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Fireworks, Manifesto, 1974.

The Architectural Paradox

1. Most people concerned with architecture feel some sort

of disillusion and dismay. None of the early utopian ideals

of the twentieth century has materialized! none of its social

aims has succeeded. Blurred by reality! the ideals have turned

into redevelopment nightmares and the aims into bureau­

cratic policies. The split between social reality and utopian

dream has been total! the gap between economic constraints

and the illusion of all-solving technique absolute. Pointed

Space

out by critics who knew the limits of architectural remedies,

this historical split has now been bypassed by attempts to

reformulate the concepts of architecture. In the process, a

new split appears. More complex, it is not the symptom of

professional naivete or economic ignorance but the sign of a

fundamental question that lies in the very nature of archi­

tecture and of its essential element: space. By focusing on

itself, architecture has entered an unavoidable paradox that

is more present in space than anywhere else: the impossibil­

ity of questioning the nature of space and at the same time

experiencing a spatial praxis.

2. I have no intention of reviewing architectural trends and

their connection to the arts. My general emphasis on space

rather than on disciplines (art, architecture, semiology, etc.)

is not aimed at negating academic categorization. The merg­

ing of disciplines is too worn a path to provide a stimulating

itinerary. Instead, I would like to focus attention on the

present paradox of space and on the nature of its terms, trying

to indicate how one might go beyond this self-contradiction,

even if the answer should prove intolerable. I begin by re­

calling the historical context of this paradox. I will examine

first those trends that consider architecture as a thing of the

mind, as a dematerialized or conceptual discipline, with its

linguistic or morphological variations (the Pyramid); second,

empirical research that concentrates on the senses, on the

experience of space as well as on the relationship between

space and praxis (the Labyrinth); and third, the contradictory

nature of these two terms and the difference between the

means of escaping the paradox by shifting the actual nature

of the debate, as, for example, through politics, and the means

that alter the paradox altogether (the Pyramid and the
Labyrinth).

3. Etymologically, to define space means both II to make

space distinct” and lito state the precise nature of space.

Much of the current confusion about space can be illustrated

by this ambiguity. While art and architecture have been con­

cerned essentially with the first sense, philosophy, mathe­

matics, and physics have tried throughout history to give

interpretations to something variously described as a “ma­

terial thing in which all material things are located /I or as

“something subjective with which the mind categorizes

things.” Remember: with Descartes ended the Aristotelian

tradition according to which space and time were /I cate­

gories” that enabled the classification of “sensory knowl­

edge./I Space became absolute. Object before the subject, it

dominated senses and bodies by containing them. Was space

inherent to the totality of what exists? This was the question

of space for Spinoza and Leibniz. Returning to the old notion

of category, Kant described space as neither matter nor the

set of objective relations between things but as an ideal in­

ternal structure, an a priori consciousness, an instrument of

knowledge. Subsequent mathematical developments on

non-Euclidean spaces and their topologies did not eliminate

the philosophical discussions. These reappeared with the

widening gap between abstract spaces and society. But space

was generally accepted as a cosa mentaie, a sort of all-

The Architectural Paradox
28 29

Space

embracing set with subsets such as literary space, ideological

space, and psychoanalytical space.

4. Architecturally, to define space (to make space distinct)

literally meant “to determine boundaries.” Space had rarely

been discussed by architects before the beginning of the

twentieth century. But by 1915 it meant Raum with all its

overtones of German esthetics, with the notion of Raum­

empfindung or “felt volume.” By 1923 the idea of felt space

had merged with the idea of composition to become a three­

dimensional continuum, capable of metrical subdivision

that could be related to academic rules. From then on, ar­

chitectural space was consistently seen as a uniformly ex­

tended material to be modeled in various ways, and the

history of architecture as the history of spatial concepts.

From the Greek “power of interacting volumes” to the Ro­

man “hollowed-out interior space,” from the modern “inter­

action between inner and outer space” to the concept of

“transparency,” historians and theorists referred to space as

a three-dimensional lump of matter.

