Rudofsky, Bernard (1964): Architecture without architects, an Introduction to non pedigreed architecture, MoMA: New York
Rudofsky,
Bernard (1964): Architecture without architects, an Introduction to non
pedigreed architecture, MoMA: New York
1
Vernacular
architecture does not go through fashion cycles. It is nearly immutable,
indeed, unimprovable, since it serves its purpose to perfection. As a rule, the
origin of indigenous building forms and construction methods is lost in the distant
past (...)
2
Prologue
Architectural
history, as written and taught in the Western world, has never been concerned
with more than a few select cultures. In terms of space it comprises but
a small
part of the globe—Europe, stretches of Egypt and
Anatolia—or little more
than was
known in the second century a.d. Moreover, the evolution of architecture
is
usually dealt with only in its late phases. Skipping the first fifty centuries,
chroniclers present us with a full-dress pageant of "formal"
architecture (...) Although the dismissal of the early stages can
be
explained, though not excused, by the scarcity of architectural monuments, the
discriminative approach of the historian is mostly due to his parochialism.
Besides, architectural history as we know it is equally biased on the social
plane. It amounts to little more than a who's who of architects who
commemorated power and wealth; an anthology of buildings of, by, and for the
privileged (...) with never a word about the houses of lesser people.
Architecture Without Architects attempts to break down our
narrow concepts of the art of building by introducing the unfamiliar world of
nonpedigreed architecture. It is so little known that we don't even have a name
for it. For want of a generic label, we shall call it vernacular, anonymous,
spontaneous, indigenous, rural, as the case may be (...)
3
The
impious who prefer to turn to science in their quest for the origins of
architecture will have to swallow a few indigestible facts. For it seems that
long before the first enterprising man bent some twigs into a leaky roof, many
animals were already accomplished builders
4
Yet even
before men and beasts walked the earth, there existed some kind of
architecture, coarsely modeled by the primeval forces of creation and
occasionally polished by wind and water into elegant structures. Caves, having
been among man s earliest shelters, may turn out to be his last ones (...) It
is of course not within the scope of this exhibition to furnish a capsule
history of nonpedigreed architecture, nor even a sketchy typology. It merely
should help us to free ourselves from our narrow world of official and
commercial architecture.
(...)
Although
exotic arts have long been appreciated in the Western world—not, however, without being cautiously dubbed
"primitive"— exotic architecture (the word
exotic is here used in its original meaning, alien) has evoked no response, and
is still relegated to the pages of geographic and anthropological magazines.
Indeed, apart from a few regional studies and scattered notes, no literature
exists on the subject (...) Still, our attitude is plainly condescending.
It is
frankly polemic, comparing as it does, if only by implication, the serenity of
the architecture in so-called underdeveloped countries with the architectural
blight in industrial countries. In orthodox architectural history, the emphasis
is on the work of the individual architect; here the accent is on communal
enterprise. Pietro Belluschi defined communal architecture as "a communal
art, not produced by a few intellectuals or specialists but by the spontaneous
and continuing activity of a whole people with a common heritage, acting under
a community of experience." It may be argued that this art has no place in
a raw civilization, but even so, the lesson to be derived from this
architecture need not be completely lost to us.
5
There is
much to learn from architecture before it became an expert's art. The untutored
builders in space and time -the protagonists of this show- demonstrate an
admirable talent for fitting their buildings into the natural surroundings.
Instead of trying to "conquer" nature, as we do, they welcome the
vagaries of climate and the challenge of topography. Whereas we find flat,
featureless country most to our liking (any flaws in the terrain are easily
erased by the application of a bulldozer), more sophisticated people are
attracted by rugged country. In fact, they do not hesitate to seek out the most
complicated configurations in the landscape (...)
The
tendency to build on sites of difficult access can be traced no doubt to a
desire for security but perhaps even more so to the need of defining a
community's borders (...)
