From the beginning of human civilisation and for a long time thereafter, these three — construction, architecture and structure — were, in the terms of their time, one and the same. The person called “architect” possessed vision and expertise — or in today's word, “specialisation” — in all three domains, and had learned this specialisation, as the expression goes, from master to apprentice. This vision and expertise across all three domains arose from the intrinsic interconnection of these fields. The distinction between the three emerged when knowledge and understanding related to them increased and gradually expanded.
Without a doubt, the matter began with construction — what today is called “construction.” The necessity for construction arose when early humans wanted “shelter” and had left behind cave dwelling and life in the forest. One can reasonably assume that even those earliest structures were not entirely devoid of structure and architecture, for without at least a rudimentary understanding of structure the shelter would not have stood. Likewise, the cave paintings of Altamira and Lascaux demonstrate that humans had grasped the concept of art and acquired the ability to engage with it even before abandoning cave dwelling — to the extent that some scholars believe that aesthetic taste or the artistic instinct is innate to humans. Therefore, one cannot assume that the artistic talent or instinct of the earliest humans had entirely subsided in the construction of the first buildings.
We know that in the creation of works of art, creativity is among the accepted principles. Van Gogh's works are distinguished and exceptional not only in terms of creativity, but also because of the technique this artist employs in applying paint to canvas, and the powerful, rough strokes of his brush are virtually unprecedented and praiseworthy. In architecture, the equivalent of painting technique is mastery of construction — craftsmanship (Werkkunst). This quality is what gradually brought “building” closer to art. In truth, the architect does not have the same degree of freedom in creativity as the painter or sculptor, and it is precisely here, in relation to this quality, that another quality has become intertwined with architecture and has gradually matured — what in English is called “tectonics.” We have no translation for this word in Persian, but its meaning includes, among other things, making things that are both beautiful and useful, or more generally, the art of building and construction. Where art enters the realm of building is precisely where architecture begins. But construction without structure also has no meaning.
Later, as considerable advances were made in construction over time, the most prominent and elevated examples of this bond were manifested in the Jame Mosque of Isfahan and its small dome, known as the Khaki Dome of Isfahan (Figure 1). The construction history of this dome dates to approximately 481 AH (1088 CE), and it belongs to the Seljuk period of architecture. Western scholars and researchers have said much in praise of this dome, which found no equal in Europe until the nineteenth century. Among them, the German scholar Eric Schroeder, who does not easily praise works of historical architecture, writes in reference to this dome: “The dome builders of the Seljuk period can be considered the greatest masters of this noble art that the world had seen up to that time. This should not be taken lightly, and we have not said this in approximation or as a compliment, but rather on the basis of knowledge of evident facts…” (SPA, Volume III, p. 1008).
In confirmation of Schroeder's words, we can add that in this building the bond between construction, architecture and structure is astonishing. For the structure of this dome is not only a testament to the genius of its engineer or engineers, but the refinement of its brickwork construction is extraordinarily masterful, and the scale of this dome relative to the space it covers is remarkable. This dome has entered the ranks of the eternal masterworks of architecture, and these qualities are so blended within it that distinguishing one from another is not easily possible.
The bond of these three domains continued, with varying degrees of intensity, through all periods of architecture — especially the Romanesque and Gothic. However, from the Renaissance onward, particularly during the Baroque and Rococo periods — if we overlook the exceptions — it gradually weakened until, in the period known as Neoclassicism, it virtually disappeared. The cause was, among other things, the architects' being caught off guard, as they were, in a manner of speaking, left behind by the transformation and progress that occurred in the technology of construction and structure. With the introduction of new materials (steel and reinforced concrete) and general advances in science and their reflection in technology, these architects did not properly know how to employ these materials in architecture. Buildings, though they had a classical exterior, were being constructed inside with new materials, especially steel. The secret of working with these new materials had been learned by structural specialists through the particular demands and considerations of their own expertise — for example, in building bridges, railway stations and similar structures. Thus, as we said, buildings had different exteriors and interiors — that is, an exterior that did not arise from the interior and substance of the building and was merely an imitation of past architectures. It was precisely here that the ancient bond of construction, architecture and structure was severed.
The remark of Berlage, the Dutch architect: “Architecture of appearances means lies”; the extreme statement of Adolf Loos, the Austrian architect: “Ornament is crime”; and the famous dictum of Louis Sullivan, the American architect: “Form follows function” — all are direct references to the weakening and dissolution of this bond that had prevailed in the Neoclassicism preceding modernism.
But the first modern architects directly based their work on this bond. Le Corbusier's designs known as the Citrohan House and the Dom-Ino House, or the apartment that Mies van der Rohe built in the Weissenhof housing estate in Stuttgart, are faithful witnesses to our claim. Wright, of course, followed a somewhat different path, but never allowed the facade-making of Neoclassicism into his architecture.
Mies van der Rohe, of course, remained more faithful to this principle than other early modern architects. Indeed, even in his last works his fidelity to this principle and this bond became more apparent (Figure 2). Mies's famous remark — “Architecture is not a wedding cake” that can be shaped into any arbitrary form — points precisely to this. Hilberseimer's astonishment, as Mies van der Rohe's spokesperson, at seeing Le Corbusier's Ronchamp and that architect's emphasis on form instead of the foundations of architecture — which should arise from within construction and structure — was for this very reason.
