1000 Monuments of Genius. Christopher E.M. Pearson
seen to have a technical or aesthetic motivation within the building as a whole necessarily becomes a moot question. What can also be said with certainty is that architecture has reforged a vital partnership with engineering that has allowed tectonic forms of unprecedented complexity and irregularity to be realised. In recent years this process has been accelerated to blinding speed by the introduction of computers into the design, construction and costing processes, and the expressionist fantasies of a Frank Gehry or a Daniel Libeskind can now be achieved within reasonable parameters of time and expense.
Architecture as Theory
Architecture, as distinguished from building, might further be characterised by its reliance on written theory rather than on established folk traditions. In this light, the history of architecture is as much a matter of texts as it is of actual structures. It may not be coincidental that the emergence of formal, monumental architecture in the Fertile Crescent of Mesopotamia was accompanied by the development of the first writing systems, and architecture is in this sense always a product of literate cultures. The composition of self-consciously theoretical manuals on architecture is at the same time a record of the growing status and social aspirations of the architectural profession. Such texts are rare before Roman times, and the first real landmark we have in this field is the famous treatise written by the Roman architect Vitriuvius in the 1st century BCE. Though largely technical in nature, incorrect or obscure in certain passages and often rather dull, Vitruvius’ De Architectura is the lone survivor of the architectural texts of antiquity, and as such necessarily remained a touchstone for practise in the West for some two thousand years. Vitruvius covered the basics of construction, the correct plans and proportions of public and religious buildings, and set out the details of the Classical orders. The organisation and subject matter of Vitruvius’ text set the precedent for the Renaissance treatises of Alberti (De Re Aedificatoria, 1442–52), Cesariano (Di Lucio Vitruvio Pollione de Architettura, 1521), Serlio (Tutte l’opere d’architettura et prospettiva, 1537 and later), Vignola (Regola delli cinque ordini d’architettura, 1562) and others. European architectural theory at this time tended towards promulgating refinements to the Classical system rather than mounting any serious challenge to its hegemony, and we further begin to sense a growing divide between practise (on-site constructional expertise) and theory (the essentially intellectual or antiquarian debates underpinning the study and practise of Classical architecture). Ultimately, the most influential of all Renaissance architectural texts was that of the Venetian Andrea Palladio. His I Quattro Libri dell’Architectura of 1570 had the advantage of clear woodcut illustrations showing the details and proportions of the Orders, reconstructions of Roman buildings, and numerous villas and city buildings of his own design. Notable for his characteristic addition of Roman-style temple fronts to the façades of relatively modest domestic buildings, Palladio bequeathed to amateurs, architects and common builders a simplified but elegant version of Classicism that could be applied to many different typologies with minimal expense. The Palladian legacy was to persist throughout the eighteenth century and beyond in both Europe and America.
The Enlightenment saw the emergence of a new kind of architectural treatise in Europe, one that was less technical and more theoretical or speculative in nature, and which attempted to reconcile the new faith in reason with the traditional reliance on Classical precedent. Most notable here is the Essay on Architecture (1753) of Abbot Laugier, who put forward the idea that the Classical system derived from the most ancient building type, a hypothetical construction of tree trunks which has often been termed the ‘primitive hut’. This entirely conjectural proposal served to anchor Classicism in both reason and nature, thus ensuring its continuing intellectual attractiveness. Other writers of a Neoclassical persuasion continued to subject Classicism to the new forces of reason, a process which nevertheless acted only to reinforce its supremacy. This was further confirmed by the many folio volumes of etchings put out by the Venetian architect Giovanni Battista Piranesi, who aimed to demonstrate the superiority of Roman architecture solely on the basis of its great size, complexity and engineering prowess. Almost unwittingly, however, Piranesi’s unforgettably dense and moody depictions of the monumental ruins of Rome also served to affirm that Classical architecture could be turned to ends of pure emotion rather than strict rationalism, thus laying the ground for the Romanticism of Soane, Ledoux, Boullée, Schinkel and others.
The 19th century nevertheless witnessed new challenges to the Classical monopoly from architects who espoused a return to medieval building practises. This initiative was taken, as often as not, on the basis of moral or religious principles rather than on technical grounds. John Ruskin, who had no professional or technical training in building whatsoever, proposed that the most important aspect of architecture was its ornamentation, which could engage the uncoerced and creative talents of a variety of people in society. His model was the Gothic churches and cathedrals of Europe, and most particularly the highly ornate and colourful version of Gothic to be found in Venice. As laid out in his Seven Lamps of Architecture (1849) and The Stones of Venice (1851–1853), Ruskin’s emphasis on the dignity of the craft traditions was soon to inspire many writers and practitioners of the Arts and Crafts school, led by the socialist philosopher William Morris. Their goal was to recapture the timeless vernacular building traditions of a given region, which automatically foregrounded an appreciation of the inherent beauty of simple, natural materials. This idealistic line of thinking was ultimately to serve as the foundation of Frank Lloyd Wright’s personal conception of an ‘organic’ architecture, one that drew inspiration from natural growth, responded directly to the nature of materials and the structures and forms they suggested, and which took root in a distinct region and socio-cultural environment – in this case, American capitalism, individualism and democracy. A rather different stream of thought, though one equally indebted to the precedent of the Middle Ages, was represented by the voluminous writings of the French architect and architectural restorer Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, who asserted that the true lesson of the Gothic cathedrals was to be found in their innovative construction techniques, and that these might even be applicable to modern constructions in cast iron.
The true literary proponents of the Industrial Revolution in architecture, however, were only to make an appearance after the turn of the twentieth century. The writings of Walter Gropius, Sigfried Giedion, and above all those of the Swiss-French architect Le Corbusier, set the basic agenda for the modern movement: the harmonisation of art, design, industry and architecture. Taking cues from modern art as well as the rational and calculating attitude of the engineer, Le Corbusier proposed that architecture should make use of the abstract language of geometry, eschewing all historicising forms in favour of a fresh and unbiased approach to the fundamental questions of building; e.g., what is a house? Le Corbusier’s famous response was that a house is, in essence, a ‘machine for living in’, just as a sewing machine is a machine for sewing, an airplane a machine for flying in, and so forth. At the same time, Le Corbusier’s discourse could often veer off into unexpectedly idealistic or mystical territory, proposing that the visual effect of finely handled geometrical volumes transcended the merely aesthetic to access realms of emotion and even spirituality. Le Corbusier’s thought – provocative, engaging and fundamentally dialectical in nature – was to prove inspiring to generations of modern architects, and to this day the most-thumbed volumes in architectural libraries are usually those of the eight volumes of his Oeuvre complète. A perhaps unexpected by-product of Le Corbusier’s polemical success was the reactivation of the architectural treatise as an instrument of philosophical reflection, as well as a means by which architects could make their mark in the profession without the necessity of actually building anything. Following in the wake of Le Corbusier, the next most important body of writings was arguably that of the American Robert Venturi and his associates, whose ironic and self-consciously ‘complex and contradictory’ take on building design was informed by an academic familiarity with historical buildings as well an appreciation of contemporary Pop Art. The larger trend that eventually took wing from these ideas came to be known as Postmodernism, and from its origins in architecture it came to permeate all of the creative arts and Humanities through the 1980s. More recent architectural theory, though not infrequently hermetic to the point of incomprehensibility, has tended to be less cohesive and single-mindedly polemical in nature, and the idea of establishing a particular avant-garde school or position presently seems to have fallen by the wayside. This may in part be attributable to an understandable