On poetry and the fatigue of repetition: Jean Nouvel's Louisiana Manifesto

I recently read Jean Nouvel's Louisiana Manifesto and share his thoughts on place, soul and poetry as mentioned in the following extract of his text.
The search for a true architecture in a world of, as he calls them 'princes of repetition' the fatigue of repetition and mediocracy, the importance of getting as far away from preconceived answers as possible and liberating our minds to ask the right questions.
A manifesto so relevant to our time and worth citing:

"Architecture seen as the modification of a physical, atomic, biological continuum.
As the modification of a fragment situated at the heart of our immense universe amidst the dizzying discoveries made by macro- and nano-physics.
Whatever the scale of the transformation, of a site or a place, how are we to communicate the unpredictability of the mutation of a living fragment?
Can we domesticate the visible components - clouds, plant life, living organisms of every size - what signs, reflections, new plantings?
How does one create a vibration that evokes a hidden depth, a soul?
This is surely a task for poetry, since only poetry can produce "the metaphysics of the instant".
To work at the limits of the achievable - with the mysterious, the fragile, the natural.
To anticipate the weathering of time, patina, materials that change, that age with character.
To work with imperfection as a revelation of the limits of the accessible.
These architectures that kill emotion are not Louisianan.
They are that of globe-trotting artist-architects, princes of repetition.
Specialists in the perfect, dry perennial detail, a true confession of emotional impotence!
The repetition of the "controlled" detail as a proof of their insensitivity to the possible nature of an architecture in-the-world."

He goes on to write:

"In the name of the earthly pleasure, we must resist the urbanism of zones, networks, and grids, the automatic rot that is obliterating the identity of the cities of all continents, in all climates, feeding on cloned offices, cloned dwellings, cloned shops, thirsting for the already thought, the already seen in order to avoid thinking and seeing.
We must replace these generic rules, territorial and architectural (yes, architectural! For architecture exists on all scales, and urbanism does not: it is nothing but the mocked-up travesty of a servile architecture on the macro-scale, advancing to prepare the way for the myriad of generic architectures), with other rules based on the structural analysis of the experienced landscape.
We must establish sensitive, poetic rules, approaches that will speak of colours, essences, characters, the anomalies of the act of creation, the specificities of rain, wind, sea, and mountain. Rules that will speak of the temporal and spatial continuum, that will turn the tide towards a mutation, a modification of the inherited chaos, and take account of all the fractal scales of our cities.
These sensitive rules cannot but defy the generic ideology that leads to the proliferation of hegemonic, dominant technologies, creating dependencies, thus tending to hypertrophy all our networks of transport, energy, hygiene, to go for the bottom line.
By contrast, the ideology of the specific aspires to autonomy, to use of the resources of the place and the time, to the privileging of the non-material.
How can we use what is here and nowhere else?
How can we differentiate without caricaturing?
How can we achieve depth?"

Photo by Emelie Nielson 2016, from Assos in Cephalonia, Greece

The work that lives on, poetry by Paul Valéry

In praise of shadows

Mouthon Charles-Francois - Academie Beaux arts 1892

I recently read In praise of shadows by Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, I remember reading it a long time ago when I started architecture school and Tanizaki's way of suddenly changing one subject to another,
in praise of old Japanese culture, architecture and practice.
The beauty of this little novel really is food for the soul,
He moves from moonlit toilets at the Kyoto temple to dark lacquerware glimmering like jewels in the dark to women with blackened teeth in the pleasure houses, where only their very white skin, sheer as a ghost's transcends out of the darkness.
The Japanese really understand the beauty of time, of ageing and of the sublime in the shadows.

This is Tanizaki's thoughts on toilets:

"Every time I am shown to an old, dimly lit, and, I would add, impeccably clean toilet in a Nara or Kyoto temple, I am impressed with the singular virtues of Japanese architecture. The parlor may have its carms, but the Japanese toilet truly is a place of spiritual repose. It always stands apart from the main building, at the end of a corridor, in a grove fragrant with leaves and moss. No words can describe that sensation as one sits in the dim light, basking in the faint glow reflected from the shoji, lost in meditation or gazing out at the garden. The novelist Natsume Sōseki counted his morning trips to the toilet a great pleasure, 'a physiological delight' he called it. And surely there could be no better place to savor this pleasure than a Japanese toilet where, surrounded by tranquil walls and finely grained wood, one looks out upon blue skies and green leaves.
As I have said there are certain prerequisites: a degree of dimness, absolute cleanliness, and quiet so complete one can hear the hum of a mosquito. I love to listen from such a toilet to the sound of softly falling rain, especially if it is a toilet of the Kantō region, with its long, narrow windows at floor level; there one can listen with such a sense of intimacy to the raindrops falling from the eaves and the trees, seeping into the earth as they wash over the base of a stone lantern and freshen the moss about the stepping stones. And the toilet is the perfect place to listen to the chirping of insects or the song of the birds, to view the moon, or to enjoy one of those pognant moments that mark the change of the seasons. Here, I suspect, is where haiku poets over the ages have come by a great many of their ideas. Indeed one could with some justice claim that of all the elements of Japanese architecture, the toilet is the most aestetic. Our forbears, making poetry of everything in their lives, transformed what by rights should be the most unsanitary room in the house into a place of unsurpassed elegance, replete with fond associations with the beauty of nature..."

