Bartleby, the Architect
Translated from the Spanish by Sebastián López Cardozo
This article was originally published in El País in March of 2007
In today’s architecture, sustainability is in vogue. The introduction of sustainability into the discipline implies several changes to its structure—in addition to architects and builders, specialists and technicians now form part of new, more complex teams that feed environmental, economic, and social factors into the process of design. Given the enormity of such changes, it is necessary for architecture to examine what is at stake in its embrace of the concept of sustainability, without casting aside matters of aesthetics.
About once a decade, architecture suffers the invasion of a new word which engulfs it whole and disrupts the established modes of working. Just as the cries for “smart” design begin to grow faint, the “sustainable” invasion arrives in full force to proclaim itself as the quintessence of architecture; there is now not a council of urbanism that will not demand the most thorough deployment of the principles of sustainability—that is, so long as it does not compromise the budget nor threaten the for-profit model of the city. Architects are left with no choice but to navigate through the labyrinthine demands of the new sustainability regime, contributing to its semantic overflow and followed by the subsequent collapse of its meaning.
In parallel with the aforementioned semantic abuses, the adoption of the Código Técnico de la Edificación1 in Spain signifies a major shift of construction practices in the country, overstretching the technical capabilities of the architects and their consultants. Thrust into the new paradigm, architects are forced to replace “constructive experience” with parametrically-driven environmental modeling; this implies an intrusion by physicists, ecologists, and engineers into the design process—just as some decades ago, structural estimators and structural engineers became an integral part of that same process.
The abandonment of the Modernist conception of architecture—one that was based on modular seriality and industrial materiality—occurred alongside a reshuffling of the multidisciplinary chorus that typically accompanies the solo voice of the architect. What succeeded it—reflected by the shift from a mechanics-based to an energy-based form of expertise—was the emergence of what some experts such as Sanford Kwinter have been quick to call “thermodynamics.” Kwinter places such term within the context of a shift from the traditional “tectonic” model of architecture to a new “biotechnical” model—one capable of equipping architects with tools to think of their buildings as living organisms, as entities engaging in permanent energy exchanges with their surroundings, and as endowed with a limited life cycle. With its messianic tone, the shift to the “biotechnical” promises to be embraced and adopted unanimously within academic circles, in Spain and beyond: the recent encroachment of such idea into American universities—the latest arrival among the new conception of the environmental—has been nothing short of devastating.
Figure 1. Palais de Tokyo (2012-2014), Lacaton & Vassal. Paris, France. Interior View, 2019. © Florent Michel / 11h45
The problem arises when, stimulated by a construction industry that has begun to see business value in the magic word (sustainability)—and energized by good intentions—the disparate voices of the expert chorus degrade into an indistinguishable noise that overpowers the solo voice of the architect. Despite the efforts of various institutions (e.g. Escuela Técnica Superior de Arquitectura de Madrid, Consejo Superior de los Colegios de Arquitectos de España, and Centro Nacional de Energías Renovables), what is ultimately endorsed and exhibited in the endless conferences and seminars is a series of clunky technological gadgets that do nothing more than turn old and poorly designed buildings into hi-tech drag queens. The trivialization of sustainability—brought about by its pseudo-technical and marketing-oriented adaptations—bores architects as much as it does students, while exciting the large consulting firms and politicians.
The current panorama as presented has raised the alarm in various well-established North American institutions. Several of these institutions have decided to take action and promote serious debate on the matter with the objective of interrogating its architectural and cultural nature—first through engagement with their associated international consultants and subsequently through seminars, books, and exhibitions.
