Teatro del Mondo: Experimenting Through Pavilions

Teatro del Mondo: Experimenting Through Pavilions

By Rachel M. Gamble

Pavilion architecture has an importance for architects that is often overlooked, in my opinion. A pavilion is a structure that is temporary, built quickly to display the items inside and intended to last for only a short amount of time. This impermanence, however, can perhaps be beneficial for architects: it liberates them to be looser with their design – to design structures that can be less practical and more experimental than professional architecture. Permanent architecture has to be designed with durability in mind. However, an architect is not just a designer of concrete things, but also a thinker and a dreamer. Perhaps pavilions can serve as an architect's creative outlet. 

From this point of view, the pavilion typology of architecture is advantageous because it allows architects like Aldo Rossi to test out their imaginative ideas without worrying if the structure will last. The pavilion is, in a way, the architect’s first draft – the trial and error phase of an idea. Pavilions are temporary, but fascinating because they allow us to get a glimpse of the architect's mind. This can be clearly seen in Aldo Rossi’s Teatro del Mondo, in which the Italian architect was able to experiment freely with his visionary theories since the structure was a provisional one. Pavilions are often designed to showcase their contents, and Rossi's floating pavilion theater showcases the imaginative theories of Rossi for us to study.

Pavilions talk about the ideas of their designers, long after they are gone. This can be said for Aldo Rossi’s Teatro del Mondo, designed for the Venice Biennale in 1979 and later deconstructed. It was a temporary building created to float down the Grand Canal on a barge. To me, a pavilion is something we can observe, and through observation see how the architect was experimenting and expressing new ideas. Visually, the Teatro del Mondo appeared very simple. The theater was composed of severely simple geometries: a single octagonal tower over a rectangular prism. Its rigid geometries made it seem elementary and basic. It lacked ornamentation and was painted in primary colors. The material and construction technique was a simple wooden one, to further its unadorned and simple appearance. 

Looking closer, however, we can see the imaginative ideas that Rossi was testing out in the seemingly simple Teatro del Mondo. Rossi believed that the buildings should be timeless, and thus he gave the floating theater rigid symmetry and pure geometry. Rossi had an interest in architectural archetypes – the forms that belonged to all eras. The basic geometries that he gave his theater are unchanging and span across the centuries of architectural history. Thus, the floating theater fit within its Venetian urban context and the tradition of architecture that existed there, because it was composed of universal shapes that exist in all decades and places. This is perhaps what makes it a "Teatro del Mondo" - a pavilion that belongs to all eras and places. It speaks of the ideas Rossi presented in his book, The Architecture of the City: "We may look at modern cities without enthusiasm, but if we could only see with the eye of the archaeologist of Mycenae, we would find behind the facades and fragments of architecture the figures of the oldest heroes of our culture." Rossi believed that primary architectural shapes withstand the rest of time, and can be found everywhere in architecture.

The pavilion’s volumetric massing is like a reduction and abstraction of the Venetian architecture around it. In the theater, Rossi was testing whether he could reduce and purify architectural geometries to produce a modern pavilion that could be a part of the historic city fabric of Venice, due to its timelessness. All of these features make the pavilion like an exhibit in itself – something that communicates Aldo Rossi’s ideas to us. Architects need not be only designers, but can be thinkers as well. In the pavilion, Rossi ventured out with his ideas. The pavilion was temporary, yet, as we can see in this floating theater, Rossi's ideas of architectural timelessness come across. These are concepts that can be applicable to future architecture. Through pavilions, architects can learn lessons, and pass on these lessons to future designers long after the pavilion is gone.

Blending in with the geometry behind it

Simple volumetric massing

Architectural timelessness

Works Cited

Rossi, Aldo. The Architecture of the City. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1984. Print.