My kitchen table this evening

Take me in a carousel, I would like to go somewhere. Architecture as an attraction.
Sketch By Emelie Nielson

There is not enough fantastical architecture out there

Claude Parent passed away yesterday at the age of 93, the world lost a great architect.

We just went to see an exhibition at Galerie Azzedine Alaïa in Paris with three museum projects of his presented the other week.
I am so impressed by the world of Claude Parent, he worked right up until his death, only the the hand-drawn lines were shakier.

There is not enough fantastical architecture out there, I wish that many more of his project were built!

His work is really one of a kind, between utopia and reality, the French pavillon for the Venice Biennale in 1970 for example reminds me, in some ways of one of my favorites, 'Lustiga huset' at the amusement park Gröna Lund in Stockholm. A house which proportions and features takes you through a mind-game where the stairs move, you walk on something that you don't know if it is a wall or a floor. This house will always stay in my memory since childhood in the same way Claude Parent's work always makes you want to explore the world of his oblique architecture.

Vive l'architecture oblique! His work will live on forever.

Project presented by Claude Parent at the 1970 architecture biennale

Project presented by Claude Parent at the 1970 architecture biennale

Project by Claude Parent at the 1970 architecture biennale

Drawing by Claude Parent

Continuous space

One of the things that make me dream the most...is continuous spaces, linear continuous spaces. 

Here are three uninterrupted spaces: two by the SANAA ensemble and one by Ryue Nishizawa on his own.

They are quite similar, responding to the different programs with the same elaboration, the new generation of Japanese continuity.

Teshima art museum by Ryue Nishizawa and artist Rei Naito, photo credits: © iwan baan

Teshima art museum by Ryue Nishizawa and artist Rei Naito, photo credits: Illabo

Rolex learning center by SANAA, photo credits:
© SANAA by Cyrille Thomas

Serpentine pavilion 2009 by SANAA, photo credits:
Archinect

Noémie Goudal 'Observatoires' 2015

I can't get these mesmerizing images by french artist Noémie Goudal out of my head.

Surreal, barren landscapes where abandoned architecture meets nature in a dreamy, theatrical setting...

(Inspired by Jantar Mantar, built in Jaipur, India, in the 18th Century)

Esparon, the house on a mountain

I just got back from helping architect friends to build their house in South of France. One hour from Nîmes, the town with the beautiful light there is a small village on top of a mountain. They bought an old ruin, and preserving the old walls and the layout, they are now building on to it.

There was a full moon, and you could see the moonlit valley and the unfinished roof.
So quiet, you could hear the owl sounds and see the mountains 280 degrees around you.
Everything about this place is just magical.

Daniel Libeskind's home. A film by Matthew Donaldson

Alternative Landscapes by Benoit Paillé

Landscapes and poetry - Photography 'Alternative Landscapes' by Benoit Paillé

Arnarfjörður, Iceland by Haraldur Diego

Accidentely on purpose / comme par hasard by Kate McBride

Not long ago one of our friends had an exhibition at La Chambre Claire in Paris, her name is Kate McBride and she is based in Florence. She has since the early 1980's taken polaroids and written short poetic narratives as a travel journal. The polaroid being an instant medium, it catches exactly that moment and feeling of the place and the landscape.

It became a collection book with over 200 polaroids and eighty-four poems, called 'I journey with you here'. I just love polaroids, and I love the milky dreaminess of this journal, it makes you want to travel, travel, travel...

We were there - Porto

Three years ago we visited Leça Swimming Pools by Alvaro Siza, north of Porto, Portugal.
Porto is a fantastic place to go for architectural visits (go if you haven't been!)
The pools were finished in 1966, but they have aged gracefully and do not feel decayed, despite the Atlantic oceans tough treatment.
The area is completely sunken down, out of view of the cityscape on the side and disconnected from the city, melting into the ocean as apart of it.
You are lead as in procession through the changing rooms, via a ramp down towards the ocean.
The pools are molded into the the cliffs with concrete of the same color as the stone, mixed with the natural water gatherings of the ocean side, it is sensational place.
I would love to revisit in the summer, it was early spring when we were there.

