The collapse of the tower in the movie "Ironclad"

Rochester Castle. A shot of the movie Ironclad. Google images

Yesterday I've watched the epic movie "Ironclad". I love epic movies showing the architecture of medieval times, and I'm not going to write a review, you can find many on line.

I was particularly impressed by the collapse of the castle of Rochester's tower and the way the king's soldier did it. Pigs are brought to the cellar (they say foundation), below the tower, and they are burnt alive. Why pigs? Because their fat keeps the fire burning.

The raised floor is collapsed and in consequence, the tower. I took some screen shots from my  computer to show the interesting effect:

And here, I'm sharing two pictures from the movie's blog, showing the construction of the castle.

Paris, in the words of Bram Stoker

Old map of Paris. From http://www.swaen.com/antique-map-of.php?id=2190

Paris is a city of centralisation—and centralisation and classification are closely allied. In the early times, when centralisation is becoming a fact, its forerunner is classification. All things which are similar or analogous become grouped together, and from the grouping of groups rises one whole or central point. We see radiating many long arms with innumerable tentaculae, and in the centre rises a gigantic head with a comprehensive brain and keen eyes to look on every side and ears sensitive to hear—and a voracious mouth to swallow.

 Other cities resemble all the birds and beasts and fishes whose appetites and digestions are normal. Paris alone is the analogical apotheosis of the octopus. Product of centralisation carried to an ad absurdum, it fairly represents the devil fish; and in no respects is the resemblance more curious than in the similarity of the digestive apparatus.(...) 

The Paris of 1850 was not like the Paris of to-day, and those who see the Paris of Napoleon and Baron Hausseman can hardly realise the existence of the state of things forty-five years ago. 

Amongst other things, however, which have not changed are those districts where the waste is gathered. Dust is dust all the world over, in every age, and the family likeness of dust-heaps is perfect. The traveller, therefore, who visits the environs of Montrouge can go go back in fancy without difficulty to the year 1850.

Old map of Paris. Google images

1900 map of Paris. From http://gisdk.blogspot.com/2009/04/map-of-week-paris-circa1900.html..

Old map of Paris. From http://jqneo1983.bol.ucla.edu/

From The Burial of Rats. Bram Stoker, 1914

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Burial_of_the_Rats

An experience in Chichen Itza

Photo by Joe Mendel

I've been reading Michael J. Crosbie's experience in Chichen Itza and I can imagine his feelings, though, being born in Buenos Aires, a big city, I'm accustomed to vendors and people bothering us in trains, buses, while walking, children asking for money everywhere in the heart of the City. But it's even worst when you are trying to concentrate on the sacredness of a mystical place.

Michael Crosbie is the Editor of the architectural magazine Faith and Form. Here, his words:

I remember it being a very hot day. I had traveled with friends and colleagues this past April on a pilgrimage to the ruins of Chichen Itza, Mexico, one of the places on my architect's bucket list. Now I stood at the threshold of this monumental site, ready to sacrifice myself to the heat (and the occasional iguana) to learn some deep, sacred truth. The anticipation of this adventure, which was organized by the Forum for Architecture, Culture and Spirituality, was almost too much to bear. How would we receive these incredible religious ruins? What secrets would they admit to us as we wandered among them, immediately and over our next few days in their presence? What spiritual transcendence could we hope for, experiencing these mute stone structures of an ancient civilization, one whose primary traces were the mysterious, sacred buildings they left behind? And then it all went…terribly wrong. As I drew closer to the ruins, making my way through a densely forested pathway, I was approached by a child, imploring, “Want to buy a handkerchief, mister? One peso, almost free!” A bit farther on, as I strained to see on my right the outline of the El Castillo–that dramatic flight of steps to the heavens–an alarming growl rose from just off to my left, the sound of a wounded, angry animal of the jungle. Was I about to be consumed before consummating my tryst with these sacred stones? No. It was just another vendor, his long table spread out with souvenirs, blowing into the carved wooden head of a jaguar, the cat that used to rule these ruins. Another vendor next to him hawked tee-shirts, and another beyond offered onyx paperweights carved in the likeness of a portion of the male anatomy, detailed in every way. And there was another vendor, and another, and another, as far as the eye could see. But I still hadn't seen a blasted ruin! We arrive at pivotal sacred sites around the world, our spirits ready to be lifted into communion with ancient truths, to dive into the deepest pools of transcendence, and someone is trying to sell us gee-gaws. Or we turn a corner in Paris, ready to be floored by the aura of Notre Dame, and it is covered with scaffolding. Or it is just closed for the day…no explanation at all. What is the pilgrim to do? The next day in Chichen Itza, we came early. Really early–the ticket sellers hadn't even yet arrived in their booths as we milled around, counting out exact change. I rushed with my ticket down the pathway, not a soul in sight. For a while, maybe only 15 minutes, it was just me and El Castillo, this mysterious mountain of stone that refused to tell me anything. I sketched in peace and scribbled notes. I then walked to the epic ball court nearby, with its rings of stone protruding as witnesses to the ghosts of gamesmen who might hope eternally in vain for the ultimate “do over.” I sat against a wall, the humidity beginning to rise, and looked for a long time at the two facing ball-court walls, silent in their secrets. More notes, more sketches. I was grateful for the silence.