Morphosis Madrid Project: Rethinking Social Housing

Morphosis Madrid Project: Rethinking Social Housing

By Rachel M. Gamble

In recent years there has been a growing movement towards social housing units, to increase living space in cities. The need to condense city space more effectively seems to have been especially strong following the World Wars. With this post-war rise in public housing came the development of highly functionalist social housing blocks, in which comfort and aesthetics tastes were not considered important. These buildings were purely scientific and objective, with one simple building unit that was repeated in a mechanical way so that all the tenants occupied exactly the same kind of space. Since then social housing buildings have continued to compromise both aesthetics and comfort in an attempt to provide low tech and low budget housing.

In the 2010 Madrid social housing project by Morphosis, however, we see an exploration of how urban density can be handled in a different and less monotonous way, architecturally. It is an experimental transformation of the basic building block that breaks the continuity typical of social housing, by not disregarding human needs. To do this, Morphosis focused on the importance of community and the importance of open green spaces for the tenants - factors that strictly functional social housing complexes often ignore.

The Morphosis project successfully separates itself from other social housing blocks for a variety of reasons, but the one which stood out to me the most is its community-oriented “village” organization. The village organization of the Morphosis project rejects the notion that social housing unit need to be clinical and strictly functional, in favor of a more individualistic and community-oriented approach. The complex is not a severe tower, but is instead organized like a miniature town with many diverse spaces. It consists of two short towers, between which is a low rise, town-like network of 141 residential units. These units do not follow one pattern, but instead come in a variety of forms: two or three bedroom apartments and two story houses with up to four bedrooms for families. Since the housing units are so distinct from one another, the Morphosis project seems more like a small city to me, than a building block. The apartments and houses are separated by covered “streets,” which occasionally branch out to form plazas for neighborhood interactions.  To continue the village feel, a main thoroughfare runs through the middle of the “town.” All these blocks, walkways, and  public courtyards suggest, to me, an warmer and friendlier kind of urban housing. It encourages face-to-face interactions between the tenants, which makes it seem more like neighborhood. The Morphosis project allows people to feel ownership of their own unique dwelling unit because of how diverse it is, and allows them to connect and interact with each other because of its village organization and shared spaces.

Additionally, the Morphosis housing project sets itself apart from typical housing projects due to its open, light-permeable design that brings fresh air and green space inside. It is not an dense unit closed off from the nature around it. A variety of different outdoor spaces are available for tenants, such as upstairs terraces next to the bedrooms, fenced gardens, and plazas between the apartments. Thus, the interiors remain bright and fresh, and tenants can enjoy the sun outdoors as well. For the whole community, vegetation is planted in the courtyards and streets below, in the gracious communal landscape spaces. Additionally, the lattice-like grid spanning between the houses and apartments encourages plant growth.  Thus nature has been gently integrated with the architecture. Fresh open green space keeps the house block from becoming too dense and mechanical. In my opinion, the light-porous design makes this housing project stand in contrast to the rigid, closed apartments around it.

Into this bland suburban context of anonymous brick apartment buildings in Madrid, Morphosis has inserted a housing project that seems, to me, very sympathetic to the humans who live inside. The housing project is successful because the architects listened closely to the human need for community, sunlight, and their own unique space - a valuable lesson for architects to learn. As Charles Eames said, "Recognizing the need is the primary condition for design." Looking to the future, perhaps urban planners should consider housing projects that encourage neighbor interactions and bring fresh, green spaces to tenants. Human individuality is lost when people are made to live in spaces that are highly regimented and ordered. Such spaces disregard cultures, beliefs, and ways of living - the things that make us unique. This Morphosis project suggests that functionalism alone should not dictate the architect. Sometimes it is worthwhile to remember the people for whom the architect is designing.

Community street and green space

Tenants interacting

A different approach from the surrounding buildings

Prada Epicenter: Architecture as Advertising

Prada Epicenter: Architecture as Advertising

By Rachel Gamble

Recently, companies have become increasingly creative with their marketing, in an attempt to stand out. Modern-day companies have begun to turn to architecture in order to establish their own unique public identity. Thus architecture has taken on a new role: that of an advertisement, through which companies can convey their message to the public. Now more than ever, architecture, like a billboard or signage piece, has the ability to define the image of the company.

