David Adjaye formed his partner company in 1994 and soon earned a reputation as an architect with the vision of a true artist. In 2000, the architect reorganized his studio and renamed it Adjaye Associates. Since then, he has completed a number of prestigious projects, including the Nobel Peace Center in Oslo, the Stephen Lawrence Art Center in London and the Museum of Modern Art in Denver.
Ajaye's architectural practice has a close relationship with the artistic world. The most famous and successful artists of our time, including Chris Ofili and Olafur Eliasson, are his customers and associates.
Ajaye was born in Tanzania to a Ghanaian diplomat in 1966. Until 1978 he lived in Africa and the Middle East. Then he moved with his parents to London, where he studied art and architecture. In 1993 he received his Master of Architecture from the Royal College of Art. Ajaye travels a lot with lectures in Europe and America. Until recently, he taught at Harvard and Princeton Universities. In 2005, the first book of the architect was published, in which projects of private houses were collected. A year later, the publication of Adjay's second book "Creating Public Buildings" was timed to coincide with the master's first solo exhibition, which traveled to a number of cities in Europe and North America. In 2007, David became a Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire for his special contribution to the development of architecture.
In his projects, he strives to emphasize the sculptural qualities of the space, using such techniques as light wells, similar color shades and contrasting materials and surface textures. Among the architect's current projects, one of the most interesting is the International School of Management in Skolkovo near Moscow.
I met David at his office in the popular artist Hoxton in East London. One of the office premises is replete with beautiful building patterns, working with which David manages to achieve in his architecture such qualities as the authenticity of materials and the exact balance of ratios and combinations that awaken sincere human emotions.
You yourself have been given interviews with famous architects on BBC radio. What question would you like to start our conversation with?
(Laughter) I would ask myself - what is the point of your architecture?
Then we will do so. What's the point of your architecture?
I am trying to find strategies that would help me to find new opportunities for communication in architecture. I mean finding new ways to see each other and be with each other. I see the role of architecture in being such a link.
Name the architects you interviewed for the BBC
- There were five of them: Oscar Niemeyer, Charles Correa, Kenzo Tange, J. M. Drink and Moshe Safdie. Initially, I wanted to conduct an interview with six architects, but unfortunately, shortly before the start of the project, Philip Johnson passed away and we decided to confine ourselves to meeting with five masters. The idea was to meet with representatives of a generation of architects who had met such great modernists as Mies van der Rohe, Le Corbusier, Louis Kahn, Alvar Aalto, Walter Gropius and Louis Sert.
Was one of your questions one that you asked all the interviewees?
The first question was how they were personally influenced by their meetings with the great modernist architects and how these meetings changed and inspired their work. Thus, I tried to identify some genealogy of ideas.
And what did they answer you?
The answers were different. Oscar Niemeyer met Corbusier when he was only twenty-seven years old, and for him it was a radical, almost biblical transition from what he had done before to a new dimension of modernism. For Charles Correa, architects such as Kahn and Aalto were associated with the continuation and reflection of the foundations of modernism. It was important for me to feel first-hand the emotional connection of these already elderly architects with the ideals of modernism, as well as their deep perception of the world. It is curious that for so many generations, many architects continue to draw their inspiration from a very limited circle of primary sources.
You run three studios in London, New York and Berlin. How do they work?
It seems to me that the traditional model of an architectural studio located somewhere in the mountains of Switzerland or on the seaside in Portugal, as a symbol of some beautiful and isolated idyll, does not correspond to reality for a long time. At the same time, I cannot call my practice a corporate office with an ambitious desire to conquer the world. I am more of a wandering architect. Like my other colleagues, I follow the emerging economic opportunities in the world, which bring me into contact with new customers, or rather patrons of my work. They give me the opportunity to work. I am forced to act strategically and react to a variety of opportunities. Therefore, I need to be present at the same time in different parts of the world. Our main office is based in London. There are about forty of us here, and in New York and Berlin we are represented by very small teams headed by people who have worked with me for many years. I usually go there once or twice a month. Thank God that architecture is a slow profession. The project takes three to five years to complete, which gives us the opportunity to work in parallel on many projects.
There are many famous artists among your clients. How did it happen?