The main idea is simple
Only if there is, among all its rhetoric, a hidden idea of beauty, will it be possible for sustainability to gain enough significance to remain a more integral part of the
discipline. Architecture must avoid being led on by a vast array of technological gadgetry and, in introducing into the debate an aesthetic dimension, ask itself where the interest in the concept of sustainability truly lies. At present, an idea has infiltrated the first debates on such matter: the idea that Bartleby—the character created by novelist Herman Melville—and his famous “I would prefer not to,” represents the most compelling evocation of sustainability’s aesthetic dimension. The success of Bartleby’s “I would prefer not to” lies in that it puts the supposed inevitability of action into question—an idea expressed years ago by Cedric Price, which, applied with common sense, here and today, would have saved us from the brutal colonization of the Spanish shores that has occurred over the past decade.
It may appear as if, rather than bringing about a renewed aesthetic dimension, an architecture guided by Bartleby’s spirit would lead to its self-destruction; however, cases such as French architects Lacaton & Vassal demonstrate that this is not necessarily the case. Spending their formative years in Africa—primarily in Nigeria— where they acquired a more pragmatic grasp of ecology and economy, Lacaton & Vassal declared that they would prefer not to when confronted with the commission to redesign Place Léon Aucoc in Bordeaux. Seeing that, as it was, the plaza was agreeable for its users and adequately urban in character, the architects dedicated part of the budget to replenishing the gravel, repairing existing benches, and replacing any worn curb segments. Why should one design something spectacular? What did the citizens do to deserve such punishment? These and other questions Lacaton & Vassal asked themselves in approaching the Place Léon Aucoc commission. The transformation of the park was rather minor, but neighbors’ satisfaction from the transformation was immense—and not too different from the satisfaction that now, years later, artists feel when invited to participate in developing projects at the Palais de Tokyo (2001), another Lacaton & Vassal project. For the Palais de Tokyo, the architects opted to strip down the existing structure, leaving its interior practically bare and ready for action and, in the process, avoided producing the overly manicured spaces that typically call attention to themselves over the art on display. (I invite anyone who happens to be in Paris to go across the Seine and visit, on the same day, the Palais de Tokyo and Musée du quai Branly. One will be surprised that, although for the latter, Jean Nouvel has managed to excite museum-goers enough to have them arrive in hordes to see—or attempt to see—an interesting collection, all his decisions, formal and banal—coupled with his squandering of resources—reveal a complete incomprehension and an obscene indifference towards the cultures that the museum is meant to exhibit.)
It is not by coincidence that the rejection of the technological manipulation of sustainability involves an effort to start over from the beginning, to return a certain naturalness or normalcy to the role of architecture and design—in the city and in everyday life. “Supernormal” is the term with which designers Jasper Morrison and Naoto Fukasawa promote in the design world—a world that is even more affected by the demand for the spectacular than architecture is—an environment of well-designed objects, at times anonymous and recognizable, that show, with educational undertones, a place vaguely familiar. (The Super Normal exhibition opened on June 9, 2006 in Tokyo and will travel to Europe in the spring [of 2007], making its first stop at the Triennale di Milano). A well-founded path forward for the concept of sustainability has yet to emerge, but there is no doubt that its various manifestations have already exhausted their credibility. It is now time to reaffirm, in the present context, the idea of Bartleby as an architect—with the entire academic and cultural apparatus already at its service.
Iñaki Ábalos is professor in residence in Harvard University GSD and chaired professor of ETSAM. He was appointed “Buell Book Fellow” and “Visiting Professor” at Columbia University (New York, 1995), “Diploma Unit Master” at the Architectural Association in London and “Professeur Invite“ in the EPF Lausanne 1998. He was “Jean Labatute Professor” at the University of Princeton (New Jersey, 2004-2007),“Visiting Professor” at Cornell University (Ithaca, 2007-2008), and Professor at BIArch (Barcelona, 2010-2012). He is the author of Le Corbusier. Skyscrapers (Madrid Town Hall, 1988), Técnica y Arquitectura (Nerea, 1992), Tower and Office (The MIT Press, 2003) and Natural Artificial (EXIT, LMI,1999) with Juan Herreros.
1 The “Código Técnico de la Edificación” is a regulatory framework in Spain that establishes the basic safety and habitability requirements that must be met by buildings.