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A SPLIT HOPPER1 BARGE2 IS NOT A HOUSE FIRST YEAR Wolfgang Tschapeller Damjan Minovski Sophia Abendstein Arda Ardin Vladislava Bugaeva Rosa Dotzer Elliott Griffith Luke Handon Paula Hauschild Lucia Herber Justa Jasaityte Jule Jungblut Marie Lang Majed Naseri Emma Malea Noll Jakob Draz Planinsek Laurin Saied Florentin Schumann Moritz Tischendorf Xaver Wizany Reviewers and guests Matteo Cainer Valerie Messini Daniela Mitterberger Niklas Paegle Sille Pihlak Werner Skvara

Space-Beings 1 is a project consisting of the exploration, documentation and transformation of a 1000m3, self-propelled split hopper barge3 by means of first person views, line drawings in 2-, 3- and 4-dimensional geometries, 3D renderings and physical models. The project Space-Beings 1 is set up to study split hoppers and their components as one of the opposites of a house, and to document them and their interactions in detail, such as the geometry of propellers, the weight of anchors, the various speeds of water, the relation of dead loads to payload, the interference of a ship’s hull with the water, and turbulences in the water produced by a rotating propeller, as well as the potential for living on all of this. Barges are not houses. They are crafts, vessels or vehicles, sometimes equipped with more or less developed configurations of a house. For “less”, the bent posture of old skippers (together with Charles Darwin’s complaints about the low headroom on the Beagle) bears historical testimony to it, and for “more”, contemporary cruise ships can serve as examples. Hopper barges, for their part – “Klappschute” or “Baggerschute” in German – comprise an interesting complication. At the bottom, where a ship is usually most vulnerable and therefore absolutely watertight, a hopper barge has an opening through which its cargo – garbage, dredged material, gravel, soil, etc. – can be dumped. Split hopper barges are the most advanced development. Imagine a ship cut in half along its longitudinal axis, held together only by two hinges and two hydraulic cylinders, which open and close the entire ship on demand. Closing for loading and transport, opening for disposing of cargo as swiftly and economically as possible.

Split hopper barges are mainly seen in the vicinity of hydroelectric power stations, as if the two were in symbiosis. And in a way, they are. Concurrently with the production of electricity, power stations mas-sively segment the river’s natural flow of alluvial deposits and sediment. This is where the split hopper barges come in. As specialists for collecting and disposing of debris as swiftly as possible, they have the capacity to fully re-establish the alluvium’s (natural) flow, like medicine or an implanted prosthesis such as a coronary stent. So why look at split hoppers as an architect? They are not houses; they do not stand on stable ground. They are not necessarily about shelter. They are not about stability. They are not about statics. On the contrary, they are about a slow type of dynamic. They are not about isolation and closure. They are about interchange. They are about transport. They carry cargo. Heavy cargo jams against the edges of the barges to a few centimetres from the waterline. Sometimes the freight holds of split hoppers are empty. Then the barge rises to show body and volume. Downstream, it drifts with the river’s lazy movements. Then it goes full throttle against the river with the help of engines, propellers, anchors, rudders, sometimes sails. Its hull is shaped not to shelter humans, but to interact in an optimized and highly efficient way with the surrounding environment, not with the ground, not with soil, but with a liquid, fluid site. Earth, soil and gravel not as a landscape, but as compressed cargo, an artificial piece of land, or debris from upstream contained inside a barge. Can split hoppers be seen as inversions of the concept of a house? And can we learn from such an inversion? Can we imagine grafting the practice and programme of “living” not onto traditional structures made for it, but onto devices that actively support the functioning of environments? Can we imagine having “living” as a side option rather than a main purpose? Can we imagine living on devices (rather than in houses) and adjusting our way of life to the rules of such devices?4 Although not with the same productive intention, an example of such a graft or transferral is shown by Marie-Françoise Plissart5 in the 18-minute documentary video “Le fleuve”. The camera is mounted on a boat going downstream on the Congo River. The camera is fixed. It does not move. What moves is the boat, and what the observer sees is a bank of the Congo River, consisting of an endless sequence of carcasses of boats, steel ruins of machines, broken hulls and dispersed machine parts, armour and weapons, steel beams, remains of battles and wars, together forming a landscape unified by rust and a specific function: that of an endless house. “Living” as practice and programme is mounted on the ruins of war. For the making of the project, “visualization” is one of the key words. Visualizations of the barge and the body of flowing water under certain daylight conditions by means of a first person perspective are produced. As if they were snapshots through the eyes of somebody who has lost a small item on the barge or, for example, somebody approaching the barge by swimming with their head halfway under the waterline and seeing a blurred

image of the barge. Typically, first person perspectives often show a broad range of scales, for example, the immediate surroundings – things one touches, a glass of water, dishes, a dripping garden hose, a rope on the ground, a fly sitting on a hand, tools indicating construction, a mobile phone, a toilet, a sink, hands performing the hand cleaning ritual – but then also far distant conditions like a cloud configuration, landscape contours, etc. Often, first perspective visualizations include parts of the seeing entity, such as a hand, a machine part, a robotic arm, a part of a recording camera or the lids of an eye, as shown, for example, in Ernst Mach’s “View through the Left Eye”. Such visualizations can follow narratives, like the repair of a defect rudder, which requires a dive underneath the hull of the barge. Design Studio First Year

→ fig. 5–8 / p. 7 → fig. 50-51 / p. 18 → fig. 52 / p. 18 1 A “hopper”, as its first meaning, is a “person or animal that hops”, mid-13c., agent noun from hop (v.). From c. 1200 as a surname, and perhaps existing in Old English (which had hoppestre, “female dancer”). The second meaning of hopper is a “container with a narrow opening at the bottom”, late 13c., probably an agent noun from hop (v.1) via the notion of the grain juggling in a mill hopper or the mechanism itself, which was set to operate with a shaking motion. Railroad hopper-car is from 1862. See: www.etymonline.com 2 A hopper barge, then, is “a barge for disposing of garbage, dredged material, etc., having hoppers in the bottom through which such cargo can be dumped”. See: www.dictionary.com 3 As a model for the project, a Mudder 80 with a length of 65m, a width of 11.4m and a depth of 4.4m was used. The Mudder 80 has a cargo volume of 1000m3 and is a class GL +100 A 5 RSA(20) split hopper barge. 4 Students were asked to assume the role of an architect who is addressed by a group of six people who have acquired a split hopper barge as their future base for experimentation with alternative lifestyles and alternative forms of economy and labour. A detailed programme is given. 5 Marie-Françoise Plissart is a Belgian photographer, filmmaker, video artist and architecture photographer. In her video works on cities and rivers, Plissart goes beyond the format of documentaries. Works like “Le fleuve” are closer to architectural projects than they are to film. In the photo essay “Droit de regards” Plissart uses photography as a language of theory.

A BUILDING?? ESC Hannes Stiefel Andreas Zißler Olivia Ahn Charlotte Beaudon Römer Lucas Fischötter Maximilian Gallo Patricia Griffiths Alexander Groiss Paula Hattenkerl Felix Knoll Nurhan Kok Armin Maierhofer Jonathan Moser Diana Mudrak Anna-Elina Pieber Dana Radzhibaeva Paul Schurich Roxane Seckauer Sebastian Seib Martin Sturz Marie Teufel

Reviewers and guests Margit Brünner Claudia Cavallar Ernst Fuchs Michael Hirschbichler Judith Mussel Simon Oberhammer Karolin Schmidbaur

Over the past three years, 14 out of 44 master thesis projects at IKA focused, in one way or another, on the design of a (terrestrial) building, or buildings. In this period, the number of building designs gradually decreased from year to year. In 2020 twelve master thesis projects qualified for IKA’s internal nomination procedure for the prizes of the Academy. None of them were projects that investigated the potential functions of a building in contemporary societies and actual environments, or in nearby futures, in terms of design. The eligible projects didn’t include any plans for architectural structures or constructions that would have expressed, by all the available means of architectural conception and representation, their authors’ true desire to realize these plans in the actual physical world. Hence, the elaboration of building proposals presently does not seem to be of overwhelming interest to a majority of IKA students when facing their final project in architectural studies. This is remarkable. It needs to be acknowledged and considered. And yet, it would be worthwhile – for students and faculty – to thoroughly explore what it is that constitutes this phenomenon, and to draw conclusions from the resulting findings. In 2019 alone, 27,681 new buildings were erected in Austria.1 It’s evident that not all of these buildings can be considered works of architecture per se. And yet, all of them, as we know, have a tremendous impact on their manifold environments. While under the current regime of extreme climates, all of us in the field of architecture finally have the chance (or, to put it bluntly, are forced) to become aware of the relational nature of all objects, subjects and spaces, grown and constructed, questions of buildings obtain new significance. Such questions do not focus on buildings as functional objects, but rather on their complex function in interplay with their environments. The environmental function of architecture needs to be addressed, investigated, studied and reformulated by design – today more than ever. And what, if not an anticipated future building structure, operating in specifically complex, critical environments, is practically predestined to serve as a model for such research by design? In the fields of academic architectural studies, arts-based research in architecture and experimental architectural practice, the idea of a model is constantly pushed to its limits. A model (from the Latin modulus = measure) is by definition a measuring device, a plumbing tool, a mediating structure, a research instrument. And architecture, through building, is capable of testing, observing and further developing these models in full scale in particular physical realms and specific societal and


environmental contexts. That’s why we so urgently need more buildings whose conceptions are rooted in the abovementioned fields of architecture. Consequently, experimental building practice must finally be recognized and fostered as environmental research practice – also and especially by and within the relevant academic institutions. IKA is the Institute for Art and Architecture. And the highest art of architecture is the art of building: building as applied art-based environmental research practice. It is worth striving for, further and continuously. Hannes Stiefel