http://faithandform.com/editorial/archive/45-2.php

El edificio como obra maestra

Ópera Estatal de Dresde. Imagen bajada del artículo de referencia

Estuve leyendo la ponencia de Ricardo Ibarlucía en el coloquio ¨Configuraciones de Vida¨, de la Universidad Nacional de San Martín, y lo recomiendo altamente, sólo reproduciré los párrafos que hablan de la obra de arquitectura como obra maestra y dejo el link para que lo lean por completo:

¨Las obras maestras desempeñarían un papel vital en el entramado de convicciones, certezas y saberes prácticos que participan de nuestra visión del mundo. En efecto, los seres humanos no sólo se dejan tocar emocionalmente por las creaciones artísticas; circunscribir los procesos cognitivos a la ciencia, reduciendo el arte a la percepción, a la emoción y a las facultades no lógicas, ha sido quizá la herencia más nociva de la estética tradicional. El arte tiene tanto que ver con el placer como con el conocimiento: no es el pasatiempo de un público pasivo, que suele oponerse a la ciencia como un conocimiento fundado en demostraciones y experimentos. Como ha indicado Nelson Goodman, el filósofo que con mayor énfasis ha rechazado esta confusión: "Llegar a comprender una pintura o una sinfonía en un estilo que no es familiar, a reconocer el trabajo de un artista o de una escuela, a ver o escuchar de maneras nuevas, constituye un desarrollo cognitivo semejante a aprender a leer, a escribir o a sumar".

Las obras maestras, como cualquier obra de arte, funcionan como tales en la medida en que participan en nuestra manera de ver, sentir, percibir, concebir y comprender en general. "Un edificio -señala Goodman-, más que la mayoría de las obras, altera nuestro entorno físico; pero además, como obra de arte puede, a través de diversas vías de significación, informar y reorganizar nuestra experiencia entera. Al igual que otras obras de arte -y al igual que las teorías científicas, también- puede dar una nueva visión, fomentar la comprensión, participar en nuestro continuo rehacer el mundo." Podríamos ilustrar esto con la historia de la ópera estatal de Dresde, en la Theaterplatz, construida en 1876 por Gottfried Semper. Durante la noche del 13 de febrero de 1945, la Semperoper quedó reducida a escombros por las bombas de la RAF, como casi todo el casco histórico de la ciudad. En 1977, sin contar con respaldo financiero del gobierno de la República Democrática Alemana, que por otro lado había demolido el Schloss de Berlín, a cien kilómetros de allí, los ciudadanos emprendieron lentamente su reconstrucción, pieza por pieza, moldura por moldura, a partir de los planos originales descubiertos en un altillo. Una pintora y varios artistas, albañiles y cientos de colaboradores espontáneos trabajaron durante ocho años en la restauración del edificio, filmada por un equipo de tres documentalistas aficionados.

