Di 34 | Suprio B - Memory and Invention | DOMUSIndia 11/2014

domus 34 November 2014

November 2014

Volume 04 / Issue 01 R200

Author

Contributors Apurva Bose Suprio Bhattacharjee

Kaiwan Mehta

Photographers Hemant Patil Pallon Daruwala Gonzalo Puga Smiljan Radic Tomoyuki Sakaguchi

INDIA

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CONTENTS 35

INDIA

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Editorial A cabinet of ideas and arguments

36

Contemporary museum for architecture in India

Kaiwan Mehta

38

Kaleidoscope-lexicon

Manolo De Giorgi

57

Measurements

Italo Lupi

60

Graphic autobiography

Suprio Bhattacharjee

66

Navkar Architects

Projects Memory and invention

Suprio Bhattacharjee

78

Edifice Consultants

So what is the shape of a knowledge society?

Apurva Bose

90

ABRD Architects

Integrating simplicity

96

Smiljan Radic

Serpentine Pavilion 2014

Ruggero Tropeano

Volume 04 / Issue 01 R200

Title

Confetti

LA CITTÀ DELL’ UOMO

November 2014

Design

102

Rassegna Office

107

Feedback Ruggero Tropeano’s Zurich

LA CITTÀ DELL’ UOMO

LA CITTÀ DELL’ UOMO

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Cover: Clad in brick, the zigguratlike profile of the Brick School of Architecture in Pune designed by Navkar Architects forges an immediate connection with the landscape. The building is intended to age and weather as quickly as the materials allow, such that the students and users of the school begin to appreciate the beauty of a surface’s materiality, and the mark of time upon surfaces.

Whiteboard notes from a lecture on the purpose and criticism of art objects

by Kaiwan Mehta. A series of ideas and arguments flow across spaces such as the classroom or the magazine, where a subject-field and its practice gets evaluated, reflected upon, and hence rejuvenated.

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36 EDITORIAL

A CABINET OF IDEAS AND ARGUMENTS

This issue begins the fourth annual cycle for Domus India, and in this issue we review the nature and role of a magazine within its field of operation; in our case, that being architecture and design, which draws from, as well as extends into art, visual culture and city studies.

Primarily, it is most important for Domus India to have established that it will understand architecture only within a broad cloud of subjects and practices, which may stretch beyond the tools and forms of architecture, but it is also necessary we understand the body of architecture today, which is much different from its 16th and 19th century understandings.

So what one has realised in the past few years, as one shapes and designs a magazine, or any other form of public discourse on the subject, is that, one is, at all points, trying to understand through these deliberations and conversations – what is ‘architecture’? What shapes ‘architecture’? How do we understand ‘architecture’? And this, in many ways, is a constant, ongoing story of trying to figure out what ‘architecture’ and its extended field is all about. There were words we used to talk about architecture, and phrases that helped us discuss buildings, and their designing and making... but we realise those same words and phrases stand on a different plane of meaning today!

There are new words that have also entered the discourse... and we are still figuring out what is to be done with them; but we know that they are important to the operating of the field.

So what does a magazine do? Its primary task is to contribute to the operating field, to reflect its means and modes of operation, and hold up a mirror to the way the subject and field are shaping up – itself and the world. It should build the ground for productive criticism and evaluation, through means of ‘thick description’ and creative drawing of the field-network, referencesreminiscence, and understanding of resources that build up the practice and its intellectual measure; at the same time, it should have the courage to pull the ground below its feet!

