Architecture Lives....

London 2012 Olympics...

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Sat, 28 Jul 2012 03:33:00 +0000

Just like the football World Cup in South Africa and the Euro 2012 (which once again confirmed my lack of faith in a "civilised" Europe), the Olympic games have become yet another farcical event, a true opiate for the modern "liberal" masses... It purports to celebrate "human spirit" or whatever, but that same spirit dies in this sanitised and tightly regulated environment of exclusion, copyrights, and cheap commercialisation. What is worse, this ideology at work conveniently slips under the overblown spectacle and media frenzy...and we stand in its awe as if someone were pointing a gun at us (or get up at 4.30 in the morning Australian Eastern time to watch the opening ceremony).

Indifference...

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Tue, 10 Jul 2012 10:00:00 +0000

In these times of rules and regs

They demand an action

To change ourselves

To grow

With changing times

Of market crashes

And New Age love.

An action

Without a cause

Without reaction

Like de-caf coffee with no sugar

And love without passion

So things can really

Stay the same.

When all the battles

Have been won

What’s left is just

To sit back be quiet

And enjoy.

And like free-range chickens

We roam about

To false beliefs

We sing a praise

And when its our time

We die all the same.

By Z.Basic

CEBRA Denmark

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 03:59:00 +0000

I'm not a big believer in contemporary architectural literature (particularly the glossy kind), or architecture-related travel (more on that another time). I usually have no desire in seeing buildings they talk about in books and magazines. But one way to tell a good architect is by conceptual drawings they produce. And I can find few better than a group in Denmark called CEBRA architects. I stumbled upon them while searching for some watercolour paintings, and one of their principals is a dedicated watercolourist who has produced an astonishing set of drawings documenting their firm's portfolio of work. Every drawing represents a single project and is painted in a distinct, free-flowing, and brightly-coloured style. This quirky nature seems to translate, truthfuly, to the office's built work, even if I can only say so superficially, as far as the photos allow judgement.

CEBRA website

CEBRA_toons - watercolours

Torrential rain, wild elephants and jungle trekking in Khao Yai National Park

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 11:16:00 +0000

It was supposed to be a walk in the park. Not the Centennial Park, or the Royal Botanical Gardens though. Thailand's Khao Yai, the country's oldest national park, which together with the neighboring wilderness area (Dong Phaya Yen Mountains) had been recognised as a World Heritage Site since 2005.

As always when adventure is concerned I got an impulsive urge to leave the city and just go for it, never minding that it was already late evening, that I was in a megalopolis of 15 million, and could barely speak a few words of the language. Bangkok was steamy as always. It was time to head east towards Cambodia and into the jungle.

Leaving the Victory Monument mini bus station at around 9 pm (where I got a lesson in how to remain calm and organised amidst true chaos), it took approximately 2.5 hours via a decent motorway to get to a small town called Pak Chong. This is the gateway to Khao Yai National Park. Travelling alone and at night I got to observe the Thai people's amazing interdependency and networking skills. This society could not be further from the western one such as Australian one. Word spreads fast here even without gadgets and Internet (yes, they all use it now of course), but I was the only white/European/Farang on the mini bus and the locals on the bus would make sure that I reach my destination without a hassle.

For a price of about 150 ($4) baht I was dropped right in front of my hostel, the Greenleaf Guesthouse, located on the very edge of the jungle. Bangkok seemed very distant now, the only trace of modernity, a lonely 7/11 across the road, with five sweet country girls, bored and obviously cracking jokes at my expense.

Green Leaf guesthouse has very friendly staff and decent accommodation, minimal but clean and comfortable (we are in the jungle after all). The air here is cooler than in Bangkok (a pleasant 25 degrees) which makes it a great change. It's quiet, apart from the sounds of cycadas behind the building, and a small group of Thais singing to an old guitar on the front verandah. This relaxed atmosphere reminded me of Bosnia, and I felt right at home.

There were also 4-5 obligatory European backpackers - they didn't play nor sing. Always the pragmatists, they were immersed in their laptops, organising their subsequent journeys, and so on. Idiots. I drank a large Chang in the bar next door, a soapie was on the TV, and went to bed.

I awoke next morning at 7, had a Farang breakfast made from the things I bought the previous night in 7/11, and boarded the Songthaew that would be our sightseeing vehicle for the day. The group consisted of an Irish couple and three moderately hot Dutch girls. The driver and the guide. Cool.

First stop was a lookout at one of the highest points in the part (1400m?) where we got to see the hilly lush forest we'd be trekking in. It was September and the wet season and very few, all local tourists. We put our anti-leach socks and went on.

Next, we passed by the parks main visitor area. The parks visitor areas were impressively maintained, and were similar to parks we're known for here in Australia. A Sambar deer mother and cub were grazing, inconspicuously, next to the toilet building. I thought it would be a good idea to chat up one of the Dutch girls at this point. We lead our little group towards the museum across the main road. This tiny building contained stuffed specimens of animals found within the park, including tigers and rhinos, which once roamed the park in great numbers and were now all but extinct. Poaching was still a big problem even within this protected and famous park, and the museum made it a kind of primary theme of the exhibit.