¿Qué pudo empujar a estos hombres y mujeres, algunos de los cuales habían sufrido cuando chicos los bombardeos, el hambre y las miserias de la guerra, la pérdida de seres queridos y la privación de las libertades políticas, a reconstruir una ópera a la que probablemente no hubieran ido nunca de haberse mantenido las condiciones económicas y sociales que permitieron su edificación en la segunda mitad del siglo XIX? La reconstrucción de la Semperoper, contra la voluntad de un régimen que la execraba como monumento de la burguesía, les permitió no sólo recuperar un edificio que había sido orgullo de Dresde, devolviendo a la ciudad sajona su antigua belleza y esplendor, sino también rehacer su mundo, reconfigurar su experiencia individual y colectiva, comprendiendo los horrores del pasado y resignificándolos para proyectarse en el porvenir. La reconstrucción de aquella obra maestra fue la obra de sus vidas.¨

Lea el artículo de Ibarlucía ¿Para qué necesitamos las obras maestras?

http://www.lanacion.com.ar/1483436-para-que-necesitamos-las-obras-maestras

Would a congregation hire an artist who wasn't of the same faith?

Dome of a catholic church with painted saints. Domo de una iglesia católica con santos pintados. Digital painting by Myriam B. Mahiques

I've seen this discussion before and I know in  history many artists, mostly in painting, could accomplish great jobs even being pagans. From the Editorial of Faith and Form, an excerpt from Michael J. Crosbie to make us reflect on this issue: 

The other day, in the Faith & Form LinkedIn discussion group, a group member brought up the topic of the fealty of those who work with congregations on architecture and art projects. He wanted to know if he might not be considered for a stained-glass commission if the congregation knew he was a Mormon (assuming the congregation wasn't Mormon). An artist who is a Mormon adds another component to the issue, because some denominations don't consider Mormons to be Christians. There are at least two issues here: Would a congregation hire a stained-glass artist who wasn't of the same faith?; would the congregation hire someone they considered some sort of pagan? The first question deals with whether the artist can truly understand the theology of a religion that he or she is not a part of, at least well enough to create art that embodies the beliefs of that religion. The second issue is one of worthiness: should a congregation give work to a “non-believer” when there might be believers who could accomplish the work? In other words, should you reward a non-believer with a commission? Or, to put it another way, is it OK with God? A member of our group commented that you don't have to be a believer to be a talented architect or artist: “Probably the greatest church architect of the 20th century, Bertram Goodhue, was a committed agnostic, if that's not an oxymoron.” Another pointed out that Henri Matisse's Chapel of the Rosary for a community of Dominican nuns in Vence, France, was the achievement of a lapsed Catholic who designed the architecture, art, and everything in it, and then pronounced it his greatest masterpiece. Another member who joined the discussion said that an architect or a designer's religion doesn't matter to her: “Their job is to interpret my building dreams.”

Henri Matisse. Interior of the Chapel of the Rosary, Vence. At left: The Tree of Life, stained glass. At right: St. Dominic, ceramic tiles. 1950. From http://www.abcgallery.com/M/matisse/matisse126.html

Henri Matisse. Interior of the Chapel of the Rosary, Vence. Stained glass at the entrance door. From http://idlespeculations-terryprest.blogspot.com/

California Tower, Balboa Park: by Goodhue in Spanish Colonial Revival style for the Panama–California Exposition (1915). Wikipedia.org

Read the article in full:

http://faithandform.com/editorial/archive/44-4.php

The urban transformation of Sulukule was declared "not of public interest"

Sulukule was declared a target area for “urban transformation” by the Turkish cabinet in 2006. Six years, four lawsuits, and many evictions later, an Istanbul court has finally declared the project not to be in the public interest, reports Turkish independent media center Bianet. In the meantime, however, irreparable demolition and damage has occurred to the area and its residents. “Social ostracization, gentrification and urban profiteering” Turkey’s Housing Development Administration (TOKİ) began construction in Sulukule in May 2009. Since then, large areas of the old neighborhood buildings have been demolished to make way for 640 villas. The new houses have all sold out at prices far beyond what a typical Roma family can afford. At most, 50 Roma families would be able to stay in the neighborhood. TOKİ promised the displaced Roma families new housing in a neighborhood much farther from the city center. But some 300 of those families had difficulty making their payments to TOKİ on time, and have been forced out of those houses as well. The whole project has been condemned by Turkish and international civil society groups and termed a ”social ostracization, gentrification and urban profiteering” scheme by the World Heritage Committee. Now, thanks to the court’s verdict, a new plan will have to be devised: one that accommodates the Roma and doesn’t ruin the historical skyline.