PRECEDENT: HABITAT 67 / MOSHE SAFDIE / MONTREAL 1967 Expo 1967 – A point of pride for Canada Surrounded by the ubiquitous noises of a harbour, hosted for middle-class city dwellers, and located on an artificial peninsula with nothing but a street and a building of Moshe Safdie’s design. Looking at Habitat 67 in Montreal, what we find is a cell-like structure consisting of 354 blocks housing 158 homes. A faint echo of Japanese metabolism, where everything is designed to be replaced, arises. Imagine living in a world without static entities. Imagine a structure conveying fundamental necessities of life like metabolism in the simplest geometrical forms. Where rectangular boxes start to depict organic processes. But what is metabolism? We replace the majority of our cells every seven years, and the upper layer of our skin every two weeks even. If all the cells in our body did this, we would be immortal. But some of our cells, like the ones in our brains, don’t renew themselves. They age, and they age us. We cannot have eternity, but we can have the memory of a touch. Eventually, in a world without static entities, there is constant abeyance between oblivio and immortalitas, between oblivion and immortality. Metabolically, Habitat 67 represents a continuous quest to expand into the future without the fear of leaving the past behind. Time is our dogma. As an independent, non-spatial continuum, time shapes our environment into fourdimensional space and synchronously limits our existence to a certain lifespan. It is both life-giving and life-taking. Time both heals and kills our cells through metamorphosis, symbiosis and metabolism. They live, they die. We live, we die. Imagine we lived in a world without static entities. Suspending the traces of time. There are three ways of cell regeneration. Unique. Cyclic. Permanent. The regeneration of cells is based on their ability to divide. The more sophisticated and differentiated a cell is, the less capable it is of dividing in order to regenerate. A neuronal brain cell, for example, is too heavily loaded with information, while a skin cell is made for nothing but constant renewal.



With age, the cell gains knowledge. Knowledge is the mass of information. The more information a cell contains, the harder it is for the cell to regenerate. Regeneration is dependent on time. Time is defined as the indefinite progress of existence and events in the past, present and future, regarded as a whole. But what do we do with that rather luxurious concept of the whole? What is time, and how do we perceive it?

Alice Hoffmann Claire Kaiser Ji Yun Lee Clara Lundgaard Celine Mandl Lisa Prossegger Normunds Püne Moritz Schafschetzy Salome Schramm Johanna Syre Matias Topia Fröhlich Johannes Wiener Catherine Zesch

In this context, I have defined time as a diachronic space not moving synchronically and without any linearity. The time of metabolism is the mass of unique moments with cells never again existing. In a linear way, we perceive time as the aging of cells. In a diachronic way, we perceive time as a four-dimensional atmosphere without any static entities.

Reviewers and guests Urs Egg Nasrine Seraji Christian Teckert

Fortbau shall depict an abstract notation where time is not stopped, but its linearity is suspended. It shall be a fusion of several moments. It shall be an enclosure of different fragments of time. It shall be a depiction of growth and decrease, birth and death. Our body consists of 90 billion cells; each second, 50 million cells die, and not all of them can be regenerated. So with age, there comes a loss of cells: we literally shrink with the decrease of cells. There is constant change within the cell, so there is constant movement within the cell. The lifespan of a cell can vary between a few hours and a whole lifetime. Cell regeneration is movement. Motus. Obviously, a human cell cannot live on its own; it needs to find a way to communicate. Also, cells have the urge to pass on the information they have gained to other cells. They use signalling molecules or permanent bridges, and detect the presence of these molecules through receptors. The most interesting part is that every time they receive a new message or new information, they formally change and adapt their appearance. They visually change through the movement within. Imagine we lived in a world without static entities. Where people become the signalling molecules. Where the receptors of the cells we live in start to form permanent bridges and connections. Where our environment consists of other cells. Where people have a feeling of nexus and community. Where cold bodies and deformed cells find life and pneuma. Where metabolism is both real and imaginary space. In motus the environment consists of other cells, and of the task of working as one mechanism. It is like a musical composition you enter on one side and leave on the other side. But inside, linearity is suspended. It’s almost like everything is happening at once, an ultimate interplay of all chords. You, as a human being, work as one part of the composition and undertake the task of working as a signalling molecule, transporting information from one cell to another, from one chord to the other. You are the motus. Olivia Ahn Design Studio BArch4

→ fig. 2–3 / p. 6 → fig. 40–41 / p. 14 1 Statistics Austria (http://www.statistik.at/web_ de/statistiken/menschen_und_gesellschaft/wohnen/ wohnungs_und_gebaeudeerrichtung/fertigstellungen/026021.html)

THE OTTAKRING AND HERNALS REPORT GLC Christina Condak Daniela Herold Antonia Autischer Annick Bächle Vincent Behrens Lea Bjerg Sedika Cupuroglu Alex Czernin Cochav Emanuel Tim Handl

Ottakring and Hernals are two districts in the northwest of Vienna, a part of the city that has neither much to do with its “centre”, nor much to do with common tourism. These two districts are, however, the heart of the city in another way, namely in terms of the manufacturing and production of various Viennese products. These “blue collar” or formerly workers’ districts still maintain the charm of a slower time – in their lower building fabric, some original storefronts with various local uses, “indigenous” corner cafés, or other characteristics such as public facilities, swimming pools and sports grounds. The past, whether it is the past of the 1870s or of the 1970s, has not yet been fully erased in these districts by the inevitable urban “upgrading”, greenwashing and gentrification of our time. These are the districts that produce Manner Schnitten cookies, Ottakringer beer and Schneekugel snow globes of St. Stephen’s Cathedral, and include the Sandleitenhof, one of the city’s exemplary social housing projects. For our design studio on the platform Geography Landscape Cities, we wanted to explore these two districts based on the platform’s three titles and scales, as well as their superimposition: How do these three aspects overlap and interrelate? How do we recognize and represent what we see, and what we do not see? What do we recognize as place and value? What is cultural value? Then, the question is how and if to make a project? As the momentum of last year’s collective research project was still with us, and HITZE is, of course, a topic still before us, we continued to think about heat in the city, but this time with a particular focus on the ground. By looking at the natural topography, the surface that connects us as we walk from the street to the storefronts or courtyards, then to the ground floor of buildings, we explored the relationships of these elements with one another and with larger forces of the environment. We also considered our ability to move freely, without obstacles. As we were also still in and out of lockdown, there were other issues of freedom of access to public space that we addressed. Before actually setting foot in the two districts, we began the semester by viewing aerial images from several map sources. What can we detect – what features, what hills, what areas, what major roads, infrastructure, and what natural forces, flows of water, what types of trees, open areas, forested areas, what ownerships, what divisions, what fences and so on. At the beginning of our mapping phase, we compared historical maps and information to create a common inventory, a very conventional approach to deciphering layers, learning foundational methods from landscape urbanism. Only then did we begin to zoom in. The ensuing work of the students began with sober documentation. Then followed straight-on reconstruction drawings of the existing conditions, research proper, added up as visualizations of facts on which to base and from which to develop a project. In the final phase of the projects, a narrative for how to tell the story of what was found and how, if at all, to intervene in this urban specificity, led to the method of animations and films to do so. The project “Revealing the Hidden” started from the topic of streets and mobility in the area. Studying the districts from afar, you can see the lines of major streets – northwest to southeast – cutting through the territory and making pedestrian movement difficult in the crosswise direction. This project concentrated on pedestrian movements and shortcuts, on walkable passages, and set out to explore a new nomadic potential by cutting through buildings, courtyards and in-between spaces. The students actually acquired a real