To draw a parallel between the philosophies

of a period and the spatial concepts of architecture is always

tempting, but never was it done as obsessively as during the

1930s. Giedion related Einstein’s theory of relativity to cub­

ist painting, and cubist planes were translated into architec­

ture in Le Corbusier’s Villa Stein at Garches. Despite these

space-time concepts, the notion of space remained that of a

simplistic and amorphous matter to be defined by its physical

boundaries. By the late 1960s, freed from the technological

determinants of the postwar period and aware of recent lin­

guistic studies, architects talked about the square, the street,

and the arcade, wondering if these did not constitute a little­

known code of space with its own syntax and meaning. Did

language precede these socioeconomic urban spaces, did it

accompany them, or did it follow them? Was space a condi­

tion or a formulation? To say that language preceded these

spaces was certainly not obvious: human activities leave

traces that may precede language. So was there a relationship

between space and language, could one “read” a space? Was

there a dialectic between social praxis and spatial forms?

5. Yet the gap remained between ideal space (the product

of mental processes) and real space (the product of social

praxis). Although such a distinction is certainly not ideolog­

ically neutral, we shall see that it is in the nature of archi­

tecture. As a result, the only successful attempts to bridge

this philosophical gap were those that introduced historical

or political concepts such as “production,” in the wide sense

it had in Marx’s early texts. Much research in France and in

Italy opposed space II as a pure form” to space “as a social

product,” space “as an intermediary” to space “as a means

of reproduction of the mode of production.”

This politico-philosophical critique had the

advantage of giving an all-embracing approach to space,

avoiding the previous dissociation between the “particular”

(fragmented social space), the “general” (logico-mathemati­

calor mental spaces), and the “singular” (physical and delin­

eated spaces). But by giving an overall priority to historical

30 31 The Architectural Paradox

Space

processes, it often reduced space to one of the numerous

socioeconomic products that were perpetuating a political

status quo. 1

6. Before proceeding to a detailed examination of the am­

bivalence of the definition of space, it is perhaps useful to

consider briefly this particular expression of space in archi­

tecture. Its territory extends from an all-embracing Itevery­

thing is architecture” to Hegel’s minimal definition. This

latter interpretation must be pointed out, for it describes a

difficulty that is constitutive to architecture. When Hegel

elaborated his aesthetic theory,7- he conventionally distin­

guished five arts and gave them an order: architecture, sculp­

ture, painting, music, and poetry. He started with

architecture because he thought it preceded the others in

both conceptual and historical terms. Hegel’s uneasiness in

these first pages is striking. His embarrassment did not really

proceed from his conservative classification but was caused

by a question that had haunted architects for centuries: were

the functional and technical characteristics of a house or a

temple the means to an end that excluded those very char­

acteristics? Where did the shed end and architecture begin?

Was architectural discourse a discourse about whatever did

not relate to the “building” itself? Hegel concluded in the

affirmative: architecture was whatever in a building did not

point to utility. Architecture was a sort of Itartistic supple­

ment” added to the simple building. But the difficulty of

such an argument appears when one tries to conceive of a

building that escapes the utility of space, a building that

would have no other purpose than “architecture.”

Although such a question may be irrelevant,

it finds a surprising echo in the present search for architec­

tural autonomy. After more than half a century of scientific

pretense, of system theories that defined it as the intersection

of industrialization, sociology, politics, and ecology, archi­

tecture wonders if it can exist without haVing to find its

meaning or its justification in some purposeful exterior need.

The Pyramid: Stating the Nature of Space (or The Dematerialization
of Architecture)

7. Little concemed with Hegel’s “artistic supplement/ ar­

chitects have nevertheless not regarded the constructed

bUilding as the sole and inevitable aim of their activity. They

have shown a renewed interest in the idea of playing an active

role in fulfilling ideological and philosophical functions with

respect to architecture. Just as El Lissitzky and the Vesnin

brothers sought to deny the importance of realizing a work

and stressed an architectural attitude, so the avant-garde

feels reasonably free to act within the realm of concepts.

Comparable to the early conceptual artists’ rejection of the

art commodity market and its alienating effects, the archi­

tects’ position seems justified by the very remote possibility

they had of building anything other than a “mere reflection

of the prevalent mode of production.”

Moreover, historical precedents exist to give

enough credibility to what could paradoxically be described

33 The Architectural Paradox32

Space

either as a withdrawal from reality or as a takeover of new

and unknown territories. “What is architecture?” asked

BoulIee. “WillI define it with Vitruviusas the art of building?

No. This definition contains a crass error. Vitruvius takes

the effect for the cause. One must conceive in order to make.

Our forefathers only built their hut after they had conceived

its image. This production of the mind, this creation is what

constitutes architecture, that which we now can define as

the art to produce any building and bring it to perfection.

