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

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..."

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.

Alternative Landscapes by Benoit Paillé

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

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.

mys·ter·y

I have been thinking for a while of what to write about next.
That maybe I should try not to go into too existential subjects, to keep it more logical.

It is not easy, because it gets personal and that is often the way I think about things and the subject is connected to feelings and experience.

However, what I have been thinking about is that the sublime in buildings that amaze me has to include some kind of mystery.

I found this definition of mystery at thefreedictionary.com

1. One that is not fully understood or that baffles or eludes the understanding; an enigma: How he got in is a mystery.

2. One whose identity is unknown and who arouses curiosity: The woman in the photograph is a mystery.

3. A mysterious character or quality: a landscape with mystery and charm.

4. A work of fiction, a drama, or a film dealing with a puzzling crime.

5. The skills, lore, or practices that are peculiar to a particular activity or group and are regarded as the special province of initiates. Often used in the plural: the mysteries of Freemasonry; the mysteries of cooking game.

6. A religious truth that is incomprehensible to reason and knowable only through divine revelation.