(postman’s) key that could unlock doors, letting them into the spaces beyond where it is cool and quiet. Having gained access with this key, they were able to film themselves entering and moving through thresholds and extended passages – spaces not normally experienced – allowing them to draw and film another side of the city. When walking the streets of Vienna, there is a particular smell at ground level that comes from the substance of the buildings, their basements, entrances and courtyards, a damp and musty smell of brick and stucco plaster, which grows even stronger during renovations. It is not an unpleasant smell. At ground level, you notice these things acutely. One of our studio groups, “Spaces of Production”, began its study from an interest in what was being made by hand, as well as from the smell of Handsemmeln (rolls) being baked that caught the group’s attention during their walks. So they started to look for anything produced at ground level, behind storefronts, and began to uncover a hidden world of objects. This team mapped the production spaces and categorized them, i.e. bread, wood, metal, glass, etc.; they drew plans, filmed interiors, interviewed the owners, collected sounds of the machines making the products, and created a film about the unique circumstances of production in these districts. This film is a manifesto for keeping these small manufacturing businesses alive in the urban fabric; it makes the case that they are needed in the future. Another production space in the heart of the 16th district is the Ottakringer brewery, home of the Sechzehner Blech (half-litre can of beer). Compared to the smaller production spaces documented in the previously described project, this area is huge and occupies several blocks within the urban fabric. It is a social and working hub of truly local conditions and traditions, more recently expanded and commercialized. The project called “Factories that once were, still are and may emerge” focuses on the brewery and tries to understand what it is made up of, its elements and parts, and how the spaces are used. After first circling the perimeter, the students were then able to enter. As workers began to notice them, functions were explained and passage was granted, allowing them to go deeper into the factory. Everything they could see and measure while walking around was drawn as a way of trying to get in. The drawings were a way of observing and describing what is there and what is going on. They constitute ethnographic work. The studio Groundswell also discovered some of the backwash of the COVID pandemic in the recent disappearance of storefront shops. The empty storefronts interested many students, who explored the potential they hold for the local neighbourhood with ideas for new uses. Two Erasmus students in the studio saw things from another angle, and began their research by amusingly ranking buildings as having friendly or “Unfriendly Façades” (hence their project title). What exactly is friendly or unfriendly about them? To better understand the façades, their construction, their materiality and constraints, they drew sections, measured the interiors of some storefronts, photographed and explored them with the streetscape as an entire connected space. Geblergasse street became the main area of investigation. The street, the buildings, the thresholds, doorways, shop windows, windows and garage doors on the ground floors were carefully documented, drawn and interpreted in physical models and animations. What does it mean to play in the city, and what is freedom of play? These were some of the questions posed by the project “The Banal and the Specific”. Through the rigorous work of drawing the site conditions of each urban playground and categorizing them into types, this team developed their research, and eventually project, from the banal, everyday environment to a special recognition of things, and to a new, heightened awareness. The illustrations show a constant switch between microand macro-perspectives, between mapping and detailing, between depicting and fragmenting, between written texts and physical comparison (drawings are based on self-determined foot measurements) that became their method of piercing the banal. This work is to be understood as a starting point for upcoming transformation processes of these places,

as commentary on how architects should begin to look at the city in order to make this diversity spatially tangible. “Unseal - Gestures of Opening” is a project that brings geography back into the city. The project started with an analysis of sealed surfaces. By layering historical maps of Hernals and Ottakring, and by carefully examining the structural and geographical transformation, this group started to connect periods of time, old and new memories of the ground. Their final project focused on uncovering a former canal/ stream, the Alsbach. By drawing methods for cutting and opening the ground at key points, a design method was developed. At some points, water is brought to the surface; at others, there is an opening that allows cool air rise, letting the city breathe. Sometimes the canal only becomes visible, sometimes accessible, and sometimes inaccessible to humans. Sometimes we are taken down to the water. These selective gestures of opening are intended to multiply and grow into a strategy for the whole district over time. In a post-human scenario, the canal is broken up and turned into a landscape – the city becomes geography again. Christina Condak, Daniela Herold Design Studio BArch6

→ fig. 4 / p. 7 → fig. 20–24 / p. 9 → fig. 34–35 / p. 12

ADP Michael Hirschbichler Oscar Binder Annika Böcher Andreas Brandstetter Anna Orbanic Maximilian Pertl Nikolaus Podlaha Lara Raith Patricio Sota Renero Magdalena Stainer Santiago Vasquez Lopez Vincent Wörndl Reviewers and guests Ulrike Draesner İpek Hamzaoğlu Michelle Howard Andreas Kalpakci Guillaume Othenin-Girard Luciano Parodi Xavier Ribas Lisa Schmidt-Colinet Hannes Stiefel Heather Anne Swanson Wolfgang Tschapeller Christopher Wright Andreas Zißler

In the studio Phantasmography, we conduct research on and experimentally intervene in contemporary spaces and territories, critically engaging with the phantoms and phantasms that inhabit and shape them. In the past semester, we focused on spaces of extraction. Simply put, everything we make and build happens in a field between extraction and accumulation – between taking something away from somewhere and gathering it somewhere (else). Extraction and accumulation thus mark the poles of our cultural, political and economic life, and underlie all forms of spatial production. SITES In Phantasmography I, we investigated places and landscapes that are defined by acts of removal: of resources, of former structures, habitats or inhabitants, of planned futures or forgotten pasts. Students explored the transformation of buildings and social regimes over time, the ground as a complex material and cultural construction, infrastructures and the more-than-human life that emerges from them, as well as abandoned megalomaniac political fantasies and the contemporary everyday reality that unfolds amidst their ruins. The sites of these inquiries were, among others, a former castle turned orphanage turned hotel; the petro-cultural landscape of the Marchfeld oil fields east of Vienna; urban forests that were mined and used to consolidate the ground, upon which parts of the city of Vienna were erected; an ancient quarry that provided the stones for the city’s pavements; a former paper factory, its mythical origins and afterlife; a protective

river retention basin, and the flora and fauna emerging at low water levels; as well as the discarded beginnings of the Danube-Oder Canal, richly enmeshed in history and propaganda. PHANTOMS AND PHANTASMS The studio employed and further developed the approach of “Phantasmography”.1 Following Anna Tsing and others,2 we embraced spirits, spectres, ghosts, phantoms and phantasms as useful concepts to navigate between the visible and the invisible, the material and the immaterial, the living and the dead, humans and nonhumans, the real and the imaginary. We broadly define phantoms and phantasms as hard-to-grasp agents, real or the product of fantasy, as long as they cause palpable and material effects. These agents – something or someone that or who does not, or not anymore, or not yet physically exist, but exerts an influence on the present – can be formerly existing persons or species, very small or very big things or beings, mental images and sociocultural narratives, pasts and anticipated futures, hopes, dreams and fears. Phantoms and phantasms are especially useful, because they have always been situated in between clear-cut areas of space and thought, and thus offer powerful concepts to re-think contemporary spatial situations from a different vantage point – interlinking often separated categories. 3 A’s: ARCHITECTURE, ART, ANTHROPOLOGY The practice of “Phantasmography”, as we envision it, combines methods and techniques from the disciplines of architecture, art and anthropology, in order to develop a multidisciplinary and multisensory understanding of materially and culturally contaminated grounds. In the process, architecture, art and anthropology are not seen as separate fields, but joined together and intertwined. From this multidisciplinary nexus, we worked with media such as close-observation drawings; chorography (“place writing,” an ancient qualitative mode of mapping); deep mapping (an intensive exploration of places through writing and photography, which involves stories, autobiographical memories and folklore, as well as scientific descriptions); experimental site-based forms of painting, printing, photography and film; performative approaches; site-specific installations; participatory and non-participatory observations, and interviews. With this setup, we pursued a series of aims: → to see and sense: We began by devising ways of paying close attention to our sites of investigation and thus notice subjects and objects – both human and nonhuman, and in their entanglements – that are frequently overlooked, and are often hard to see and grasp. We therefore tried to broaden our awareness, to develop multiple forms of curiosity, and to “extend our senses beyond their comfort zones”3. → to trace: Such ways of seeing and sensing enabled us to trace the presence or absence of these subjects and objects, and the often uneven histories that connect or separate them. It is especially absent persons, species and cultural legacies that define spaces of extraction – as territories devoid of qualities that once characterized them, and of beings that inhabited them before. Many of these absences – we assumed – can be read and reconstituted from the material traces they leave behind. → to negotiate (in)visibilities: For this, we had to take into account, as Anne Laura Stoler reminds us,4 that what seem to be invisible or overlooked histories to some constitute a factual and often painful reality experienced by others. So, what is visible and what is invisible depends to a large extent on one’s viewpoint. By approaching different viewpoints and negotiating visibilities and invisibilities, we attempted to draw a broader and more differentiated picture. → to observe new kinds of historicity: In a similar way, we tried – from the viewpoint of the present – to comprehend the different temporalities that are engrained in extractive territories, and thus gain a historical perspective on their present state. These temporalities include forgotten or repressed pasts that “haunt” the landscape, as well as imagined futures that motivate actions and shape beliefs.



Our investigations necessarily had a speculative dimension, and therefore depended on interpretation and invention. Moving between research and design, modern and non-modern perspectives, and facts and fictions, it was the studio’s goal to develop experimental projects that engage with curiosity with the environment around us.

scratch on virgin ground would have seemed a curious undertaking. Existing buildings provided not only valuable building materials but also knowledge of preceding ideas and building techniques, and a notion of site – they were stone founts of knowledge. The act of construction was considered part of a process of continuous maintenance, and the resulting building was considered completed, not finished, because the only constant in early Gothic constructions was that, until modern times, they were continually expanded, refurbished and rebuilt. Only with the advent of the 18th century, and even more intensely with the onset of modernism, has there been any discussion about a desire to return any of these buildings to their original state. Indeed, the discussions around the reconstruction of Notre Dame in Paris show just how difficult it would be to choose just one “original” state.