The art of building is thus only a secondary art that it seems

appropriate to call the scientific part of architecture.”3 At a

time when architectural memory rediscovers its role, archi­

tectural history, with its treatises and manifestos, has been

conveniently confirming to architects that spatial concepts

were made by the writings and drawings of space as much as

by their built translations.

The questions, “is there any reason why one

cannot proceed from design that can be constructed to design

that concerns itself only with the ideology and concept of

architecture?” and architectural work consists ot ques­

tioning the nature of architecture, what prevents us from

making this questioning a work of architecture in itself ?”4

were already rhetorical questions in 1972. The renewed im­

portance given to conceptual aims in architecture quickly

became established. The medium used for the communica­

tion of concepts became architecture; information was ar­

chitecture; the attitude was architecture; the written

program or brief was architecture; gossip was architecture;

production was architecture; and inevitably, the architect

was architecture. Escaping the predictable ideological com­

promises of building, the architect could finally achieve the

sensual satisfaction that the making of material objects no

longer provided.

8. The dematerialization of architecture into the realm of

concepts was more the characteristic of a period than of any

particular avant-garde group. Thus it developed in various

directions and struck movements as ideologically opposed

as, for example, “radical architecture”s and “rational archi­

tecture.”6 But the question it asked was fundamental: if

everything was architecture, by virtue of the architect’s de­

cision, what distinguished architecture from any other hu­

man activity? This quest for identity revealed that the

architect’s freedom did not necessarily coincide with the

freedom of architecture.

If architecture seemed to have gained free­

dom from the socioeconomic constraints of building pro­

cesses, any radical counter-designs and manifestos were

inevitably reinstated in the commercial circuits of galleries

or magazines. Like conceptual art in the mid-1960s, archi­

tecture seemed to have gained autonomy by opposing the

institutional framework. But in the process it had become

the institutional opposition, thus growing into the very thing

it tried to oppose.

Although some architects, following a polit­

ical analysis that we shall soon describe, were in favor of

doing away with architecture altogether, the search for au·

tonom~ inevitably turned back toward architecture itself, as

35 The Architectural Paradox34

Space

no other context would readily provide for it. The question

became: “Is there an architectural essence, a being that tran­

scends all social, political, and economic systems?” This

ontological bias injected new blood into a concept that al­

ready had been well aired by art theorists. Investigations into

Hegel’s “supplement” received the support of structural lin­

guistic studies in France and Italy. Analogies with language

appeared en masse, some useful, some particularly naive and

misleading. Among these linguistic analogies, two figure

prominently.

9. The first theory claims that the Hegelian “supplement,”

added to the simple building and constitutive of architecture,

is immediately struck by some semantic expansion that

would force this architectural supplement to be less a piece

of architecture than the representation of something else.

Architecture is then nothing but the space of representation.

As soon as it is distinguished from the simple building, it

represents something other than itself: the social structure,

the power of the King, the idea of God, and so on.

The second theory questions an understand­

ing of architecture as a language that refers to meanings

outside itself. It refuses the interpretation of a three-dimen­

sional translation of social values, for architecture would

then be nothing but the linguistic product of social deter­

minants. It thus claims that the architectural object is pure

language and that architecture is an endless manipulation of

the grammar and syntax of the architectural sign. Rational

architecture, for example, becomes a selected vocabulary of

architectural elements of the past, with their oppositions,

contrasts, and redistributions. Not only does it refer to itself

and to its own history, but function-the existential justifi­

cation of the work-becomes virtual rather than real. So the

language is closed in on itself, and architecture becomes a

truly autonomous organism. Forms do not follow functions

but refer to other forms, and functions relate to symbols.

Ultimately architecture frees itself from reality altogether.

Form does not need to call for external justifications. In a

critical article in Oppositions, Manfredo Tafuri can thus de­

scribe Aldo Rossi’s architecture as “a universe of carefully

selected signs, within which the law of exclusion dominates,

and in fact is the controlling expression, II and the trend it

represents as “l’Architecture dans le Boudoir” because the

circle drawn around linguistic experimentation reveals a

pregnant affinity with the obseSSively rigorous writings of
the Marquis de Sade. 7

Freed from reality, independent of ideology,

architectural values are striving toward a purity unattained

since the Russian formalist criticism of the 1920s, when it

was argued that the only valid object of literary criticism was

the literary text. Here, the tautology of architecture-that is,

an architecture that describes itself-becomes a syntax of

empty signs, often derived from a selective historicism that

concentrates on moments of history: the early modern move­

ment, the Roman monument, the Renaissance palace, the

castle. Transmitted through history, and removed from the

constraints of their time, can these signs, these diagrams of

spaces become the generative matrices of today’s work?

