIAM group (the International Congress of Modern itants of this place.3 The debris that Viollet-le-Duc inspected in his Architects), the ruined state represented opportunities for reimagin- examinations of French historical sites is imagined as the register ing cities as blank slates, obliterated of their premodern histories. of battering rams and the work of modern artillery. As in Le Roy’s Some architectural thinkers, such as Ludwig Hilberseimer, wished images, Viollet–le-Duc’s book portrays the ground as a site filled with to abandon cities altogether. Hilberseimer became concerned with shards, stones, and other material remnants. [Fig. 8.2] From both Le the increasingly catastrophic nature of modern warfare, particularly Roy and Viollet-le-Duc we realize that debris is matter that remakes the effects of debris from nuclear fallout.4 But for another group the ground in images of violence. Debris does not talk about decay of postwar architectural thinkers, the ruined sites of European and as a result of forces of nature but due to an incident, a cataclysmic Asian cities were opportunities for reflection on the thing itself—the socionatural event. massive accumulations of debris that these cities had become. Where Le Roy and Viollet-le-Duc developed some of archi- In England, the New Brutalists, centered on the work of Alison tecture’s earliest images of debris, something we might term an and Peter Smithson and their larger Independent Group of architects, architectural theory of debris did not emerge until eighty years later, artists, and designers, sought an “authentic” architecture focused in the mid-twentieth century’s aftermath of massive warfare at a on the everyday experiences of postwar urban life. In post–World global scale. Immediately after World War II, architectural theories of War II European cities, such an authenticity involved acknowledging debris emerged throughout Europe as well as within Japanese archi- the detritus that littered bombed and shelled urban centers. In the tectural culture. This was primarily in response to the destruction Smithsons’s work, debris became a type of authentic nature that con- of European and Asian cities by the Allied and Axis powers. While trasted with to the green parkways and fieldscapes of other postwar early-modern and modern wars in Europe and Asia unleashed incred- architects and planners. In their Patio and Pavilion, the constituent ible destructive forces on cities; during World War II, for the first time elements of the heavily bombed sector of London’s East End become 134 135 subnature_02_FN2.indd 134-135 5/26/09 6:41:46 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two the materials for a new type of spatial construct. Formerly functional objects—bicycle wheels, tools, and other forms of rubbish—are scat- tered around, beneath, and above a simple shacklike pavilion made of worn-out planks of discarded wood. [Fig. 8.4] Within this installation of “gritty, dirty, grainy and rough” materials, British photographer Nigel Henderson developed a series of collages composed of images of debris, forming a new take on urban subjectivity.5 Architectural Fig. 8.4 historian Reyner Banham wrote of the entire installation that “one "Excavated after an atomic could not help feeling that this particular garden shed with its rusted holocaust," The Patio and Pavilion installation, by bicycle wheels, battered trumpet and other homely junk, had been Alison and Robert Smithson, excavated after an atomic holocaust.”6 The Smithsons’s own commit- 1956 ment to debris as late-modern nature continued in their controversial housing project for the Robin Hood Gardens, where the remnants of demolished houses that previously occupied the site were trans- formed into a new type of collective landscape. [Fig. 8.5] Rather than remove the image of debris from the city, the Smithsons locate it as a central aspect of the experience of modern urbanization.7 Unlike the British experience in which debris marked the hor- rific sacrifices of an ultimately victorious state, for the citizens of the defeated nation of Japan, debris lacked any such associations. M atter De b r is During World War II, over one million Japanese soldiers and civil- ians were killed by the Allies, and in one evening 167,171 buildings were destroyed during the firebombing of Tokyo. The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki killed over 200,000 people and imparted a new frightening language of megatonnages and “radio-active” fallout and debris onto modern consciousness. [Fig. 8.6] The Japanese archi- tect Kenzo Tange, one of the founders of the Japanese Metabolist movement, wrote one of the more evocative reactions to the horrific and ruinous debris-littered state of Japanese cities after World War II. Reflecting on the destroyed state of Tokyo, he said: I cannot dispel from my memory the image of the city (Tokyo) as I saw it immediately after the war at the end of 1945 . . . . The spectacle that met my eyes was desolate. . . . Around Marunouchi, the financial cen- ter of the metropolis, a few of the larger reinforced concrete structures still stood upright. . . but vast areas of homes, small shops, and stores in lower Tokyo had been razed to the ground. . . . Here there were not even the mountains of rubble of German towns; the wooden structures had Fig. 8.5 Piles of debris in the Robin gone up in flames and smoke, leaving the ground covered with black Hood Gardens, by Alison and dust and spent embers. . . . For acres and acres the prospect was one of a Robert Smithson, 1970 grey desert, where every now and then one came across broken crockery, strange green stones (the remains of bottles that had molten because 136 137 subnature_02_FN2.indd 136-137 5/26/09 6:41:46 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two the materials for a new type of spatial construct. Formerly functional objects—bicycle wheels, tools, and other forms of rubbish—are scat- tered around, beneath, and above a simple shacklike pavilion made of worn-out planks of discarded wood. [Fig. 8.4] Within this installation of “gritty, dirty, grainy and rough” materials, British photographer Nigel Henderson developed a series of collages composed of images of debris, forming a new take on urban subjectivity.5 Architectural Fig. 8.4 historian Reyner Banham wrote of the entire installation that “one Excavated after an atomic could not help feeling that this particular garden shed with its rusted holocaust, The Patio and Pavilion installation, by bicycle wheels, battered trumpet and other homely junk, had been Alison and Robert Smithson, excavated after an atomic holocaust.”6 The Smithsons’s own commit- 1956 ment to debris as late-modern nature continued in their controversial housing project for the Robin Hood Gardens, where the remnants of demolished houses that previously occupied the site were trans- formed into a new type of collective landscape. [Fig. 8.5] Rather than remove the image of debris from the city, the Smithsons locate it as a central aspect of the experience of modern urbanization.7 Unlike the British experience in which debris marked the hor- rific sacrifices of an ultimately victorious state, for the citizens of the defeated nation of Japan, debris lacked any such associations. M atter De b r is During World War II, over one million Japanese soldiers and civil- ians were killed by the Allies, and in one evening 167,171 buildings were destroyed during the firebombing of Tokyo. The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki killed over 200,000 people and imparted a new frightening language of megatonnages and “radio-active” fallout and debris onto modern consciousness. [Fig. 8.6] The Japanese archi- tect Kenzo Tange, one of the founders of the Japanese Metabolist movement, wrote one of the more evocative reactions to the horrific and ruinous debris-littered state of Japanese cities after World War II. Reflecting on the destroyed state of Tokyo, he said: I cannot dispel from my memory the image of the city (Tokyo) as I saw it immediately after the war at the end of 1945 . . . . The spectacle that met my eyes was desolate. . . . Around Marunouchi, the financial cen- ter of the metropolis, a few of the larger reinforced concrete structures still stood upright. . . but vast areas of homes, small shops, and stores in lower Tokyo had been razed to the ground. . . . Here there were not even the mountains of rubble of German towns; the wooden structures had Fig. 8.5 Piles of debris in the Robin gone up in flames and smoke, leaving the ground covered with black Hood Gardens, by Alison and dust and spent embers. . . . For acres and acres the prospect was one of a Robert Smithson, 1970 grey desert, where every now and then one came across broken crockery, strange green stones (the remains of bottles that had molten because 136 137 subnature_02_FN2.indd 136-137 5/26/09 6:41:46 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two of the heat), misshapen sheets of corrugated iron which had barely been covered by some flowering climber that had managed to germinate between one bombing and the next.8 Tange contrasts the nature of debris—“the grey desert”—with the more naturalistic form of a plant climbing out of the landscape. Fig. 8.6 But debris and this image of a climbing shoot should be understood The remains of Tokyo after as part of one and the same phenomenon—an image that returns firebombing, 1945 Tange’s postwar concept of debris back to Le Roy’s earliest images of rubble-strewn landscapes. Debris suddenly produces the conditions for a new type of nature—a grey ground that nurtures the most weed- like of verdure. Tange and other members of the Metabolists negotiated the seemingly impossible nature of reconstruction following such horri- ble destruction. Many of their projects feature buildings that operate on a new ground, leaving the debris-ridden city as a type of pristine field upon which a new reality is constructed, and some rise directly from images of ruins and debris. Arata Isozaki, one of the young- est members of the group, offered a more frightening engagement with the image and effect of debris-laden worlds. Isozaki’s project M atter De b r is Fig. 8.7 The barren debris-ridden Hiroshima Blast Site: Electric City contains images of two ambiguous landscape of Hiroshima Blast Site: Electric City, by Arata structures rising from the destruction of Hiroshima. The structures Isozaki, 1968 138 139 subnature_02_FN2.indd 138-139 5/26/09 6:41:47 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two of the heat), misshapen sheets of corrugated iron which had barely been covered by some flowering climber that had managed to germinate between one bombing and the next.8 Tange contrasts the nature of debris—“the grey desert”—with the more naturalistic form of a plant climbing out of the landscape. Fig. 8.6 But debris and this image of a climbing shoot should be understood The remains of Tokyo after as part of one and the same phenomenon—an image that returns firebombing, 1945 Tange’s postwar concept of debris back to Le Roy’s earliest images of rubble-strewn landscapes. Debris suddenly produces the conditions for a new type of nature—a grey ground that nurtures the most weed- like of verdure. Tange and other members of the Metabolists negotiated the seemingly impossible nature of reconstruction following such horri- ble destruction. Many of their projects feature buildings that operate on a new ground, leaving the debris-ridden city as a type of pristine field upon which a new reality is constructed, and some rise directly from images of ruins and debris. Arata Isozaki, one of the young- est members of the group, offered a more frightening engagement with the image and effect of debris-laden worlds. Isozaki’s project M atter De b r is Fig. 8.7 The barren debris-ridden Hiroshima Blast Site: Electric City contains images of two ambiguous landscape of Hiroshima Blast Site: Electric City, by Arata structures rising from the destruction of Hiroshima. The structures Isozaki, 1968 138 139 subnature_02_FN2.indd 138-139 5/26/09 6:41:47 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two oscillate between appearing to result from the same disaster that befell its surroundings and a new type of building built in relation to this destroyed world. [Fig. 8.7] As in the Smithsons’ work, we see an Fig. 8.8 architecture of debris that attempts to imagine the destroyed city as The explosive debris field of Moonmark, by Jeffrey Kipnis, a type of human-produced context—an antinature.9 drawing by C. Glenn Eden, We might think of debris as an undertheorised category within 1983 recent architectural culture, simply because the late-modern world has not witnessed a single condensed period of global warfare, but this is not the case. Several contemporary examinations of debris interrogate the architectural imagery of destruction, warfare, and geological transformations first introduced by Le Roy and V iollet- le-Duc. In his utopian project Moonmark, the architectural theorist Jeffrey Kipnis proposes the production of debris as an act of political protest. In this work, he calls for the entire nuclear arsenal on earth to be detonated in one spot on the moon. The resulting explosion would not only scar the lunar surface, but it would eject moon rock into orbit. [Figs. 8.8 + 8.9] Reflecting on his proposed performance of destruction, Kipnis writes: M atter De b r is The location of the mark was calculated to take maximum advantage of the moon’s changing phases, and the orbiting ejected material could have been shepherded with satellites into Saturn-like rings around the moon....It seemed to provide a fitting testimony to our collective decision to survive and progress beyond our potential for massive self- destruction.10 Fig. 8.9 The mark left in the surface of the moon, Moonmark, by Employing Henri Lefebvre’s concept of the production of space Jeffrey Kipnis, drawing by as an inherently political act, Kipnis sought a conceptual technique C. Glenn Eden, 1983 to produce a space through the act of destruction itself. In this, Kipnis’s proposal makes debris a tool of projection, and he speaks of a potentially destructive future. Kipnis’s techniques share affinities with the strategies of architect Lebbeus Woods, who further explored the appearance of debris, scarring, and the destructive capacity of modern warfare and the geophysical power of the earth. In projects such as Berlin Free Zone, DMZ, and Terrain, Woods examined the production of debris as a type of material for a future architecture. He addresses debris as a form of matter as well as the destructive forces that produce these horrifying wastelands. Explorations of debris continue in contemporary work. For a pub- lic park and buildings in Cologne, Germany, the architects Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman developed a construction language composed of debris and rubble. In the development of the park’s pavilions, Herz and Weizman propose reusing the remains of buildings buried after 140 141 subnature_02_FN2.indd 140-141 5/26/09 6:41:48 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two oscillate between appearing to result from the same disaster that befell its surroundings and a new type of building built in relation to this destroyed world. [Fig. 8.7] As in the Smithsons’ work, we see an Fig. 8.8 architecture of debris that attempts to imagine the destroyed city as The explosive debris field of Moonmark, by Jeffrey Kipnis, wa type of human-produced context—an antinature.9 drawing by C. Glenn Eden, We might think of debris as an undertheorised category within 1983 recent architectural culture, simply because the late-modern world has not witnessed a single condensed period of global warfare, but this is not the case. Several contemporary examinations of debris interrogate the architectural imagery of destruction, warfare, and geological transformations first introduced by Le Roy and Viollet- le-Duc. In his utopian project Moonmark, the architectural theorist Jeffrey Kipnis proposes the production of debris as an act of political protest. In this work, he calls for the entire nuclear arsenal on earth to be detonated in one spot on the moon. The resulting explosion would not only scar the lunar surface, but it would eject moon rock into orbit. [Figs. 8.8 + 8.9] Reflecting on his proposed performance of destruction, Kipnis writes: M atter De b r is The location of the mark was calculated to take maximum advantage of the moon’s changing phases, and the orbiting ejected material could have been shepherded with satellites into Saturn-like rings around the moon....It seemed to provide a fitting testimony to our collective decision to survive and progress beyond our potential for massive self- destruction.10 Fig. 8.9 The mark left in the surface of the moon, Moonmark, by Employing Henri Lefebvre’s concept of the production of space Jeffrey Kipnis, drawing by as an inherently political act, Kipnis sought a conceptual technique C. Glenn Eden, 1983 to produce a space through the act of destruction itself. In this, Kipnis’s proposal makes debris a tool of projection, and he speaks of a potentially destructive future. Kipnis’s techniques share affinities with the strategies of architect Lebbeus Woods, who further explored the appearance of debris, scarring, and the destructive capacity of modern warfare and the geophysical power of the earth. In projects such as Berlin Free Zone, DMZ, and Terrain, Woods examined the production of debris as a type of material for a future architecture. He addresses debris as a form of matter as well as the destructive forces that produce these horrifying wastelands. Explorations of debris continue in contemporary work. For a pub- lic park and buildings in Cologne, Germany, the architects Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman developed a construction language composed of debris and rubble. In the development of the park’s pavilions, Herz and Weizman propose reusing the remains of buildings buried after 140 141 subnature_02_FN2.indd 140-141 5/26/09 6:41:48 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two the bombing of Cologne during World War II. [Fig. 8.10] Soil, rubble, and debris are heaped over concrete frameworks with elongated windows to extend past the angle of repose of the dumped bits of brick and stone, forming a series of garden pavilions. [Fig. 8.11] The architects propose using shattered matter to build a future out of a violent past; the debris will eventually be planted with sod to become a site for wild flowers, weeds, and plants. Building on the work of the Smithsons, Herz and Weizman transform debris into a true construc- tion system that imbues material qualities that connect with, but ultimately extend past, loss and disaster. [Figs. 8.12 – 8.14] From these last two examples we should understand that debris should not become an architectural image of horror, because it can- Delivery of structure not be easily reconstituted into its former form. As a construct (or deconstruct), debris is certainly a key component of a new type of subnatural environment born from violence—it is so intimately con- nected with the destructive capacities of modern production. From its inception, both as a term and a concept, debris refers to cataclysmic social events and the transformation of a building’s ground. This, one could argue, has subtle yet important implications: debris, like rubble, returns buildings to their surrounding nature, but unlike theories of M atter De b r is Fig. 8.10 ruins and their inherent fantasies of the Picturesque, debris also Diagrams of construction mutates its surroundings. Because it is often unrecognizable in its with debris, Open-Air Parkcafé, by Manuel Herz original form, and because it often refers to social disasters, debris and Eyal Weizman, Cologne, signifies not only the return of society to nature but it exists as a type Germany, 2003 of latent hybrid nature in its own right. Covered with debris Spring foliage 142 143 subnature_02_FN2.indd 142-143 5/26/09 6:41:48 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two the bombing of Cologne during World War II. [Fig. 8.10] Soil, rubble, and debris are heaped over concrete frameworks with elongated windows to extend past the angle of repose of the dumped bits of brick and stone, forming a series of garden pavilions. [Fig. 8.11] The architects propose using shattered matter to build a future out of a violent past; the debris will eventually be planted with sod to become a site for wild flowers, weeds, and plants. Building on the work of the Smithsons, Herz and Weizman transform debris into a true construc- tion system that imbues material qualities that connect with, but ultimately extend past, loss and disaster. [Figs. 8.12 – 8.14] From these last two examples we should understand that debris should not become an architectural image of horror, because it can- Delivery of structure not be easily reconstituted into its former form. As a construct (or deconstruct), debris is certainly a key component of a new type of subnatural environment born from violence—it is so intimately con- nected with the destructive capacities of modern production. From its inception, both as a term and a concept, debris refers to cataclysmic social events and the transformation of a building’s ground. This, one could argue, has subtle yet important implications: debris, like rubble, returns buildings to their surrounding nature, but unlike theories of M atter De b r is Fig. 8.10 ruins and their inherent fantasies of the Picturesque, debris also Diagrams of construction mutates its surroundings. Because it is often unrecognizable in its with debris, Open-Air Parkcafé, by Manuel Herz original form, and because it often refers to social disasters, debris and Eyal Weizman, Cologne, signifies not only the return of society to nature but it exists as a type Germany, 2003 of latent hybrid nature in its own right. Covered with debris Spring foliage 142 143 subnature_02_FN2.indd 142-143 5/26/09 6:41:48 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Figs. 8.13 + 8.14 Views of the proposal, Open- Air Parkcafé, by Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman, Cologne, Germany, 2003 M atter De b r is Fig. 8.11 (above) Site plan, Open-Air Parkcafé, by Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman, Cologne, Germany, 2003 Fig. 8.12 (right) Aerial plan, Open-Air Parkcafé, by Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman, Cologne, Germany, 2003 144 145 subnature_02_FN2.indd 144-145 5/26/09 6:41:50 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Figs. 8.13 + 8.14 Views of the proposal, Open- Air Parkcafé, by Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman, Cologne, Germany, 2003 M atter De b r is Fig. 8.11 (above) Site plan, Open-Air Parkcafé, by Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman, Cologne, Germany, 2003 Fig. 8.12 (right) Aerial plan, Open-Air Parkcafé, by Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman, Cologne, Germany, 2003 144 145 subnature_02_FN2.indd 144-145 5/26/09 6:41:50 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Dust 2. On flooding in Paris, see Images in Nineteenth-Century Williams Goldhagen and Réjean 1. Teresa Stoppani, “Dust Shelby T. McCloy, “Flood Relief and London (New Haven: Yale University Legault (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, revolutions. Dust, informe, Control in Eighteenth-Century Press, 2000), 53–56. 2000); the quote is from page 84. architecture (notes for a reading France,” Journal of Modern History 7. Nead, Victorian Babylon, 56. 6. Reyner Banham, The New of Dust in Bataille),” Journal of 13, no. 1 (1941): 1–18; and for 8. See the work of Warwick Brutalism: Ethic or Aesthetic? Architecture 12, no. 4 (2007): additional material on Buache, see Anderson for an interesting (London: Architectural P., 437-47. Antoine Picon, “Nineteenth-Century discussion of colonial engineering 1966), 85. 2. John Ruskin, The Ethics of the Urban Cartography and the projects. 7. On the Smithsons’s early work, Dust (London: Merrill and Baker, Scientific Ideal: The Case of 9. Hassan Fathy, Architecture see The Independent Group: Postwar 1877). Paris,” Osiris 18 (2003): 135–49. for the Poor: An Experiment in Britain and the Aesthetics of 3. See the examination of 3. Antoine Picon, French Rural Egypt (Chicago: University Plenty, ed. David Robbins Bataille’s concept of dust in Architects and Engineers in the Age of Chicago Press, 1973), 4. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1990); Stoppani above and in Yves-Alain of Enlightenment (Cambridge, UK: 10. Many of the Egyptian poor Goldhagen, “Freedom’s Domiciles”; Bois and Rosalind Kraus, “A User’s Cambridge University Press, 1992). for whom Fathy designed mud and Peter and Alison Smithson, The Guide to Entropy” October 78 4. Panayotis Tournikiotis, The housing felt alienated by his use Charged Void: Architecture (New (Autumn 1996): 38-88. Historiography of Modern of domes—a form more typically York: Monacelli Press, 2001). 4. Joseph Amato, Dust: A History Architecture (Cambridge, MA: associated with religious 8. Paolo Riani, Kenzo Tange (New of the Small and the Invisible MIT Press, 1999), 103. buildings than residential York: Hamlyn, 1970), 7–8. (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 5. From the architects’ buildings. 9. On the Metabolist movement’s University of California Press, unpublished project boards. 11. See Raymund Ryan, N3: The response to post–World War II 2000), 6. 6. Philippe Rahm, Mollier Irish Pavilion at the Seventh Japan, see Cherie Wendelken, 5. Ibid., 7. Houses, exhibition board for International Biennale, Venice “Putting Metabolism Back in Place: 6. Le Corbusier, Towards a New Anxious Climate, 2006. (Dublin: Haus Publishing, 2001). The Making of a Radically Architecture, 56. 12. Seamus Heaney, “Kinship,” Decontextualized Architecture in 7. See a study of this in Marni Mud in North (London: Faber & Faber, Japan,” in Anxious Modernisms: Reva Kessler, Sheer Presence: The 1. Chambers was actually a 1975), 41. Experimentation in Postwar M atter notes Veil in Manet’s Paris (Minneapolis: Swedish-born, French-trained Architectural Culture, ed. Sarah University of Minnesota Press, architect noted for his Debris Williams Goldhagen and Réjean 2006). architectural experimentation. 1. On rubble, see Jeff Byles, Legault (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 8. See http://www.designboom. In England, he pushed accepted Rubble: Unearthing the History 2000). com/weblog/cat/9/view/3630/venice- architectural concepts beyond of Demolition (New York: Harmony 10. Kipnis, Jeffrey, “Moonmark,” architecture-biennale-08-preview- Palladianism. Books, 2005). Assemblage 16 (1991): 11. an-te-liu.html 2. Adrian Forty, “Primitive, 2. See Robin Middleton's 9. Jorge Otero-Pailos, interview the Word and Concept,” in introduction in Julien-David Le with author, July 2008. Primitive: Original Matters in Roy, The Ruins of the Most Architecture, ed. Jo Odgers, Flora Beautiful Monuments of Greece Puddles Samuel, and Adam Sharr (New York: (1753; Los Angeles: Getty 1. The literature on Piranesi Routledge, 2006), 3–14. Publications, 2004). and Adam is immense. For a summary 3. Marcus Pollio Vitruvius, 3. Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le- of relationships between the Vitruvius: The Ten Books of Duc, Annals of a Fortress: Twenty- work of Johann Fischer von Erlach, Architecture, trans. Morris Hicky Two Centuries of Siege Warfare, Piranesi, and Adam, see Robin Morgan (New York: Dover, 1960), trans. Benjamin Bucknall (New York: Middleton and David Watkin, 39–40. Dover, 2007). Neoclassical and 19th Century 4. John Harris and Michael 4. Ludwig Hilberseimer, The Architecture, Vol I & II (New York: Snodin, eds., Sir William Chambers: Nature of Cities: Origin, Growth, Electa/Rizzoli, 1980). For an Architect to George III, (New and Decline, Pattern and Form, interesting analysis of the image Haven: Yale University Press, Planning Problems (Chicago: Paul of the ruin in Piranesi and Adam, 1996), 70–71. Theobald, 1955). see Michael Roth, Irresistible 5. On the mud of the Thames, 5. One of the best histories of Decay: Ruins Reclaimed, eds. C. see Cohen and Johnson, Filth. the installation can be found in Lyons and C. Merewhether (Los 6. On the Embankment, see Dale H. Sarah Williams Goldhagen, Angeles: Getty Publications, Porter, The Thames Embankment: “Freedom’s Domiciles: Three 1996). For the link between Environment, Technology, and Projects by Alison and Peter Piranesi and Adam, see A. A. Tait, Society in Victorian London (Akron, Smithson,” in Anxious Modernisms: “Reading the Ruins: Robert Adam and OH: University of Akron Press, Experimentation in Postwar Piranesi in Rome,” Architectural 1998); and Lynda Nead, Victorian Architectural Culture, ed Sarah History 27 (1980): 524–33. Babylon: People, Streets, and 146 147 subnature_02_FN2.indd 146-147 5/26/09 6:41:50 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt Two Dust 2. On flooding in Paris, see Images in Nineteenth-Century Williams Goldhagen and Réjean 1. Teresa Stoppani, “Dust Shelby T. McCloy, “Flood Relief and London (New Haven: Yale University Legault (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, revolutions. Dust, informe, Control in Eighteenth-Century Press, 2000), 53–56. 2000); the quote is from page 84. architecture (notes for a reading France,” Journal of Modern History 7. Nead, Victorian Babylon, 56. 6. Reyner Banham, The New of Dust in Bataille),” Journal of 13, no. 1 (1941): 1–18; and for 8. See the work of Warwick Brutalism: Ethic or Aesthetic? Architecture 12, no. 4 (2007): additional material on Buache, see Anderson for an interesting (London: Architectural P., 437-47. Antoine Picon, “Nineteenth-Century discussion of colonial engineering 1966), 85. 2. John Ruskin, The Ethics of the Urban Cartography and the projects. 7. On the Smithsons’s early work, Dust (London: Merrill and Baker, Scientific Ideal: The Case of 9. Hassan Fathy, Architecture see The Independent Group: Postwar 1877). Paris,” Osiris 18 (2003): 135–49. for the Poor: An Experiment in Britain and the Aesthetics of 3. See the examination of 3. Antoine Picon, French Rural Egypt (Chicago: University Plenty, ed. David Robbins Bataille’s concept of dust in Architects and Engineers in the Age of Chicago Press, 1973), 4. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1990); Stoppani above and in Yves-Alain of Enlightenment (Cambridge, UK: 10. Many of the Egyptian poor Goldhagen, “Freedom’s Domiciles”; Bois and Rosalind Kraus, “A User’s Cambridge University Press, 1992). for whom Fathy designed mud and Peter and Alison Smithson, The Guide to Entropy” October 78 4. Panayotis Tournikiotis, The housing felt alienated by his use Charged Void: Architecture (New (Autumn 1996): 38-88. Historiography of Modern of domes—a form more typically York: Monacelli Press, 2001). 4. Joseph Amato, Dust: A History Architecture (Cambridge, MA: associated with religious 8. Paolo Riani, Kenzo Tange (New of the Small and the Invisible MIT Press, 1999), 103. buildings than residential York: Hamlyn, 1970), 7–8. (Berkeley and Los Angeles: 5. From the architects’ buildings. 9. On the Metabolist movement’s University of California Press, unpublished project boards. 11. See Raymund Ryan, N3: The response to post–World War II 2000), 6. 6. Philippe Rahm, Mollier Irish Pavilion at the Seventh Japan, see Cherie Wendelken, 5. Ibid., 7. Houses, exhibition board for International Biennale, Venice “Putting Metabolism Back in Place: 6. Le Corbusier, Towards a New Anxious Climate, 2006. (Dublin: Haus Publishing, 2001). The Making of a Radically Architecture, 56. 12. Seamus Heaney, “Kinship,” Decontextualized Architecture in 7. See a study of this in Marni Mud in North (London: Faber & Faber, Japan,” in Anxious Modernisms: Reva Kessler, Sheer Presence: The 1. Chambers was actually a 1975), 41. Experimentation in Postwar M atter notes Veil in Manet’s Paris (Minneapolis: Swedish-born, French-trained Architectural Culture, ed. Sarah University of Minnesota Press, architect noted for his Debris Williams Goldhagen and Réjean 2006). architectural experimentation. 1. On rubble, see Jeff Byles, Legault (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 8. See http://www.designboom. In England, he pushed accepted Rubble: Unearthing the History 2000). com/weblog/cat/9/view/3630/venice- architectural concepts beyond of Demolition (New York: Harmony 10. Kipnis, Jeffrey, “Moonmark,” architecture-biennale-08-preview- Palladianism. Books, 2005). Assemblage 16 (1991): 11. an-te-liu.html 2. Adrian Forty, “Primitive, 2. See Robin Middleton's 9. Jorge Otero-Pailos, interview the Word and Concept,” in introduction in Julien-David Le with author, July 2008. Primitive: Original Matters in Roy, The Ruins of the Most Architecture, ed. Jo Odgers, Flora Beautiful Monuments of Greece Puddles Samuel, and Adam Sharr (New York: (1753; Los Angeles: Getty 1. The literature on Piranesi Routledge, 2006), 3–14. Publications, 2004). and Adam is immense. For a summary 3. Marcus Pollio Vitruvius, 3. Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le- of relationships between the Vitruvius: The Ten Books of Duc, Annals of a Fortress: Twenty- work of Johann Fischer von Erlach, Architecture, trans. Morris Hicky Two Centuries of Siege Warfare, Piranesi, and Adam, see Robin Morgan (New York: Dover, 1960), trans. Benjamin Bucknall (New York: Middleton and David Watkin, 39–40. Dover, 2007). Neoclassical and 19th Century 4. John Harris and Michael 4. Ludwig Hilberseimer, The Architecture, Vol I & II (New York: Snodin, eds., Sir William Chambers: Nature of Cities: Origin, Growth, Electa/Rizzoli, 1980). For an Architect to George III, (New and Decline, Pattern and Form, interesting analysis of the image Haven: Yale University Press, Planning Problems (Chicago: Paul of the ruin in Piranesi and Adam, 1996), 70–71. Theobald, 1955). see Michael Roth, Irresistible 5. On the mud of the Thames, 5. One of the best histories of Decay: Ruins Reclaimed, eds. C. see Cohen and Johnson, Filth. the installation can be found in Lyons and C. Merewhether (Los 6. On the Embankment, see Dale H. Sarah Williams Goldhagen, Angeles: Getty Publications, Porter, The Thames Embankment: “Freedom’s Domiciles: Three 1996). For the link between Environment, Technology, and Projects by Alison and Peter Piranesi and Adam, see A. A. Tait, Society in Victorian London (Akron, Smithson,” in Anxious Modernisms: “Reading the Ruins: Robert Adam and OH: University of Akron Press, Experimentation in Postwar Piranesi in Rome,” Architectural 1998); and Lynda Nead, Victorian Architectural Culture, ed Sarah History 27 (1980): 524–33. Babylon: People, Streets, and 146 147 subnature_02_FN2.indd 146-147 5/26/09 6:41:50 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Weeds Insects Life Life Pigeons Crowds 148 149 subnature_03_FN2.indd 148-149 5/26/09 6:39:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Weeds Insects Life Life Pigeons Crowds 148 149 subnature_03_FN2.indd 148-149 5/26/09 6:39:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Weeds Over the course of architectural thought, various individuals have embraced the seemingly undesirable weed as a thing and metaphor We have examined subnatural atmospheres (and how architects view for repositioning architecture. Often, they are used as metaphors them as potentially confrontational to the existence of modern urban and as literal matter by architectural thinkers seeking to transgress society) and subnatural forms of matter (excavating the ways that socially accepted boundaries. Where there is a new movement, there architects imagine them as markers of social transformation, history, often is imagery of weeds, whether with respect to Picturesque and time), but in the final four chapters, we focus on subnatural forms landscapes, organicist architectural theory, or poststructuralist of life. As in the previous eight chapters, we will examine how life- approaches. Many of these movements contain such images. Thus, based subnatures are simultaneously marginalized and embraced not only do weeds get in the way of space, but they are perceived in architectural discourse. Unlike previous sections, the chapters as alien encounters, suggesting new roles that spatial formations that follow consider how subnatural forms of life become metaphors might yet take. of new forms of subjectivity in modern society. Equally significant, Consider some of the earliest images of plants in architectural subnatural life often contains a strong provisionality. No form of life discourse; they are, in some sense, weeds. Vitruvius wrote of an is inherently subnatural; rather, relative to architecture, life becomes ancient myth that attributes the origin of the Corinthian column to subnatural when it makes us question the dominant social role of the intrusion of a weedike plant on a funerary urn: architecture. The provisional and relative notions of subnatural life are comparable to the concept of dirt undertaken by cultural anthro- A freeborn maiden of Corinth, just of marriageable age, was attacked pologist Mary Douglas. In the book Purity and Danger, Douglas by an illness and passed way. After her burial, her nurse, collecting asserts that things, people, and practices become dirty when they a few little things which used to give the girl pleasure while she was are “matter out of place.” Nothing is inherently dirty or dirtlike; rather, alive, put them in a basket, carried it to the tomb, and laid it on top dirt is a social category that we assign to specific types of social thereof, covering it with a roof-tile. . . . This basket happened to be placed relations. For Douglas, dirt lacks any fundamental physical quality. just above the root of an acanthus. The acanthus root pressed down Instead, it is a relationship. Think of the undesirability of food that meanwhile though it was by the weight, when springtime came round falls on the floor; we do not want to eat food from the floor, because put forth leaves and stalks in the middle, and the stalks, growing up the floor is “dirty” no matter how many times one sweeps or mops it. along the sides of the basket, and pressed out by the corners of the tile If dirt is “matter out of place,” then we might paraphrase Douglas’s through the compulsion of its weight, were forced to bend into volutes study for this chapter to say that weeds are plants out of place. at the outer edges. Just then Callimachus. . . passed by this tomb and Weeds are not inherently unwanted, useless, or invasive. In fact, of observed the basket with the tender young leaves growing round it. all the forms of lesser nature reviewed in this book, weeds are the Delighted with the novel style and form, he built some columns after hardest to define, because botanists cannot agree on what exactly that pattern for the Corinthians, determined their symmetrical propor- differentiates a weed from other nonweed species. The only constant tions, and established from that time forth the rules to be followed in between weeds and other plants is their socially determined undesir- finished works of the Corinthian order.2 ability. For example, dandelions might be one of the largest nuisances w eeds Life of contemporary American lawns, but it is also surprising to know In this myth, Callimachus draws an acanthus; the Greeks used that farmers in the nineteenth century had difficulty growing dande- the term acanthus for any number of varieties of thistle-leaved lions as an edible plant for their greens.1 Plants become weeds when plants. Some were of the kind we would consider weeds, with sticky they are out of place in agricultural settings, but they also become unctuous leaves and thorny stems. Others were venerated for their weeds in other non-natural settings when they disrupt an inherent use in Greek and Roman gardens. The story of Callimachus and order. For example, weeds are those plants that get in the way of the the acanthus was illustrated by architectural theorists from the fif- programs, agendas, or desires that we project into spatial constructs. teenth through the eighteenth centuries in ways both weedlike and Ivy quickly becomes an invasive species when it disrupts the func- not. In a premodern depiction of the scene by the Italian architect tions of windows or walls. Antonio Rusconi, the acanthus and urn are shown in isolation as a uniform composition, but in later renderings the acanthus appears 150 151 subnature_03_FN2.indd 150-151 5/26/09 6:39:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Weeds Over the course of architectural thought, various individuals have embraced the seemingly undesirable weed as a thing and metaphor We have examined subnatural atmospheres (and how architects view for repositioning architecture. Often, they are used as metaphors them as potentially confrontational to the existence of modern urban and as literal matter by architectural thinkers seeking to transgress society) and subnatural forms of matter (excavating the ways that socially accepted boundaries. Where there is a new movement, there architects imagine them as markers of social transformation, history, often is imagery of weeds, whether with respect to Picturesque and time), but in the final four chapters, we focus on subnatural forms landscapes, organicist architectural theory, or poststructuralist of life. As in the previous eight chapters, we will examine how life- approaches. Many of these movements contain such images. Thus, based subnatures are simultaneously marginalized and embraced not only do weeds get in the way of space, but they are perceived in architectural discourse. Unlike previous sections, the chapters as alien encounters, suggesting new roles that spatial formations that follow consider how subnatural forms of life become metaphors might yet take. of new forms of subjectivity in modern society. Equally significant, Consider some of the earliest images of plants in architectural subnatural life often contains a strong provisionality. No form of life discourse; they are, in some sense, weeds. Vitruvius wrote of an is inherently subnatural; rather, relative to architecture, life becomes ancient myth that attributes the origin of the Corinthian column to subnatural when it makes us question the dominant social role of the intrusion of a weedike plant on a funerary urn: architecture. The provisional and relative notions of subnatural life are comparable to the concept of dirt undertaken by cultural anthro- A freeborn maiden of Corinth, just of marriageable age, was attacked pologist Mary Douglas. In the book Purity and Danger, Douglas by an illness and passed way. After her burial, her nurse, collecting asserts that things, people, and practices become dirty when they a few little things which used to give the girl pleasure while she was are “matter out of place.” Nothing is inherently dirty or dirtlike; rather, alive, put them in a basket, carried it to the tomb, and laid it on top dirt is a social category that we assign to specific types of social thereof, covering it with a roof-tile. . . . This basket happened to be placed relations. For Douglas, dirt lacks any fundamental physical quality. just above the root of an acanthus. The acanthus root pressed down Instead, it is a relationship. Think of the undesirability of food that meanwhile though it was by the weight, when springtime came round falls on the floor; we do not want to eat food from the floor, because put forth leaves and stalks in the middle, and the stalks, growing up the floor is “dirty” no matter how many times one sweeps or mops it. along the sides of the basket, and pressed out by the corners of the tile If dirt is “matter out of place,” then we might paraphrase Douglas’s through the compulsion of its weight, were forced to bend into volutes study for this chapter to say that weeds are plants out of place. at the outer edges. Just then Callimachus. . . passed by this tomb and Weeds are not inherently unwanted, useless, or invasive. In fact, of observed the basket with the tender young leaves growing round it. all the forms of lesser nature reviewed in this book, weeds are the Delighted with the novel style and form, he built some columns after hardest to define, because botanists cannot agree on what exactly that pattern for the Corinthians, determined their symmetrical propor- differentiates a weed from other nonweed species. The only constant tions, and established from that time forth the rules to be followed in between weeds and other plants is their socially determined undesir- finished works of the Corinthian order.2 ability. For example, dandelions might be one of the largest nuisances w eeds Life of contemporary American lawns, but it is also surprising to know In this myth, Callimachus draws an acanthus; the Greeks used that farmers in the nineteenth century had difficulty growing dande- the term acanthus for any number of varieties of thistle-leaved lions as an edible plant for their greens.1 Plants become weeds when plants. Some were of the kind we would consider weeds, with sticky they are out of place in agricultural settings, but they also become unctuous leaves and thorny stems. Others were venerated for their weeds in other non-natural settings when they disrupt an inherent use in Greek and Roman gardens. The story of Callimachus and order. For example, weeds are those plants that get in the way of the the acanthus was illustrated by architectural theorists from the fif- programs, agendas, or desires that we project into spatial constructs. teenth through the eighteenth centuries in ways both weedlike and Ivy quickly becomes an invasive species when it disrupts the func- not. In a premodern depiction of the scene by the Italian architect tions of windows or walls. Antonio Rusconi, the acanthus and urn are shown in isolation as a uniform composition, but in later renderings the acanthus appears 150 151 subnature_03_FN2.indd 150-151 5/26/09 6:39:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 9.1 Fig. 9.2 Callimachus devises the A Picturesque landscape Let clustering ivy o’er its sides be spread, Corinthian capital, etching by garden by Thomas Hearne, And moss and weeds grow scatter’d o’er its head. Roland Fréart de Chambray, 1795 1650 The stately arch, high-rais’d with massive stone; The ponderous flag, that forms a bridge alone; The prostrate tree, or rudely propt-up beam, That leads the path across the foaming stream; May each the scene with diff’rent beauty grace, If shewn with judgement in its proper place.3 Knight commissioned the artist Thomas Hearne to illustrate the overgrown settings, rude architecture, and nature described in The Landscape, differentiating this rough image against more popular forms of English landscape design. In one of these commissioned as a vibrant, almost invasive element. In the French architect Roland illustrations of a non-Picturesque garden design, nature is arranged Fréart de Chambray’s early-modern illustration of the Corinthian into a more manicured composition, centered on tree groves and a story (1650), the acanthus invades a classical scene consisting of a winding brook; the scene establishes multiple expansive views. In pyramidical funerary monument and the urn described by Vitruvius. the Picturesque landscape, weeds line a craggy brook replete with [Fig. 9.1] Behind the urn and the acanthus, another weed climbs the fallen trees, having an insular visual effect. [Fig. 9.2] In the latter image, pyramid-shaped building, and nature appears as a transgressive weeds represent not only something wild but something “unim- animated force against buildings. In Fréart de Chambray’s etching, proved,” left as it was. In a sense, weeds represent a type of nature weeds begin to challenge architecture while clearly providing artistic that has not been transformed by industrial agricultural development. inspiration. At this time in Britain, fields were undergoing significant trans- w eeds Life Such socionatural tensions were explored more deeply within the formation and modernization in efforts to make agriculture a more Picturesque aesthetics of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth profitable business enterprise. Weeds, as useless plants, came to centuries, when the unexpected appearance of plants in general, and signify untransformed landscapes having no cash value.4 weeds more specifically, challenged classical and neoclassical con- By the nineteenth century, weeds emerged as an inherently ceptions of beauty and other popular forms of the eighteenth-century confrontational force against established forms of social order. landscape. Theorists of the Picturesque in landscape and architecture Such a concept can be traced to the German aesthetic philosopher advanced a more unshackled form of nature, represented by roaring Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who examined plants as conveyors of a streams, overgrown pastures, wild flowers, and weeds. In the poem vitalist form that was expressive of life’s inherent energy. In his explo- The Landscape (1794), by the preeminent theorist of the Picturesque, ration of plants, Goethe imagined the existence of an archetypal yet Richard Payne Knight, wrote: fictional plant form from which all other plants could be derived. 152 153 subnature_03_FN2.indd 152-153 5/26/09 6:39:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 9.1 Fig. 9.2 Callimachus devises the A Picturesque landscape Let clustering ivy o’er its sides be spread, Corinthian capital, etching by garden by Thomas Hearne, And moss and weeds grow scatter’d o’er its head. Roland Fréart de Chambray, 1795 1650 The stately arch, high-rais’d with massive stone; The ponderous flag, that forms a bridge alone; The prostrate tree, or rudely propt-up beam, That leads the path across the foaming stream; May each the scene with diff’rent beauty grace, If shewn with judgement in its proper place.3 Knight commissioned the artist Thomas Hearne to illustrate the overgrown settings, rude architecture, and nature described in The Landscape, differentiating this rough image against more popular forms of English landscape design. In one of these commissioned as a vibrant, almost invasive element. In the French architect Roland illustrations of a non-Picturesque garden design, nature is arranged Fréart de Chambray’s early-modern illustration of the Corinthian into a more manicured composition, centered on tree groves and a story (1650), the acanthus invades a classical scene consisting of a winding brook; the scene establishes multiple expansive views. In pyramidical funerary monument and the urn described by Vitruvius. the Picturesque landscape, weeds line a craggy brook replete with [Fig. 9.1] Behind the urn and the acanthus, another weed climbs the fallen trees, having an insular visual effect. [Fig. 9.2] In the latter image, pyramid-shaped building, and nature appears as a transgressive weeds represent not only something wild but something “unim- animated force against buildings. In Fréart de Chambray’s etching, proved,” left as it was. In a sense, weeds represent a type of nature weeds begin to challenge architecture while clearly providing artistic that has not been transformed by industrial agricultural development. inspiration. At this time in Britain, fields were undergoing significant trans- w eeds Life Such socionatural tensions were explored more deeply within the formation and modernization in efforts to make agriculture a more Picturesque aesthetics of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth profitable business enterprise. Weeds, as useless plants, came to centuries, when the unexpected appearance of plants in general, and signify untransformed landscapes having no cash value.4 weeds more specifically, challenged classical and neoclassical con- By the nineteenth century, weeds emerged as an inherently ceptions of beauty and other popular forms of the eighteenth-century confrontational force against established forms of social order. landscape. Theorists of the Picturesque in landscape and architecture Such a concept can be traced to the German aesthetic philosopher advanced a more unshackled form of nature, represented by roaring Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who examined plants as conveyors of a streams, overgrown pastures, wild flowers, and weeds. In the poem vitalist form that was expressive of life’s inherent energy. In his explo- The Landscape (1794), by the preeminent theorist of the Picturesque, ration of plants, Goethe imagined the existence of an archetypal yet Richard Payne Knight, wrote: fictional plant form from which all other plants could be derived. 152 153 subnature_03_FN2.indd 152-153 5/26/09 6:39:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e In “discovering” this archetypal plant form, Goethe believed that he could further identify the formal principle behind any number of liv- ing things. He believed the study of such forces in nature might lead to the knowledge of a specific, natural formal principle, and that such a living spirit might impact the realization of any variety of social forms, particularly art. [Fig. 9.3] Goethe’s theories of natural vital- ism influenced Romantic, Transcendental, and Organic literary and architectural theory.5 Within this writing, weeds exemplified those uncultivated life forms lurking beneath the natural world, opening up paths to an alternative modernity rooted in the revolutionary potential of free nature. Several examples illustrate these interlacing concepts. For example, the nineteenth-century American writer Henry David Thoreau saw the weed as something having an inherent organiza- Fig. 9.3 tion that was under threat by civilization. He believed that we have The Ur Plant, drawing by Johann Wolfgang von no right to destroy “their delicate organization so ruthelessly” or to Goethe, mid-19th century create “invidious distinctions” between weeds and the more socially desirable plants that might be removed from gardens. Similarly, Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote that weeds were “more essential to the well-being of the world than the most precious fruit or grain.”6 Within architecture, the Transcendentalist Louis Sullivan wrote often of the weed as an unlikely source of inspiration. In the passage “Letter to My Uncle,” Sullivan wrote a poem to a weed: I made a little one to a weed the other day. I like weeds: they have so much “style” to them and when I find them where they have grown free they seem most interesting and suggestive to me. I think I’m something of a weed myself....And then there are so many of them, and they differ so much in shape, color and arrangement; the form follows the function so beautifully as you would say. I don’t know the names of any of them— being city-bred....I wish I knew the names of the little rascals; then it Sullivan is an unexpected theorist of the weed. As a designer 7 seems to me, I could talk to them better. of ornament, he reinterpreted classical and Romanesque acanthus motifs in more weedlike plant forms and developed new designs And in a later work he wrote more broadly of the weed as a pro- based on weeds. For the Auditorium Building (1890), he reconceptual- w eeds Life gram for architecture: ized an acanthus ornamentation developed by the American architect H. H. Richardson as a “spiky-edge thistle leaf,” a common weed of the We allude to the weed as common, as wild. It may be “common” as we American plains.9 [Fig. 9.4] In later projects, Sullivan’s ornamentation say, it may be “wild” as we say, but it is a miracle nevertheless. It is a simultaneously invaded and emphasized the formal concepts of his most impressive symbol....The weed is of the work of Nature, remains tall building designs, as well as those of Dankmar Adler. Weeds are with Nature and is, therefore, “natural” as we say. The man, strangely unleashed to suggest the furnishing of new spatial forms within the enough it might seem, has departed from Nature whence he came. American city. Strangely, he has, in pride of intellect, denied instinct: called it a weed, Sullivan’s apprentice Frank Lloyd Wright also wrote of weeds, and wild, as it were.8 undoubtedly inspired by the concepts of his employer, but unlike Sullivan, Wright embraced the weed both as metaphor and as 154 155 subnature_03_FN2.indd 154-155 5/26/09 6:39:30 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e In “discovering” this archetypal plant form, Goethe believed that he could further identify the formal principle behind any number of liv- ing things. He believed the study of such forces in nature might lead to the knowledge of a specific, natural formal principle, and that such a living spirit might impact the realization of any variety of social forms, particularly art. [Fig. 9.3] Goethe’s theories of natural vital- ism influenced Romantic, Transcendental, and Organic literary and architectural theory.5 Within this writing, weeds exemplified those uncultivated life forms lurking beneath the natural world, opening up paths to an alternative modernity rooted in the revolutionary potential of free nature. Several examples illustrate these interlacing concepts. For example, the nineteenth-century American writer Henry David Thoreau saw the weed as something having an inherent organiza- Fig. 9.3 tion that was under threat by civilization. He believed that we have The Ur Plant, drawing after Johann Wolfgang no right to destroy “their delicate organization so ruthelessly” or to von Goethe, mid-19th create “invidious distinctions” between weeds and the more socially century desirable plants that might be removed from gardens. Similarly, Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote that weeds were “more essential to the well-being of the world than the most precious fruit or grain.”6 Within architecture, the Transcendentalist Louis Sullivan wrote often of the weed as an unlikely source of inspiration. In the passage “Letter to My Uncle,” Sullivan wrote a poem to a weed: I made a little one to a weed the other day. I like weeds: they have so much “style” to them and when I find them where they have grown free they seem most interesting and suggestive to me. I think I’m something of a weed myself....And then there are so many of them, and they differ so much in shape, color and arrangement; the form follows the function so beautifully as you would say. I don’t know the names of any of them— being city-bred....I wish I knew the names of the little rascals; then it Sullivan is an unexpected theorist of the weed. As a designer 7 seems to me, I could talk to them better. of ornament, he reinterpreted classical and Romanesque acanthus motifs in more weedlike plant forms and developed new designs And in a later work he wrote more broadly of the weed as a pro- based on weeds. For the Auditorium Building (1890), he reconceptual- w eeds Life gram for architecture: ized an acanthus ornamentation developed by the American architect H. H. Richardson as a “spiky-edge thistle leaf,” a common weed of the We allude to the weed as common, as wild. It may be “common” as we American plains.9 [Fig. 9.4] In later projects, Sullivan’s ornamentation say, it may be “wild” as we say, but it is a miracle nevertheless. It is a simultaneously invaded and emphasized the formal concepts of his most impressive symbol....The weed is of the work of Nature, remains tall building designs, as well as those of Dankmar Adler. Weeds are with Nature and is, therefore, “natural” as we say. The man, strangely unleashed to suggest the furnishing of new spatial forms within the enough it might seem, has departed from Nature whence he came. American city. Strangely, he has, in pride of intellect, denied instinct: called it a weed, Sullivan’s apprentice Frank Lloyd Wright also wrote of weeds, and wild, as it were.8 undoubtedly inspired by the concepts of his employer, but unlike Sullivan, Wright embraced the weed both as metaphor and as 154 155 subnature_03_FN2.indd 154-155 5/26/09 6:39:30 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e possible matter in architecture. In the section titled, “The Hoe,” a protracted diatribe on weeding from his Autobiography (1943), Wright wrote: The wielder of the hoe would wonder why weeds couldn’t be studied, possibilities found and then maybe cultivated. The “crop” eliminated. . . . Tobacco was a weed once....And tomatoes were once thought by Europeans to be poison....Nearly everything was a weed once upon Fig. 9.4 a time....What vitality these weeds had! Pulsey, for instance, Chess Impromptu, drawing, by Louis H. Sullivan, 1924 (velvet weed). Pigweed....Would the weeds become feeble, if they were cultivated and “crops” become as vigorous as “weeds” if able to flourish on their own? What of such science and art? Wright expands the weed beyond Sullivan’s vitalism of form into an entire social program that emphasizes vigor and independence. In the late nineteenth century, Wright designed vases and plant- ers specifically for the display of weeds in his Chicago residential commissions. Drawing on Romantic and Transcendentalist disdain for cultivated flowers, Wright presents a place for weeds within the Stranded Sears Tower (1991) by American architect Greg Lynn. The American home. His exploration of the weed contains enormous nov- tower appears to ensnarl its surroundings in a new type of animistic elty, yet the incorporation of displays of weeds in his house designs space. The project is weedlike in that it invades the streetscape and seems ironic in light of his own and Sullivan’s writings. Within appears to exist outside any known form of urban zoning that might Wright’s work we see a domestication of the wild and uncultivated otherwise temper its form. It is a weedlike counterimage to the exist- aspects of weeds, even as these plants are called on as metaphors of ing Sears Tower. [Fig. 9.5] social and mental transformation. These recent evocations of the weed by Wines and Lynn suggest Weed metaphors extend through postwar American explorations a type of alterity that might be found by using marginalized plants and of nature and space. In the 1970s, the Chicago-born American archi- referring to their forms. Yet, for all the recent efforts to capture the tect and writer James Wines explored a more populist yet seemingly weed as matter and metaphor, many late-modern engagements with transgressive position for weeds and other wild nature in a series of the weed in architecture seem quite tame. And this might be the ulti- projects for the United States–based Best Products company; entire mate irony of employing the weed: as something defined in relational suburban big-box retail stores were outfitted with weeds and scrub. terms only, as soon as the weed is put to use—conceptually, meta- The larger social program of the weed and the transformative power phorically, materially—it no longer remains a weed. Ultimately, what of nature is dropped in favor of a more obvious play on ironic atti- is called for is an architecture that produces the weed as an active w eeds Life tudes toward suburban forms of nature. Weeds and nature in general concept in real-existing space; that is, a building that transforms become an invasive form of entertainment—a kind of anti-aesthetic plant matter not previously considered a “weed” into just that. This commentary on suburban leisure and labor. Weeds also enjoyed approach, which we might call with some irony weeding—a technique resurgence as powerful metaphors in contemporary American that lends a weedlike character to the nature adhered to architec- architectural theory and practice. Inspired by the earlier writings of ture—can be found in recent work by R&Sie(n) Architects, West 8, Goethe, as well as by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s writings and Cero9. These architects employ plant matter as an element that on the weedlike rhizome, American architects sought ways to apply appears to potentially consume its surroundings. Of these, the Magic the weed metaphor to a new type of form-driven practice infiltrating Mountain by Cero9, a type of vegetal covering for an unsightly power the spaces of late-modern American cities.10 An early and exem- plant in Ames, Iowa, exemplifies the new approach. For this manmade plary project that employed Deleuze and Guattari’s metaphor is the verdant construct, Cero9 proposes: 156 157 subnature_03_FN2.indd 156-157 5/26/09 6:39:30 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e possible matter in architecture. In the section titled, “The Hoe,” a protracted diatribe on weeding from his Autobiography (1943), Wright wrote: The wielder of the hoe would wonder why weeds couldn’t be studied, possibilities found and then maybe cultivated. The “crop” eliminated. . . . Tobacco was a weed once....And tomatoes were once thought by Europeans to be poison....Nearly everything was a weed once upon Fig. 9.4 a time....What vitality these weeds had! Pulsey, for instance, Chess Impromptu, drawing, by Louis H. Sullivan, 1924 (velvet weed). Pigweed....Would the weeds become feeble, if they were cultivated and “crops” become as vigorous as “weeds” if able to flourish on their own? What of such science and art? Wright expands the weed beyond Sullivan’s vitalism of form into an entire social program that emphasizes vigor and independence. In the late nineteenth century, Wright designed vases and plant- ers specifically for the display of weeds in his Chicago residential commissions. Drawing on Romantic and Transcendentalist disdain for cultivated flowers, Wright presents a place for weeds within the Stranded Sears Tower (1991) by American architect Greg Lynn. The American home. His exploration of the weed contains enormous nov- tower appears to ensnarl its surroundings in a new type of animistic elty, yet the incorporation of displays of weeds in his house designs space. The project is weedlike in that it invades the streetscape and seems ironic in light of his own and Sullivan’s writings. Within appears to exist outside any known form of urban zoning that might Wright’s work we see a domestication of the wild and uncultivated otherwise temper its form. It is a weedlike counterimage to the exist- aspects of weeds, even as these plants are called on as metaphors of ing Sears Tower. [Fig. 9.5] social and mental transformation. These recent evocations of the weed by Wines and Lynn suggest Weed metaphors extend through postwar American explorations a type of alterity that might be found by using marginalized plants and of nature and space. In the 1970s, the Chicago-born American archi- referring to their forms. Yet, for all the recent efforts to capture the tect and writer James Wines explored a more populist yet seemingly weed as matter and metaphor, many late-modern engagements with transgressive position for weeds and other wild nature in a series of the weed in architecture seem quite tame. And this might be the ulti- projects for the United States–based Best Products company; entire mate irony of employing the weed: as something defined in relational suburban big-box retail stores were outfitted with weeds and scrub. terms only, as soon as the weed is put to use—conceptually, meta- The larger social program of the weed and the transformative power phorically, materially—it no longer remains a weed. Ultimately, what of nature is dropped in favor of a more obvious play on ironic atti- is called for is an architecture that produces the weed as an active w eeds Life tudes toward suburban forms of nature. Weeds and nature in general concept in real-existing space; that is, a building that transforms become an invasive form of entertainment—a kind of anti-aesthetic plant matter not previously considered a “weed” into just that. This commentary on suburban leisure and labor. Weeds also enjoyed approach, which we might call with some irony weeding—a technique resurgence as powerful metaphors in contemporary American that lends a weedlike character to the nature adhered to architec- architectural theory and practice. Inspired by the earlier writings of ture—can be found in recent work by R&Sie(n) Architects, West 8, Goethe, as well as by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s writings and Cero9. These architects employ plant matter as an element that on the weedlike rhizome, American architects sought ways to apply appears to potentially consume its surroundings. Of these, the Magic the weed metaphor to a new type of form-driven practice infiltrating Mountain by Cero9, a type of vegetal covering for an unsightly power the spaces of late-modern American cities.10 An early and exem- plant in Ames, Iowa, exemplifies the new approach. For this manmade plary project that employed Deleuze and Guattari’s metaphor is the verdant construct, Cero9 proposes: 156 157 subnature_03_FN2.indd 156-157 5/26/09 6:39:30 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e To totally cover with a membrane of roses, lights and honeysuckle the symbolically visible in a blaze of flowers. These flowers are a reminder fragmented volumes of the power station. The membrane creeps above of the blossoming of Rotterdam in the aftermath of the war.13 the highest parts of the power station and transforms the building into a vertical garden with living technified walls. The species chosen for In these works, Cero9, R&Sie(n), and West 8 embrace the the construction of this vegetation crust are a combination of rosebush relativist notion of plants as colonizers of space, as unwanted, as creepers against a green background of honeysuckle. . . we propose to matter out of place, as “the weed,” and they discover ways to use use gardeners’ ancestral techniques of genetic selection to induce a architecture to bring plants into realms, positions, and forms in modern image in the uncomfortable presence of the power station.11 which they may not belong. They envision this tower of plants as not only taking over the form of the power plant but as scattering the petals and pollen of it upon the building’s