I aspired to this relationship, and it was the result of my rethinking of conventional architectural practice. To create a holistic and successful project, it is necessary to achieve what the Germans call Gesamtkunstwerk or the synthesis of the arts. To do this, I invite people of different professions, including artists, to cooperate. This approach helps to achieve a high, artistic and technical level.
And under what circumstances did you meet these artists?
To begin with, as a student, I was distrustful of architecture schools. I studied in the eighties, the time of big theories. But I didn't want to experiment just mentally. I wanted to build something. Theory is very important, but in my opinion, it should be based on practice. It is based on understanding, reflecting and rebuilding something material, and not in a hypothetical position. In those years, I noticed that many architects were beautifully theorizing about the meaning of the universe, while many others were carried away by the construction of ridiculous postmodern stylizations. Against this background, the artists stood out who actually built their meaningful installations, the best of which can be considered architecture. Therefore, it was the artists who became my role models and those with whom I really wanted to communicate. So I ended up at art school and then studied architecture at the Royal College of Art, where I met many artists.
It turns out that famous artists who are your customers and associates were your fellow students at the university and, in a sense, you are one of them?
Of course. They are all my age.
At Southbank University, your thesis was on Shibam, Yemen, and at the Royal College of Art, you studied the history of tea ceremonies in Japan. How important do you place culture in your practice?
For me, culture defines mythology. Architecture reflects, and if you like - depicts the history of civilizations. I am interested in different cultures and they inspire me. Shibam in Yemen is a phenomenal city with high-rise medieval buildings built from clay and mud from the bottom of the river. It is an outstanding engineering feat that emerged in the middle of the desert like a fairytale mirage. Japan is interesting in its own way. I lived in Kyoto for a year. This country is interesting to me because, despite the fact that its culture is based on Chinese, it has been completely rewritten and practically reinvented.
Let's talk about your projects in Russia. First, tell us about your School of Management at Skolkovo. How did this order come to you?
We were invited to participate in the competition together with J. M. Pei, Santiago Calatrava and Dixon Jones. I was the youngest invited and had never worked on such a large scale before. Our project proposes to create some kind of utopia, because the idea of an educational campus is one of the last opportunities to create a utopia. After all, the university campus resembles an ideal monastic fraternity. This is an idealized paradise, and the whole world is far, far away. All other participants suggested more or less traditional campuses, and I came up with such a hierarchy and won. In a sense, it is the modernist idea of a vertical city planted on a circular disc that hovers above the landscape. Various functions are concentrated within this disc - squares, squares, residential blocks, classrooms and premises for sports and recreation. The development spot covers a minimal area and is located as a dot on an area of 27 acres (11 hectares). In a sense, it is a monastery that is conceptually not so different from the famous La Tourette Corbusier.
How did this interesting shape come about?
The shape of the building is a tribute to the ideas of Malevich, before whose genius I admire. His work is key to understanding the history of modernism and modernity. I believe that Mies represents an international style of modernism, which mainly refers to the orthogonal organizational system. And Malevich represents a completely different system, which has never fully received the proper manifestation. If Mies's modernism is related to the city, then Malevich's modernism is more in line with a certain system of chances, built on a hidden order in relation to the environment and nature. Another source of inspiration for this project is the bronze religious-mythological sculptures of the Yoruba in Africa. These sculptures were based on the belief in the ascension of people from one world to another on a disk. Thus, the project is based on a mixture of ideas, but most importantly, it is an experiment to create a utopia.
You also participated in the competition for the project of the Art Museum in Perm
Yes, it was a very big competition. We reached the second round, but did not make it to the final. In Perm, we proposed an agglomeration of small parallel and rectangular volumes, built in the form of an oval - in some places these volumes touch each other, and in some places they diverge. This strategy created very interesting river and city views. The main idea was that architecture should not dominate the curatorial freedom of the museum. Good museums provide many opportunities for organizing different exhibitions, rather than the one that architecture implies. For example, the Daniel Libeskind Jewish Museum in Berlin provides only one perception. This building cannot be used in any way other than the vision set by the architect himself. This is the end of the story. I believe that architecture should relate more to a specific function and building, rather than an architect's repertoire. Therefore, museum curators always ask the same question: what function is the museum building supposed to play - to support art or to define it? If the building determines what art and how should be exhibited, then it is nothing more than the embodiment of the architect's vanity. Perhaps this is what is needed in a particular city, but it is detrimental to the art. Good art has many meanings, it can tell many stories, not just one.