The Architectural Paradox37S6

Space

10. They might. Architectural theory shares with art theory

a peculiar characteristic: it is prescriptive. So the series of

signs and articulations that has just been described may un­

doubtedly prove a useful model for architects engaged in a

perpetual search for new support disciplines, even if it is not

clear whether systems of nonverbal signs, such as space,

proceed from concepts similar to verbal systems. However,

the real importance of this research lies in the question it

asks about the nature of architecture rather than in the mak­

ing of architecture. This is not without recalling the perverse

and hypothetical search for the very origins of architecture.

Remember: at the outset, does architecture produce copies

or models? If it cannot imitate an order, can it constitute

one, whether it be the world or society? Must architecture

create its own model, if it has no created model? Positive

answers inevitably imply some archetype. But as this arche­

type cannot exist outside architecture, architecture must

produce one itself. It thus becomes some sort of an essence

that precedes existence. So the architect is once again lithe

person who conceives the form of the building without ma­

nipulating materials himself.” He conceives the pyramid,

this ultimate model of reason. Architecture becomes a cosa

mentale and the forms conceived by the architect ensure the

domination of the idea over matter.

The Labyrinth: Making Space Distinct (or The Experience of Space)

11. Should I intensify the quarantine in the chambers of the

Pyramid of reason? Shall I sink to depths where no one will

be able to reach me and understand me, living among ab­

stract connections more frequently expressed by inner mon­

ologues than by direct realities? Shall architecture, which

started with the building of tombs, retum to the Tomb, to

the etemal silence of finally transcended historyt Shall ar­

chitecture perform at the service of illusory functions and

build virtual spaces~ My voyage into the abstract realm of

language, into the dematerialized world of concepts, meant

the removal of architecture from its intricate and convo­

luted element: space. Removal from the exhilarating differ­

ences between the apse and the nave of Ely Cathedral,

between Salisbury Plain and Stonehenge, between the Street

and my Living Room. Space is real, for it seems to affect my

senses long before my reason. The materiality of my body

both coincides with and struggles with the materiality of

space. My body carries in itself spatial properties and spatial

determination: up, down, right, left, symmetry, dissymme­

try. It hears as much as it sees. Unfolding against the pro­

jections of reason, against the Absolute Truth, against the

Pyramid, here is the Sensory Space, the Labyrinth, the Hole.

Dislocated and dissociated by language or culture or econ­

omy into the specialized ghettos of sex and mind, Soho and

Bloomsbury, 42nd Street and West 40th Street, here is where

my body tries to rediscover its lost unity, its energies and

impulses, its rhythms and its flux …

12. This purely sensory approach has been a recurrent theme

in this century’s understanding and appreciation of space. It

is not necessary to expand at length on the precedents wit­

38 39 The Architectural Paradox

Space

nessed by twentieth-century architecture. Suffice it to say

that current conversation seems to fluctuate between (aJ the

German esthetic overtones of the Raumempfindung theory,

whereby space is to be 1/felt” as something affecting the inner

nature of man by a symbolic Einfiihlung, and (b) an idea that

echoes Schlemmer’s work at the Bauhaus, whereby space

was not only the medium of experience but also the mater­

ialization of theory. For example, the emphasis given to

movement found in dance the “elemental means for the

realization of space-creative impulses,” for dance could ar­

ticulate and order space. The parallel made between the dan­

cer’s movements and the more traditional means of defining

and articulating space, such as walls or columns, is impor­

tant. When the dancers Trisha Brown and Simone Forti re­

introduced this spatial discussion in the mid-1960s, the

relationship between theory and practice, reason and percep­

tion, had to take another tum, and the concept of theoretical

praxis could not be simply indicative. There was no way in

space to follow the art-language practice. If it could be argued

that the discourse about art was art and thus could be exhib­

ited as such, the theoretical discourse about space certainly

was not space.

The attempt to trigger a new perception of

space reopened a basic philosophical question. Remember:

you are inside an enclosed space with equal height and width.