Understanding that Domus India was, in a way, a Library of Time for the field of architecture in India, as well as a Homing Cabinet, every issue is a ‘cabinet of ideas and arguments’ on display, on exhibition... to shape itself into a provisional book – a provisional book rewritten and redrawn, or extended and expanded, every next issue. Every issue records in a hurry the many worlds that architecture occupies, the visual world we shape and inhabit, the world of making and building we live in, and operate within. It accounts in a ledger the tensions and imaginations the world of architecture that shapes and unmakes itself day after day; the landscape of smiths, carpenters, techies, bankers, corporates, politicians, and all those who partake in the making of a physical world we live in. Every issue runs against time, as it tries to bring within its fold the many measures of the time it occupies; the many measures that scale the length and meaning of architecture, day after every changing day! It collects and

Kaiwan Mehta

stores with a discerning eye, but also with the sensibility of a library where every stretch of account should be docked, and housed for reference at a time later, when meanings may change and new meanings may need to revisit and read some old books from the hidden shelves of a library.

In a contemporary world as ours, where ideas and meanings float, finding stories to rest in, believe in... homing of ideas to evaluate their own purpose and reflect on their lives (however short-lived) is necessary, and the magazine is precisely that box, that container which also showcases, which will allow things of various means and shapes to rest next to each other, however different or odd from its neighbour, but sit within proximity of variations, and strange objects – giving home, however transient, to an idea or a meaning. This cabinet is a showcase of ideas that are being juggled around – at times with certainty, at times with tentative lives – but they all need a resting place, a home for some brewing, some growing-up or selfreflection and evaluation; the magazine is the ‘cabinet for ideas’. Often strange, or apparently unconnected ideas come and sit next to each other, without any obvious logic... but that often is also a reflection of the times we occupy and think and work in... where stories connect the apparently unconnected, or narratives expose the hidden relationships of things when they are brought in the presence of each other through a methodology such as the editorial structure of a magazine. The cabinet has a finite form, but its glass panels always allow a constant visual conversation; and every month you can rearrange the objects, bring in new ones, or get rid of some.

The cabinet and the library have a visual logic of arrangement, like that of an exhibition, where the logic of a narrative builds up a content-form, image-meaning, conversation, dialectic. Every issue is a book, and necessarily should be so, but it is a book with many sequels, and that immediately does not let the magazine be a book as we know it. It is a book with an internal narrative logic, an argumentative format, a plot with characters; but that plot can be redrawn again in the next issue, characters may change and subsequent arguments can revisit and challenge previous ones.

We begin our fourth year with this revisiting of the library, opening wide the doors of the cabinet, and pulling out parts of objects that are still there, leftovers, and new growths on older objects... trying to understand what has been the body and life of architecture in the past of present time. Making a list of ideas and stories from which keywords emerge – rather than pick up word and establish or search for their meanings, to pick up experiences and stories and identify the key words they express or throw forth; the meaning is the journey to the word, and hence then, establishing a lexicon of words that occupy insistently and persistently, intensely and possessively the worlds of architecture, design, visual culture,

and city studies. The lexicon is a map, for time-now, and its ingredients, and stories, could be juggled to shape out a new map – a landscape of floating meanings and words that shape our time and geography – but through substantiated methodologies and processes; like in a kaleidoscope, where random broken pieces of glass constantly form new constellations, but only within strict geometry and measure, which comes from the logic of a mirrors architected in a particular structural logic. It is not ‘arbitrary disorder’ but a disorder of things that produces the measure of our landscape of work and thought, and ‘correspond(s) to our state of mind’.

The lexicon is a kaleidoscope which holds its logic in a provisional state of being – definite but transient, substantiated but open to new thoughts – and hence, capable of measuring our time and geography, every new moment, but within an ethical tectonic of belief, knowledge and political honesty. In this issue we bring the first part of this Lexicon-Kaleidoscope.

In a magazine there follows a logic of the visual, especially in a magazine such as Domus where the intellectual narrative is very important; and architecture and design that so occupy the world of visual culture are based on the skeleton and flesh of visual journeys, narratives and reminiscences. These visual residues shape also a lexicon... bits of ‘memory’ building into the ever-producing larger dream of the world, and the physical manifestation of that which we occupy.

