2016 Wheelwright Prize Finalist Presentations

2016 Wheelwright Prize Finalist Presentations


Good afternoon. And thanks, all, for coming
out for the finalists’ presentations of the
Wheelwright Prize. 2016, I should say, right? I want to spend
just a few minutes. I need to say something
about the prize, itself. I know a lot of
you know very well about the Wheelwright Prize,
which is a very old prize. Then, I’ll introduce the
finalists for this year. And then we’ll
hear presentations, from each of the
finalists, followed by a sort of
roundtable discussion. So thanks, again,
for coming out. In 1935, the family of the
GSD alumnus Arthur Wheelwright endowed a traveling fellowship,
for a single student, from the GSD, which was then a
school of architecture, only. And it was to be a
grand tour experience, in the tradition of the
Beaux-Arts grand tour, where the student would
travel, inevitably, to Europe, to Italy, even. And it was at a time when
international travel, especially from America,
was actually quite rare. And it was considered,
in a way, essential, if you’re going to be a truly
great architect, that you have this travel. Previous winners
included William Wurster, who went on to be this great
educator on the East and West coasts, Eliot Noyes,
I.M. Pei, Paul Rudolph. There are many, many others,
that you can imagine, as well as was pointed out in
conversation, many students, who also didn’t get
it, that went on to the great accomplishments. But it was an important prize. It was relaunched by Mohsen
and the school in 2013. It’s an altogether new
conception for the prize. Now it would be open to support
exceptional, early-career architects, who needed
and deserved the time and space to create and execute
long-term research projects. And of course, research
is one of the things that this school has become
very, very important recently. But what we were looking for
in the Wheelwright prize, in this new design of
the Wheelwright prize, was research projects
not that we’re adjunct or in addition to
an architectural practice, but rather an architectural
practice which was, itself, a mode of research. And I think the
finalists you’ll see, today, and the finalists that
you’ve seen in past years, in this new relaunched
conception, emphasize that. This is our fourth cycle in
the new conception of it. We received, for 4 years,
about 400 applications from around the world. The jury, actually– there’s
an initial screening. And usually, about 1/2 of
those, about 200 applications, are looked at by the jury. This year they came from
50 countries, worldwide. Previous winners have been
Gia Wolff, a GSD alum– she won the prize in
2013– Jose Ahedo, in 2014, and Erik L’Heureux
just last year. And I also want to mention
that, especially in 2015– it was the first
year that we invited multiple finalists to present. Last year, we invited
three finalists to present. And just to mention
that Malkit Shoshan, who was one of the finalists,
is now in New York. Recently, her project
that she presented, for the Wheelwright
Prize, was shown, again, at the Dutch pavilion– will
be shown in the Dutch pavilion at the next Venice Biennale. So my point is that even
these presentations, already, in some cases, began or
launch a research project even for the finalists who don’t win. And similarly, Quyhn
Vantu, an artist in London, has had multiple shows that
included her Wheelwright proposals. I just want to mention this
year’s jury– Eva Franch, from Storefront in New
York, and Rafael Moneo, who unfortunately couldn’t
be here, Kiel Moe, who is here, Jeannie Kim, an alum
and, herself, a Wheelwright prize winner, Ben Prosky–
many of you, of course, know Ben, now at the Center
for Architecture in New York– Mohsen and myself. Those were the jurors. So what I’d like
to do is I’m going to go ahead and do a
very brief introduction, because the extended
bibliographies are available on web and in
posters and things outside. I want to introduce
all the candidates in alphabetical order. And then we’ll
hear presentations from each of them and
then a round table. And I do want to keep this
informal and discursive and easy. Well, not easy, but. Samuel Bravo, of
Samuel Arquitecto, is from Santiago, Chile. He’s an architect
who’s worked, though, in a variety of contexts
in South America, from Patagonia to the Amazon,
developing the relationships– and this will be also
his research project– between traditional
building practices and contemporary
architectural production. But it’s more
specific than that. He’s particularly interested
in the traditional and often endangered
architectures along the great
hydrographic basins or these giant basins in South
America, the Amazon being the largest, where
drainage takes place, and where very particular
architectures and very particular cultures arise from
the ecosystems of these basins. So he’ll be exploring and
will explain his exploration of the link between those
traditional architectures and contemporary
architectural production. Matilde Cassani, from
Milan, Italy– and I should mention the time
of the degrees as well. The finalists all have to
have professional degrees in architecture. And I just think it’s
important to mention that. Samuel received his degree 2009,
from the Pontifical Catholic University of Chile. Matilde Cassani graduated, with
a bachelor of architecture, 2005 in Milan, and
then went on to get a Ph.D., also from Milan. She directs her own
practice, in Milan, working in architecture,
art, curatorial practices, installation, designs,
as I hope we see. Matilde will be looking at
the architecture of pilgrimage sites. And some of the
work, already, that’s she’s done, in installations
across the world, including the United
States, deals, I would say, with the rituals of space, as
much as the spaces of ritual, if I can say it that way,
meaning that sometimes the equipment in the spaces,
the carpets, the objects of worship, gain
architectural importance through the framing
of the ritual, itself, at these pilgrimage sites. So we look forward to that. Anna Puigjaner, from
Barcelona, graduated with a bachelor of
architecture in 2004, also went on to do a
Ph.D. in Barcelona. She’s the co-founder
of MAIO, which is an architectural office, in
Barcelona, interested, really, in systems, flexible systems,
but systems in general, systems that, therefore,
include or accommodate architectures that are
ad hoc, architectures that are ephemeral,
architectures that change. And her proposal develops out
of this expanded understanding of architectural systems to look
at the domestic realm, where certain necessary, programmatic
elements, like the kitchen, perhaps like the
bathroom, are not included in the domestic
space, directly, but can be accommodated
by an expanded understanding of urban systems. So she calls it the
kitchen-less city. And we’ll see examples
of how, by expanding the understanding
of architecture to be a system
rather than a thing, this idea of the kitchen-less
city can be proposed. And then, finally,
Pier Paolo Tamburelli, founder of Baukuh Architects,
in Milan and Genoa, graduated from Genoa in 2002,
and then an advanced degree, in 2004, from the Berlage. You’ll recognize, actually, a
number of buildings of Baukuh, including the Italian pavilion
for the Shanghai Expo in 2010. And this, if I may say,
extraordinary “House of Memory” in Milan, which is a very
recent project, of 2015. He will be researching
to produce an atlas of the wonders of the world. And it involves, again, sort
of contemporary rituals, monuments, memorials
that contribute to this idea of an unfolding
of architecture that, again, is shaped by the idea
of ritualized occupation. So those are our four finalists. Can we welcome them as a school? [applause] And ask Samuel to come and
begin the presentations. Thank you. Well, hi, everyone. Thanks, Michael, for
the presentation. I would also like
to thank the Harvard GSD for the opportunity
of being here and sharing my work
and the perspective of a possible architecture in
the Cultural Friction conflict. My proposal,
“Cultural Frictions, Towards the Transference from
Traditional Architectures to the Contemporary
Productions” aims to research endangered
traditional architectures among three major hydrographic
basins of the world, as both a physical and
meaningful relation of peoples with landscape. Looking through particular
constructions of landscape, I will inquire how people
deal with the fiction of traditional spaces
with modernity. I’m going to explain the
parts of the argument, I’m showing, over
the next few minutes. These are the steps
of my own journey. And the circle, I’m
willing to complete through this
Wheelwright proposal. First, I’m going
to present a work of Juan Downey, a Chilean
architect that, in the ’70s, approached the Yanomami
people from the Amazon. Downey’s work reveals,
through his own experience, the meaningful relation
of culture and landscape. I will analyze the
work of Downey insofar as it suggests a perspective to
my own work and this proposal. Following, I would like to
share with you two experiences of my own work, both of
them represent an insight into a particular context. First, the experience
of Tarapaca– I discovered this, for the first
time, traditional architectures as a set of behaviors,
that we, as architects, could interpret as a strategy
for the contemporary production In the second case, I lived
with the Shipibo people of the Amazon. This allowed me to
project over the ground of a traditional
architecture that contains a perfectly
balanced relation with the elements of nature. Then I would like
to propose a comment on what I learned from the
traditional architectures and what I think are the
challenges for a cultural space that ranges from the traditional
environment to the very flawed slums in modern cities. Finally, I would like
to describe the goals and itinerary of my
Wheelwright proposal, to finish with the projections
and challenges that it raises. In the ’70s, Chilean
architect and artist, Juan Downey, recorded the
Yanomami people of the Amazon, pioneering video art. This register gives
an insight not only to the physical relation
of people with landscape, but also shows the creation of
the collective house, shabono, as a meaningful display. Between November
1976 and May 1977, Downey lived with the Yanomami
communities of [inaudible] in the upper Orinoco River. Downey experienced, himself, the
social structure of the shabono and discovered in it the
perfect instance of invisible, like flexible and
economic architecture. This image shows the products of
cultural friction, an observer, which is looking at its own
reality and, at the same time, creating a new one mediated
by a foreign world. This is what my Wheelwright
proposal is about. Architecture for the Yanomami
has an elemental sense. And it involves not only
the physical nature but also the supernatural way
they perceive the world. The house encloses the quotidian
space and concludes a cycle. Nature’s solves and
absorbs everything that happens in the house. Even the house, itself, is
physically part of the place. Through some years
practicing architecture, I’ve had the opportunity of
approaching different regions of the South American context. It has been a journey
that has shaped my vision of
architecture, itself, and has raised my interest
in the traditional habitat. So I would like to share with
you three experiences, located in very different regions of
South America, that [inaudible] in the relation of the
architectural practice and traditional construction
of the built environment. In 2005, an earthquake
devastated Tarapaca village in the Atacama desert. Although very few
people live there, because of the depressed
agricultural economy, the town takes a fundamental
place in popular devotion. It’s annual parade draws 100,000
people, from all over Atacama, in a pilgrimage that
transcends borders. It amazed me how a 70 town
people turns into 100,000. The town is shaken
from its lethargy, and it’s brought back to
life for a week a year. Every available space,
from the cemetery to the river esplanade,
is occupied by tenants. When there is no more available
room, the road is closed and vehicles stop going through. People begin to walk
from the highway through the desert
above the creek. The bands play their
marching tunes, and the dancing brotherhoods
perform their dances in honor of San Lorenzo, the
patron saint of Tarapaca. Tarapaca village is the
theater of this performance. It’s square and streets
are the space that shapes the saint’s procession. This public space, shaped by a
coherent, collective creation, we saw that deintegrated
by the earthquake. It was the non-monumental
