Architectural Space and Living Space

From among them, the artists themselves — alongside fellow artists — have gone beyond interpreting contemporary art to sketch a vision of the future, and have striven to hasten the movement toward that vision. Using the achievements of sciences and the tendencies of socio-philosophical currents, they have defined goals and ideals for art, and to realize them have laid down principles and directives. Critics and theorists are new players who claim their own particular role in the game between artist and art-seeker. They have profoundly influenced the milieu of art, and have managed to draw the attention of both artists and art-seekers toward their own profession. They have caused special media for the dissemination of their theories to come into existence. This development — whose obvious consequence is the opening of a new arena in the culture of societies, one whose subject is not art itself but "about art" — has the great flaw of disturbing the natural equilibrium between artist and art-seeker. The milieu for the cultivation of criticism and theory-making, nourished by diverse academic fields including literature, painting, sculpture, art history, philosophy, sociology, and politics, has no affinity with the professional domain of architect-engineers, yet has profoundly influenced it.

And this is the situation in countries where architectural criticism has a hundred-and-fifty-year history. We possess neither a codified architectural history nor have we constructed a theory for our own architecture. In the past hundred years, too, during which we have made use of modern world architecture, we have been consumers in every field — imitating both the works and the theories and criticisms, and even that incompletely and superficially. What is published today in relation to architecture, besides being very scant, bears no proportion to our needs and priorities. The translation of classic and foundational books on architectural history and architectural theory, a systematic account of the fundamental developments of contemporary architecture, the codification of Iranian architecture and its related theories — these are among the essential preparations for entering the arena of criticism and discourse. But the condition for their usefulness is that, before all else, we find a point of connection with all those historical, geographical, and intellectual arenas in the practical architecture of our own time. Scattered efforts in thought and practice lead us nowhere and squander our energies. The arena of discourse today is vast and alluring. Let us strive to connect to the strengths of practical work and, through intellectual nourishment, cultivate the growth of both.

Space is perhaps the most complex aspect of architecture, yet its essence. Space is the destination toward which architecture must move.
— Sir Denys Lasdun

Until now, numerous theories about space have been presented. It is certain that architectural space is a subset of the larger discourse of space. Christian Norberg-Schultz, in his book Existence, Space and Architecture, speaks of five types of space beyond architectural space:

1. Pragmatic space, or the space of natural and biological phenomena;
2. Perceptual space, the space of immediate human orientation in the environment;
3. Existential space, relating to the image and established visage of the world in the human mind;
4. Cognitive space, relating to the scientific understanding of the physical world; and
5. Abstract space of logical relations.

Architectural space is a particular kind of space that is related in some way to all five of the above. In this classification, one observes that from 1 to 5, matters progress from the concrete to the abstract, such that the fifth space is entirely abstract. Architecture, by the nature of its character, begins conversely from the world of abstraction and proceeds toward concreteness. The first architectural ideas may be born from entirely abstract matters such as design principles, geometric patterns, or analytical diagrams of functions. Ultimately, the built space is a manufactured, physical environment in which, beyond nurturing the natural and biological activities of the human being, other activities also take place. Therefore, at various stages of realizing an architectural work, the architectural space is in some way involved with all the matters mentioned above. The human being lives in architectural space; thinks in it; and creates space. The human relationship with architectural space is more complex than the spatial relationship in painting and sculpture, for the human being experiences this space from within as well. This is an everyday relationship that conditions an important part of human life.

