Emilio Ambas
Vladimir Belogolovsky:
– Ready to get started?
Emilio Ambas:
- No, maybe anesthesia first? [laughs]
“You don’t need it. By the way, for the record, what's your last name?
- Ambas. Emilio Ambas.
- You pronounce it with a "s" at the end (search in Russian google corrects to "Ambash" - translator's note).
- Yes, that's exactly how it should be pronounced.
You studied architecture in the USA, in Princeton, where you received a bachelor's degree and then a master's degree, in just two years …
- I entered Princeton two years after I graduated from high school. But before, I sneaked into lectures at the University of Buenos Aires. There were thousands of students and no one was paying attention to me, the little one, so I could attend whatever lectures I wanted. In addition, the American Consulate in Buenos Aires had a very good Lincoln Library, with many authoritative books on American architecture, including "Latin American Architecture Since 1945" by Henry-Russell Hitchcock. I became so familiar in the library that when the book fund was renewed, the old books were simply given to me. In fact, I learned English from Alfred Barr's book, The Masters of Contemporary Art. So if I have problems with my English or if I have syntax errors in an interview, it's all his fault [laughs].
I still can't understand how you finished Princeton so quickly. When we talked about this a few years ago, you said, "If you don't believe me, ask my research advisor Peter Eisenman." I asked, and he confirmed it to me, saying: "I don't know how Emilio did it, no one succeeded either before or after, but he did it." So the fact is established. But if you graduated from the university so quickly, it turns out that all your student papers were part of one thesis project? Or have you worked on several projects?
- I got my bachelor's degree in one semester. During the first semester, I had a new project every week. Peter helped me with each of them; this was his first year at Princeton. And in the second semester, I was already studying for a master's program. But I had my own individual program there. This is practiced in Princeton … No, I should have stayed there longer - then, you see, I would have learned something [laughs].
Could you tell us more about your time at Princeton?
- When I first arrived, I also didn't really know English, and my first American friend claimed that I spoke like Gary Cooper. So, in fact, it was - because I learned English by watching the same old Westerns with subtitles on TV many times in a row.
What other teachers did you have at Princeton?
– There were two very interesting teachers, two Hungarian twins, the Olgiai brothers. Their names were Victor and Aladar. They were the forerunners of bioclimatic architecture - for example, they invented sunlight control and special shutters to reduce the access of direct sunlight to buildings. They built a laboratory to test these things. If you read their books on climate design, you will find everything that is now relevant to architects in the sense of “energy sustainability”.
Another teacher is Jean Labatut, who, in addition to supervising an architectural master's degree, was engaged in research on the influence of climate and the environment on building materials. He was extraordinary. There was also Kenneth Frampton, but he did not teach me. As he later admitted nobly, but not quite rightly, he had nothing to teach me [laughs].
How would you summarize everything that you have learned from your teachers?
– The main thing that I learned from Princeton is a deep-rooted interest in philosophy, poetry and history. And in this respect, Princeton is excellent because any course can be placed in the undergraduate program. For example, I had a wonderful teacher, Artur Szhatmary, who taught courses on the philosophy of aesthetics.
When I started teaching beginners, shortly after I graduated from Princeton, I focused on methodology. I taught them how to solve problems. The elements, which at first glance are not connected in any way, should have formed into a logical structure. They had to solve the problem along the way. I didn’t want to load them with real projects of my bureau or competitions - which is what many other teachers have sinned.
And what were the typical tasks?
– I gave the students a draft, and every Friday I did a debriefing. Then I asked students to redo the same project, criticism followed again - and so every week. It was the same project, library. My graduation project was the State Library of Argentina, but I asked students to design a library that could be built in any city in the United States. It was interesting for me to see how they can apply themselves to solving a specific problem. I have always believed that if they get to the nature of the problem and find an adequate solution, this will not only give them confidence in their abilities, but also help them learn to understand the nature of the problem as such. There is a wonderful Japanese concept called Yugen. Its idea is that if you get to the heart of the problem, this experience will help you in solving other problems as well.
It was a very challenging teaching approach. Even today, when I meet my former students who have become lawyers or doctors, they say that my course had a huge impact on them. He helped them develop a problem-solving mindset, whatever it may be.
Does this mean that some of your students never became architects?
- Well yes! At Princeton, novices and sophomores are just sniffing at what careers they might be interested in. They were all brilliant students, just diamonds! Maybe a little rough, but extremely bright. Intellectually, they are much stronger than graduate students. I even told Gedes that I myself was ready to pay him for the right to teach freshmen, but my fee for teaching his graduate students would not be enough for all the money in the world [laughs].
