In those times, when capable and skilled architects had been pushed to the margins and no one sought them out, a true journalist — by founding a magazine devoted to architecture, a continuation of her earlier editorial endeavors at another publication — brought word of them. Soheila Beski brought back into public memory architects who had languished in obscurity for years and reminded everyone that to build good buildings, one must engage good architects. Memar magazine became a vehicle for bringing architects and good architecture back into the discourse. As for me, after graduating in 1957, I had spent 16 years engaged in work other than construction, and had also lived abroad for two years. Upon my return, I came to know this true journalist who had brought word of architects, writing in her magazine that these architects too had a presence — without any bias that they were better than others. In the continuation of her work, she established the Memar Award, an annual ceremony to select the best built architectural projects, in which I too served on the jury in certain years. The role of this award in bringing news of architects has been very significant, yet I still believe that the principal share of that importance belonged to Memar magazine. In my view, one of the most difficult things that Mrs. Beski managed to accomplish was finding a way to make the Memar Award jurors speak — a practice later replicated in some other competitions. That they should speak and write about their reasons for selecting and not selecting. This process, whereby the publication of the jurors' opinions and discussions in Memar magazine after the award ceremony became a tradition, had an enormous influence on similar events. And of course another great accomplishment of Soheila Beski was the publication of Shahr (City) magazine, which in its brief life was one of the best and most influential developments in the field of urbanism and city management, in which excellent attention was paid to city-related topics. I was deeply saddened that its publication did not continue. Judging session of the Memar Award, 1384 [2005], the old office of Memar magazine, Andisheh Street.
The Architecture of Mehdi Alizadeh. Mohammad Mohammadzadeh. Architect of Society. Not all of Mehdi Alizadeh's works are uniform or possess identical characteristics; rather, they can be identified and categorized in groups that reflect a continuous experimentalism and the product of a long, evolving path in the architect's works and personality, along with his natural influences from and upon the transformations of Iranian society and the architectural milieu of Iran and the world over more than half a century of practice. Alizadeh is not a purely modern or functionalist architect, yet this quality is evident in certain periods and segments of his work (buildings such as the Milad Hall at the International Exhibition, the World Trade Complex design, and the Tejarat Bank buildings in Sari and Rasht). He is not a nature-oriented architect and his architecture is not organic, yet a portion of his works possess this quality to some degree (the most prominent example being the Kouhbar House). His architecture is not formal or monumental, yet these characteristics have passed through certain moments of his work (the prism-shaped building overlooking the road at Pardis Technology Park, the prayer hall design at Pardis Technology Park, the Sarbandar Municipality building and bathhouse). His architecture is not regionalist, yet this trait is present in his works (the use of materials such as brick and his inclination toward vaulting in the Pakneh House or the Momeni House may be instances of this tendency). He does not harbor a fascination with Iran's historical architecture; on the contrary, his inclinations are directed toward the new world — yet his works are not disconnected from an understanding of the logic of Iranian architecture (qualities of Iranian rural architecture are present, by his own account, in the Kouhbar House, or a tendency toward spatial discovery in, for example, the Sarbandar bathhouse or some of his houses). Across the periods of his career, or sometimes within a single work, logical and functional aspects interweave with intuitive aspects and what is perceived as a state of improvisation (the improvisatory quality of the design is evident, for instance, in the Kouhbar House — by his own account, the structure of this design appeared in his mind within a few minutes). One might offer other descriptions of Alizadeh and his works that may or may not fit, but what matters in reading his viewpoint and his works — without any aim of unnecessary exaggeration of his position or his works — is his belonging to an independent current arising from within society (parallel to the dominant architectural current) that has evolved with society and, from within its works, has contributed to society's transformation. In my view, perseverance and industriousness, continuous practical experience-gathering through building, an abundant passion for architecture, curiosity and acuity regarding the issues around him and in architecture, attention to detail alongside holistic vision, candor and wit, honesty and responsibility, abundant and instinctive intelligence, a critical and discerning sense in politics, society, and architecture, professional mastery, social orientation, ethics, and admirable human qualities — these are characteristics that are fair in describing Alizadeh. Qualities that were more commonly found among architects of his generation. Alizadeh is an architect who, despite the diversity of types, scales, styles, and periods he has experimented with in his work, has gradually arrived at a personal and independent manner. The architecture distinctly attributed to Alizadeh possesses a kind of generative gene that constantly mutates across his works, reshaping itself to suit each program, environment, and possibility, and manifesting in different forms. This genetic logic constructs and interconnects the whole and its parts — from the general organization of the architecture and the way the program is situated within it, to the constructional and technical aspects, as well as the details and use of materials. It is in this way that his works expand. 