piecemeal 2

Since early childhood many architects are fascinated with the way physical objects are made. How many times did we get in big trouble for breaking apart valuable gadgets, eager to examine their parts, figure out how they’ve been put together, and try to understand how they work?

A piano, a clock, a car, are downright miracles; not only for what they do, but especially for the way in which they have been made. Sometimes even more charming than piano music is the brilliant assemblage of strings, levers, pedals, and felt-covered hammer-heads that turn touch into sound.

Ensuring that a constellation of tiny cogs and springs interact with sufficient regularity to keep time accurately is already dumbfounding; but what about automatic self-winding wristwatches, able to perpetually ‘charge’ themselves through our everyday movement? The lovely purr of a potent engine, on the other hand, pales against the marvel of exploding combustible fluid and oxygen within a steel cylinder, and the movement generated by impact through pistons, rotation, transmission.

A good formative process can fruitfully develop the architect’s fascination with the way objects are made, by feeding it with evidence of human ingenuity at its peak. Buildings are, no doubt, among the manmade objects that best capture human ingenuity. Even modest constructions require some knowledge of physics, chemistry, geometry, algebra, economy and finance; some knowledge of the history of technology, aesthetics, and even of the psychology of the people in charge of different building tasks.

Thus, for architects interested in the nature and performance of built objects, professional training should include (a) the development of analytical and design skills at the construction scale, (b) the evaluation of factual evidence of materials’ properties and performance, and (c) the acquisition of firsthand experience of actual building processes.

Designing for construction is usually expressed in drawings and models within the range of 1:1 - 1:10 scales, where it becomes possible to see exactly how the different materials are arranged and treated in order to become building-parts. While it is possible to undertake work at this scale as a mere formality (in order to give a design process a sense of ‘technological validation’) architects who strive to become reliable builders tend to find much meaning and fulfillment in the development of their first constructive details. Distilled, elemental forms of architectural beauty become visible in those points where building parts come together.

Moreover, construction materials can be assembled in different ways. Grasping their properties requires, among other things, the study of manufacturers’ catalogues (e.g. Richard Neutra’s fascination with Sweet’s Catalog), testing their performance in a controlled environment, direct handling, and constantly consulting experts’ practical experience. After seeing a brick crack under pressure in the lab (the dial revealing the enormous pressure required to crush it, the typical geometry of the cracks) one becomes aware of the integrity of that (seemingly ordinary) material. Like Kahn (‘what do you want, brick?’), one acknowledges its ‘will.’

Mixing concrete, feeling its warmth after pouring and testing its slump, preparing test cylinders, watching them mature and then testing their strength after a lunar cycle - all these hands-on interactions allow architects to establish a relation of trust with the extraordinary sludge; which, when reinforced with steel bars woven into ‘castles’ or ‘baskets,’ can proudly endure simultaneous efforts of compression, tension, and torsion.

Vinyl-, water- or oil-based paints, aluminum and zinc, PVC, different species of wood, hard or porous stones, glass, rubber, synthetic- or natural-fiber textiles, ceramics; basically any construction material we can think of reveals to us its distinct nature and behavior only after prolonged and careful observation, contact, and experimentation. Materials’ appearance, smell, and density, as much as their reaction to water and sunlight can only become apparent to us directly, and in time. Absent knowledge of said properties and behavior, our understanding of the buildings in which those materials will come together can only be very limited.

And then there are the human beings who actually construct. How can one conceive of any building without considering the people involved in its making? The mindset, skills, sometimes even the actual build of different construction workers varies, depending on what they do. Strength, flexibility, balance, patience, fearlessness, perfectionism, resourcefulness, cleanliness, agility - these and many other human attributes are distributed differently in every construction site; separating enigmatic electricians from elegant (but often tardy) carpenters, or quiet masons from finicky painters.

Unless one understands what kind of human being is in fact able to polish costly marble into mirror-smoothness, and realizes that it will most probably not be the same person capable of pouring thick cyclopean concrete foundations, how can one ensure that both jobs are done competently?

Of course, we must never lose sight of the users or inhabitants of the buildings we imagine. Notable architects, however, have often designed with constructors in mind too. Rogelio Salmona, for example, is known for sparing bricklayers from monotony, through the ingenious masonry patterns of his designs.

All this to say that, beyond any blanket understanding of our work (e.g. architecture discussed at the ‘planetary’ or ‘societal’ scales), at the end of the day those of us who are interested in actual buildings can certainly benefit form knowing and understanding how they’re done for real. My claim here is that this kind of knowledge and understanding can only obtained and developed piecemeal (i.e. gradually, fragmentarily).

The child’s fascination with objects I started talking about - our amazement with buildings’ composition and performance, in this case - can certainly evolve, increase, and improve by focusing on particular object, which we can learn to analyze and put together as-reliably-as-possible. A child breaking things apart and trying to put them back together again somehow affirms Bruno Zevi’s claim that ‘corners’ contain all information required to understand buildings and cities.

This premise, beautifully developed historically and theoretically by Edward R. Ford, has led me to consider a piecemeal approach to architecture in education. To further develop some of the findings offered by this first experience I’ve developed an open survey I’m extending to anyone willing to share their piecemeal architectural experiences with me. I’m asking two simple questions:

a)      from all architectures you know, can you single out one architectural detail that has a special importance or meaning for you, and explain why?

b)      from your own designs, which architectural detail is most important to you, and why?

Besides your answers, it would be extremely useful if you could include one or more representations of that/those details, be they drawings, sketches, photos, or any other means that can tell us what each detail is about, and why you've chosen it.

In case you also like to think about architecture at this scale, please feel free to send me your answers and material to: mejiabuilt@gmail.com. As additional support I’ve also added an Instagram account to this blog, where I’m now posting piecemeal architectures on a regular basis.

A final question: Because I’m truly inspired by Ford’s work, I continue using the term ‘detail’ in most cases; and yet it has also become clear to me that other words might be equally relevant for the study of piecemeal architecture, such as: joint, union, knot, point, area, element, part, component, fraction, fragment, item, intersection, juncture, junction, seam, abutment, articulation, bond, bridge, connection, coupling, crux, hinge, interconnection, link, nexus, node, suture, tie, vinculum, fastening, ligature, amalgam, ligament, assemblage, attachment, weld, or convergence.

Can any of these terms better than the others, as an instrument to examine and evaluate architecture at this scale?

Marseille, © Jorge Mejía Hernández, 2011