Prada is an example of a company that has begun to employ commercial architecture to represent itself to the public. In the Prada flagship store in New York, we see how the design decisions of Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas and his firm OMA communicate the nature of the merchandise within to visitors. Like an advertisement, Rem Koolhaas’s 23,000-square-foot building infers the qualities and ideals of the brand. The New York store was part of a Prada project to rethink the brand’s image. The goal was a space that is representative of the new, revitalized organization that commissioned it. Thus, the building was designed to say that the Prada brand is luxurious, as well as experimental, unorthodox, and technologically advanced.

The architecture of the store thus becomes a kind of narrative – a personal statement on the brand. Rem Koolhaas combined architecture and retail in a variety of ways in the space. When visitors first enter the store, they enter at ground level via a curving, wave-like space that slopes downwards. Merchandise is situated at the bottom of this wooden “wave," in the basement. On the other side of the wave, there are oversized steps that double as a flexible space to display merchandise, and as seats for films, lectures, performances, and other public events. The space is not only a shop, but also a venue that can host cultural events. A concealed stage can unfold out of the “wave” for such occasions, simply by pushing a button. The space reinforces Prada’s new image as not only a brand, but also a cultured company that is innovative and forward-thinking.

The architecture communicates Prada’s image in other ways, such as the wall murals. The main walls were left clear and unobstructed, so that giant Prada wallpaper could be frequently changed to match the theme of the merchandise. Additionally, a transparent, circular glass elevator transports visitors from the top to bottom level. The elevator serves dual functions: a method of circulation, and also a display for accessories such as handbags. Thus, visitors can simultaneously shop and ride the elevator. Furthermore, the large metal display cases which are suspended from the ceiling can be reconfigured to open up space for cultural activities even more. The other display cases include visual and audio equipment to further support public events. The space is flexible: it can easily become more than a shop. Everywhere throughout the store, merchandise is interspersed with interesting interactive architecture and advanced technology. We can easily see how Rem Koolhaas designed the space to reflect the core values of Prada to customers.

The New York shop says a lot about the value Prada places on originality in its products. It also shows how architecture can become a powerful advertising tool. We see how now, more than ever, business owners are hiring architects to produce buildings that are revealing of their company ideals. A unique and creative space, like that of the Prada NY store, suggests that the company that commissioned it is equally unique and creative. It is the architect’s job to take the company’s needs and convert them into architecture. In the Prada epicenter by Rem Koolhaas, we see this unique new ability of architecture to function as a branding tool. 

Retractable stage

Unique wave feature

Movable metal display cases

Didden Village: A Parasite That Helps

Didden Village: A Parasite That Helps

By Rachel Gamble

The term parasitic architecture suggests a kind of structure that, like a parasite, grows off a host building and absorbs its energy, yet gives nothing to the pre-existing structure in return. The term seemed initially exploitive to me. However, the works discussed during the lecture proved that parasitic construction does not damage existing architecture, but can actually allow older buildings to evolve and retain their relevance. In some instances, like the Didden Village by MVRDV, we see that a parasitic addition to a building can provide a fresh and contemporary perspective to an existing structure. This “parasite” allows the host building to progress and fit its time, rather than become antiquated.

The Didden Village in Rotterdam is a rooftop addition to a residential building. It was designed by MVRDV to collaborate and mesh with the existing residential building, rather than damage it as the name “parasite” suggests. Instead, the addition is an example of complimentary architecture – architecture that respects what already existed in the site. By layering a pre-existing older building with a modern structure, the rooftop structure gives a fresh and exciting feel to the less interesting older building. Painted in bright blue to mimic the sky, the building revolutionizes the old traditional skyline of the surrounding homes. Here we see how parasites can be applied to older architecture to revitalize and awaken the aesthetics of pre-existing buildings.