nature of heritage, the quotidian experience- the
more difficult to rebuild. Here, we see the damaged
part of the edification, in red, and how
this reconfigures the public part of the town. So a group of students,
first, and later architects, we were committed to the
paradox of rebuilding from an irreplaceable story,
built over centuries by peoples and craft long forgotten. We traveled and built
along with the community. More than a singular
project, our approach was to interpret
heritage values, as a set of abstract
qualities, that had to be drawn to the context
of the contemporary production. The Tarapaca group
established a methodology based in research and
survey of the entire town. We used every possible
recording available from ethnographic narrations
to habitability and climate measurements of
constructed systems. We discovered in this
strategy, take heritage values, present in the
traditional architecture, and deliver them
to the community in the form of a
game, a set of rules that anyone could
follow to reveal his own part of the town’s
private and public space. I’ll stop here, for a while,
to mention my fellow partners on this initiative, Bernadette
Devilat, Veronica Illanes, Natalia Sporke, Felipe Kramm,
Alvaro Silva, and the group that won the competition, which
joined us in the enterprise. Among our solution, based in
a stable, structural unit, where it then developed. With this system, we created
our community project, aimed to show an example that
the community, itself, could replicate according to
their particular needs. The “Culture House”
of San Lorenzo came to rebuild the
old community house. The floor plan is organized the
same way as Tarapaca houses, around a central corridor. The repetition of
this structural module has a spatial consequence
that interprets the thickness of the adobe
wall, while, at the same time, it reproduces its thermal mass. This mixed earthquake
resistant system came to restore the
damaged image of adobe in the eyes of the community. The roof just is cane shades,
allowing the ventilation and projecting a light
pattern over the inside. The space resembles the
old shaded and [inaudible] houses, whose heavy
adobe mass feels always fresh during
the hot hours, while relieving the heat of
the day and the cold nights. Traditional architectures
are the support of daily activities. It responds generally to
the life of a community. Here, we see the opening
of the Culture House, with the major
and the community. Two years later, in
2009, a new project brought me to the
Ucayali River basin in the center of
the Peruvian Amazon. Professor Sandra
Iturriaga invited me to collaborate in Ani Nii
Shobo, a healing center based in the traditional medicine
from the Shipibo people. In order to develop
and build the project, I went to live with them. And then I saw the river
droughts and floods that shaped the landscape. I sailed along
the waterways that connect peoples
and their economies and experience, myself, the
wet heat and heavy rain. This is how I began to learn
how to navigate this territory. The native Shipibo community
of San Francisco de Yarinacocha is placed both physically
and conceptually between the deep forest
of their grandfathers and the bustling attractions
of the nearby Pucallpa city. Ani Nii Shobo, big house of the
forest, in Shipibo language, is a healing center and resort
based on the plant medicine from the Shipibo people. To fit this extremely
hot and wet climate, peoples from the Amazon have
developed a simple yet specific set of rules, creating an
architecture that embodies a traditional atmosphere. The Shipibo houses have tall
roofs, made up of palm leaves. A pronounced sleeve
favors the water runoff, while the hot air
is concentrated in the upper part of
the volume, creating fresh and vented shades. Into this space, a deck that
is both the floor and the table of the house, concentrates
the quotidian activities, giving place to meals and
odd conversations accompanied by craft-making. This is the role we found
for our collective dining room, a big Shipibo house. The dining can be
fully opened or closed, yielding a continuous covered
terrace with a vent down below. The project is based on use
of locally-sourced materials. The constructive logic was such
in the vernacular architecture, so that it could be
built by local craftsmen. The situation of trees, sights,
and the ever-changing water levels were [inaudible]
to place the program. Covered outer matches
create a shaded surround for everyday things, and
an intermediate [inaudible] for the quality of life. The walls, themselves,
tend to match with the roof or fade into superposition
of pure metal screens. Rather than enclose
the spaces, we were talking about
built interiors. In 2013, rises the
possibility of development on another project with
the Shipibo community. Nii Juinti, a home
and school oriented towards the teaching of
the traditional medicine, from the Shipibo people, based
on the use of native plants. The plant medicine of the
Shipibo people is unparalleled. It is an identity value
they feel proud about. They don’t feel the same about
traditional architectures. Here, they feel poor
and deprived of what they see as a better life. The effort that
we’re making is not about dignified precariousness
but about acknowledging what are truly remarkable
environmental achievements, from an elemental architecture,
an architecture that is light, fresh,
and can transform the materials of the
immediate environment into a perfectly balanced
relation with the elements of nature. In the case of Nii Juinti, we
defined a cloak-like envelope, typical of the local
shebon palm constructions, but this time interpreted
as a flexible shell modeled by folding paper, a sort
of parametric system available in any context. The structure is composed of
a three-dimensional fold built on a system of two pieces that
creates a triangulated mesh. The fabrics geometry
is finally defined by setting the distance
between vertices. The whole structure
contributes to the generation of a light cover. This system is offered to
become part of local practices, renewing traditional
deep-rooted techniques and incorporating
adjustments and adaptations of a new kind of craft. For the globally connected
building industry, the immediate environment
has been expanded, blurring that local condition. Architecture,
nonetheless, embraces a bond with the
context and one thinks to search for a material
and constructive identity. Cultural frictions
involve a restructuration of the relation with
the environment, tending to alter this balance
through the replacement of materials and craft
held by tradition. The dynamics of
traditional architectures can nevertheless nourish
and re-significate the urban context. Facing change, traditions can
either evolve or be replaced. Evolution is, therefore,
fundamental in the transmission of cultural features. And the continuity of knowledge
has a close dependence on innovation. To newcomers, the
face of growing cities are slums, therefore,
these are the interface of traditional space
with modernity. One of the great challenges
of the contemporary appetite is the uncontrolled
growth of cities. This produces, in
a spontaneous way, a built environment in a
scape that greatly surpasses the reach of the architecture’s
planning and projecting tools. To tackle this issue, we
must penetrate the dynamics of informal settlement
creation, again, composed of its own rules. The extinction of
traditional environments and the rest of the peripheral
slum, urban population are both part of
the same circle. That is why I would
like to stress the tension between
these two polarities, emphasising the
collective process. What I would like
to ask people living there is the same
that I only asked. Show me how to live
the way that you do so I can see the world
through your understanding. The great hydrographic basins
contains the natural diversity that has numerous primeval ways
of inhabiting the territory. The itinerary of my research
proposes the identification of geographic drivers that
guide an approach to culture through territory I choose three major
drainage basins containing a rich cultural
background, plus contrasting with growing modern cities. The case study methodology
is composed of two parts. As a first step, I would
[inaudible] those settlements using graphical and
spatial tools of analysis provided by our
discipline, creating a survey that makes possible
an understanding of communities and their respective landscapes. Then, a reflection in the form
of architectural installations will emerge from the
observed insights, ways to recreate it,
build or install it waits for the awakening
of opportunity. Through these experiments,
the spatial, material, or conceptual
dimension of culture will be analyzed interacting
with local communities. [inaudible] Well, as a first
step, I would like to visit the Amazon basin,
in which I will visit the Ashaninca communities of
communal Ashaninca reserve near Parque Otishi in
the Ene River, Peru. I want to live among them
and penetrate their territory by their paths and guidance. The urban areas of the
region, the cities of Pucallpa and Atalaya will
offer a counterpoint to the forest communities. The Shipibo community of Rio
Pisqui, near the [inaudible] maintains relations
with the community of [inaudible] in which I live. The Pisqui community,
nonetheless, meets in a much more isolated
region, reached only by boat, near the headwaters
of the river. This trip completes a
panorama of the Shipibo people from their farthest expression
to the urban condition. In the Congo river,
I will travel across one of the world’s
greatest waterways and the fundamental connection
to the Congolese territory. Here, I will visit two growing
cities of the region, Kinshasa and Kisangani. In 2025, Kinshasa will
be Africa’s largest city, with 16.7 million inhabitants. The growing slums
of the urban areas will offer a vivid example
of a culture transformation in a friction front. In parallel, my journey will
seek for the multi-ethnic group from the [inaudible] rainforest
in Congo and the Baka people from Boumba Bek National
Park in Cameroon. These are the world’s greatest
hunter-gatherer populations. This way the itinerary links
two poles of the human relation with landscape. In both cases, I will
ask for the same question about the creation
of these habitats. The Brahmaputra basin
offers a rich and complex religious and symbolic
ground while it integrates the entire urbanization
process of population, from the traditional village to
peripheral slums in big cities, such as Dhaka, the world’s
fastest growing city. I will observe, from Dhaka
to [inaudible], the creation of both the peripheral slums
and the traditional village as a self-organized process. And finally,
traditional production tends to incorporate collective
creative dynamics developed to time. The role of architects
may range from the concept of architectural project to
operate as a factor already ground of a collective process. To decipher the parameters
and [inaudible] tradition, the possibilities of
crafts and tectonics, the role of culture
and landscape broadens the reach
of architecture over informal dynamics. The real concept
of this dynamic is turned into a project
matter and a source for rethinking the contemporary
architectural production. But most importantly, we’re
among the last ones that can look at many living
traditions that are now threatened, whether it
is an insulated Amazonian tribe or a global slum, most
of the world’s population inhabits informally
constructed dwellings belonging in some sort of
traditional building process. The concept of project is
often alien to these habitats. To penetrate these
dynamics, learn from them, and operate over
their environments is the challenge that we face. Thank you for listening. [applause] So, Matilde. Hi, Thank you, everybody,
for the invitation. I’m really glad and
honored to be here. My proposal is title,
“Once in a Lifetime.” And I will explain you
a little bit later. But the subtitle would be,
“The Architecture of the Ritual in Pilgrimage Sites.” My presentation
will start with what I believe, as architecture,
could be a ritual. By the fact that my design
is completely research-based, so every time I
produce research, I’m also designing something. And my aim is to design. And “Once in a Lifetime”
would be the proposal. And then I will explain
the targeted area and the methodology. Both in my practice an my
field research, at the moment, I’m reflecting the
special implication of cultural pluralism in the
contemporary Western context, in which I live and I study. And I’m personally interested