Although
the walls present no hurdles to invaders, they help to thwart undesirable
expansion. The very word urbanity is linked to them, the Latin urbs meaning walled town. Hence, a town
that aspires to being a work of art must be as finite as a painting, a book, or
a piece of music. Innocent as we are of this sort of planned parenthood in the
field of urbanistics, we exhaust ourselves in architectural proliferation. Our
towns with their air of futility, grow unchecked-an architectural eczema that
defies all treatment. Ignorant as we are of the duties and privileges of people
who live in older civilizations, acquiesce as we do in accepting chaos and
ugliness as our fore ordained fate, we neutralize any and all misgivings about
the inroads of architecture on our lives with lame protests directed at nobody
in particular.
Part of
our troubles results from the tendency to ascribe to architects-or, for that
matter, to all specialists-exceptional insight into problems of living when, in
truth, most of them are concerned with problems of business and prestige.
Besides, the art of living is neither taught nor encouraged in this country. We
look at it as a form of debauch, little aware that its tenets are frugality,
cleanliness, and a general respect for creation, not to mention Creation.
To no
small degree, this situation came about through the diligence of the historian.
By invariably emphasizing the parts played by architects and their patrons he
has obscured the talents and achievements of the anonymous builders men whose
concepts sometimes verge on the Utopian, whose esthetics approach the sublime.
The beauty of this architecture has long been dismissed as accidental, but
today we should be able to recognize it as the result of rare good sense in the
handling of practical problems. The shapes of the houses, sometimes transmitted
through a hundred generations (fig. 146), seem eternally valid, like those of
their tools.
6
Above
all, it is the humaneness of this architecture that ought to bring forth some
response in us. For instance, it simply never occurs to us to make streets into
oases rather than deserts. In countries where their function has not yet
deteriorated rated into highways and parking lots, a number of arrangements
make streets fit for humans: pergole and awnings (that is, awnings spread
across a street), tentlike structures, or permanent roofs. All are
characteristic of the Orient (...) The most refined street coverings, a
tangible expression of civic solidarity — or, should one say, of philanthropy- are arcades. Unknown
and unappreciated in our latitudes, the function of this singularly ingratiating
feature goes far beyond providing shelter against the elements or protecting
pedestrians from traffic hazards. Apart from lending unity to the streetscape,
they often take the place of the ancient forums. Throughout Europe, North
Africa, and Asia, arcades are a common sight because they also have been
incorporated into "formal" architecture. Bologna's streets, to cite
but one example, are accompanied by nearly twenty miles of portici.
7
Another
alien type of the communal vernacular is the storehouse for food. In societies
where food is looked upon as a divine gift rather than an industrial product,
the architecture of granaries is solemn (...)
Apart
from the High Vernacular -the sophisticated minor
architecture of Central Europe, the Mediterranean, South and East Asia- and
primitive architecture proper the exhibition also includes such categories as
architecture by subtraction or sculpted architecture, exemplified by troglodyte
dwellings and free-standing buildings cut from live rock and hollowed out. Rudimentary
Architecture is represented by wind screens that sometimes attain gigantic
dimensions. In Japan they may shield, indeed, envelop a house, a hamlet, or an
entire village. Of the architecture of nomads, portable houses, houses on
wheels, sled-houses, houseboats, and tents are shown. Proto-industrial
architecture includes water wheels windmills both vertical and horizontal, and
dovecots, those vital fertilizer plants. Being "comtemptuous of ideas but
amorous of devices" we may find the mechanics rather than the esthetics of
this architecture more to our liking.
8
We learn
that many audacious "primitive" solutions anticipate our cumbersome
technology; that many a feature invented in recent years is old hat in
vernacular architecture -Prefabrication, standardization of building components
flexible and movable structures, and, more especially, floor-heating,
air-conditioning, light control, even elevators.
9
There is
a good deal of irony in the fact that to stave off physical and mental
deterioration the urban dweller periodically escapes his splendidly appointed
lair to seek bliss in what he thinks are primitive surroundings: a cabin, a
tent, or, if he is less hidebound, a fishing village or hill town abroad.
Despite his mania for mechanical comfort, his chances for finding relaxation
hinge on its very absence (...)
By dint
of logic, life in old-world communities is singularly privileged. Instead of
several hours of daily travel, only a flight of steps may separate a man's
workshop or study from his living quarters. Since he himself helped to shape
and preserve his environment, he never seems to tire of it. Besides, he is
largely indifferent to "improvements." (...)