PHANTOM FORUM The studio work was embedded in a larger discourse, which unfolded in our Phantom Forum. The forum assembled a series of guests from different disciplines, who offered diverse and highly original perspectives on our common topic. These guests were – in the order of appearance – Chris Wright (anthropologist and artist, Goldsmiths, London), İpek Hamzaoğlu (film maker and artistic researcher, Academy of Fine Arts Vienna), Heather Anne Swanson (anthropologist and director of the Centre for Environmental Humanities at Aarhus University), Xavier Ribas (photographer and researcher, University of Brighton) and Ulrike Draesner (writer, Deutsches Literaturinstitut Leipzig). I would like to thank all participants for their contributions! Michael Hirschbichler Design Studio MArch

→ fig. 9–18 / p. 8 → fig. 25–26 / p. 10 → fig. 48–49 / p. 17 1 Building and expanding upon: Robert Desjarlais, “Phantasmography,” in American Anthropologist 118 (2): 400-407. 2 Anna Tsing, Nils Bubandt, Elaine Gan, and Heather Anne Swanson, Arts of Living on a Damaged Planet: Ghosts and Monsters of the Anthropocene, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2017. 3 Tsing et al. 2017, M7. 4 Anne Laura Stoler, Duress: Imperial Durabilities in Our Times. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016.

CMT Michelle Howard Luciano Parodi Julian Berger Paul Böhm Daron Chiu Lauren Marchand Prima Mathawabhan Alina Meyer Reviewers and guests Michel Hirschbichler Renate Jernej Elke Knoess-Grillitsch Elke Krasny Josef Pepper Gertrud Pollak Ryan Stec Leszek Zagorowski

You may ask yourself, “Why construct a design studio around a pretty Gothic ruin on a hill above a sleepy town halfway between Venice and Vienna?” And you may ask yourself, “How do I work this?”1 2020 and 2021 have been years of collisions. The ongoing global pandemic2 has forced change on any activities involving contact with other humans, especially interactions and collisions with our respective communities. Amid this situation, and inspired by the practices and achievements of early Gothic builders, we explored what the value of these interactions and collisions in architecture might be. We baptised this yearlong research and design project Smashup3 and Smashupt Too, respectively. Smashup Too focused on the community of Friesach, a pretty medieval town halfway between Vienna and Venice, and proposed new possibilities for collisions and interactions through proposals for the maintenance, repair and regeneration of the remains of a Gothic ensemble on one of the hills that surround it. In the Middle Ages, Gothic churches were intimately connected to the place in which they dwelled. Contrary to other edifices, they were often paid for, built and maintained by the community. Indeed, they were frequently big enough to house every one of the town’s citizens. Such dwellings in which all can shelter thrive in tandem with their communities because they are the products of a shared ambition and civic pride. To start from

Our testing ground was the community of Friesach, the oldest in Carinthia, whose fabric is defined by medieval constructions, many of them abandoned ruins. Friesach today, despite its prettiness, suffers from a higher-than-average rate of unemployment, and few people live within the town walls. Efforts at regeneration have so far been mainly directed at investment in tourism, a strategy that has proven disappointing at best, and absolutely catastrophic during the current pandemic. Our site was Virgilienberg, a hill in the town centre with a plateau at its top where the remnants of a Gothic ensemble (Collegiate Church) built and maintained from the 13th to the 16th centuries lie decaying. Motivated by the hypothesis that when a community decides to maintain, repair and regenerate shared built spaces together over generations, it also maintains, repairs and regenerates itself, the students discovered and developed six very different possibilities. They are all deliberately open works of architecture, and actively invite tinkering, adjustment and improvement by an ambitious community intimately connected with their future. When we consider that global human-made mass has now exceeded all living biomass, the maintenance, repair and regeneration of what we have already made is the least damaging alternative for the creation of built spaces, short of not building anything more at all. Just as the now vanished bell tower gave rhythm to the days of the inhabitants down below through the pealing of its precious bells, marking the milestones of the medieval day, Julian Berger transforms the Virgilienberg into an experimental tonal space and an instrument activated by its microclimate. Inspired by ancient acoustical techniques, such as the insertion of wooden instruments and ceramic vessels in walls of stone, and by the wind blowing through the unglazed windows and their surviving stone traceries, Julian proposes a project that begs to be instrumentalized by the community. Paul Böhm pursues the Diaphanous, a medium characterised by such fineness of texture that it can be seen through, and makes visible all that it covers. This translates into a project that seeks to permit many people to gather in a place sheltered from the elements yet still climatically open, and reminds us of the important role played by the vastness of the indoor spaces of the early Gothic church and the daylight that filled them. Just as in the stained glass, which no longer exists but still resonates, his Diaphanous radiates, tells stories and encourages the community to plunge their heads into the clouds. Appearances and make-believe are at the core of Daron Chiu’s project. Using the technology of the green screen, a method for inserting costumed characters into any background developed for cinema in the 19th century, he proposes a construction that bridges the real world of the medieval ruins and the fake one constructed to accommodate tourism in pretty old towns like Friesach. Green was chosen because it was the colour least likely to be worn by protagonists. The project focuses a critical eye on tourism, localisms and the sense of belonging and identity. Lauren Marchand is fascinated by the idea of the many layers that have built up in the constant rebuilding and regeneration of this site and its many stone constructions, keenly aware that the built environment underground that is not visible could probably be just as rich, if not

richer than that which is visible and aboveground. She digs into the groundscape within and without the visible remains of the ensemble of buildings that constituted the college of St. Virgil. The resistance of the soil and the shape of the old stone foundations, tombstones and a hidden underground chapel determine the shape of new communal spaces. They are crowned and lit from high above by tall towers, which converse with other older towers scattered on the hills around the town, and let daylight cascade into the furthest depths of cave-like spaces. The Symbiotic Garden by Prima Mathawabhan stems from her discovery that the majority of the plants that have found refuge and shelter in the spaces, walls, stones and crevices of the ruins of the church are native to places as far flung as South America and the Antipodes. The project takes the form of a carefully tended and wild garden; while requiring humans to remain on designated paths as distant visitors or even voyeurs, it nurtures and protects the existing plants, and encourages further species to implant themselves. These plant tourists are encouraged to take root, and increase the richness and diversity of the native plant life. Alina Meyer conducted studies into the physical world of movement and connection, seeking out diverse highways and byways, clambering over walls and through hedges, and jumping over streams and gaps in an effort to uncover new physical connections between the town of Friesach and the Virgilienberg hill. Her proposal establishes these connections not by the creation of new pathways but by seeking out, consolidating and improving well-trodden, underused, forgotten and informal trails, and also by offering alternative modes of access such as climbing, jumping and sliding. The new connections are complex root-like structures that merge and intertwine with the vegetation, the topography, the culture, the community and the local history. Departing from ideas about the embrace of collision, we embarked on a quest to unearth forgotten values, values that architecture has ceased to offer: the savageness, changefulness, naturalism, grotesqueness, rigidity and redundancy of the Early Gothic4 cathedral. These were the terms that, in 1852, John Ruskin used to lovingly describe The Nature of Gothic Architecture5. But during our journey, we discovered the role played by communities and the endless rebuilding of Gothic churches, so that our tentative arrival was drenched and suffused with the beauty, importance and urgency of maintenance, repair and regeneration. Michelle Howard, Luciano Parodi Design Studio MArch

→ fig. 19 / p. 9 → fig. 32–33 / p. 12 → fig. 44–45 / p. 15–16 1 Extract from Once in a Lifetime by Talking Heads, produced and co-written by Brian Eno, released February 2, 1981, through Sire Records. David Byrne’s lyrics and vocals were inspired by preachers delivering sermons. 2 SARS COVID-19 3 Smashup embraces productive collision in architecture. It perceives architectural entities as elastic, exchanging influences and exerting attractive powers. It aims to supercharge arguments, to challenge tastes, preconceived ideas and laissez-faire politics. It confronts strong propositions with one another and asks them not only to coexist but to improve. 4 What is called Gothic architecture was, at the time it was first practised in the 11th century, probably referred to as modern. It ushered in a similar, if not more profound revolution in built space to what we call modern architecture today. Giorgio Vasari, a Florentine painter, writer, architect and historian (15111574), probably coined the term in his Lives of the Artists, likening it to the Visigoth culture, mistakenly conceived of as barbarous. He preferred the perceived purity and regularity of classical architecture. The assumption that purity and regularity are positive attributes is one that has proven particularly tenacious and, indeed, nowhere more so than in what is called modern architecture today. 5 The Nature of Gothic Architecture, in the second volume of three of The Stones of Venice, entitled The Sea Stories, published between 1851 and 1853, by Smith, Elder & Co., London.

is required to follow Spinoza’s alchemical formula: maximising joyful passions while minimising sad ones.6