In the Projects section we delve into one more typology this issue onwards in a focussed way – the campus. Homes and vacation homes, corporate buildings within a landscape of business districts or suburbs, etc. have been some of the typologies we have consistently explored... and so have we focussed on campuses earlier, but here three of them come up together – two are corporate campuses, and one, a school for architecture and design. These three projects, as they sit next to each other, raise very critical questions on architectural language, its intentions, and behaviour. It is evident how at times architecture takes for granted certain things, like wearing its skin like a school- or factory-uniform – automatic, and not through choice – while at other times, architecture seeks a pleasure in postponing its completion, in which there is a reflection on architecture and its templates, motifs and patterns. In these examples, we also witness hints of possible fetishising of architectural ideas and tactics; and these then precisely exhibit the state of affairs within the practice of architecture.

In all, this issue is one more milestone in the journey of architectural criticism in India; it is a milestone more in the sense of being a lap in a journey, a stretch of journey that slows down to pause and think, ruminate and mull over things, before moving ahead with things that one did before, maybe differently now on, or maybe in the same tone again... but to continue doing and journeying, with belief, ethics and a substantial methodology and process, as always. km

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Navkar Architects MEMORY AND INVENTION A Building-In-Process. The Birth of a Campus. A synthesis of spatial models from history and modernist architecture within the country. A metaphorical bridge between the forced flatness of the city, and the liberating gradient of the hill. The dissolution of the object through the experience of space and light, materiality and landscape. The seemingly effortless confluence of radical interpretation with the familiarity of memory. This exceptional building is many stories woven into one masterly meta-narrative Text Suprio Bhattacharjee Photos Hemant Patil

I wait for a leaf-green hatchback to arrive on a pleasant August afternoon, on one of the dusty roads that wind through Undri, a southern suburb of Pune, on the fringe of the Deccan Plateau. Undri is characteristic of many distant suburbs – former agricultural holdings are being converted into gated communities as the city continues to sprawl outwards unabated. Public transport is virtually non-existent. This is 1950s America. Reloaded.

The hills are an inescapable presence in this part of Pune, and thankfully so. There are times within the city when one forgets to realise the presence of an undulating ground. But here too, one can see man’s efforts to unwittingly tame and ‘generalise’ what has been offered. A gently sloping site is being filled to provide a ‘level base’ for a future shopping mall (how many of them?) while a sharply sloping hillside has been ruthlessly excavated to provide a ‘flat ground’ for building. I count a height of at least 40 feet in one case, and I wonder whether the buildings

on an adjacent plot, standing on what has now become a precipice are at risk. An absurd disrespect of topography. The world should be flat. We have no respect for the ground.

A few months earlier, in one of those instances of random internet surfing I happened to chance upon this building. A school of architecture in Pune! Designed by, wait, Girish Doshi. It took a while to sink in. I was delighted. Finally there is a public building designed by him. I had first experienced the sheer power of his work through the startling images we were shown in a presentation he made here in the city of Bombay more than a decade ago. The projects were houses, and each work was distinct from the other in its physical manifestation. But there was a sacred thread that bound them. A thread that hinted at an elusive yet graspable worldview. I have no hesitation in admitting that I was stumped at the time. I began to realise that this is one architect whose works need closer inspection.

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Opposite page: the front takes the form of an imposing dwar or gate that rises from the ground. Stairs follow this sloping edge up to the roof. This page: clad in brick, the ziggurat-like profile of the building forges an immediate connection with the landscape. Below: illustration showing a few of the design features of the building

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That opportunity has arrived today. It is a Saturday. But Girish shall attend the school – where he holds the Design Chair. Before long, I see the city car pull up, a window rolls down, greetings are exchanged, and we head onward to the school. En route, a student trying to negotiate a large pothole is taken on board.

The landscape meanwhile has changed. We are driving south to the edge of Undri, on the outer fringe of Pune. There are fewer buildings, but the onslaught of urbanisation will reach there in a couple of years. In the near distance, a hill rises majestically to frame the horizon. At its base, a dense cluster of trees offers a glimpse of many sloping roof elements.

