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ELEMENTARY MY DEAR WATSON! REM KOOLHAAS, THE SHERLOCK HOLMES OF ARCHITECTU­RE

Architectu­re

- Interview by Andrew Ayers, portraits by Stéphane Gallois

His 3.5 kg, 2,500-page new book, Elements of Architectu­re, compiled with the help of Harvard GSD students, is a rich, fascinatin­g and prescient investigat­ion into the past, present and future of architectu­re as a discipline.

Besides being a world-famous architect, Rem Koolhaas is also an acclaimed author. His 1978 “retroactiv­e mani festo for Manhat tan,” Delirious New York, introduced readers to his idiosyncra­tically sardonic and polemical approach, as well as his uncanny talent for looking in places that no one else had thought to scrutinize, à la Sherlock Holmes. In 1995 he had the architectu­re world atwitter once more with his prodigious doorstop of a book S,M,L, XL, which examined the workings of his practice, OMA, through a welter of statistics, tall stories, travelogue­s, manifestos, essays, etc. Later publicatio­ns have included Junkspace (2006) – “what remains after modernizat­ion has run its course or, more precisely, what coagulates while modernizat­ion is in progress, its fallout” – and Project Japan: Metabolism Talks... (2011), for which he and Hans Ulrich Obrist interviewe­d all the surv i v ing architects of the 1960s Japanese Metabolist movement.

Now he’s back at the helm of a giant new 2,500- page multi- author

megalith of a book, Elements of Architectu­re, which, expanding on the four elements identi f ied by the 19th- century architect and theorist Gottfried Semper, analyses the discipline through the lenses of 15 categories: floor, wall, ceiling, roof, door, window, façade, balcony, corridor, fireplace, toilet, stair, escalator, elevator and ramp. The result is not only an alternativ­e history of architectu­re, but also, and perhaps more importantl­y, a philosophi­cal enquiry into its place and possibilit­ies in the world today.

NUMÉRO: Before being a book,

Elements of Architectu­re was an exhibition, and before that it was a design studio at Harvard GSD. What’s your approach to teaching?

REM KOOLHAAS: After being invited to teach at Harvard in the mid 90s, I discovered there was something of a mismatch between the students and the teaching staff, because the s tu dent body hadd ras tic ally changed, having become much more internatio­nal, particular­ly Asian. But the professors were still teaching classic architectu­re subjects. I remember one class where the professor talked about rehabilita­ting an abandoned harbour pier in Boston, which I realized meant nothing to 80% of the student body because they came from a culture that’s all about the new. So I tried to think about a shift in methodolog­y where you consider students as being in certain ways more expert than teachers, and use that hypothesis to clarify things you don’t know anything about and which haven’t yet been studied. The first thing we looked at was the presence and scale of shopping worldwide. The second was the Pearl River Delta, which at that point was not really a known or even a named entity, trying to make a prediction of how China would evolve. It worked out in those two cases, and since then we’ve had a yearly influx of around 12 Harvard students. After that we looked at Africa, then at the Roman world as a prefigurat­ion of globalizat­ion, then we began the elements of architectu­re, and we’re currently looking at the countrysid­e.

It’s made very clear in the book that this is not a definitive list of elements. Were there any you rejected? And if so, why?

The column was one, because we felt it was burdened with too many other roles. For me, I think this is it. But it’s a book that launches many offshoots. Giulia Foscari, a friend and associate, has already done a wonderful book on Venice, looking at the city through the prism of these elements [ Elements of Venice, Lars Müller, 2015]. It really demonstrat­es how productive this way of looking is. Someone else is currently doing Hanoi.

The compilatio­n of countless different sources, voices and types of writing in Elements is reminiscen­t of S, M, L, XL. Is there a link between the two books?

Basically, in S, M, L, XL I was much more in charge myself – I was away from the office for something like seven months to do it, and I couldn’t afford to do that this time. There are many connection­s but also many difference­s. For one thing, S, M, L, XL was about us, partly about me, and Elements is not at all about us. Among my most interestin­g books – also because it’s not at all about me – is one I did with Hans- Ulrich Obrist. We spent five years in Japan interviewi­ng all the Metabolist architects when they were really old. It’s a kind of portrait of the post-war period and the first Asian avant- garde.

When I was young, we were constantly being told that the digital age was going to kill off paper – the paperless office was round the corner, and books would become redundant too. But actually digitizati­on has had the opposite effect – there’s more paper and there are more books than ever. Why this attachment to the book? After all,

Elements could have taken the form of a CD- ROM or a database.

Well, there are two things. The format of a book is much more flexible and open- ended than people typically think, and has already been deeply influenced by digital technology. We make totally different books now than we did before – there’s much more appetite for wandering through a book in a more-or-less random way. Also, contrary to what people say about the internet confusing everybody and not being able to assert things with authority, I think that people are much better at capturing the value or the tone of di f ferent narratives in a book. A book can now also contain many different voices.

Book designer Irma Boom was essential in helping you shape this huge amount of material.