Do your eyes instruct you about the cube merely by noticing

it, without giving any additional interpretation? No. You

don’t really see the cube. You may see a comer, or a side, or

the ceilin& but never all defining surfaces at the same time.

You touch a wall, you hear an echo. But how do you relate

all these perceptions to one single object? Is it through an

operation of reason?

13. This operation of reason, which precedes the perception

of the cube as a cube, was mirrored by the approach of con­

cept-performance artists. While your eyes were giving in­

structions about successive parts of the cube, allowing you

to form the concept of cube, the artist was giving instructions

about the concept of cube, stimulating your senses through

the intermediary of reason. This reversal, this mirror image,

was important, for the interplay between the new perception

of “performance” space and the rational means at the origin

of the piece was typically one aspect of the architectural

process: the mechanics of perception of a distinct space, that

is the complete space of the performance, with the move­

ments, the thoughts, the received instructions of the actors,

as well as the social and physical context in which they

performed. But the most interesting part of such performance

was the underlying discussion on the “nature of space” in

general, as opposed to the shaping and perception of distinct

spaces in particular.

It is in recent works that the recurring etym­

ological distinction appears at its strongest. Reduced to the

cold simplicity of six planes that define the boundaries of a

more or less regular cube, the series of spaces designed by

Bruce Nauman, Doug Wheeler, Robert Iwin, or Michael

Asher do not play with elaborate spatial articulations. Their

emphasis is elsewhere. By restricting visual and physical

4140 The Architectural Paradox

Space

perception to the faintest of all stimulations, they tum the

expected experience of the space into something altogether

different. The almost totally removed sensory definition in­

evitably throws the viewers back on themselves. In “de­

prived space,” to borrow the terminology of Germano Celant,

the “participants” can only find themselves as the subject,

aware only of their own fantasies and pulsations, able only

to react to the low-density signals of their own bodies. The

materiality of the body coincides with the materiality of the

space. By a series of exclusions that become significant only

in opposition to the remote exterior space and social context,

the subjects only “experience their own experience.”

14. Whether such spaces might be seen as reminiscent of the

behaviorist spaces of the beginning of the century, where

reactions were hopefully triggered, or as the new echo of the

Raumempflndung theory, now cleaned-up of its moral and

esthetic overtones, is of little theoretical importance. What

matters is their double content: for their way to “make space

distinct” (to define space in particular) is only there to throw

one back on the interpretation of the “nature of space” itself.

As opposed to the previously described pyramid of reason,

the dark comers of experience are not unlike a labyrinth

where all sensations, all feelings are enhanced, but where no

overview is present to provide a clue about how to get out.

Occasional consciousness is of little help, for perception in

the Labyrinth presupposes immediacy. Unlike Hegel’s clas­

sical distinction between the moment of perception and the

moment of experience (when one’s consciousness makes a

new object out of a perceived one), the metaphorical Laby­

rinth implies that the first moment of perception carries the

experience itself.

It is hardly surprising, therefore, that there

may be no way out of the Labyrinth. Denis Hollier, in his

book on Georges Bataille, 8 points out that from Bacon to

Leibniz the Labyrinth was linked with the desire to get out,

and science was seen as the means to find an exit. Rejecting

such an interpretation, Bataille suggested that its only effect

was to transform the Labyrinth into a banal prison. The

traditional meaning of the metaphor was reversed: one never

knows whether one is inside or not, since one cannot grasp

it in one look. Just as language gives us words that encircle

us but that we use in order to break their surround, the

Labyrinth of experience was full of openings that did not tell

whether they opened toward its outside or its inside.

The Pyramid and the Labyrinth: The Paradox of Architecture

15. To single out particular areas of concern, such as the

rational play of language as opposed to the experience of the

senses, would be a tedious game if it were to lead to a naive

confrontation between the mind and the body. The architec­

tural avant-garde has fought often enough over alternatives

that appeared as opposites-structure and chaos, ornament

and purity, permanence and change, reason and intuition.

And often enough it has been shown that such alternatives

were in fact complementary: our analysis of a demateriali­

zation of architecture in its ontological form (the Pyramid)

The Architectural Paradox
4342

Space

and of a sensual experience Ithe Labyrinth) is no different.

But if the existence of such an equation does not raise doubts

over its complementarity, it certainly raises questions about

how such equations can go beyond the vicious circle of terms

that speak only of themselves.