A THREEFOLD PROVOCATION: JOY SHALL BE THE MOTIVE, THE MEANS AND THE TARGET GLC Margit Brünner Veronika Behawetz Philipp Behawy Marcella-Malin Brunner Chang Dang Thuy Katharina Duller Marie Eham Dilâ Kırmızıtoprak Paula Lorenzo Díaz-Meco Michelle Semder Hans Schmidt Dilan Vural Reviewers and guests: Suzie Attiwill Hélène Frichot James Geurts Marie-Therese Harnoncourt-Fuchs Barbara Holub Luciano Parodi Irmi Peer Julieanna Preston Paul Rajakovic Stefanie Seibold Hannes Stiefel

Practical advice: 1 Withdraw from your everyday experience promises of the solidity and continuance of bodies, as well as assumptions of the muteness and dullness of objects. 2 Accept your “self” as a momentary state, a point of affection and attraction adrift somewhere within the coordinates of an inexhaustible dynamism that configures and reconfigures relations of space-time-matter. 3 Throw your full body into the world and ease into joyous becoming with human and non-human bodies – animals, plants, the seasons, tides, the wind and the movement of the stars… The studio served as a container to test individual approaches to joy production. The projects were to emerge through embodied practice throughout. They were to be projects through the production of joy and not speculation about joy. When concepts that have been holding our perceptions of what is real and what isn’t in a safe yet narrow perceptive spectrum are undone all at once, things can get confusing for a human body. In this studio, we got entangled with sites of joy production in order to get acquainted with a spatiality that merges subatomic and organic material conditions and temporalities.1 Navigating this “cosmic interiority”2 requires us to drop the habit of thinking of ourselves as individuated, liberal subjects, and to hazard becoming “other”3. To assist this operation, we made use of the theories of affect and agential realism (Spinoza 1992; Bergson 1998; Deleuze 1988, 1992; Massumi 2002; Brennan 2004; Thrift 2007; Barad 2007), and explored some of the ethical and spatial implications involved in the application of a post-human ontology. Once we affirm the affective dynamic amongst all bodies and things, the question of self-interest becomes redundant alongside the perception of a “self”. Because of its expressiveness, joy can never be profitable only for oneself; it is utterly infectious. Drawing on Spinoza’s ethical project, Gilles Deleuze stressed that if we succumb to the thought that the human body exists isolated from its environment with no expressive power whatsoever, we are at the mercy of a disastrous triplet of perceptive errors that upholds precisely this delusion.4 Inventing suitable means to bring about joy-like affects can be as liberating as it can be amusing. However, at times becoming an ally of joy turns out to be daunting labour because of the paradoxical pull towards states that are far less fortunate – but familiar! As affects and percepts circulate in close proximity to sad passions5, thereby shamelessly outsmarting the aspirant, considerable effort

To give an example, the urge to generate a perfect, applause-provoking outcome, or simply an outcome can present an obstacle in the joyous journey. Joys tend to befall one. Apparently, a joy’s inherent nature is that it has no purpose other than existing, because it is creating that “proceeds as the sufficient reason behind the actual entity or state of affairs that it then establishes.”7 This presents a problem in a larger context that usually demands some kind of evidence of one’s performance – materially, that is. Undoing and detangling from any well-rehearsed enmeshments that are not conductive to the endeavours of bringing forth life-affirming affect are bold acts toward freedom. The students participating in this studio handled these challenges with much virtue.8 Chang invested in moving in and out of her comfort zone, amongst other trials, by exposing her body to cold, to see whether joy might be explained as feeling the intensity of the transition from one state to another. Hans and Philipp decided to visually describe joy via humour. By way of re-enacting slapstick, they looked for enjoyment in their own mishaps and clumsiness. They devoted much energy to acquiring their ultimate device, an old bellows, driving it all the way back to Vienna, repairing it and finally using it for their comedic purposes. Veronika searched for means to build a solid basis to slowly nurture joy. Developing a routine with a friend, she kept restructuring a particular ritual, designed for their regular joy encounters. Dilâ delights in eerie grounds. She figured that joy should be maintained, preserved and contained in all its states. Therefore, she set out to grow specific organs of joy through and alongside physical model making and, most importantly, while entering Viennese cellars. A “transporteuse of atmospheres”, Marie experimented with the ongoing processes of becoming with snowflakes, sounds, surveillance cameras, a flock of sheep, and dirt, transiting back and forth between two contrasting environments. She explored how the overlaying of these bodies constantly recreated, reformulated and replaced itself with and within space. Identifying two states of gazing, “fleeting” and “focus”, Michelle’s movement experiments sought to grasp the quality of the precise moment when attention shifts in alignment with the gaze; when it anchors in fast moving, fleeting surfaces, and when it settles back in just where the body is located. A single intense moment has the capacity to give rise to an infinite number of new moments; Marcella set herself the paradoxical task of creating new generations of that intense moment. Through sudden changes of focus, she tried to revive this profound feeling of joy during her body-related explorations. While Katharina travelled to Lisbon to chase joys, Paula sought to prototype paradise with her friends, meticulously mapping “producciones colectivas de alegría” in her tiny bathroom throughout the semester. Asking, “How will we eat together?”, Dilan speculated on a future scenario of continued isolation and its effects of joyful experience. When the interior operates as a server, what is the human being likely to become? “A homo sapiens seductus, rich enough to be alone, and alone enough to believe anything – to be cut off, too educated to doubt.” Spinoza would be delighted.9 Margit Brünner Design Studio MArch

→ fig. 29–31 / p. 11 → fig. 42–43 / p. 15 1 Offering an account of the world as a whole rather than as composed of separate natural and social realms, agential realism is at once a new epistemology, ontology and ethics. Barad, Meeting the Universe Halfway, 2007. 2 Baruch Spinoza is the only classical thinker who remains reasonably respected among the new materialists, steeped in and inspired by 21st century physics and biology. Spinoza’s conception of space can be explained as a self-creating universal divine principle, expressing difference. 3 Deleuze and Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus, Capitalism and Schizophrenia (1987), p. 311. 4 Deleuze, Spinoza: Practical Philosophy, p. 19. 5 Passions delineate a movement, a lived passage


from one state to another, toward more or less perfection. To this melodic line of continuous variation, constituted by affect, Spinoza assigns two poles, joy and sadness, which he declares are the fundamental passions. Deleuze, Les Cours de Gilles Deleuze, 1978. 6 Spinoza’s theory of affection is synchronous with his theory of power. The identity of power and action is explained as inseparable from a capacity of being affected, and this capacity of being affected is constantly and necessarily filled by affections that realize it. Deleuze, Spinoza: Practical Philosophy, p. 97. 7 Hallward, Deleuze and the Philosophy of Creation, p. 27. 8 In Spinoza’s work, we find a notion of interest in the self, which he names ‘virtue’, inherent in everybody as the power to preserve one’s being. To act virtuously is to act according to reason, and is the same as to act according to joy. “The highest good of those who pursue virtue is common to all, and all can equally enjoy it”. [E.IV.37] Spinoza, Ethics, p. 171–173. 9 A personal assumption.


be considered transitory anymore. Thousands of carriers shelter everyday life.


BODY . WATER . CITY Thesis project Clara Maria Fickl Advisors Wolfgang Tschapeller Luciano Parodi


LANDSCAPE AS COLLECTIVE MEMORY Thesis project Fabian Buxhofer Advisors Hannes Stiefel Luciano Parodi

The project Mnemoscape: Landscape as Collective Memory examines Central European practices of remembrance regarding the mass murder, genocide and Holocaust perpetrated by the Nazi terror regime and makes a statement about the role of landscapes in the process of collective memory. What role can a landscape and the way it is experienced have in a future representation of the Nazi terror? How can we re-engage with the past through this experience and its representation? The project explores the relationship between and the conceptual construction of “human body” and “landscape”, specifically in remembering the Holocaust1 as an incomprehensible act of bio-political terror against the human body. “Extermination through labour” meant eroding bodies by shaping landscapes. In that sense, these landscapes are no longer only the spatial property of a present body, but can also be seen as the property of absent bodies, promoting a body concept that goes beyond the idea of a figure, and making these landscapes accessible through projection and empathy. The theoretical analysis of remembrance as a cultural, political, artistic and spatial practice forms the background against which the performative impact of remembering as an individual, bodily experience is explored. Site-specific interventions in the region of Melk activate the landscape and its ecological conditions as collective memory and as the “property of absent bodies”.

The project discusses the future role of bathing practices in cities and envisions a public bath for a site in Vienna. An analysis of historic bathing facilities and ritualistic practices linked to water and cleansing serves to scrutinize the contemporary relationship between the body and the city. The project involves a study of the following multi-scale realms: body, water and city. These realms are explored through reading, writing, drawing, film, physical models and animations. The main element, water, is examined closely through shifts in scale, a distortion of time, and a juxtaposition of real water and virtually animated water. Based on these explorations, a building structure is designed for a site in Vienna’s third district. The project examines the individual’s relationship to their own body, and a collective understanding of intimacy and physical awareness. The prototypical project will address questions of resources, as the properties of different water streams inform the design. It creates a new form of publicness and intimacy for the human body, and will thus create and provoke discussions on societal ritualistic practices disconnected from belief and religion, on collective production of gender, as well as on sharing resources and the role of water in cities. → fig. 36–37 / p. 13 THESIS


→ fig. 46–47 / p. 16

Advisors Angelika Schnell Antje Lehn

1 The term Holocaust (Greek: holos – completely; kaustos – burnt) is not discussed in terms of identity, but as an act of physical assault.