in the architecture as a system of rituals, in which
space is describe by gestures that are repeated in time. What I do is I carefully
reflect on what already happened to understand
how architecture takes place. And I create projects in
which I try to create, somehow, pure context. I will start very biographically
by my graduation thesis, and the first approach
I had to the topic, which was in December, 2006,
when I was in Sri Lanka. At that time, as an
architecture graduate, I was working for GTZ, which
is the German Technical Corporation. At that time, a
tsunami happened. And it was a really
big media event. And Sri Lanka was
struck by this wave that destroyed around 200,000 houses
in a country that probably was producing 4,000
houses per year. So it was completely
overwhelmed. And a lot of international
organizations and UN missions were dealing with construction. Me, as an architect,
I was in charge of implementing and redesigning
design projects coming from abroad. Usually, you would receive
a fax from Brussels or from Geneva, the UN bases. And I would have to
translate it into the field. People were relocated in small
villages at the periphery, far from the coast. And UN agencies were
paying new houses. And at that moment,
I understood how the ritual and how the
importance of spirituality actually could
become a motivation to the production of space. In this case, you can see that
the four different religions present in Sri Lanka, Hindus,
Muslims, Catholics, and Buddhists, basically put forward
a completely different model of house, starting from the
model house we were producing. So one house became, in the
end, four completely different typologies, given
by the necessity of rituals that the community
were putting forward. So the idea of
spirituality can definitely become an urban issue, because
the villages were really completely influenced by
the necessity of form, of each different
cultural group. And it’s always been
part of history. I would cite Sibyl
Moholy-Nagy, which was the wife of
Laszlo Moholy-Nagy, and wrote this book
called Native Genius in Anonymous Architecture. And she’s stating that the
history of architecture started, as being predominantly
a selection of means and meanings in deliberately
planned environments, basically, when the settler
understood how to basically connect the physical
and the spiritual forces into the architectural
processes. Architecture as ritual
became the driving force of my practice since that
moment– so after Sri Lanka. And in 2007, I started
this wider research called “Sacred Spaces
in Profane Buildings.” Occasionally, I found
this really remote place, in the Po valley,
in Italy, called Novellara, where the
economy’s completely based on the production
of the Parmesan cheese. And 45% of the population
is actually immigrants. And most of them are coming
from India, Punjab, one region. And they’re all Sikhs. And one day of the
year, the village completely explodes
into this festival, which is the Vaisakhi,
the harvest festival. It’s the only day of
the year in which you can see the community
celebrating, because, normally, they live in the
outskirts of the villages. And this event struck
me, completely. just to see also how the public
spaces were completely suitable for this kind of celebration. And the ritual lunch
in the soccer field was completely perfect
for this event. This expanded into what I
was trying to understand. So how, really, a
contemporary city can incorporate all of
this religious pluralism, which is the conditions
that we have today? And where are the new
places which this manifests? When I moved to
Barcelona, I decided to enter a series
of spaces that were, basically, places to worship but
built inside informal settings. And I tried to map, myself,
conditions that were not available anywhere,
which were all the different religious
communities present in the city and in the different areas. And that line was actually
connecting each religion, where each dot was a place of
worship and each religion was a type of line. It was a very long process. It was a bit, also,
tiring, physically, because I was going from
one religion to the other and also was flipping
the city, trying to find these almost
hidden spaces here. Of course, these
spaces are completely community-based, are
completely connected with the commercial
activities around. And being then
related to a strategy to avoid official registration. Because, of course,
we have to remind that it’s impossible to
build a religious-based thing that is not a church. In Europe, it’s very
difficult. And it’s a very tiring and long process. So in the meantime, places
grow from within the buildings. And they are, of
course, multifunctional. So they are everything
in one single room. So they are praying
spaces, gathering spaces, teaching spaces, and
baths, occasionally. But still, the
features of the sacred are appearing
inside these spaces. So there’s always a
[inaudible] between the outside and the inside. And the ritual is
actually developing throughout the
architecture of the place. And from there, I draw
the idea of producing these spiritual devices in 2010. The were simply boxes
that were containing the objects that
were to be found in these kind of
informal spaces. It was very weird,
but each community seemed to have the same strategy
to furnish these places. So the same Ikea shelf,
the same digital clocks, the same carpets,
as if there was a sort of kit for the instant
production of sacred space. And by discovering, one by
one, each of these elements, So I then crossed it
with how the body is positioned during the ritual. And in the end, I
produced these boxes that were containing
very profane objects, mass-produced
projects, actually, that, in the moment
they were placed inside these kind of
spaces, they were becoming the objects of the ritual. And the four boxes were
actually mirroring each of the minorities I was
finding around the city. And the geometry of
the ritual, so how the body would move according
to a different ritual. And here, it’s actually
the paragon between them. And the book was containing
all the research. The book was very metaphorical. It had a very hard,
concrete cover, and basically contained all
of the information I gathered. And then, going on, when I moved
to New York City, because I got asked by the director
of Storefront for Art and Architecture to
work, on the City of New York, on that project. It became very difficult
for me to understand how to read the same
things in a city that has a completely
different scale and has a completely
different integration history and regulations. And “Sacred Spaces in
Profane Buildings,” when traveling to New
York, became this research that, in the end, was a
sort of archival material that was demonstrating, somehow,
that the history is always the same. And it’s slow. And it’s an adoptive processes. So a prayer space that starts
on the ground, with carpets, in Brooklyn, then,
as we see in Europe, goes to the streets
and then becomes, more or less, a formalized
shape, as in this case, the Mosque Malcolm
Shabazz in Harlem. And the history is not over yet. We are just in a moment in which
we are waiting for the process to develop. But in the meantime,
in the US, we still see the sacred symbol coming
outside of the building. So we still see the
form and the cross. And the Hindu temples that
were AT&T supermarkets that are now displaying completely
this kind of architectures. This is in Corona, Queens. And then curious, of
course, what has been altered the most to encompass
and to host the ritual? For instance, the
Sikh temple, that used to be an Orthodox
church or in a mosque before, and, now, it’s a Sikh temple. And the inside hosts
perfectly all the necessity of the prayers
until the bed that is hosting the
sacred book, there’s three gurus on site
during the night. And this bed contains five
copies of the same book. The book is very sacred. So only the priest can touch it. And everyday, the book
is brought downstairs, where the [inaudible] is. And its read from the
beginning to the end. And then, at night, it’s
put back to the bed. And of course, it’s the best
room of the whole temple. And there’s AC and
there’s everything necessary for the
life of the book. Just to enlarge the
picture from the very micro to the very macro
scale, Manhattan and Queens and all the boroughs
of New York are filled with these kind of spaces. And even lower
Manhattan has something like 100 different congregations
and Buddhist temples. And any kind of religion
is present in the city towards this very small
outposts that the religion has. And sometimes, you still see
the same, what’s outside, but sometimes not. And this got quite
struck into me, when I started
mapping these places. And each of the numbers
are indicating one place. And as you follow the
shape, you basically reconstruct the world
geography of the city, without even having the
boundaries of the city. So the [inaudible] New York can
be depicted by highlighting, simply, the religious buildings,
like these informal ones, not even the formal ones. And when, in the end,
I got back to Italy, and I was invited, at
the Venice Biennale, to talk about a very
documentary idea of Italy, I decided to work on
this celebration day, that very famous
celebration I explained to you at the beginning,
where architecture can also be simply made of people. And that day, the city,
from this situation, which is the everyday
situation, becomes this one and reveals the actual
population, the citizens and economy of these
kind of rural villages. And every public space is
perfectly suitable and utilized for the procession that
starts from the first Sikh temple built in Italy
to the main square. This, of course, reveals– like
that feast is just an excuse to reveal a completely
wider picture, in which we have at least other 50
gurdwara, all in the Po valley. And this would be added
to other parts of Italy, other agricultural
lands, in which Sikhs are making to produce the
milk for the Parmesan cheese. And those are some examples
that are architecture that are always a little
bit like a mediation between regulations,
paradox situations with the municipalities. But then the inside are really
revealing the necessity of form and the necessity of the
ritual to produce a shape. So those are all pictures
taken from the same places. And that was the installation
at the Biennale, two large lenticular prints
that were revealing, slowly, the square empty
and square completely filled with people. And the book was acting
as a sort of– it’s the actual manual to
understand and detect what was happening during the feast. Here, you have a very cheap
version of the most sacred one at the Biennale. And this, as [inaudible]
was just describing, all the regulations necessary
to produce, for instance, a Sikh temple in a
country like Italy, where only a Catholic
church could be built without the instructions. And the ritual is
on display, also, in been very profane projects
I’ve done in the recent past. For instance, this
one, “Mineralwasser,” is simply a bar, a pavilion
in a garden in Mexico City. And this very long frame just
divides the garden in two and produces a space that
is just framed by the frame, itself, and divides the place
for people to have a drink and pursue the beauty
of this garden. The same way, this
staircase is simply the container, a wire-frame
container of somebody, in this case me, descending
down from this really dangerous staircase built in Milan. And going on, we can
see “Ground Atlas” as a collection of rituals. That maybe could be the
manifesto of my ideas. And I always got very
interested by how people choose a
very specific place to place their
towel at the beach or decide where to
eat his [inaudible] or uses any kind of public park. There’s always a selection. And somehow, that selection
goes towards the production of a space that can be pursued
in very different ways. This one was simply a platform
descending on the water. So the dimension was the
dimension of a fountain. But on the other
side, it could be intended as a sort of portion
of a larger landscape, such as a beach or any
kind of natural place. It was a pool, also,
and simply a square, like a very typical Italian
square, in which people just sit and think about what’s next. And that’s the backside of it. And it was meant to be built
at the Maxxi Museum in Rome. And just to conclude,
this was another attempt to produce flooring, paving
systems, stone paving systems that were encompassed
in the ritual, you know, very delicate but also
subliminal in a way. [inaudible] Yeah, I’m done.
