Hani Rashid came to Moscow to deliver a lecture "Moscow Experience" as part of the Strelka Institute for Media, Architecture and Design summer program.
Archi.ru:
In Moscow, everyone is very interested in your future museum at ZIL - a branch of the Hermitage. We do not yet have a single multi-storey museum building, and such buildings are rare in the world. How do you plan to distribute the showrooms on floors, on top of each other, or otherwise?
- One of the key ideas in solving our project was that we proposed a new attitude to how to look at art, how to perceive it. For "traditional" contemporary art, the building will have "regular" galleries, with white walls, clear, continuous space, and so on. However, at the same time, there will be less familiar spaces through which the visitor will move and where artists will be invited to create unique works and, possibly, conduct experiments. Also, the museum has planned spaces suitable for exhibiting very large works, possibly up to 30 m in height, for example.
If you think about the history of museum architecture and how people viewed art in public space in terms of history and tradition, it is important to analyze older museums in this context. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the relationship between the viewer and the work of art was seen as something sacred and in many aspects the “gallery” space as it exists today adheres to such dynamics and attitudes. At the same time, this type of visual experience has often been questioned, most notably from the mid-20th century - the famous Frank Lloyd Wright Guggenheim Museum in New York. First of all, the rotunda of this museum created a new relationship between the viewer and art, where art could not only be seen from different angles and different, unique perspectives, but also the visitors of the museum were exhibited and thereby complemented the collective perception of art. Further, in the Turbine Workshop of the Tate Modern in London, large-scale works specially commissioned for him created "events" that attracted visitors [into their orbit], thus transforming the experience of viewing art from a passive into an active and even interactive experience and presentation.
Speaking specifically about this aspect of our museum project, we aimed to combine the experience of "looking" at art in well-designed rooms (with well-thought-out lighting, etc.) with the "random" actions of visitors who are also invited to move within various intermediate architectural volumes. and through them to look at art in a unique way - from different perspectives that foster entirely new readings and, I hope, new understandings. Through the planning and functional program of the museum, designed in this way - as "disconnecting" or perhaps even "breaking" - a series of rooms and voids arise, which, taken one by one, reduces or diminishes certain "expectations" about how a museum of contemporary art should be perceived. For example, the idea of a central atrium as authoritarian and clearly defined, which was established by the New York Guggenheim in the middle of the last century, and further emphasized by Frank Gehry's Guggenheim in Bilbao, for whose project it is key. Many new museums today use the atrium as a path through which white box galleries are located. This is problematic for us, in fact, as a way of experiencing art - it is a cliché that must be questioned again.
In connection with the entire territory of ZIL, there is a problem: it will be an almost completely new area, and such buildings are often lifeless and artificial. You have a lot of projects of new territories for different cities of the world. How can this artificiality be prevented in the case of new development?
- I agree that it can be difficult to prevent this syndrome if economics and politics are the engines for such projects. Meanwhile, in the case of ZIL, both the author of the general plan Yuri Grigoryan with his Megan bureau, and our client Andrey Molchanov and his LSR Group are very interested in avoiding such a problem. From the very beginning, they asked us to be empathetic and thoughtful about the ZIL territory, including its buildings, its history and heritage, while we were simultaneously tasked to design something new, “refreshing” and powerful in this context - as a catalyst integral development of this territory. This is our goal.
Our building for the Hermitage Modern Contemporary Museum will be located on the Boulevard of Arts, which is central to Yuri Grigoryan's master plan. Life at ZIL will be organized around culture, including contemporary and contemporary art. The [existence of] the museum indicates that the development of this area is indeed viewed as a significant cultural project. I think that this is actually the main idea of Andrei Molchanov - to achieve this throughout the territory of ZIL. The new museum, along with other cultural objects planned for this area, is designed to avoid the possible lifelessness and sterility that characterize some of the new areas.
Will you have another building on ZIL, a 150-meter residential skyscraper?
- The ZIL Tower is a very elegant piece of modern architecture, unlike any other building in the world. I think it will be a unique addition to the Moscow landscape.
In both of our projects for the ZIL territory, we studied its history in relation to Russian modernity and the history of art of this period. I myself admire the constructivists, especially the constructivist artist Gustav Klutsis. Klutsis created very interesting "radio speakers" and other works at the beginning of the 20th century. Our design for the tower at ZIL was influenced by these dynamic and powerful structures, as well as paintings and other works by Vladimir Tatlin, El Lissitzky and several other masters of this important period in the history of art and architecture in Russia.
Both the tower and the museum were also created under the influence of ZIL itself, its old workshops, remarkable history and heritage. I have watched Dziga Vertov's incredible film “The Man with a Movie Camera” many times in order to better understand the feelings and emotions, as well as the dynamics and aesthetics that can be drawn from the old energy of the car assembly process and the magnificence of these factories - especially ZIL.