So, you visit Russia. Are you interested there?
I find Russia to be a very exciting place. The first time I was there as a student was before what they called Perestroika in the mid-eighties. It was still a communist country, but changes were ripening and felt in people. I was there with a group of architectural enthusiasts and we visited everything that could be visited then. I walked around all the constructivist masterpieces of Melnikov, Ginzburg and many others, outside and inside. Then I was in Russia in the nineties, and it was already a different country. It was interesting for me to watch how a new Moscow is emerging on the site of the old city. This is very curious, although sometimes scary - after all, so many things disappear irrevocably.
What do you think about constructivist architecture?
It seems to me that this is one of the most important and underestimated periods of modernism. The projects created in those years showed the amazingly powerful potential that modernism can rise to. This creative period was very short. In the west, the ideas of the constructivists were quickly transformed, assimilated and were, as it were, buried. For me, the early period of Soviet architecture remains an important source of inspiration.
How does this architecture affect you personally?
It's not about how to literally borrow something from the constructivists. I'm not looking specifically for Russian role models. The main thing is that we got these great projects as a world creative heritage, and now I can turn to this or that so-called reservoir of ideas. Many of my ideas come from a completely different body of water, but this is the beauty of architecture, which has so many meanings and sources. You can go one way and turn into an ultra-rationalist, everything will be very business-like, technical and functional. Or you can turn to expressionism, and then you will strive to express the ideas of culture and people that are closer to me. For me, architecture is not a machine. It is an expression of the desires of people in our time.
What eyes do you think you should look at Moscow with?
In any case, one should not look at her through the glasses of a person from the west. That's for sure. I mean, you can't try to turn any city into a city of some kind of abstract dream. This strategy forces the architect to look around very closely and notice the smallest details. It is not simple. Others usually project their ready-made visions and only smooth out the edges in order to better fit into a specific place. And it happens that even the locals do not see or do not understand the nature of civilization or the psychology of the context in which they live.
Let's go back to your utopian project in Moscow. What did you notice while working on it?
In this project, the idea was to create a utopia, but in the eyes of my customers, this concept was primarily associated with a traditional university campus. They all said - campus, administration house, four buildings on each side, square, grove, lake, and so on. Then they thought - what to do when the thermometer drops to 30 degrees below zero, how to move from one building to another? The most sophisticated suggestions poured in, for example, what if you dig tunnels? Everyone tried to solve the problem of the local climate. But why project a campus idea in a place where it clearly doesn't work? Then I said - we need a new model, a new utopia. I could never have come up with my project alone. It arose out of similar discussions and discussions.
In Russia, there is a fear that foreigners, they say, are not sufficiently familiar with the local history, context or traditions of construction. In what way do you think, based on your experience, a modern metropolis can win if foreign architects build in it?
It seems to me that we live in a world in which not to notice and not study what is happening in megacities is fraught with potential disaster. Because the concept of metropolis is not a local phenomenon, but is closely related to global processes. We must learn to appreciate and understand the opportunities that arise in New York or Shanghai, and be able to apply some of these phenomena elsewhere. I do not believe that a group of specialists from one country can fly to another country, observe a problem, come back and successfully apply similar techniques at home. In reality, this is a complex process in which factors of interaction and mutual enrichment of different cultures play an important role. This applies not only to the situation of today. Classical architecture in Russia was created by Italians who arrived in St. Petersburg. They taught local architects the classics and mastered the Russian experience themselves. The image of the city, supposedly created by one local group, is in fact a fiction. In this sense, city building has always been the result of global processes. Ideas are born, circulate, move to new places, and often become an integral part of a particular culture. The main thing is to share and exchange ideas, and if the best ideas come from abroad, so what to do about it? You need to accept them.
We talked about the influence of the constructivists on your work. What can you say about traditional Russian architecture?
I visited several Russian monasteries and churches while traveling along the Golden Ring of Russia. I'm very interested in the idea of an articulated roof over a vault, which is a kind of microcosm. This solution presents a powerful image of heaven, utopia or a magical ideal city with a perspective that always points upward. I was amazed at the transformation of these ideas into such beautiful forms of towers and domes of Russian Orthodox churches.