surrounding area. The building takes plant matter that we might not necessarily consider a weed and turns it into some- thing invasive, something weedlike. [Figs. 9.6 – 9.10] A similar approach is found in R&Sie(n)’s Lausanne City Museum, the nMBA. In this proj- ect, R&Sie(n) reiterates the conceit of Lynn; they design a building as a formal analog to the weed’s biological desire to invade and spread. Yet they also consider the way plant matter potentially moves around the entirety of the structure, overwhelming the architectural surfaces of the museum. [Figs. 9.11 – 9.14] In an evocative text, R&Sie(n) writes: The nMBA is a place of illusions; it exists where “the wild,” “weeds,” “urbanized,” and “artificial” nature converge. . . . Interlaced like a rhizome, progressing like a bed of coral and entangled like stick insects, it forms a phasmida....More a landscape than an urbanism; more a forest than architecture. A project that plays with its natures. “Weeds” that become the local woods that are then populated with animals, like an amphibian world that has been emancipated from water, having appeared freely and spontaneously.12 The nMBA is designed to both facilitate the production of weedlike plants and to perform in ways analogous to the weed. In many ways, R&Sie(n) extends the weed metaphor of Lynn’s earlier w eeds Life explorations in Chicago. In considering the spreading and consum- Fig. 9.5 ing analogies of weeds, a recent project by West 8 transforms potted Stranded Sears Tower, by Greg Lynn/Form, 1991 flowers into something containing weedlike resonances. [Figs. 9.15 + 9.16] For a landscape to memorialize the bombing of Rotterdam, Adriaan Geuze of West 8 developed an image of flames, out of flowers, appear- ing to consume its surroundings: Rotterdam’s inner city was bombed on May 14. The Schouwburgplein is situated in the heart of Rotterdam destroyed by the bombing and the ensuing fires that broke out. City on Fire/City in Bloom makes the flames 158 159 subnature_03_FN2.indd 158-159 5/26/09 6:39:30 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e To totally cover with a membrane of roses, lights and honeysuckle the symbolically visible in a blaze of flowers. These flowers are a reminder fragmented volumes of the power station. The membrane creeps above of the blossoming of Rotterdam in the aftermath of the war.13 the highest parts of the power station and transforms the building into a vertical garden with living technified walls. The species chosen for In these works, Cero9, R&Sie(n), and West 8 embrace the the construction of this vegetation crust are a combination of rosebush relativist notion of plants as colonizers of space, as unwanted, as creepers against a green background of honeysuckle. . . we propose to matter out of place, as “the weed,” and they discover ways to use use gardeners’ ancestral techniques of genetic selection to induce a architecture to bring plants into realms, positions, and forms in modern image in the uncomfortable presence of the power station.11 which they may not belong. They envision this tower of plants as not only taking over the form of the power plant but as scattering the petals and pollen of it upon the building’s surrounding area. The building takes plant matter that we might not necessarily consider a weed and turns it into some- thing invasive, something weedlike. [Figs. 9.6 – 9.10] A similar approach is found in R&Sie(n)’s Lausanne City Museum, the nMBA. In this proj- ect, R&Sie(n) reiterates the conceit of Lynn; they design a building as a formal analog to the weed’s biological desire to invade and spread. Yet they also consider the way plant matter potentially moves around the entirety of the structure, overwhelming the architectural surfaces of the museum. [Figs. 9.11 – 9.14] In an evocative text, R&Sie(n) writes: The nMBA is a place of illusions; it exists where “the wild,” “weeds,” “urbanized,” and “artificial” nature converge. . . . Interlaced like a rhizome, progressing like a bed of coral and entangled like stick insects, it forms a phasmida....More a landscape than an urbanism; more a forest than architecture. A project that plays with its natures. “Weeds” that become the local woods that are then populated with animals, like an amphibian world that has been emancipated from water, having appeared freely and spontaneously.12 The nMBA is designed to both facilitate the production of weedlike plants and to perform in ways analogous to the weed. In many ways, R&Sie(n) extends the weed metaphor of Lynn’s earlier w eeds Life explorations in Chicago. In considering the spreading and consum- Fig. 9.5 ing analogies of weeds, a recent project by West 8 transforms potted Stranded Sears Tower, by Greg Lynn/Form, 1991 flowers into something containing weedlike resonances. [Figs. 9.15 + 9.16] For a landscape to memorialize the bombing of Rotterdam, Adriaan Geuze of West 8 developed an image of flames, out of flowers, appear- ing to consume its surroundings: Rotterdam’s inner city was bombed on May 14. The Schouwburgplein is situated in the heart of Rotterdam destroyed by the bombing and the ensuing fires that broke out. City on Fire/City in Bloom makes the flames 158 159 subnature_03_FN2.indd 158-159 5/26/09 6:39:30 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Figs. 9.6 Model, Magic Mountain, by AMID/Cero9 Architects, Ames, Iowa, 2004 Figs. 9.7 + 9.8 (opposite) Renderings, Magic Mountain, by AMID/Cero9 Architects, Ames, Iowa, 2004 w eeds Life 160 161 subnature_03_FN2.indd 160-161 5/26/09 6:39:39 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Figs. 9.6 Model, Magic Mountain, by AMID/Cero9 Architects, Ames, Iowa, 2004 Figs. 9.7 + 9.8 (opposite) Renderings, Magic Mountain, by AMID/Cero9 Architects, Ames, Iowa, 2004 w eeds Life 160 161 subnature_03_FN2.indd 160-161 5/26/09 6:39:39 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e The structural flowerpots are attached to the existing walls of the industrial installation, providing a corridor between the plants and the walls for eventual maintenance. southern dogface glauc rambler rose, variety by D r. G . J. B u ck recycled polypropylene pallet ( 5 x 10 f t ) plastic mirrors, adjusted to reflect images of the sky (1 x .5 ft) flowerpots made of recycled polypropylene queen projecting structural-steel beams attached to existing outer walls of the power plant gutter for irrigation system joint of the pallets to the structural-steel beam structural-steel beam serving as flowerpot photovoltaic panels on 25 % of the facade L E D l i g ht i n g , o n 15 % o f t h e facade power plant facade w a l k w a y, s t e e l l a t t i c e attached to the existing buildings yellow rumped warbler wilson swarbler chestnut side dwarbler indigo bunting w eeds Life Fig. 9.9 Fig. 9.10 Construction system, Magic Ecosystem diagram, Magic Mountain, by AMID/Cero9 Mountain, by AMID/Cero9 Architects, Ames, Iowa, 2004 Architects, Ames, Iowa, 2004 162 163 subnature_03_FN2.indd 162-163 5/26/09 6:39:53 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e The structural flowerpots are attached to the existing walls of the industrial installation, providing a corridor between the plants and the walls for eventual maintenance. southern dogface glauc rambler rose, variety by D r. G . J. B u ck recycled polypropylene pallet ( 5 x 10 f t ) plastic mirrors, adjusted to reflect images of the sky (1 x .5 ft) flowerpots made of recycled polypropylene queen projecting structural-steel beams attached to existing outer walls of the power plant gutter for irrigation system joint of the pallets to the structural-steel beam structural-steel beam serving as flowerpot photovoltaic panels on 25 % of the facade L E D l i g ht i n g , o n 15 % o f t h e facade power plant facade w a l k w a y, s t e e l l a t t i c e attached to the existing buildings yellow rumped warbler wilson swarbler chestnut side dwarbler indigo bunting w eeds Life Fig. 9.9 Fig. 9.10 Construction system, Magic Ecosystem diagram, Magic Mountain, by AMID/Cero9 Mountain, by AMID/Cero9 Architects, Ames, Iowa, 2004 Architects, Ames, Iowa, 2004 162 163 subnature_03_FN2.indd 162-163 5/26/09 6:39:53 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 9.11 Fig. 9.12 Fig. 9.13 (above) Aerial rendering, (below) Perspective view, Elevations, nMBA, nMBA, by R&Sie(n) nMBA, by R&Sie(n) by R&Sie(n) Architects, Architects, Lausanne, Architects, Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland, 2005 Switzerland, 2005 Switzerland, 2005 w eeds Life 164 165 subnature_03_FN2.indd 164-165 5/26/09 6:40:03 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 9.11 Fig. 9.12 Fig. 9.13 (above) Aerial rendering, (below) Perspective view, Elevations, nMBA, nMBA, by R&Sie(n) nMBA, by R&Sie(n) by R&Sie(n) Architects, Architects, Lausanne, Architects, Lausanne, Lausanne, Switzerland, 2005 Switzerland, 2005 Switzerland, 2005 w eeds Life 164 165 subnature_03_FN2.indd 164-165 5/26/09 6:40:03 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 9.14 Detail of wall system, nMBA, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Lausanne, Switzerland, 2005 w eeds Life Figs. 9.15 + 9.16 City on Fire/City in Bloom, by West 8, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2007 166 167 subnature_03_FN2.indd 166-167 5/26/09 6:40:12 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 9.14 Detail of wall system, nMBA, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Lausanne, Switzerland, 2005 w eeds Life Figs. 9.15 + 9.16 City on Fire/City in Bloom, by West 8, Rotterdam, the Netherlands, 2007 166 167 subnature_03_FN2.indd 166-167 5/26/09 6:40:12 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Insects It is difficult to imagine that architects might reconsider the relation- Fig. 10.1 ships, both conceptual and actual, between buildings and insects. Bees creating a hive, Insects are anathema to our concept of the architectural interior or mid-19th century any notion of architecture as refuge. They infest architecture, often Fig. 10.2 in repulsive ways; some insects, like termites, actually damage the The British Beehive, 1867 structures of buildings. In cities, cockroaches are vilified as frighten- ing nuisances and carriers of disease. Historian Ben Campkin has explored how in mid-twentieth-century London, working class pro- testers paraded in front of their insect-infested housing with effigies of roaches. They burned these effigies in public protest to express disgust at their living conditions, but as truly unsettling as insects are, like so many of the forms of subnature explored in this book, architecture has a more complex relationship to insects than our immediate reactions to them would suggest. Insects are a common metaphor for various forms of architectural production, and as this short chapter will reveal, insects have served as catalysts for rethink- ing the experiences of human beings in modern spaces. Insects can swarm, like gnats in a field; they can gravitate, like flies; they can be drawn to particular occurrences, like moths to the flame; and they can build structures, like bees build their hives. The particular movements and forms of congregations of insects have often served as inspiration for designing forms within architecture, and some social structures among insects have been valued as key architectural metaphors across several practices and timeframes. According to architectural historian Juan Antonio Ramírez, the beehive metaphor, as he terms it, has served as a potent concep- of the political economy of mid-nineteenth-century imperial England. tual bridge between insects, society, and architecture.1 The beehive [Fig. 10.2] Cleaners populate the lowest parts of the hive, with finan- metaphor is literally the invocation of structures within beehives, ciers and ministers at the top—all encircling the queen at the center. particularly the hexagon matrix of the honeycomb, within architec- The actual structure of the beehive is modified to produce a more tural design. According to Ramírez, such structures can be seen in absolute and strict hierarchy centered on the hive’s queen. Insects practices as diverse as Antonio Gaudí, Peter Behrens, and Frank Architects such as Gaudí, Behrens, and Wright appropriated Life Lloyd Wright. These architects’ and others’ use of the beehive meta- the beehive metaphor, reworking its social associations into spa- phor extends and transforms the use of the beehive by earlier social tial concepts. Wright, for example, in his Hanna House in Palo Alto, commentators as the symbol of organizational power for harmoni- California, and Arizona State Capitol proposal used the beehive met- ous societies. [Fig. 10.1] For example, during the French Revolution the aphor as a new type of planimetric organizational principle to counter beehive became a symbol of the new republican virtues of liberty, the banality of “gridded environments.” Where the grid represented freedom, and fraternity; an image of revolution was often shown a juncture between structural science and cognitive spatial percep- alongside those of beehives. The hive represented a collective tion, Wright employed the hexagonal unit as the structure of space. industriousness. A somewhat more troubling use of the beehive as a In place of the grid’s Cartesianism, Wright drew on imagery from the governmental metaphor appeared in Victorian England. An image of insect world to project a more naturalistic (he would call it organic) the “British Beehive” depicts the interacting structure and hierarchy link between the organization of space and forms of socialization. 168 169 subnature_03_FN2.indd 168-169 5/26/09 6:40:14 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Insects It is difficult to imagine that architects might reconsider the relation- Fig. 10.1 ships, both conceptual and actual, between buildings and insects. Bees creating a hive, Insects are anathema to our concept of the architectural interior or mid-19th century any notion of architecture as refuge. They infest architecture, often Fig. 10.2 in repulsive ways; some insects, like termites, actually damage the The British Beehive, 1867 structures of buildings. In cities, cockroaches are vilified as frighten- ing nuisances and carriers of disease. Historian Ben Campkin has explored how in mid-twentieth-century London, working class pro- testers paraded in front of their insect-infested housing with effigies of roaches. They burned these effigies in public protest to express disgust at their living conditions, but as truly unsettling as insects are, like so many of the forms of subnature explored in this book, architecture has a more complex relationship to insects than our immediate reactions to them would suggest. Insects are a common metaphor for various forms of architectural production, and as this short chapter will reveal, insects have served as catalysts for rethink- ing the experiences of human beings in modern spaces. Insects can swarm, like gnats in a field; they can gravitate, like flies; they can be drawn to particular occurrences, like moths to the flame; and they can build structures, like bees build their hives. The particular movements and forms of congregations of insects have often served as inspiration for designing forms within architecture, and some social structures among insects have been valued as key architectural metaphors across several practices and timeframes. According to architectural historian Juan Antonio Ramírez, the beehive metaphor, as he terms it, has served as a potent concep- of the political economy of mid-nineteenth-century imperial England. tual bridge between insects, society, and architecture.1 The beehive [Fig. 10.2] Cleaners populate the lowest parts of the hive, with finan- metaphor is literally the invocation of structures within beehives, ciers and ministers at the top—all encircling the queen at the center. particularly the hexagon matrix of the honeycomb, within architec- The actual structure of the beehive is modified to produce a more tural design. According to Ramírez, such structures can be seen in absolute and strict hierarchy centered on the hive’s queen. Insects practices as diverse as Antonio Gaudí, Peter Behrens, and Frank Architects such as Gaudí, Behrens, and Wright appropriated Life Lloyd Wright. These architects’ and others’ use of the beehive meta- the beehive metaphor, reworking its social associations into spa- phor extends and transforms the use of the beehive by earlier social tial concepts. Wright, for example, in his Hanna House in Palo Alto, commentators as the symbol of organizational power for harmoni- California, and Arizona State Capitol proposal used the beehive met- ous societies. [Fig. 10.1] For example, during the French Revolution the aphor as a new type of planimetric organizational principle to counter beehive became a symbol of the new republican virtues of liberty, the banality of “gridded environments.” Where the grid represented freedom, and fraternity; an image of revolution was often shown a juncture between structural science and cognitive spatial percep- alongside those of beehives. The hive represented a collective tion, Wright employed the hexagonal unit as the structure of space. industriousness. A somewhat more troubling use of the beehive as a In place of the grid’s Cartesianism, Wright drew on imagery from the governmental metaphor appeared in Victorian England. An image of insect world to project a more naturalistic (he would call it organic) the “British Beehive” depicts the interacting structure and hierarchy link between the organization of space and forms of socialization. 168 169 subnature_03_FN2.indd 168-169 5/26/09 6:40:14 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e [Fig. 10.3] Unlike the image of the English hive, however, Wright’s con- struct lacks a central space of domination. He does not use the hive metaphor to intensify the power of a particular individual; rather, he reworks the hive into a landscape-driven concept. Such hive imagery continues throughout late-modern architectural practices, particularly in the development of structural systems invoking the hexagonal matrix. [Fig. 10.4] If the structures produced by insects could provide metaphors for architectural production, the behaviors of insects and their sur- rounding settings also provided architectural inspiration. Where the bee metaphor might serve as a model of industrious construction by an insect, the parasite metaphor—often invoking the flee, mos- quito, tick, or wasp—was inspired by the interactions of insects with other biological entities. These metaphors, which began to appear in the late-1970s and mid-1980s, paralleled an increased interest in the architect’s role as agitator of an accepted social structure. The parasite metaphor offered an image of the architect either in direct confrontation with the spaces that constitute contemporary social life or in a position for reworking them from within. In his exhibition Deconstructivist Architecture, architectural historian Mark Wigley turned to the parasite as a new image for the formal development of architecture. Wigley conveyed some of the above aspects of the para- site metaphor when he wrote of a building addition by the firm Coop Fig. 10.3 Himmelb(l)au, describing it as “a subversive alien, a foreign body that Rendering of the Arizona already inhabits the interior and cannot be expelled without destroy- State Capitol, by Frank Lloyd Wright, 1956 ing its host.”2 The metaphor emphasized a tension between the world as it exists and a new architecture directed against it. Yet, unlike mod- ernist architectural tropes in which buildings rise above the existing city, the parasitic building infests the existing city. For Greg Lynn, the parasite metaphor offered less of a confrontational role for architec- tural form and more of a cunning reworking of form and context. In a critique of Wigley's use of the parasite metaphor, Lynn wrote that Insects the “parasite has to configure the possibility for its own existence.”3 Life That is, the parasite produces stability between itself and its host. Turning again to a direct insect metaphor, Lynn discussed the inter- changes between digger wasps and a species of orchid that mimics the female wasp’s form. Lynn sees this as a new codependent form Fig. 10.4 of parasitism. By mimicking the form of the female wasp, the orchid Installation detail of essentially uses the wasp to help pollinate its flowers. Lynn called honeycomb structure, Manifold, by Matsys/ this collective wasp-orchid a “fusional multiplicity,” and he sought Andrew Kudless, 2004 to arrive at a formal architectural equivalent of the dynamics of this insect-plant exchange.4 Such insect metaphors continue in contem- porary practice, emphasizing the idea of the insect’s swarm or its 170 171 subnature_03_FN2.indd 170-171 5/26/09 6:40:15 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e [Fig. 10.3] Unlike the image of the English hive, however, Wright’s con- struct lacks a central space of domination. He does not use the hive metaphor to intensify the power of a particular individual; rather, he reworks the hive into a landscape-driven concept. Such hive imagery continues throughout late-modern architectural practices, particularly in the development of structural systems invoking the hexagonal matrix. [Fig. 10.4] If the structures produced by insects could provide metaphors for architectural production, the behaviors of insects and their sur- rounding settings also provided architectural inspiration. Where the bee metaphor might serve as a model of industrious construction by an insect, the parasite metaphor—often invoking the flee, mos- quito, tick, or wasp—was inspired by the interactions of insects with other biological entities. These metaphors, which began to appear in the late-1970s and mid-1980s, paralleled an increased interest in the architect’s role as agitator of an accepted social structure. The parasite metaphor offered an image of the architect either in direct confrontation with the spaces that constitute contemporary social life or in a position for reworking them from within. In his exhibition Deconstructivist Architecture, architectural historian Mark Wigley turned to the parasite as a new image for the formal development of architecture. Wigley conveyed some of the above aspects of the para- site metaphor when he wrote of a building addition by the firm Coop Fig. 10.3 Himmelb(l)au, describing it as “a subversive alien, a foreign body that Rendering of the Arizona already inhabits the interior and cannot be expelled without destroy- State Capitol, by Frank Lloyd Wright, 1956 ing its host.”2 The metaphor emphasized a tension between the world as it exists and a new architecture directed against it. Yet, unlike mod- ernist architectural tropes in which buildings rise above the existing city, the parasitic building infests the existing city. For Greg Lynn, the parasite metaphor offered less of a confrontational role for architec- tural form and more of a cunning reworking of form and context. In a critique of Wigley's use of the parasite metaphor, Lynn wrote that Insects the “parasite has to configure the possibility for its own existence.”3 Life That is, the parasite produces stability between itself and its host. Turning again to a direct insect metaphor, Lynn discussed the inter- changes between digger wasps and a species of orchid that mimics the female wasp’s form. Lynn sees this as a new codependent form Fig. 10.4 of parasitism. By mimicking the form of the female wasp, the orchid Installation detail of essentially uses the wasp to help pollinate its flowers. Lynn called honeycomb structure, Manifold, by Matsys/ this collective wasp-orchid a “fusional multiplicity,” and he sought Andrew Kudless, 2004 to arrive at a formal architectural equivalent of the dynamics of this insect-plant exchange.4 Such insect metaphors continue in contem- porary practice, emphasizing the idea of the insect’s swarm or its 170 171 subnature_03_FN2.indd 170-171 5/26/09 6:40:15 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e ways of organizing its world to effect transformations in climate. The of these modernist notions of animalization, architects projected former investigation emerges from the constellation of ideas known performances and building designs that suggested new rapproche- as field theory, which considers the laws governing the organization ments between the worlds of insects and humans. Insect imagery of unstable matter, and the latter emerges from environmentalist moves throughout the constellation of practices and concepts known engineering, which in this instance examines how insects modify the as experimental architecture that appeared from the late-1960s to environments of their hives.5 the mid-1970s. These include well-known concepts, such as Ron In addition to insects’ forms of socialization, architects and Herron’s Walking City, and other more obscure realizations of the the theorists that have inspired them have also explored the sub- insect subject in architecture. One of the more subtle and less literal jectivity of insects. Insect subjectivity could inform a new type of of these was Coop Himmelb(l)au’s Heart City: The White Suit (1967). experience in which the world of modern human societies is recon- [Fig. 10.5] This early project consisted of a helmet that relayed imagery sidered through an imagined insect physicality and consciousness. and odors, and a pneumatic vest that applied various pressures to Architects draw on themes explored much earlier in literature. its wearer. The project explored a technologically driven architecture According to the historian Cristopher Hollingsworth, the notion of of media and sensation, but it resorted to insect imagery to give the human-insect subjectivity—what he labels the “insect as self”— exploration visual character. Linking technological, sensorial, and appears most radically within Franz Kafka’s early-twentieth-century insectoid experiences and images, the project intersects with the short story The Metamorphosis (1915).6 In this story, the protagonist cyborg realities imagined by Haraway and her predecessors. Gregor Samsa awakens to find himself transformed into an enormous In contemporary practice, the insect image continues to be insect—translated variously as an enormous “vermin” or “cock- a robust aspect of experimental work. In the 1980s and 1990s, it roach.” Samsa’s new verminous self hides in his room, alienated from the staff of the inn where he stays and where his employers seek him out. Through this insect creation, Kafka explores the limits of the social structure of middle-class Viennese society and the boundaries of human socialization. This literary conceit was explored in a more philosophical frame- work in the 1970s and 1980s by the philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari and in a somewhat modified form by the anthropologist Donna Haraway.7 They all seized the implications of the human- insect transformation as a type of political strategy that enabled one to operate as a radical new type of nonhuman subject. Deleuze and Guattari drew on The Metamorphosis directly in their concept Fig. 10.5 of “animalization” or “becoming-animal.” Through this concept, they Heart City: The White Suit, by Coop Himmelb(l)au, imagined that by “becoming-animal” the human subject could posi- Vienna, Austria, 1967 Insects tion itself against categories such as family, home, and state. The Life animal, as Kafka’s story demonstrates and as these philosophers further articulate, cannot accede to these formulations. Haraway explored, more specifically, the political position an animaliza- tion might engender through her concept of the cyborg—a hybrid of animal, human, and machine. In illustrating this, she seized upon a description of a protest against nuclear testing in the 1970s, in which a group of women took on the character of a desert worm through the creation of a costumed performance. They writhed inside their costume, attempting to develop a hybrid human-insect identity as an expression of political position. Building on and mirroring many 172 173 subnature_03_FN2.indd 172-173 5/26/09 6:40:15 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e ways of organizing its world to effect transformations in climate. The of these modernist notions of animalization, architects projected former investigation emerges from the constellation of ideas known performances and building designs that suggested new rapproche- as field theory, which considers the laws governing the organization ments between the worlds of insects and humans. Insect imagery of unstable matter, and the latter emerges from environmentalist moves throughout the constellation of practices and concepts known engineering, which in this instance examines how insects modify the as experimental architecture that appeared from the late-1960s to environments of their hives.5 the mid-1970s. These include well-known concepts, such as Ron In addition to insects’ forms of socialization, architects and Herron’s Walking City, and other more obscure realizations of the the theorists that have inspired them have also explored the sub- insect subject in architecture. One of the more subtle and less literal jectivity of insects. Insect subjectivity could inform a new type of of these was Coop Himmelb(l)au’s Heart City: The White Suit (1967). experience in which the world of modern human societies is recon- [Fig. 10.5] This early project consisted of a helmet that relayed imagery sidered through an imagined insect physicality and consciousness. and odors, and a pneumatic vest that applied various pressures to Architects draw on themes explored much earlier in literature. its wearer. The project explored a technologically driven architecture According to the historian Cristopher Hollingsworth, the notion of of media and sensation, but it resorted to insect imagery to give the human-insect subjectivity—what he labels the “insect as self”— exploration visual character. Linking technological, sensorial, and appears most radically within Franz Kafka’s early-twentieth-century insectoid experiences and images, the project intersects with the short story The Metamorphosis (1915).6 In this story, the protagonist cyborg realities imagined by Haraway and her predecessors. Gregor Samsa awakens to find himself transformed into an enormous In contemporary practice, the insect image continues to be insect—translated variously as an enormous “vermin” or “cock- a robust aspect of experimental work. In the 1980s and 1990s, it roach.” Samsa’s new verminous self hides in his room, alienated from the staff of the inn where he stays and where his employers seek him out. Through this insect creation, Kafka explores the limits of the social structure of middle-class Viennese society and the boundaries of human socialization. This literary conceit was explored in a more philosophical frame- work in the 1970s and 1980s by the philosophers Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari and in a somewhat modified form by the anthropologist Donna Haraway.7 They all seized the implications of the human- insect transformation as a type of political strategy that enabled one to operate as a radical new type of nonhuman subject. Deleuze and Guattari drew on The Metamorphosis directly in their concept Fig. 10.5 of “animalization” or “becoming-animal.” Through this concept, they Heart City: The White Suit, by Coop Himmelb(l)au, imagined that by “becoming-animal” the human subject could posi- Vienna, Austria, 1967 Insects tion itself against categories such as family, home, and state. The Life animal, as Kafka’s story demonstrates and as these philosophers further articulate, cannot accede to these formulations. Haraway explored, more specifically, the political position an animaliza- tion might engender through her concept of the cyborg—a hybrid of animal, human, and machine. In illustrating this, she seized upon a description of a protest against nuclear testing in the 1970s, in which a group of women took on the character of a desert worm through the creation of a costumed performance. They writhed inside their costume, attempting to develop a hybrid human-insect identity as an expression of political position. Building on and mirroring many 172 173 subnature_03_FN2.indd 172-173 5/26/09 6:40:15 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 10.6 Concept rendering of the Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Fig. 10.7 continued in the work of Coop Himmelb(l)au and entered some of the Section diagrams of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) images produced by Lebbeus Woods and Michael Sorkin. We might Architects,Trinidad, 2003 argue that the insect metaphor rivals the “machine” metaphor as the more obvious avant-garde architectural image. Most recently, the twin concepts of insect organization and insect-as-self conjoin in the contemporary project Mosquito Bottleneck by R&Sie(n) Architects. [Fig. 10.6] In this project, the architects explored the development of a house for a mosquito-infested area of Trinidad. Rather than develop a haven from mosquitoes, they choose to create a double-skin wall Insects that provides space for the insects. [Figs. 10.7 + 10.8] As the house’s Life unusual form twists and bends, the mosquitoes within the double wall are brought closer and more deeply into the spaces of the house. François Roche wrote of the project’s operation: Scenario: 1) Detection of the mosquito-borne West Nile Fever virus on Fig. 10.8 the island. 2) Mixing this objective paranoia with a desire for safety. Plan of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, 3) Developing a Klein-bottle twist between the two contradictory data: Trinidad, 2003 humans and insects. 4) Living and dying of mosquitoes in the house trap. 5) Introducing a fragile structure and materials, like fabric netting 174 175 subnature_03_FN2.indd 174-175 5/26/09 6:40:17 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 10.6 Concept rendering of the Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Fig. 10.7 continued in the work of Coop Himmelb(l)au and entered some of the Section diagrams of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) images produced by Lebbeus Woods and Michael Sorkin. We might Architects,Trinidad, 2003 argue that the insect metaphor rivals the “machine” metaphor as the more obvious avant-garde architectural image. Most recently, the twin concepts of insect organization and insect-as-self conjoin in the contemporary project Mosquito Bottleneck by R&Sie(n) Architects. [Fig. 10.6] In this project, the architects explored the development of a house for a mosquito-infested area of Trinidad. Rather than develop a haven from mosquitoes, they choose to create a double-skin wall Insects that provides space for the insects. [Figs. 10.7 + 10.8] As the house’s Life unusual form twists and bends, the mosquitoes within the double wall are brought closer and more deeply into the spaces of the house. François Roche wrote of the project’s operation: Scenario: 1) Detection of the mosquito-borne West Nile Fever virus on Fig. 10.8 the island. 