Our museum project was also inspired by Russian constructivism, especially by El Lissitzky's prouns. However, in both cases - the tower and the museum - direct citations and pronounced aesthetic similarities are not obvious and not intended. These are not postmodern projects, and we do not aim to make these works look like buildings of the constructivist era, buildings of the past in general. Rather, we seek to awaken the spirit - the basis of so many radical ideas that the constructivists have expressed in their powerful, revolutionary formal approach to truly dynamic spatiality.
The museum's design is also inspired by somewhat more unexpected sources, including 19th century Russian landscape painting. The beautiful and at the same time "persistent" landscapes of this time have a strong inner glow and the effect of the atmosphere. I would like this building to evoke these sensations as well - in combination with inspired interior volumes and space.
Another important aspect to consider when discussing the museum and the tower is the very urban concept of the Boulevard of Arts, where the main attention will be given to cultural institutions, including a performing arts center, a puppet theater, a large “art park” and other projects. The entire plan for ZIL is the result of the vision of Andrey Molchanov, who truly understands that housing construction requires deeper reflection on other aspects of the human dimension.
Molchanov specially traveled to New York and Los Angeles, as well as to various European cities, to invite "international" architects to make projects for ZIL. He asked us, in particular, to create something very special and very sensitive to the history of Moscow and ZIL.
I believe that Molchanov is well aware of the peculiarities of the situation when prominent architects from abroad are invited to work "locally" - that in this case we will be especially attentive to the special properties of a place and a city. We have been asked to design two very strong and attractive buildings adjacent to other well thought out buildings, interesting housing projects and public spaces. I must add that it is very good that Yuri Grigoryan, together with Andrei Molchanov, decided to keep some of the old buildings in the masterplan, which will allow some of the features of the original territory to become intact an integral part of the new history of ZIL.
You design for different countries of the world, while everywhere - your traditions, your level of construction technologies. How do you deal with this difference?
- There are two answers to this question. On the one hand, since my father was an Egyptian-born and Paris-based abstract painter and my mother was British, I am essentially a cultural hybrid. In addition, my parents left their home countries and moved to Canada, where I grew up. That is, I see myself as a kind of “cultural nomad”, so no matter where I work in terms of place and culture, I have a sensitivity to what I might call the “DNA” of a place. As a child, I lived in so many countries, and as the heir to two very different cultures, it was necessary for me to develop this sensitivity, this instinct is simply a matter of survival and as a means of understanding where I am at a particular moment in time.
On the other hand, since we have designed and built for different cities and contexts, each project has its own unique constraints due to a specific location, agenda, program, economy, and so on. Many of the opportunities that each location brings are unique and we need to "extract" them. We are not one of those architects who design the same projects for different places around the world, regardless of the context. Rather, we design buildings that are tailored to the program and budget, as in this case, not too extravagant or over-the-top. Our intention has always been to make our work discreet and intelligent at the same time, with particular attention to the choice of building technologies and local materials. At the same time, we argue that construction must be very advanced, so we are looking for an approach that allows us to achieve high results. Another key aspect is the selection of the project team, which is a lot like creating an orchestra: choosing the right people, components, finding the right techniques, tools and methods. An excellent team with which you cooperate in all aspects of design determines the ultimate success of the business, wherever the project is located [SPEECH bureau is in charge of both Asymptote projects for ZIL - note from Archi.ru].
These two of our Moscow projects will be important not only because they are an integral part of the current Russian situation, but also because they will be innovative and relevant in terms of culture, technology and economics. We hope that they will be important for local residents as well, that they will be perceived as relevant and spiritual works. These Asymptote projects do justice to architecture, make it their main theme, and to achieve this they don't have to be expensive or pretentious. For us, taking on this challenge is a very realistic goal, because, as you can see, we are not the kind of architects who are hired to gild a bathroom or a dance hall (laughs).
How did you receive this order? Was it offered to you, or was there a competition?
- I met Andrey Molchanov in Moscow last winter, and then he asked me to design a tower for ZIL (ZIL Gateway Tower). When we showed him our portfolio of works, he was interested in our project for the competition for the Guggenheim Museum in Helsinki, and I believe that, after negotiations with the Director of the State Hermitage Museum, Mikhail Piotrovsky, we were offered to develop a project for the branch of the State Hermitage Museum in Moscow, intended for the exhibition of modern and modern art. I think that both Molchanov and Piotrovsky know that, despite the fact that we are called "stars" architects, we do not insist on a certain style or dogmatic approach, rather the opposite is true: we are always looking for a fresh, new angle of view on every situation. Thanks to a happy coincidence, for many years Mikhail Piotrovsky and I had interesting conversations about how we can design new museums - uniquely and convincingly. So things have been piecing together for a long time, but now we are very busy working on two wonderful projects in Moscow - and flattered by it.
How do you feel about competitions, especially large international ones, like the recent one for the project of the Guggenheim Museum in Helsinki? Are competitions enriching the architectural culture, or are architects just wasting their time on them?