“Once in a Lifetime” gets, from the objects to the
space, place, to the journey. And to me, I intend it as
the last part of this longer research I’ve done. And what I can say is
that, throughout the course of history , man has fluctuated
in between a tendency to try to include sacredness in the
architectural constructions and allow it to be
surrounded by holiness, by identifying it with nature. But pilgrimage seems to
combine both tendencies. Once in lifetime,
the religious man takes a journey in search
of spiritual significance, a pilgrimage. The pilgrim gathers,
with thousands of people, in a specific site, the
place of birth or death of founders or saints or
a place with connection with the divine, the locations
where the miracle was performed or where the [inaudible]
is set to be housed or a place that is seen to
have special spiritual powers. Of course, in 2012, we think
that pilgrimage are over, but pilgrimage are one of the
biggest economies of the world. And 200,000 visitors are
actually visiting these places. What I plan to do is to visit
the most important pilgrimage places in the world, such as
Lourdes, Mecca, Jerusalem, and Pushkar, in
India, and trying to detect the logic of
the ritual after that and produced by the people. And, of course, I cannot go
to Mecca, as being not Muslim. But I would find a way to be
helped by somebody I trust. [laughter] It’s interesting to see
that the ritual is producing space, but also space, it’s
necessary part of the process. And architecture needs to be
there to host the majority, this mass of people
touring around the Kaaba and doing all the
rituals connected to it. And Jerusalem, of
course, being one of the most important
cities for– the holy city for the main religions
of the world. And Pushkar, in
India, where a lake is considered to be sacred. And touring the lake is the
most sacred thing you could do. And then these
[inaudible] are actually architecture that is produced
in order to host the celebration and allow people to bathe
in these holy waters. And if I have time, I would
also re-actualize the message and demonstrate how
pilgrimage are completely contemporary in the way they
produce these kind of spaces. In [inaudible] just
recently built, in 2010 it was finished, in Mexico. To conclude, I would do the
Camino de Santiago backwards, to go back to my own country. As a perfect grand tour, I
would go back to my own town and start building things that
maybe would not be spiritual, spiritual meaning, but
encompass a lot of the reading of the ritual, itself. So it looks like I
could be obsessed by the religious
meaning of things. But I can say that
is a very good excuse to understand how spirituality
can produce a rhythm and can produce a space. I would use this kind of
religious pilgrimage travel agencies that would
probably bring me to the best way to these
places and allow me to visit, with the time I need. And each city would be analyzed
for one specific point of view, which is the crowd that
moves and the gesture that accomplishes. And objects, people, rituals
will definitely, in my reading, become the architecture of
this “Once in a Lifetime” achievement that people
pursue during their life. So architecture as
future [inaudible]. And now, to design
a ritual and how gestures become
architecture will be the name of the
production of this atlas, of different pilgrimages around
the world, that will encompass either natural or
artificial places and become the
architectures I mean. Thank you. [applause] So let’s start. First of all, of
course, thank you to the Wheelwright committee and
Harvard GSD for having me here. It’s an honor to
share this panel with such talented finalist
and to have the opportunity to share my work with you and
the values of “Kitchenless City.” In 1973, the first
mobile phone appeared, and it offered a talk
time of just 30 minutes. At the time, we used to
spend 32 hours per week on housekeeping duties. Nowadays, our mobile phones have
8 hours of talk time, on 3G, but we still spend 32 hours per
week to housekeeping duties. Where our everyday
life has improved thanks to new
technologies, our homes haven’t been able to
decrease daily labor, waste, and consumption. And that is a housing
and urban design problem. It’s not only about technology. It’s also about just typology. There was a time in New
York when the house was understood as an open system. It was designed, not as a single
entity, not as a unique piece, but as a set of
connected fragments that could change
depending on the needs. The space was flexible
and adaptable on demand and expanded by means
of collective rooms and domestic services. The kitchen was optional
as the rest of the rooms. And sometimes it was left
apart, becoming kitchen-less. This typology blurred
the traditional limit between the public and
the private sphere, between the domestic and
the urban– I’m sorry, and the urban sphere. And thanks to its
flexibility and sharingly was able to shrink, radically,
housekeeping costs, waste, and labor. I believe that these system’s
cases remain good reference not only to address new domestic
proposals, for the present, but also for the discipline,
at large, for architecture. That is actually what
I research and work about in my office,
MAIO, special systems for social welfare. Let me be, also, kind
of autobiographical and explain to you why I
ended up working about this. Five years ago, when my
partners, Maria Charneco, Alfredo Lerida, and
Guillermo Lopez, we decided to open a
studio for professionals from different fields. At that time– it
was 2011– in Spain, we were in a deep crisis. Not only economical and
professional but mainly– and that’s super
important– social. We had the need to design new
ways of producing architecture in order to face the
instability of the moment. With that goal in
mind, we refurbished and existing first
floor in Barcelona. We took off the roof and the
floor of an existing room, opening a patio, and
dividing the initial space into two areas. The front area is open to
the street and left empty to accommodate activities
related to the public, as events and exhibitions. Among other things, we
host a pop-up gallery in a little room that is just
seven feet by seven feet. And correct me if I’m wrong,
but I like to think that it is, or I think that it might
be, probably the smallest architectural
gallery in the world. On the other side of
the patio, the rear area is intended as a main workspace
and defined by a 12 and 1/2 meter long table where users
sit along and share their work and experience directly. In MAIO, working teams
are in collaboration, are flexible and variable
depending on the need. We have immitable
infrastructure, so to say, where everyone has its
own role and it works, and there is not a hierarchy,
not a pyramidal hierarchy. These two spaces work
as in bypass, everything that is talk and exhibited
at the front space has an influence in
our projects that we produce at the back
space and vice versa. For us, there’s not
such a distinction between theory and practice. I’m pretty sure that all of
us consider, at the beginning, that this shared-ness and
flexible situation was going to be a temporary
thing, just an experimental and turning point moment. But, at the end, it was not. Along these years, it became
not only a way of working but also a way of
understanding architecture. As it happens with our
way of working, for us, architecture
organizes and builds relations defining
possible futures. It doesn’t have a
beginning or an end but rather it’s a continuity
of something precedented that will be continued
in its future. Architecture is therefore
always in a permanent state of unfinished-ness. That is one of the
reasons why, in MAIO, we believe in special systems,
a type of order that allows operation and
change through time. Our designs are always
open, allowing for mobility, adaptation, and magnification. We believe that architecture
is not about what it is. It’s about what it can be. Soon after the opening
of the new space, we won a competition held by
the civic council of Barcelona. With the crisis,
the city was filled with empty lots
waiting to be built, that needed to be occupied
in order to avoid decay. The competition demanded to
design an ephemeral urban space that has to last at least
50 years, not a short time. The budget was really,
extremely tight, not enough to fulfill our
neighbors needs and wishes. Therefore, we decided
to design a system that could grow and allow
mutability through time but also that could
engage, thanks to its mutability,
citizens appropriation and social engagement. The proposal is based on a
definition of diagonal grid poles that recognizes the human
space and halls, lighting, and electrical system. The grid is completed by a
tensional cable, as you see, that works as a
temporary support for possible social
performances. The size of the
grid allows to feed the maximum possible
neighbors’ requirements. The project proposes an
urban space understood as an unfinished space. We did not build a square. But we designed the
potential conditions that will allow it’s open
definition, in the future, by means of social
consensus and dissent. Since we built the
grid, it has been completed in many
different ways, from many neighbors
meetings and discussions. During these last
two years, they have decided to place
in great shadows a playground, a fountain,
a temporary market, trees and plants, and a statue–
very important for them. And we’re looking to see how it
keeps on growing and changing in the following years. Since then, since
that project, we have been working with a special
system in different scale and type of projects. For instance, soon after that,
a school of art and design asked us to design an exhibition
of their work in a museum. We convinced them to produce
a modular exhibition display system that they could
reuse afterwards. This system consists of
a thin metal structure, easy to transport
and assemble, which form defined the minimum
expression of an exhibition space, a corner. A simple architectural
element that can be adapted to different
contexts and conducts, allowing an almost
infinite combination of special possibilities. We proceed in the
same way when we were asked to refurbish
an existing bar by means of a special identity
that had to be applied in other locations as well. To that end, a new
vaulted ceiling was created, defining a type
of order that could be repeated in other locations and easily. In these recent
years, we have been able to work on special systems,
also in the domestic sphere, not only researching
about kitchen-less, my main topic, and
other domestic systems but also in our practice. After six months, next Friday,
this Friday, with [inaudible], at the Museum of Contemporary
Art of Barcelona, MACBA, the exhibition
“Species of Spaces,” based on Perec’s eponymous book. We designed the
displays that aimed to transport the generic space
of a museum into a domestic one by means of grid of square
rooms of identical dimensions. We built a house of
generic rooms, where the specificity of each space is
defined by the content but not the continent. And this is exactly
the strategy that we have taken into account,
into a housing block that we are just building now
in the center of Barcelona. And these are pictures we
took just before coming here, so it’s really
under construction. But the facade looks more
finished as you will see. The client asked us to
design a housing block that its interior
arrangement could be mutable. It had to be mutable,
explored on itself, in order to answer to changes
of the demand, of the choosing on demand. Meanwhile, the facade
and the ground floor tries to consolidate
the traditional typology of the neighborhood, following
neighbors’ facade proportion and materiality. In the interior, the
arrangement of the apartments is designed as a system of rooms
that can be used as desired. And while the program