Keep on reading:

http://www.greenprophet.com/2012/06/court-annuls-almost-finished-development-project-in-roma-neighborhood-in-istanbul/

Learn more about this situation:

http://www.ekumenopolis.net/#/tr_TR

The urban guerrilla knitting of Magda Sayeg

Magda Sayeg is heralded as the Queen of Guerilla Knitting, a movement that emerged five or six years ago and introduced a new way of thinking about public art. Echoing, microcosmically, the work of prolific twentieth century artists Christo and Jean-Claude, Sayeg decorates and interrupts the urban environment by wrapping street signs, statues and fences in multicoloured patches of knitted yarn. The pieces appear without warning, with no insight to the artist’s process, and, beyond the existence of the artwork itself, no evidence that the artist was even ever there. This sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it? If you replace the knitting with paint and markers, isn’t this exactly how graffiti comes about? Both appear unexpectedly, both contribute colour, imagination and practised artistic technique to the urban space, both involve the defiling of public property. Why is it, then, that Sayeg has earned herself a place in this year’s celebrated public art exhibition ‘Art & About’.

REFERENCE: 

Primo Magazine http://primomag.com.au/2011/10/26/paint-onepurl-one-arts-double-standards/

Austin Texas Artist, Magda Sayeg, aka PolyCotn  is the founder of Knitta Please, a group who is re imagining the potential of knitted yarn as a street art medium. It started when Magda knitted a simple door handle and has now evolved to “yarn bombing” utility poles, monuments all over the world. In Mexico they covered a whole bus in yarn.

Fueled by adrenaline, Knitta Please has taken this American tradition usually relegated to sweaters and booties and have gave it a new life by “inspiring a new generation of knitters who no longer view function as the sole purpose for knitting.”

When did you first start to knit and what attracted you to yarn as a medium?

When I was 15, I started to knit a scarf for a boyfriend. We broke up and the scarf was still not finished. I put it down for 15 years. I’ve always been attracted to the look, feel, and flexibility of textiles.

How long and when did you make the connection or recognize that knitting can be a new street art form?

By time I picked up knitting again, street culture had made it’s way into music, art, fashion, and advertising, and I loved it all. I was interested in the act of knitting as opposed to its traditional function, like knitting sweaters, socks, and hats, so my first piece was a door handle. I didn’t really consider the implications of what I was doing until I knitted a stop sign pole. People would stop and take pictures. It started popping up in blogs. At the time I lived in Houston which is not known for it beauty, so I got together with friends and started going out at night and covering everything. Soon a lot of people were wanting to join the group/crew, and we named it Knitta Please. We began documenting the work and posting on flickr. We added a website. I received emails daily asking to join or permission to do the same in other places outside of Houston. We hit a chord, and it was fun to watch it gain momentum.

What kind of reactions have you received as a result of your work?

Soon after I started, I had local coverage in Houston, but it wasn’t until the New York trip that Knitta began to take on a life of its own. A week after coming back I was in bed, watching Saturday Night Live, and Tina Fey was doing her “Weekend Report” segment. As part of the skit, an image of a yarn ball with knitting needles appeared at the top of the screen, and she began to report on a group of knitters who had recently tagged New York. My jaw dropped, and the phone began ringing.

REFERENCE:

http://www.thedirtfloor.com/2010/03/10/knitta-please-interview-with-magda-sayeg/

Image from artandabout.com.au

Image from hastaladesign.com

Acerca del documental ¨The Pruitt Igoe Myth¨

El complejo de viviendas de Pruitt Igoe. Wikipedia.org

En mis épocas de estudiante, recuerdo haber leído con sorpresa acerca de la implosión de Pruitt Igoe en el libro de Charles Jencks, ¨El Lenguaje de la Arquitectura Post Moderna¨ y siempre me quedó esa impresión que el decaimiento y fracaso de las de viviendas sociales de Pruitt Igoe se debían estrictamente al diseño del arquitecto Minoru Yamasaki. 

He tenido la oportunidad de ver recientemente el documental The Pruitt Igoe Myth y lo recomiendo altamente para fines educativos, en él tenemos el testimonio de algunos de sus habitantes más el de historiadores-planificadores urbanos.