This is the school. One enters the site from an approach road towards the west. The building is still in the process of being completed, although one may fail to realise the same. The depth of space upon entry is limited – there is no real ‘foreground’ – and thus there is little room to build a transition from frayed suburb to the institution. But nonetheless, this constraint is resolved deftly. The building has a low scale upon entry. The front takes the form of an imposing ‘dwar’ or gate that rises from the ground. Stairs follow this sloping edge up to the roof. It seems that the building here has ‘touched down’ to allow for decompression – by an amplification of porosity and access. The fairly large dwar is flanked by stairways on both sides, and one ascends to the vantage of the ‘gatekeeper’s post’. From here one looks back to the city, and over a series of terraces and cascading and see-sawing raked roofs (that in the future will be covered by vegetation, I am informed) one can ascend to the upper levels of the school programme as well. The zigguratlike profile forges an immediate connection with the landscape, as a kind of metaphor for

the transformation of the flatness of the city’s ground, to the hill that lies, quite literally, in the school’s backyard. The Academic Coordinator of the school, Anand Iyer, informs me that he often uses this artificial-natural landscape for his classes. The building offers and enables a seamless connection with this landscape – not only perceptually and metaphorically, but physically as well. The roof is meant to become an active space of engagement for the school’s pedagogical functions, as well as offering a space of mediation (and reconciliation) between contexts. The building’s engagement with its context and its impact upon users can be immediately perceived in this experience of what becomes more than a mere envelope, with the articulation of what Jorn Utzon immortalised as the ‘fifth facade’ – the forgotten space of the roof.

The ‘dwar’ is a porous edge nesting a verandah that leads to what one begins to realise is a rather intimate entrance court despite its fairly large vertical proportions – the first in a series along a central axis. Its actual physical scale is amplified by a perceived sense of greater depth – with its articulated section, light floods in unexpectedly, and views expand surprisingly.

There is no real distinction between the level of the forecourt and the ‘building’. I am explained that the only step provided was merely a need to prevent water logging in the driveway from flooding the building. The architect would have preferred no change in level. This deft handling of the building edge, or rather the attempt made to blur this as far as possible is the first of many small moves that begin to add to a Gestalt of experience. I realise the red wall seen in the photographs of the building is missing. I later come to know that a change in brief had necessitated that. Not that it

hurts. In fact, it amplifies the sense of the dwar as a mere metaphorical presence, heralding one’s transition into another realm. And one can also begin to realise how photographs can alter perceptions and expectations of what one will actually see. What seems like an imposing overbearing presence dissolves in actual experience, as the lack of depth ensures that one is never really conscious of the scale of the dwar.

It is monumental yet intimate. And it is not an object. It has the same presence as a gopuram in a South Indian temple. A totem from a distance.

An experiential threshold in engagement.

Once inside this threshold, one becomes aware of the fact that the gap observed on the top of the dwar runs right through the centre of the building. It is not very wide, around a foot or less, covered in glass to prevent the ingress of rain. As an architectural trope, it is a powerful delineation or indication of the primary axis of movement within the campus, yet it remains as this imperceptible marker, not overbearing, but with just enough of a presence to aid in spatial orientation. The ground by contrast is freeing.

Conceived of as a landscape, one is liberated to meander and mull about. Girish later informs me that the gap, besides its spatial function, also has a technical function – it becomes the necessary expansion joint for the concrete structural frame. For an observer, this brings to mind the incisions in the roof of Peter Zumthor’s Therme Vals. In both these projects, the purpose and proportions of this gap are shared.

The first axial courtyard becomes a hinge for the support facilities of the institution. From here, one can access the administrative facilities, the library, meeting rooms and staff rooms. Intimate courtyards punctuate the flow of spaces, and there never seems to be a moment where one does not become aware of the presence of the

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This spread: the building always seems unfinished, as if constantly undergoing change. And it is thus able to sustain the various programmatic transformations that a pedagogical instituition demands. Within, bridges span the voids throughout the building, creating

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endless opportunities for chance encounters, yet there are also myriad nooks and corners that will offer moments of pause and solitude.