In the project of the Princeton Theological Seminary dormitory, you collaborated with Eisenman. You called it "deconstructivist." Can you tell us more about it?
- I must say, I am very sorry that I did not have a copy of this project. He was great. And Peter was just shocked at the opportunities that this project opened up. Unfortunately, I don't remember now the name of the office in Philadelphia where we both worked as designers. Peter has a stainless steel memory and will tell you for sure. Our project was never realized …
Do you think this seminary project was one of the predecessors of what later became known as the architecture of deconstructivism?
- I don’t know … I would not call myself a deconstructivist. I am rather an essentialist from the word essence, in the sense of Paul Valéry's words: "Be light like a bird, not like a feather."
And what was so special about this project?
“I don’t know… I don’t need words, I need pictures, images. It was about the organization of flows, about how people could move in space, going to their rooms. No, I still need blueprints.
Do you think that your project somehow influenced the architecture of St. Petersburg?
- Well, no, I would not aim at such a thing. Peter is a man of tremendous intellectual ability, and he pays close attention to everything that is done, written and said everywhere. I'm different. I'm rather intuitive. And I don't use any tricks. And there is nothing special in that project, except that it would be an extraordinary building.
But could you say that your hostel project was deconstructivist in nature?
- Maybe he really looked like a deconstructivist. But not because at that time I understood what deconstructivism was. I do not consider myself an intellectual …
And your work did not develop in that direction. But your buildings do show deconstructivist features. In a sense they are deconstructed - like your house, Casa de Retiro Espiritual, 1975 near Seville, for example - but the degree of deconstruction is strictly controlled in terms of balance and integrity of the big picture. For example, symmetry is very important in your work, right?
- No, in this respect I am not a deconstructivist, not like Eisenman or Libeskind. What I'm doing is separating the elements, setting them apart from each other in the most clear way. For example, in the case of the Casa de Retiro, two free-standing walls define a cube. It was the same with that building in Princeton. I can solve a building with several elements. I would like to find that project …
When I was 15 years old, I did a project for a couple - they were primary school teachers. They had a plot across the street from the apartment where I lived with my parents. The house I designed was never built. Years passed, and when I accidentally stumbled upon the drawings and drawings of that time, they seemed to me completely Corbusian. And then I did not know anything about Corbusier, or about modern architecture. There were steps along the facade, balconies and so on. The house was not built, but for me it was real. I've always needed a real client. I cannot work on hypothetical projects. It doesn't work for me.
You need a site, a program, a real client …
- There are no real clients! Maybe in my next life there will be some real clients … No, the client himself rarely knows what he really wants. He only knows what he wants at the moment when you present him with a project that he ordered you based on the stated program of his real needs, and that's when he realizes: this is not what he really wants. So again you need to offer something different …
I am currently working on a project for a friend of mine from Mexico, for whom I made Casa Canales in Monterrey [1991]. So, I told him: “I do not build models in architecture. I make models in thinking. " To build, I need to know the elevation difference, orientation, wind rose, functional program, and so on. I need to know exactly how the people in Monterrey want to live. Do they want to live outside or inside? Do they prefer to have a patio?
Let's talk about Luis Barragan, whose personal exhibition you organized in MoMA in 1976, when you were the design curator there. This was his first exhibition in the United States, and the exhibition catalog you compiled was the first monograph of his work
- I decided to organize an exhibition of him, because at that time too many architecture students fell into ersatz sociology, which led to somewhat pathetic and nasty results. I wanted them to look at real architecture. Barragán's work is not simple. It is very complex, but the elements are easy to understand. However, they are filled with many meanings. We did a show of projecting beautiful slides onto a huge wall 30 feet wide and 20 feet high in a small room. The effect was as if you were inside his buildings. We also made the slides available to American universities. The effect was amazing and I wrote the book.
You remained the curator of the Department of Architecture and Design MoMA seven years from 1969 to 1976. What do you think are the key ingredients of a good architectural exhibition?
- I was a design curator, but I have organized many architectural exhibitions. A good exhibition should be interesting. As a curator, you have to be so absorbed in it that you will definitely want to show it. You want the whole world to know about her. And you have to find a way to show the architecture. You cannot bring a building to the gallery. You need to find a way to present it. And, of course, architecture is one of the most difficult subjects to represent. If you are the curator of a painting exhibition, you simply bring the painting. Drive a nail into the wall and hang the picture. But you cannot do that with architecture; even if you bring a layout. There will still be something wrong. Even if you show a movie, there will be something wrong. And that is why I so wanted to make an exhibition of Barragán - I knew that his works would "pass" my students. Their feelings will be affected. Will pull them out of this game of sociology.