Fue muy importante para mí, ya que he vivido la implosión en Buenos Aires de algunos de los edificios del complejo tristemente llamado Fuerte Apache, y sé bien, por conocer el proyecto, que fue creado con expectativas de mejoras sociales y en base a núcleos familiares, que no fue el diseño lo que ocasionó el desenlace que los porteños conocemos tan bien.

Volviendo a Pruitt Igoe, el enorme complejo de St Louis, Missouri, EEUU, fue en principio habitado en 1954, exclusivamente por gente de color que vivía en la ciudad, en condiciones mínimas o inexistentes de habitabilidad. El hecho de mudarse a un departamento nuevo y poder dormir en una habitación con puerta, ya es una razón que produce alegría en sus primeros habitantes, quienes pagarían la renta y la Ciudad (término análogo a nuestra Municipalidad), con lo recaudado, se ocuparía de mantener los edificios.

A medida que pasan los años, la Ciudad deja de atender el complejo y comienza la degradación, social y edilicia.  Hay varias razones que se debaten en el documental, entre ellas:

En Pruitt Igoe se concentra la población negra, y su ubicación es adaycente al Centro urbano; los blancos, se movilizan entonces hacia la periferia (lo que sería el área metropolitana) y compran terrenos más baratos donde construyen la casita de sus sueños, con jardín, barbeque y eventualmente natatorios.

El Centro se vacía y decae aún más, las nuevas industrias se localizan en la periferia, lo mismo que los nuevos edificios de oficinas. Es allí donde la Ciudad  invierte, dejando de mantener entonces los edificios de Pruitt Igoe.

Se producen migraciones masivas de gente de color y campesinos, que ocupan los sectores degradados del Centro; buscan trabajo en las fábricas, pero ya no lo hay, la pobreza, la segregación racial se incrementan.

Los nuevos llegados de color, se congregan en el salón de usos múltiples de Pruitt Igoe, se juntan a beber alcohol, fumar, bailar. Los habitantes comienzan a defender su territorialidad.

Entre los programas sociales, se menciona uno que he sabido aún está en boga en California; son beneficios sociales que se da a madres que viven con sus hijos (generalmente numerosos) y sin marido; me han contado de casos donde los hombres vuelven por la noche a dormir con sus mujeres y visitar a sus niños. Si un inspector los descubre, se cortan los beneficios. El mismo sistema se ofrecía a las madres de Pruitt Igoe, y una ex residente dice que con ese criterio, a medida que los niños varones van creciendo, las madres los van impulsando a tomar el lugar simbólico del padre; es el adolescente varón entonces el que defenderá a su familia y su lugar; se forman gangs y comienzan los asesinatos y vandalismo. 

 

The Pruitt-Igoe Myth: an Urban History – Film Trailer from the Pruitt-Igoe Myth on Vimeo.

El vandalismo es atroz; la policía va en algunas oportunidades, pero se los rechaza ferozmente, y dejan de ir, el lugar se transforma en un caos, donde (y ahí sí vemos los defectos de diseño) la gran escala es incontrolable, los pasillos y escaleras son espacios de terror, nunca se sabía quién estaba al acecho.

Algunos habitantes se van, en consecuencia, incluso si la Ciudad se ocupara, el dinero de las rentas no alcanzaría; se forman grupos de vecinos que intentan por todos los medios limpiar, reparar, pero ya la degradación es inabarcable; las mujeres reclaman a la policía, y ellos se desentienden.

Finalmente, en 1972, comienzan las implosiones.

Serie de implosiones de Pruitt Igoe. Wikipedia.org

No se sabe dónde están los antiguos habitantes, no se aclara dónde han emigrado. El predio ha quedado vacío, con una vegetación descuidada y restos de las implosiones, y basura, por doquier. 

Desconozco si hay un plan para rehabilitar el área.

El documental termina con el testimonio de una mujer, llorando, que dice que a pesar de todo, era su vivienda, su lugar y que tiene hermosos recuerdos de las primeras navidades, la gente bailando con las puertas de los departamentos abiertas, las familias compartiendo.

La edición del documental no es buena, carece de una continuidad visual o efectos que ayuden a hilar los acontecimientos, los hechos se muestran en forma aislada. 

Considero que todo arquitecto debiera ver este documental.

Lea sobre la implosión de Fuerte Apache:

http://www.lanacion.com.ar/43135-dinamitan-otro-sector-de-fuerte-apache