The answer may lie in the context in which

such an equation takes place. A common accusation of anal­

yses or even of works that concentrate on the specific nature

of architecture is that they are “parallel/’ that is, they fold

and unfold in some Panglossian world where social and eco­

nomic forces are conveniently absent. Not affecting the de­

termining forces of production, they constitute harmless

forms of private expression. We shall therefore briefly con­

sider the ambiguous particularities of the relationships be­

tween architecture and politics.

16. These have been well researched in the past few years.

The role of architecture and planning has been analyzed in

terms of a projection on the ground of the images of social

institutions, as a faithful translation of the structures of

society into buildings or cities. Such studies underline the

difficulty architecture has in acting as a political instrument.

Recalling the nostalgic and attenuated cry of the Russian

revolutionary” social condensers” of the 1920s, some advo­

cated the use of space as a peaceful tool of social transfor­

mation, as a means of changing the relation between the

individual and society by generating new lifestyles. But the

“clubs” and community buildings proposed not only re­

quired an existing revolutionary society but also a blind be­

lief in an interpretation of behaviorism according to which

individual behavior could be influenced by the organization

of space. Aware that spatial organization may temporarily

modify individual or group behavior, but does not imply that

it will change the socioeconomic structure of a reactionary

society, architectural revolutionaries looked for better

grounds. Their attempts to find a socially relevant, if not

revolutionary, role for architecture culminated in the years

following the May 1968 events with “guerrilla” buildings,

whose symbolic and exemplary value lay in their seizure of

urban space and not in the design of what was built. On the

cultural front, plans for a surrealistic destruction of estab­

lished value systems were devised by Italian “radical” de­

signers. This nihilistic prerequisite for social and economic

change was a desperate attempt to use the architect’s mode

of expression to denounce institutional trends by translating

them into architectural terms, ironically “verifying where

the system was going” by designing the cities of a desperate

future.

Not surprisingly, it was the question of the

production system that finally led to more realistic propos­

als. Aimed at redistributing the capitalistic division of labor,

these proposals sought a new understanding of the techni­

cians’ role in building, in terms of a responsible partnership

directly involved in the production cycle, thus shifting the

concept of architecture toward the general organization of

building processes.

44 45 The Architectural Paradox

Space

17. Yet it is the unreal (or unrealistic) position of the artist

or architect that may be its very reality. Except for the last

attitude, most political approaches suffered from the pre­

dictable isolation of schools of architecture that tried to offer

their environmental knowledge to the revolution. Hegel’s

architecture, the “supplement/’ did not seem to have the

right revolutionary edge. Or did it? Does architecture, in its

long-established isolation, contain more revolutionary

power than its numerous transfers into the objective realities

of the building industry and social housing? Does the social

function of architecture lie in its very lack of function? In

fact, architecture may have little other ground.

as the surrealists could not find the right

compromise between scandal and social acceptance, archi­

tecture seems to have little choice between autonomy and

commitment, between the radical anachronism of Schiller’s

“courage to talk of roses” and society. If the architectural

piece renounces its autonomy by recognizing its latent ideo­

logical and financial dependency, it accepts the mechanisms

of society. If it sanctuarizes itself in an art-for-art’s-sake po­

sition, it does not escape classification among existing ideo­

logical compartments.

So architecture seems to survive only when

it saves its nature by negating the form that society expects

of it. I would therefore suggest that there has never been any

reason to doubt the necessity of architecture, for the neces­

sity of architecture is its non-necessity. It is useless, but

radically 80. Its radicalism constitutes its very strength in a

society where profit is prevalent. Rather than an obscure

artistic supplement or a cultural justification for financial

manipulations, architecture is not unlike fireworks, for these

“empirical apparitions/’ as Adorno puts it, “produce a de­

light that cannot be sold or bought, that has no exchange

value and cannot be integrated in the production cycle. “9

18. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that the non-necessity

of architecture, its necessary loneliness, throws it back on

itself. If its role is not defined by society, architecture will

have to define it alone. Until 1750, architectural space could

rely on the paradigm of the ancient precedent. After that

time, until well into the twentieth century, this classical

source of unity progressively became the socially determined

program. In view of the present-day polarization of ontolog­

ical discourse and sensual experience, I am well aware that

any suggestion that they now form the inseparable but mu­

tually exclusive terms of architecture requires some eluci­

dation. This must begin with a description of the apparent

impossibility of escaping from the paradox of the Pyramid of

concepts and the Labyrinth of experience, of immaterial ar­

chitecture as a concept and of material architecture as a

presence.

