Let’s now turn to architecture, by addressing first a special irony. What is Modernism? It behaves in our minds in the same elusive way by which Saint Augustine described the feeling of trying to explain the concept of time; if no one asks, we instinctively know what it is; if we wish to explain it to whoever asks, we do not know how. But for the sake of the argument – acknowledging the difficulty of putting a finger on its exact meaning – we can describe it as a denial of the use of a figurative vocabulary, the recursive historical catalog of forms, the various cultural syntaxes as a fundamental creative resource in beginning a project, opting instead for homogeneity and total abstraction.
Before modernism, the architect did not have agency over the decision of using or denying history and historical reference. More or less the only agency was what precedent to use, not whether or not they would use a precedent altogether. This certainly did not hinder the birth of authenticity, despite this autopilot mindset to embrace the precedent. By dialoguing, reconfiguring, reimaging, recombining, having ancestry as a creative anchor, the doors still opened wide to many grammatical conjugations of a locally, regionally, or globally shared vocabulary. It is impossible not to smile when acknowledging the perfect balance of tradition and innovation when confronting such works. One could say, by knowing and understanding others, the pre-modern architect came to find and know themself. Then, a radical schism occurred. In the late 19th and early 20th Century, a sharp U-turn from this iterative way of conceiving of form as part of a lineage came in the form of Modernism. In some ways it was a liberation, in others an insipid recipe that eventually resulted in a bland impasse. Those that saw it as an impasse sought to ratify the solid foundation of the pre-modern project, fighting to recover the historically recursive agency of the architect.
In this new world, embracing ancestry as a starting point for creating architecture is a conscious deliberate decision, no longer a kind of cultural autopilot. Modernism did unchain and perhaps awaken the architect in that sense. This conscious choice of returning to history as a figurative source, became fragmented, no longer a linear process, but rather one of sampling all layers of the past, in a way, liberating, free like Gober to choose between the referential path of Cézanne and the non-referential of Duchamp. The cocktail party of possibilities was an open invitation for all to join, and the drinks being served inside were widely diverse, with two in particular being party favorites. Two camps of Postmodernism were at odds. Venturi Scott Brown’s work, especially as delineated in 1966 in Venturi’s seminal text ‘Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture’, proposes a bold departure from the austerity and purity of modernism, leading the crusade to reintroduce historical references and context, symbolism, appropriation, and last but not least, ornamentation and signage. Salt into a bland cultural soup. In contrast to rigid Modernist formalism of that time, Venturi advocated for an architecture that embraced urban complexity and formal contradiction. Later on, both Venturi and Scott Brown in ‘Learning from Las Vegas’ would also introduce the ordinary or mundane and mass culture as crucial ingredients for the Postmodern. The “both/and” approach —accepting the coexistence of opposites— shook the foundations of discourse by challenging the dogmas of minimalism and modernism, offering a more pluralistic, nuanced architectural language, and a field of new possibilities.
In this sense, VSBA allowed for a certain messiness of life itself, of mass culture to permeate into buildings, the work is characterized by the mix of high and low culture. Tradition is both respected and subverted through their standing that architecture should engage with the realities of popular culture rather than retreat into formal abstraction - their patron saints being artists like Oldenburg or Warhol. As such, one is confronted with an architecture that embraces ambiguity, irony, and eclecticism, arguing that buildings should reflect the complexity and diversity of the world around them, not just a ‘Rossian melancholy’ and silent nostalgia. In the Vanna Venturi House 1964, the case is made: a seemingly simple suburban house that, upon adjusting our eyes to the light, reveals a host of contradictions and ambiguities. The façade features a gabled roof but with an oversized, abstracted pediment that is disrupted by the domestic chimney, cleaved in half at the center. The interior spaces have asymmetrical rooms and unexpected spatial relationships that challenge the expectations of typical domestic suburban American architecture, layered references and styles to create a visual and spatial richness. And what more iconic a reference than the image of his mother at the entry below the inscribed half circle, which becomes a contemporary nod to Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man, we are in front of a new age yet still part of a lineage, spiced up with the irony and satire of life.