Work as a curator MoMA was just one of the milestones in your career. You didn't plan to work as a curator everywhere after you left the museum, did you?
- Yes, I didn't want this to become my profession. I left MoMA at the height of my career. The Italian exhibition was a huge success. [Italy: The New Domestic Landscape, 1972]. We have never had so many visitors before. But the reason I left was because I wanted to be a practicing architect. I also wanted to be an industrial designer and the way I got there was unusual. First of all, I invented this or that product for myself, without any ordering. I designed them. He built models and even equipment for the production of parts. And I got patents on mechanics, I don't believe in design patents. Then I would bring the finished product to the company office and say, “You have 30 days to answer yes or no. If you tell me no, I go to your competitors. If you say yes, I can even provide you with trial samples so you can check what the demand is. I even have professional photos and descriptions for the catalog ready. " And if the manufacturer said yes, then after six months the product was already on the market - not after two or three years, as usually happens when everything has to be developed from scratch.
And what was your first product?
- Chair, comfortable for the spine. Before that I was engaged in inventions, but it was my first invention realized on an industrial scale. I did it the same year I left MoMA.
But what made you design the chair?
- I complained to my designer friend how uncomfortable it was for me to sit on an ordinary office chair with a rigidly fixed back. Why not make a chair that tilts back and forth with your body? There was nothing of the kind then. It was the first self-adjusting ergonomic chair in the world. We developed and patented it in 1975, and Krueger introduced it to the public in 1976.
“You once said that you were dreaming of a future when you could“open the door and go out into the garden, no matter what floor you live on… reconcile our need to build shelters within a densely populated city with our emotional need for green spaces…” … Is it still a dream or do you think that some of the recent projects in Singapore, or your projects in Fukuoka [1994] and others, have brought the dream closer to reality?
- Yes, these are all my brainchildren! I was the first to design a vertical garden for a closed competition for the headquarters of the largest oil company ENI in 1998 in Rome. One of the other two invited applicants was Jean Nouvel, but the entire competition was shelved … Our task there was to modernize an existing building in the 1960s, the first building in Italy with a curtain façade. Water and wind penetrated inside, it was necessary to change the facades, which meant that no one would be able to work in the building for two years. And this was a gigantic 20-story building. The solution I proposed was simple and logical. In the course of my work, I tried to make the representatives of the oil industry more sensitive to the issues of ecological balance.
To change the facades, you have to put up the scaffolding - right? So. Why not make them 1.20 m wide, but all 3.60 m? It only takes a little more steel tubing to hold the structure. Then I place the new glass panel 1.80 m away from the old glass and this new glass protects against wind, rain and noise. And on the remaining 1.80 m wide outside, we set up a garden, because in Rome there is a wonderful climate for plants in the open field. And everyone liked my decision, it was just unlucky … The person who ordered the competition left the company just a few days before the jury meeting, and the one who replaced him did not want anything like that. This is the story of the world's first vertical garden. Although detailed drawings and a wonderful layout were already ready.
Do you happen to know who was the first to implement a project with vertical gardening?
EA: Yes, somehow I was not interested. I am like a tiger - as soon as my cubs are born, I cease to be interested in them. I already want to deal with the next project. But now many projects based on this idea have already been implemented all over the world. Of course, in Singapore, but at least they recognize my role there - the government of Singapore recently published a book on the contribution of their city to green architecture, and I was asked to write a foreword.
Could you call the Casa de Retiro house your manifesto?
- It became a manifesto after it was invented. Yes, later I used ideas that emerged there, in other projects - including in Fukuoka, where I also used land as an insulating material and returned 100% of the land from the building patch to the city, covering the roof with it. It is very practical and environmentally friendly. Casa de Retiro is made to appear to be part of the landscape, but it is completely built on top and then covered with earth on top and on some of the side walls. Home is a garden, and a garden is art. The garden is not a jungle, is it? It is created by a person [laughs].
My ars poetica is green over gray. With my architecture I strive to show the way of convergence of Nature and Architecture. I always try to make sure that my buildings give something back to society - in the form of gardens, for example, to compensate for the plot of land occupied by the building.
I would like to end with your own quote: “I have always believed that architecture is an act of myth-making imagination. Real architecture begins after functional and behavioral needs are met. It is not hunger, but love and fear - and sometimes a simple miracle - that makes us create. The cultural and social context in which the architect works is constantly changing, but it seems to me that his main task remains the same: to clothe the pragmatic in poetic form."
- Thank. I couldn't have said it better! [laughs].