The main road through the park is narrow and winding, and riding on the songthaew one gets to get a good feel of the jungle . We stopped on a kind of grassy opening, got out and hiked some 200 metres through the tall grass and into the forest. And sure, after not long there was a small group of gibbons high up in the branches. They produced the kind of sounds that made the blood froze in your veins. Scrambling to get a good view of them, we failed to notice the leaches crawling up our socks, pants, and shirts. It was their time to feast on fresh European blood. This seemed a fitting occasion, with the haunting Gibbon calls echoing in the background.

Back on the songthaew, I noticed I was bleeding from my hands, most of the others were also still fighting off the little suckers. Except the Irish girl. She had seen worse in her 25 or so years.

Pan and his driver pulled the car over on the side of the road where the little sign pointed towards the start of the hike trail. Stepping into the jungle is always a kind of a instant right of passage. You momentarily leave the 'real' world behind and enter an unknown, foreign one, ruled by the weather, leaches, curious looking plants and whatever wild animals remained. It is dark, wet, and muddy. The smells of rotten plant material. Your senses awaken.

Evey few hundred metres, Pan would freeze, and gesture us to shush. The sound of a bear, a certain bird species only he had seen or heard, a monkey. Jungle trekking is suspenseful. You don't see a lot of animals, but they are there, probably watching you, and thinking 'Look at these dumb idiots, what do they want here, do they know how stupid they look?'. We made our way carefully down the track that could barely be made out in places. Always remaining a gentleman (which was not related to me wanting to get into their pants) I helped the girls, including the Irish girl. Her boyfriend was unreliable.

We must have been on the trek for good two hours during which Pan did his best to catch a number of chameleons, to explain how strangler fig trees grow or how the seasons affect gibbons mating. One of the Dutch girls and I listened. The other two did not give a damn about Thailand's ecosystem. Leaches had kept them busy.

We made our way across a small creek in Tarzan-style, using a conveniently located liane. Some made it on the other side happy, some ended up in mud and water.

Then it started to rain. The clothes soon became soaked and heavy.

Back in the songthew, we had a quick bite that the guesthouse prepared, a treat made of sticky rice rolled in some cabbage, bamboo (or whatever) and a bunch of vegetables, all too healthy for my Balkan-Australian taste.

We drove up a mountain road by which time the rain had become a proper monsoonal torrent. The road soon turned into a river, and I could not bother trying to shelter from the elements. We reached a visitor area where I quickly changed my clothes and went to take a piss in the bush. Ah, is there anything better than taking a piss in the open while it's raining? Sure enough rain stopped and we hiked down to the Haew Suwat waterfall, which was mighty and in full flow. I got to know the Dutch girls better, they were in fact Belgians, in their early twentys and on their first big Asia trip. One of them, Margot, was particularly cute (and blond) and I decided she would be my Jane there, if not a Belgian princess. She talked about the complexity of Belgian politics and their politicians' inability to form a government months after the elections took place, or something along those lines. She would not be Jane nor a princess after all. Pan, and his driver never wiped the smiles off their faces, and were still promising us elephants and more. They didn't talk about politics.

All were pretty worn by the time we climbed the 1000 steps back to the car park. It was late afternoon already, and most were ready to go home. Jungle and rain do that to people. Not our guides though. They drove and drove for what seemed like hours, back and forth through the parks main ring road. We were searching for any signs of elephants. Girls were very tired and stopped chatting. But it was wet and cold and we were in the back of the songthao. Pan apparently saw elephant tracks on the road earlier and was adamant to keep on driving.

We entered a narrow road that was barely 3 metres wide, dark and very misty from the rains. The guides drove for another 15-20 km km, and still nothing. It was definitely time to go home, to the girls relief. But we had barely thought about taking a warm shower, when the car suddenly broke to a halt. A lone elephant right in the middle of this road. Somehow, and I mean somehow, we drove past it and were bit more than relieved, and barely had we driven past the first curve, when another, larger (and angrier) elephant appeared smack in the middle of the road. We were trapped! I kept thinking of Pan telling us earlier that an angry elephant can make a pancake out of the car. And I thought about my French ex-girlfriend making crepes. How stupid.

Back in reality, the mood changed from sombre to almost total panic in an instant. The angry elephant stomped towards as, its ears flipping, tusk raised up, while producing that trumpeting screech that let the whole jungle know who the boss was. We were reversing fast, but where? Some girls were screaming, one was crying. Some were trying to film the whole thing. I was hugging Margot. Admittedly I was scared too. What the heck, at least we would die together. For some unknown reason, I put on my small day pack and was ready to jump out out the car. To climb a tree? Hide in the jungle? Whatever.

I don't recall exactly how we managed to escape (I had by that time made my peace with death and was safe and firm in Margot's embrace) , but we must have driven past the bigger elephant while it momentarily took its attention off us. Some thought it was a moment straight out of Jurrasic Park. I thought it was closer to Steven Spielberg's 'Duel' when the protagonist tries to overtake the gigantic semi-trailer driven by the maniacal truckie.