In my view, two works — one by Le Corbusier and the other by Mies van der Rohe — demonstrate the bond of construction, architecture and structure more than their other works. The first is a project by Le Corbusier showing the architect's design for the Palace of the Soviets (Figure 3). In this project the elements of construction and structure — especially the large arch from which parts of the building are suspended — are openly visible, and the viewer can easily see the basis of the building's construction and structure. More importantly, the construction and structure are expressed in an architectural language. The Stalinist regime was too autocratic to understand the meaning of this building, and as we noted, this project was never executed. But it provided an extraordinarily interesting example for the generation after Le Corbusier.
Our second example is a design by Mies van der Rohe that was also never executed — that is, it never went beyond drawings and a model (Figure 4). In this design the elements of structure and construction are openly visible, and according to Mies's detractors this building is “skin on bone.” But precisely because there is no facade-making in it and everything is the product of the bond of construction, architecture and structure — a very apt bond that has crystallised in a fluid architectural form — it is admirable, daring and praiseworthy.
Such examples or architectural events are called in English “seminal,” derived from the word “seed,” which here we might translate as “generative,” meaning that these events became the “seed” of hundreds of works like themselves and even more elevated than themselves.
The effort to combine construction, architecture and structure was not made by architects alone. Engineers took steps forward in this path. For example, the bridges that Robert Maillart built in Switzerland are so refined and well-designed that Giedion refers to their forms as forms that arise from within rather than arbitrary and invalid ones, and considers them pathbreakers for architects (Figure 5). However, by virtue of the relatively complex technical issues it entails, the bridge falls more within the domain of structure. Another engineer who took a step further and brought structure closer to architecture in the modern era was Pier Luigi Nervi. Although Nervi also began with buildings such as aircraft hangars, where the functional aspect plays a dominant role, shortly afterward his designs encompassed subjects such as exhibition halls and Olympic sports venues (Figures 6 and 7). The challenge in these buildings was covering vast spaces without columns interrupting the continuity of space — a problem that has long preoccupied builders and architects. The dome was an older solution to this same problem. Nervi taught younger builders and architects that a good solution in the domain of construction and structure can produce genuine and praiseworthy architecture.
Nervi's innovations paved the way for other engineers. The Munich Olympic Stadium by Frei Otto, built in 1972 (Figure 8), is another, more recent example of these innovations in the domain of structure, crossing the boundary between structure, construction and architecture. Except that here, the vast space of this stadium is covered by tensile elements (cables instead of columns and piers), creating a canopy that shades the spectators.
The use of tensile structural elements became an impetus for further innovations. The Hajj Terminal, a joint work of Fazlur Khan and Gordon Bunshaft, is a very successful and striking example of this type of building, which surpassed its predecessors with tensile structures in the beauty and boldness of its design (Figure 9).
In this building, construction, architecture and structure are so intertwined that it is unclear who is the architect and who the engineer, or how one can distinguish the architectural work from the engineering. Since the engineering innovation is dominant, or because structural issues have been addressed in a novel and pioneering manner, the major credit might be given to Fazlur Khan. But was the main idea his, or was it Bunshaft's, who enlisted the engineering genius of Fazlur Khan to realise his own idea? Of course, the purpose here is not to divide professional credit — which is in any case a senseless and futile struggle. We have merely pointed to this in confirmation of the bond that exists and should exist among the three domains.
Among contemporaries closer to our time, this bond has also appeared in the works of other architects and engineers. Probably one of the most well-known of them, especially in Iran, is Santiago Calatrava, who has produced admirable works in the bond of these three domains. Originally Spanish, he completed his architectural studies in his homeland at the age of 22, and then went for further study to the same country where Maillart, the Swiss engineer, was from. At the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology (located in Zurich), he continued his studies through the doctoral level in architecture. His doctoral thesis was on movement in foldable forms.
We see that all the necessary backgrounds for innovations in the technique of construction, structure and architecture were in place for Calatrava. To avoid going on at length, we will refer to just two of his works:
It is interesting that he, like Maillart, has an innovative temperament and a powerful hand in bridge design. The first work we will mention is a bridge that Calatrava built in the city of Bilbao in the Basque region of Spain (Figure 10). After the ancient Iranian and Roman bridges, and before the use of new building materials — especially steel — entered the field of bridge construction, the earliest approaches were based on compression structures — meaning that the weight of the bridge, or its dead and live loads, was borne by compressive structural elements such as the strong piers on which the bridge rested. The first use of tensile structures in bridge construction appeared in what came to be called “suspension bridges.” Calatrava's bridge is fundamentally a “suspension” type — meaning that the bridge's loads are borne by an arch and cables from which the bridge hangs. Calatrava's art lies in the fact that this arch and these cables are crafted with such extreme refinement that the sensation of lightness, suspension and flight is daring and pleasing to the eye.
Among the famous aphorisms of Mies van der Rohe in describing architecture is “almost nothing” (beinahe nichts). Here, the lightness and suspension of this bridge are so great that they bring to mind the architectural embodiment of this aphorism of Mies.
A bridge inherently belongs to the domain of engineering, for structural issues are dominant in it. This type of building is called in English “utilitarian,” which we might cautiously translate as “functional” — one where the necessity (of spanning a very wide opening, for example in a bridge) demands the dominance of structural issues in the building. But the design Calatrava made for the Lyon Station (Figure 11) demonstrates the use of structure in creating free and bold forms. Innovation and invention are fundamental elements of art. If innovation and invention are present in the structure, the building enters the realm of architecture.
We said that one of the major issues in building has long been the covering of long spans and vast spaces. But if this covering is done in ordinary ways, the building suffocates within itself and never enters the realm of architecture. It is the innovative solutions devised in the domain of structure that bring it into the realm of architecture and art.