Therefore, the natural or physical environment — though in different periods it has always influenced architecture in some symbolic or structural manner — has always stood in stark contrast to architectural space. The identification of human-made space within the bosom of nature has always been very easy. Nature and architecture each possess order, yet the order of these two is completely different in structural terms. In creating space, the human being draws upon general mental patterns. Just as the human being has created a simpler world of natural laws and scientific rules to comprehend the physical world (which has taken shape in parallel with it), architectural space, too, belongs to the practical world yet possesses a simpler order. What we call order or disorder today, in truth, refers to varying degrees of complexity or different types of order. Modern architecture emerged in the scientific and cultural atmosphere of the early twentieth century, and was therefore born of a different and simpler conception and understanding of the world. Today, with increasing awareness of nature and the world and the discovery of part of the extraordinarily complex laws governing physical and biological phenomena, a group of architects have begun to reconsider the established foundations of modern architecture. In this way, particularly in the last two decades, the discourse of space and spatial organization has become a substitute for discussions of aesthetics, function, and semiology, forming the central axis of architectural studies. In any case, if we look at the architectural history of various nations in past centuries, we find that fundamental transformations in architecture have occurred not because of changes in taste and aesthetics, but because of transformations in methods of spatial organization.

In any event, the majority of architects recognize space as the most essential — or one of the most essential — elements of architecture. Architectural space, in one description, is the material expression of "place," or a vessel in which a portion of the activities pertaining to human life takes place. Thus, architectural space has an inseverable relationship with life. When a human being is separated from the mother's womb, it is placed in a new space that is itself architectural space. The form and function of the womb precisely answer all of the human being's needs in the first stage of its life. Architecture, too, should ideally be the same. Perhaps this seems a banal statement, but the divorce of today's architecture from all signs of life is evidence of the fact that professional deviation, arising from the sedimentation and obscuring of architecture's primary and original goals, has distorted the matter. The fundamental problem of architecture, after centuries, remains space, and life, and how to create a link between the two.

If life were considered only in its biological and animal sense, although great obstacles would exist in reaching this goal, at least there would be no ambiguity — for the answer would be of a technical and scientific nature. But the issue is that an important part of life pertains to the mental activities and needs of the human being, and it is in this arena that disagreements, debates, and theories take shape. In reality, the difficulty lies not in the complexity of the human mind but in its mutability. Needs and tastes change, and architecture, too, is constantly transformed. Of course, Iran's architecture today is also ostensibly in constant change, yet its changes and transformations seem to originate from matters that bear little relation to "life" and possess scarcely any dynamism or vitality. Of course, our architects all believe that they design with regard to the conditions and circumstances of the time and the social situation. If that is so, there must apparently be a problem — and indeed a problem exists. To clarify the matter, I have attempted here to review the current tendencies in Iranian architecture from the perspective of their relationship with the current of life.

The first group, which in discussions (and not in their designs) appears more au courant with the new literature of world architecture, believes in the "spirit of the age" in its global sense. The spirit of the age — an indicator of the current of life — emanates from today's human awareness of how the universe came into being, the observation of celestial bodies at a distance of ten billion light-years, the precise mapping of ocean depths, the unlocking of genetic secrets, the advance of computers and communications, and matters of this kind. Architecture, too, must — like the age of the pharaohs — reflect the universal order as today's human being understands it. Using the paradigms of today's sciences in design methodology, this is achieved. The ideal of this group is represented by figures like Eisenman, who construct a methodology from astronomy, fractal geometry, genetics, and the like — a methodology capable of automatically generating, through complex geometric drawings, unprecedented and intricate spaces. At times, the ideal of this group is also represented by architects who champion high technology, such as Foster, Grimshaw, Calatrava, and others, who seek the spirit of the age in the symbolic deployment of technology in buildings, employing construction techniques considered advanced in the West.

This group, which believes in the "spirit of the age" and derives its theories not from the spirit of the age itself but from the architectural literature of advanced nations, is — apart from not being "authentic" — possessed of a belief that merits debate: if the architect is a reflector of the spirit of the age, then he is a kind of filter through which time, in truth, passes and manifests as art. That is, time itself is a sort of "super-artist" that dominates the artistic products of the age. This belief is, in a sense, an evasion of the social responsibility of architecture, or perhaps a way of finding legitimacy for motives that are in truth personal in nature — whereas it has always been architects (and artists, scientists, and other eminent individuals) who define the spirit of the age. If such an important role were not envisioned for artists, many governments would not have undertaken the strict control of artistic tendencies. The closure of the Bauhaus school by the Nazis in 1932, the encouragement of historicist architecture by the Soviets, Stalin's opposition to the modern movement in favor of a ponderous architecture inspired by neo-classicism, and Mussolini's grand investment in the creation of urban complexes and spaces employing the language and patterns of Roman architecture or the "National Style" during the era of Reza Khan — all attest to the influence of the arts and artists on guiding the tastes and inclinations of the people.