Our ordeal was over, and we stopped at a a grassy opening to let it all sink in, indifferent to a herd of Sambar deer that was grazing in the setting sun. The jungle was just jungle. We were, as always, the maniacs.

ABC's 'Life architecturally'

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Wed, 29 Feb 2012 01:48:00 +0000

A good documentary aired last night on ABC about the architectural practice (and husband and wife team) of McBride Charles Ryan. Highlight of the show, Mr McBride describing the Klein Bottle House as a 'modest beach house'. Yet another proof that architects are full of it!

Thanks, by the way, ABC, for stealing the name of my blog for your show. And like anything else ABC, not doing a good job tweaking it. I might sue...

You can watch the documentary here somewhere.

Quote of the day...

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 02:09:00 +0000

"Though the rich of this earth find no difficulty in creating misery, they can't bear to see it."

BERTOLT BRECHT, The Threepenny Opera

Why "architecture lives"....

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 13:13:00 +0000

Architecture is not something that just happens. And perhaps architects are least to blame (or credit) for how our cities tend to look. To quote that famous Australian architect, "Cities have not been built by architects but rather, by mad monarchs, despots, and so on".

Architecture is often not what it appears to be, and is deeply embedded in ideology. More often than not, it tells us a completely opposite story of the intdended one. Like in John Carpenter's 1988 movie, we need to put a pair of ideological sun-glasses to be really able to experience it, or get its real message. Perhaps it is only then that we can make out the monstrosities inherent in its creation. Or (I'm very pessimistic) in far fewer cases, its angels...

image by jaime.silva (flickr)

Odjebi (Fuck off) Ratko Mladic

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 03:51:00 +0000

This is not architeture-related, but way more important than that. It is about bringing to justice those accused for the worst attrocities in Europe since the world war, such as Ratko Mladic, who commanded Serb Army during the war in Bosnia. This man bears the highest responsibility for Srebrenica massacre (declared Genocide by the ICTY Tribunal in the Hague), when more than 8000 Bosnian men and boys were killed within few days after the Mladic's troops overrun the town in July, 1995.

What will bringing Mladic to court mean for those who have lost their whole families? When it has taken almost 20 years for that to happen? To Serbia, where ultra right-wing fundamentalist nationalism is as rampant as ever? To contemporary Europe, where fundamentalism is on the rise, and with a Left that suffering from a profound identity crisis ...

The video below is from a UK rapper Smooth Deep who was drawn to the issue after seeing a pro-Mladic protest in Belgrade, and like any person with a little bit of decency asked: "How can anyone support a mass murderer?", with a funny touch, of course...

Quote of the day...

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 05:14:00 +0000

"We often blame architects for evils that originate elsewhere..."

Slavoj Zizek

The joys and sorrows of work...

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Sun, 08 May 2011 10:04:00 +0000

Unhappy in your current job? Feel like your creative potential is not tapped into?... That your career is not allowing you to flourish and become who you really are?

Before you quit your job and join the hordes of North-European backpackers in saving the world, read this short story. I hope it may offer some consolation on a hot Friday evening, while you diligently draft away that toilet-wall detail into AutoCAD's black oblivion...

The joys and sorrows of work...

I’m calling a well known number: 9-5. In certain countries of the world, a mere thought of these two numbers will get people sighing deeply. In others, dialling the same number prompts an automated voice to tell you current local time – precise to the second. I live in the second bunch.

It is also one of the few numbers that work here.

The phone rings once.

- It’s 11 o’clock 23 minutes, 5 seconds.

The female voice hangs up.

I’m irritated by having been hanged up on. A robot shouldn’t hang up on people. I dial again. 9 followed by five, making sure I don’t dial a four or a six instead (police and emergency or something, I can’t remember).

The female voice is on again.

- It’s 11 o’clock 24 minutes, 7 seconds.

The voice hangs up again. It doesn’t sound quite as I would imagine a female android to sound. I’m curious. 9 – 5 again.

- It’s 11 o’clock 24 minutes, 59 seconds. Click. Beep-beep...

Sound of grenades exploding is heard in the distance. There is a war here after all. Nine – Five.

It rings twice this time.

- 11 o’clock 26 minutes, 6 seconds. Click. Beep...

This automated voice starts to sound ever more agitated. Robots don’t have feelings. 9.5.

- 11 o’clock 26 minutes, 57 seconds. The voice stutters a bit then pauses.

- Hellooo! Are you suuure?!

- Fuck off you little bastard! And stop calling here lest I come and stick this receiver as far up your butt and teach you to bother people. Oh God, what have I done to deserve this, to sit here all day and...Click!...Beep-beep...

Another grenade is heard. Much closer this time. Someone’s dead, no doubt.

I go up to see my best buddy – Eddie and tell him all about my phone conversation with a time teller. We may call again later, for fun.

School’s been out for a whole year, yet adults had never ceased to amaze us...

By Z.Basic

9-5

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Sun, 08 May 2011 04:19:00 +0000

Most young architects (especially graduates) will complain about the bulk of their working hours spent on tedious drafting, endless days in front of that dreaded three-letter acronym known as CAD. It appears to be intrinsic to this profession.