I am constructing a narrative about a society suspended in the air. Circumscribed by the gates of great airports, airspace is an invisible city in the sky, a human-made network existing under the condition of immense speed. On its unstable grounds, people are confined in bubbles of an artificial environment. Fuelled by a desire for remoteness, they have given up their need for comfort in exchange for reaching a destination in the shortest possible time. During the flight, they sit and wait, restricted to a limited minimal space where no extra movement is allowed. However, daily activities that are normally carried out on the ground happen in the air. As can be observed on long-haul flights especially, people improvise and develop practices in order to deal with their new situation. They adjust their seats to sleep, they eat together, respond to needs for hygiene and for leisure. They socialize, create work environments, moderate public, private and even intimate spaces. In extreme proximity to one another, people live together within the aerial infrastructure. The space cannot

Flights happen against the backdrop of the atmosphere. People find themselves in touch with weather phenomena on an immense scale and with vast networks of living species. The human scale is directly confronted with the vastness of the planet, divided only by thin window glass. Detachment from earthly affairs, proximity to the skies, and the uninterrupted continuity of aerial presence result in a sense of melancholic solitude, an escape into the self and contemplation. The passenger is temporarily liberated from affairs bound to the ground. In the abstract space, where figures are reduced to a minimum, time passes differently, and the past and the future intertwine. Memories bring back to mind fragmented elements of tangible environments. The space becomes a backdrop for collective dreaming, allowing for an ultimate escape from the realities of “normal lives”. The airplane is used as a lens to look at different spaces. Subtle differences are noted, observed in detail and described. They serve to expand an idea of the conditions of a society whose roots are already there, but that is yet to come. How to narrate the atmospheric everyday?

of a physical model, animations of the scanned model and satellite images, and shows the fictitious process of a community of migrant workers who find a new nomadism in China’s ongoing urbanisation process. China’s development from an exporting country to a consumer country is giving rise to a growing class of consumers who demand a new, urban lifestyle and thus more urban living space. At the same time, urbanisation is itself an economic engine that generates money, creates jobs, and thus contributes to the growth of the new middle class. These processes create temporary hybrid landscapes, in which old villages that still exist, but are in the process of being demolished, coexist with already established, unused urban infrastructure. For a short time, then, rural and urban structures intertwine to form collage-like landscapes that led me to consider what new forms of life might be born from these spaces, and what possibilities emerge from the unused infrastructure. These are separated from the wastelands by construction fences, and as my project tries to conceive of a form of life that combines both, I have called it Beyond the Fence. → fig. 53–55 / p. 19 DOCTORAL STUDIES




Thesis project Davide Porta

PhD project Achim Reese

Advisors Wolfgang Tschapeller Damjan Minovski

Advisors Angelika Schnell Volker Welter

Towards a new liminality consists of a process of experimentation along with the creation of speculative apparatuses, which, like plants, react to the surrounding environment. Multiple elements are involved in the apparatuses: digital sensors detect external agents such as temperature, the concentration of carbon dioxide in the air, and light signals. In response, actuators alter the tectonics of a paper’s surface. The outcome is the expression of the combination of a machine’s capability to sense the surroundings and the constant change of external conditions. The complex interaction of these factors generates unpredictable forms and visual effects. The thesis challenges architecture as pre-conceived static forms and instead proposes dynamic conditions responding to environmental parameters. → fig. 38–39 / p. 13 THESIS


This thesis came about through my examination of satellite images of expanding Chinese cities, which aroused my fascination and inspired me to go on a research trip to China. I took the experiences, observations and processes I had gathered there home with me, mixed them up, compressed them and made my diploma project out of them. The project consists

A perception of architecture characterised as ‘postmodern’ that is still widespread today corresponds to Ada Louise Huxtable’s assessment published in 1983: the architecture critic scoffed that one need only scratch at postmodern architects to reveal apostles of l’architecture pour l’art. Compared to the social aspirations that distinguished modernist architecture, the postmodernist representatives of the discipline, according to Huxtable, cultivated a thoroughly narcissistic view of their craft in order to devote themselves exclusively to formal questions. By contrast, an examination of the buildings, projects and writings of the architect Charles W. Moore, who is considered one of the most important representatives of postmodernism, allows a completely different conclusion. There is no doubt that his efforts to create architectural places that not only tell their users where they are, but also who they are, have sociopolitical significance. This aspiration must thus be understood as a reaction to much-criticised mass society, which, especially in the years after the Second World War, was associated with a loss of the self and, as a consequence, was understood as a threat to democracy. In his endeavours to confront alienation in modern society, he followed the avant-gardes of the early 20th century. This becomes clear not least in his engagement with the work of Le Corbusier, which Moore repeatedly sought in his texts. That his buildings nevertheless appear completely different from the designs of the International Style was explained by the architect with the technological innovations that prevailed after the Second World War, such as in communications and transport, which called for revised architectural expression. At the same time, it is apparent that Moore’s approach differs significantly from a postmodern understanding of architecture as introduced by Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown in Learning from Las Vegas. He considered that buildings are not primarily to be grasped visually, but – as spatial entities and not as mere signs – have to be ex-

perienced with the whole body. The differences from Venturi and Scott Brown, however, become even more evident in Moore’s conception of the American city: instead of directing his main attention to the street, the architect sought throughout his life to inscribe the American city with plazas and thus public places, which he intended to be understood as stages for political action. The fact that a close connection between domestic and urban space becomes apparent reflects Moore’s proximity to the architectural group Team Ten – a relationship that has been ignored just like his efforts towards participatory planning processes. However, it is precisely attempts to involve the users in the design at an early stage that stand in clear contrast to an understanding of the postmodern architect as a mere artistic builder. Therefore, it becomes clear, on the one hand, that a focus on the formal aspects of postmodern architecture, as determined by many texts by contemporary critics such as Charles Jencks or Heinrich Klotz, is insufficient. On the other hand, the efforts to allow self-experience for the users of his buildings reveal that Fredric Jameson’s view, according to which postmodern architecture decentres the subject, does not do justice to Moore’s architecture, either. On the contrary, Moore’s architecture testifies to a new interest in the authentic self, as was also characteristic of Californian counterculture in the 1960s. However, since countercultural thinking is considered to have a significant influence on today's lived-in world, Moore’s architecture, which was created under these historical circumstances, can also contribute to a better understanding of our present.


AN EXHIBITION BY THE INSTITUTE FOR ART AND ARCHITECTURE Dealing with COLD has so far been the dominant climatic condition for architectural design in Central European latitudes. HITZE, due to increasing climate shifts whose contours became visible in the past century and are now extremely critical, has now taken over this position. Architecture and urban planning are the focus of a competition for efficient, resource-saving contributions. Technological solutions aimed at maintaining our prevailing climatic and energy standards are expected. The maintenance of our accustomed lifestyles as such, especially with regard to climatic comfort, is not questioned. Instead of merely acting in a system- maintaining way, architecture and architects should assume a critical, opinion-forming role with regard to the way we live. The students and teachers of the Institute for Art and Architecture (IKA) at the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna addressed this necessary paradigm shift as part of the annual theme HITZE TAKES COMMAND in the academic year 2019/2020. The focus of the investigations was the city of Vienna as a common field of observation and examination. A systematic mapping of the local climate and particularly affected neighbourhoods commissioned by the city, the “Urban Heat Island (UHI) Strategy for Vienna”, was contrasted by IKA with projects from an architectural, artistic perspective. Based on specific questions, an extensive collection of projects and outlines of possible futures were shown, that mutually reference each other, overlap thematically and emphasize mutual references as well as contradictions. → fig. 27–28 / p. 10 The exhibition took place from 7 May to 28 May in the aula and its adjacent spaces of the Academy’s main building at Schillerplatz and was generously supported by the IMMOBILIEN PRIVATSTIFTUNG.