The truth is that in the West, debates concerning the spirit of the age, or connecting architecture to scientific and technical matters, serve as justification for bold initiatives — initiatives that influence the way of life, public taste, and the culture of society and give them form.

The second group seeks the spirit of the age and conditions on a national plane, and drawing inspiration from the past, aspires to render architecture eternal — while nothing is as transient as those products that are imagined to be permanent. Historicism, too, as history itself teaches us, becomes historical — meaning it has an era that passes. Especially Iranian historicism, which is specifically local and does not think of drawing upon the entirety of world architectural history. Of course, if architecture is reduced to a certain level, it can become artificially vernacular — meaning we can today, by imitating historical forms, create a kind of architecture that would be without precedent in the world. But architecture has long since ceased to be merely a building language; rather, it thinks about important matters such as transforming concepts and methods of spatial organization. Therefore, architecture as a language can be national, but architecture as thought is inevitably (like thought itself) universal.

In any case, as Koolhaas says, "many of the absolute principles of aesthetics are revealed under the pressure of their relativity." This identity-seeking group, which unlike the first group does in practice find the possibility of expression, is generally compelled to resort to excuses such as the functional and technical requirements of a project to justify its own legitimacy. The problem is that historical identity, since it is composed of historical materials, is unrepeatable, and especially the life of today bears little relation to it. Today's citizen of Tehran, in terms of life, is closer to a resident of Tokyo, or Vienna, or Cairo, or London, or Paris, than to a resident of Isfahan in the Safavid era. History and historical identity have become an idealized notion in people's minds, which — despite the efforts of the past thirty years in architecture, with the exception of a few noteworthy works — has left behind no living or valuable result whatsoever.

Ideals, if they become obstacles to the impartiality necessary for any kind of critical inquiry, will ultimately be transformed into idols.
— Francis Bacon

In the absence of a critical perspective and analytical work concerning architectural history, in some instances historical identity has been transformed into precisely such an idol — one that bears no connection to the life, inner inclinations, or sentiments of the members of society. In principle, it seems that using history to create identity is the worst use of history. Of course, architecture in general engages with history, and many of the world's leading architects possess considerable historical knowledge and in their writings constantly refer to historical matters — yet for them, history is a starting point, not an endpoint. Tradition, too, means "transmission," not the "preservation" of things that had meaning only in the past.

The third group believes in the taste of the people. This group, which hides behind grandiose titles such as "architecture for the people," is responsible for catastrophes such as the "colonial architecture," or the "Roman style," and the so-called "postmodern" style of the most vulgar kind. In truth, being populist must sometimes be set aside in favor of genuine popular appeal. All valuable works, especially revolutionary changes in tastes and design methods, first met with the opposition of the people.

Throughout history, there have always been individuals who do not conform to established social rules and conventions, and who do not fit into molds. Their unusual behavior and stubbornness disturbs many. Their language is different from others', and they do not heed public opinion. These individuals do not even behave like others in society, and in many cases become reclusive. Yet it is precisely these individuals who advance art, science, and civilization. They do not follow existing rules; rather, they create new ones. They do not work according to anyone's taste, for they are themselves the transformers of taste. They do not follow anyone, for it is others who are meant to follow them. They do not use known solutions, for they themselves bring into being new solutions that are far superior to the previous ones. The life and vitality of a society depends upon the existence of these individuals.

The most essential characteristic of the human being, distinguishing it from the computer, the robot, and the animal, is creativity. Architectural space — the most essential aspect of architecture — can come into being through the most essential aspect of life: creativity. Of course, everyone professes in words that creativity is good and should be attended to, yet in practice neither the client, nor the designer, nor the professor shoulders its burden. Perhaps in this respect, creativity may be likened to death — everyone believes in its truth, yet few are willing to approach it.