Sure, we all wanted to be next Fran Gehry or better, if you're like one guy who studied architecture with me. "I'll show them all!" he proclaimed in a moment of megalomanic outburst while gulping down his fifth coke of the night and starring into black-screen abyss of CAD. But soon enough came the first job after graduation and the disapointments struck. Disapoitments that we were told about during Uni but thinking about which we always put off 'till later. After all we were busy dreaming away and spending night after night on making those dreams a reality, albeit only on paper. We struggled with that too, as our designes kept changing till the day, hour even, the presentation was due...

Engineers and others more rooted in "reality", were probably less shocked. They never spent their nights trying to make sense of subjects as disparate as literature, structure, sociology, fashion, economics and law, and combinging their insights into coherent design presentations, all while being told to learn and use as many software applications as possible. They were preoccupied with more practical concerns, such improving sensitivity of surface infrared spectroscopy or optimising the performance based method of structural topology. Things that multinational companies paid them handsomely for, in their first years of professional work.

For graduate architects this sudden change was particularly hard. It has prompted many of these CAD monkeys, as they are known in the industry into leaving their jobs in search of more elusive "creative" pursuits, thinking that they have somehow made a wrong career choice, even to the point of questioning the whole point of architecture etc. Some have grown increasingly insecure, something that makes me wonder about world's suicide rates among young architects.

This is where the architect - the idealist entered the world of the engineer - the realist.

Specialisation is inherent in the world society has created. Open any job site and you will be entering the world of obsure jobs agencies offering career progression, creative outlet, recognition etc. Positions such as statutory planner, financial analyst, corporate copywriter, or assistant cost estimator - residential projects up to $500, or Software solution architect specialing in SAP. That reminds me, even terrorists are labled architects nowdays. But that's another story. The point is that It was always inevitable this kind of work arrangement would occur in a globalised market economy (the 'free' market society as it's known).

In our pursuits of worldy gains, when the politicans think of economic growth with ever bigger zeal, when international competition and resource grab is reaching new hights, it is only logical that this trend will continue. Specialisation will become only more pronounced. Who was once a CAD operator in a firm specialising in hospitals, will become a REVIT 2011 (a certain brand of software) CAD operator specialising in dental surgery projects between $1 and $2 M. And to add insult to injury, they will need a good 5-10 year excperience in this field, locking them in the "field" forever (or until a newer version comes out). What consequences this may have to architecture will be discussed in another article.

What is obvious is that this is only the beginning of the death of the generalist...

To offer some consolation, however, I have written a short story based on my own experiences, as a 13-year old in Bosnia at the peak of the war that ravaged that country. Perhaps after reading it you will manage to find some pride, if not megalomanic ambition, in starring at that damned black screen.

There are after all worse things than drafting up a 2.4 metre high toilet wall made of timber studs and plasterboard...

Little men, big pyramids...

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Thu, 05 May 2011 10:27:00 +0000

SBS Television (Australia) recently aired "Uncle Sam and the Bosnian Dream", a documentary about a Bosnian-American man called Semir Osmanagic, and his "discovery" of pyramids in the heart of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

This poem is about men such as Semir, their exploatition of a wounded land and its people, shaken with a recent war. It's also about war criminals of whom many are still at large, who have in their own ruthless ways managed to cast a spell on neighbours and friends, communities that have for hundreds of years depended on one another.

Rather than physical objects, pyramids of Bosnia are a symbol of manipulation people of this region have endured and continue to endure to this day. They are a symbol of petty criminals, profiteers and war mongers.

Bosnian Pyramids

Your people have fought

Like two French lovers,

Quarrelled over lunch and

At dinner made up again.

And while you looked away

In those moments of despair,

Little men have come

To tell your people proud,

To write a history

That will tell the world aloud:

Thy is the oldest nation

Never mind the present moment,

Ignore the sorrows!

And dig the burrows!

Grab the history for its sake

Lest they say - they are fake!

Pay no heed to the

World around you

To your waters, air and soils

With your toils dig on further.

Until you find

Yourself in there...

by Z. Basic

A different tour of Melbourne...Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Tue, 03 May 2011 09:06:00 +0000

Melbourne, known as the Victorian city par excellence, its streets lined with an eclectic mix of late 19th Century buildings, an array of glass towers and more recent architectural experiments...

The usual tour of Australia's first capital will start at Fed Square. A hop on a tram will take the new arrival up Flinders Street and around to Parliament building, through Carlton and its Royal Exhibition Building, Australia's only UNESCO-listed built structure. It will then stop by some churches, cathedrals and so on. The usual stuff. The visitor will no doubt unwind in serenity of the Botanical gardens, and imagine a more Romantic time, a times when the Wurundjeri tribe camped around the old River Red Gum, standing proud among the tiny preserved patch of native grassland by the cafe.