ENVISIONING THE CITY FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF THE FLÂNEUSE The flâneuses. Walking the city. What does the act of walking mean for women? How do aspects of gender manifest in our built environment? Through a series of guided tours, “Stadtspaziergänge”, we came together as a diverse group of individuals to explore Vienna from a feminist perspective. On several routes in different areas of the city, framed by the topics of mobility, public spaces and housing, we stepped into the role of the flâneuse. The flâneuse as such is a living demand to reclaim a concept deemed to be masculine. By simply taking up space and wandering through the city together, we redefine the concept of a male- determined urban structure. Furthermore, the experience of the collective, and the exchange within it, is essential in these processes: it allows us to broaden our perceptions, and to overturn patterns of thinking and acting. Moreover, the physical act of walking supports the ideas of future cities that allow for different speeds, usability and a sense of community, thus generating a new experience of (public) space. “Walking is framed as an elementary and embodied form of experiencing urban space – a productive, yet relatively unconscious, speaking/writing of the city.”1 Sabina Riss, Carla Schwaderer and Sabine Pollak accompanied us during these walks as experts and led discussions with the participants. The three walks during the month of June 2021 initiated a scratching of the surface, of the façades of the city, of buildings, architectural aspects of gender, and our society. We talked about power and privilege in our (built) environments, while roaming through said space, perceiving experiences, scale, accessibility, materiality and history at the various locations. Discussing, awakening memories and sharing observations with each other, exchanging thoughts and associations by using the unpredictability of everyday situations. Provoking friction and integration of bodies and theories. The format helped us to collectively observe, while being able to discuss and put our experiences into context: open spaces that do not allow children to play, male dominance in soccer cages, care work for elders and children relying on barrier-free public transport, architectural features depending on extensive cleaning efforts. Creating a different approach in architectural planning means viewing the built environment through a different lens, as well as reconsidering methods to analyse and discuss architecture. In addition, research shows that women in architecture tend to support the needs and ideas of “women and other anomalies,” hence the importance of the representation of women in architecture as a tool for achieving gender equality. WE NEED MORE FEMINIST PLANNING TOOLS! The “Stadtspaziergänge” took place within the framework of “100 YEARS - SHE* CAME TO STAY”, the 100th anniversary of the admission of women to the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna, and were initiated and organised by Christina Ehrmann, Christopher Gruber and Mona Steinmetzer.

→ fig. 1 / p. 5 1 Natalie Collie: “Gender and Urban Space: Walking in the city: urban space, stories, and gender”, in: Gender Forum, Issue 42, 2013, University of Queensland, Brisbane, Australia.

The seminar WAOA1 was part of a series of events celebrating 100 years of women at Academy2. Inspired by the book Invisible Women: Exposing Data Bias in a World Designed for Men by Caroline Criado Perez, we examined staircases and windowsills, heating and ventilation, and asked how people of other backgrounds and genders would have gone about designing them. On the basis of these explorations, we made proposals for permanent changes to the Academy’s main building at Schillerplatz in the first district. As a corollary of the WAOA seminar, declarations and announcements were screamed. On 8 June 2021 at 11:00 a.m. in front of the still unfinished and fencedoff building of the Academy at Schillerplatz, one by one, students unrolled posters and made declarations of intent. These were short, precise and above all loud. In the background was the object of our desire (the Academy building) and a puzzled construction manager probably feeling overrun. What was responsible for the loudness was a megaphone. It acted as a prosthesis, as an aid to spread far and wide what was being screamed. With a megaphone, one’s voice doesn’t need to be loud. The megaphone amplifies it for you. Moreover, it makes all voices equally loud. The megaphone was a tool and a shield. A mask? In any case, it was a sign of the action that was taking place. It was liberating and attracting. We know the familiar tone of a megaphone. It sounds like authority and, at the same time, like revolt and protest. It is about being loud, about being heard. At the end of the day, it was about excited students screaming about: → misogynous air (Alexandra) → the advantage of having a second point of view (Veronika, Gloria) → the need for a room of one’s own, a boudoir (Mona, Christina) → the avoidance of visual exposure at the entrance of Schillerplatz (Ferdinand) → see-through floor slabs (Nikolaus) → the necessity of screaming (Lara, Lucia) → swastikas on the floor of the auditorium (Helena) → disrupting and distorting monumental spaces (Saro) → softening spaces (Antonia) → activating corridors (Marie) → activating monumental staircases (Oscar) → defining and empowering instead of dividing and conquering (Joey) → rigid environments (Albane) → wishes for transparency (Daniel) 1 The acronym WAOA was coined by Michelle Howard as the title of the performance that took place in the spring of 2021 in front of the building of the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna on Schillerplatz. Students screamed their wishes, proposals, demands and thoughts regarding gender bias in the building’s design. 2 “100 YEARS - SHE* CAME TO STAY”: One hundred years ago, women were admitted for the first time to study at the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna. The event series “100 YEARS - SHE* CAME TO STAY” uses the anniversary to honour and continue the struggle for equality.

fig. 1 Reumannhof (1924-1925), Margaretengürtel 100–110, 1050 Vienna. Photo: Christina Maria Ehrmann. How are our cities sexist? Envisioning the city from the perspective of the flâneuse → p. 5



+90m C











fig. 2–3 Masking Abraham, Austrian Forum for Culture, Raimund Abraham, New York City/USA, 2002, rendering street view and cross section. Armin Maierhofer. A


Masking Abraham is the fortbau of the Austrian Cultural Forum in New York, a 94-metre-high structure that wraps around the facade of the existing building, covered with tiles that follow the contours of the city.


Fortbau – A Building?? → p. 1–2

New York 11 E 52nd Street Austrian Cultural Forum Raimund Abraham 1:100




fig. 4 The banal and the specific – Play in Ottakring and Hernals, playground typologies. Annick Bächle, Tim Handl. Groundswell Studio – The Ottakring and Hernals Report → p. 2

fig. 5–8 Deloding procedure, Split Hopper Barge. Luke Handon. Space-Beings 1 – A Split Hopper Barge is not a House → p. 1



fig. 9–18 Technoscape. Investigation of the Marchfeld oil fields and crude oil notations. Andreas Brandstetter, Magdalena Stainer. Phantasmography I → p. 2–3



fig. 19 Ode to a Ruin, section chunk choir. Julian Berger. Smashup Too → p. 3

fig. 20–24 Befriending the unfriendly. A reflection on the facades as actors in the public and the private sphere, outlook. Lea Bjerg, Clara Lundgaard. Groundswell Studio – The Ottakring and Hernals Report → p. 2



fig. 25–26 “... and the stones are still cold”. Researchbased site-specific interventions in a stone quarry in Wien Sievering. Oscar Binder. Phantasmography I → p. 2–3

fig. 27–28 Exhibition view, Vienna Model and periscope. Photo: Christina Maria Ehrmann. Hitze Takes Command → p. 4



fig. XX-YY Vienna Model and periscope. Photo: Christina Maria Ehrmann. Hitze Takes Command → p. X

fig. 29–31 Phönixteich notations, filmstills. Marcella-Malin Brunner. Prototyping Paradise → p. 3–4



fig. 32–33 Coalesce, path. Alina Meyer. Smashup Too → p. 3

original topography

original river bed

fig. 34–35 Unseal! Gestures of Opening. Antonia Autischer, Claire Kaiser. Groundswell Studio – The Ottakring and Hernals Report → p. 2



fig. 36 Bathing sequence of the proposed building. fig. 37 Contemplative entrance area / washing oneself carefully / transition between outside and inside. Clara Maria Fickl. Reclaiming Bathing Culture – Body . Water . City → p. 4

fig. 38–39 Apparatus 04, axonometric view and model. Davide Porta. Towards a new liminality – A series of explorations of beings in constant change → p. 4 Apparatus 04 is a hanging tower structure that moves in response to the changes in ambient light. The change of light conditions in the environment therefore affects the curvature of the structure. As a consequence, the papers’ surfaces change their tectonic. The structure consists of a robotic arm with three degrees of freedom and whose tip follows light signals in a three-dimensional space.



fig. 40–41 Motus, Habitat 67, Moshe Safdie, Montreal/ CAN, 1967, extract-structure, atmospheric view on the building. Olivia Ahn. Fortbau – A Building?? → p. 1–2



fig. 42–43 Meet the organs of my joy, models. Dilâ Kırmızıtoprak. Prototyping Paradise → p. 3–4

fig. 44 Head in the Clouds. The Community under one Roof, section. Paul Böhm. Smashup Too → p. 3



fig. 45 Symbiotic Garden, axonometry plantlife. Prima Mathawabhan. Smashup Too → p. 3

fig. 46 I draw three rectangles on the docks next to the pile of sand. 10 cm x 10 cm x 30 cm. The measurements of 3.000 cm3 (3 liters), which is the amount of ashes that remain after cremating a human body. fig. 47 I nail flyers to the tree I had marked two week ago in an Inter-Vention. The flyers are a documentation of the former Inter-Vention. Fabian Buxhofer. Mnemoscape – Landscape as Collective Memory → p. 4



fig. 48–49 Heterochronia. Digital environment condensing times, events and stories associated with Schloss Wilhelminenberg. Santiago Vásquez-López. Phantasmography I → p. 2–3




fig. 50–51 Looking into the water, Split Hopper Barge, view from below. Emma Malea Noll. Space-Beings 1 – A Split Hopper Barge is not a House → p. 1



fig. 53–54 The Showertower, The Claw, physical models. fig. 55 Filmstill, diploma presentation. Maximilian Unterfrauner. Beyond the Fence – A proposal for an alternative production of urbanisation in China’s temporary hybrid landscapes → p. 4

elliott griffith ss 21 fig. 52 Isolation Transformation Revelation, Split Hopper Barge. Elliott Griffith. Space-Beings 1 – A Split Hopper Barge is not a House → p. 1




A MANIFESTO By Michael Hirschbichler

“Manifesto”s1: “a remix”2 “genre”3, like the world they refer to. “Ism”4, “schism”5, “fanaticism”6 – human play and plague, empires of excitement, meaningless meaning machines proclaiming convictions and “disgust”7, in rapid succession.