If I’ve been working with Irma it’s because we’re both very interested in the history of the book, particular­ly because of its supposedly imminent death. I recently visited the Vatican Library with her, and when you see the first pocket book produced in 1500, or the first produced not as a scroll but as a real book, with incredibly funny illustrati­ons, you understand that the book is an immensely rich and unstable medium that can contain thousands of different interpreta­tions. Irma and I met in 1995 because it turned out that, without knowing each other at all, we’d done exactly the same book. She did one for a corporatio­n in which there were pretty drastic intrusions of the economic wor l d, and I had done S, M, L, XL, and the two books were almost to the millimetre the same size. And so that became the basis of a friendship – a type of friendship I’ve also had with some engineers, where they let me in on their territory, I let them in on my mine, and it becomes a very fertile sort of merger.

In between being a design studio and a book, these elements were an exhibition, at the 2014 Venice Architectu­re Biennale. Architectu­re is notoriousl­y difficult to exhibit, and often the result ends up looking like a book stuck up on the wall. How did you go about displaying the elements in Venice?

The biennale enabled us to showcase a visceral manifestat­ion of elements. For example there was a real false ceiling, there were real toilets, there were real walls, and for that reason you could really see the drastic transforma­tions or the precarious­ness of certain elements.

Was there text in the exhibition?

Well you could read texts if you wanted to, but the idea was that you would get it without necessaril­y doing so. Of course that’s also why many architects were very critical of the exhibition – I think they felt slightly offended by the way attention was shifted to issues other than pure architectu­ral design.

One of the stated aims of Elements was “to reconsider forks in the road that weren’t taken, territorie­s sidelined in history that can become fresh projects for the discipline.” Do you have any favourites you discovered?

It’s in a way too early to say, but I think it will definitely have a huge impact on my own work. For instance, I was always interested in ceilings and walls, and during my lifetime I’ve seen the wall go from something solid to something that’s practicall­y immaterial. So there were some elements I was already deeply fascinated by, but others about which I learned an incredible amount. Stairs and doors in particular. It’s shocking how many things you simply take for granted.

I was amazed to discover in the book that the Germans have a word for the study of staircases – Scalalogie.

Yes. In that sense the book was also a kind of alternativ­e history of architectu­re. For instance the guy who thought of handicappe­d access – he probably did more to change postwar architectu­re than any architect. This is a really hilarious part of the book, in the section on ramps. It’s about two people: Tim Nugent, an American academic, and the French architect Claude Parent – born the same year, died three months apart. Nugent was in the American army in World War II, and many of his friends came out of the conflict handicappe­d. Since these were vigorous people in wheelchair­s, he thought about what he could do to make their lives easier. Look at the devastatin­g simplicity of what he finally created – ramps at different angles for easier access. In one lifetime he achieved the global adoption of that idea. Parent was the total opposite. After the war, France was in a kind of euphoric situation with what’s now called the Trente Glorieuses. And so he felt it was totally boring to live horizontal­ly, and that everyone ought to live on some kind of incline to put their lives literally on a different plane and make things more challengin­g. Here’s a fantastic diagram he made: up here you see an incline where human beings cannot remain unaided. Here he says that a 50% incline is the “limite d’adhérence humaine sans interventi­on d’accrochage” [“limit of human adherence without some kind of grip mechanism”]. [ Laughs.] And here’s a wonderful photograph of him in his house. Hidden in the inclined plane, which was covered in carpet, there were soft places where you could sit, but you couldn’t see them, so you’d stumble over hard and soft. For me

these are two extremes of architectu­ral interpreta­tion – one as a challenge and the other as comfort and security.

All the elements in this book are physical – you can touch them.

Yes, but many of them are now on the verge of taking on a cer tain non- physicalit­y. As we went along we became more and more aware that the digital age has already profoundly infiltrate­d and modified every element. For example, there’s a floor that records your position on it – it’s sold as a kind of security device for old people, it can be directly connected to an ambulance, etc. But of course it’s also a way to control whether you stand, lie or do whatever on the floor. The toilet now has a digital dimension in the sense that every episode is analysed and transferre­d to a doctor. And there’s a thermostat that learns and can anticipate your heating preference­s. But the data are also shifted to energy and insurance companies. In 2014, Sam Lessin, at the time in charge of product management at Facebook, said: “The more you tell the world about yourself, the more the world can give you what you want.” I think this is totally deceitful and dishonest, but entirely representa­tive of digital companies. So it was very exciting to be there at the moment that this was going to be the direction or the deal for architectu­re. I’m under no illusion that we can stop the deal, but I think we can be slightly more alert about it.

Architectu­re as a Big Brother data- collecting enterprise basically. Yes. A house that used to offer you total security can now betray you.

I guess an abstract element of architectu­re is the idea of safety.

Yes. It all fits into a larger context where the ideals of the French Revolution – freedom, equality and fraternity – have been replaced by comfort, security and sustainabi­lity. And I’m 100% convinced that simply by delaying so much and being so lazy about thinking and acting on climate change we will face an incredibly authoritar­ian wave at some point, where, because we didn’t do it voluntaril­y, we’ll be forced to do it. Soon there’ll be a thermostat telling you, “Your time’s up, you must go to bed,” and off you go to sleep in a cold room. Seriously, I’m 100% sure. China’s already making those moves, and it will happen here too.

Rem Koolhaas, Elements of Architectu­re ( Taschen, 2018).

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