is not determined, answering to the client
demand, each apartment can be expanded or reduced,
adding or subtracting rooms, in order to answer to
the inhabitants needs. For the next coming
year, the floor plan is divided as a set of four
apartments, each of whom containing five rooms. And the rooms are
connected, among them, no corridors needed. And the kitchenette is
placed right in the middle, acting as a center of the house. The other rooms are going to
be used as bedrooms or reading rooms. We have tried this arrangement,
before, in a smaller project, with success, in
house in Majorca, where four equal-sided
rooms per floor plan were located at the corners,
allowing the kitchen to be placed in
the center, acting both as a dividing
element and a connection between those spaces. As I mentioned before, this
kind of flexible apartments were usual at the birth of
the 20th century in New York, where the house was
understood as an open system, mutable and adaptable on demand. For instance, the
apartment of the San Remo had an adjoining room
that could be open, expanding the initial
space with an extra room, connecting to three, or
even four apartments, the whole floor plan. This historical typology
has been clearly referenced to
address our housing block, an actual building
that answers to actual needs. Eight years ago, when
I started researching about this typology, and
I’d been always convinced about their actuality. I was fascinated by the
fact that they are flexible and also that they were supplied
with domestic services, which includes collective kitchens,
dining rooms, central vacuum systems, nurseries,
and much more. The domestic realm was
wider than its actual limits affecting the urban sphere. The house was not only
understood– I’m sorry. The house was understood
as a system that went beyond its physicality. It’s really important. It was not just having
a space on demand. It was also about having
services on demand. The story of this New
York, kitchen-less typology dates back to
the economical depression that followed the American
Civil War in 1865. At that moment, new
architectural solutions for the middle
class appeared that not only reduced, specifically,
the cost of living, but also allowed the elimination
of housekeeping annoyances. In New York, the
kitchen-less housing had its peak, as you see in the
maps, between 1901 and 1929. And along with
conveniences of comfort that provided
flexible apartments and collective domestic
services, ala carte, they worked as semi-public
facilities, becoming, thus, true social condensers. For instance, the
one that we have in the picture, the Belleclaire,
located that 77th Street and Broadway, had offices,
stores on the ground floor, as well as public
lounges and dining rooms. And as you see, a rooftop
open to the public. And for having this
public character, these new residential
houses had a strongly speculative and commercial aim. They were considered
profitable investments by the private sector. That is one of the reasons
why it was highly appreciated that these apartments
could be flexible, not only to offer a good
service for its inhabitants, but also to satisfy
a bigger demand and to accommodate a
wider social range. At the beginning of
the 20th century, this American typology
was published worldwide, influencing the construction
of similar housing examples, with collective
housekeeping facilities. Some of them are
still running today. Since I finished the
New York research, I have been searching
similar cases, worldwide. And I have to be thankful to
my students and colleagues who helped me out with this. And as you see,
from all the world and also from all
type of periods, from historical to
actual ones, some of them directly influenced by
the American apartments, and I’m sure about that. Some of them, just
not– they came out. That typology has appeared
in different contexts and answered to different
needs in an incredible manner. We just know the
peak of the iceberg. Meanwhile, collective kitchens
and kitchen-less living has been properly known by
its commonest character. And I’m tried of
listening to that, you’re common [inaudible]. This collection of cases,
including the New York ones, prove that, on the opposite,
that typologies are political. It has been sometimes
used as a political tool. But as Aldo Rossi claims, form
cannot be political, per se. In fact, it can be
only re-politicized, again and again, over
the course of time, in a never-ending
recurring cycle. Studying them, it’s quite clear
that their motives and origins go beyond the political and can
be classified in three cases– those that have been promoted
by the private sector, so mostly with a commercial
interest, those that have been self-promoted and self-organized
by its inhabitants, and those that have been
promoted by the government. My Wheelwright proposes to
visit a [inaudible] selection of these cases that are still
in use, nowadays, in order to have a potential cross-look. Thanks to my own
practice in MAIO, I am aware that a system cannot
be understood until it’s under use. So it requires
time to understand its values and its failures. The Wheelwright prize will
offer me the possibility to visit these places, to live
in them– really important– and to learn how these domestic
systems have been appropriated by its users and are
being really used. My goal is to visualize
these unknown realities and to come out with a common
atlas of domestic systems for social welfare, an
operative housing design tool able to increase
social cohesion and decrease labor, waste, and
energy consumption. My first step will be Cuba. Cuba, in 1963, after
the revolution, the new government promoted
the construction of new towns in rural areas, as
Sandio, where houses had collective spaces as kitchens. Meanwhile, in Havana, most of
the representative buildings were built, and it’s
the architecture that we all know well. The real domestic revolution was
happening in the countryside. A little bit earlier, during
the late ’40s and ’50s, in Rio de Janeiro, Carmen
Portinho, who, at that time, was in charge of the
Department of Popular Housing, promoted the
construction of housing with collective services
for the workers. Among all the
projects he promoted, probably the most
famous one– and you might know it– is Pedregulho. Designed by Affonso
Eduardo Reidy, it had 270 housing units,
of different sizes, and included sharing spaces, as
collective kitchens, bathrooms, living rooms, a daycare, a
health-care, a gymnasium, and a swimming pool–
an extraordinary city within a city. Portinho promoted,
also, smaller projects that are, for me, much
much more interesting. Less known but really
good, [inaudible], this one, similar to
Portinho, or [inaudible] that just housed 27 families. Almost 60 years
later, we don’t know how these domestic
systems have been used and are nowadays used. My interest to visit
these examples, this couple of historical
cases, is precisely this one, to understand how the system
is displayed and modified during a large period of time. After Cuba and Brazil,
I will head to India. Nowadays, in India,
collective kitchens are actually pumping up
thanks to solar cooking, a cooking technology
accessible, easy to build up from
scratch and by anyone, and efficient when
it’s collective. At Tilonia, the
Barefoot College, teaches rural women how
to manufacture and cook on solar cookers in order to
help them to have an income as well as decrease
their home consumes. They have also built a solar
collective kitchen that serves meals to the whole community. In this case, the
domestic system appears when the kitchen is
eliminated from the home, and it’s turned collective. Something similar is happening
in Canada and Australia. I’m not going to go, but
it’s happening there. Where multiple associations
promote community kitchens to reduce consumes,
waste, and labor, as well as to assure
healthy food consumption, they’re recent
and growing a lot. In Canada, there are already
more than 1,500 community kitchens already registered. In my point of view, these
cases are interesting due to their capacity to
change a neighborhood, a whole neighborhood, just with
the construction of a community kitchen. Sometimes it’s not necessary to
build a whole domestic system in order to affect and change
the persistent reality. China– meanwhile,
these examples are self-organized and
self-promoted, in China, collective domestic
spaces and services are being promoted, nowadays,
by the private sector. Lei Jun, the founder of the
mobile phone company, Xiaomi, is building affordable
housing, with shared spaces, for young generations, whose
salary can barely support their basic living cost. There are ready 18 complexes,
in different cities of China, that host around 5,000
people, and they’re growing. In Japan, a similar
case is happening. In 2012, for the first
time, the percentage of people living alone
in Tokyo topped 50%. The society is changing
rapidly as well as their housing typologies. We can find, there, from
big-scale housing projects, with shared spaces that have
been built by the government, as the Shinonome Canal
Court in Tokyo, well-known, to the smaller projects
built by the private sector, as these ones. A similar thing is happening
in South Korea, where the government is starting to
promote this kind of sharing culture to improve living
quality in their dense cities. These cases are rare,
less known, and, for me, really interesting. And the last case study,
but not the least, will be the Russian kommunalkas,
communal houses that resulted after a process of
compartmentation of existing apartment buildings. This type of communal apartment
became the predominant form of housing in the Soviet Union. And it is still
in use, nowadays. Here, my interest
resides in the fact that these domestic systems were
implemented on the [inaudible], over the [inaudible]. From the beginning of my trip,
I will be sharing my encounters online. As an output chronicle
of an experience that, through
glimpses, will open up a whole new domestic reality. That will be my principle
outcome and my methodology. The online platform will make
[inaudible] the common analysis of domestic systems for
social welfare hoping to disseminate globally this
operative housing design tool and to produce
the right effects. That’s the main goal. On my way back
home, as an homage, I will stop at the
[inaudible] Vienna. Sorry. Probably the most
outstanding case built in recent years,
a community that started from scratch,
a self-promoted and self-organized building typology
that nowadays has become a paradigm of domestic systems
and an important public and cultural institutions. It will be the
right place to start sharing my research
in the final phase beyond the online platform. I hope that my
encounters will open up a new world, a new
architectural reality that is happening worldwide, and
that can be a good reference to address new cases and to
improve our everyday lives. Thank you. [applause] Good morning. And first of all, thank you. It’s really a
privilege to be here. These two things,
as you might know, are, on the right,
the Weissenhofsiedlung in Stuttgart, Germany, and,
on the left, Mount Rushmore, in South Dakota, the
United States of America. Now, these two things
seem to share very little. But actually, they’ve
been both built in 1927. Although, Mount Rushmore took
a bit longer to be completed and was completed
only in the ’40s. I think it’s interesting,
because these two things that have been built at
the same time received very different type of attention
in architectural theory. We can say that one of the
two was extremely important for architectural theory
of the last century, and then the other one was
absolutely insignificant. This is also strange,
because the one that was totally irrelevant for
architectural theory, Mount Rushmore, was
extremely well received in not only pop culture but