1. This gene plays a generative role in many of his houses — such as the Davoudzadeh House, the Shahgoli Apartments design in Tabriz, and others — and reaches its zenith and becomes richly articulated in the Kouhbar House. In my estimation, reviewing Alizadeh's works, personality, opinions, and memories is significant both for tracing the transformations of Iranian society in the realm of architecture and for illuminating an independent layer of architects in the contemporary era. Not all of Mehdi Alizadeh's works have the same characteristics. They can be identified and studied in different categories that have resulted from his evolving path and the natural influences received during his life-long endeavour and experience which has developed along with the society. He is a functionalist architect whose architecture and viewpoints are shaped, developed and evolved through practice. What could be considered a clear line passing through the collection of his works and for which he is known, is a gene creating the structure and organisation of his architecture both as a whole and in parts, in its construction and technical aspects, in its details and use of material, etc. which reproduces and expands it according to the situation, programme, function, facilities, scale and the user. He himself compares such development to the development of a melody in music, for example in the works of Mozart. Alizadeh is a society-oriented architect: he has emerged from within the society, lived with it and followed the general changes of the palpable or impalpable infrastructures of the contemporary Iranian society and the changes in the behaviour of different social layers. He has recorded moments of such changes and placed them in his invented structures; structures which have emerged, like he himself who is an academic architect, from the changes in the social infrastructure in modern times. In recent years he has referred to this quality in his interviews, writings and discussions with terms such as 'discovery and compilation', 'mise-en-scene and structure' or 'documenting social conditions'. Despite having built many houses during sixty years of working as an architect, he is now an 82-year-old architect living alone without a house of his own. Note Note
Alizadeh is a society-oriented architect who has emerged from within society, lived with it, observed the general changes in the tangible and intangible infrastructures of society and the changing behavior of social strata, and has recorded moments of these changes and placed them within his invented structures. 2. These structures, which have arisen from the micro and macro infrastructural changes of society in the modern era — like he himself, who is essentially an academically trained architect — have emerged from within those transformations. In recent years, he has referred to this quality in various conversations and writings under headings such as "Discovery and Compilation," "Structure and Mise-en-Scene," and "Documenting Society." Footnotes: 1. He compares this mode of expansion to the way a melody develops in music — for example in the works of Mozart. 2. In the interview I conducted with the architect in this same issue, I have referred to instances of this. Design by Sarvenaz Emtiazi.
I came to know engineer Mehdi Alizadeh in the late 1370s [late 1990s] and found the opportunity to converse with him through the monthly editorial board meetings of Memar magazine, the rides home after those meetings, occasional visits, and the mutual consultative phone calls — instructive for me and usually lengthy — that over these years have sometimes faded due to busy schedules but have continued to this day. This provided an occasion for recording and accumulating his diverse memories and opinions on society, politics, architecture, and the profession in my memory. Years ago — I believe more than ten years have passed — over several sessions, at the recommendation of the late Mrs. Soheila Beski, I arranged a number of interview sessions with him that were recorded and transcribed but never published. Recently, on the occasion of publishing this issue, I had three relatively lengthy meetings with him, the result of which is the interview of which a summary lies before you. I have, of course, reorganized it in an order different from the original course of the conversation and classified it thematically. In addition, I have incorporated throughout the text points I recalled from the totality of his remarks over the years that I found useful for completing or reinforcing the recent interview. In a subsequent meeting I had with him after the text was transcribed, he did not express satisfaction with my inquiries and curiosity about the personalities mentioned in the text and the opinions expressed about them, and