The parasitic addition to the Didden house also provides alternative ways of living for the family in residence. The addition to the older structure consists of new bedrooms for the family, which take the form of three separate smaller houses on top of the building - one for the parents and two for the children. A miniature out-of-scale village is thus produced on the roof by way of the implied plazas and streets that exist between the small houses. Park benches and tree were added as well to create a pseudo-park. Parapets divide the new “village” from the streets blow. By studying the addition, we see that parasitic structures can successfully increase the living space within their host buildings. The result of Didden village addition, for instance, is a building that is larger than the original but still takes up the same amount of space on the streets of Rotterdam, due to it being a vertical addition that rises rather than spreads. Thus, the addition allows the pre-existing building to be used more intensely and effectively. This leads me to wonder whether parasitic vertical additions such as the Didden Village can help solve the need for more space as the population of urban areas continues to expand. Parasitic architecture can lead to innovative new methods for employing space, as we can see in the Didden Village.

The Didden Village shows how effective parasitic architecture can be, in more ways than one. The placement of the bedroom on the roof of the Didden residence solves the need for more space, providing new ways of living for the family, and also establishes an exciting new roofline to the area. Due to this addition, the Didden residence has become a pastiche of different structures from two time periods. The result is a versatile, adaptive building that tells the architectural story from more than one part of history. The new addition makes the old building fit contemporary needs. It brings to mind a quote from famous urban planner Jane Jacobs: "Old ideas can sometimes use new buildings. New ideas must use old buildings." We should not disregard older buildings as architecture becomes increasingly advanced, but instead look for their potential and consider how we can make them relevant again. The Didden village shows how parasitic architecture can impact older buildings in positive ways – by allowing them to expand to satisfy changing needs in society.

New skyline

New living spaces

Sources

Jacobs, Jane. "The Death and Life of Great American Cities." New York: Random House, 1961.

Venice Biennale: The Material Side of Architecture

The Materials Side of Architecture

 By Rachel Gamble

During my travels this past week, I noticed a great variety of beautiful and interesting building materials. The red marble of Verona, the glass of Venice, and the rustic stones of Vicenza, among others, lent a rich historicism to much of the architecture that I saw. Yet other buildings, like the work of Carlo Scarpa and Tadao Ando, employed more high-tech and contemporary materials, giving their buildings a fresh and exciting sense of modernity. Through the choice and treatment of materials I saw during my travels, I was able to make comparisons between the various ways architects throughout history have employed different materials. At the Architecture Biennale in Venice, I was thus particularly interested in the exhibitions which focused on the importance of materials in architecture. As I toured the Biennale, I paid special attention to how the choice and treatment of materials shaped the exhibits and communicated the architects’ design goals.

In Anupama Kundoo’s “Feel the Ground: Wall House,” the Indian architect created a life-size scale model of her Wall House in South India. The exhibit used seemingly simple materials and traditional building techniques. However, in doing so, the Wall House demonstrated how valuable and relevant such construction methods remain, in spite of the high-tech world we live in. The house was constructed using handmade bricks, terra cotta tubes, and recycled materials – basic materials that exist in many different cultures and time periods. The materials themselves were made by Kundoo’s college students, Italian workers, and Indian craftsmen. These people were from several different counties but were brought together for the material construction of the exhibit. Kundoo’s exhibit demonstrated why traditional, low-tech materials and construction materials remain important in this high-tech era: through their ability to draw diverse people together to collaborate with one another in the creation of architecture.

Alternatively, Zaha Hadid’s “Arum Shell” represented high tech materials and construction techniques at the Biennale. The complex geometric sculpture was made up of lightweight folded aluminum in combination with a tensile structure. The project began with research and was then developed computationally based on a complex algorithm. By experimenting and testing the structural efficiency of the materials through technological means, the architect created an elegant and beautiful form. Through the cutting-edge materials and construction of this high-tech exhibit, I observed that architecture is constantly evolving and testing its boundaries. 