also in the film industry and also received
attention by intellectuals, such as photographers
or movie directors. Think only of Hitchcock’s North
by Northwest, for instance. This is also remarkable. Because if we would
consider Mount Rushmore, from the point of
view of architecture of premodern architectural
theory, for sure, there would have been
some sort of attention to that type of phenomenon. But recent architectural
theory has not been able to find a way
to look at phenomena such as Mount Rushmore. Now, this is a quote
by Wittgenstein. It’s one of his remarks
on Frazer’s Golden Bough. And Wittgenstein basically says
that a possible starting point for an anthropology
is that we could observe the actions
of human beings and subdivide them into two
categories, what he calls animal activities, that he
defines like taking food, drinking, sleeping, bla bla
bla, and ritualistic actions, that he significantly
doesn’t define. So the ritualistic
are just the ones, according to this
definition by Wittgenstein, who are not animal activities. But he doesn’t say much more. I think this is
very generic, maybe, but could be a
starting point to start observing a series of phenomena
that have been ignored in recent architectural theory. And I think this phenomenon,
these spaces associated with ritualistic actions,
have been ignored because of the very foundation
of what we could call, at large, modern architecture. Here, I would consider modern
architecture, everything that starts from the
presuppositions set up by Laugier’s essay of 1753. And I think this is very clear
if we compare the Laugier definition of the
beginning of architecture with the traditional
definition by Vitruvius. And it’s also visually evident
if we compare these two things. One is the engraving
by Charles Eisen, that goes with the second
edition of the essay by Laugier. And this is one
of the engravings of the edition of Vitruvius,
by Cesariano, of 1521, if I’m not wrong. The two scenes represent
the origin of architecture. And although the
engraving by Eisen doesn’t really follow
the narration of Laugier, at the beginning of
the essay, there’s one thing that they share
that makes them completely different from the
scene described by Vitruvius, in
“Book II,” where he talks about the
origin of architecture. And the primitive man who builds
the primitive are, for Laugier, is completely alone. He’s Adam, but he doesn’t
even have a, whatsoever, Eve together with him. He is absolutely alone,
like Robinson Crusoe, on his own island. While on the
contrary, the theory, based Vitruvius, whose basis
is a narration fundamentally on Plato’s Cratylus,
already talks of a society. So the first scene is
crowded in Vitruvius. And this means that
these people, who invented architecture, didn’t
really invent architecture but invented the city and
invented the city together with language. And these things,
from the beginning, included issues like sexuality,
rituality, also violence. You see all these people
with these stones. They are quite scary. Now, if we compare the
narration of Laugier with Robinson
Crusoe, that defines the same type of liberal
subjectivity in literature, or with the definition of the
same type of liberal subject in Smith’s Wealth of
Nations, that is published some 20 years after Laugier’s
essay, what we can say is that, in the
field of economics, there’s been a lot of
criticism of this narration of the origins. And this criticism
has been based on anthropological evidence. Think of the work of Malinowski,
Marcel Maus, Karl Polyani, anybody. Anybody dismissed the narration
of Smith starting from the fact that it’s not individuals who
exchange at the beginning. It’s communities who exchange. This radical questioning of the
subject of modern architecture didn’t happen in
architectural theory. There have been episodes, I
think, Adolf Loos and certainly Rossi’s The
Architecture of the City has been a very important
contribution in this respect. But nevertheless, Rossi,
somehow, immediately after, more or less, putting
together all of the pieces, started to do a completely
different type of research. So I believe there is a space
for doing this work, developing a critique of the type
of subjectivity implicit in modern architecture,
so broadly understood. But I also think it’s
possible to combine this with a more realistic
description of the world in which we live in,
where there’s still plenty of monuments,
still plenty of ritualistic landscapes. Something that could
guide us, a bit, is a book that I think
is extremely interesting and a bit overlooked, probably. That is the Entwurf einer
historischen Architektur by Johann Bernhard
Fischer von Erlach. A book that Fischer published
in 1721, but actually he wrote– like he designed, because it’s
mainly his drawings– all in, I think, 1710,
when he was fearing that his job, as
architect of the emperor, could be in danger. The book is made
of these large, 50 by 70, drawings that describe
a series of monuments of different epochs and
of different countries. Fischer defines– in the
French version of book– the book is both in
French and German. In the French edition,
Fischer claims that what he wants to achieve–
it’s an amazing formula– is [speaking french]. So its tangentially
comparative approach that is both searching in time,
but also searching in place. And Fischer is
incredibly accurate. It’s always searching
for sources. And this is, for
instance, the explication, the caption of the
drawing regarding Mecca. Of course, he
didn’t go to Mecca. He couldn’t. But through the Austrian
ambassadors in Constantinople, he could get all
of this evidence. And then he maps all
of these drawings. And the book is– the Entwurf
is subdivided into five books. The last one is about the
vases, for some reason I never understood. The fourth one is a
project by Fischer. But the first three are
dedicated to– well, first of all, the first book is
the Temple of Jerusalem and the Seven Wonders
plus something. The second book is more or
less about Roman architecture. And the third one is
about Arabic, Ottoman, and Chinese architecture. What is interesting
is that the collection of things that
Fischer puts together is based on the Seven
Wonders, that he takes from Pliny’s classification. This is the Mausoleum
of Halicarnassus. This is the Colossus of Rhodes. What is interesting
about the Seven Wonders compared to the
primitive art of Laugier is the Seven Wonders are seven. And they are
immediately a plural set that provides a plural starting
point for architecture. And together with that, we
see here the same problem of classification that we saw
before in Wittgenstein’s quote. There’s not only buildings. There are also certain
extremely specific landscapes that are culturally marked,
such as these Nile cataracts, what has now been removed
with the lower Aswan dam. And these landscapes, I think
they belong to this collection, because they so
clearly associate to a collective memory that they
are not just nature anymore. They are also culture. Something similar, I believe,
happens in Spielberg’s movie Strange Encounters
of the Third Kind, where the aliens decide
to land at the Devil’s Tower in Wyoming. And by doing that, somehow
marked Devil’s Tower as architecture, no more as
a mountain or whatever it is. Here, we see the curiosity
of Fischer, the capacity to include in his collection,
of the early 18th century– so it’s quite remarkable, I
think– architecture coming from very, very– this
is the Forbidden City, for instance–
different collections. The complete series of
cases included in Fischer’s collection can be mapped. And I tried, with
some collaborators, to do these, book by book,
naming all of the sources. You see in the last
column, to the right, there is the amount of people
or animals that you have. And in the other one,
you have all the sources. And you see, it’s super
precise in naming where he gets the information from. And there is, of course,
a lot of other issues, like issues of categorization,
and also issues of time. Because, for instance, Fischer
was operating without a clear– the book was written in the
moment in which it was still relatively uncommon to think
that the chronology established by the Bible would
not hold true. But at the same
time, it was clear, to many, that there were signs
of different civilizations, things that couldn’t
really fit there. So, for instance, chronology is
an incredibly complicated issue for Fischer. But this, maybe,
we can skip now. What I propose to
do is to try to redo the exercise Fischer did. And I tried, last
year, at the University of Illinois at Chicago, to do
this exercise, about the United States, making this
list, trying to classify the different wonders that
are both spaces of rituals, bu also colossal elements. Sometimes, particularly
in America, because this was done together
with the students, who were citizens of the US, who
had a better clue about what is perceived as culturally
significant inside of this context,
are also natural elements, like parks or geysers
or even trees, like sequoias. So what we did was
to map this things, try to define a calendar,
try to classify, somehow. And we tried to describe each
of these different places, trying to describe
their own logistic and their own rituality. And then starting from that,
we produced design exercises, a little bit in
the manner Fischer, who redesigned, more
or less, everything, because he had no sources
to really know what the buildings would look like. So these are some
of the attempts. Normally, the exercise
was to redesign, taking the ritualistic
actions as granted, as untouchable, and allowing
the redefinition of the logistic and of the architecture. [inaudible] Yeah. What I propose to do is simply
to go on with this research and to visit places where
these contemporary rituals take place. So for instance, the
rituals associated with Muharram in Iran. So this thing that, I guess,
is called nakhl gardani or something like that. But also the temporary places
where these passion plays, called ta’ziya are played. But also things like
NASCAR racing, and, again, places of pilgrimage,
like the Lourdes or the and Nazareno Negro in
Manila, Kumbh Mela. And also some specific
objects, like these are the Coptic churches,
on the Mokattam Hills, that have been built. They’re
these colossal Coptic churches built in the ’70s by simply
digging into the rocks with the– it’s not
the Caterpillar. It’s the– I don’t
know– excavator. I don’t know the word, but the
machine that smashes the rock. And then all of these drawings,
built on the rail lines, on top of the rocks, are
realized with the machine, with the disk– I don’t
know the name of it in English– that you use
normally to cut the stone, with these rotating whatever. And this is a
building that wanted to be a copy of Saint Peter
in a city called Yamoussoukro, if I’m not wrong,
in Ivory Coast. Thank you very much. [applause] So thanks very much. If we could have all
the finalists sit here, and I’ll sit here. [inaudible] So we have lunch
in 10, 15 minutes. I would like for each of the
finalists to be able to speak. But let me try to maybe frame
the question to focus it. First of all, just
two real quick things. We’ve been emphasizing
this school thesis throughout the [inaudible]
themes and arguments through design. And it’s kind of
spectacular that we have these examples
of how to produce or how to present a thesis. So thank you for that,
how you presented argument that’s based on research. And I was struck that all
of them, what they had in common– we talked a
bit about this, before, in the room upstairs. They’re all about action. They’re all about taking
some kind of action. They all have
temporal dimensions. They’re all very
socially driven. So I want to try to
distinguish the proposals but also ask you to go
a little bit further. I’m going to ask
all the questions, and then we’ll just start. Part of my question–