But why we need creativity and innovation is itself a very important question. If all the physicians of the world only treated patients, the world's people would perish from diseases, because methods of diagnosis would not be discovered. Of course, if all physicians, instead of treating patients, devoted themselves to inventing new methods, the same thing would happen. Today, we find ourselves in a condition where the methods of treatment are still unknown, or at least untested. For years, nothing truly important has happened in architecture. So there is a need for creativity and innovation. Our people have witnessed several stages of fundamental transformation and have undergone great and historic experiences, yet architecture still more or less continues in the style of twenty or thirty years ago (and somewhat more amateurishly). The way of life, the environment, and even the structure and scale of cities have completely changed, but architecture is indifferent to these changes.

People live in spaces that were not built for them. Imagine exquisite books being kept in a shoe rack. Books might be placed on the shelves of a shoe rack, and even be entirely accessible in terms of use. But a shoe rack was not designed for books. We, too, are like books placed in a shoe rack. No relationship exists between container and contained.

Our discussion is not about decoration, facade-making, or playing with forms. This is precisely why today's architecture cannot solve problems. Our problems pertain to the concept of space and the spatial organization of volumes and functions. Architecture must set aside debates of the identity-related or aesthetic variety and attend to these matters. The discourse of space must become the central subject of architecture, and architects and schools of architecture must work in this field.

The point is not that when confronting a new project, one should say: "Now then, what space is appropriate here?" The discourse of space and the manner of working with it is an independent pursuit, and as the history of Iranian architecture has amply demonstrated, it is not directly dependent upon function. Architects who have created new spatial concepts have approached the matter in the manner of independent research. The results of this research have sometimes crystallized in the form of built works, and sometimes been discussed in the form of diagrams and abstract designs.

Architecture, unlike painting, begins from the abstract world and arrives at the real world. The discourse of space, too, first begins from abstract studies. The sciences possess the same character. When scientists in the seventeenth century created integral calculus, they did not know precisely what practical applications this method of calculation would have. Alchemy, so long as it was preoccupied with the transmutation of base metals to gold (which was a specific application), made little progress. When scientists pursued their own curiosities and employed creativity, the science of chemistry came into being, and its positive results benefited everyone.

The problem of our architecture begins with university education. The student does not yet know the various possibilities for the spatial organization of a simple volume such as a cube, yet is confronted with difficult and complex projects such as hospitals, universities, and libraries. The deluge of information and preconceptions is such that, given the very limited time available, the student inevitably turns to built examples and, copying from those, grasps something of the principles of spatial organization. At the university, an opportunity rarely arises for the student, with sufficient time, to engage in research and experimentation in this field. If the academic environment is in such a state, the fate of the professional environment is self-evident.

Our architects, outside of the professional-commercial framework, rarely engage in architectural research and experimentation concerning the creation of genuinely new and appropriate spaces. Everyone hides behind excuses such as the country's conditions, function, identity, the spirit of the age, the taste of the people, and so forth, and evades creativity. The prevailing method of design is a tasteful composition of volumes, and because of the lightness of content, designers resort to excuses that make the indifference of design appear inevitable.

Architectural space pertains to the living space of human beings, but this relationship does not result from any particular formula. Consuming the cultural products of the past, drawing inspiration from outstanding built works, or attempting to reiterate familiar statements with an original accent, and especially satisfying the client's wishes to the letter — none of these relieves the designer of the responsibility of creativity. Living space does not pre-exist as a template in the world of ideals; rather, it must be created, and the architect bears responsibility for creating it. And in this task, the architect in truth enjoys very great freedom — far greater than designers are inclined to acknowledge.

The discussion concerns the engagement with serious architectural problems and the creation of personal methodologies — methodologies whose credibility depends upon the coherence and originality of their inventor's ideas and their relationship to human life.