The tourist will see Melbourne that was shaped by European settlers' yearn for their distant homes, great buildings with intricate facades and nothing behind them (there wont be John Wayne on hand to complete the film set). A few will wonder on technological marvel of corporate towers (not if they are Asian) made possible by an old mustachioed Sicilian guy by the name of Grollo. The more curious souls will ask themselves what that weird green and purple building is. Some joke perhaps?

Anyway.

Chances are you come from a place where you can see all of that anyway. And it is probably much older, bigger, higher etc. It may have been damaged in a previous war, rebuilt, extended, had its owners changed...

If you are local, then you really need to read further.

To go and do the above would not do justice to the city. Instead try these itineraries that really make Melbourne what it is today: Worlds "most livable city". For this trip you will need a Bike or (for the more adventurous urban hikers) a sturdy pair of shoes, perseverance and a mountain of self-confidence. A car is not recommended.

You may occasionally want to hop on a local bus and join the lonely driver of south European origin (or Wog as they are known here), couple of teenagers, recent arrivals from the Horn of Africa, and a local Greek grandma in black.

After all, there is nothing deceptive about distances in this part of the world.

City to Footscray via Footsray Road

Start your way in the City on Collins Street's southern end. Cross the bridge into Docklands. Marvel for a few minutes at what greed and human stupidity can do. Take a few deep breaths as this will be the final time you breath is composed of a high proportion of Oxygen. You'll find in a moment, Melbourne as you've known it finishes abruptly here.

Welcome to the real world. The world of giant warehouses where you can fit 20 jumbo jets. The world of container cities, gigantic cranes and oil tankers. And the supporting service industry composed of seemingly mobile, though in reality, quite permanently docked - Kebab Shops.

And labour.

Slowly make your way along Footscray Road. Listen. Observe. This is Melbourne.

Footscray

Real fun starts here. You are now entering Footscray. A short detour to Barkley Street is OK. They say you will find best Kebabs in the southern hemisphere here. While you wait on that perfect Lamb Shish admire the central plaza which was recently "rejuvenated", although nature seems to be reclaiming it faster than local politicians would like...

Footscray is a mixture of equal parts Addis Ababa and Saigon, with some imaginative adaptations of Victorian terraced-buildings. By definition this place is very un-Australian, yet it is probably the only place in Australia that lives this countries' motto, quite to the bone.

Make sure to find your way back to Whitehall street, past an array of Petrol Stations, Car repair shops, car dealers, and a lone nondescript furniture store with the ad proudly proclaiming "new arrivals", though upon closer inspection it's obvious that nothing in there could have been in existence for less than 30 years.

Don't be afraid by locals' outfits. The most common deaths here can be attributed to an occasional gas leak in the Yarraville terminal or poisoning due to digestion of its namesake river, if you were keen for that quick skinny-dip at river's mouth near Williamstown at dusk.

West Gate Bridge and Yarraville

Now that you're here, it means you have successfully acclimatised to the peculiarities of the local micro-climate. You are managing the odours of Hydrochloric Sulphur like a Soviet and breathing the fumes from articulated lorries like it's Sassafras on the Dandenong Ranges.

Turn left at Whitehall Street and into Trucking lane galore towards Francis Street. Explore little side streets that offer glimpses of the Yarra River where you may catch a sight of the Shanghai Express, a mere 321 metre long vessel from the Great Athens of China, along with its 80,000 tonnes of cargo of containers packed with LCD TV's, sports goods, toys and clothes, all destined for shops of Melbourne, Ballarat and Greater Bendigo.

Nearby, Ming and his two Chinese businessmen mates inquire about directions to the port: Ming proudly declares that his ship is docked there. The trio's pleasant smile and unlikely dress for this environment (suits and ties) is understandable. They know very well what has made cities like Melbourne so prosperous. They are seasoned citizens of the less-glamorous parts of town, not afraid to stretch their legs and see for themselves the fruits of their labour (and money), in action.

Using the West Gate Bridge as point of reference, and keeping as close to shore as the factories allow, proceed to walk right under it, by the plaque built in memory of the 35 construction workers bearing names such as Tsihilidis, Boscolo and O'Brian, who died building a dream of planners from across the river. Their spirit lives on here, among the egg-shaped gas containers, in the shadow of this great structure, that's not sung about, not written of at length in the Lonely Planet, whose headquarters are - incidentally - a walking distance away from here, on the shores of the neighbouring Marrybyrnong River...

Please check back, next time, as we continue our journey from Yarraville, via Altona and Point Cook, to our final destination, the Werribee Sewage Treatment Plant, where we'll try to make some sense of the mess that is Melbourne...

Judging architectural design - Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Sun, 01 May 2011 07:08:00 +0000

Well, if you're like that guy from the poem, that's easy - you'll "dig those concrete stairs".

But what if you're not into smooth-textured concrete? Is there really an objective measure of architectural designs' worth (no pun intended to the real estate valuers)?

Throughout history architects have tried to create objective systems for design of buildings. Vitruvius and Renaissance architects with their application of golden section, and more recently Le Corbusier via his Modulor. All were guided by rational principles, systems for standardising disparate architectural elements and "problems" of proportion. Systems that would unify design and create harmonious cityscapes.