and I’m going to bring these all
together or try to– has to do with where
the research and the analysis and the documentation,
how does that meet some sort of design action? So this is what they share. In Matilde’s, for example, a
lot of your installations, a lot of your curations, it
deals with representation. There’s a lot of photography. There’s a lot of some
very compelling ways of representing. But what I’d like
for you to reflect on is the difference between
observing and representing and analyzing. How can we move from these
very vivid and compelling representations of a
situation to analysis? I’m skeptical of the word
“method” and “methodology” a little bit. But maybe a little bit on how
you get analysis to extract patterns, to extract knowledge. And with Samuel,
also then, I think the analysis, in
your case, is– I think you have, maybe,
more examples of analysis and certainly observation. But with yours, I’d like
to reflect a little bit on the distinction between
analysis and intervention. You showed projects where there
was clearly like the large– I can’t remember how it’s
called– communal building. That’s clearly an
intervention But what is the relationship between that
intervention and the analysis? How can we expect the analysis
and the intervention to relate? So going from representation
to analysis and from analysis to intervention. And I think this is a
little bit too conceited, the way I’m putting it. But I think it works. With Anna, you do have
interventions There were a lot of installations. It looked like Matilde’s. You’ve have curatorial
experiences. You’ve had installation
experience. But yours were even more
designed than observational. But much of the design was
the design of flexibility, I would say. So for you, in your research
of the kitchen-less city, how do we move
toward just a desire that the intervention be
flexible versus the desire that intervention learns
from your analysis in a more specific– how does it organize
to produce results rather than just allow results? Something like that. And then Pier Paolo, there
was something about the idea that you presented of
an atlas of the wonders of the world, which risks a
quality turning into quantity. And I think I mean
architectural quality turning into mere quantity, the
earliest, the biggest, the fastest, the oldest,
something like this. So how do you, in your
analysis, in your search, avoid evacuating the specificity
of the architectural quality into a more general
quantification? So this is a way, I think
of framing challenges to the research. And you could answer
these in bits and pieces and back and forth. And if someone doesn’t
start– yes, Mohsen. Because I have to go, like
everybody else, [inaudible]. You were incredibly
kind of subtle. And I think it’s wonderful. And I hope that
people will have time to answer it in the kind of
subtle way that you asked it. But just from the
perspective of the people who have been looking at
kind of 400 projects and so on and so
forth, one thing that I think Michael mentioned,
which is very important, is that we have many awards,
for example, in the school that look at urbanization or cities. So this is our main
project, which is really looking at the
contributions that people are going to make
towards the advancement of architectural
discourse, architecture. So there is something about
the specificity of this. And one thing that
I would say is that the grand tour,
when people went on it, travel was not the
same as it is today. So there was something about
the mystery of the discovery, because you went and
found it, and then you brought– so there’s a direct
correlation between the trip and the idea of the
discovery, which would then have consequences in
terms of the project. Or in the case of
someone like Fischer, or the [inaudible] brothers
or whatever, who didn’t go, of imagining what
the thing would be. And the miss-fit
between the imagination and the realization, for
example, in terms of scale, could also lead to innovations. In the case of Bath, it’s
scaled very different than, let’s say, the reality
of what the origin would be. So I think, just sort of really
supporting Michael’s question, for us, it’s
important to know what is the correlation
between travel and the new forms of innovation? If you see 5,000 of
these kitchen-less homes, what is the purpose of that
innovation to a new discovery for architecture? It’s not an affirmation program. It’s a program of
somehow discovering. So it’s the same as
Michael is asking. But I think it’s much more black
and white, for us, in some way. You go. You discover something. What are you going to bring us? And we want the promise of
thing that you’re bringing back, not just the
promise of the trip, but the promise
of the speculation of [inaudible]
fecundity of the trip, if you like, in terms of its
architectural [inaudible]. So what would you do? OK, may I have a [inaudible]? Me, too. First of all, how
the observed is turned into action into
intervention into a project matter? I would like to go back to
the example of Juan Downey’s intervention– not exactly
an intervention or a gesture. So first, the gesture as an
intervention, Juan Downey’s work is so powerful, that
it turns into it’s own life, I mean. Juan Downey’s work
is [inaudible] because it was register
of [inaudible] so clear that it could be re-followed
by the following generations, in different levels, maybe,
and through the scope of time. So first of all, maybe
one powerful thing that I think we all
are planning to produce is a register that puts
in a scope a problem. And that register will
be a project in itself. And the second thing, more
focused on intervention, I think, in the case
of Ani Nii Shobo, the big house of
the forest, that’s an example of an experience. Again, with the work
of Juan Downey’s, he went to live among
the Yanomami people. So he experienced it himself. And experience yourself
is a very powerful way to understand a place. When you can live with someone
else, that shows you the way that he lives, then your
brought to an understanding. But it’s different than purely
registering or purely looking from outside, let’s say. So the experience
of Ani Nii Shobo was based on what I experienced
in the elements of the place and an experience of the way
the Shipibo people inhabited the place. And yes, there were also
some more brief experiences that I didn’t want to
include in my presentation, because I thinks these three
are the more clear, the more developed. But there are also other
experiences that we developed. For example, with our
architecture students, in the Pontificia
Unviversidad Catolica, we traveled with them
to the Ucayali River. And we produced an
intervention that was aiming to test more specific
features of culture, more specific features of the place. Because it was a much
more reduced experience. But in a way, it was a
more clear experience, because it was a
conceptual exercise. So I think that kind
of conceptual exercise could be a product
of my research. And that’s something that
I’m willing to produce. And it’s a clear product
of the research, also. Thank you. Matilde? So regarding the difference
between observing and analyzing, I would
say that it’s always an act of synthesis. So it’s a selection. It’s a never a
description, somehow. So what I try to do,
in the recent past, was actually to
select what I wanted to give back to my public, be
that the user of my product or the reader of my book or
the inhabitant of my apartment. Regarding the topic I’m
using, and what I’m wanting, I’m willing to get back
is that, definitely, the pluralization of the offer
and of the cultural difference. It’s the main feature
of this century. And so dealing with complexity,
in terms of different offers, in the same place,
because the problem is that the cultural
offers is actually mixed and it’s dense in
one, only, context. It’s necessary to produce
buildings in the future. So changing the scale from
the house to the city, it’s definitely important to
consider cultural difference as a driving force
of our spaces. And not only related
to a religion, which is the main, driving
force of my research, but actually to any other
kind of intervention. Because openness should
be given to any kind of architectural
production all the time. Pier Paolo? I will start from what you said. There’s certainly an issue
of quantity and quality that I think is implicit in
the same concept of the Seven Wonders, because it’s kind of
Guinness of records antiquity. And it can easily be just
about what’s the biggest and what’s the most
popular, bla bla bla. But this, I think, is
part of my interest. I think modern architecture
is super [inaudible] on this level, trying to
avoid, as much as possible, these popular, trashy things
that, for instance, are completely accepted inside
of Roman architecture, that is at ease
with it being pop architecture and, at the
same time, super abstract. So I think the issue of
quality, like the capacity to somehow extract quality
from this quantities, I think can only happen,
honestly, case by case. And I think in Fischer,
Fischer’s collection, there is this
confrontation of Fischer with the problem of quantity and
quality in each different case. And I think he does a
relatively good job. And I think it’s going
to be case by case. And it’s a bit left to
how things will develop. Also, with respect to
what you were saying, I think maybe it’s not
really the smart answer that somebody who might
eventually get $100,000 should give you. But I don’t know
what I eventually would do with my grand tour. And I think it’s a bit
the same thing that happened with the
grand tour, with all these architects of the past. If we look at the
drawing Schinkel made in his grand tour in
Italy, they are completely different from what
he would– it’s not that they’re not influential. He went to Italy and
redrew a set of buildings that you would really not
associate to his later career. But nevertheless, they’ve
been very important. It’s incredible
picturesque for the taste of the young Schinkel,
that is somehow surprising. But for sure, it had
a consequence on that. Sorry to interrupt you. But when I was a student, and
we also go on to study Schinkel. We also go to study
Fischer von Erlach. I mean Fischer,
there is something about the idea of the
strangeness of things in Fischer. And then, during that period,
if I understood it correctly, there was also the
proposition, of a kind of hybrid mixing of the
strangeness of things, as an architectural project. So the Vienna church,
the cathedral, is precisely this kind
of– doesn’t really fit within any kind of
obvious stylistic condition. Therefore, it proposes the
[inaudible] of the imagination, of the wonders, as
a way of creating a kind of recombinatory ideal of
architecture, which is made up of these strange pieces, which
is a version of pluralism in some way. Pluralism is a representation of
the acceptance of multiplicity of styles, for example. So that’s a position which
was somehow suggestive. And I think you’re
using representation very clearly in the stuff
that you’ve done in Chicago. So I’m very curious. So what is the status
of that [inaudible]? This is a longer discussion. But there is a theoretical
correlation between the visits and the new forms of
imagination that that enables, which I think is
what Michael is asking. Which is interesting. Anna? I guess we’re
running out of time– [interposing voices] I’m going to also turn
it to the audience. I want to get some
more questions, because we’ll see you tonight. But they won’t. So you answer, and then
I’ll have a few questions– [interposing voices] So I’m going to answer
the last one first, about the idea of the trip and
the importance of traveling for research on the
virtual architecture. I’ve done a Ph.D. I’ve been
eight years in an archive, so I’ve done that. And to do a project