I am not certain that these accounts have been conveyed accurately or that they cover all dimensions of his views about these individuals, or that the substance has been conveyed with full precision and completeness by me. Nevertheless, given his critical and sometimes forthright tone (I have tempered its forthrightness), through which new angles and insights into the course of contemporary Iranian architecture's transformations and the individuals who shaped it are revealed to us — and setting aside any insistence on entering into their evaluation — they expand the range of our vision regarding these issues. In this interview, Mehdi Alizadeh addresses such matters as his education at the Faculty of Fine Arts at the University of Tehran and the atmosphere prevailing there in those days, the atmosphere governing architecture and architects before and after the revolution, his personal outlook and approach in looking at society and architecture, his design method, and some of the buildings he has designed or built, all within the context of contemporary Iran's transformations. Tell us about studying architecture. I entered the Faculty of Fine Arts at the University of Tehran in 1334 [1955]. There, in one building, Seyhoun's atelier was on the lower floor and Ghiai's atelier above. In another building, Farmanfarma's atelier was below and Foroughi's above. I was in Foroughi's atelier. In the third year, Aftandilian's atelier was added as well. There were people who had stayed in the faculty for 22 years without graduating — like Nabavi and Farid, for whom I drew projects so they could graduate. Ghiai and Seyhoun were prominent architects at that time. During the years I was in the atelier, Foroughi came only a few times, and some other ateliers had the same situation. These individuals, through their connections, obtained commissions and were therefore preoccupied. For several years in my atelier I was the one conducting corrections, and I had in a sense assumed the role of the atelier master. Students even came from other ateliers, including Seyhoun's, to have their corrections done by me. My work in those days was distinctive, and I usually received the first mention. In those years I was working and would only come to the faculty on certain days to sketch for the students — for Ahmad Maki, Dehbonei, and others. Once, the assignment was a bridge, which I drew from a donkey's point of view for one of the students, and the design's coherence was such that he presented it as his construction project. Later, Ahmad Maki, even though he himself was an architect, commissioned me to design his own house. There were people like Khalilian who went to France — I have heard he returned — or Azam Manoushan Zangeneh, who were in Seyhoun's atelier and whose work I admired. Aftandilian was old and worn out, and individuals like Javad Sheikh Zeineddin and Amlashi were in his atelier and would have their corrections done by me. Seyhoun's atelier had more discipline. As for Farmanfarma's position, enough has been said — his importance lies more in establishing the institution of consulting engineers. The Faculty of Fine Arts was, on the whole, an avant-garde island beyond the Iranian society of those days — not in terms of art or architecture, but in terms of the atmosphere that prevailed there: freedoms, for instance, in the conduct and speech of the women students that were at a remove from the norms outside the university. Interview with Mehdi Alizadeh. Mohammad Mohammadzadeh. Interview with Mehdi Alizadeh. I met Mehdi Alizadeh in early 2000s and found the chance to converse with him in monthly sessions of the editorial board of Memar Magazine, during the rides back home, in my occasional visits to him or the frequent, long calls we have made in the past years to consult each other which have continued until today. This was a chance for recording his memories and his various viewpoints on society, politics and architecture. Many years ago (more than ten years ago) on recommendation of the late Mrs Beski I organised several interview sessions with Alizadeh which were recorded and transcribed yet not published. Recently, for the current issue of Memar, I had three relatively long sessions with him and the interview you read here is a short summary of it. I have organised it in an order different from how the interview went. In addition, I have added certain points I recalled from memory from our previous conversations wherever I thought it would complement and emphasise the topics discussed in the interview. After the interview was transcribed, he did not approve in a meeting session with my curiosity in the figures mentioned in the text and commented upon. Thus, I doubt whether my citations cover all his viewpoints on those individuals or if I have conveyed the meaning properly. Yet, his critical and sometimes forthright tone opens up new vistas and reveals aspects of the development of contemporary Iranian architecture and those who shaped it. Regardless of our judgment on the viewpoints expressed, they expand our view on the subject. In the interview, Mehdi Alizadeh discusses issues such as the education quality at the Faculty of Fine Arts at Tehran University, the atmosphere dominating it in those days, the atmosphere of architecture and architects before and after the revolution, his personal style and approach to society and architecture, his design method and the influence of certain buildings designed or built by him on the process of architectural development in Iran. Interview Interview