In the exhibits of the Biennale, many interesting materials from around the globe were featured, covering both the low tech and high tech ends of the spectrum. Exhibits such as Kundoo’s “Wall House” involved traditional building materials like brick, timber, and earth, showing how they are useful in bringing many different cultures together. In contrast, exhibits like Zaha Hadid’s “Arum Shell” were daring and visionary in material selection and technique. All the different materials and technological levels at the Biennale last week showed me how materials and construction techniques can be communicative. Together they tell the viewer much about the time period and culture of a design. In the words of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, “Each material has its specific characteristics which we must understand if we want to use it. We must remember that everything depends on how we use a material, not on the material itself... Each material is only what we make of it.” Materials contribute uniquely to the architecture of which they are part. The Biennale showed me that architects should think beyond form and consider the impact that their material choices have on the built environment.

Wall House: Homemade Materials

Wall House: Photos of the Traditional Construction Techniques

Arum Shell: High Tech Tensile Structure

Sources

Mies Van Der Rohe, Ludwig. Illinois Institute of Technology. Armour Institute, Chicago, IL. November 1938. Inaugural Address.

The High Line: A Structure For All Seasons

The High Line: A Structure For All Seasons

By Rachel Gamble

         Throughout my ten-day trip in northern Italy, I frequently experienced works of architecture that were centuries and in some instances even millennia old. This continually raised a question in my head – what leads to such timelessness in architecture? Renowned architect Frank Gehry once said that "Architecture should speak of its time and place, but yearn for timelessness." Yet, the works of architecture built today seem temporary and tenuous in light of classical buildings like St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice or the Arena in Verona. Such historic structures lead me to wonder how modern-day architects can achieve this ageless quality in contemporary architecture. In the High Line in New York, Diller Scofidio + Renfro present an interesting way of making a man-made structure more timeless and enduring – by designing their structure to adapt over time with the nature around it. Would buildings perhaps be more permanent if they mimicked the High Line and were more integrated with the earth?

         In the High Line, Diller Scofidio + Renfro worked with James Corner Field Operations and Pete Oudolf to create an elevated plant-lined path through the urban landscape of New York. This aerial park changes with the seasons due to its plant life. By synthesizing itself to nature and to natural patterns of growth, it evolves and becomes much longer-lasting. The project began with the renovation of an elevated railway in Manhattan. This piece of urban infrastructure had, over time, fallen into disrepair and been reclaimed by nature - a man-made structure that could not withstand the years. In the refurbished High Line, we observe how a structure can be made more permanent if it is created to adapt with nature. According to Diller Scofidio + Renfro, the High Line is designed to “remain perpetually unfinished, sustaining emergent growth and change over time." Nature is continuously changing, but the High Line is in synch with the nature that it houses. Thus, even as the weather and plants change with the seasons, the High Line adapts and changes as well.

         The structure does this in a variety of ways. The paving system on the walkway alternates between pre-cast concrete and vegetation that blend together. Intentional cracks in the pavement encourage the natural growth of wild plants. The new plants placed in beds along the walkway were selected after researching the area. When choosing the species, the designers drew inspiration from the self-sufficient native plants under the train tracks, to compliment the surrounding landscape. Many of the flowers and bushes were locally grown – plants that had been proven to thrive in the New York climate. This vegetation was planned out so that there are constantly plants in bloom, no matter the season. Additionally, the plants on the High Line are drought-tolerant and low-maintenance to reduce upkeep costs. The layers of soil, as well, were carefully organized to retain water where it is needed and aid with drainage. 

         This “agri-tecture,” as designer James Corner termed it, carefully integrates architecture with plant life. By selecting hardy, adaptable plants with seasonal variation, the designers of the High Line produced a structure that can adapt with time. The project leads me to wonder if modern-day architecture was synchronized more with the nature around it, could it become more permanent, like the timeless Venetian and Veronese buildings I saw during my travels? Perhaps the answer to the quest for timelessness in contemporary architecture is for architects to design structures that, like nature, are flexible and can adapt with the changing seasons. 