- Architectural competitions as an idea are very important and useful for our profession. I myself, together with Liz-Anne Couture, won our first competition when I was only 27 years old. The project was called the Los Angeles Gateway and it was an international competition. The mission was to create a memorial for a new monument commemorating US immigration from the Pacific. This was very important for our career and for the founding of our bureau, Asymptote. Therefore, I think that competitions are really very important, especially for young architects. On the other hand, tenders today appear to be more and more operational. It seems to me that "customers" (as you call clients here) are increasingly organizing contests just to get ideas for cheap - if not free at all. Yes, we can say that we architects are a bit masochists, since we take part in such competitions, even if we know that the possible result is only a waste of money and time. We ourselves have invested a huge amount of time, energy and resources in competitions, but, nevertheless, we continue to participate in them today: this is a strange aspect of our profession. In recent years, one can see even more abuse in this system of using architects to "study" a problem or a "possible" project: I feel an increase in such exploitation of a competitive idea, whereby participating architects are left with nothing. This may be, in part, due to the very rapid and superficial dissemination of pictures and images over the Internet at the expense of the loss of a deeper level of discussion.
We recently took part in a major and important competition in New York, and - as crazy as it sounds - the client ultimately decided not to invite any of the 14 prominent architects and construction consortia who participated in this many months process. instead, without any explanation, he chose an architect who did not participate in the competition at all. I think this is an example of an abuse that has a very negative effect on our profession.
Specifically, the competition for the Guggenheim Museum in Helsinki that you mentioned was another striking example of the complete absurdity of the current state of the competition system. In the end, how good or bad the winners are (and I think those winners are quite good, by the way) doesn't really matter. With almost 2,000 projects submitted for the competition, just think of the global effort that went into creating them - it's amazing when you think about it, and in the end, choosing the best project among them is like looking for a needle in haystack. I'm sure there were hundreds of interesting, provocative works that didn't even make it to the second round, not to mention the prize places.
Part of the problem is that the architectural community itself is not capable of organizing itself sufficiently to demand that all competitions be adequately paid, properly structured and professionally organized. But, again, there is always an architect somewhere who is willing to work for free or, having knocked down the price, bypass a colleague, therefore, in the end, we are all sorry.
You have been teaching a lot at different universities for a long time. Has your teaching method changed over time?
- I started teaching when I was very young, and by the time I was 28, I was a professor at Columbia University in New York. It was before the Internet and computers, and for the most part my students built large experimental installations on my instructions. Later, in 1996, I co-founded Paperless Design Studios at Columbia University: it was an ambitious program, I started teaching using only digital means and giving up paper, pencils and, in fact, all the tools that we are so used to with the moment our profession emerged. It was a very radical move at a very interesting time. Over time, my teaching method changed: I became more interested in the city as a problem. Currently, at the University of Applied Arts Vienna, I run the Deep Futures Learning Lab / Branch. There, with my students, we study the impact of technology, socio-economic trends, environment, computing, digital shaping, etc. for the future of our discipline and cities. So my approach has changed over time due to the changing situation with cities and life in general.
When I started teaching in the late 1980s, there was a very strong architectural culture, a lot of good criticism, polemics, and a lot of theory to discuss and criticize. At the same time, there were also dry and conservative views, architects and theorists focused on the past, and this combination gave rise to a clear feeling that radical thinking is really necessary in architecture. At that moment I felt it in the same way as the Dadaists, Constructivists, Futurists and Surrealists in their time, when their contemporary art seemed to them retrograde. In the 1990s, there were even more “critical” moments and tendencies that had to be opposed, mainly by the onset of corporate culture in our profession. The reason for the constant change in teaching is that you don't have time to look around - and this happens very quickly these days, perhaps even too quickly - like any radical position is absorbed by the status quo. Therefore, it is necessary to constantly be very careful if you are engaged in research and study of the boundaries of our profession, as I do in my teaching activities.
Right now, I am perhaps most interested in how to define the architect as a truly valuable figure in our society, to "return" the architect to being a valuable contributor to thinking, imagining and, more importantly, creating our cities, urban spaces and buildings. We may think that the architect is still important in this formula, but in reality we have lost ground very much. Today, when it comes to creating, shaping our built environment, most often, economists, politicians, technologists, investors, "experts" - consultants, etc. form policy and make key decisions. Unfortunately, the architect has slipped down this hierarchical ladder to a position of increasing impotence. Faced with this reality, when I teach, I ask the question: how do we maintain and update the knowledge and skills base necessary to restore the architect as a key player in the social process of shaping the built environment. The question is: how will we, architects, become important actors, and not just be a “co-executor” or just another consultant among many others.
With my students and in my office, I often use the term "spatial engineering" as a means of dealing with this dilemma, and I use this term to try to define what our expertise really is. At the end of the day, I truly believe that "engineering spatiality" is at the heart of an architect's knowledge and skills. If you think about it, there are artists who work uncompromisingly in pure spatiality, this is their main interest and concern, on the opposite side of the spectrum there are engineers - builders, designers, mechanics, acoustics and other specialists, all of them are busy with the reality of bringing the project to life. In my idea, architects are between these two extremes, in the very center. With all this in mind, in Vienna we explore our discipline from this perhaps odd but important perspective, where the idea of an “architect” must be seriously modernized to take on the position of this mediating and overlapping expertise.