We did not possess much knowledge. We had no information about the architecture of the day around the world or about architects like Le Corbusier. No books of design data and standards were at our disposal — it was just us. Following the model of the Paris Beaux-Arts, we drew capitals, did renderings on chassis, drew decors, furniture, and so on. One of my sketches was a woodworking workshop, for which I won first place. My final project, "Iran House," consisted of four buildings around a square with a space among them. From the outside it was porous — perhaps something like what is today called an academy — which is why Mirmiran, when he was working on the Academy competition, obtained the documents of this project from me. Mirmiran's battle against his illness was unparalleled, but he introduced a kind of slovenliness into architecture, with colorful designs that would make this part white and that part black, for instance. He belonged to a different era of Fine Arts, and the kind of works he produced were issues of a newer world of architecture. Our time was different — from the 1350s [1970s] onward, when new departments such as theater and others were added to Fine Arts, it acquired a different character altogether, quite different from our time. I do not view positively the influence that our Faculty classmates who became professors exerted on the faculties and the approaches and methods they introduced, especially after the revolution, nor the things they said — but I will not elaborate further and will not name individuals; you know better yourselves. If you would like, comment on other architects as well. First let me address another topic — about Iran's entry into the modern world. The claim that Reza Shah facilitated the conditions for this entry is one discussion, but it should be noted that we had factories in Iran more than a century before him. In my estimation, the sound of the new world was heard within the country and society pursued it. When I was a student, we had no direct access to the new world through books and the like, but its sound was heard and we pursued it. Changes began in Reza Shah's time, and by Mohammad Reza Shah's time society had been disrupted, and there were no plans for the problems of this new society. For example, the multi-family centrally organized house had been disrupted. Someone would find factory work on the outskirts, buy land there, and come to us to build him a house. This society was posing new questions within itself that had not existed before — work was being created, and we were finding answers to these new questions and providing plans. The discourse of development emerged and brought its own people into being. We were the architects of development. I was documenting these very changes in my works. I observed the political, social, economic, psychological, and class conditions of the society that was coming into being and recorded them in my works. The reason for my renown is not affiliation with the mainstream, dominant, and dependent current of architecture, but rather in documenting society. I have been an independent architect outside the mainstream, and the work I have done has been of the kind I have described. Others too, in the course of development and ongoing changes, were doing other things. At that time, support buildings such as hospitals, government offices, and the like were being built by foreign companies that had knowledge, organization, produced documentation, understood plans and details, knew about archiving, and had institutional structure — European companies to which Americans were later added. Farmanfarma later laid the foundation for consulting engineers. Thus, this type of building was also undertaken by domestic offices. Of course, I think we still do not have consulting engineers of the kind I described regarding foreign companies. Ghiai and Foroughi, by virtue of their positions, gained access to projects like the Senate or banks. In those years, our Faculty classmates worked in these offices and were involved in drawing these projects. These two were not truly architects in that sense, and my opinion of these banks and so forth is not very positive. Among the bad things that, in my view, Ghiai popularized were floor-to-ceiling curtain windows. Other individuals like Oshana also drew patios and used similar windows on facades, placing an entablature above them. Moayed-Ahd popularized the horizontal strip window under the ceiling. I used vertical windows and usually placed them in the corner, which created a good reflection of light on the interior wall. In Yazd, I had designed houses where the windows went from the middle of the wall down to the floor, so that people who sit on the ground could see the garden — and there were subsequent issues of light penetration and other matters. I paid attention to these points. A colleague told me recently that apparently this project has been built. Seyhoun was a monument-maker and tomb-builder — he did not know masonry [construction]. I do not have a positive opinion of these works — like the tomb of Avicenna, where the circular plan is unresolved and has an odd rhythm when it should be even. The heels at the base of the fins also bulge outward, and so on. Among his works, the tomb of Nader is a better piece, with its horizontal quality and stonework. Iran House, Alizadeh's Final Project for Fine Art Faculty of Tehran University, 1964. Iran House, Alizadeh's diploma project at the Faculty of Fine Arts, University of Tehran, in 1343 [1964].