Blending of hardscape and softscape

Native plants

Perennial grasses that bloom in all seasons

Sources

"James Corner Field Operations and Diller Scofidio + Renfro." The High Line, 2012. Web. 24 Sep. 2012. <http://www.thehighline.org/design/design-team-selection/field-operations-diller-scofidio-renfro>

Gehry, Frank. The Pritzker Architecture Prize, 2009. Web. 24 Sep. 2012. <http://www.pritzkerprize.com/2011/ceremony-speech-1>

Serpentine Gallery and Princess Diana Memorial Fountain: Thresholds That Speak

Thresholds That Speak

By Rachel Gamble

         In every public outdoor space, there exists some form of entrance. This threshold is the break in the border between the natural and urban textures, and plays a vital role in the experience of a visitor within a park or garden. It establishes the mood of the visitor towards the space inside and prepares him mentally for the rest of the space. An entry point into a garden or park can be literal – a physical entry point such as a gate – or implied – a figurative entrance caused by subtle design details like a slight opening in a row of trees, or even a difference between grass and the surrounding urban pavement. Through the entry point, landscape designers like Kathryn Gustafson and Piet Oudolf can communicate much about the rest of their designs.

The number and style of entries points, for instance, can be very telling, and are design features that a landscape designer can use to create first impressions for the rest of the space. A garden like that of Piet Oudolf in the Serpentine Gallery – one that is surrounded by a protective wall, broken up selectively in spots – suggests perhaps a secluded park for only a few people. On the other hand, a space like Kathryn Gustafson’s Princess Diana memorial has no clear border or entrance and implies an open landscape with uninhibited circulation that will not restrict the users inside to only one path but instead allows them to wander freely. Additionally, the entrance can say much, stylistically, about the space within. A carefully enclosed park could perhaps suggest a cultivated and orderly space, while a park with no entrances could indicate a more natural and less humanized landscape. A closer glance at Oudolf and Gustafon’s landscapes reveal clearly that the ways in which you arrive in the park can paint a telling picture of what is inside.

         The Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain in Hyde Park is an example of a public urban space that takes its entrance into careful account. The memorial has no entrance or clear border but blends and merges with the park surrounding it harmoniously. Its designer, Kathryn Gustafson, wanted the space “to be accessible and to reflect Diana's 'inclusive' personality” (BBC News). Thus, visitors are encouraged to wade right into the shallow water to reach the center of the circular fountain – reminiscent of how Princess Diana was a very warm and open person and welcomed everyone. Free of walls, gates, or railings, the space encourages people to walk into and through the park on their own volition.

The entrance to the Princess Diana memorial stands in clear contrast to Piet Oudolf's garden at the Serpentine Gallery pavilion, in which user circulation is heavily restricted. The Princess Diana memorial is unobtrusively integrated with what already exists in its site, whereas the Serpentine Gallery pavilion introduces a new dimension to the site in which its sits. This garden is meant to be arrived at sequentially and not directly. It is enclosed on all sides by Peter Zumthor’s pavilion. To reach Oudolf’s garden at the center, visitors must enter through small doorways in the bare pavilion walls and wind through the dark corridors until they reach the open-roofed courtyard space inside. By being hidden from all sides with only a few strategically placed entrances, a meditative, cloister-like space is produced. Visitors enter through dark, claustrophobic spaces, and thus the open garden inside becomes all the more beautiful once the visitors arrive at it.

