FOR M A ND FUNCTION
The maxim, ‘form follows function,’ might be one of the most widely-known misinterpreted maxims across the design professions. It was coined by American architect Louis Sullivan, who meant function in much broader, more romantic terms than the narrowly focused utilitarian definition that the Modernists extrapolated years later.1 Early Modernism sought liberation from old ideas in new technologies and materials, embracing ideals of practicality and simplicity as honorable goals for a modern life. This also came with calls for radical aesthetic change, characterized by boxy masses, stark white walls, and unadorned columns. The denouncement of ornament and decoration was perhaps the most extreme break from previous historical styles. Adolf Loos’ famous essay Ornament and Crime, even asserted ornament to be a mark of the degenerate and uncultured.2
Today, architecture mostly categorizes ‘function’ into either structural function, or programmatic function. While the underlying structure of the building tends to remain relatively static, its program is dynamic, as the use of the building is subject to change. The form often outlives its proposed use, which then undermines any aim to bind ever-evolving function to form. Aldo Rossi observed this in the Palazzo della Ragione in Padua, noting, “In particular, one is struck by the multiplicity of functions that a building of this type can contain over time and how these functions are entirely independent of the form. At the same time, it is precisely the form that impresses us; we live it and experience it, and in turn it structures the city.”5 What then, is this murky relationship between form and function? And if function is fleeting, what should form follow?
The Modernists, though, found their functionalist ideology at odds with the formidable aesthetic they created for themselves. In many cases, outward aesthetic display trumped logistical efficiency. More than performance, Modernists wished for their architecture to speak to its inhabitants, to serve as “stage sets for actors in an idealised drama about contemporary existence.”3 Le Corbusier’s Villa Savoye, though it may have looked like a ‘machine for living,’ was uninhabitable. Its flat roof started to leak only a week after the Savoye family moved in. The empty house now serves as a monument to Modernism’s lofty aspirations as well as its fateful shortcomings. The other issue with function-as-pure-utility, is that despite its straightforward question, the answers are endless. Adrian Forty illustrates this with a cup: “...All objects with the same use should look the same, but this is patently not the case, as a glance at, say, the history of ceramics will show: cups have been produced in an endless variety of designs.”4 What’s more, judging a cup by its usefulness will not help when one has to choose between two incredibly different but perfectly functional cups. There must be another criteria by which design can be evaluated, because function can only get one so far.
1 Weingarden, Louis H. Sullivan. 2 Loos, “Ornament and Crime.” 3 De Botton, The Architecture of Happiness. 4 Forty, Objects of Desire. 5 Rossi and Eisenman, The Architecture of the City.
144