To restate my point, the paradox is not about

the impossibility of perceiving both architectural concept

six faces of the cube) and real space at the same time

about the impossibility of questioning the nature of space

and at the same time making or experiencing a real space.

Unless we search for an escape from architecture into the

general organization of building processes, the paradox per-

The Architectural Paradox4746

Space

sists: architecture is made of two terms that are interdepen­

dent but mutually exclusive. Indeed, architecture

constitutes the reality of experience while this reality gets

in the way of the overall vision. Architecture constitutes the

abstraction of absolute truth, while this very truth gets in

the way of feeling. We cannot both experience and think that

we experience. liThe concept of dog does not bark”;l0 the

concept of space is not in space.

In the same way, the achievement of archi­

tectural reality (building) defeats architectural theory while

at the same time being a product of it. So theory and praxis

may be dialectic to one another, but in space, the translation

of the concept, the overcoming of the abstraction in reality,

involves the dissolution of the dialectic and an incomplete

statement. This means, in effect, that, perhaps for the £lIst

time in history, architecture can never be. The effect of the

great battles of social progress is obliterated, and so is the

security of archetypes. Defined by its questioning, architec­

ture is always the expression of a lack, a shortcoming, a

noncompletion. It always misses something, either reality

or concept. Architecture is both being and nonbeing. The

only alternative to the paradox is silence, a final nihilistic

statement that might provide modern architectural history

with its ultimate punchline, its self-annihilation.

19. Before leaving this brief exploration of architecture as

paradox, it is tempting to suggest a way of accepting the

paradox while refuting the silence it seems to imply. This

conclusion may be intolerable to philosophers, in that it

alters the subject of architecture, you and L It may be intol­

erable to scientists who want to master the subject of science.

It may be intolerable to artists who want to objectify the

subject.

Let us first examine the Labyrinth. In the

course of this argument, it has been implied that the Laby­

rinth shows itself as a slow history of space, but that a total

revelation of the Labyrinth is historically impossible because

no point of transcendence in time is available. One can par­

ticipate in and share the fundamentals of the Labyrinth, but

one’s perception is only part of the Labyrinth as it manifests

itself. One can never see it in totality, nor can one express it.

One is condemned to it and cannot go outside and see the

whole. But remember: Icarus flew away, toward the sun. So

after all, does the way out of the Labyrinth lie in the making

of the Pyramid, through a projection of the subject toward

some transcendental objectivity? Unfortunately not. The

Labyrinth cannot be dominated. The top of the Pyramid is

an imaginary place, and Icarus fell down: the nature of the

Labyrinth is such that it entertains dreams that include the

dream of the Pyramid.

20. But the real importance of the Labyrinth and of its spatial

experience lies elsewhere. The Pyramid, the analysis of the

architectural object, the breaking down of its forms and ele­

ments, all cut away from the question of the subject. Along

with the spatial praxis mentioned earlier, the sensual archi­

tecture reality is not experienced as an abstract object already

transformed by consciousness but as an immediate and con­

49 The Architectural Paradox48

Space

crete human activity-as a praxis, with all its subjectivity.

This importance of the subject is in clear opposition to all

philosophical and historical attempts to objectify the im­

mediate perception of reality, for example, in the relations

of production. To talk about the Labyrinth and its praxis

means to insist here on its subjective aspects: it is personal

and requires an immediate experience. Opposed to Hegel’s

and close to Bataille’s “interior experience,” this

immediacy bridges sensory pleasure and reason. It introduces

new articulations between the inside and the outside, be­

tween private and public spaces. It suggests new oppositions

between dissociated terms and new relations between ho­

mogeneous spaces. This immediacy does not give precedence

to the experiential term, however. For it is only by recogniz­

ing the architectural rule that the subject of space will reach

the depth of experience and its sensuality. Like eroticism,

architecture needs both system and excess.