2) Mixing this objective paranoia with a desire for safety. Plan of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, 3) Developing a Klein-bottle twist between the two contradictory data: Trinidad, 2003 humans and insects. 4) Living and dying of mosquitoes in the house trap. 5) Introducing a fragile structure and materials, like fabric netting 174 175 subnature_03_FN2.indd 174-175 5/26/09 6:40:17 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e everywhere, in recognition of the geographic position of this island, naturally protected against hurricanes. 6) Weaving together all the sur- Fig. 10.9 Exterior view of Mosquito faces of the house—floor, facade and roof—with plastic wire and plastic Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) shrink-wrap. 7) Resonance between the buzzing of the mosquitoes and Architects, Trinidad, 2003 the vibration of the structure.8 The project is not about mimicking the insect’s forms of orga- nization; rather, it embraces the metaphor of the insect as a new type of experience. The house suggests that domesticity is built on excluding fearful aspects of nature, while embracing others. But it also suggests new types of interpretations of one’s personal natural milieu seen through an insectlike lens and projected onto the world. If insects were once cast out of the interior (or burned in effigy), here, in an admittedly rarified setting, they are brought closer to enable another concept of what an interior might be. This, in turn, suggests that the combination of insects, the interiors that house them, and the observation and inhabitation of such a space by people force a con- sideration of the very meaning of human and its interrelationship to these constructs. [Figs. 10.9 – 10.13] Fig. 10.10 Skin detail of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Insects Life 176 177 subnature_03_FN2.indd 176-177 5/26/09 6:40:20 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e everywhere, in recognition of the geographic position of this island, naturally protected against hurricanes. 6) Weaving together all the sur- Fig. 10.9 Exterior view of Mosquito faces of the house—floor, facade and roof—with plastic wire and plastic Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) shrink-wrap. 7) Resonance between the buzzing of the mosquitoes and Architects, Trinidad, 2003 the vibration of the structure.8 The project is not about mimicking the insect’s forms of orga- nization; rather, it embraces the metaphor of the insect as a new type of experience. The house suggests that domesticity is built on excluding fearful aspects of nature, while embracing others. But it also suggests new types of interpretations of one’s personal natural milieu seen through an insectlike lens and projected onto the world. If insects were once cast out of the interior (or burned in effigy), here, in an admittedly rarified setting, they are brought closer to enable another concept of what an interior might be. This, in turn, suggests that the combination of insects, the interiors that house them, and the observation and inhabitation of such a space by people force a con- sideration of the very meaning of human and its interrelationship to these constructs. [Figs. 10.9 – 10.13] Fig. 10.10 Skin detail of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Insects Life 176 177 subnature_03_FN2.indd 176-177 5/26/09 6:40:20 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 10.11 (above, right to left) Interior views of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Fig. 10.12 Fig. 10.13 Interior of Mosquito Interior detail of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Insects Life 178 179 subnature_03_FN2.indd 178-179 5/26/09 6:40:22 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 10.11 (above, right to left) Interior views of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Fig. 10.12 Fig. 10.13 Interior of Mosquito Interior detail of Mosquito Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Bottleneck, by R&Sie(n) Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Architects, Trinidad, 2003 Insects Life 178 179 subnature_03_FN2.indd 178-179 5/26/09 6:40:22 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Pigeons Several subnatures in this book oscillate between desirable and undesirable. Within modernity, we often see key shifts where some- thing as innocuous as smoke from a domestic fire eventually becomes a nuisance. The same is true for dankness, which was once literally constructed in garden grottoes, but many modernist tracts were devoted to eliminating it as a spatial quality. Once deemed unde- Fig. 11.1 sirable, few subnatures shift back again to being wholly desirable. Egg and dart motif on an architrave, 1777 We don’t have a “good” dust anymore, nor do we consider "good" exhausts or mud (at least of the spatial kind). Bugs, even the most beneficial ones, are unwelcome in most spaces. Such historical inter- pretive structures continue with architectural considerations of that most notorious of birds—the pigeon. Of all birds, pigeons retain a type of lesser status through their interactions with architecture in that they stain and infest buildings and transform the sounds ema- nating from them. We might even argue that the word pigeon takes on some of the power of the term weed, which people use broadly to describe unwanted vegetation. Many pigeons could be classified as doves or partridges; in fact, the distinction between pigeon and dove is quite arbitrary and might ultimately fall on the way a particular bird inhabits space. Pigeon is not so much a common name as a label of derision used to describe a member of the family Columbidae and the genus Columba that transgresses the imagined boundaries between human and animal worlds. But like many things under analysis in this book, this shift is very recent. Pigeons were once venerated in Fig. 11.2 architecture, and of all birds, they contain one of the longest and most Drawing of a colombier or pigeonnier from the unique conceptualizations within architecture, invoking notions of Dictionnaire Raisonné de sacrifice, class, liberty, and pestilence.1 l’Architecture Française, Eugène Emmanuel If one looks past the antipigeon spikes on the entablatures of Viollet-le-Duc, 1856 classical buildings, you might notice that virtually every classical edifice contains some reference to its occupation by pigeons. On Pig e o n s the moldings of ancient and modern classical buildings, one often Life notices a pattern containing alternating ovoid forms and three small carved lines. This pattern, known as the “egg and dart,” symbolizes the feet and eggs of pigeons. [Fig. 11.1] Temples, like modern structures, were homes to the flocks of pigeons that roosted in their nooks. Roosting pigeons were valued, and eggs laid in temples were sold as souvenirs and used for sacrifices.2 Pigeons were also encouraged to breed inside buildings, and this extends from ancient to early-modern societies. The pigeonnier or dovecote, a building in which pigeons were cultivated for their eggs and meat, became a discernable archi- tectural type in the West during the Middle Ages. Pigeonniers were 180 181 subnature_03_FN2.indd 180-181 5/26/09 6:40:23 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Pigeons Several subnatures in this book oscillate between desirable and undesirable. Within modernity, we often see key shifts where some- thing as innocuous as smoke from a domestic fire eventually becomes a nuisance. The same is true for dankness, which was once literally constructed in garden grottoes, but many modernist tracts were devoted to eliminating it as a spatial quality. Once deemed unde- Fig. 11.1 sirable, few subnatures shift back again to being wholly desirable. Egg and dart motif on an architrave, 1777 We don’t have a “good” dust anymore, nor do we consider "good" exhausts or mud (at least of the spatial kind). Bugs, even the most beneficial ones, are unwelcome in most spaces. Such historical inter- pretive structures continue with architectural considerations of that most notorious of birds—the pigeon. Of all birds, pigeons retain a type of lesser status through their interactions with architecture in that they stain and infest buildings and transform the sounds ema- nating from them. We might even argue that the word pigeon takes on some of the power of the term weed, which people use broadly to describe unwanted vegetation. Many pigeons could be classified as doves or partridges; in fact, the distinction between pigeon and dove is quite arbitrary and might ultimately fall on the way a particular bird inhabits space. Pigeon is not so much a common name as a label of derision used to describe a member of the family Columbidae and the genus Columba that transgresses the imagined boundaries between human and animal worlds. But like many things under analysis in this book, this shift is very recent. Pigeons were once venerated in Fig. 11.2 architecture, and of all birds, they contain one of the longest and most Drawing of a colombier or pigeonnier from the unique conceptualizations within architecture, invoking notions of Dictionnaire Raisonné de sacrifice, class, liberty, and pestilence.1 l’Architecture Française, Eugène Emmanuel If one looks past the antipigeon spikes on the entablatures of Viollet-le-Duc, 1856 classical buildings, you might notice that virtually every classical edifice contains some reference to its occupation by pigeons. On Pig e o n s the moldings of ancient and modern classical buildings, one often Life notices a pattern containing alternating ovoid forms and three small carved lines. This pattern, known as the “egg and dart,” symbolizes the feet and eggs of pigeons. [Fig. 11.1] Temples, like modern structures, were homes to the flocks of pigeons that roosted in their nooks. Roosting pigeons were valued, and eggs laid in temples were sold as souvenirs and used for sacrifices.2 Pigeons were also encouraged to breed inside buildings, and this extends from ancient to early-modern societies. The pigeonnier or dovecote, a building in which pigeons were cultivated for their eggs and meat, became a discernable archi- tectural type in the West during the Middle Ages. Pigeonniers were 180 181 subnature_03_FN2.indd 180-181 5/26/09 6:40:23 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e extensive utilitarian buildings typically built on large estates, and in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, they became fanciful buildings where images of architecture, gardens, and wild nature came together. Descriptions of the pigeonnier actually appear in works of architectural theory. For example, Leon Battista Alberti’s treatise contains an entire section instructing readers on the meth- ods for constructing buildings for pigeons.3 Jean-Jacques Lequeu Fig. 11.3 drew a section of a fanciful pigeonnier for a country estate. Within the Drawing of a bird trap by Noel Chomel, 1700s Dictionnaire Raisonné de l'Architecture Française, Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc noted the construction of the pigeonnier in medieval architecture, typically a round structure with a rotating ladder-assem- bly at its center. [Fig. 11.2] Such a focus on pigeonniers within architectural theory might come as a surprise, but in Europe and its colonies, the construction of pigeonniers was governed by the state, making them a significant building type. In pre-revolutionary France, for example, the aristoc- racy retained exclusive rights to build pigeonniers. Viollet-le-Duc wrote one of the more evocative descriptions of the power relations Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari used an image of a crude bird trap moving through the Medieval pigeonner: designed by the eighteenth-century French writer Noel Chomel. Such traps illustrated a larger “apparatus of capture” that they believed Pigeonnier (dovecote): A building intended to house flocks of pigeons took the form of stockpiling nature to impose economic control over and permit them to brood, protected from the elements. During the the productivity of the earth and convert open territories into saleable Middle Ages the construction of a dovecote was a privilege reserved for land and human energy into labor for wage-bound forms of work.6 feudal lords. The peasant could not have his own oven. . . neither was he [Fig. 11.3] As bird catching was intimately related to land owner- permitted to have a pigeonnier. Pigeons, like herds of cattle and sheep, ship, the illustration by Chomel illuminates the broader concept of belonged to the lord, who alone could profit from them. . . The construc- socionatural capture, but ultimately, the pigeon trap symbolizes the tion of the pigeonnier was thus an important affair. All castles possessed apparatus of capture, because we tend to associate birds, in particu- one or more pigeonniers; the manors, dwellings of the knights, small lar, with a type of boundless negotiation of space by free nature. castles....could also have a pigeonnier.4 The dialectic between a captured, state-managed nature and its potentially free form might enable us to see why, beginning in the According to Viollet-le-Duc, the number of pigeons that could mid-nineteenth century, images of unbound pigeons came to symbol- be kept in a pigeonnier was linked to the amount of land owned by a ize a progressive modernity. If pigeons were once the focus of various Pig e o n s particular member of the aristocracy. Additionally, the aristocratic modes of state-governed capture for their meat, eggs, or navigation Life classes forced nearby peasants to supply food for the pigeons skills, then within emerging metropolitan culture, pigeons became raised in these buildings.5 For these reasons, pigeonniers and pigeon images of a de-operationalized nature. Pigeons were admired for trapping emerged as symbols of aristocratic privilege within early their ability to integrate into their surroundings and for their visual modernity. effects when flying. Images of pigeons hurtling through cities or In light of the above history, within nonarchitectural critiques of populating squares became prevalent in modern writing, painting, state power, the pigeonnier became an emblematic building. Charles and photography, particularly in the cities of Paris, New York, and Dickens noted the burdens on peasants in supplying food for pigeon- especially Venice.7 John Ruskin, writing in The Stones of Venice, went niers in A Tale of Two Cities; Karl Marx commented on this and many as far as to compare the type of buildings a society builds with the other forms of alienation from nature within feudalism. To illustrate type of birds that populate it. Speaking of the pigeons (he called them their critique of the governance over nature by capitalist states, doves) in the porch of St. Mark’s, he contrasted the lively pigeon 182 183 subnature_03_FN2.indd 182-183 5/26/09 6:40:23 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e extensive utilitarian buildings typically built on large estates, and in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, they became fanciful buildings where images of architecture, gardens, and wild nature came together. Descriptions of the pigeonnier actually appear in works of architectural theory. For example, Leon Battista Alberti’s treatise contains an entire section instructing readers on the meth- ods for constructing buildings for pigeons.3 Jean-Jacques Lequeu Fig. 11.3 drew a section of a fanciful pigeonnier for a country estate. Within the Drawing of a bird trap by Noel Chomel, 1700s Dictionnaire Raisonné de l'Architecture Française, Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc noted the construction of the pigeonnier in medieval architecture, typically a round structure with a rotating ladder-assem- bly at its center. [Fig. 11.2] Such a focus on pigeonniers within architectural theory might come as a surprise, but in Europe and its colonies, the construction of pigeonniers was governed by the state, making them a significant building type. In pre-revolutionary France, for example, the aristoc- racy retained exclusive rights to build pigeonniers. Viollet-le-Duc wrote one of the more evocative descriptions of the power relations Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari used an image of a crude bird trap moving through the Medieval pigeonner: designed by the eighteenth-century French writer Noel Chomel. Such traps illustrated a larger “apparatus of capture” that they believed Pigeonnier (dovecote): A building intended to house flocks of pigeons took the form of stockpiling nature to impose economic control over and permit them to brood, protected from the elements. During the the productivity of the earth and convert open territories into saleable Middle Ages the construction of a dovecote was a privilege reserved for land and human energy into labor for wage-bound forms of work.6 feudal lords. The peasant could not have his own oven. . . neither was he [Fig. 11.3] As bird catching was intimately related to land owner- permitted to have a pigeonnier. Pigeons, like herds of cattle and sheep, ship, the illustration by Chomel illuminates the broader concept of belonged to the lord, who alone could profit from them. . . The construc- socionatural capture, but ultimately, the pigeon trap symbolizes the tion of the pigeonnier was thus an important affair. All castles possessed apparatus of capture, because we tend to associate birds, in particu- one or more pigeonniers; the manors, dwellings of the knights, small lar, with a type of boundless negotiation of space by free nature. castles....could also have a pigeonnier.4 The dialectic between a captured, state-managed nature and its potentially free form might enable us to see why, beginning in the According to Viollet-le-Duc, the number of pigeons that could mid-nineteenth century, images of unbound pigeons came to symbol- be kept in a pigeonnier was linked to the amount of land owned by a ize a progressive modernity. If pigeons were once the focus of various Pig e o n s particular member of the aristocracy. Additionally, the aristocratic modes of state-governed capture for their meat, eggs, or navigation Life classes forced nearby peasants to supply food for the pigeons skills, then within emerging metropolitan culture, pigeons became raised in these buildings.5 For these reasons, pigeonniers and pigeon images of a de-operationalized nature. Pigeons were admired for trapping emerged as symbols of aristocratic privilege within early their ability to integrate into their surroundings and for their visual modernity. effects when flying. Images of pigeons hurtling through cities or In light of the above history, within nonarchitectural critiques of populating squares became prevalent in modern writing, painting, state power, the pigeonnier became an emblematic building. Charles and photography, particularly in the cities of Paris, New York, and Dickens noted the burdens on peasants in supplying food for pigeon- especially Venice.7 John Ruskin, writing in The Stones of Venice, went niers in A Tale of Two Cities; Karl Marx commented on this and many as far as to compare the type of buildings a society builds with the other forms of alienation from nature within feudalism. To illustrate type of birds that populate it. Speaking of the pigeons (he called them their critique of the governance over nature by capitalist states, doves) in the porch of St. Mark’s, he contrasted the lively pigeon 182 183 subnature_03_FN2.indd 182-183 5/26/09 6:40:23 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e with the more depressing birds that inhabited English buildings. Ruskin wrote: Between that grim cathedral of England and this, what an interval! There is a type of it in the birds that haunt them; for, instead of the restless crowd, hoarse-voiced and sable-winged, drifting on the bleak upper air, the St. Mark’s porches are full of doves that nestle among the marble foliage, and mingle the soft iridescence of their living plumes, changing Fig. 11.4 The procuracoes of Venice, at every motion, of the tints, hardly less lovely, that has stood unchanged from The City of Tomorrow and for 700 years.8 Its Planning, Le Corbusier, 1929 For him, the pigeons of Venice were metaphors for the relation- ship between architecture and social conditions. They are not a restless crowd but a well-integrated flock. Similarly, sixty years later, commenting on the scene at St. Mark’s Square, Le Corbusier admired the pigeons as a type of natural module that worked well with the architectural scenography of existing buildings. [Fig. 11.4] He wrote fondly of a picture he took of pigeons swarming in the square: The uniformity of the innumerable windows in this vast wall on the Piazza San Marco gives the same play as would the smooth side of a room. The repetition of the same unit lends the wall a grandeur that is boundless but can be easily appreciated; the result is a type-form of a clear and sim- ple nature. The pigeons of St. Mark’s themselves add their own uniform module, providing a varied and effective note in the scheme.9 For Le Corbusier, nature occupied an ambiguous role as product of and counterpoint to the surrounding architecture and urbanism. Fig. 11.5 But more so, nature and building shared a similar code, an idea that O Pombal, by Oscar Niemeyer, will be expanded on in contemporary forms of practice. Brasília, Brazil, 1960 By understanding the historical role of pigeons as a form of free or captured nature governed by states, we might better under- Pig e o n s stand one of the more enigmatic and modern structures specifically Life built for pigeons—O Pombal, in the Brazilian capital of Brasília (1960). Its architect, Oscar Niemeyer, produced a monument that evokes an obelisk in form but contains several ovoid openings that lead to a cratelike interior for pigeons. [Fig. 11.5] The monument’s name, O Pombal, is a play on words that refers to the Portuguese term for pigeons, os pombos. As well as being a place for pigeons, it is also a reference to Portugal’s interior minister and reformer Marquês de Pombal, who transformed and expanded both the terri- tory and land privileges in colonial Brazil. In this concrete dovecote, Niemeyer provides a place for pigeons within the city of Brasília, but 184 185 subnature_03_FN2.indd 184-185 5/26/09 6:40:24 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e with the more depressing birds that inhabited English buildings. Ruskin wrote: Between that grim cathedral of England and this, what an interval! There is a type of it in the birds that haunt them; for, instead of the restless crowd, hoarse-voiced and sable-winged, drifting on the bleak upper air, the St. Mark’s porches are full of doves that nestle among the marble foliage, and mingle the soft iridescence of their living plumes, changing Fig. 11.4 The procuracoes of Venice, at every motion, of the tints, hardly less lovely, that has stood unchanged from The City of Tomorrow and for 700 years.8 Its Planning, Le Corbusier, 1929 For him, the pigeons of Venice were metaphors for the relation- ship between architecture and social conditions. They are not a restless crowd but a well-integrated flock. Similarly, sixty years later, commenting on the scene at St. Mark’s Square, Le Corbusier admired the pigeons as a type of natural module that worked well with the architectural scenography of existing buildings. [Fig. 11.4] He wrote fondly of a picture he took of pigeons swarming in the square: The uniformity of the innumerable windows in this vast wall on the Piazza San Marco gives the same play as would the smooth side of a room. The repetition of the same unit lends the wall a grandeur that is boundless but can be easily appreciated; the result is a type-form of a clear and sim- ple nature. The pigeons of St. Mark’s themselves add their own uniform module, providing a varied and effective note in the scheme.9 For Le Corbusier, nature occupied an ambiguous role as product of and counterpoint to the surrounding architecture and urbanism. Fig. 11.5 But more so, nature and building shared a similar code, an idea that O Pombal, by Oscar Niemeyer, will be expanded on in contemporary forms of practice. Brasília, Brazil, 1960 By understanding the historical role of pigeons as a form of free or captured nature governed by states, we might better under- Pig e o n s stand one of the more enigmatic and modern structures specifically Life built for pigeons—O Pombal, in the Brazilian capital of Brasília (1960). Its architect, Oscar Niemeyer, produced a monument that evokes an obelisk in form but contains several ovoid openings that lead to a cratelike interior for pigeons. [Fig. 11.5] The monument’s name, O Pombal, is a play on words that refers to the Portuguese term for pigeons, os pombos. As well as being a place for pigeons, it is also a reference to Portugal’s interior minister and reformer Marquês de Pombal, who transformed and expanded both the terri- tory and land privileges in colonial Brazil. In this concrete dovecote, Niemeyer provides a place for pigeons within the city of Brasília, but 184 185 subnature_03_FN2.indd 184-185 5/26/09 6:40:24 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e the pigeons are encouraged to roost, not for any use but for a functioning aspect of the local agricultural economy. [Figs. 11.9 – 11.11] their symbolic power. Contemporary historian Justin Read argues The pigeonnier is designed so that farmers may collect the guano of that this structure is a symbol of postcolonialism; the pigeons may the birds for fertilizer.12 In effect, Crasset revisits the pigeonnier as represent the people, and the dovecote becomes a Leviathan-like the site of new strategies of capture and as an instrument of manage- object that gathers a crowd, free of labor, as the pigeons are not har- ment and a local form of coordination. This conceit also extends into vested for their eggs or meat.10 But more directly, we might see the the recent work of Fritz Haeg, an architect and artist who develops collecting of pigeons (to no end) on the grounds of a state capital in “animal estates” for the sake of returning wildlife to cities. In sev- a former colony as simply an inversion of colonialist law prohibiting eral projects, Haeg proposes the introduction of hawks and other the stockpiling of nature outside of the state. Niemeyer’s dovecote predators to manage urban pests such as pigeons. [Figs. 11.12 + 11.13] In physically enacts the privileges of a free nation to do as it will with many ways, images of pigeons in contemporary work remain caught its natural resources. Pigeons are gathered merely for the enjoyment between these tropes, valorized either as an unleashed nature or an of their flight, as notions of statehood and more cosmopolitan avian object of spatial management. Following these recent projects, where images conjoin. does one go with the pigeon in architecture? This is obviously not a All of the above architectural work with pigeons might surprise critical question, but as many of the chapters in this book illustrate, the contemporary observer. Today, we associate pigeons more often our contemporary interactions with nature seem stuck between a with forms of urban pestilence than with symbols of statehood. Victorian clean-up effort and a vitalist search for ways to transcend Pigeon-infested is a term we use to describe areas in cities and existing socionatural representations. Perhaps we might return buildings that appear overrun with birds. Pigeons roost and relieve briefly to the work of Niemeyer and his intimate understanding of themselves on buildings, and the sounds they emit are often con- statehood and territory in the appearance of this particular form of sidered nuisances. In New York City, they are particularly reviled, nature. How might we return this bird to architecture, retaining its labeled as rats with wings or cockroaches of the sky. They are known subnatural history of territorial strife? If the pigeon is truly a relative to damage forms of stone on urban buildings, and they are associated label, akin to our discussion of weeds, we might ask not how architec- with respiratory diseases histoplasmosis and cryptococcosis. But ture can incorporate pigeons, but how can architecture produce them despite the disgust they generate (and perhaps, in part, because of it) as a form of urban life? pigeons continue to be a relevant subject within recent architectural work. One of the most exemplary projects to engage pigeons on both material and historical terms is the Brooklyn Pigeon Project. The architectural firm Aranda\Lasch returns us to the dominant image of the pigeon as a form of free nature within modernity. They were influ- enced by concepts of flocking behavior from the mathematician Craig Reynolds and the omnipresence of these birds in New York City. The Brooklyn Pigeon Project attempts to both document the algorithms Pig e o n s by which pigeons flock in cities and attempts to convey a vision of the Life city from the bird’s perspective. The project embraces the image of the pigeon in modernity but uses it to produce a new perspective on urban space.11 [Fig. 11.6 –11.8] At virtually the same time as the Brooklyn Pigeon Project, the designer Matali Crasset revisited the concept of the pigeonnier in a project for the rural countryside of northern France. She developed a building to engage with local traditions of pigeon breeding—a tradition, as we have seen, that has existed for several hundred years. But Crasset makes the bright yellow pigeon- nier a more visible object in an effort to retain the contemporary relevance of pigeon breeding. She enables the pigeons to become 186 187 subnature_03_FN2.indd 186-187 5/26/09 6:40:25 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e the pigeons are encouraged to roost, not for any use but for a functioning aspect of the local agricultural economy. [Figs. 11.9 – 11.11] their symbolic power. Contemporary historian Justin Read argues The pigeonnier is designed so that farmers may collect the guano of that this structure is a symbol of postcolonialism; the pigeons may the birds for fertilizer.12 In effect, Crasset revisits the pigeonnier as represent the people, and the dovecote becomes a Leviathan-like the site of new strategies of capture and as an instrument of manage- object that gathers a crowd, free of labor, as the pigeons are not har- ment and a local form of coordination. This conceit also extends into vested for their eggs or meat.10 But more directly, we might see the the recent work of Fritz Haeg, an architect and artist who develops collecting of pigeons (to no end) on the grounds of a state capital in “animal estates” for the sake of returning wildlife to cities. In sev- a former colony as simply an inversion of colonialist law prohibiting eral projects, Haeg proposes the introduction of hawks and other the stockpiling of nature outside of the state. Niemeyer’s dovecote predators to manage urban pests such as pigeons. [Figs. 11.12 + 11.13] In physically enacts the privileges of a free nation to do as it will with many ways, images of pigeons in contemporary work remain caught its natural resources. Pigeons are gathered merely for the enjoyment between these tropes, valorized either as an unleashed nature or an of their flight, as notions of statehood and more cosmopolitan avian object of spatial management. Following these recent projects, where images conjoin. does one go with the pigeon in architecture? This is obviously not a All of the above architectural work with pigeons might surprise critical question, but as many of the chapters in this book illustrate, the contemporary observer. Today, we associate pigeons more often our contemporary interactions with nature seem stuck between a with forms of urban pestilence than with symbols of statehood. Victorian clean-up effort and a vitalist search for ways to transcend Pigeon-infested is a term we use to describe areas in cities and existing socionatural representations. Perhaps we might return buildings that appear overrun with birds. Pigeons roost and relieve briefly to the work of Niemeyer and his intimate understanding of themselves on buildings, and the sounds they emit are often con- statehood and territory in the appearance of this particular form of sidered nuisances. In New York City, they are particularly reviled, nature. How might we return this bird to architecture, retaining its labeled as rats with wings or cockroaches of the sky. They are known subnatural history of territorial strife? If the pigeon is truly a relative to damage forms of stone on urban buildings, and they are associated label, akin to our discussion of weeds, we might ask not how architec- with respiratory diseases histoplasmosis and cryptococcosis. But ture can incorporate pigeons, but how can architecture produce them despite the disgust they generate (and perhaps, in part, because of it) as a form of urban life? pigeons continue to be a relevant subject within recent architectural work. One of the most exemplary projects to engage pigeons on both material and historical terms is the Brooklyn Pigeon Project. The architectural firm Aranda\Lasch returns us to the dominant image of the pigeon as a form of free nature within modernity. They were influ- enced by concepts of flocking behavior from the mathematician Craig Reynolds and the omnipresence of these birds in New York City. The Brooklyn Pigeon Project attempts to both document the algorithms Pig e o n s by which pigeons flock in cities and attempts to convey a vision of the Life city from the bird’s perspective. The project embraces the image of the pigeon in modernity but uses it to produce a new perspective on urban space.11 [Fig. 11.6 –11.8] At virtually the same time as the Brooklyn Pigeon Project, the designer Matali Crasset revisited the concept of the pigeonnier in a project for the rural countryside of northern France. She developed a building to engage with local traditions of pigeon breeding—a tradition, as we have seen, that has existed for several hundred years. But Crasset makes the bright yellow pigeon- nier a more visible object in an effort to retain the contemporary relevance of pigeon breeding. She enables the pigeons to become 186 187 subnature_03_FN2.indd 186-187 5/26/09 6:40:25 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Figs. 11.6–11.8 (above and opposite) Pig e o n s The Brooklyn Pigeon Project, by Aranda\Lasch, 2006 Life 188 189 subnature_03_FN2.indd 188-189 5/26/09 6:40:26 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Figs. 11.6–11.8 (above and opposite) Pig e o n s The Brooklyn Pigeon Project, by Aranda\Lasch, 2006 Life 188 189 subnature_03_FN2.indd 188-189 5/26/09 6:40:26 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Figs. 11.9–11.11 (right and below) The Pigeon Capsule, by Matali Crasset, Cambrai, France, 2003 Pig e o n s Life Figs. 11.12 + 11.13 (above and right) Animal