The facade, worked in that particular manner, and the intriguing positioning of Nader's statue... His works possess a quality that was later called postmodern. As for Aftandilian, who built the Opera House — it was nothing special, because an opera house is a typological and imported building that looks the same everywhere, so nothing new was happening in it. His other buildings too (though I do not know them all) are, in my view, essentially masonry buildings that have been constructed in an engineered fashion. At the Faculty there were people like Timoori, in whom I did not perceive any particular distinction at that time nor do I now. There was Darvish who did some work with television, but in my view there is nothing particularly noteworthy. Also, the Takhti Stadium in Tehran, which in my view is a very interesting work. What is your opinion of it? I do not know this building well — if you say it is good, then it is good. Kalantari has also built brick houses with window frames going down to the floor that are not bad, and in my opinion they are a continuation of those masonry buildings constructed in an engineered fashion. As for Sheikh Zeineddin, the works he did in Japan, for instance — I do not see them as the essential character of his work. His work is fundamentally similar to what he did at the Saadabad residence. Please also comment on the architects who returned from abroad. Some of them were Armenian architects, like Aftandilian, who were unlike us and had more awareness of and access to information from abroad — or the architect who built the Palace of Justice [Gurkian, whom Alizadeh describes in a positive tone] and others. Another group were architects who had come from Italy, like Tehrani, in whose work I did not perceive any particular distinction. Shariatzadeh also went to Italy and studied after Fine Arts, and had more knowledge and information from abroad than we did. Then there was Ardalan and the architects around him, who were followers of Louis Kahn. The book he wrote with Nasr and that woman [Mirbakhtyar] — The Sense of Unity — is, in my view, not an acceptable book. Ardalan's distinction was that he was a technocrat and understood contemporary technology better than people like Farmanfarma. For example, compare the Behshahr Industrial Group building, which used precast concrete, with the Labor Office building by Farmanfarma's office, which was very crude — as if the building were nothing but columns and slabs and were unfinished — but in the buildings where Ardalan collaborated with him, this deficiency was remedied and the building appears complete. What kind of works are you known for in architecture? I have had a very large output across all of Iran and in Dubai: houses, bathhouses, offices, universities, stadiums, exhibitions, industrial units, towns, master plans, and more. But I am known for the works I built in Tehran that were more visible, which are mainly houses I built before the revolution. I have provided designs in Tehran, in Sarbandar or Bandar Shahpour, in Assaluyeh, in Bandar Abbas, Yazd, Mashhad, and elsewhere — some built, some not. Some of my works still stand and some have been demolished. I have some documentation, and the records of some have been lost. Before the revolution, I had an office in Dubai for about 12 years until 1356 [1977] and built many things there, when it was still desert. Mr. Shafei has photographed them. At the same time, I had offices in London and Stockholm, and it would happen that I was in several different locations in a week. I returned to Iran simultaneously with the revolution, and since then I have done a great deal of work of various kinds. I also spent a few years in Canada. After the revolution, I was also invited as a composition teacher to a girls' high school on Kakh Street for a time. The school's principal became my wife for some years — she was a religious person who, after our separation, later went to America and married there. I had ideas at the time about "productive education" on which I advised the early post-revolution statesmen (this idea was later, with many changes, reduced to the KAD scheme, which was very far from my views). I remember that Messrs. Rajai and Bahonar invited many people to a meeting — including Soroush, Davari, and others — for me to present my views. After a while, my forthrightness in speech also severed my relationship with them. I also presented designs and details for school desks and benches in those years. You mentioned the houses you have built. What ideal of a house did you have in mind, and which of them represents the evolved model of the house you had envisioned? I am an architect who does not own a house and never built one for himself; therefore, I have no ideal for a house. At that time, Kouhbar, who was a tax office employee with limited funds, came to me to build a small independent house (a villa), and I built the work you know — which is in fact a collection of houses (an apartment complex). I observed the changes in society and recorded them in my work. In my designs, I would incorporate small units for the parents of couples, so that when they are left alone, they would not be cast out. My designs are a collection of full small and large units and various voids that are interconnected through a specific combination of internal passages and access systems. My works have a bubble-like system linked by an internal passage or alley (not by a double-sided staircase that spirals upward like a donkey