In these two landscapes, we see how the periphery and entry points of a site can play an important factor in the way a visitor interacts with the rest of the space inside. It is at the entry point that an urban landscape becomes a natural one and that a visitor establishes his first impression of the space. The entry point also reflects the circulation through the rest of the site. As such, designers should carefully consider what they want to say with the edge of their outdoor space

Princess Di Memorial: No Borders

Serpentine Pavilion: Center Garden Enclosed

Sources

"Queen Unveils New Diana Fountain." BBC News, 2004. Web. 7 Sep. 2012 <http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/3866863.stm>

  

Jewish Museum, Berlin: An Architectural Monument

An Architectural Monument

By Rachel Gamble

By analyzing Daniel Libeskind’s Jewish Museum in Berlin, we can see how architecture’s role within society has expanded and transformed as a result of the two World Wars. With war comes profound political changes, as well as drastic changes in people’s lifestyles. Even the ways in which people use their spaces evolve during periods of war. In the unstable years following the World Wars, we see much architectural experimentation in Europe as people looked restlessly for change. Europeans affected by the war had to reconstruct their lives entirely and adapt, and thus their architecture adapted as well. The result was a new and different role for architecture - the role of architecture as a monument. Architecture evolved and became more than simply “buildings” as people began to use works of architecture as monuments to convey social information or to memorialize wartime events. In some instances buildings were used as political monuments designed to send political messages or to reinforce governmental power. Buildings like Libeskind’s museum, however, were a different kind of monument: poignant memorials to commemorate people affected by the war.

In Daniel Libeskind’s Jewish Museum, we can observe clearly how the line between architecture and monument began to blur in the tumultuous years following the World Wars. Libeskind’s structure is not simply a neutral backdrop for the historic artifacts inside, but can also stand alone as a symbolic monument, even when empty. This expansion of architecture beyond its basic functions brings to mind a quote from Le Corbusier’s Towards a New Architecture: “The business of Architecture is to show emotional relationships with raw materials. Architecture goes beyond utilitarian needs... passion can create drama out of inert stone.” Libeskind successfully creates a space that does not stop at its functional requirements. His building is full of emotion – a moving exhibition in itself, regardless of its contents. Here, in the wake of war, architecture becomes more than simply a building. 

Libeskind extends the boundaries of architecture to "monument" through his heavy use of symbolism. Libeskind’s symbolic organization of the spaces inside the museum creates a monument that paints a telling picture of life for Jews in Germany. Throughout the museum are empty void spaces. The spaces around the voids are full of life, yet the void spaces themselves are unfriendly and almost inaccessible to visitors of the museum. This perhaps mirrors the absence of the Jewish population in Germany history caused by the Holocaust. The architecture, with its missing pieces, becomes an evocative physical manifestation of the empty spaces in Jewish history. Libeskind’s building is also designed in the shape of a deformed Star of David. The result seems to be zigzagging navigation through the building that is difficult and disorienting, perhaps suggesting some of the discord in the lives on the Jewish people during the Holocaust. Libeskind’s symbolism extends to the exterior as well. Jagged, irregular windows slice across the building's façade with no discernible pattern - perhaps symbolizing scars in Jewish history. The building, through its disconcerting symbolic elements, is not simply an empty vessel designed to house monuments to German Jews, but a monument in its own right.

In Libeskind’s Jewish Museum and other buildings built in the wake of the World Wars, architecture becomes more than a setting for human experiences but begins to have a life of its own. Architecture like that of Daniel Libeskind in Berlin goes a step further than structure and function, to become commemorative and symbolic. The war produced many fissures in European history, and architecture built since then seems to have gone deeper, socially and psychologically, than ever before. Juhani Pallasmaa in his book, The Eyes of the Skin, writes about this potential of architecture to become something more: “The ultimate meaning of any building is beyond architecture; it directs our consciousness back to the world and towards our own sense of self and being.” Post-war buildings are an example of how architecture can become more than simply buildings and serve as poignant monuments to times past. Through them we can see how architecture is continually acquiring a greater and more complex social role, especially in times of war.

Void spaces

Irregular circulation

Sources

Le Corbusier. “Towards a New Architecture.” New York: Dover Publications, 1927.

Pallasmaa, Juhani. “Eyes of the Skin.” John Wiley: New York, 2005.