Not only
is the need for confining the growth of a community well understood by the anonymous
builders, it is matched by their understanding of the limits of architecture
itself. They rarely subordinate the general welfare to the pursuit of profit
and progress (...)
The
present exhibition is a preview of a book on the subject, the vehicle of the
idea that the philosophy and know-how of the anonymous builders presents the
largest untapped source of architectural inspiration for industrial man. The
wisdom to be derived goes beyond economic and esthetic considerations, for it
touches the far tougher and increasingly troublesome problem of how to live and
let live, how to keep peace with one's neighbors, both in the parochial and
universal sense.
14
Houses
for the dead
Great
builders draw no line between sculpture and architecture. With them, sculpture
is not "commissioned" as an after thought or budgetary dole. Neither
is so-called landscaping. The three are inseparable.
17
Durability
and versatility are characteristic of vernacular architecture.
30
The
choice of site
Man's
physical freedom manifests itself no doubt in his ability to choose the place
on earth where he wants to live. Whereas immature reflection tends to judge by
usefulness alone, a discriminating mind may ask its share of beauty. Neither
privations nor danger will deter man from selecting a spot that provides him
with the exhilaration generated by a superb landscape.
39
Aquatic
architecture
The
proximity of a body of water, whether a river, a lake, or the sea, has always
been of great consideration in the choice of a community. In the Orient,
millions of people live much like waterfowl, more or less permanently on the
water.
41
Nomadic
architecture
Tents and
pavilions, "the magnificent structures that have been the pride of the
monarchs of Western Asia for thousands of years, fabrications huge in size,
very costly, and even if not permanent, often of extraordinary beauty,"
have never been seriously considered architecture by art historians (...)
51
Unit
architecture
The use
of a single building type does not necessarily produce monotony. Irregularity
of terrain and deviations from standard measurements result in small variations
which strike a perfect balance between unity and diversity.
63
The
disappearance of age-old pleasures and privileges is the first unmistakable
sign of progress. Whereas less than a century ago every Spanish town and
village boasted miles of covered ways along its streets, today they are
disappearing fast.
67
Covered
streets
The three
chiaroscuro pictures may strike terror into the heart of the urbanite because
he automatically associates them with unspeakable crimes. In underdeveloped
countries, however, such streets are usually as safe as a church at high mass.
Still, although they are taken for granted by the natives, to us they seem
unreal, devoid as they are of sidewalks, traffic lights, parked cars, and
batteries of garbage cans, all of which we have come to accept as the
attributes of higher civilization.
Photographs
can only hint at the actual experience of traversing passages through complicated
space that plays on all senses: sheafs of light piercing darkness; waves of
coolness and warmth; the echo of one's own footsteps; the odor of sun-baked
stones. The sum of these impressions adds up to an esthetic adventure that,
modest though it is, we are usually denied.
69
Semicovered
streets
Less
sturdy than arcades but gayer and more airy are the lacy coverings that are the
delight of oriental streets and courtyards. Their shadow-plays are staged with
simple means: canopies of trellises, mats, nets, or vines are turned to good
account for distilling the raw sunlight into a sort of optical liqueur.
111
Vegetal
roofs
In a
genial climate, buildings often consist of little more than a roof that acts as
parasol and parapluie. "We first spread a parasol to throw shadow on the
earth," writes the Japanese novelist Tanizaki, "and in the shadow we
put together a house." From the wealth of roofs made of vegetable matter,
the three shown here are technically impeccable. The fluffy covering of the
Kirdi hut (left) is as much a triumph of indigenous architecture as the heavy
thatch roof from the Sudan (below). The roof with earflaps reaching to the
ground (right) is characteristic of the vernacular of some valleys in the
northern provinces of Japan. Compared to some industrial roofing materials,
thatch is everlasting (not to mention its being a superb insulation against
heat and cold), but good roofers are hard to come by these days. Many old
Japanese farmsteads which formerly blended into their natural surroundings
today advertise their presence by shiny new tin roofs.
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