based on traveling, it’s completely
on another basis. First, what someone mentioned,
you can experience directly. And in my case, in
the case of systems, it’s extremely important. Because a system, you cannot
understand it until it is used and [inaudible]
of time, as well, to see how it breaks down, how
to see frictions and so on. And on the other hand,
to have the opportunity to have a cross-look,
worldwide, that’s extraordinary. It’s not about visiting
5,000– it’s not that. Just with one, I think
it’s going to be enough. But to that, the premier
one, next to another one, from another culture,
another way of doing, I think that that’s what
the Wheelwright offers for the discipline. And I was really happy that you
mentioned about your question about flexibility. Because we are struggling, right
now, with that in the office. For me, flexibility is why we
are communicating easily, now, but it’s not wholly about that. For instance, the kitchen-less
house was dependent. So an architecture
that is dependent, it turns flexible, because
it needs another part. And therefore, it’s something
that goes beyond flexibility. Good. Good. So I do want to– where was it? I do want to turn
to the audience. And we can [non-english speech]. We can speak Spanish, so. [non-english speech] Yes. Yeah. [inaudible] Francesca is Italian. This is your chance. I had a question. I haven’t completely
worked it out in my head, so I might just talk through it. But in some ways, a lot
of what you’re proposing is in some ways breaking
codes or changing codes. So I think it struck
me when Matilde was talking about
these invisible spaces, because, in some ways,
it’s a long process to get approval for churches. It’s very much, I don’t want
to say illegal settlements, but, in some ways,
that’s what it’s about. And with Samuel, it would
be about, I suppose, resisting codes
or improving codes to make these kinds
of– you’re dealing in the area of self-built
community architectures. So in some ways, it really
isn’t the finest of codes. And so I haven’t thought
this through completely. Well, yours is also
codes where, building codes where– what’s
the minimum requirements for domestic spaces? And how can you take out certain
basic elements or amenities, like kitchens and toilets
and things like that. So an architect is
all about codes. And architecture is
all about constraints and what is expected
of architects to provide, at minimum,
in order to call a space whatever the space is? So in some ways, the result
of the influence or practice would really be
putting your practices at the edge of changing
how practice is happening or what you’re able to do. I don’t know it that’s something
you want to address or not. I’m sorry, it’s not
completely thought through. I want to [inaudible]. I started my research, because
there’s a code in Spain that you cannot have a
non-continuous house. So your house has to be with
the same continuous surface. And that, for instance– [inaudible] –it limited a lot of
interesting architecture. And it’s not only
about the kitchen. It’s all about
architecture, itself. So yeah, code matters. And we wish to change codes. And I suppose by
collecting examples of ways to make this work, it
could be a way for you to, again, in your own practice,
say that [inaudible] pushed the ability
for your homes to be able to make these kinds
of spaces that are not really allowed by a lot what’s
happened [inaudible]. Yeah. And in my case, maybe, it’s
also sort of frustration. The things are happening,
anyways, somehow. And you have to follow them
and try to detect them in order to digest them and produce
spaces that are actually as flexible as the city
should be at the moment. In this sense, research is
really seminal, in my work, because I really need to detect
these incredible systems that are actually happening illegally
and without norms, also, to update my knowledge
and update the knowledge through architecture. I feel, it’s really important
and necessary, at the moment, to do this. Not to leave that but
just to modulate it a bit. It just struck me,
with the similarity between Matilde’s and
Samuel’s, that the communities that you’re working with,
Matilde, and the communities in South America,
they’re using this idea of using existing things. With Matilde, it’s
kind of bricolage of having things available. Like you said, everyone
uses the Ikea bookshelf– Yeah. –in a kind of bricolage. But in a strange way, in
the indigenous conditions that you were
looking at, there’s also using just what’s
available, locally. And I’m wondering, also, Samuel,
one of your main interests is how that kind of knowledge
of indigenous cultures can be translated into
different materials, different situations. And the similar
thing, how do you take conditions
that are– how do you call it– almost illegal. Yeah, semi-legal or illegal. Somehow and bring it
into the legitimate but also limiting conditions
of contemporary production. But also, I would
add, the concept of a collective dynamic,
I think that’s a very powerful and
important tool that is present in the
traditional architectures and that we could look at as
another way of approaching our discipline. Not for the project, itself,
not from the plan-ification, exactly. Well, it’s a kind of
plan-ifcation, yes? But it’s a collective
dynamic held by a community. And that, in a way, let’s
say we’re out of the codes. That constitutes
collected codes that create a coherent creation
of a collective space, of the quotidian activities
and the public point of the aggregations. When you built these, when
you made these interventions into these local
communities, you’re still using similar materials. But there was
something different. How do modern techniques
find their way in or do they? You’re using local labor, still? Or is that also imported labor? Well, in your case, maybe it
was students or something. Is the labor the same? How does it change? Are the materials the same? How do they change? In the case of Tarapaca, we
used, in the first place, our own labor. So it was people that, in
theory, knew how to build, but never had touched a brick. Like students? Yeah, students and ourselves. [laughter] So yes. But the idea was to
share with the community. It was to make an
example that they could replicate themselves. So it should have been a
project in the measure of what the community can actually do. And so we took the
constructed systems that were available in that
place, not only as a remain of the past world,
but also the materials, the techniques that people
were using, actually, to build their houses. And in the case of Peru, yes,
we worked with two groups of very skilled carpenters. They were Shipibo carpenters. And I had the opportunity
of working with them. And I feel that it was important
to be there, especially in the case of Nii
Juinti, because this was sort of a new thing. The case of Ani Nii
Shobo was something more in the scope of what
they had already done, of what they knew. And the shape and the speciality
would have been different. But the constructed form was
something that they knew about. But in the case of
Nii Juinti, this was an experiment–
sort of an experiment. So it was important
for me to be there to encourage them to carry
on, to not need the theme that there is a difficulty. So yes, it’s all
things that had to be put in the scope of the local
production of the communities. And this is something that
we see all over in the world, in the slums, in the very
feral situation of cities, people building by themself. This is also a
collective dynamic, that is [inaudible] of the
immediate, of the available. The only thing is
that the available is expanded in this case. That is something that we could
approach from the dynamic. Because I don’t know how much– [inaudible] Because many people,
they do have class. But let me ask one. This is a difficult question. So if you win the
Wheelwright, you can travel. And by the way, thank you. Everyone presented a
very clear itinerary. That was really, really helpful
to some points along the way. [applause] Because often, we have to
sort of squeeze out, well, how does the itinerary
map on to the proposal? Those were very good. So if you win the
money, at least you can complete this itinerary. If you don’t win,
what will continue? How will your research continue? What will be different
other than the travel? The easy way around is how does
the Wheelwright change things? But it changes things because
you have the money to travel, and you have more time. You can take off, maybe,
from teaching or working. You have a kind of sabbatical,
maybe, if it allows. But if you don’t
win, what happens? I’ve been to some
of these places. I’ve been to Mount Rushmore. I’ve been to
Lourdes, [inaudible]. I can imagine to, slowly,
go to some of the others. In a way, I think this would
be important to understand where my research
would be located, somehow providing the context. But maybe I also think
that research, then, would be more made in books. I can’t imagine going
to these places, seeing these places,
and then, eventually, also doing nothing with that. Because maybe the documentation
of Lourdes and of Karbala, maybe it’s not necessary. And it’s more necessary for me
to read [inaudible] or Dumezil and write about
archaic Roman religion. In this respect, I think, for
me, it will, anyhow, take time. It’s a bit like the
thing in Fischer. One thing is an
investigation in space, in the contemporary
reality, what happens, phenomena that I think
have been a bit overlooked in architectural debate. But it’s also an
investigation in time, how we got to a point of
view on architecture that tends to forget certain things. I think I’m so
hot on this track. I’m always will want to
keep on approaching cultures and to keep on working
directly with people. It could be, maybe, somehow
more difficult to go to the area of the process,
of the collective process, because that’s something
that nowadays is somehow out of scope of architecture. So if I don’t win
the Wheelwright, then I will keep on
developing these concerns, but more in the area of
architectural projects and maybe more in the area of
academic research and so on. And so I think that’s it. So I would say that
my trial to understand the connection between the
sacred ritual and architecture, up until now, I arrived
to a certain level, which is the level that was given
to me by my own capacities and my own, let’s
say, commissions. So every step of the research,
were actually the fruits of a commission or of a project. So somehow, the scale
at which I arrived is the scale, probably,
of the interior. To step through
architecture would be necessary through
some more money. And it’s, first of all, a
world tour, as I want to do. And a world tour is a necessary,
because multiculurality is necessary. So I really need the comparison
among many different cultures and ways of living. So somehow, I could
continue my research but at a completely
different scale. Or it would be,
somehow, not complete, because of my resources
and my [inaudible]. It’s really a tricky question. I think I’m going
to do it anyway. I will find a way. But there’s a big difference. And I know that I will find
a way, because I have already come to here. I always find a way. So I guess I will find a way. Yeah, exactly. Yeah, you find a way. But the big difference is
that the Wheelwright prize offers you a platform of the
[inaudible] that, at the end, matters a lot in what we
produce and we research. So it’s not about
if you do it or not. It’s about to who
arrive this thing. And that’s the big difference. So each of you,
thank you so much. This has been a
real treat for us. And we have a little more time. We can loosen up a
little bit, later. But thank you, so much,
for your presentations and also for all your work
that you bring here to show us. Thank you so much. [applause]

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