Estates, by Fritz Haeg, Whitney Museum of American Art, 2007 190 191 subnature_03_FN2.indd 190-191 5/26/09 6:40:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Figs. 11.9–11.11 (right and below) The Pigeon Capsule, by Matali Crasset, Cambrai, France, 2003 Pig e o n s Life Figs. 11.12 + 11.13 (above and right) Animal Estates, by Fritz Haeg, Whitney Museum of American Art, 2007 190 191 subnature_03_FN2.indd 190-191 5/26/09 6:40:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Crowds Fahrenheit, and the heat given off by us is equivalent to the heat of a 100-watt light bulb. In addition to heat, our bodies release moisture We have explored atmospheres of gas and smoke, matters of dust and carbon dioxide into the air through respiration and perspiration. and debris, and in our analyses of life we have investigated insects, The impact of our biological processes are most noticeable when weeds, and pigeons. We conclude by taking a closer look at the our bodies are crowded together in theaters or assembly halls, and subnatures we produce as active participants in modern societies. we can find depictions and writing documenting such struggles Through our drive to urbanize, collect, and exchange ideas, we entan- with the climate of the modern crowd stretching back over 150 years. gle ourselves within large gatherings in the world of the crowd, where Simply put, crowds are like nature, but they also launch new forms subnatural forms also appear. Authors Victor Hugo and Elias Canetti of nature akin to weather systems. They are climates made of people, have written of crowds as forms of nature akin to fire, water, or flows and it is these transformative socionatural qualities that make of sand.1 In The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Hugo compared crowds crowds particularly alluring agents of social change and architec- assembled to seas, lakes, and rivers. He wrote of the crowds coursing tural conceptualization. through the city: Institutional buildings provided the first venue in which archi- tects and engineers sought to mitigate the interior nature of the The palace yard crowded with people looked like a sea, into which five crowd. Modern institutional structures such as hospitals, parlia- or six streets, like the mouths of so many rivers, disgorged their living mentary halls, theaters, classrooms, and commercial exchanges streams. The waves of this sea, increasingly swelled by new arrivals, all contained unprecedented assemblies of large crowds in rela- broke against the corners of the houses.2 tively small spaces. In such spaces, emerging notions of bourgeois individuality rubbed against the clearly crowded spaces in which Elias Canetti wrote that the crowd could be described as series urban-middle and upper-middle-class life was staged. New types of nature metaphors: of experts, such as ventilation engineers, attempted to resolve the dichotomies between the crowded spaces of modern structures The manner in which fire spreads and gradually works its way round a and a social milieu emphasizing the distinction of individuals.4 The person until he is entirely surrounded by it is very similar to the crowd emanations from crowds involved both the actual temperature radi- threatening him on all sides. The incalculable movements within it, ating from bodies and the gases emitted by people breathing. By the thrusting forth of an arm, a fist or a leg, are like the flames of a fire releasing the heat of the crowd, ventilation engineers believed they which may suddenly spring up on any side.3 could achieve varying levels of individual comfort, sanitation, and productivity. One of these early ventilation engineers, David Boswell Within the work of these writers and others, the crowd appears Reid, explored how to expel the heat of the crowd in his design for as a form of flowing violent nature and as an engine of material, the ventilation system at the Houses of Parliament in London. Reid psychological, and political transformation. The transformative developed a complementary ventilation structure that rivaled the effects of crowds move through the history of architecture, where actual meeting hall in scale. Composed of an enormous ventilation they take on new material properties. In works stretching from the stack that used heat, filters, and moisture, the structure (Reid hoped) Crow ds Life nineteenth century to the present, the crowd appears as an agent would evacuate expelled air from the hall. His system promoted the of powerful social change, as in the works of Hugo and Canetti, parliamentary hall as a space in which the atmospheric byproducts but crowds also appear as more direct forms of subnatural matter. of human assembly were transformed, enabling government offi- Without reducing human socialization, we may argue that crowds cials to withstand longer meeting times, but it was also symbolic of produced a type of socioclimate that fills spaces with new phenom- larger transformations of the inhospitable atmosphere of industrial ena, such as odors, heat, gaseous substances, and intense noises. urbanization.5 The study of the assemblage of bodies in these types We might even consider whether these attributes manifest as sig- of spaces continued in the work of S. H. Woodbridge. In his work on nificant aspects of the crowd’s overall emotional and social effect. the ventilation of schools and church buildings, Woodbridge devel- Crowds are formed with our bodies, which are significant genera- oped some of the first building sections in which bodies were drawn tors of heat. Our body’s internal temperature is almost 100 degrees as emitters of warmth and atmospheric gases. [Fig. 12.1] His drawings 192 193 subnature_03_FN2.indd 192-193 5/26/09 6:40:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Crowds Fahrenheit, and the heat given off by us is equivalent to the heat of a 100-watt light bulb. In addition to heat, our bodies release moisture We have explored atmospheres of gas and smoke, matters of dust and carbon dioxide into the air through respiration and perspiration. and debris, and in our analyses of life we have investigated insects, The impact of our biological processes are most noticeable when weeds, and pigeons. We conclude by taking a closer look at the our bodies are crowded together in theaters or assembly halls, and subnatures we produce as active participants in modern societies. we can find depictions and writing documenting such struggles Through our drive to urbanize, collect, and exchange ideas, we entan- with the climate of the modern crowd stretching back over 150 years. gle ourselves within large gatherings in the world of the crowd, where Simply put, crowds are like nature, but they also launch new forms subnatural forms also appear. Authors Victor Hugo and Elias Canetti of nature akin to weather systems. They are climates made of people, have written of crowds as forms of nature akin to fire, water, or flows and it is these transformative socionatural qualities that make of sand.1 In The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Hugo compared crowds crowds particularly alluring agents of social change and architec- assembled to seas, lakes, and rivers. He wrote of the crowds coursing tural conceptualization. through the city: Institutional buildings provided the first venue in which archi- tects and engineers sought to mitigate the interior nature of the The palace yard crowded with people looked like a sea, into which five crowd. Modern institutional structures such as hospitals, parlia- or six streets, like the mouths of so many rivers, disgorged their living mentary halls, theaters, classrooms, and commercial exchanges streams. The waves of this sea, increasingly swelled by new arrivals, all contained unprecedented assemblies of large crowds in rela- broke against the corners of the houses.2 tively small spaces. In such spaces, emerging notions of bourgeois individuality rubbed against the clearly crowded spaces in which Elias Canetti wrote that the crowd could be described as series urban-middle and upper-middle-class life was staged. New types of nature metaphors: of experts, such as ventilation engineers, attempted to resolve the dichotomies between the crowded spaces of modern structures The manner in which fire spreads and gradually works its way round a and a social milieu emphasizing the distinction of individuals.4 The person until he is entirely surrounded by it is very similar to the crowd emanations from crowds involved both the actual temperature radi- threatening him on all sides. The incalculable movements within it, ating from bodies and the gases emitted by people breathing. By the thrusting forth of an arm, a fist or a leg, are like the flames of a fire releasing the heat of the crowd, ventilation engineers believed they which may suddenly spring up on any side.3 could achieve varying levels of individual comfort, sanitation, and productivity. One of these early ventilation engineers, David Boswell Within the work of these writers and others, the crowd appears Reid, explored how to expel the heat of the crowd in his design for as a form of flowing violent nature and as an engine of material, the ventilation system at the Houses of Parliament in London. Reid psychological, and political transformation. The transformative developed a complementary ventilation structure that rivaled the effects of crowds move through the history of architecture, where actual meeting hall in scale. Composed of an enormous ventilation they take on new material properties. In works stretching from the stack that used heat, filters, and moisture, the structure (Reid hoped) Crow ds Life nineteenth century to the present, the crowd appears as an agent would evacuate expelled air from the hall. His system promoted the of powerful social change, as in the works of Hugo and Canetti, parliamentary hall as a space in which the atmospheric byproducts but crowds also appear as more direct forms of subnatural matter. of human assembly were transformed, enabling government offi- Without reducing human socialization, we may argue that crowds cials to withstand longer meeting times, but it was also symbolic of produced a type of socioclimate that fills spaces with new phenom- larger transformations of the inhospitable atmosphere of industrial ena, such as odors, heat, gaseous substances, and intense noises. urbanization.5 The study of the assemblage of bodies in these types We might even consider whether these attributes manifest as sig- of spaces continued in the work of S. H. Woodbridge. In his work on nificant aspects of the crowd’s overall emotional and social effect. the ventilation of schools and church buildings, Woodbridge devel- Crowds are formed with our bodies, which are significant genera- oped some of the first building sections in which bodies were drawn tors of heat. Our body’s internal temperature is almost 100 degrees as emitters of warmth and atmospheric gases. [Fig. 12.1] His drawings 192 193 subnature_03_FN2.indd 192-193 5/26/09 6:40:28 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e relate to the fears of lost individuality described earlier, and they touched on the emerging paranoia concerning the harmfulness of previously breathed—vitiated or miasmatic—air, terms influenced by the urban sanitarian reform movement, which attempted to mitigate the transmission of disease within building interiors.6 By the late nineteenth century, American and European architectural engineers sought to reduce the effects of crowd heat in workplaces for the sake of productivity, comfort, and to dispel sanitarian fears. Building engineers studied a range of workplaces, from the indoor climates of factories to trading halls, to determine how to design environments Fig. 12.1 that eliminate the impact of bodily fatigue.7 Drawing of crowds in a hall by If nineteenth-century architectural engineers were concerned S. H. Woodbridge, 1900 with the atmospheric emissions of crowds, modernist architects were equally concerned with the circulation of people, the ability to dis- tribute information through crowds, and the sheer masses of people that might be assembled within a single enclosure. As the historian Adrian Forty has pointed out, the concept of circulation provided a scientific metaphor in modern architecture that linked the natural movement of fluids to the movement of people in space. The circula- tory metaphor influenced discussions of crowds, both in terms of the movements of masses of people and their stagnation or congestion. Crowds might be understood as the result of poor spatial planning, as blockages in flows. In addition to circulatory concepts, crowds were conceptualized relative to the transparency they afforded and the possible masses that modern engineering might accommodate in a single space. A series of images stretching from the early 1930s to the late 1960s—addressed to significantly different political ends— illustrate some key crowd concepts in the history of the modern movement in architecture. In his design for the Fascist headquarters, the Casa del Fascio, the Italian Rationalist Giuseppe Terragni devel- oped a diagram depicting the varying intensities of the crowds that he envisioned inside the building for the political rallies of Mussolini. [Fig. 12.2] Terragni’s crowd diagrams associate the extremes of crowds Crow ds Life with a type of opacity; he wanted the leaders of the state to be seen and heard by the assembled masses. His diagram contrasts the cir- culatory areas of stairs, drawn with vector diagrams, with the main assembly area on the ground floor, illustrated with hatching to rep- resent varying levels of crowd massing.8 A slightly different concept of the crowd appears in the work of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. For Fig. 12.2 Mies, the crowd’s power was achieved through structural and spatial Circulation diagrams, Casa ingenuity—a concept best visualized in his design for an assembly of del Fascio, by Giuseppe Terragni, Como, Italy, 1936 50,000 people at the Chicago Convention Center. The collage presen- tation for the Convention Hall includes Mies’s image clippings from 194 195 subnature_03_FN2.indd 194-195 5/26/09 6:40:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e relate to the fears of lost individuality described earlier, and they touched on the emerging paranoia concerning the harmfulness of previously breathed—vitiated or miasmatic—air, terms influenced by the urban sanitarian reform movement, which attempted to mitigate the transmission of disease within building interiors.6 By the late nineteenth century, American and European architectural engineers sought to reduce the effects of crowd heat in workplaces for the sake of productivity, comfort, and to dispel sanitarian fears. Building engineers studied a range of workplaces, from the indoor climates of factories to trading halls, to determine how to design environments Fig. 12.1 that eliminate the impact of bodily fatigue.7 Drawing of crowds in a hall by If nineteenth-century architectural engineers were concerned S. H. Woodbridge, 1900 with the atmospheric emissions of crowds, modernist architects were equally concerned with the circulation of people, the ability to dis- tribute information through crowds, and the sheer masses of people that might be assembled within a single enclosure. As the historian Adrian Forty has pointed out, the concept of circulation provided a scientific metaphor in modern architecture that linked the natural movement of fluids to the movement of people in space. The circula- tory metaphor influenced discussions of crowds, both in terms of the movements of masses of people and their stagnation or congestion. Crowds might be understood as the result of poor spatial planning, as blockages in flows. In addition to circulatory concepts, crowds were conceptualized relative to the transparency they afforded and the possible masses that modern engineering might accommodate in a single space. A series of images stretching from the early 1930s to the late 1960s—addressed to significantly different political ends— illustrate some key crowd concepts in the history of the modern movement in architecture. In his design for the Fascist headquarters, the Casa del Fascio, the Italian Rationalist Giuseppe Terragni devel- oped a diagram depicting the varying intensities of the crowds that he envisioned inside the building for the political rallies of Mussolini. [Fig. 12.2] Terragni’s crowd diagrams associate the extremes of crowds Crow ds Life with a type of opacity; he wanted the leaders of the state to be seen and heard by the assembled masses. His diagram contrasts the cir- culatory areas of stairs, drawn with vector diagrams, with the main assembly area on the ground floor, illustrated with hatching to rep- resent varying levels of crowd massing.8 A slightly different concept of the crowd appears in the work of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. For Fig. 12.2 Mies, the crowd’s power was achieved through structural and spatial Circulation diagrams, Casa ingenuity—a concept best visualized in his design for an assembly of del Fascio, by Giuseppe Terragni, Como, Italy, 1936 50,000 people at the Chicago Convention Center. The collage presen- tation for the Convention Hall includes Mies’s image clippings from 194 195 subnature_03_FN2.indd 194-195 5/26/09 6:40:29 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Life magazine’s coverage of the 1952 Republican Convention. [Fig. 12.3] The collage’s peculiar mixture of nationalistic exuberance and the roof’s vast steel-structural assembly suggests a crowd brought into being by America’s postwar political and technological ascendan- cy.9 By the 1960s, the various modernist concepts of the crowd—its engineered volume, atmospheric features, circulatory elements, and collectivity—became conjoined in one of the more alluring images Fig. 12.3 produced by architect and engineer R. Buckminster Fuller. In Cloud The Convention Hall, Nines, his project for a floating city, Fuller hypothesized that if the by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Chicago, Illinois, 1953 interior air of an enormous one-mile-diameter geodesic sphere, hous- ing an entire metropolis, was warmed one degree, the structure would begin to float. A floating aggregation of people would literally be able to move around the earth, as one giant collective. In an earlier description of the idea, Fuller spoke of the dome’s air being heated by the sun; yet, in a 1962 version of the project, he illustrated denser, more opaque surfaces for it. [Fig. 12.4] Were these domes to be warmed by the masses of people within them? If crowds in the nineteenth century were conceptualized as generators of atmospheres, and if crowds in the mid-twentieth century were conceptualized as a type of engineered collective, here the collective literally becomes part of the earth’s atmospheric system. Crowd, structure, and atmosphere coalesce. By the late 1970s, new concepts of the crowd were being for- mulated in architectural and engineering theory in which modernist themes and concerns were revisited. The Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas arrived at some of the most exciting conceptualizations and images of crowds as catalysts for entirely new forms of urban architecture. Beginning with his 1978 Delirious New York and extend- ing into later work such as S, M, L, XL, Koolhaas interrogated the possible outcomes of crowds as generators of new forms of program- matic experience in architecture. In his earlier work, which set the tone for more recent experiments, Koolhaas was reacting against the progressivism that urbanists and architects were directing against Crow ds Life the metropolitan conditions of crowds and density. At a time in which urbanists were struggling to dissipate the density of urban life—in the name of humanity—Koolhaas was striving to enhance and exag- gerate the crowd’s potential.10 In what might be the engineering analog for Koolhaas’s culture of congestion, in the late 1970s and into the 1980s, progressive engineering firms were increasingly consider- ing the climatic effects of congestion on building interiors. In what Fig. 12.4 they termed internal loading, building engineers examined what hap- Cloud Nines, R. Buckminster pens when a building’s climate tips past a balance point, when the Fuller, 1962 internal loads generated by human bodies and computer equipment 196 197 subnature_03_FN2.indd 196-197 5/26/09 6:40:34 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Life magazine’s coverage of the 1952 Republican Convention. [Fig. 12.3] The collage’s peculiar mixture of nationalistic exuberance and the roof’s vast steel-structural assembly suggests a crowd brought into being by America’s postwar political and technological ascendan- cy.9 By the 1960s, the various modernist concepts of the crowd—its engineered volume, atmospheric features, circulatory elements, and collectivity—became conjoined in one of the more alluring images Fig. 12.3 produced by architect and engineer R. Buckminster Fuller. In Cloud The Convention Hall, Nines, his project for a floating city, Fuller hypothesized that if the by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Chicago, Illinois, 1953 interior air of an enormous one-mile-diameter geodesic sphere, hous- ing an entire metropolis, was warmed one degree, the structure would begin to float. A floating aggregation of people would literally be able to move around the earth, as one giant collective. In an earlier description of the idea, Fuller spoke of the dome’s air being heated by the sun; yet, in a 1962 version of the project, he illustrated denser, more opaque surfaces for it. [Fig. 12.4] Were these domes to be warmed by the masses of people within them? If crowds in the nineteenth century were conceptualized as generators of atmospheres, and if crowds in the mid-twentieth century were conceptualized as a type of engineered collective, here the collective literally becomes part of the earth’s atmospheric system. Crowd, structure, and atmosphere coalesce. By the late 1970s, new concepts of the crowd were being for- mulated in architectural and engineering theory in which modernist themes and concerns were revisited. The Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas arrived at some of the most exciting conceptualizations and images of crowds as catalysts for entirely new forms of urban architecture. Beginning with his 1978 Delirious New York and extend- ing into later work such as S, M, L, XL, Koolhaas interrogated the possible outcomes of crowds as generators of new forms of program- matic experience in architecture. In his earlier work, which set the tone for more recent experiments, Koolhaas was reacting against the progressivism that urbanists and architects were directing against Crow ds Life the metropolitan conditions of crowds and density. At a time in which urbanists were struggling to dissipate the density of urban life—in the name of humanity—Koolhaas was striving to enhance and exag- gerate the crowd’s potential.10 In what might be the engineering analog for Koolhaas’s culture of congestion, in the late 1970s and into the 1980s, progressive engineering firms were increasingly consider- ing the climatic effects of congestion on building interiors. In what Fig. 12.4 they termed internal loading, building engineers examined what hap- Cloud Nines, R. Buckminster pens when a building’s climate tips past a balance point, when the Fuller, 1962 internal loads generated by human bodies and computer equipment 196 197 subnature_03_FN2.indd 196-197 5/26/09 6:40:34 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e completely overwhelm the external load of a building. In other words, internal loading refers to instances in which the weather of a build- ing is generated within it, versus outside of it. When we think of the climatic nature acting upon spaces, we tend to consider the intensity of the sun, the speed of the wind, and air temperature. All of these factors impact the climatic parameters of architecture, but in addition to the external climate, as we have seen, crowds within a building can generate an equally robust and problematic internal climate, and in some cases the internal climate dominates the impact of the sun, wind, and external air temperature. While some firms simply sought to air-condition internally loaded buildings, in the 1980s the engineering firm Arup explored methods in which internal loading by aggregations of human bodies are incorporated directly into a build- ing’s climate systems as agents of less energy-intensive climate engineering schemes. Engineers at Arup conceptualized workers’ bodies and computer heat, feeding the energy recovery systems into the interior of a modern office building.11 The conceptual link suggested here—between late-modern architectural theories of aggregation, density, and crowding and an architectural science that explores the dynamics of bodies gathered in interior space—unite in a project by the firm Décosterd & Rahm. In the Omnisports Hall, a recreational facility in Neuchâtel, Switzerland, the firm worked with scientists to study the gaseous emissions of Fig. 12.5 the human body and consider how this human-produced nature might Competition entry, Omniports Hall, by Décosterd & Rahm, be circulated through buildings to generate a new type of architec- Neuchâtel, Switzerland, 1998 ture. [Fig. 12.5] The building contains a central indoor sports area for basketball, running, and soccer surrounded by spaces that absorb the warmth and gas emanating from the activities of the players. [Figs. 12.6 + 12.7] Within the surrounding space, the architects propose the cultivation of plants capable of replenishing the nutrients lost by players; the entire structure is a type of ecosystem of crowded bodies. The architects write: Crow ds Life This architecture is a chemical and biological reformulation of envi- ronmental space, accomplished via transpiration and photosynthesis, combustion and respiration, in which man assumes his place physi- ologically...heat and oxygen are absorbed by the players, who in turn provide the carbon dioxide and water vapor lost by the body as it transforms the chemical energy of the simple substances assimilated Figs. 12.6 + 12.7 during digestion into kinetic energy. The resultant vitiated air migrates Carbon dioxide and hydrogen dioxide diagrams, Omnisports to the side windows, where it condenses. The plants between the panes Hall, by Décosterd & Rahm, absorb carbon dioxide from the air, the condensation produced by Neuchâtel, Switzerland, 1998 198 199 subnature_03_FN2.indd 198-199 5/26/09 6:40:35 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e completely overwhelm the external load of a building. In other words, internal loading refers to instances in which the weather of a build- ing is generated within it, versus outside of it. When we think of the climatic nature acting upon spaces, we tend to consider the intensity of the sun, the speed of the wind, and air temperature. All of these factors impact the climatic parameters of architecture, but in addition to the external climate, as we have seen, crowds within a building can generate an equally robust and problematic internal climate, and in some cases the internal climate dominates the impact of the sun, wind, and external air temperature. While some firms simply sought to air-condition internally loaded buildings, in the 1980s the engineering firm Arup explored methods in which internal loading by aggregations of human bodies are incorporated directly into a build- ing’s climate systems as agents of less energy-intensive climate engineering schemes. Engineers at Arup conceptualized workers’ bodies and computer heat, feeding the energy recovery systems into the interior of a modern office building.11 The conceptual link suggested here—between late-modern architectural theories of aggregation, density, and crowding and an architectural science that explores the dynamics of bodies gathered in interior space—unite in a project by the firm Décosterd & Rahm. In the Omnisports Hall, a recreational facility in Neuchâtel, Switzerland, the firm worked with scientists to study the gaseous emissions of Fig. 12.5 the human body and consider how this human-produced nature might Competition entry, Omniports Hall, by Décosterd & Rahm, be circulated through buildings to generate a new type of architec- Neuchâtel, Switzerland, 1998 ture. [Fig. 12.5] The building contains a central indoor sports area for basketball, running, and soccer surrounded by spaces that absorb the warmth and gas emanating from the activities of the players. [Figs. 12.6 + 12.7] Within the surrounding space, the architects propose the cultivation of plants capable of replenishing the nutrients lost by players; the entire structure is a type of ecosystem of crowded bodies. The architects write: Crow ds Life This architecture is a chemical and biological reformulation of envi- ronmental space, accomplished via transpiration and photosynthesis, combustion and respiration, in which man assumes his place physi- ologically...heat and oxygen are absorbed by the players, who in turn provide the carbon dioxide and water vapor lost by the body as it transforms the chemical energy of the simple substances assimilated Figs. 12.6 + 12.7 during digestion into kinetic energy. The resultant vitiated air migrates Carbon dioxide and hydrogen dioxide diagrams, Omnisports to the side windows, where it condenses. The plants between the panes Hall, by Décosterd & Rahm, absorb carbon dioxide from the air, the condensation produced by Neuchâtel, Switzerland, 1998 198 199 subnature_03_FN2.indd 198-199 5/26/09 6:40:35 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e transpiration from the players, and their mineral salts. This chlorophyll photosynthesis serves to transform solar energy into nutrients and to produce the oxygen required by the players to burn the foods they need in order to release energy.12 Through Décosterd & Rahm, we see how crowded buildings are increasingly viewed as structures having a thousand small suns and a thousand vaporous winds. But what can be made of this living nature has yet to be realized in this particular context. Décosterd & Rahm identify the crowd as an ecological instrument as opposed to a tool of social agitation. [Figs. 12.8 + 12.9] In considering the particular “nature” of crowds, their historical role as spaces of social change, and architects’ future manipulation of these facets, we should consider one final project—Open Columns by the architect Omar Khan. In this project, Kahn developed a series of flexible conical chambers that drop and expand when carbon dioxide levels increase as a result of the crowding of inhabitants in space. The project functions as a responsive form of architecture, with sensors in tune with the breathing cycles of a building’s inhabit- ants. [Figs. 12.10 – 12.14] As the columns drop, they inhibit the assembly of crowds, thus functioning as a form of crowd control, albeit in the name of maintaining human health. Like Décosterd & Rahm, Kahn views crowds as a form of nature, but here the crowd’s possible dan- gers are architecturally visualized and ultimately mitigated. Both Décosterd & Rahm and Kahn respond to the chemistry of the crowd, but the possible relationship between the nature of the crowd and its historical role remains to be staged. In recognizing the subnatural character of the crowd, their work forces us to consider how archi- tects might employ the crowd’s socionatural chemistry in an era in which the transformative aspects of crowds appear momentarily suspended. Crow ds Life Figs. 12.8 + 12.9 (opposite, top and bottom) Perspective renderings, Omnisports Hall, by Décosterd & Rahm, Neuchâtel, Switzerland, 1998 200 201 subnature_03_FN2.indd 200-201 5/26/09 6:40:36 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e transpiration from the players, and their mineral salts. This chlorophyll photosynthesis serves to transform solar energy into nutrients and to produce the oxygen required by the players to burn the foods they need in order to release energy.12 Through Décosterd & Rahm, we see how crowded buildings are increasingly viewed as structures having a thousand small suns and a thousand vaporous winds. But what can be made of this living nature has yet to be realized in this particular context. Décosterd & Rahm identify the crowd as an ecological instrument as opposed to a tool of social agitation. [Figs. 12.8 + 12.9] In considering the particular “nature” of crowds, their historical role as spaces of social change, and architects’ future manipulation of these facets, we should consider one final project—Open Columns by the architect Omar Khan. In this project, Kahn developed a series of flexible conical chambers that drop and expand when carbon dioxide levels increase as a result of the crowding of inhabitants in space. The project functions as a responsive form of architecture, with sensors in tune with the breathing cycles of a building’s inhabit- ants. [Figs. 12.10 – 12.14] As the columns drop, they inhibit the assembly of crowds, thus functioning as a form of crowd control, albeit in the name of maintaining human health. Like Décosterd & Rahm, Kahn views crowds as a form of nature, but here the crowd’s possible dan- gers are architecturally visualized and ultimately mitigated. Both Décosterd & Rahm and Kahn respond to the chemistry of the crowd, but the possible relationship between the nature of the crowd and its historical role remains to be staged. In recognizing the subnatural character of the crowd, their work forces us to consider how archi- tects might employ the crowd’s socionatural chemistry in an era in which the transformative aspects of crowds appear momentarily suspended. Crow ds Life Figs. 12.8 + 12.9 (opposite, top and bottom) Perspective renderings, Omnisports Hall, by Décosterd & Rahm, Neuchâtel, Switzerland, 1998 200 201 subnature_03_FN2.indd 200-201 5/26/09 6:40:36 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 12.10 Carbon dioxide diagram, Open Columns, by Omar Kahn, 2007 Fig. 12.11 Aggregations of columns, Open Columns, by Omar Kahn, 2007 Crow ds Life 202 203 subnature_03_FN2.indd 202-203 5/26/09 6:40:51 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Fig. 12.10 Carbon dioxide diagram, Open Columns, by Omar Kahn, 2007 Fig. 12.11 Aggregations of columns, Open Columns, by Omar Kahn, 2007 Crow ds Life 202 203 subnature_03_FN2.indd 202-203 5/26/09 6:40:51 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Figs. 12.12 + 12.13 (opposite, top and bottom) Columns deployed in response Crow ds to increased carbon dioxide Life from respiration, Open Columns, by Omar Kahn, 2007 Fig. 12.14 (above) Deployed columns in crowd, Open Columns, by Omar Kahn, 2007 204 205 subnature_03_FN2.indd 204-205 5/26/09 6:40:55 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Figs. 12.12 + 12.13 (opposite, top and bottom) Columns deployed in response Crow ds to increased carbon dioxide Life from respiration, Open Columns, by Omar Kahn, 2007 Fig. 12.14 (above) Deployed columns in crowd, Open Columns, by Omar Kahn, 2007 204 205 subnature_03_FN2.indd 204-205 5/26/09 6:40:55 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Weeds Plateaus: Capitalism and Pigeons Crowds 1. See Mary Douglas, Purity and Schizophrenia, trans. Brian 1. For an overview of pigeons in 1. Elias Canetti, Crowds and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Massumi (Minneapolis: University history see Andrew Blechman, Power, trans. Carol Stewart (1962; Pollution and Taboo (London: of Minnesota Press, 1987). Pigeons: The Fascinating Saga of New York: Viking Press, 1986). Routledge, 1966); and for the 11. Cero9 architects, Magic the World’s Most Revered and 2. Crowds, ed. Jeffrey Schnapp architectural implications of her Mountain project text, Reviled Bird (New York: Grove and Matthew Ties, (Stanford, CA: philosophy, see Ben Campkin and unpublished. Press, 2006). Stanford University Press, 2006), Paul Dobraszczyk, “Introduction,” 12. R&Sie(n) Architects, nMBA 2. George Hersey, The Lost xiii. in “Architecture and Dirt,” special project text, unpublished. Meaning of Classical Architecture: 3. Canetti, Crowds and Power, 27. issue, Journal of Architecture 12, 13. From the architect’s Speculations on Ornament from 4. Dell Upton, Architecture in no. 4 (2007): 347–51. On weeds, see website. Vitruvius to Venturi (Cambridge, the United States (Oxford: Oxford the introduction in Clinton L. MA: MIT Press, 1988), 34. University Press, 1998), 141– 47. Evans, The War on Weeds in the Insects 3. Leon Battista Alberti, The Ten 5. See Reyner Banham, The Prairie West: An Environmental 1. Juan Antonio Ramiréz, The Books of Architecture (New York: Architecture of the Well-Tempered History (Calgary: University of Beehive Metaphor: From Gaudí to Le Dover, 1485/1755), 103. Environment (Chicago: University Calgary Press, 2001). Corbusier, trans. Alexander R. 4. See the entry “Colombier,” of Chicago Press, 1969); and Robert 2. Marcus Pollio Vitruvius, The Tulloch (London: Reaktion, 2000). Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, Bruegmann “Central Heating and Ten Books on Architecture, 104–6. 2. Quoted in Greg Lynn, “Body Dictionnaire Raisonné, trans. Forced Ventilation: Origins and 3. Richard Payne Knight, The Matters,” in “The Body,” special David Gissen and Molly Slota Effects on Architectural Design,” Landscape (1794): lines 228–35. issue, Journal of Philosophy and (Paris: B. Bance, 1854). The Journal of the Society of 4. On a general overview of the the Visual Arts, ed. Andrew 5. A surprisingly concise piece Architectural Historians 37, no. 3 Picturesque, see Robin Middleton Benjamin (1997): 62. on these buildings and their (1978): 143–60. and David Watkin, Neoclassical and 3. Ibid., 62. politics can be found in Alice 6. S. H. Woodbridge, Upwards 19th Century Architecture (New 4. Ibid., 61–69. Furlaud, “Homing in on Pigeon Versus Downwards Ventilation York: Electa/Rizzoli, 1987), 5. On field theory, see Sanford Towers,” New York Times, April 1, (London: Robert Boyle and Son, 37–46. For a more politicized Kwinter, “La Cittá Nuova: Modernity 1990. 1900). interpretation, see Ann and Continuity,” in Architectural 6. Deleuze and Guattari, A 7. See the section on ventilation Bermingham, “System, Order and Theory, ed. Harry Francis Mallgrave Thousand Plateaus, 424–73. and air-conditioning in Cecil D. Abstraction: The Politics of (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008): 7. In particular, see the work Elliott, Technics and English Landscape Drawing around 474–75; and Stanley Allen, “From gathered under the banner of the Architecture: The Development of 1795,” in Landscape and Power, ed. Object to Field,” in Architecture Ashcan School in the early Materials and Systems for Buildings W. J. T. Mitchell (1994; Chicago: After Geometry, ed. Maggie Toy twentieth century United States. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992). University of Chicago Press, 2002), (1999), 24–31. On the use of 8. John Ruskin, The Stones of 8. See Thomas L. Schumacher, 77–102. termite mounds and their influence Venice, second volume (London: Surface and Symbol: Giuseppe 5. Adrian Forty, Words and on engineering practices, see David Smith, Elder and Co., 1873), 67. Terragni and the Architecture of Buildings: A Vocabulary of Modern Gissen, Big and Green. 9. Le Corbusier, The City of Italian Rationalism (New York: Architecture (New York: Thames and 6. See Cristopher Hollingsworth, Tomorrow and Its Planning (New Princeton Architectural Press, Hudson, 2000), 155–57. Poetics of the Hive: Insect York: Dover, 1987), 69. 1991), 145. 6. George Gessert, “Bastard Metaphor in Literature (Iowa City: 10. Justin Read, “Alternative 9. On the images moving through Flowers,” Leonardo 29, no. 4 University of Iowa Press, 2001). Functions: Oscar Niemeyer and the this particular collage, see Neil (1996): 291–98. 7. See Gilles Deleuze and Félix Poetics of Modernity,” Modernism/ Levine, “The Significance of Facts: 7. Louis H. Sullivan, Guattari, Kafka: Toward a Minor modernity 12, no. 2 (2005): 253–72. Mies’ Collages Up Close and Kindergarten Chats and Other Literature, trans. Dana Polan 11. See “Flocking,” in Benjamin Personal,” Assemblage 37 (1998): Writings (1902; New York, Dover, (Minneapolis: University of Aranda, Tooling (New York: 70–101. NOTE S Life 1979), 86. Minnesota Press, 1986); A Thousand Princeton Architectural Press, 10. See Rem Koolhaas, “Life in 8. Ibid., 143. Plateaus, 232–309; Donna Haraway, 2005). 62-74. the Metropolis or the Culture of 9. On this weed imagery, see “A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, 12. Matali Crasset, The Pigeon Congestion,” Architecture Theory Lauren S. Weingarden, “Naturalized Technology, and Socialist-Feminism Loft (Paris: Pyramyd, 2004). Since 1968, ed. K. Michael Hays Nationalism: A Ruskinian Discourse in the Late-Twentieth Century,” (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998), on the Search for an American Style Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The 320–31. of Architecture,” Winterthur Reinvention of Nature (New York: 11. See the essay by Guy Battle Portfolio 24, no. 1 (1989): 43–68. Routledge, 1991), 149–81. in David Gissen, Big and Green. 10. On the rhizome concept see 8. François Roche, project text, 12. Philippe Rahm, project text, the introduction to Gilles Deleuze unpublished. unpublished. and Félix Guattari, A Thousand 206 207 subnature_03_FN2.indd 206-207 5/26/09 6:40:55 PM Su b n at u r e Pa rt T h r e e Weeds Plateaus: Capitalism and Pigeons Crowds 1. See Mary Douglas, Purity and Schizophrenia, trans. Brian 1. For an overview of pigeons in 1. Elias Canetti, Crowds and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Massumi (Minneapolis: University history see Andrew Blechman, Power, trans. Carol Stewart (1962; Pollution and Taboo (London: of Minnesota Press, 1987). Pigeons: The Fascinating Saga of New York: Viking Press, 1986). Routledge, 1966); and for the 11. Cero9 architects, Magic the World’s Most Revered and 2. Crowds, ed. Jeffrey Schnapp architectural implications of her Mountain project text, Reviled Bird (New York: Grove and Matthew Ties, (Stanford, CA: philosophy, see Ben Campkin and unpublished. Press, 2006). Stanford University Press, 2006), Paul Dobraszczyk, “Introduction,” 12. R&Sie(n) Architects, nMBA 2. George Hersey, The Lost xiii. in “Architecture and Dirt,” special project text, unpublished. Meaning of Classical Architecture: 3. Canetti, Crowds and Power, 27. issue, Journal of Architecture 12, 13. From the architect’s Speculations on Ornament from 4. Dell Upton, Architecture in no. 4 (2007): 347–51. On weeds, see website. Vitruvius to Venturi (Cambridge, the United States (Oxford: Oxford the introduction in Clinton L. MA: MIT Press, 1988), 34. University Press, 1998), 141– 47. Evans, The War on Weeds in the Insects 3. Leon Battista Alberti, The Ten 5. See Reyner Banham, The Prairie West: An Environmental 1. Juan Antonio Ramiréz, The Books of Architecture (New York: Architecture of the Well-Tempered History (Calgary: University of Beehive Metaphor: From Gaudí to Le Dover, 1485/1755), 103. Environment (Chicago: University Calgary Press, 2001). Corbusier, trans. Alexander R. 4. See the entry “Colombier,” of Chicago Press, 1969); and Robert 2. Marcus Pollio Vitruvius, The Tulloch (London: Reaktion, 2000). Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, Bruegmann “Central Heating and Ten Books on Architecture, 104–6. 2. Quoted in Greg Lynn, “Body Dictionnaire Raisonné, trans. Forced Ventilation: Origins and 3. Richard Payne Knight, The Matters,” in “The Body,” special David Gissen and Molly Slota Effects on Architectural Design,” Landscape (1794): lines 228–35. issue, Journal of Philosophy and (Paris: B. Bance, 1854). The Journal of the Society of 4. On a general overview of the the Visual Arts, ed. Andrew 5. A surprisingly concise piece Architectural Historians 37, no. 3 Picturesque, see Robin Middleton Benjamin (1997): 62. on these buildings and their (1978): 143–60. and David Watkin, Neoclassical and 3. Ibid., 62. politics can be found in Alice 6. S. H. Woodbridge, Upwards 19th Century Architecture (New 4. Ibid., 61–69. Furlaud, “Homing in on Pigeon Versus Downwards Ventilation York: Electa/Rizzoli, 1987), 5. On field theory, see Sanford Towers,” New York Times, April 1, (London: Robert Boyle and Son, 37–46. For a more politicized Kwinter, “La Cittá Nuova: Modernity 1990. 1900). interpretation, see Ann and Continuity,” in Architectural 6. Deleuze and Guattari, A 7. See the section on ventilation Bermingham, “System, Order and Theory, ed. Harry Francis Mallgrave Thousand Plateaus, 424–73. and air-conditioning in Cecil D. Abstraction: The Politics of (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008): 7. In particular, see the work Elliott, Technics and English Landscape Drawing around 474–75; and Stanley Allen, “From gathered under the banner of the Architecture: The Development of 1795,” in Landscape and Power, ed. Object to Field,” in Architecture Ashcan School in the early Materials and Systems for Buildings W. J. T. Mitchell (1994; Chicago: After Geometry, ed. Maggie Toy twentieth century United States. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992). University of Chicago Press, 2002), (1999), 24–31. On the use of 8. John Ruskin, The Stones of 8. See Thomas L. Schumacher, 77–102. termite mounds and their influence Venice, second volume (London: Surface and Symbol: Giuseppe 5. Adrian Forty, Words and on engineering practices, see David Smith, Elder and Co., 1873), 67. Terragni and the Architecture of Buildings: A Vocabulary of Modern Gissen, Big and Green. 9. Le Corbusier, The City of Italian Rationalism (New York: Architecture (New York: Thames and 6. See Cristopher Hollingsworth, Tomorrow and Its Planning (New Princeton Architectural Press, Hudson, 2000), 155–57. Poetics of the Hive: Insect York: Dover, 1987), 69. 1991), 145. 6. George Gessert, “Bastard Metaphor in Literature (Iowa City: 10. Justin Read, “Alternative 9. On the images moving through Flowers,” Leonardo 29, no. 4 University of Iowa Press, 2001). Functions: Oscar Niemeyer and the this particular collage, see Neil (1996): 291–98. 7. See Gilles Deleuze and Félix Poetics of Modernity,” Modernism/ Levine, “The Significance of Facts: 7. Louis H. Sullivan, Guattari, Kafka: Toward a Minor modernity 12, no. 2 (2005): 253–72. Mies’ Collages Up Close and Kindergarten Chats and Other Literature, trans. Dana Polan 11. See “Flocking,” in Benjamin Personal,” Assemblage 37 (1998): Writings (1902; New York, Dover, (Minneapolis: University of Aranda, Tooling (New York: 70–101. NOTE S Life 1979), 86. Minnesota Press, 1986); A Thousand Princeton Architectural Press, 10. See Rem Koolhaas, “Life in 8. Ibid., 143. Plateaus, 232–309; Donna Haraway, 2005). 62-74. the Metropolis or the Culture of 9. On this weed imagery, see “A Cyborg Manifesto: Science, 12. Matali Crasset, The Pigeon Congestion,” Architecture Theory Lauren S. Weingarden, “Naturalized Technology, and Socialist-Feminism Loft (Paris: Pyramyd, 2004). Since 1968, ed. K. Michael Hays Nationalism: A Ruskinian Discourse in the Late-Twentieth Century,” (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998), on the Search for an American Style Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The 320–31. of Architecture,” Winterthur Reinvention of Nature (New York: 11. See the essay by Guy Battle Portfolio 24, no. 1 (1989): 43–68. Routledge, 1991), 149–81. in David Gissen, Big and Green. 10. On the rhizome concept see 8. François Roche, project text, 12. Philippe Rahm, project text, the introduction to Gilles Deleuze unpublished. unpublished. and Félix Guattari, A Thousand 206 207 subnature_03_FN2.indd 206-207 5/26/09 6:40:55 PM Su b n at u r e E pil o g u e / A ppe n dix 208 209 subnature_04_FN2.indd 208-209 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Su b n at u r e E pil o g u e / A ppe n dix 208 209 subnature_04_FN2.indd 208-209 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Su b n at u r e E pil o g u e Epilogue we often imagine to be in some prehuman and pristine form; it is composed of subnatures produced by social, political, and architec- Imagine an architect looking at the subnatures of the city: a cloud tural processes and concepts. Unlike the natural environment, we of smoke, a pool of mud, a pile of debris. He or she might see such cannot possibly imagine a subnatural environment generated by, nor things as emblematic of mismanagement, abandonment, or catas- found within, a nonhuman world. Subnatures force us to confront the trophe. These forms of subnature often appear threatening to a city’s implicit nonsocial character of nature, as it is invoked in discussions social and physical fabric, and this architect might try to position his of architecture and the environment. or her work to control or purge this matter, removing its presence Not only is the subnatural environment made by society, the and memory from the city. On the other hand, perhaps this architect cruel irony is that, unlike other effects of civilized life, subnature is not troubled by subnatures, understanding them to be fundamen- cannot be used as a stable context or material for architecture. Its tally useless and ignoring them in favor of those forms of nature that inherently uncontrollable, filthy, and fearsome aspects confront the can be incorporated into a building’s systems. Such an architect stability of architecture itself. To bring subnature into architecture overlooks the problematic matter in the environment and instead transforms our expectations of it. If we consider one of the buildings focuses on those aspects of the environment that enhance build- explored in this book—the B_Mu Tower by R&Sie(n) Architects—we ings as technical systems. But, reflecting for a moment, perhaps this see that the architect engages the building with the city’s dust-ridden hypothetical architect considers these strange forms of nature as a atmosphere, forcing us to question the concept of architecture as material endemic to architecture and cities, as opposed to an aberra- refuge from the urban environment. Its proposed program and struc- tion that must be consolidated, removed, or dismissed. He or she is ture exists in tension with the landscape’s polluted context, even not only engaged with the realities of the modern world but with the as the architect attempts to establish a rapprochement with it. As social processes that surround architecture, urbanism, and history. To the exhaust becomes part of the building, it appears ever more alien rid cities of subnature negates aspects of urbanity while advancing a and frightening. Such a building demonstrates the constraints that narrow concept of architecture’s proper environment. By seeing only subnature forces on the architect. But by entering into this dialectic those things that are useful to a building’s program, an architect dis- with subnature, the architect actively produces knowledge about miss key aspects of contemporary urban life. Furthermore, to simply the subnature of the city, our fears of it, and what we expect from an ignore these forms, to demand autonomy from them or embrace them architecture that engages with its surroundings. At the very least, without any concern or understanding of their problems is altogether such a building enables the constituent features of nature to be blind and irresponsible. Ultimately, the hypothetical architect might understood, debated, and perhaps ultimately transformed, while consider engaging these discomforting things in a state of reflection, leaving a record of an earlier struggle. acknowledging the genuine difficulties people face when confronted By forcing us to rethink the environment’s nonhuman and by the city’s hostile matter. By actively reflecting on the alienating benevolent qualities, subnatures urge us to rethink ideas of use tied material of the socionatural environment, we might as a profession to that environment. Within a capitalist economy, the nature outside arrive at a truly radical and alternative concept of the environment for of society appears as a resource, whether we speak of a pine tree the contemporary architect. that is transformed into building lumber or a giant sequoia tree that When we talk of architecture engaging with the environment, people travel thousands of miles to visit in a national park. In con- very often we mean to say that architecture is harmonizing with, or trast, the inherent resistance of subnatures, such as mosquitoes, open to, some aspect of an uncorrupted nature. An architecture that dust, or smoke, to notions of usability and mass consumption posi- engages with the environment usually incorporates or mimics the tions them as a different type of nature. Certainly, a subnature can be mechanics of trees, sunlight, water, and wind; whether developing transformed into a spectacle or commodity, as with more naturalistic a country house or skyscraper, the architect attempts to work the forms of nature, but in general terms, subnatures force us to confront form, program, and systems of the building into a mutually beneficial our prevailing relationships to the environment. This is particularly relationship with the environment. Nature and architecture support the case when we consider them in relation to integrated urban one another and leave each largely untransformed. But as this book systems and building infrastructures and technologies. Consider, has demonstrated, the environment is much more than the nature for example, the types of nature that municipal officials, developers, 210 211 subnature_04_FN2.indd 210-211 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Su b n at u r e E pil o g u e Epilogue we often imagine to be in some prehuman and pristine form; it is composed of subnatures produced by social, political, and architec- Imagine an architect looking at the subnatures of the city: a cloud tural processes and concepts. Unlike the natural environment, we of smoke, a pool of mud, a pile of debris. He or she might see such cannot possibly imagine a subnatural environment generated by, nor things as emblematic of mismanagement, abandonment, or catas- found within, a nonhuman world. Subnatures force us to confront the trophe. These forms of subnature often appear threatening to a city’s implicit nonsocial character of nature, as it is invoked in discussions social and physical fabric, and this architect might try to position his of architecture and the environment. or her work to control or purge this matter, removing its presence Not only is the subnatural environment made by society, the and memory from the city. On the other hand, perhaps this architect cruel irony is that, unlike other effects of civilized life, subnature is not troubled by subnatures, understanding them to be fundamen- cannot be used as a stable context or material for architecture. Its tally useless and ignoring them in favor of those forms of nature that inherently uncontrollable, filthy, and fearsome aspects confront the can be incorporated into a building’s systems. Such an architect stability of architecture itself. To bring subnature into architecture overlooks the problematic matter in the environment and instead transforms our expectations of it. If we consider one of the buildings focuses on those aspects of the environment that enhance build- explored in this book—the B_Mu Tower by R&Sie(n) Architects—we ings as technical systems. But, reflecting for a moment, perhaps this see that the architect engages the building with the city’s dust-ridden hypothetical architect considers these strange forms of nature as a atmosphere, forcing us to question the concept of architecture as material endemic to architecture and cities, as opposed to an aberra- refuge from the urban environment. Its proposed program and struc- tion that must be consolidated, removed, or dismissed. He or she is ture exists in tension with the landscape’s polluted context, even not only engaged with the realities of the modern world but with the as the architect attempts to establish a rapprochement with it. As social processes that surround architecture, urbanism, and history. To the exhaust becomes part of the building, it appears ever more alien rid cities of subnature negates aspects of urbanity while advancing a and frightening. Such a building demonstrates the constraints that narrow concept of architecture’s proper environment. By seeing only subnature forces on the architect. But by entering into this dialectic those things that are useful to a building’s program, an architect dis- with subnature, the architect actively produces knowledge about miss key aspects of contemporary urban life. Furthermore, to simply the subnature of the city, our fears of it, and what we expect from an ignore these forms, to demand autonomy from them or embrace them architecture that engages with its surroundings. At the very least, without any concern or understanding of their problems is altogether such a building enables the constituent features of nature to be blind and irresponsible. Ultimately, the hypothetical architect might understood, debated, and perhaps ultimately transformed, while consider engaging these discomforting things in a state of reflection, leaving a record of an earlier struggle. acknowledging the genuine difficulties people face when confronted By forcing us to rethink the environment’s nonhuman and by the city’s hostile matter. By actively reflecting on the alienating benevolent qualities, subnatures urge us to rethink ideas of use tied material of the socionatural environment, we might as a profession to that environment. Within a capitalist economy, the nature outside arrive at a truly radical and alternative concept of the environment for of society appears as a resource, whether we speak of a pine tree the contemporary architect. that is transformed into building lumber or a giant sequoia tree that When we talk of architecture engaging with the environment, people travel thousands of miles to visit in a national park. In con- very often we mean to say that architecture is harmonizing with, or trast, the inherent resistance of subnatures, such as mosquitoes, open to, some aspect of an uncorrupted nature. An architecture that dust, or smoke, to notions of usability and mass consumption posi- engages with the environment usually incorporates or mimics the tions them as a different type of nature. Certainly, a subnature can be mechanics of trees, sunlight, water, and wind; whether developing transformed into a spectacle or commodity, as with more naturalistic a country house or skyscraper, the architect attempts to work the forms of nature, but in general terms, subnatures force us to confront form, program, and systems of the building into a mutually beneficial our prevailing relationships to the environment. This is particularly relationship with the environment. Nature and architecture support the case when we consider them in relation to integrated urban one another and leave each largely untransformed. But as this book systems and building infrastructures and technologies. Consider, has demonstrated, the environment is much more than the nature for example, the types of nature that municipal officials, developers, 210 211 subnature_04_FN2.indd 210-211 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Su b n at u r e E pil o g u e and architects typically incorporate into urban spaces and buildings. Subnatures enable us to better understand our environment Western municipal managers and their architects have a tendency as a product of social and historical processes, as something tied to marginalize any aspect of the environment that cannot be opera- to social history, as much as natural history. But even as we begin to tionalized for the smooth functioning of the city in favor of forms understand all of nature as bearing the imprint of human influence, of nature in which some potential cash benefit can be assessed, the desire for a natural architecture (with all of its paradox) contin- whether directly or speculatively. In New York City, the meager funds ues to appeal to us. The naturalistic and mechanistic concept of the for “public nature” are used to maintain water systems and those environment critiqued here appears anew, fused in contemporary parks that support its neighboring real estate. While all cities require fantasies of a futuristic ecological architecture. Such buildings, by robust water and park systems for the health and well-being of their architects such as MVRDV, Terreform, or Guallart Architects, repre- inhabitants, environments that stand in contrast to these systems are sent cutting-edge thinking on architecture-nature dynamics. These constantly under threat, such as parks operated in abandoned lots, firms, and others, offer fantastical concepts and images of society pigeon lofts, chicken coops, and other minor forms of nature, often generating new bonds between nature and architecture. They found in struggling, poorer neighborhoods. More recently, desires for advance a futuristic natural environment as the site for an architec- a systematized and potentially profitable urban nature are carried ture integrated within or emerging from nature. In some projects, into the realization of many contemporary green buildings and neigh- droughts, floods, animals, and vegetation overtake the world, and borhoods. Here, too, the idea of the natural environment as feeding a corresponding architecture attempts to situate itself within this an infrastructural system dominates, and those natures that cannot new reality. While original, this work advances existing and much be incorporated into building systems or urban networks are simply less radical notions of the relationship between architecture and the negated or put under threat. environment, and though it proposes a thrilling aesthetic, the work While subnatures can be transformed into forms of spectacle, precludes a more critical understanding of nature’s role as a reduc- they cannot easily be made into functional instruments, as in the tive, mechanically invoked resource. networked fantasies of green cities or the air systems of green office In contrast, subnatures often operate within social and archi- buildings. It is highly unlikely that cities will ever have networks for tectural frameworks, more so than technical or geological ones. the distribution of dust or smoke. Of course, some subnatures, like Consider the Irish Pavilion by Tom dePaor Architects, in which a any form of matter, can be transformed into resources, but doing strange new form of architecture emerges directly from a histori- so forces us to question our own ideas about what resources offer cal understanding of mud. The power of this engagement is not tied us. When subnatures become integrated into contemporary build- to geology or physics but to the bog mud’s role as an aspect of Irish ing systems, as in the case of Philippe Rahm’s Omnisports Hall national consciousness. Similarly, Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman’s or Underground Houses, they exist in tension with the normative pavilion designs for their proposed Open-Air Parkcafé in Cologne, subtexts of particular building systems. In the Omnisports Hall, the Germany, invoke the forms of natural houses with their turfed-over incorporation of unpleasant bodily exhalations (carbon dioxide and forms. But the roofs are actually formed out of soil obtained from the sweat) into the building system compells us to reconsider notions debris fields of a post–World War II landscape. The earth used within of individuality and physical propriety. In his Underground Houses, this project is first and foremost a historical material. In some cases, the dankness of the earth is used as a form of passive cooling, but in such as in the work of Jorge Otero-Pailos, subnature becomes a form pulling this air out of the earth, Rahm opens up a strange new zone of historical inquiry in itself. The preservation of smoke and dust in the house: a large and mysterious underground chamber. He uses becomes a new kind of commentary on history. It is this historical the dank air from the chamber to reorganize the typical program- aspect that makes subnature such a useful contribution to contempo- matic relationships of a middle-class house. Unlike more normative rary debates. forms of nature, subnatures are not a means for making existing Dankness, mud, gas, insects, and the other subnatures discussed buildings and cities into better functioning wholes; they are critical in this book may at times appear threatening to architecture and its instruments for examining how our notions of the environment either inhabitants, but subnatures are not only powerful because they are support or undermine existing experiences of architecture frightening or abject; rather, the notion of subnature forces us to con- and urbanism. front existing environmental concepts and architectural techniques. 212 213 subnature_04_FN2.indd 212-213 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Su b n at u r e E pil o g u e and architects typically incorporate into urban spaces and buildings. Subnatures enable us to better understand our environment Western municipal managers and their architects have a tendency as a product of social and historical processes, as something tied to marginalize any aspect of the environment that cannot be opera- to social history, as much as natural history. But even as we begin to tionalized for the smooth functioning of the city in favor of forms understand all of nature as bearing the imprint of human influence, of nature in which some potential cash benefit can be assessed, the desire for a natural architecture (with all of its paradox) contin- whether directly or speculatively. In New York City, the meager funds ues to appeal to us. The naturalistic and mechanistic concept of the for “public nature” are used to maintain water systems and those environment critiqued here appears anew, fused in contemporary parks that support its neighboring real estate. While all cities require fantasies of a futuristic ecological architecture. Such buildings, by robust water and park systems for the health and well-being of their architects such as MVRDV, Terreform, or Guallart Architects, repre- inhabitants, environments that stand in contrast to these systems are sent cutting-edge thinking on architecture-nature dynamics. These constantly under threat, such as parks operated in abandoned lots, firms, and others, offer fantastical concepts and images of society pigeon lofts, chicken coops, and other minor forms of nature, often generating new bonds between nature and architecture. They found in struggling, poorer neighborhoods. More recently, desires for advance a futuristic natural environment as the site for an architec- a systematized and potentially profitable urban nature are carried ture integrated within or emerging from nature. In some projects, into the realization of many contemporary green buildings and neigh- droughts, floods, animals, and vegetation overtake the world, and borhoods. Here, too, the idea of the natural environment as feeding a corresponding architecture attempts to situate itself within this an infrastructural system dominates, and those natures that cannot new reality. While original, this work advances existing and much be incorporated into building systems or urban networks are simply less radical notions of the relationship between architecture and the negated or put under threat. environment, and though it proposes a thrilling aesthetic, the work While subnatures can be transformed into forms of spectacle, precludes a more critical understanding of nature’s role as a reduc- they cannot easily be made into functional instruments, as in the tive, mechanically invoked resource. networked fantasies of green cities or the air systems of green office In contrast, subnatures often operate within social and archi- buildings. It is highly unlikely that cities will ever have networks for tectural frameworks, more so than technical or geological ones. the distribution of dust or smoke. Of course, some subnatures, like Consider the Irish Pavilion by Tom dePaor Architects, in which a any form of matter, can be transformed into resources, but doing strange new form of architecture emerges directly from a histori- so forces us to question our own ideas about what resources offer cal understanding of mud. The power of this engagement is not tied us. When subnatures become integrated into contemporary build- to geology or physics but to the bog mud’s role as an aspect of Irish ing systems, as in the case of Philippe Rahm’s Omnisports Hall national consciousness. Similarly, Manuel Herz and Eyal Weizman’s or Underground Houses, they exist in tension with the normative pavilion designs for their proposed Open-Air Parkcafé in Cologne, subtexts of particular building systems. In the Omnisports Hall, the Germany, invoke the forms of natural houses with their turfed-over incorporation of unpleasant bodily exhalations (carbon dioxide and forms. But the roofs are actually formed out of soil obtained from the sweat) into the building system compells us to reconsider notions debris fields of a post–World War II landscape. The earth used within of individuality and physical propriety. In his Underground Houses, this project is first and foremost a historical material. In some cases, the dankness of the earth is used as a form of passive cooling, but in such as in the work of Jorge Otero-Pailos, subnature becomes a form pulling this air out of the earth, Rahm opens up a strange new zone of historical inquiry in itself. The preservation of smoke and dust in the house: a large and mysterious underground chamber. He uses becomes a new kind of commentary on history. It is this historical the dank air from the chamber to reorganize the typical program- aspect that makes subnature such a useful contribution to contempo- matic relationships of a middle-class house. Unlike more normative rary debates. forms of nature, subnatures are not a means for making existing Dankness, mud, gas, insects, and the other subnatures discussed buildings and cities into better functioning wholes; they are critical in this book may at times appear threatening to architecture and its instruments for examining how our notions of the environment either inhabitants, but subnatures are not only powerful because they are support or undermine existing experiences of architecture frightening or abject; rather, the notion of subnature forces us to con- and urbanism. front existing environmental concepts and architectural techniques. 