at a mill). This bubble-like space and this passage lead to open spaces and landings to which several units open — a feature present in most of my houses, including the Davoudzadeh House, and its most diverse and free expression is in the Kouhbar House, which has two interconnected vertical access systems. This building is like a village, and my brother, on one of his visits, told me how much it resembles a village! I could build an apartment complex for the price of a villa, because I used inexpensive materials like pressed brick. Of course, I also have works like the Darrous House, which was in a garden and had dimensions of approximately 7 by 7, with a unified space on two levels inside that formed a pure cube from the outside, with the base differing from the upper level. My view is that in the modern era, the space of a house should be minimal — we are out for work and our living space is, in reality, in the city. In my works, I would fit in 30- or 40-square-meter units as well. The conversation we are having now in the kitchen of my home, we could have at a cafe. We no longer need a kitchen of this size. There was a time when a wick lamp in the corner of a room also served as the kitchen — that is, the same room functioned as the kitchen. Today we are incapable of comprehending what we practically have. I have always looked at these things. Today, our colleagues are unable to say where we are and who I am! I was clear about these matters. I looked, I thought. Today it is not like that. In one of the houses I built, the client's wife was a Swiss village woman who had two habits: first, she would open the windows in winter and sleep under a quilt; and second, she would tie bells to her two children so she would always know their whereabouts in the house. In my design I addressed both issues — I made the space open, that is, an open kitchen with no blind spots, which was not common at the time. Thus the bells were removed from the children's feet. Of course, I also placed ladders in the room so the children could escape from her and occasionally romp around in a space up above for themselves. I mentioned earlier that in my final project at the Faculty — a kind of cultural center called "Iran House" — I designed the building's exterior perimeter so that there would be spaces for vagrants (toughs and prostitutes) to escape and hide from the police. In the Sarbandar bathhouse, I also provided a place for beggars in front of the entrance. In the expansion of the Amjadieh stands, added to the Reza Shah-era stands, I designed the seating benches on the stands in a way (I placed a continuous board as the seat) that would prevent the person sitting above from harassing the person below, because the stadium was mixed at that time. I also envisioned the space beneath the stands as a sleeping area for people coming from other cities. In designing a project for the use of urban employees of a complex situated among three villages on the outskirts of Foolad Mobarakeh, I envisioned a space for interaction between urban women and
Iran House, plans and drawings. Iran House, plans & drawings.
rural women, enabling socialization between them — where the urban ladies would offer cosmetics, nylon stockings, and such to the rural women, who in turn would present rural handicrafts, and exchange would take place. I observed these things and designed and built spaces in response to them. In the design for Azimiyeh University in Karaj, for which the French architect Akoushar had previously proposed a design, I designed a street on a slope of considerable length into which the various faculties would overflow, and people with different disciplines and characteristics would come face to face, creating mutual influences. For example, a doctor is a different kind of person from, say, an artist, and their mingling could produce interesting events and impacts. This design was never built either. How did you design your works? Where do you begin the design process? I am not one for sketching studies. The design takes shape in my mind in less than five minutes, with all its details. I draw the plan and see everything in it — the site and placement, the spaces, and so forth — and directly, without delay, I draw the plan to scale. In the Kouhbar House, everything took shape in my mind within a few minutes — the three walls, the access, the arrangement of spaces, and so on. Was form or building composition ever a concern for you? Absolutely not! Your contemporaries drew perspectives and through them displayed their impressions of the exterior or interior of a design. In the documents of your works, one does not see much of this (in earlier works)! As a student I did sketches, but not in my professional works. Everything was in my mind and I drew plans. In your plans, which are usually rectilinear, one usually sees a grid. Is this grid a reflection of the structural system and the conventional structural framing? This characteristic is generally visible in your houses and even in the World Trade building design, although there are exceptions like the Mesgali House and especially the Sarbandar bathhouse, where this rule is locally or entirely absent. As I said before, many of my works have a bubble-like quality, and the full and void spaces are positioned within what you call a grid, and an internal alley, passage, or passages serve as the vertical access system linking them together — in some works more disciplined, and in the Kouhbar House, for instance, freer, with