Let's move on to some other topics. You worked for the Portuguese architect Eduardo Souto de Moura. Did you come to him so easily, knock on the door and get a job? What attracted you to its architecture?
Yes of course. He's my dad! I first saw his projects in the late eighties, when he just graduated from the cinema club in Porto that shocked me. It was architecture that is called out of nothing - a granite wall with two mirrored doors at the edges and the most beautiful garden I have ever seen. For me, Eduardo is a master practicing metaphysical architecture - not only functional, but one that is rich in ideas. I found not a rationalist making machines, but a real architect who creates poetic architecture. His example convinced me that there are other ways to create architecture. So I went to Portugal to tell him that I adore his architecture and would like to work for him. Then eight people worked for him. He invited me to his office, it seems to me, only because I flew in on purpose to see his architecture.
Souto de Mora once said: "A building site can be anything. The decision never comes from the place itself, but always from the head of the creator." Do you agree with his opinion and how much you yourself are trying to find a connection with the local context or culture?
I think it is important for us architects to propose a concrete solution and put it up for public judgment. If people find meaning in it and accept it as part of their context, then you have managed to find a connection with this place. It is necessary to grope for phenomenology, physiology and scale that would respond simultaneously to the existing context and to the need to create a new one.
In one of your interviews, you stated that you are looking for a new authenticity in architecture and a return to the real thickness of materials, and not just stylization. Clarify please
The idea is that I'm not looking for the constraints of our time. It's not interesting for me to argue - once we knew how to build beautiful thick brick walls, but now we have forgotten how. I don't care, because that was one era, and now I live in a different era. And if in the era in which I live, thin walls are being built, then I will work with this thin-walled architecture and come to such solutions in order to express these walls in the most accurate and rigorous way.
Judging by what we talked about, your approach to architecture brings you into conflict with modern British architecture, which is characterized by consistency, transparency, ephemerality, immateriality and, of course, subtlety. Is it so?
Of course. On the one hand, I was educated here. Peter Smithson was one of my teachers. My first projects were built in London. I really appreciate everything I have learned from British architecture. But I draw inspiration from a variety of places. The ability to build something very high quality and impeccably characterizes the British tradition. This is very dear to me. But what I reject is the manifestation of the building as a cold, ideal machine. For me, architecture is about emotion. My projects are always different, even if they are in the same block. It seems to me that this turns out to be richer, and this is my position.
Wandering around London, you continually come across a kind of almost religious fervor in emphasizing mechanics and connections in architectural details. This tradition goes deep into history, and modern architecture is sometimes transformed literally into some kind of robotic machine. I even witnessed a funny scene when a woman, pointing to the new building of Richard Rogers, said that it was dangerous for people to wander around the building, which is still under construction. But this building is not being built at all, but has been functioning for a long time and only looks so constructive that it is not associated with the building at all
Yes, this is Britain, but for me architecture is not an ideal machine to be put into work like a robot. Architecture must evolve, change and transform itself. I try to adjust my architecture to different conditions of life, which is changing around.
When you look at the architecture of other masters, what qualities do you find most satisfying?
When visiting architectural works, I always look for phenomenological qualities in them and try to read in them the author's vision and how well this vision fits into the place or into the ideas of local people. If I find such qualities, it doesn't matter what kind of architecture it is - it touches me emotionally. Good architecture should not define and dominate. It can have many meanings.
You have visited many masterpieces of world architecture
Perhaps there is no place left where I would not be. This is a great privilege that I value very much. I travel a lot and crossed the whole world up and down, including the North Pole.
What architects are practicing today whose projects give you the most pleasure?
- In Tokyo it is Taira Nishizawa, in the Arizona desert in America it is a young architect Rick Joy, in Melbourne it is a wonderful young architect Sean Godsell, in Frankfurt it is an amazing young architect Nikolaus Hirsch (Nikolaus Hirsch), In South Africa - the young architect Mphethi Morojele, who has offices in Johannesburg, Cape Town and Berlin. Of course, there are quite a few good architects in London too - the young architect Jonathan Wolff and the Foreign Office. There are many excellent modern architects of my generation practicing in the world now. We all know each other and are strong links in the global chain. I personally saw their projects and said - “Wow!”, This is what personifies the era in which we live!
Adjaye Associates London Office
23-28 Penn Street, Hoxton
April 23, 2008