212 213 subnature_04_FN2.indd 212-213 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Su b n at u r e Bib lio g r a p h y Alberti, Leon Battista, The Byles, Jeff, Rubble: ———. A Thousand Plateaus: These confrontations come with benefits and dangers that must Ten Books of Architecture. Unearthing the History of Capitalism and also be assessed and considered before subnature can emerge as New York, Dover, 1485/1755. Demolition. New York, Schizophrenia. translated by a substantial concept. As they are often associated with the break- Allen, Stanley, “From Object Harmony Books, 2005. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis, to Field” in Architecture Cadava, Eduardo, “Leseblitz: University of Minnesota down and denigration of the enviro-social sphere, we must not use After Geometry, On the threshold of Press, 1988. them to advance a simplistic, picturesque nihilism of the present. Architectural Design (1999): violence” Assemblage, 20 Dessauce, Marc, The Inflatable Subnature should not be used to give in to the processes of pollution 24–31. April (1993): Moment: Pneumatics and Amato, Joseph, Dust: A History 22–23 Protest in ’68. New York: and war that appear to generate many horrifying landscapes. Nor is of the Small and the Campkin, Ben and Dobraszczyk Princeton Architectural subnature meant to promote urban decay or celebrate infrastructural Invisible. Berkeley and Los “Introduction” special issue Press 1999. breakdowns. It is not intended as a source of fantasy, in which archi- Angeles, University of on “Architecture and Dirt.” Douglas, Mary, Purity and California Press, 2000. Journal of Architecture. Danger: An Analysis of tects provoke their peers by drawing thousands of smokers or feral Aranda, Benjamin, Tooling. New Volume 12:4 (2007): 347–351 Concepts of Pollution and animals into the spaces we inhabit. That is not the point of the pre- York, Princeton Campkin, Ben and Rosie Cox Taboo. London, Routledge, ceding chapters. Whether examining foul forms of nature, disasters, Architectural Press, 2006. Dirt: New Geographies of 2002. Bachelard, Gaston The Poetics Cleanliness and Dumont, Gabrielle Pierre- or war, all of the architects featured in this book qualify their interest of Space. New York, Beacon, Contamination. London, I.B. Martin, Les Ruines des in landscapes produced by power and inequity. Ultimately, this book 1994. Taurus, 2008. Paestum, 1764. promotes a concept of the environment that lacks the passivity and Banham, Reyner, The New Canetti, Elias, Crowds and Elliott, C. D. Technics and Brutalism, 1966. Power. New York, Noonday, Architecture: The asocial qualities attributed to architecture’s natural environment. ———. The Architecture of the 1984. Development of Materials and It challenges the reductive and naturalistic aspects of contemporary Well-Tempered Environment. Carapetian, Michael Interview Systems for Buildings. architecture-nature dynamics, promoting a dialectic that radically Chicago and London, The with the author. June 12, Cambridge, Ma., The MIT University of Chicago Press, 2008 Press, 1992. rethinks both architecture and nature, and it helps us understand 1969, 1984. Cohen, William and Johnson, Evans, Clinton, The War on how certain ideas about nature are historically driven, socially and ———. Megastructure: Urban Ryan Filth: Dirt, Disgust Weeds in the Prairie West: architecturally. I cannot argue that subnature will make peoples’ Futures of the Recent Past. and Modern Life. An Environmental History. London : Thames and Hudson, Minneapolis, MN, University Calgary, Alberta Canada: experiences of architecture more pleasant or peaceful, but I do 1976. of Minnesota Press, 2005. University of Calgary Press, believe that it provides us with the intellectual and historical concep- Bermingham, Ann “System, Order Connor, Steven, “An Air that 2002. tualization of nature that many architects and architectural theorists and Abstraction: The Kills: A Familiar History of Evans, Robin. Translations Politics of English Poison Gas” (2003) http:// from Drawing to Building and have craved. Ultimately, Subnature is not about what is natural to Landscape Drawing around www.bbk.ac.uk/english/skc/ Other Essays. London, architecture; it is about the natures we produce through our most 1795.” In W.J. T. Mitchell, gas/ Architectural Association radical architectural concepts. Landscape and Power. ———. “Exhaust” lecture Publishers, 1997. Chicago, University of University of St. Andrews, Fathy, Hassan, Architecture Chicago Press, 2002: 77–102. June 16th 2006. http://www. for the Poor: Am Experiment Benevelo, Leonardo, History of bbk.ac.uk/english/skc/ in Rural Egypt. Chicago, Modern Architecture, exhaust/ University of Chicago Press, Cambridge, Mass, Mit Press, Corbin, Alain, The Foul and the 1973. 1977. Fragrant: Odor and the Forty, Adrian, Words and Blechman, Andrew, Pigeons: The French Social Imagination. Buildings: A Vocabulary of Fascinating Story of the Translated by Miriam Kochab. Modern Architecture. London, World’s Most Revered and Cambridge, MA, Harvard, Thames and Hudson, 2000. Reviled Bird. Grove Press, 1986. ———. “Primitive, the word and 2007. Crasset, Matali, The Pigeon concept” in Odgers, J., Bruegmann, Robert “Central Loft. Paris, Pyramyd, 2004. Samuel, F., Sharr, A. (ed.) Heating and Forced Deleuze, Gilles and Guattari, Primitive: Original Matters Ventilation: Origins and Felix, Kafka: Toward a Minor in Architecture. London, Effects on Architectural Literature, Minneapolis, Routledge (2006): 3–14. Design”, The Journal of the University of Minnesota Furlaud, Alice, “Homing in Society of Architectural Press, 1986. on Pigeon Towers” New York Historians, 37:3 (1978): Times, April 1, 1990. 143–160. 214 215 subnature_04_FN2.indd 214-215 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Su b n at u r e Bib lio g r a p h y Alberti, Leon Battista, The Byles, Jeff, Rubble: ———. A Thousand Plateaus: These confrontations come with benefits and dangers that must Ten Books of Architecture. Unearthing the History of Capitalism and also be assessed and considered before subnature can emerge as New York, Dover, 1485/1755. Demolition. New York, Schizophrenia. translated by a substantial concept. As they are often associated with the break- Allen, Stanley, “From Object Harmony Books, 2005. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis, to Field” in Architecture Cadava, Eduardo, “Leseblitz: University of Minnesota down and denigration of the enviro-social sphere, we must not use After Geometry, On the threshold of Press, 1988. them to advance a simplistic, picturesque nihilism of the present. Architectural Design (1999): violence” Assemblage, 20 Dessauce, Marc, The Inflatable Subnature should not be used to give in to the processes of pollution 24–31. April (1993): Moment: Pneumatics and Amato, Joseph, Dust: A History 22–23 Protest in ’68. New York: and war that appear to generate many horrifying landscapes. Nor is of the Small and the Campkin, Ben and Dobraszczyk Princeton Architectural subnature meant to promote urban decay or celebrate infrastructural Invisible. Berkeley and Los “Introduction” special issue Press 1999. breakdowns. It is not intended as a source of fantasy, in which archi- Angeles, University of on “Architecture and Dirt.” Douglas, Mary, Purity and California Press, 2000. Journal of Architecture. Danger: An Analysis of tects provoke their peers by drawing thousands of smokers or feral Aranda, Benjamin, Tooling. New Volume 12:4 (2007): 347–351 Concepts of Pollution and animals into the spaces we inhabit. That is not the point of the pre- York, Princeton Campkin, Ben and Rosie Cox Taboo. London, Routledge, ceding chapters. Whether examining foul forms of nature, disasters, Architectural Press, 2006. Dirt: New Geographies of 2002. Bachelard, Gaston The Poetics Cleanliness and Dumont, Gabrielle Pierre- or war, all of the architects featured in this book qualify their interest of Space. New York, Beacon, Contamination. London, I.B. Martin, Les Ruines des in landscapes produced by power and inequity. Ultimately, this book 1994. Taurus, 2008. Paestum, 1764. promotes a concept of the environment that lacks the passivity and Banham, Reyner, The New Canetti, Elias, Crowds and Elliott, C. D. Technics and Brutalism, 1966. Power. New York, Noonday, Architecture: The asocial qualities attributed to architecture’s natural environment. ———. The Architecture of the 1984. Development of Materials and It challenges the reductive and naturalistic aspects of contemporary Well-Tempered Environment. Carapetian, Michael Interview Systems for Buildings. architecture-nature dynamics, promoting a dialectic that radically Chicago and London, The with the author. June 12, Cambridge, Ma., The MIT University of Chicago Press, 2008 Press, 1992. rethinks both architecture and nature, and it helps us understand 1969, 1984. Cohen, William and Johnson, Evans, Clinton, The War on how certain ideas about nature are historically driven, socially and ———. Megastructure: Urban Ryan Filth: Dirt, Disgust Weeds in the Prairie West: architecturally. I cannot argue that subnature will make peoples’ Futures of the Recent Past. and Modern Life. An Environmental History. London : Thames and Hudson, Minneapolis, MN, University Calgary, Alberta Canada: experiences of architecture more pleasant or peaceful, but I do 1976. of Minnesota Press, 2005. University of Calgary Press, believe that it provides us with the intellectual and historical concep- Bermingham, Ann “System, Order Connor, Steven, “An Air that 2002. tualization of nature that many architects and architectural theorists and Abstraction: The Kills: A Familiar History of Evans, Robin. Translations Politics of English Poison Gas” (2003) http:// from Drawing to Building and have craved. Ultimately, Subnature is not about what is natural to Landscape Drawing around www.bbk.ac.uk/english/skc/ Other Essays. London, architecture; it is about the natures we produce through our most 1795.” In W.J. T. Mitchell, gas/ Architectural Association radical architectural concepts. Landscape and Power. ———. “Exhaust” lecture Publishers, 1997. Chicago, University of University of St. Andrews, Fathy, Hassan, Architecture Chicago Press, 2002: 77–102. June 16th 2006. http://www. for the Poor: Am Experiment Benevelo, Leonardo, History of bbk.ac.uk/english/skc/ in Rural Egypt. Chicago, Modern Architecture, exhaust/ University of Chicago Press, Cambridge, Mass, Mit Press, Corbin, Alain, The Foul and the 1973. 1977. Fragrant: Odor and the Forty, Adrian, Words and Blechman, Andrew, Pigeons: The French Social Imagination. Buildings: A Vocabulary of Fascinating Story of the Translated by Miriam Kochab. Modern Architecture. London, World’s Most Revered and Cambridge, MA, Harvard, Thames and Hudson, 2000. Reviled Bird. Grove Press, 1986. ———. “Primitive, the word and 2007. Crasset, Matali, The Pigeon concept” in Odgers, J., Bruegmann, Robert “Central Loft. Paris, Pyramyd, 2004. Samuel, F., Sharr, A. (ed.) Heating and Forced Deleuze, Gilles and Guattari, Primitive: Original Matters Ventilation: Origins and Felix, Kafka: Toward a Minor in Architecture. London, Effects on Architectural Literature, Minneapolis, Routledge (2006): 3–14. Design”, The Journal of the University of Minnesota Furlaud, Alice, “Homing in Society of Architectural Press, 1986. on Pigeon Towers” New York Historians, 37:3 (1978): Times, April 1, 1990. 143–160. 214 215 subnature_04_FN2.indd 214-215 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Bib lio g r a p h y Bib lio g r a p h y Gandy, Matthew, “The Hersey, George. The Lost ———. Precisions: On the Mumford, Lewis. The Brown Ranier, Roland. Livable Schumacher, Thomas L. Surface Paris sewers and the Meaning of Classical Present State of Decades: A Study of the Arts Environments, Zurich, Verlag and Symbol: Giuseppe rationalization of urban Architecture. Cambridge. Mit Architecture and City in America. New York, Dover, fur Architektur Artemis Terragni and the space” Transactions of the Press, 1988. Planning, Cambridge, Mit 1955. Zurich, 1972. Architecture of Italian Institute of British Hough, Michael, Cities as Press, 1991. Muschamp, Herbert. “Thank you Read, Justin. “Alternative Rationalism, New York, Geographers 24:1(1999): Natural Processes: the Basis Le Roy, Julien David. The Ruins for not smoking” New York Functions: Oscar Niemeyer Princeton Architectural 23–44 of Sustainability. London, of the Most Beautiful Times, May 14, 1995. and the Poetics of Press, 1991 Gessert, George. “Bastard Routledge, 2005. Monuments of Greece, Los Nead, Lynda. Victorian Modernity.” Modernism/ Scott, Felicity. Architecture Flowers” Leonardo, Vol. 29:4 Hugo, Victor. Les Misérables, Angeles, Getty Publications, Babylon: People, Images and modernity Vol. 12:2 (2005): or Techno-Utopia: Politics (1996): 291–298. London, Penguin, 1982. 1770/2004. Streets in Nineteenth- 253–272. after Modernism. Cambridge, Giedion, Siegfried. Inaba, Jeffrey. “Big Leaks,” Levine, Neil, “The Century London. New Haven, Riani, Paolo. Twentieth Mit Press, 2008. Mechanization Takes Command. Volume 5, Archis, 2005 Significance of Facts: Mies’ Yale University Press, 2000. Century Masters: Kenzo Smith, Neil. Uneven Oxford, Oxford University Isozaki, Arata. Japan Collages Up Close and NL Architects, Remix of Tange. New York, Hamlyn, Development : Nature, Press, 1948. Architect #247, Oct/Nov: Personal.” Assemblage, 37 Reality, Seoul, DD series, 1969. Capital and the Production Gilman, Sander and Zhou Xun 20–21, 1977. (1998): 70–101 2005. Robbins, David. The of Space, London: Blackwell, eds., Smoke: A Global Jencks, Charles. “Peter Lynn, Greg. “Body Matters,” Nox (1999) http://www. Independent Group: Postwar 1991. History of Smoking. London, Eisenman: An Architectural Journal of Philosophy and archilab.org/public/1999/ Britain and the Aesthetics Smithson, Peter and Alison. Reaktion Books, 2004. Design Interview” in the Visual Arts. special artistes/noxa01en.htm of Plenty. Cambridge, MA, The Charged Void: Gissen, David, ed. Big and Deconstruction, issue on “The Body”, edited O’Connor, Erin. Raw Material: The Mit Press, 1990. Architecture, New York, The Green: Toward Sustainable Architectural Design (1988): by Andrew Benjamin. (1997): Producing Pathology in Roth, Michael with Lyons, C and Monacelli Press, 2001. Architecture in the 21st 48–61. 61–69 Victorian Culture. Durham, Merewhether, C. eds. Steedman, Carolyn. Dust: The Century. New York, Princeton Kessler, Marni Reva. Sheer Mallgrave, Hary Francis. Duke University Press, 2000. Irresistible Decay: Ruins Archive and Cultural Architectural Press, 2003. Presence: The Veil in Architectural Theory, An Otero-Pailos, Jorge. Reclaimed. Los Angeles, History. New Rutherford, ———. “Exhaust and Manet’s Paris, Minneapolis, Anthology from Vitruvius to Correspondence with the Getty Publications, 1996. Rutgers University Press, Territorialisation at the University of Minnesota 1870. London, Blackwell, author, July, 2008. Ruskin, John. The Stones of 2002. Washington Bridge Press, 2006. 2007. Picon, Antoine. French Venice, Second Volume. Stern, D., Mellins, T and Apartments, 1963–1973.” The Kipnis, Jeffrey. Moonmark, ———. Modern Architectural Architects and Engineers in London, Smith, Elder and Co, Fishman, R. New York 1960: Journal of Architecture, Assemblage, 16 (1991): 6–13. Theory: A Historical Survey, the Age of Enlightenment. 1873. Architecture and Urbanism Vol. 12:4 (2007): 449–461. Knight, Richard Payne. The 1673–1968, Cambridge, Cambridge, Cambridge ———. The Complete Works of John Between the Second World War Goldhagen, Sarah Williams. Landscape, 1794. Cambridge University Press, University Press, 1991. Ruskin, Volume I. New York, and the Bicentennial, New “Freedom’s Domiciles: Three Koolhaas, Rem “’Life in the 2005 ———. “Nineteenth-Century Urban Chicago: National Library York: Monacelli Press, 1995. Projects by Alison and Peter Metropolis’ or ‘The Culture ———. Architectural Theory: An Cartography and the Association, 1905. Stoppani, Teresa. “Dust Smithson” in Sarah Williams of Congestion’” (1977) in Anthology from 1871 to 2005. Scientific Ideal: The Case ———. The Ethics of the Dust. revolutions. Dust, informe, Goldhagen and Réjean Hays, K. Michael. London, Blackwell, 2008. of Paris” Osiris, Vol. 18 London, Merrill and Baker, architecture (notes for a Legault, Anxious Modernisms: Architecture Theory Since McCloy, Shelby T. “Flood (2003): 135–149. 2003/1877. reading of Dust in Experimentation in Postwar 1968. Cambridge, MA, MIT Relief and Control in ———. Lecture at Anxious Ryan, Raymund. N3: The Irish Bataille).” Journal of Architectural Culture. Press (1994): 320–331. Eighteenth-Century France” Landscape Symposium, Pavilion at the Seventh Architecture, Vol. 12:4 Cambridge, Ma, MIT Press, Kwinter, Sanford. “La Cittá Journal of Modern History, University College London, International Biennale, (2007): 437-447. 2000. Nuova: Modernity and Vol. 13:1 (1941): 1–18. 2005. Venice, Dublin, Ireland, Sullivan, Louis. Kindergarten Haraway, Donna. Simians, Continuity” (1986) in Harry Mertins, Detlef, The Presence Porter, Dale. Thames Haus Publishing, 2001. Chats and Other Writings. Cyborgs and Women: The Francis Mallgrave. of Mies. New York, Princeton Embankment. Environment, Rykwert, Joseph. On Adam’s Courthope Press, 2007. Reinvention of Nature, New Architectural Theory: An Architectural Press, 1994. Technology and Society in House in Paradise, Tait, A. A. “Reading the Ruins: York and London, Routledge, Anthology from 1871 to 2005. Merwood, Joanna. “The Victorian London, The. Cambridge, Mit Press, 1997. Robert Adam and Piranesi in 1991. London, Blackwell (2008): Mechanization of Cladding: Akron, OH: University of Schinkel, Karl Freidrich, Rome,” Architectural Harris, John, and Snodin, 474–475. The Reliance Building and Akron Press, 1998. David Bindman and Gottfried History, Vol 27 (1980): 524– Michael, eds. Sir William Laugier, Marc-Antoine. An the Narratives of Modern Pugin, A. W. N. Contrasts: Or, Riemann. The English 533. Chambers: Architect to Essay on Architecture. Architecture”, Grey Room, 4 A Parallel between the Noble Journey: Journal of a Visit Tournikiotis, Panayotis. The George III. New Haven, Yale Trans. Wolfgang and Anni (2001): 52–69. Edifices of the Middle Ages to France and Enland in Historiography of Modern University Press, 1996. Herrmann. Los Angeles: Middleton, Robin and Watkin, and Corresponding Buildings 1826. New Haven: Yale Architecture, Cambridge, MA, Harrison, Charles, Paul Wood, Hennessey and Ingalls, David. Neoclassical and 19th of the Present Day. London, University Press, 1993. MIT Press, 1999. and Jason Gaiger. Art in 1750/1977. Century Architecture, Vol I 1836. Schnapp, Jeffrey. Crowds. Vidler, Anthony. The Theory, 1815–1900: An Le Corbusier. Towards a New & II. New York, Rizzoli, Ramiréz, Juan Antonio, The Stanford, Stanford Architectural Uncanny: Anthology of Changing Ideas. Architecture. New York, 1980. Beehive Metaphor: From Gaudí University Press, 2006. Essays in the Modern London: Blackwell, 1998. Dover, 1986. Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: to Le Corbusier. London, Unhomely. Cambridge, MIT Heaney, Seamus. Bog Poems, ———. The City of Tomorrow and Reflections on the Garden Reaktion, 1998. Press, 1992. 1975. its Planning. New York, Grotto. New York: George Dover, 1987. Braziller, 1982. 216 217 subnature_04_FN2.indd 216-217 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Bib lio g r a p h y Bib lio g r a p h y Gandy, Matthew, “The Hersey, George. The Lost ———. Precisions: On the Mumford, Lewis. The Brown Ranier, Roland. Livable Schumacher, Thomas L. Surface Paris sewers and the Meaning of Classical Present State of Decades: A Study of the Arts Environments, Zurich, Verlag and Symbol: Giuseppe rationalization of urban Architecture. Cambridge. Mit Architecture and City in America. New York, Dover, fur Architektur Artemis Terragni and the space” Transactions of the Press, 1988. Planning, Cambridge, Mit 1955. Zurich, 1972. Architecture of Italian Institute of British Hough, Michael, Cities as Press, 1991. Muschamp, Herbert. “Thank you Read, Justin. “Alternative Rationalism, New York, Geographers 24:1(1999): Natural Processes: the Basis Le Roy, Julien David. The Ruins for not smoking” New York Functions: Oscar Niemeyer Princeton Architectural 23–44 of Sustainability. London, of the Most Beautiful Times, May 14, 1995. and the Poetics of Press, 1991 Gessert, George. “Bastard Routledge, 2005. Monuments of Greece, Los Nead, Lynda. Victorian Modernity.” Modernism/ Scott, Felicity. Architecture Flowers” Leonardo, Vol. 29:4 Hugo, Victor. Les Misérables, Angeles, Getty Publications, Babylon: People, Images and modernity Vol. 12:2 (2005): or Techno-Utopia: Politics (1996): 291–298. London, Penguin, 1982. 1770/2004. Streets in Nineteenth- 253–272. after Modernism. Cambridge, Giedion, Siegfried. Inaba, Jeffrey. “Big Leaks,” Levine, Neil, “The Century London. New Haven, Riani, Paolo. Twentieth Mit Press, 2008. Mechanization Takes Command. Volume 5, Archis, 2005 Significance of Facts: Mies’ Yale University Press, 2000. Century Masters: Kenzo Smith, Neil. Uneven Oxford, Oxford University Isozaki, Arata. Japan Collages Up Close and NL Architects, Remix of Tange. New York, Hamlyn, Development : Nature, Press, 1948. Architect #247, Oct/Nov: Personal.” Assemblage, 37 Reality, Seoul, DD series, 1969. Capital and the Production Gilman, Sander and Zhou Xun 20–21, 1977. (1998): 70–101 2005. Robbins, David. The of Space, London: Blackwell, eds., Smoke: A Global Jencks, Charles. “Peter Lynn, Greg. “Body Matters,” Nox (1999) http://www. Independent Group: Postwar 1991. History of Smoking. London, Eisenman: An Architectural Journal of Philosophy and archilab.org/public/1999/ Britain and the Aesthetics Smithson, Peter and Alison. Reaktion Books, 2004. Design Interview” in the Visual Arts. special artistes/noxa01en.htm of Plenty. Cambridge, MA, The Charged Void: Gissen, David, ed. Big and Deconstruction, issue on “The Body”, edited O’Connor, Erin. Raw Material: The Mit Press, 1990. Architecture, New York, The Green: Toward Sustainable Architectural Design (1988): by Andrew Benjamin. (1997): Producing Pathology in Roth, Michael with Lyons, C and Monacelli Press, 2001. Architecture in the 21st 48–61. 61–69 Victorian Culture. Durham, Merewhether, C. eds. Steedman, Carolyn. Dust: The Century. New York, Princeton Kessler, Marni Reva. Sheer Mallgrave, Hary Francis. Duke University Press, 2000. Irresistible Decay: Ruins Archive and Cultural Architectural Press, 2003. Presence: The Veil in Architectural Theory, An Otero-Pailos, Jorge. Reclaimed. Los Angeles, History. New Rutherford, ———. “Exhaust and Manet’s Paris, Minneapolis, Anthology from Vitruvius to Correspondence with the Getty Publications, 1996. Rutgers University Press, Territorialisation at the University of Minnesota 1870. London, Blackwell, author, July, 2008. Ruskin, John. The Stones of 2002. Washington Bridge Press, 2006. 2007. Picon, Antoine. French Venice, Second Volume. Stern, D., Mellins, T and Apartments, 1963–1973.” The Kipnis, Jeffrey. Moonmark, ———. Modern Architectural Architects and Engineers in London, Smith, Elder and Co, Fishman, R. New York 1960: Journal of Architecture, Assemblage, 16 (1991): 6–13. Theory: A Historical Survey, the Age of Enlightenment. 1873. Architecture and Urbanism Vol. 12:4 (2007): 449–461. Knight, Richard Payne. The 1673–1968, Cambridge, Cambridge, Cambridge ———. The Complete Works of John Between the Second World War Goldhagen, Sarah Williams. Landscape, 1794. Cambridge University Press, University Press, 1991. Ruskin, Volume I. New York, and the Bicentennial, New “Freedom’s Domiciles: Three Koolhaas, Rem “’Life in the 2005 ———. “Nineteenth-Century Urban Chicago: National Library York: Monacelli Press, 1995. Projects by Alison and Peter Metropolis’ or ‘The Culture ———. Architectural Theory: An Cartography and the Association, 1905. Stoppani, Teresa. “Dust Smithson” in Sarah Williams of Congestion’” (1977) in Anthology from 1871 to 2005. Scientific Ideal: The Case ———. The Ethics of the Dust. revolutions. Dust, informe, Goldhagen and Réjean Hays, K. Michael. London, Blackwell, 2008. of Paris” Osiris, Vol. 18 London, Merrill and Baker, architecture (notes for a Legault, Anxious Modernisms: Architecture Theory Since McCloy, Shelby T. “Flood (2003): 135–149. 2003/1877. reading of Dust in Experimentation in Postwar 1968. Cambridge, MA, MIT Relief and Control in ———. Lecture at Anxious Ryan, Raymund. N3: The Irish Bataille).” Journal of Architectural Culture. Press (1994): 320–331. Eighteenth-Century France” Landscape Symposium, Pavilion at the Seventh Architecture, Vol. 12:4 Cambridge, Ma, MIT Press, Kwinter, Sanford. “La Cittá Journal of Modern History, University College London, International Biennale, (2007): 437-447. 2000. Nuova: Modernity and Vol. 13:1 (1941): 1–18. 2005. Venice, Dublin, Ireland, Sullivan, Louis. Kindergarten Haraway, Donna. Simians, Continuity” (1986) in Harry Mertins, Detlef, The Presence Porter, Dale. Thames Haus Publishing, 2001. Chats and Other Writings. Cyborgs and Women: The Francis Mallgrave. of Mies. New York, Princeton Embankment. Environment, Rykwert, Joseph. On Adam’s Courthope Press, 2007. Reinvention of Nature, New Architectural Theory: An Architectural Press, 1994. Technology and Society in House in Paradise, Tait, A. A. “Reading the Ruins: York and London, Routledge, Anthology from 1871 to 2005. Merwood, Joanna. “The Victorian London, The. Cambridge, Mit Press, 1997. Robert Adam and Piranesi in 1991. London, Blackwell (2008): Mechanization of Cladding: Akron, OH: University of Schinkel, Karl Freidrich, Rome,” Architectural Harris, John, and Snodin, 474–475. The Reliance Building and Akron Press, 1998. David Bindman and Gottfried History, Vol 27 (1980): 524– Michael, eds. Sir William Laugier, Marc-Antoine. An the Narratives of Modern Pugin, A. W. N. Contrasts: Or, Riemann. The English 533. Chambers: Architect to Essay on Architecture. Architecture”, Grey Room, 4 A Parallel between the Noble Journey: Journal of a Visit Tournikiotis, Panayotis. The George III. New Haven, Yale Trans. Wolfgang and Anni (2001): 52–69. Edifices of the Middle Ages to France and Enland in Historiography of Modern University Press, 1996. Herrmann. Los Angeles: Middleton, Robin and Watkin, and Corresponding Buildings 1826. New Haven: Yale Architecture, Cambridge, MA, Harrison, Charles, Paul Wood, Hennessey and Ingalls, David. Neoclassical and 19th of the Present Day. London, University Press, 1993. MIT Press, 1999. and Jason Gaiger. Art in 1750/1977. Century Architecture, Vol I 1836. Schnapp, Jeffrey. Crowds. Vidler, Anthony. The Theory, 1815–1900: An Le Corbusier. Towards a New & II. New York, Rizzoli, Ramiréz, Juan Antonio, The Stanford, Stanford Architectural Uncanny: Anthology of Changing Ideas. Architecture. New York, 1980. Beehive Metaphor: From Gaudí University Press, 2006. Essays in the Modern London: Blackwell, 1998. Dover, 1986. Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: to Le Corbusier. London, Unhomely. Cambridge, MIT Heaney, Seamus. Bog Poems, ———. The City of Tomorrow and Reflections on the Garden Reaktion, 1998. Press, 1992. 1975. its Planning. New York, Grotto. New York: George Dover, 1987. Braziller, 1982. 216 217 subnature_04_FN2.indd 216-217 5/26/09 6:39:08 PM Bib lio g r a p h y I n de x Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène Page numbers in italics Big Leaks (Inaba), 64, 66–67, Great Fire (1871), 90 Emmanuel, Annals of a indicate images 69 Reliance Building, soot on, Fortress: Twenty-Two bird traps, 183, 183 50, 51 Centuries of Siege Warfare. Adam, Robert, 23, 100, 103 Birmingham (England), city smoke-filled air, 49 New York, Dover, 2007. Adelphi Terrace (Adam), 103, of, 49 Chicago School, 44 Vitruvius, Marcus Pollio. The 120, 121 Blow Out (Spuybroek), 63–64, chimneys, 44, 48, 51, 52 Ten Books of Architecture. Adler, Dankmar, 155 65 Chomel, Noel, 183 Trans. Morris H. Morgan. air, 25, 198 B_mu Tower (Roche), 79, 80–83, CIAM (International Congress New York: Dover crowds and, 193, 195 99, 212 of Modern Architects), 135 Publications, Inc., 1960. dust in, 92 bogs, Irish, 125, 214 cities Weingarden, Lauren S. exhaust-filled, 78, 79, 81 bones, 24 absence of smoke, 44, 52 “Naturalized Nationalism: fresh air in urban space, 73 Boston, city of, 104 artificial light, 61 A Ruskinian Discourse on the smoke-filled, 49 Boullée, Étienne-Louis, 47 class-based idea of, 24 Search for an American Style stagnant, 59 Brasília, city of, 184, 185–86 exhaust in, 72, 73, 77 of Architecture” Winterthur Alberti, Leon Battista, 182 Braungart, Michael, 62 gas in, 63 Portfolio, Vol. 24:1 (1989): Amato, Joseph, 90 Brazil, 185 insect metaphors and, 171 43–68. Animal Estates (Haeg), 187, Bremen (Germany), city of, 49 mud in development of, 118 Wendelken, Cherie. “Putting 191 “British Beehive,” 168–69, 169 real estate pressure, 74 Metabolism Back in Place: animals, 23, 214 Brooklyn Pigeon Project wildlife in, 187 The Making of a Radically carcasses of, 24 (Aranda\Lasch), 186, 188–89 World War II destruction of, Decontextualized hermaphroditic, 22 Brown, Denise Scott, 88 134–35, 135, 137, 138–39, Architecture in Japan.” In waste (manure) from, 58, 72 Brown + Guenther, 76 139–40, 142 Sarah Williams Goldhagen and wildlife in city, 187 Bruneseau, Pierre-Emmanuel, 32 The City of Tomorrow and Its Réjean Legault, Anxious Annals of a Fortress (Viollet- Buache, Philippe, 103 Planning (Le Corbusier), 184 Modernisms: Experimentation le-Duc), 133–34, 134 buildings A City of Towers in Postwar Architectural Ant Farm, 62 decaying, 100 (Le Corbusier), 73 Culture. Cambridge, MA, MIT Aranda\Lasch, 36, 40, 186 demolition of, 91, 92 City on Fire/City in Bloom Press, 2000. Archigram, 62 internal loading congestion, (West 8), 158–59, 167 Woodbridge, S. H. Upwards Arizona State Capitol proposal 197–98 civilization, 100, 104, 154 versus Downwards (Wright), 169, 170, 171 class, social, 24, 48, 168 Ventilation. London, Robert Arts and Crafts movement, California College of the crowds and, 193 Boyle and son, 1900. 44, 48 Arts, 54, 54 insect metaphors and, Wolf, Peter. The Evolving Arup, 198 Callimachus, 151, 152 168–69, 169, 172 City: Urban Design Proposals atomic war, 135, 136, 137, Campkin, Ben, 168 smoke and, 52 by Ulrich Franzen and Paul 138–39, 139–40 Canetti, Elias, 192 Clean Air Pod (Ant Farm), Rudolph. New York: The Auditorium Building Cannaregio project (Eisenman), 62, 63 American Federation of the (Sullivan), 155 35, 36 Clément, Gilles, 22 Arts, 1974. Autobiography (Wright), 156 Carapetian, Michael, 104, climatic systems, 23, 38, 198 Wright, Frank Lloyd. An automobile traffic, 73–74, 107, 109 Cloud (Liu), 94–95, 95 Autobiography. New York, 76–78, 88 carbon dioxide, 198, 199, 200, Cloud Nines (Fuller), 196, 197 Duell, Sloan and Pearce, Averlino, Antonio di Pietro, 202–4, 213 Cologne (Germany), city of, 1943. 44 cartography, 103 140, 142, 143–45, 214 Casa del Fascio (Terragni), colonialism, 118, 120, 125, Bachelard, Gaston, 34–35, 36 194, 195 182, 185–86 Bangkok, city of, 79, 80 caves, 30–31, 31 Contrasts (Pugin), 47 Banham, Reyner, 44, 76, 137 cellars, 34, 35 Coop Himmelb(l)au, 171, 173, basements, 30, 34, 35 Cero9, 157–58, 159 174 Bataille, Georges, 88, 90 Cesariano, Cesare di Corbin, Alain, 49 Bauhaus, 105 Lorenzo, 44 Corinthian column, origin of, Bazalgette, Joseph, 122 cesspools, 58 151–52, 152 bees and beehives, 168, 169 Chambers, William, 119–20, 122 Courcelles, gas works at, 60 Behrens, Peter, 168, 169 Chernobyl disaster, 67 Crasset, Matali, 186–87 Benevolo, Leonardo, 10, 104, Chicago, city of, 49, 52, 104, crowds, 13, 26, 192–93, 195, 107, 109 156, 158 197–98, 200 Berlin, city of, 49, 61 Convention Center, 195, 196, cyborg, 172, 173, 173 Berlin Free Zone (Woods), 140 197 Bhopal disaster, 64, 67 218 219 subnature_04_FN2.indd 218-219 5/26/09 6:39:09 PM Bib lio g r a p h y I n de x Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène Page numbers in italics Big Leaks (Inaba), 64, 66–67, Great Fire (1871), 90 Emmanuel, Annals of a indicate images 69 Reliance Building, soot on, Fortress: Twenty-Two bird traps, 183, 183 50, 51 Centuries of Siege Warfare. Adam, Robert, 23, 100, 103 Birmingham (England), city smoke-filled air, 49 New York, Dover, 2007. Adelphi Terrace (Adam), 103, of, 49 Chicago School, 44 Vitruvius, Marcus Pollio. The 120, 121 Blow Out (Spuybroek), 63–64, chimneys, 44, 48, 51, 52 Ten Books of Architecture. Adler, Dankmar, 155 65 Chomel, Noel, 183 Trans. Morris H. Morgan. air, 25, 198 B_mu Tower (Roche), 79, 80–83, CIAM (International Congress New York: Dover crowds and, 193, 195 99, 212 of Modern Architects), 135 Publications, Inc., 1960. dust in, 92 bogs, Irish, 125, 214 cities Weingarden, Lauren S. exhaust-filled, 78, 79, 81 bones, 24 absence of smoke, 44, 52 “Naturalized Nationalism: fresh air in urban space, 73 Boston, city of, 104 artificial light, 61 A Ruskinian Discourse on the smoke-filled, 49 Boullée, Étienne-Louis, 47 class-based idea of, 24 Search for an American Style stagnant, 59 Brasília, city of, 184, 185–86 exhaust in, 72, 73, 77 of Architecture” Winterthur Alberti, Leon Battista, 182 Braungart, Michael, 62 gas in, 63 Portfolio, Vol. 24:1 (1989): Amato, Joseph, 90 Brazil, 185 insect metaphors and, 171 43–68. Animal Estates (Haeg), 187, Bremen (Germany), city of, 49 mud in development of, 118 Wendelken, Cherie. “Putting 191 “British Beehive,” 168–69, 169 real estate pressure, 74 Metabolism Back in Place: animals, 23, 214 Brooklyn Pigeon Project wildlife in, 187 The Making of a Radically carcasses of, 24 (Aranda\Lasch), 186, 188–89 World War II destruction of, Decontextualized hermaphroditic, 22 Brown, Denise Scott, 88 134–35, 135, 137, 138–39, Architecture in Japan.” In waste (manure) from, 58, 72 Brown + Guenther, 76 139–40, 142 Sarah Williams Goldhagen and wildlife in city, 187 Bruneseau, Pierre-Emmanuel, 32 The City of Tomorrow and Its Réjean Legault, Anxious Annals of a Fortress (Viollet- Buache, Philippe, 103 Planning (Le Corbusier), 184 Modernisms: Experimentation le-Duc), 133–34, 134 buildings A City of Towers in Postwar Architectural Ant Farm, 62 decaying, 100 (Le Corbusier), 73 Culture. Cambridge, MA, MIT Aranda\Lasch, 36, 40, 186 demolition of, 91, 92 City on Fire/City in Bloom Press, 2000. Archigram, 62 internal loading congestion, (West 8), 158–59, 167 Woodbridge, S. H. Upwards Arizona State Capitol proposal 197–98 civilization, 100, 104, 154 versus Downwards (Wright), 169, 170, 171 class, social, 24, 48, 168 Ventilation. London, Robert Arts and Crafts movement, California College of the crowds and, 193 Boyle and son, 1900. 