a village-like quality. Usually in the middle of the passages I have open spaces to which enclosed spaces open. At the outset, I do not think transparently about what each enclosed space belongs to, or how many meters it is — these become clear gradually. Shirdel, in the Gholhak [Farhang] cinema complex project that was never built, told me he wanted the halls to be in a space that had no columns below. I said the structure of this building could be like a tea server who carries a great many cups and saucers with one hand yet remains stable. But it does not matter to me if columns repeat beneath a space — imagine that the presence of people alongside columns becomes even more interesting. The manner of drawing plans, which in your earlier works are generally done by hand, is very interesting and personal. Some of them are precise yet rendered in single line — plans, sections, and so forth — with a diagrammatic quality. You use a very interesting handmade typography and break the text into tiers very wittily and inventively when it does not fit within the space. In the old plans, you wrote the text in English or French, and so on — please explain a little about this. I have drawn very detailed plans too, but the ones you mention are mostly those I built myself and did not need more detailed drawings for. One of my works did not even have plans — I built it from a few pages of notes. You also asked about the architectural elements. The technical aspects of the building, architectural elements, details, and the use of materials in your works contain interesting points — please mention some. In my view, a detail means the way two finger joints connect. I have used both pressed brick and ceramic tile, as well as industrial materials. Yes. If you place the Kouhbar House alongside the Milad Hall at the International Exhibition, this diversity becomes clearly apparent. In the Pakneh House, opposite the entrance to the Manzarieh Camp, I executed an inventive vault and used a qanat for the building's natural ventilation. I observed these things. In the Davoudzadeh House, I discovered that a factory was producing ceramic tile — I went to the factory outside Tehran, and after examining it, I used it in the building. I have used pressed brick extensively in my works. Note that brick is one of the earliest prefabricated elements. Working with brick made buildings very affordable and offered diverse capabilities. I looked at my surroundings and followed up on what I heard — for instance, I once noticed that in the Post Office building on Sepah Street, the brick beneath the windows was clinker brick with a green hue, or that during Reza Shah's time, military brick in dimensions of 30 by 40 centimeters was used. On facades, brick was customarily laid in stretcher and header bond, but I have laid my facade bricks entirely in header bond. In America there is a collection called Sweet's Catalog, containing information on product details and so forth that is available for reference and use. We did not have these in Iran. Drawing all those details was extremely exhausting — I drew them, but I aged. Some of my works date from a time when materials were brought to the construction site by mule. I would calculate my works. I used bracing, and I would ask the structural engineer to calculate a special type of connection for exposed steel structures on the facade to produce the visual result I expected in the architecture. For example, two I-sections are normally placed side by side in a column. I would ask them to place one perpendicular to the other — that is, the flange of one sitting on the web of the other — so that at the corner and on the facade it would give the result I wanted. My assumption was that a brick wall within the steel frame would perform the function of bracing. In the Mesgali House in Yousefabad, whose structure was calculated by the structural engineer of the Munich Olympic Stadium, after excavation I executed a concrete wall up to a certain height and placed the building's structure upon it. In the Sarbandar bathhouse, the covering of the dome-like section, which was concrete, was calculated for me by a Japanese structural engineer named Nakaoka, who had come to Iran in those years to promote earthquake-related matters. He also had expertise in Japanese landscaping, and the part of Laleh Park that was the Japanese garden was his work. In the Milad Hall at the Exhibition, the execution of which took approximately 100 days, the dead load of the building was dramatically reduced in pursuit of lightening the structure — instead of a heavy ceiling, I used 10-millimeter OVE ARUP sheet, which yielded speed of execution and lightness among its results. Before the revolution, architects and engineers from renowned non-Iranian firms like Ove Arup would come to Iran, and we had face-to-face meetings and discussions with them for certain projects, including the Ferdowsi University stadium. In these meetings, I was by no means at a disadvantage compared to them, and compared to me they were nothing — John Saint and Ken Sharp and others were the most prominent among them. I understood prefabrication and the method of connecting components well, but they did not know these things. Regarding the architectural elements you also asked about, I referred to things like windows or stairs in our earlier conversations, and in my works, across all elements, whether interior or exterior —
Iran House, plans and drawings. Iran House, plans & drawings.