While the older examples were restricted with what they could do with design (gravity), churning out unifrmed cityscapes indeed, Le Corbusier had more his disposal: free-flowing forms of reinforced concrete in copious quantities, as well as other technological wonders of modern age. Yet Corb too got carried away with finding perfect proportions, in endless calculations and ambiguous assumptions, perhaps realising the futility of this exercise in the process.

It's no wonder that many a student from places as far flung as Kuala Lumpur's University of Technologi to Melbourne's RMIT still struggle with these ideas. Naturally, their design proposals reduce the guy known as Modulor to an imprint on an external precast wall. What else could you do with a stylized image of a person who's hardly a perfect specimen anyway (French male and 175 cm tall with extraordinarily large spatular hands)?

The systems such as the Modulor or the Golden section really reduce architecture to a mere two-dimensional shape. They bring to architecture compositional order from domain of fine arts such as painting. Yet we know that architecture is not just a building's face viewed on paper in its abstract topographic layouts (plans, elevations etc). It is experienced in space with all our five senses, with time and reflection. It is part of a bigger context and lives whose identities it helps to shape.

In other words design of buildings is more akin to fashion than it is to fine arts. And hence it also more prone to mass consumption and marketing strategies, to bad taste and general public disinterest to it. After all majority of people really don't give a damn about fashion either. Yet just like we need to be clothed (and feel good wearing those clothes), we also need (good) architecture.

This is where the plot really starts to thicken: The judgement of architectural aesthetic is really based less on rational criteria, but rather on more intangible, intuitive perception. You don't get up in the morning and when putting your clothes on, apply the golden section or the Modulor to guide the composition of the fabrics covering your body, or even to judge others' looks.

While one must recognise the objective criteria, and these usually to deal with project's response to need and functionality, subjective aesthetic tastes are key in perceiving architectural design. Hence we are often at a loss of why certain projects win architectural competition and others, seemingly more innovative and polished, end up as wall decorations in losing architects' offices. Hopefully there will be more democratic architectural competitions in the future where citizens themselves could participate in choosing winners of public buildings.

Architects don't have a monopoly on knowing what constitutes good design, but (in a perfect world) are trained in marrying this gap between (their clients') subjective taste and objective rationale and design needs.

As I always say, architecture is a mirror of society, so in a truly democratic society it should naturally reflect people's own tastes.

Or to use a gross generalisation, when these two clash, we have bad architecture.

Beautiful Concrete Released

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 09:47:00 +0000

Play Beautiful Concrete

You can find the lyrics on the previous post here

Achtung Architecture's improvised recording studio

On dreams and fountains: A (very) brief history of Greek Architecture in Australia

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 11:12:00 +0000

Sinn'd Ethics

Thy streets are but barbarian alleys
Without the sweet scent of olives
And white marble pillars

But i made thee
Semi-electric fountain

To bring me the beauty

Of constancy

By R. Zaper and Z.Basic

Synthetic landscape: Longing for the distant home can reduce historical references to their face values

Photo by dw*c - Flickr

Death of Yellowtrace Architecture...

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 07:28:00 +0000

A recent Google search on the term 'Yellowtrace" revealed an Australian site about Interior Design and architecture of the same name (www.yellowtrace.com.au - the site was established some time last year). The owner was probably unaware (or perhaps ignorant) that another blog bearing the name of this peculiar, turtleneck-wearing architects' favourite paper, existed for sometime already.

It's a pity because this blog held number one ranking on Google, albeit when you typed in its full official name: "Yellowtrace Architecture and Urbanism". Because of these latest trends, it moved down to existential obscurity of the search results' fifth page.

I have to give some credit to the owner. Close inspection of the site revealed a dedicated, hard-working Interior Designer, a bit like a newly-graduated architect from Hong Kong or Jaipur.

She is one of the rare ones though. Quite an original. One that books with titles such as 8 Steps to Success use as case studies..

So it's with those words that I proclaim "Yellowtrace" bit of this architecture blog dead. From now on it shall be known as the "Architecture Lives..." like the zombies in John Carpenter's comic take on the capitalist society of the eighties.

Rest in Peace...

Beautiful Concrete

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 01:58:00 +0000

Inspired by comments from an Eastern European Architect (and to a lesser extent, a recent visit to Split, Croatia), a close friend of mine wrote a poem, boldly titled: Beautiful Concrete.

While the places mentioned are towns in former Yugoslavia, the poem is really an ode to a construction material that has fascinated architects, builders, dictators and planners of the last 100 or so years.

It's also a longing love song.

I'm currently writing the music. It's meant to be composed of simple acoustic guitar chords and sung, in a sort of douche-bag style reminiscent of John Mayer. One that young Daniel Libeskind-wannabes could sing on the lawn in front of nameless architecture faculties from Singapore to Berlin (just change place names), to an audience composed of two or three other Daniel Libeskind-wannabes. If their designs are any good, that is.

Here goes...