44, 48 Arts, 54, 54 insect metaphors and, Wolf, Peter. The Evolving Arup, 198 Callimachus, 151, 152 168–69, 169, 172 City: Urban Design Proposals atomic war, 135, 136, 137, Campkin, Ben, 168 smoke and, 52 by Ulrich Franzen and Paul 138–39, 139–40 Canetti, Elias, 192 Clean Air Pod (Ant Farm), Rudolph. New York: The Auditorium Building Cannaregio project (Eisenman), 62, 63 American Federation of the (Sullivan), 155 35, 36 Clément, Gilles, 22 Arts, 1974. Autobiography (Wright), 156 Carapetian, Michael, 104, climatic systems, 23, 38, 198 Wright, Frank Lloyd. An automobile traffic, 73–74, 107, 109 Cloud (Liu), 94–95, 95 Autobiography. New York, 76–78, 88 carbon dioxide, 198, 199, 200, Cloud Nines (Fuller), 196, 197 Duell, Sloan and Pearce, Averlino, Antonio di Pietro, 202–4, 213 Cologne (Germany), city of, 1943. 44 cartography, 103 140, 142, 143–45, 214 Casa del Fascio (Terragni), colonialism, 118, 120, 125, Bachelard, Gaston, 34–35, 36 194, 195 182, 185–86 Bangkok, city of, 79, 80 caves, 30–31, 31 Contrasts (Pugin), 47 Banham, Reyner, 44, 76, 137 cellars, 34, 35 Coop Himmelb(l)au, 171, 173, basements, 30, 34, 35 Cero9, 157–58, 159 174 Bataille, Georges, 88, 90 Cesariano, Cesare di Corbin, Alain, 49 Bauhaus, 105 Lorenzo, 44 Corinthian column, origin of, Bazalgette, Joseph, 122 cesspools, 58 151–52, 152 bees and beehives, 168, 169 Chambers, William, 119–20, 122 Courcelles, gas works at, 60 Behrens, Peter, 168, 169 Chernobyl disaster, 67 Crasset, Matali, 186–87 Benevolo, Leonardo, 10, 104, Chicago, city of, 49, 52, 104, crowds, 13, 26, 192–93, 195, 107, 109 156, 158 197–98, 200 Berlin, city of, 49, 61 Convention Center, 195, 196, cyborg, 172, 173, 173 Berlin Free Zone (Woods), 140 197 Bhopal disaster, 64, 67 218 219 subnature_04_FN2.indd 218-219 5/26/09 6:39:09 PM I n de x I n de x dankness, 2, 25, 26, 180, 214 as historical artifact, 88, gardens Henderson, Nigel, 137 Ireland, 125, 131 mud in architecture, 118, in contemporary work, 36, 95–96, 96–98, 99 English, 40, 42 Herron, Ron, 173 Irish pavilion, 2000 Venice 120–23, 121–23 40, 42 spores and, 95 Greek and Roman, 151 Herz, Manuel, 140, 142, 214 Biennale, 125, 126–30, Somerset House, 120, 121, in history and theory, 30–36 Picturesque landscape, hexagon structure, 168, 169, 131, 214 122 primitiveness of, 22 Earth Architecture (Rael), 25 153, 153 170, 171 Isozaki, Arata, 23, 139 Thames Embankment, 122, 123 puddles and, 100, 104 earthquake, Lisbon, 103 gas, 4, 214 Hilberseimer, Ludwig, 135 Italy, 31, 132 water supplies and drainage, debris, 9, 25, 26, 211 Economist Building Group architectural forms and, Hiroshima, atomic bombing of, 103 fearsomeness of, 22 (Smithson and Smithson), 62–64 137, 138–39, 139–40 Japan, 134, 137, 138–39, 139 World War II bombing debris, in history and theory, 132– 104, 106, 107 crowds and, 193 Hiroshima Blast Site: Electric Jason Johnson/Nataly Gattegno, 135, 135, 137 35, 137, 139–40 “egg and dart” motif, 180, 181 fearsomeness of, 22 City (Isozaki), 139–40 107 Love Canal disaster, 64, 66 in street barricades, 24 Egypt, 123, 124, 125 history and theory of, history, 25, 26, 120, 211, 214, Jenkins, Charles, 51 Lynn, Greg, 157, 158, 171 wartime destruction, 134–35, Eisenman, Peter, 35–36 58–59, 61–62 215 Johnson, Jason, 107 135, 137, 138–39, 139–40, Engels, Friedrich, 24 lighting and, 61 crowds and, 192, 195 Johnson, Philip, 53 Magic Mountain (Cero9), 157– 142 engineering, environmentalist, Gattegno, Nataly, 107 dankness and, 30, 34 58, 160–63 Deconstructivist Architecture 172 Gaudí, Antonio, 168, 169 debris and, 133, 135 Kafka, Franz, 172 Manchester (England), city of, (Wigley), 171 England/British Empire, 31, Gavin, Hector, 59, 63 dust and, 88, 95–96, 96–98, Khan, Omar, 200 24, 49 Décosterd & Rahm, 198, 200 47, 118, 122 gentrification, 54 99, 214 Kipnis, Jeffrey, 140 Manifold (Matsys/Andrew Deformscape (Thom Faulders), agriculture modernized geodesic spheres, 196, 197 mud and, 118, 131 Knight, Richard Payne, 152–53 Kudless), 170 112, 116–17 in, 153 geography, 90 pigeons and, 182, 187 Koolhaas, Rem, 197 Marx, Karl, 24, 182 Deleuze, Gilles, 156, 172, 183 beehive metaphor in, geology, 214 smoke and, 53, 214 Kurgan, Laura, 93, 95 masonry, 32, 34 Delirious New York (Koolhaas), 168–69, 169 George III, King, 120 weeds and, 150 Mayhew, Henry, 24 197 environments, 25, 169, 212 German idealist philosophy, History of Modern Architecture Lally, Sean, 69 megastructure, 72, 76–77 Dessauce, Marc, 62 Essen (Germany), city of, 49 44, 48 (Benevolo), 104, 105 The Landscape (Knight), 152–53 Metabolists, 137, 139 Diaz Moreno, Cristina, 23 The Ethics of Dust (Otero- Germany, 140–41 “The Hoe” (Wright), 156 landscapes, 25, 215 The Metamorphosis (Kafka), 172 Dickens, Charles, 182 Pailos), 96, 96–98, 99 Geuze, Adriaan, 158–59 Holborn Viaduct (London), 122 anxious, concept of, 22 miasma, urban, 58 Dictionnaire Raisonné de exhaust, 5, 24, 26, 72, Giedion, Siegfried, 58 Hollingsworth, Christopher, dust and, 88 Midlands, English, 45, 46, 47, l’Architecture Française 180, 212 Glass House (Johnson), 53, 53 172 Picturesque, 151 48, 52 (Viollet-le-Duc), 181, 182 filthiness of, 22 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, home, concept of, 36, 172 third landscape, concept Mies van der Rohe, Ludwig, 50, Diocletian, Emperor, 100, 103 in New York, 73–74, 75, 76, 153–54, 156 “A Home is Not a House” of, 22 51–52, 195 dirt, 90, 92, 150 76–77, 78 The Granite Garden (Spirn), 25 (Banham), 44 Las Vegas, city of, 88 mobility, power of, 77 disasters, 88, 132 Parisian urbanists and, Great Plains, Dust Bowl of, Homeland Security, Department Laugier, Marc-Antoine, 30 Mockbee, Samuel, 125 debris and, 142 72–73 90, 91 of, 63 Lausanne City Museum, 158 modernity, 31, 154 natural, 89, 90, 91 social control and, 78–79 Greece, 132 Hugo, Victor, 192 Leatherbarrow, David, 25 cellars banished from, 34 political, 93, 93, 95 Exxon-Valdez disaster, 66 green design/space, 23, 63, 73 The Hunchback of Notre Dame Le Corbusier, 32, 34 dank spaces, 32 disasters, industrial, 64, grottoes, 30, 31–32, 33, 180 (Hugo), 192 dust and, 88, 90, 92 gas and, 62 66–67 factories, 47, 52 Grotto project (Aranda\Lasch), exhaust and, 72–73 pigeons and, 182, 183 disease, 32, 168 dust and, 88 40, 42, 42–43 Impromptu (Sullivan), 157 on pigeons, 185 shift from desirable to pigeons and, 186 gas in, 58, 61 Guallart Architects, 214 Inaba, Jeffrey, 64, 69 Ledoux, Claude-Nicolas, 47 undesirable, 180 “disease mist,” 59, 59 indoor climate of, 195 Guattari, Félix, 156, 172, 183 incinerators, 52 Lefebvre, Henri, 140 smoke and, 49 DMZ (Woods), 140 Fathy, Hassan, 123, 125 Independent Group, 135 Lequeu, Jean-Jacques, 31–32, moisture, 32, 193 domesticity, 34, 40, 177 field theory, 24, 172 Haeg, Fritz, 187 India, 78 182 Mollier Houses (Rahm), Doré, Gustave, 24 fire, 44, 90, 192 Hanna House (Wright), 169 individuality, 193, 213 Le Roy, Julien-David, 132–34, 109, 112 Douglas, Mary, 150 floods, 102, 103, 104, 105, 214 Haraway, Donna, 173 industrialization, 46, 47, 48, 139, 140 Moonmark (Kipnis), 140, 141 Dumont, Gabriel Pierre Martin, Forty, Adrian, 195 Haussmann, Georges-Eugène, 23, 57, 77 “Letter to My Uncle” Mosquito Bottleneck (R&Sie(n) 89, 90 Four Days Later (Kurgan), 32, 34, 92, 121 gas and, 58, 61 (Sullivan), 154 Architects), 174, 174–79, dust, 6, 26, 118, 180 93, 93 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 154 mud and, 118 light, artificial, 61 177 allergens and, 95 Four Elements of Architecture Heaney, Seamus, 125 infrastructure, 74, 76–77, Lisbon, city of, 103 mosquitoes, 171, 174, 177, 212 in architectural theory, 88, (Semper), 44 Hearne, Thomas, 153 213, 215 Liu, An Te, 95 Mostafavi, Mohsen, 25 90, 92 France, 132, 182, 186 Heart City: The White Suit insects, 11, 23, 171–74, 177, London, city of, 24, 49 mud, 8, 211, 214 bacteria and, 95 Franzen, Ulrich, 74 (Coop Himmelb(l)au), 173, 180, 214 Adelphi Terrace, 103, 120, beauty of, 25 disasters and, 89, 90, 93, Fréart de Chambray, Roland, 173 animalization and, 172–73, 121 in history and theory, 118– 93, 95 152 hearth (fireplace), 44, 48, 51 173 Bethnal Green neighborhood, 23 dusty ruins, 23 French Revolution, 44, 168 heat, body, 192–93 metaphors and, 168–69, 59, 59, 121 postcolonial national filthiness of, 22 Fuller, R. Buckminster, 197 heating systems, home, 51 169, 171 coal gas illumination, 61 consciousness and, 123, germs and, 95 Heidegger, Martin, 35 parasites and, 171 Holborn Viaduct, 122 124, 125, 126–30, 131, 214 garbage, 24 Helmont, Jan Baptista van, 58 uncontrollability of, 22 Houses of Parliament, 193 primitiveness of, 22 Garcia Grinda, Efran, 23 Henard, Eugène, 73 internal loading, 197–98 insect-infested housing, 168 in street barricades, 24 220 221 subnature_04_FN2.indd 220-221 5/26/09 6:39:09 PM I n de x I n de x dankness, 2, 25, 26, 180, 214 as historical artifact, 88, gardens Henderson, Nigel, 137 Ireland, 125, 131 mud in architecture, 118, in contemporary work, 36, 95–96, 96–98, 99 English, 40, 42 Herron, Ron, 173 Irish pavilion, 2000 Venice 120–23, 121–23 40, 42 spores and, 95 Greek and Roman, 151 Herz, Manuel, 140, 142, 214 Biennale, 125, 126–30, Somerset House, 120, 121, in history and theory, 30–36 Picturesque landscape, hexagon structure, 168, 169, 131, 214 122 primitiveness of, 22 Earth Architecture (Rael), 25 153, 153 170, 171 Isozaki, Arata, 23, 139 Thames Embankment, 122, 123 puddles and, 100, 104 earthquake, Lisbon, 103 gas, 4, 214 Hilberseimer, Ludwig, 135 Italy, 31, 132 water supplies and drainage, debris, 9, 25, 26, 211 Economist Building Group architectural forms and, Hiroshima, atomic bombing of, 103 fearsomeness of, 22 (Smithson and Smithson), 62–64 137, 138–39, 139–40 Japan, 134, 137, 138–39, 139 World War II bombing debris, in history and theory, 132– 104, 106, 107 crowds and, 193 Hiroshima Blast Site: Electric Jason Johnson/Nataly Gattegno, 135, 135, 137 35, 137, 139–40 “egg and dart” motif, 180, 181 fearsomeness of, 22 City (Isozaki), 139–40 107 Love Canal disaster, 64, 66 in street barricades, 24 Egypt, 123, 124, 125 history and theory of, history, 25, 26, 120, 211, 214, Jenkins, Charles, 51 Lynn, Greg, 157, 158, 171 wartime destruction, 134–35, Eisenman, Peter, 35–36 58–59, 61–62 215 Johnson, Jason, 107 135, 137, 138–39, 139–40, Engels, Friedrich, 24 lighting and, 61 crowds and, 192, 195 Johnson, Philip, 53 Magic Mountain (Cero9), 157– 142 engineering, environmentalist, Gattegno, Nataly, 107 dankness and, 30, 34 58, 160–63 Deconstructivist Architecture 172 Gaudí, Antonio, 168, 169 debris and, 133, 135 Kafka, Franz, 172 Manchester (England), city of, (Wigley), 171 England/British Empire, 31, Gavin, Hector, 59, 63 dust and, 88, 95–96, 96–98, Khan, Omar, 200 24, 49 Décosterd & Rahm, 198, 200 47, 118, 122 gentrification, 54 99, 214 Kipnis, Jeffrey, 140 Manifold (Matsys/Andrew Deformscape (Thom Faulders), agriculture modernized geodesic spheres, 196, 197 mud and, 118, 131 Knight, Richard Payne, 152–53 Kudless), 170 112, 116–17 in, 153 geography, 90 pigeons and, 182, 187 Koolhaas, Rem, 197 Marx, Karl, 24, 182 Deleuze, Gilles, 156, 172, 183 beehive metaphor in, geology, 214 smoke and, 53, 214 Kurgan, Laura, 93, 95 masonry, 32, 34 Delirious New York (Koolhaas), 168–69, 169 George III, King, 120 weeds and, 150 Mayhew, Henry, 24 197 environments, 25, 169, 212 German idealist philosophy, History of Modern Architecture Lally, Sean, 69 megastructure, 72, 76–77 Dessauce, Marc, 62 Essen (Germany), city of, 49 44, 48 (Benevolo), 104, 105 The Landscape (Knight), 152–53 Metabolists, 137, 139 Diaz Moreno, Cristina, 23 The Ethics of Dust (Otero- Germany, 140–41 “The Hoe” (Wright), 156 landscapes, 25, 215 The Metamorphosis (Kafka), 172 Dickens, Charles, 182 Pailos), 96, 96–98, 99 Geuze, Adriaan, 158–59 Holborn Viaduct (London), 122 anxious, concept of, 22 miasma, urban, 58 Dictionnaire Raisonné de exhaust, 5, 24, 26, 72, Giedion, Siegfried, 58 Hollingsworth, Christopher, dust and, 88 Midlands, English, 45, 46, 47, l’Architecture Française 180, 212 Glass House (Johnson), 53, 53 172 Picturesque, 151 48, 52 (Viollet-le-Duc), 181, 182 filthiness of, 22 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, home, concept of, 36, 172 third landscape, concept Mies van der Rohe, Ludwig, 50, Diocletian, Emperor, 100, 103 in New York, 73–74, 75, 76, 153–54, 156 “A Home is Not a House” of, 22 51–52, 195 dirt, 90, 92, 150 76–77, 78 The Granite Garden (Spirn), 25 (Banham), 44 Las Vegas, city of, 88 mobility, power of, 77 disasters, 88, 132 Parisian urbanists and, Great Plains, Dust Bowl of, Homeland Security, Department Laugier, Marc-Antoine, 30 Mockbee, Samuel, 125 debris and, 142 72–73 90, 91 of, 63 Lausanne City Museum, 158 modernity, 31, 154 natural, 89, 90, 91 social control and, 78–79 Greece, 132 Hugo, Victor, 192 Leatherbarrow, David, 25 cellars banished from, 34 political, 93, 93, 95 Exxon-Valdez disaster, 66 green design/space, 23, 63, 73 The Hunchback of Notre Dame Le Corbusier, 32, 34 dank spaces, 32 disasters, industrial, 64, grottoes, 30, 31–32, 33, 180 (Hugo), 192 dust and, 88, 90, 92 gas and, 62 66–67 factories, 47, 52 Grotto project (Aranda\Lasch), exhaust and, 72–73 pigeons and, 182, 183 disease, 32, 168 dust and, 88 40, 42, 42–43 Impromptu (Sullivan), 157 on pigeons, 185 shift from desirable to pigeons and, 186 gas in, 58, 61 Guallart Architects, 214 Inaba, Jeffrey, 64, 69 Ledoux, Claude-Nicolas, 47 undesirable, 180 “disease mist,” 59, 59 indoor climate of, 195 Guattari, Félix, 156, 172, 183 incinerators, 52 Lefebvre, Henri, 140 smoke and, 49 DMZ (Woods), 140 Fathy, Hassan, 123, 125 Independent Group, 135 Lequeu, Jean-Jacques, 31–32, moisture, 32, 193 domesticity, 34, 40, 177 field theory, 24, 172 Haeg, Fritz, 187 India, 78 182 Mollier Houses (Rahm), Doré, Gustave, 24 fire, 44, 90, 192 Hanna House (Wright), 169 individuality, 193, 213 Le Roy, Julien-David, 132–34, 109, 112 Douglas, Mary, 150 floods, 102, 103, 104, 105, 214 Haraway, Donna, 173 industrialization, 46, 47, 48, 139, 140 Moonmark (Kipnis), 140, 141 Dumont, Gabriel Pierre Martin, Forty, Adrian, 195 Haussmann, Georges-Eugène, 23, 57, 77 “Letter to My Uncle” Mosquito Bottleneck (R&Sie(n) 89, 90 Four Days Later (Kurgan), 32, 34, 92, 121 gas and, 58, 61 (Sullivan), 154 Architects), 174, 174–79, dust, 6, 26, 118, 180 93, 93 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 154 mud and, 118 light, artificial, 61 177 allergens and, 95 Four Elements of Architecture Heaney, Seamus, 125 infrastructure, 74, 76–77, Lisbon, city of, 103 mosquitoes, 171, 174, 177, 212 in architectural theory, 88, (Semper), 44 Hearne, Thomas, 153 213, 215 Liu, An Te, 95 Mostafavi, Mohsen, 25 90, 92 France, 132, 182, 186 Heart City: The White Suit insects, 11, 23, 171–74, 177, London, city of, 24, 49 mud, 8, 211, 214 bacteria and, 95 Franzen, Ulrich, 74 (Coop Himmelb(l)au), 173, 180, 214 Adelphi Terrace, 103, 120, beauty of, 25 disasters and, 89, 90, 93, Fréart de Chambray, Roland, 173 animalization and, 172–73, 121 in history and theory, 118– 93, 95 152 hearth (fireplace), 44, 48, 51 173 Bethnal Green neighborhood, 23 dusty ruins, 23 French Revolution, 44, 168 heat, body, 192–93 metaphors and, 168–69, 59, 59, 121 postcolonial national filthiness of, 22 Fuller, R. Buckminster, 197 heating systems, home, 51 169, 171 coal gas illumination, 61 consciousness and, 123, germs and, 95 Heidegger, Martin, 35 parasites and, 171 Holborn Viaduct, 122 124, 125, 126–30, 131, 214 garbage, 24 Helmont, Jan Baptista van, 58 uncontrollability of, 22 Houses of Parliament, 193 primitiveness of, 22 Garcia Grinda, Efran, 23 Henard, Eugène, 73 internal loading, 197–98 insect-infested housing, 168 in street barricades, 24 220 221 subnature_04_FN2.indd 220-221 5/26/09 6:39:09 PM I n de x I n de x mudlarks, 24, 121, 122 odors, 49, 58, 59, 131, 192 as unintentional material, Semper, Gottfried, 44, 51 terroir (local materials/ Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène Mueller, Christian, 40 Omnisports Hall (Décosterd & 96, 99 sewers/sewage, 30, 32, 33 regions), 42 Emmanuel, 133–34, 140, Mumford, Lewis, 74 Rahm), 198, 199, 200, 201, O Pombal (Niemeyer), 184, gas in, 59, 61 terrorism, fears of, 63 181, 182 Muschamp, Herbert, 52 213 185–86 mudlarks and, 121 Thames River, 103, 120–22, vitalism, 23, 24, 154, 187 museums, 27–8 Open-Air Parkcafé (Herz Pompeii, city of, 90 water management, 103 121–23 Vitruvius, 30, 44, 120, 132, MVRDV, 214 and Weizman), 140, 142, 143– Pruitt-Igoe Housing Complex, “sick building syndrome,” 62 Thom Faulders Studio, 107, 112 151 45, 214 91 Smithson, Alison and Peter, Thoreau, Henry David, 154 Nagasaki, atomic bombing of, Open Columns (Kahn), 200, puddles, 7, 23 23, 104, 107, 135, 137, 142 toilets, public, 64, 65 Walking City (Herron), 173 137 202–5 in history and theory, smoke, 3, 24, 90, 93, 180, 211 Tokyo, city of, 137, 138, 139 warfare, 109, 133–35, 135, nationalism, 197 organicist theory, 151, 154 100, 103 filthiness of, 22 Tom dePaor Architects, 125, 140, 215 national liberation, 118 Orme, Philibert de l’, as part of urban nature, history and theory of, 44, 131, 214 See also World War I, poison natural architecture, 21, 23 30–31, 32 109, 111 47–49 traffic circulation, 73–74 gas in; World War II nature, 47, 211, 214 ornament, 155 water management and, 103–4, industrial smoke Transcendentalism, 154, 156 Warri-Kaduna Pipeline archetypal (Ur) plant, 154, Otero-Pailos, Jorge, 53, 96, 107, 109 reconsidered, 54, 57 Treatise on Civil Architecture disaster, 64, 67 155 99, 214 Pugin, A. W. N., 47–48, 49 modern architecture and, 50, (Chambers), 119, 119 wasps, 171 captured and managed, 183 Ottoman Empire, 132 Purity and Danger (Douglas), 51–52 Trinidad, 174 waste, human and animal, 58 crowds as forms of, 192, 193 150 tobacco, 44, 49, 50, 51–53, tunnels, 73–74 water, 77, 112, 192, 211, 213 environment and, 212 Paris, city of, 23, 24 84–7 flood management, 102, 103–4 “flow” and, 23 coal gas illumination, 61 Quatremère de Quincy, A. C., 30 smokestacks, 44, 48, 52 Underground Houses (Rahm), 36, hygiene and, 32 return of society to, 142 flood map, 102, 103 SOM, 53 37–39, 40, 213 weather conditions, 109, 193 smoke as form of, 57 Haussmann’s planning radioactivity, 64, 77, 137 Somerset House (London), 120, underground spaces, 30-34, 40 weathering, 25, 26 Nead, Lynda, 122 projects, 92, 121 rain, 25, 35, 103 121, 122 unheimlich (uncanny, staining and, 26 Neoclassical movement, 132–33 pigeons in, 183 Ramírez, Juan Antonio, 168 Sorkin, Michael, 174 unhomely), 35, 36 patinas and, 26 Nervi, Pier Luigi, 76 sewers, 32, 33 Read, Justin, 186 Spuybroek, Lars, 63–64, 69 United States, 49, 63, 125 Netherlands, 107 Parthenon, 133, 133 Reid, David Boswell, 193 The Stones of Venice (Ruskin), urbanism/urbanists, 23, 58, weeds, 10, 23 New Brutalists, 135 Patio and Pavilion (Smithson Reykjavik (Iceland), 183 72, 211, 214 acanthus as, 151–52, 152, New York, city of and Smithson), 135, 136, 137 port of, 69 Stoppani, Teresa, 88 urbanization, 30, 73 155 ban on tobacco smoking, 52 Patte, Pierre, 102, 103–4 Reynolds, Craig, 186 Stranded Sears Tower (Lynn), debris and, 137 beauty of, 25 coal gas illumination, 61 Pegasus Above the City Richardson, H. H., 155 157, 159 dust and, 90 dandelions as, 150 dust in, 92 (Schinkel), 46 roadways, 72, 73, 74, 76, streets exhaust and, 77 in history and theory, exhaust in, 73–76 Philippe Rahm Architects, 107 76, 77 barricades, 24 mud and, 118 150–56 flooding, 104, 105 Phrygians, House of the, 120 Robin Hood Gardens (Smithson exhaust and, 72-73 smoke and, 49 postwar American green building in, 24 Picon, Antoine, 22, 24 and Smithson), 136, 137 sewers and, 59 subhuman conditions of, 24 architecture and, 156–59 Holland Tunnel, 73–74, 75, Picturesque movement, 133, Roche, François, 22, 23, 99, water management and, 102, urban planning, 68–71, 69, 76 tillers of, 25 77 142, 151, 152–53 174, 177 103–4 Utopie, 62 uncontrollability of, 22 Lower Manhattan Expressway, The Pigeon Capsule (Crasset), Romanesque style, 155 subnature, 21–22, 211–15 Weizman, Eyal, 140, 142, 214 73, 74, 75 186–87, 190 The Roman House (Cesariano), elimination of, 54 Vassivière, France, 36, 40 West 8, 157, 159 nature in modern buildings, pigeonnier (dovecote), 180, 45 marginalization of, 23 Vatnsmyri Urban Plan (Lally/ Wigley, Mark, 171 21 181, 182 Romanticism, 154, 156 para-urban social networks Weathers), 68–71, 69 wind, 22, 23, 64, 198, 211 pigeons in, 183, 186 pigeons, 12, 25 Rome, city of, 100, 101, 103 and, 25 Venice, city of, 183, 184, 185 Wines, James, 156, 157 “public nature” in, 213 in history and theory, 180, Rotterdam, city of, 158–59 Sullivan, Louis, 154–55, 156 Venice Biennale, 95, 125 Woodbridge, S. H., 193 September 11, 2001, attack, 182–83, 185–87 R&Sie(n) Architects, 79, 157, sunlight, 23, 211 ventilation, 62–63, 74, 75, Woods, Lebbeus, 140, 174 93, 93, 95 uncontrollability of, 22 158, 159, 174, 212 Super Galaxy: NYC Tropospheric 76, 193 World War I, poison gas in, Times Square, 24, 63 Pilot Plant (NL Architects), Rudolph, Paul, 74, 75 Refuge (Johnson and Venturi, Robert, 88 60, 61 Washington Bridge Extension 54, 55–57, 57 ruins, 88, 100, 104, 132, Gattegno), 107, 109, 110–11, Vers une architecture [Towards World War II, 134–35, 139–40, Complex, 74, 76, 76, 77 Piranesi, Giovanni Battista, 133-35, 137, 139, 142 113 a New Architecture] 142, 214 New York, September 11, 2001 23, 88, 100, 103 Rusconi, Antonio, 151 (Le Corbusier), 73, 73 Germany bombed, 140–41 (Kurgan), 93, 93 Pittsburgh, city of, 49 Ruskin, John, 48–49, 51, 84n7 A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens), Vesuvius, Mount, 89, 90 Japan bombed, 137, 138–39, Niemeyer, Oscar, 185–86, 187 Plume/Idling, 54, 54 on dust and dirt, 88, 96 182 Vidler, Anthony, 35 139 NL Architects, 54, 107, 109 The Poetry of Architecture on pigeons, 183, 185 Tange, Kenzo, 137, 139 “View of the Aqueduct which London bombed, 135, 135, 137 nMBA (R&Sie(n) Architects), (Ruskin), 48 tear gas, 62 conveyed water from Salona Rotterdam bombed, 158–59 158, 164–66 pollution, 22, 54, 57, 79, sand, flow of, 192 technologies, 25, 34, 77, to the Palace [at Split]” WOS8 project (NL Architects), noise/sound, 72, 109, 192 109, 215 San Francisco, 53–54 173, 213 (Adam), 100, 101, 103 107, 108–9 automobile exhaust, 78 Schinkel, Karl Friedrich, 47, termites, 168 Views of Rome (Piranesi), Wright, Frank Lloyd, 51, 155– coal gas, 61 48, 49 Terragni, Giuseppe, 195 88, 89 56, 168, 169, 171 dust as, 88, 96 SeARCH, 36, 49 Terrain (Woods), 140 Villa Vals (SeARCH), 40, 41 Seine River, 103 Terreform, 214 222 223 subnature_04_FN2.indd 222-223 5/26/09 6:39:09 PM I n de x I n de x mudlarks, 24, 121, 122 odors, 49, 58, 59, 131, 192 as unintentional material, Semper, Gottfried, 44, 51 terroir (local materials/ Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène Mueller, Christian, 40 Omnisports Hall (Décosterd & 96, 99 sewers/sewage, 30, 32, 33 regions), 42 Emmanuel, 133–34, 140, Mumford, Lewis, 74 Rahm), 198, 199, 200, 201, O Pombal (Niemeyer), 184, gas in, 59, 61 terrorism, fears of, 63 181, 182 Muschamp, Herbert, 52 213 185–86 mudlarks and, 121 Thames River, 103, 120–22, vitalism, 23, 24, 154, 187 museums, 27–8 Open-Air Parkcafé (Herz Pompeii, city of, 90 water management, 103 121–23 Vitruvius, 30, 44, 120, 132, MVRDV, 214 and Weizman), 140, 142, 143– Pruitt-Igoe Housing Complex, “sick building syndrome,” 62 Thom Faulders Studio, 107, 112 151 45, 214 91 Smithson, Alison and Peter, Thoreau, Henry David, 154 Nagasaki, atomic bombing of, Open Columns (Kahn), 200, puddles, 7, 23 23, 104, 107, 135, 137, 142 toilets, public, 64, 65 Walking City (Herron), 173 137 202–5 in history and theory, smoke, 3, 24, 90, 93, 180, 211 Tokyo, city of, 137, 138, 139 warfare, 109, 133–35, 135, nationalism, 197 organicist theory, 151, 154 100, 103 filthiness of, 22 Tom dePaor Architects, 125, 140, 215 national liberation, 118 Orme, Philibert de l’, as part of urban nature, history and theory of, 44, 131, 214 See also World War I, poison natural architecture, 21, 23 30–31, 32 109, 111 47–49 traffic circulation, 73–74 gas in; World War II nature, 47, 211, 214 ornament, 155 water management and, 103–4, industrial smoke Transcendentalism, 154, 156 Warri-Kaduna Pipeline archetypal (Ur) plant, 154, Otero-Pailos, Jorge, 53, 96, 107, 109 reconsidered, 54, 57 Treatise on Civil Architecture disaster, 64, 67 155 99, 214 Pugin, A. W. N., 47–48, 49 modern architecture and, 50, (Chambers), 119, 119 wasps, 171 captured and managed, 183 Ottoman Empire, 132 Purity and Danger (Douglas), 51–52 Trinidad, 174 waste, human and animal, 58 crowds as forms of, 192, 193 150 tobacco, 44, 49, 50, 51–53, tunnels, 73–74 water, 77, 112, 192, 211, 213 environment and, 212 Paris, city of, 23, 24 84–7 flood management, 102, 103–4 “flow” and, 23 coal gas illumination, 61 Quatremère de Quincy, A. C., 30 smokestacks, 44, 48, 52 Underground Houses (Rahm), 36, hygiene and, 32 return of society to, 142 flood map, 102, 103 SOM, 53 37–39, 40, 213 weather conditions, 109, 193 smoke as form of, 57 Haussmann’s planning radioactivity, 64, 77, 137 Somerset House (London), 120, underground spaces, 30-34, 40 weathering, 25, 26 Nead, Lynda, 122 projects, 92, 121 rain, 25, 35, 103 121, 122 unheimlich (uncanny, staining and, 26 Neoclassical movement, 132–33 pigeons in, 183 Ramírez, Juan Antonio, 168 Sorkin, Michael, 174 unhomely), 35, 36 patinas and, 26 Nervi, Pier Luigi, 76 sewers, 32, 33 Read, Justin, 186 Spuybroek, Lars, 63–64, 69 United States, 49, 63, 125 Netherlands, 107 Parthenon, 133, 133 Reid, David Boswell, 193 The Stones of Venice (Ruskin), urbanism/urbanists, 23, 58, weeds, 10, 23 New Brutalists, 135 Patio and Pavilion (Smithson Reykjavik (Iceland), 183 72, 211, 214 acanthus as, 151–52, 152, New York, city of and Smithson), 135, 136, 137 port of, 69 Stoppani, Teresa, 88 urbanization, 30, 73 155 ban on tobacco smoking, 52 Patte, Pierre, 102, 103–4 Reynolds, Craig, 186 Stranded Sears Tower (Lynn), debris and, 137 beauty of, 25 coal gas illumination, 61 Pegasus Above the City Richardson, H. H., 155 157, 159 dust and, 90 dandelions as, 150 dust in, 92 (Schinkel), 46 roadways, 72, 73, 74, 76, streets exhaust and, 77 in history and theory, exhaust in, 73–76 Philippe Rahm Architects, 107 76, 77 barricades, 24 mud and, 118 150–56 flooding, 104, 105 Phrygians, House of the, 120 Robin Hood Gardens (Smithson exhaust and, 72-73 smoke and, 49 postwar American green building in, 24 Picon, Antoine, 22, 24 and Smithson), 136, 137 sewers and, 59 subhuman conditions of, 24 architecture and, 156–59 Holland Tunnel, 73–74, 75, Picturesque movement, 133, Roche, François, 22, 23, 99, water management and, 102, urban planning, 68–71, 69, 76 tillers of, 25 77 142, 151, 152–53 174, 177 103–4 Utopie, 62 uncontrollability of, 22 Lower Manhattan Expressway, The Pigeon Capsule (Crasset), Romanesque style, 155 subnature, 21–22, 211–15 Weizman, Eyal, 140, 142, 214 73, 74, 75 186–87, 190 The Roman House (Cesariano), elimination of, 54 Vassivière, France, 36, 40 West 8, 157, 159 nature in modern buildings, pigeonnier (dovecote), 180, 45 marginalization of, 23 Vatnsmyri Urban Plan (Lally/ Wigley, Mark, 171 21 181, 182 Romanticism, 154, 156 para-urban social networks Weathers), 68–71, 69 wind, 22, 23, 64, 198, 211 pigeons in, 183, 186 pigeons, 12, 25 Rome, city of, 100, 101, 103 and, 25 Venice, city of, 183, 184, 185 Wines, James, 156, 157 “public nature” in, 213 in history and theory, 180, Rotterdam, city of, 158–59 Sullivan, Louis, 154–55, 156 Venice Biennale, 95, 125 Woodbridge, S. H., 193 September 11, 2001, attack, 182–83, 185–87 R&Sie(n) Architects, 79, 157, sunlight, 23, 211 ventilation, 62–63, 74, 75, Woods, Lebbeus, 140, 174 93, 93, 95 uncontrollability of, 22 158, 159, 174, 212 Super Galaxy: NYC Tropospheric 76, 193 World War I, poison gas in, Times Square, 24, 63 Pilot Plant (NL Architects), Rudolph, Paul, 74, 75 Refuge (Johnson and Venturi, Robert, 88 60, 61 Washington Bridge Extension 54, 55–57, 57 ruins, 88, 100, 104, 132, Gattegno), 107, 109, 110–11, Vers une architecture [Towards World War II, 134–35, 139–40, Complex, 74, 76, 76, 77 Piranesi, Giovanni Battista, 133-35, 137, 139, 142 113 a New Architecture] 142, 214 New York, September 11, 2001 23, 88, 100, 103 Rusconi, Antonio, 151 (Le Corbusier), 73, 73 Germany bombed, 140–41 (Kurgan), 93, 93 Pittsburgh, city of, 49 Ruskin, John, 48–49, 51, 84n7 A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens), Vesuvius, Mount, 89, 90 Japan bombed, 137, 138–39, Niemeyer, Oscar, 185–86, 187 Plume/Idling, 54, 54 on dust and dirt, 88, 96 182 Vidler, Anthony, 35 139 NL Architects, 54, 107, 109 The Poetry of Architecture on pigeons, 183, 185 Tange, Kenzo, 137, 139 “View of the Aqueduct which London bombed, 135, 135, 137 nMBA (R&Sie(n) Architects), (Ruskin), 48 tear gas, 62 conveyed water from Salona Rotterdam bombed, 158–59 158, 164–66 pollution, 22, 54, 57, 79, sand, flow of, 192 technologies, 25, 34, 77, to the Palace [at Split]” WOS8 project (NL Architects), noise/sound, 72, 109, 192 109, 215 San Francisco, 53–54 173, 213 (Adam), 100, 101, 103 107, 108–9 automobile exhaust, 78 Schinkel, Karl Friedrich, 47, termites, 168 Views of Rome (Piranesi), Wright, Frank Lloyd, 51, 155– coal gas, 61 48, 49 Terragni, Giuseppe, 195 88, 89 56, 168, 169, 171 dust as, 88, 96 SeARCH, 36, 49 Terrain (Woods), 140 Villa Vals (SeARCH), 40, 41 Seine River, 103 Terreform, 214 222 223 subnature_04_FN2.indd 222-223 5/26/09 6:39:09 PM Im ag e c r e dits All images of contemporary Figs. 5.7 + 5.8: Cameraphoto Fig. 11.1: New York Public architecture (1978–present) Arte/La Biennale di Venezia Library are provided courtesy Fig. 6.1: Johns Hopkins Fig. 11.4: Fondation Le of the architects unless University, Fowler Corbusier/Artists Rights otherwise noted. Collection Society (ARS)/ADAGP, Paris Fig. 6.3: Bibliotheque Fig. 11.5: Kristina Seier Fig. 1.1: Johns Hopkins Nationale de France Figs. 11.12 + 11.3: Elizabeth University, Fowler Fig. 6.4: The Library of Felicella Collection Congress, Washington, DC Fig. 12.1: Institute of Civil Fig. 1.2: Bibliotheque Fig. 6.5: Corbis Engineers, London Nationale de France Fig. 6.6: The MIT Press, Fig. 12.3: The Museum of Modern Fig. 1.3: Getty Images Cambridge, MA Art, Artists Rights Society Fig. 1.4: Fondation Le Fig. 6.7: Royal Institute of (ARS), New York/VG Bild- Corbusier/Artists Rights British Architects, London Kunst, Bonn Society/ADAGP, Paris Figs. 6.8 – 6.10: Daria Fig. 12.4: Estate of R. Fig. 2.1: Johns Hopkins Scagliola Buckminster Fuller University, Fowler Fig. 6.18: Theodor Rzad/DigiTEd Collection Fig. 7.1: Johns Hopkins Fig. 2.2: Corbis University, Fowler Fig. 2.3: Bildarchiv Collection Preussischer Kulturbesitz/ Fig. 7.2: Corbis Art Resource Figs. 7.3 + 7.4: Getty Images Fig. 2.4: Johns Hopkins Fig. 7.5: Corbis University, Fowler Fig. 7.6: Royal Institute of Collection British Architects, London Fig. 2.5: Getty Images Figs. 7.7 – 7.10: Dennis Fig. 2.6: The Art Institute of Mortell Chicago, Chicago, Ryerson Fig. 8.1: Johns Hopkins and Burnham Archives, University, Fowler Historic Architecture and Collection Landscape Image Collection Fig. 8.3: Corbis Fig. 2.7: Getty Images Fig. 8.4: Tate Gallery, London/ Fig. 2.8: Bill Maris/ESTO Arts Resource, NY Fig. 2.9 (background Fig. 8.5: Royal Institute of photograph): British Architects, London Andrew Kudless Fig. 8.6: Getty Images Fig. 3.2: Giraudon Collection/ Fig. 8.7: The Museum of Modern Art Resource, NY Art Fig. 3.3: Getty Images Fig. 9.1: The Art Institute of Fig. 3.4: Berkeley Art Museum, Chicago, Ryerson and Burnham University of California, Archives, Chicago Berkeley, courtesy Architectural Sketch Club Chip Lord Collection Fig. 3.7: 2x4, New York Fig. 9.4: The Art Institute of Fig. 4.1: Fondation Le Chicago, Chicago, Ryerson Corbusier/Artists Rights and Burnham Archives, Society/ADAGP, Paris Chicago Architectural Sketch Fig. 4.2: New York Public Club Collection Library Fig. 10.1: New York Public Fig. 4.3: The Museum of Modern Library Art Fig. 10.2: Getty Images Figs. 4.4 + 4.5: Getty Images Fig. 10.3: Frank Lloyd Wright Fig. 5.2: Bibliotheque Foundation/ Artists Rights Nationale Society (ARS), NY de France Fig. 10.4: New York Public Figs. 5.3 + 5.4: Getty Images Library 224 subnature_04_FN2.indd 224 5/26/09 6:39:09 PM Im ag e c r e dits All images of contemporary Figs. 5.7 + 5.8: Cameraphoto Fig. 11.1: New York Public architecture (1978–present) Arte/La Biennale di Venezia Library are provided courtesy Fig. 6.1: Johns Hopkins Fig. 11.4: Fondation Le of the architects unless University, Fowler Corbusier/Artists Rights otherwise noted. Collection Society (ARS)/ADAGP, Paris Fig. 6.3: Bibliotheque Fig. 11.5: Kristina Seier Fig. 1.1: Johns Hopkins Nationale de France Figs. 11.12 + 11.3: Elizabeth University, Fowler Fig. 6.4: The Library of Felicella Collection Congress, Washington, DC Fig. 12.1: Institute of Civil Fig. 1.2: Bibliotheque Fig. 6.5: Corbis Engineers, London Nationale de France Fig. 6.6: The MIT Press, Fig. 12.3: The Museum of Modern Fig. 1.3: Getty Images Cambridge, MA Art, Artists Rights Society Fig. 1.4: Fondation Le Fig. 6.7: Royal Institute of (ARS), New York/VG Bild- Corbusier/Artists Rights British Architects, London Kunst, Bonn Society/ADAGP, Paris Figs. 6.8 – 6.10: Daria Fig. 12.4: Estate of R. Fig. 2.1: Johns Hopkins Scagliola Buckminster Fuller University, Fowler Fig. 6.18: Theodor Rzad/DigiTEd Collection Fig. 7.1: Johns Hopkins Fig. 2.2: Corbis University, Fowler Fig. 2.3: Bildarchiv Collection Preussischer Kulturbesitz/ Fig. 7.2: Corbis Art Resource Figs. 7.3 + 7.4: Getty Images Fig. 2.4: Johns Hopkins Fig. 7.5: Corbis University, Fowler Fig. 7.6: Royal Institute of Collection British Architects, London Fig. 2.5: Getty Images Figs. 7.7 – 7.10: Dennis Fig. 2.6: The Art Institute of Mortell Chicago, Chicago, Ryerson Fig. 8.1: Johns Hopkins and Burnham Archives, University, Fowler Historic Architecture and Collection Landscape Image Collection Fig. 8.3: Corbis Fig. 2.7: Getty Images Fig. 8.4: Tate Gallery, London/ Fig. 2.8: Bill Maris/ESTO Arts Resource, NY Fig. 2.9 (background Fig. 8.5: Royal Institute of photograph): British Architects, London Andrew Kudless Fig. 8.6: Getty Images Fig. 3.2: Giraudon Collection/ Fig. 8.7: The Museum of Modern Art Resource, NY Art Fig. 3.3: Getty Images Fig. 9.1: The Art Institute of Fig. 3.4: Berkeley Art Museum, Chicago, Ryerson and Burnham University of California, Archives, Chicago Berkeley, courtesy Architectural Sketch Club Chip Lord Collection Fig. 3.7: 2x4, New York Fig. 9.4: The Art Institute of Fig. 4.1: Fondation Le Chicago, Chicago, Ryerson Corbusier/Artists Rights and Burnham Archives, Society/ADAGP, Paris Chicago Architectural Sketch Fig. 4.2: New York Public Club Collection Library Fig. 10.1: New York Public Fig. 4.3: The Museum of Modern Library Art Fig. 10.2: Getty Images Figs. 4.4 + 4.5: Getty Images Fig. 10.3: Frank Lloyd Wright Fig. 5.2: Bibliotheque Foundation/ Artists Rights Nationale Society (ARS), NY de France Fig. 10.4: New York Public Figs. 5.3 + 5.4: Getty Images Library 224 subnature_04_FN2.indd 224 5/26/09 6:39:09 PM