Photo credits: Camilla Levin

Photo credits: Camilla Levin

Photo credits: Camilla Levin

You framed it so now I can see it

Krijn de Koning is exhibiting in Paris right now at Centquatre until the beginning of april.
When I woke up this morning I was looking at images of his Het groene huis from 2014 and it completely captivated me.
The effect that colors has on me (you as well?) is amazing and the way that he works with the environment around, the light and the perspectives framing it altogether is dreamlike to me.

He often works with rich environments like nature and ruins and in these photos,
it's just like scenography or footage.

Photo credit: http://www.krijndekoning.nl/

Photo credit: http://www.krijndekoning.nl/

Photo credit: http://www.krijndekoning.nl/

Photo credit: http://www.krijndekoning.nl/

Photo credit: http://www.krijndekoning.nl/

Photo credit: http://www.krijndekoning.nl/

Photo credit: http://www.krijndekoning.nl/

American Bar by Adolf Loos

I went to Vienna last year and got a chance to re-visit Adolf Loos American Bar.
The first time I was there was in 2006 when I just started studying architecture.
This time I traveled alone and I decided to go back in the middle of the day.

This place definitely deserves a blog post of it's own, Loos created something so unique in my opinion.
When you come in, it's like entering into another world, where you feel jet lagged or something reminiscent of it, time stands still.
It always has the same light and atmosphere that lingers, no matter what time of day. The noble marble and the glass above the door gives of this jewel-like glow, like jasper stone or amber carnelian. The space is in fact small, but the use of mirrors creates an illusion that it goes on for ever.
I can just imagine cigar smoke and early 20th century cocktails, but as time stands still it works just as well now.

Dignity, but not of an intimidating kind, more like you just want to be there, stay around in a very comforting way and pass your time there. I just love it, the warm wood, down to the leather, illuminated tables and brass handles.

Petra, Jordan / a rose-red city half as old as time

It seems no work of man’s creative hand,
by labour wrought as wavering fancy planned;
But from the rock as if by magic grown,
eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!

Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine,
where erst Athena held her rites divine;
Not saintly-grey, like many a minster fane,
that crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;


But rose-red as if the blush of dawn,
that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;
The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,
which man deemed old two thousand years ago,
match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,
a rose-red city half as old as time.

—John Burgon, 1845

Al Khazneh or The treasury at Petra, 1st century AD
Photo credits: http://www.ereduvoyage.ch

Photo credits: http://www.unp.me

Photo credits: http://www.unp.me

Photo credits: http://www.unp.me

The eucalypt forest

This winter we went to Australia for a month. It was hot, but up in the Blue mountains the air was cool.

The Blue mountains north-west of Sydney is a national park (of 267,954-hectare) with mountains, rivers, waterfalls, an abundance of magical scenery and natural beauty.

The Blue mountains name derives from the sheer blue haze over the mountains, said to be produced by the dense forest of oil bearing eucalyptus trees.

This summer after a walk, the rain came down heavy and as I walked by the eucalyptus trees I could breathe in the fresh eucalyptus fragrance that the big eucalypt forest was giving away. Like a big, blue healing lung. That's sublime.

Photo by Emelie Nielson 2014

Nesting

Photo credits Niclas Rosander / http://niclasrosander.se

I was just listening to a seminar by Sou Fujimoto.
He brings up many things that I walk around with on my mind.
His manifesto back to primitive architecture, something called 'Primitive future', is about the relationship between the space and the body. He talks about, how in the beginning when humans lived in caves it was us who adjusted to the spaces we inhabited, found our way to use them and claimed certain spaces for specific functions.
It is this thought of the cave vs. the nest (where the nest has been prepared for human habitation, and a cave is the opposite) the cave requires a creative act on behalf of a human.
The cave alters the behavior of its occupant by offering no indication of how to use the space. Although to some degree this ambiguity is inherent in all spaces, the cave is completely undefined. He calls these creative acts of appropriation the beginning of architecture.

And so by nature humans start to nest - to appropriate and claim space, to give it a smaller - human scale.
It is this human scale, or the variety of scales found in nature (example: trunk/branch/twig/leaf/vein) that makes us somehow feel at ease, in our element.
Fujimoto suggests that is is this duality and coexistence of opposite things that creates the richness and makes us feel safe.
So that in going back to the primitive, and finding its order (or non-exisitng order) and the diversity of scales, accompanied by the duality of openness - closeness (protectetness) is the recipe for the future - primitive future.

Fujimoto is so inspiring and his simple almost childish way of boiling things down to their essence and never ceasing to ask questions about how we use and define space creates something so rich...
It just proves how the process is the most valuable part of a project, how important it is to give thoughts time and room to grow into maturity.
Fujimotos ongoing exploration of this primitive architecture constantly gives birth to new projects and takes him further in his thought process.
It is this process of nourishing an idea, understanding it and being able sort out it's architectural abstraction (which then would have the inherit richness of the original idea) that I am after.