Beautiful Concrete

Arriving in Zagreb by aeroplane
We would surely crash
If it wasn't for the
concrete runway

Went to see the old town
But got lost on the way
Stayed in Avenue Mall
and got some Gucci history instead

Ban Jelacic wasn't so bad

But after hours of walking

I really dig the
concrete stairs

Beautiful, beautiful, concrete
What can you build instead?
If only we were so concrete
we would have it made

----------------------------------------

When I went to Rijeka
the fumes weren't so bad
I actually swam and watched the
oil tankers ahead

But nothing beats Split,
you can split for the riva
just enjoy the heat
far from any forests or trees

I asked my friend if i should travel
to Sarajevo instead

He told me the war is over
and there is some nice buildings being made

But can he guarantee
it isn't going to be a waste
Paying for a trip and being
knee-deep in nature instead

Beautiful, beautiful, concrete
What can you build instead?
If only we were so concrete
we would have it made

Out of all the places
I like Belgrade the best
It doesn't pretend that
all that green stuff is worth a damn

Isn't it much nicer to wonder in the streets,
to look up and see stuff that
will be around for
another 70 years...

by R. Zaper

Index of place names:

Zagreb - Capital of Croatia, not much interest there, smooth concrete observed upon landing
Belgrade - Capital of Serbia and concrete fetishists paradise
Sarajevo - formerly war torn capital of Bosnia, now a speculative backyard of property developers with curious aesthetic tastes
Rijeka - Croatia's biggest port city; If you dig oil tankers, rafineries and ocassional feces in the sea, you wont mind this Czech tourists' favourite holiday spot
Split - Seaside town that abounds in Roman history and is contemorary Croatian architects' favourite concrete experimentation playground. The world famous historical Riva was recently dug out, and ancient stone pavers replaced by concrete ones. It's called progress.

You tube video clip to come...

Architecture in the service of post-war reconstruction efforts. This too was made possible by concrete. The Twisted Tower of Sarajevo - Twisted Indeed

Photo By Brian 395 - Flickr

It's only Architecture...

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Sat, 23 Apr 2011 06:49:00 +0000

It's late afternoon somewhere on the western freeway in Victoria. There are five of us in the car, heading out to climb some rock faces in the rugged Grampians ranges of Western Victoria. We are passing the outlaying suburbs of Melbourne. A well familiar sight to anyone in Australia, the US and anywhere where cars have shaped city growth. Suburban sprawl as its known, areas filled with single story houses connected by vast network of highways. A sea of terracotta-tiled and metal roofs copied and pasted as far as the eye can see.

I know that very soon this landscape will change dramatically to one I'm more at ease with: endless eucalyptus woodlands and grasslands. Ah, the countryside.

I'm in the back of the car, daydreaming, while the driver and another passenger are engaing in a debate. One of them, a German, is obviously irritated by the strange look of this built landscape outside. These houses are substandard and dysfunctional. The proud Aussie, however, defends the houses. After all these are cost effective buildings that rely on 100 year-old construction techniques. The astonished German wonders what architects do in this country. The Aussie reassures him that architects are "just" designers. How could they possibly improve these buildings, or these places? The German becomes uncomfortably quiet. Indeed they are designers. How could design be of any value...?

Thoughts in my mind are on the 5% of new houses that are actually designed by architects (and probably none in suburbs such as the one outside).

We pass the last Victorian era-inspired new estate.

Where the suburbs dream of city, and the fence tames the outback...

Why is it that in the second decade of the 21st century, the overwhelming majority of new buildings is still ignorant of architecture, unmindful of the context and, to cite Robin Boyd - downright ugly? Why is it that architects are thought of as "designers only". Why is design considered unimportant, and is it architects' fault? These are the questions that bother me as scenery gives way to romantic albeit harsh Australian landscape.

Maybe we expect too much from architecture. Architects tend to be idealistic, yes I know that. I also know that some Politicians like to think that new developments or renewal of urban spots will "enliven" these places and even whole towns. OK, it may even do so, superficially at least, but I don't believe it's architecture's main objective (let alone that of any new built work) to enliven an environment. Whatever that means...

A friend of mine comes from a tiny picturesque village in the Adriatic (right accross from Venice). He frequently jokes about locals' unenthusiastic view of life, endless complaints about the (few) tourists that somehow end up on this island, the lack of fish, and complaints about the tourists when they don't appear at all. Those damn tourists...

Closer to home, I've stayed in locations far from cities, worked on farms surrounded by acres of unspoiled forests, and seen occupants equally unhappy. They like to complain about city folks in Sydney and Melbourne.

Yet to anyone outside, these places are paradise. Clearly, environment by itself, both built or natural, does not provide a good indication of people's happiness. Yes, you can give a beggar new clothes, it may even put a smile on his/her face, but it will probably not change much. People always want more.

So if architecture can't bring happiness, why bother then?

Because happiness in the above sense is a superficial notion, and architecture and design go deeper than that. Because buildings and the state of our environment is a reflection (a mirror) of ourselves. And we surely don't like what we are seeing: materialism, conformism, meaninglessness, superficiality...confusion? Ehm, not quite how you like to see yourself. I don't.