21. This “experience” may have repercussions that go far

beyond man as its “subject.” Tom between rationality and

the demand for irrationality, our present society moves to­

ward other attitudes. If system plus excess is one of its symp­

toms, we may soon have to consider architecture as the

indispensable complement to this changing praxis. In the

past, architecture gave linguistic metaphors (the Castle, the

Structure, the Labyrinth) to society. It may now provide the

cultural modeL

As long as social practice the paradox

of ideal and real space, imagination-interior eXpelneJnCI~-

may be the only means to transcend it. By changing the

prevalent attitudes toward space and its subject, the dream

of the step beyond the paradox can even provide the condi­

tions for renewed social attitudes. Just as eroticism is the

pleasure of excess rather than the excess of pleasure, so the

solution of the paradox is the imaginary blending of the

architecture rule and the experience of pleasure.

50 51 The Architectural Paradox

Notes

The Architectural Paradox

1. For these issues, see the interpretation offered by Henri

Lefebvre in La production de I’espace, (Paris: Editions Anthrapos,

1973), and the texts of Castells and Utopie. See also Bernard

Tschumi, “Flashback,” on the politics of space, in Architectural

Design, October-November 1975.

2. Friedrich Hegel, The Philosophy of Fin e Art, vol. 1 (London:

G. Bell and Sons, Ltd, 1920).

3. Etienne-Louis Boullee, Essai sur I ‘Art, ed. Perouse de

Montclos (Paris: Herman, 1968).

4. On the ideological crisis of architecture and the emergence

of radical architecture, see Germano Celant (quoted here) in The

New Italian Landscape (New York: Museum of Modem Art, 1972),

320.

Notes

5. Originated in Florence from 1963 to 1971 by groups such

as Superstudio, Archizoom, UFO, and so forth, radical architecture

explored the destruction of culture and its artifacts. “The ultimate

end of modern architecture is the elimination of architecture alto­

gether” (Archizoom Associates).

6. One of the first and most significant events of rational

architecture was the XV Milan Triennale, organized by AIdo Rossi,

whose catalogue, edited by Franco Angeli, bore the title of Archi­

tettura Razionale (Milan: F. Angeli, 1973).

7. “The return to language is a proof of failure. It is necessary

to examine to what such a failure is due to the intrinsic

character of the architectural discipline and to what degree it is due

to a still unresolved ambiguity.” Manfredo TaIuri, Oppositions 3,

May 1974, where the author develops a historical critique of tradi­

tional approaches to theory and shifts from a central focus on the

criticism of architecture to the criticism of ideology.

8. Denis Hollier, La Prise de la Concorde (Paris: Gallimard,

1974), the reading of which suggested the opposition between the

labyrinth and the pyramid. See also Georges Bataille, Eroticism

(London: Calder, 1962) and “L’Experience Interieure,” in Oeuvres

Completes (Paris: Gallimard, 1971).

9. Bernard Tschumi, “Fireworks,” 1974, extract from A

Space: A Thousand Words (London: Royal College of Art Gallery,

1975) “Yes, just as all the eroticforces contained in your movement

have been consumed for nothing, architecture must be conceived,

erected and burned in vain. The greatest architecture of all is the

fireworker’s: it perfectly shows the gratuitous consumDtion of

10. B. Spinoza (1622-1677), quoted by Henri Lefebvre in con­

versation with the author, Paris, 1972.

Architecture and Transgression

1. London, 1975. With Peter Eisenman, RoseLee Goldberg,

Peter Cook, Colin Rowe, John Stezaker, Bernard Tschumi, Cedric

Price, Will Alsop, Charles Jencks, and Joseph Rykwert, among

others.

2. Cf. G. W. F. The Philosophy of Fine Art, vol. 1

(London: G. Bell and Sons, Ltd, 1920).

3. See also such magazines as Casabella and Architectural

Design for their documentation of the work of Superstudio, Archi­

zoom, Hans Hollein, Wal ter Pichler, Raimund Abraham, and so

forth.

4. Cf. Architettura Razionale, (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1973).

5. Cf. A Space: A Thousand Words (London: Royal College

of Art Gallery, 1975); The Chronicle of Space, documenting student

work done in the Diploma School of the Architectural Association,

London, from 1974-1975; the “Real Space” conference at the Ar­

chitectural Association with Germano Daniel Buren, Brian

Eno, and others.

6. It is not necessary to expatiate at length on the twentieth­

century precedents. Suffice it to say that current discourse seems

to fluctuate between the 1910 German aesthetic overtones of the

Raumempfindung theory, whereby space is to be “felt” as some­

262 263 Not es

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