Rather than starting from scratch, dirty work attends to accumulated pasts and attempted and aborted futures. It grapples with the leftovers, fragments, debris of things, ideologies and lives, with the facts and fictions that haunt every spot on Earth, with the many ghosts that abound and demand engagement.

“We reject”8! “We denounce”9! “We despise”10! “We are against”11! “With disgust we shove aside”12! “We spit on”13! “We” “joyously” “piss on”14! “We combat and ridicule”15! “We poison”16! “We explode”17! “We liberate”18! “We excite”19! “We know”20! “We warn”21! “We advance”22! “We declare”23! “We exclaim”24! “We demand”25! “We want”26! “We believe”27! “Enough of”28! “Purge the world of”29! “Long live”30! “Down with”31! What? [FRUSTRATION]32 “Sitting” through “mosqu”ito-“studded” “hours” with “feverishly” “beating” “electric heart”s, “in forward position” – “watched” by “floundering” “spectres” and “hostile stars”, we set “ablaze” the “boundaries of logic” in “a furious gust of madness”, “chase” “after Death”, and find “nothing at all worth dying for”. “Dilapidated” “corpses”, “free”d from the “graveyards”, “become food for” “stupid uncertainty”, “sing” 1. of “delirious fervour” 2. of “rebellion”s and “revolution”s 3. of “calvaries of crucified dreams”.

Instead of adding new promises and toxins, wouldn’t it make sense to figure out what to do with all those that are already here and that won’t just go away?

Dirty work is concerned with whispering phantoms. Dirty work is carried out in and on wastelands, the territories of our time. Dirty work acknowledges that all images and constructions are inevitably contaminated. It is – in the language of -isms – engaged with the im“purism”63, contaminism, toxicism of matter and ideas. Dirty work is yet another type of bricolage, a remix art, a kind of dumping ground magic. It requires painting, sculpting, building, thinking with degraded, second-rate (or rather third-, fourthor nth-rate) material. Dirty work is “a searching” “process”64 that consists of careful observations (uncovering, tracing, experiencing), interpretations (putting in relation to each other, ordering, collaging, montaging) and transformations (intervening, realizing, rewriting, transforming).

“Violent” “moons” “hang” above “the horizon” looking for “hearts” that can be “excited”. “Inflammatory” “outbursts of creation” “emerge fatally exhausted”.

Dirty work tries to find the “shadow”65s of “fairyland”66 in “the rough texture”67s “of life”68, to uncover “strata of”69 “imagination”70 beneath “ruins of facts”71, and aims to build “a world of beauty”72 “from the”73 wastelands “between dream and reality, between longing for the stars and everyday labour”74.

From “the roof of the world” “decaying” “pleasure”s “rain” “incessant”ly “upon” “frustrated” “crowd”s.

Dirty work necessitates both rationality and emotion, “waking”75 and “dream”76ing. Dirty work knows that we “will endure less than”77 most of the “things”78 we fabricate.

[ACCUMULATION] Hallucinatory promises play all day in no Garden of Eden, and from “neither Paradise, nor the end of history”33 “Lenin with a grin”34 et al. offer “other misfortunes (and other”35 joys), “that’s all”36.

Dirty work “builds up and deteriorates”79. Dirty work demands pessimistic optimism. Dirty work is “not afraid to fail”80. Dirty work is an accumulation of “footsteps”81.

“Compulsive”37 “combustion”38 feeds “tangible miracles”39, “encircl”ing40 in “radiant splendour”41 “the coexistence of surplus and starvation”42.

Dirty work is an attempt to make sense of history, to pick up and turn around and transform its “splinters”82, piece by piece.

“Obsolescence is already”43 “built in”44.

Dirty work is not “imprisoned”83 “by”84 “novelty”85.

“Eyes that do not see”45 “a great era”46 instead see “dirt”47, “fever”48, “sweat”49, “troubled conceptions”50, “trash”51, “garbage”52, “waste”53 “pile up”54 “to the sky”55.

Dirty work cultivates “a discipline of memory”86 in a “reality of”87 “neglected associations”88.

Our collective output “melt”56s “into air”57 and stains the ground, “wash”58es “ashore”59 in our dreams “and turn”60s “to muck”61. ( Utopia, the nonexistent island, is finally being built, in the Pacific, off the coast of California – like most constructions of the future in an indirect way, through unintended accumulation, from the debris of the surrounding world. But isn’t that exactly what utopia has always been about? ) Amidst contaminated landscapes, covered with tenacious traces and endless claims and ideologies, with hopes, dreams, fears and stories, with waste, waste, waste, architecture – like all art and all life – is “dirty work”62.

Academy of Fine Arts Vienna Institute for Art and Architecture (IKA) Schillerplatz 3, 1010 Vienna 2nd floor

Office: Room 213, 2nd floor Ulrike Auer +43 (1) 58816-5101 u.auer@akbild.ac.at Gabriele Mayer +43 (1) 58816-5102 g.mayer@akbild.ac.at

Dirty work “exploit”89s “the glories of”90 “corroded”91 “time”92. Dirty work constructs “melod”93ies “against the darkening sky”94. Dirty work adheres to a “realism of the Earth”95. Dirty work may cause “headaches, allergies”96. In dirty work “the roaches come and go”97. Dirty work spills like “ice-cream” “dropped on concrete”98. Dirty work offers no “true liberation”99. Despite “the many misfortunes to which we are heir”100, “humour”101 is important – for “hell”102 “knows no smile”103. “One must imagine” the dirty worker “happy”104.

www.akbild.ac.at/ika arch@ akbild.ac.at

Chair / Deputies: Wolfgang Tschapeller Lisa Schmidt-Colinet Werner Skvara

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Tristan Tzara, Dada Manifesto (1918). F. T. Marinetti, The Foundation and Manifesto of Futurism (1909). Ibid. Charles Jencks, 13 Propositions of Post-Modern Architecture (1996). Hugo Ball, Dada Manifesto (1916). André Breton, Manifesto of Surrealism (1924). Tristan Tzara, op. cit. Mikhail Larionov and Natalya Goncharova, Rayonists and Futurists: A Manifesto (1913). Salvador Dalí and others, Yellow Manifesto (1928). Mikhail Larionov and Natalya Goncharova, op. cit. Ibid. Maroin Dib and others, Manifesto of the Arab Surrealist Movement (1975). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Salvador Dalí and others, op. cit. Ibid. Mikhail Larionov and Natalya Goncharova, op. cit. Salvador Dalí and others, op. cit. Mikhail Larionov and Natalya Goncharova, op. cit. Ibid. F. T. Marinetti, op. cit. Ibid. Mikhail Larionov and Natalya Goncharova, op. cit. George Maciunas, Fluxus Manifesto (1963). Mikhail Larionov and Natalya Goncharova, op. cit. Oswald de Andrade, Cannibalist Manifesto (1928). All of the following: F. T. Marinetti, op. cit. Guy Debord, Situationist Manifesto (1960). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Gustav Metzger, Auto-Destructive Art (1959-1961). Ibid. Umberto Boccioni and others, Manifesto of the Futurist Painters (1910). Ibid. Ibid. Gustav Metzger, op. cit. Robert Venturi, Non-Straightforward Architecture: A Gentle Manifesto (1966). Ibid. Le Corbusier, Toward an Architecture (1923). Ibid. Robert Venturi, op. cit. Ibid. Ibid. Amédée Ozenfant and Charles-Édouard Jeanneret, Purism (1918). Kazimir Malevich, Suprematist Manifesto (1916). Ibid. Amédée Ozenfant and Charles-Édouard Jeanneret, op. cit. Walter Gropius, What is Architecture? (1919). Ibid. Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto (1848). Ibid. Dogme 95, Manifesto (1995). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Mikhail Larionov and Natalya Goncharova, op. cit. Amédée Ozenfant and Charles-Édouard Jeanneret, op. cit. Billy Childish and Charles Thomson, The Stuckist Manifesto (1999). Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Werner Herzog, Minnesota Declaration (1999). Ibid. Ibid. Walter Gropius, op. cit. Ibid. Ibid. André Breton, op. cit. Ibid. Antonio Sant’Elia, Manifesto of Futurist Architecture (1914). Ibid. Wolf Vostell, Manifesto (1963). Billy Childish and Charles Thomson, op. cit. F. T. Marinetti, op. cit. Walter Gropius, op. cit. Kazimir Malevich, op. cit. Ibid. Ibid. André Breton, op. cit. Ibid. Ibid. Umberto Boccioni and others, op. cit. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Lebbeus Woods, Manifesto (1993). Ibid. Kazimir Malevich, op. cit. George Maciunas, op. cit. Claes Oldenburg, I Am for an Art (1961). Ibid. Mikhail Larionov and Natalya Goncharova, op. cit. André Breton, op. cit. Charles Jencks, op. cit. Werner Herzog, op. cit. Ibid. Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus (1942).

Review Summer 2021 Editor: Linda Lackner Translation: Judith Wolfframm Proofreading: Judith Wolfframm Design: grafisches Büro

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