If there is one thing that drives me in life it is my core values, my world view (which is quite flexible, something I learned the hard way - link). To have a purpose in life or a driving force is often regarded as a goal in individuals life, to have a meaningful existence. I would often feel depressed during periods when I felt my work was of no value, that my life was being wasted. Jobs that paid reasonably well, but which left me completely drained and unmotivated.

Design reminds us of those core values. Societal and our own.

But if majority of buildings speak materialism, boredom, and regularity, then it only reinforces those things in us. Add to that the confusion that many "designed" buildings bring and no wonder we have cities of today: A hotchpotch of styles, messages and confused looks. Confused building in a confused environment. We are indeed screaming back at ourselves à la Edvard Munch's well known painting.

In Australia, we like to call strangers mates but at the same time our fences are growing steadily higher. In the large cities neighbours rarely speak to one another. We don't like to see ourselves that way, so can architecture help? Can good design remind us of those values we think of as our own? Perhaps we are not giving architecture a fair go.

The three days spent hiking and climbing in Grampians had recharged my batteries and reinstated my confidence in this life (not that I was exactly suicidal), throwing into disrepute my theory on environment and happiness. But I know reality will quickly strike, when we begin to pass those same Quasi-Victorian developments on the outskirts of Melbourne. Those same houses that you encounter in Alice Springs, Kalgoorlie, Cairns, and Sydney, in desert and tropics alike, completely oblivious to their surroundings.

Yet I also know there is hope because change starts at home. It just takes effort and time. That and being true to our values. Always.

In the meantime, we'll just blame the architects...

Architecture of Comics

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 04:59:00 +0000

Architectrue is not unlike story-telling. And what distinguishes great architecture is the fact that it tells a deep story about people, their customs and values, their attitudes, processes, governance, and struggle (or lack thereof). I'm a firm believer that architets (hopefully still playing an important part in the process of city making) have a great deal to learn from story tellers.

Roko Zaper of RedCloudWhite Studio is one such story teller. His series of graphic novels portray people of various backgrounds, living in different eras, and their journeys through this thing we call life. It is an eclectic mix of drawings and text, that speaks of that very central topic in his stories.

Not so long ago, I was working in a small architect's office when one of the bosses told me "...never put your heart into anything you do." Astonished as I was to hear that, I put some thought into that remark, trying to make some sense of what he tried to say. After a few days, however, I noticed that this same person answered my question, as he had a daily saying that "life's a pain!"...Needless to say, I didn't hang around long in that job.

To cut it short, story-tellers like Zaper, tell us to stand for what we believe in, to take life less seriously, and to be true to our calling, rather than to fall into contemporary architectural profession's trap, whether it be money, status, power, or mere survival. They teach us that we are architects for a reason, and not vice-versa.

Architects and Sydney Tower

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 06:44:00 +0000

Sydney Tower, as Meaghan Morris argues in Australian Mythologies: Sydney Tower, is a fine example of a building that has no meaning, yet it successfully achieves it's intention: It was a commercial success, and it also provokes some thought. Whilst Sydneysiders do label it as their own, it does challenge architects in the debate of what the true meaning of architecture is. It is this meaning that is worrying in the architecture of popular culture.

Image by timtom.ch

It is believed that successful architects either are, or need to be narcissistic about their work, or that they eventually become so. But in this sense narcissism is about standing for one's firm beliefs. The reason that architects seem to have left out popular opinion and vernacular from their debates is based on the fact that these have been so harshly exploited in today's society, and Sydney Tower is a product of such a society. It may have some meaning, but it certainly lacks a sense of place (For example Berlin and Toronto have similar towers).

Architects in my mind have not neglected popular opinion and vernacular. Rather, they are opposed to the fact that people are becoming disconnected from places where they live. Instead, that, which is supposedly good (architecture) is suggested to the masses, by various parties with power (not architects), and every bit of this 'goodness' sold for profit.

Architecture and medicine

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 10:04:00 +0000

According to Beatriz Colomina, architecture has always followed medicine. From early modernism on, architects have been seeking ways to create "healthy" buildings. The objects that they have been dissecting are arguably dead objects. In many respects, they failed, producing buildings that had countereffects on their occupants (such as the sick building syndrome). Another violence of this act is it that it gives a great pleasure to the architect: a pleasure to design...

Analysing Architecture

noreply@blogger.com (Zeddie) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 17:35:00 +0000

This book by author Simon Unwin is a must for every student of architecture as well as anyone with a genuine interest in design of the built environment.

In short, Analysing Architecture offers a great framework for looking at what makes architecture architecture. Using original sketches the author discusses main elements of architecture, and the processes and factors by which these elements have been dealth with in creating it. The concept of place-making is given a focal point.

The book is simple and easy to follow yet ideas presented in it have far reaching potential. In this way, it will be very helpful to first and second year students, and also be of great assistance to those latter-year students who get stuck with their over-complicated design tasks. I found it to be one of only a handfull of useful references (whose topics is chiefly architectural design) throughout my studies.

Of course you can always go ahead and spent $300 on Phaidon's Atlas of World Architecture or any book inudnated with flashy works and obscure theories by latest "In" architects from the Netherlands...