Rossi, on the other hand, focused on the autonomy of architecture, and the idea of the city as a repository of collective memory. In his seminal work, ‘The Architecture of the City’, of the same year 1966, an architecture in which buildings are vessels that evoke a deep sense of history and memory is called for. Simple geometric forms, which some have called silent architecture, acquiring meaning as they accumulate layers of history, valuing continuity with the past and seeking to root contemporary architecture in historical precedent. Rossi called for buildings to embody the cultural and historical memory of a place, thus his fascination with typology, and his stance that architecture is not just about nuanced creation but about the reinterpretation of established forms that resonate with a collective vocabulary that exists apriori. In contrast to Venturi, this reading of the city and historical form is not as literal, not as filigree in its level of ornamentation or formal reference, opting instead to reinterpret historical form with bold primitive geometric abstractions, that still embody the power of their ancestors, but with a contemporary modern removal of excess. Rossi’s new reading of historical form, his abstraction and purification is not intended to kill the past, but in fact to again give it a pulse, to bring it back to life. Rossi’s work underscored the importance of architecture as a cultural project, perhaps best exemplified in this drawing of The Analogous City, where he evokes the possibility of a person sitting at their table looking out a window, could understand all the complexity of a city, the layers of present and past, all the immensity of the collective memory in a precise moment in time, through a singular object.
A labyrinth could then emerge through reflection on and synthesis of this Postmodern dualism. And that is exactly what Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron go on to do with these two ideologies. From Rossi, who is worth noting was their university degree project advisor, they inherited a respect for lineage, form, and their pressing formal preoccupation with the way buildings engage with the historical layers of a city. We see strong echoes in their work of Rossi’s emphasis on typology, particularly the image of his ‘primitive cabin’ sometimes explored inconspicuously and other times monumentally in their work, to create structures that anchor themselves in the urban fabric and its collective vocabulary. However, Herzog & de Meuron also seem to embrace Venturi’s call for complexity and contradiction, infusing their work with a subtle playfulness, an exploration of surface, texture, and layering of assembly.
Take their Ricola Storage Building in Laufen in 1987 as an example, where they seem to draw on both traditions to create a building that stores herbal sweets in a singular unified whole. The project reflects Rossi’s ideals through its adaptation of received models: the Palazzo, a monumental and historically resonant structure made with clear rules, logics, a “diagram” of gravitational forces and structure. Tripartite in organization, a strong concrete plinth, layered piano nobile, and lattice-like cornice that crowns the building with grace. These abstracted tropes of our collective memory from a civic palazzo are here in dialogue with the local traditional stacking of sawn timber boards, drawing on mass material culture a la Venturi. Layers of construction are left exposed, in a clear reference to what Venturi once said: ‘it is all right to decorate construction but never construct decoration’. As such, we have a building expression that oscillates, it welcomes the lay person with the image of familiar stacked planks upon approaching the building, yet, from a distance, it retains a clear classical purity that one can imagine would likely gain Rossi’s approval. It is playful and serious, conventionally unconventional, blending high-end cultural history with mass culture local industry. It is both contemporary and deeply rooted in its environment. The close-up a Venturian position and the distant view a Rossian position.
In another context for another project, these two mirrors are placed again in front of one another yielding an entirely different labyrinth, but with very similar ideas. The Eberswalde Technical School Library is both a heavy abstracted palazzo, tripartite, flat with deeply carved openings, a Rossian take on the surrounding Neoclassical context, and on the other hand an almost Postmodern Venturian over-scaling of entablatures, caryatids and cornice bas relief that act as a complete skin, a billboard of relatable iconographies from popular culture, organized as a Neoclassical container of knowledge. This building submits to historical tropes of a public architecture, but through these refracted references uses contemporary construction methodologies, silk screen foil glass printing and spray washed concrete relief to create a building that resembles ideas of the two mirrors, and yet not bowing to either, a totally unique creation.