Throughout the built space, a deep connect is forged with the ground and the sky

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1

1 Entrance plaza 2 Entrance lobby 3 Waiting / Reception 4 Entrance exhibition space 5 Director’s cabin 6 HOD’s cabin 7 Board room 8 Design chair 9 Faculty roomt 10 General administration 11 AV room 12 Pantry for staff 13 Cafeteria 14 Kitchen 15 Store / Utility 16 Multi-purpose space

4

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17 Central gathering space 18 Studio 19 Classrooms 20 Study space 21 Library 22 Computer centre 23 Workshop 24 Terrace 25 Rainforest garden 26 Water pool 27 Amphitheatre 28 Ramp 29 Transformer 30 Watchman’s cabin 31 Dry kund

This page: throughout the building, light floods in unexpectedly, and views expand surprisingly. The building itself has become an organism, a living, breathing entity – open and receptive to external stimuli. The building is intended to age and weather as quickly as the materials allow, such that the students and users of the school begin to appreciate the beauty of a surface’s materiality, and the mark of time upon any surface

5

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Project Brick School of Architecture Location Pune, Maharashtra Client Satish Misal Educational Foundation (Pooja Misal) Architect Girish Doshi, Navkar Architects Design Team Girish Doshi, Ajeet Hippergekar, Ubez Shaikh Structural Engineer Vilas Purandare Electrical Consultant Sachin Godbole Project Management Consultant Nikhil Gathani, R.K.Gathani Engineers, Pune Contractor Ajay Sanas, Sanskruti Buildcon, Pune Photographer Hemant Patil Signage Sayali Sancheti, Forest Communications, Pune Site Area 20,000 m2 Project area 3,529 m2 Initiation of Project April 2012

SECTION EE

8

SECTION DD

ROOF PLAN

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30 8

9

A B

3

6

23

11

12

26

SECTION CC

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23

14

28 18

26

C

16

17

16

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15 28

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1 2

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KEY PLAN

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landscape, or a streak of sunlight, or the sky. And the breeze. A tree is always at reach. Spaces are separated by these courtyards, or by lightweight partition walls and movable panels of glass or timber. Spaces can be opened up or closed off at will and to suit changing programmes and dynamic user-needs. One can modulate and calibrate light and natural ventilation through these panels. Scales change dramatically, with the exposed concrete ceiling never at rest, plunging downward, or rising proudly. This sets the tone for the spatial structure of the entire school.

The Academic Coordinator explains how during the short life of the school since its inception, the building’s robust structure and spatial malleability have enabled and easily accommodated frequent changes to programme and use. This very adaptability points to the building’s key strategy of sustaining a dynamic institution. As Girish tells me, he likes the fact

that the building always seems unfinished, that it is constantly undergoing change. And it is able to sustain these transformations. This building offers a telling lesson – that the building itself has become an organism, a living, breathing entity, open and receptive to external stimuli; the most important of which are the building’s users.

One begins to recall the structuralist occupations of Dutch architects in the post war years, what with Aldo van Eyck and Herman Hertzberger’s famed explorations into the nature of the educational institution and the workplace.

The key to achieving this spatial flexibility is a simple but effective detail. I begin to notice that all the beams (which are of standard width) have a groove in their soffits. For the architect, this strategy allows the beam to appear lighter and finer than it actually is – a visual ploy – as well as a certain ‘dignity’ that is accorded to an otherwise hard-at-work structural device.

This subtle ornament also possesses a dual

role – a technical function – allowing for a set of standard details to accommodate a range of partitions of varying degrees of opacity.

After the dense programme of the facilities bar, the ground plane ascends to a large space. A transverse street becomes the first cross-axis subtly delineating a threshold into a vast internal court – the ‘Kanvinde’ plaza as Girish calls it – that he hopes will become the fulcrum of the institution’s activities. He likens it to a large ‘living room’ – a space that is free of pre-determined form and programme.

The boundaries of the space itself can be transformed. Two large multi-purpose spaces on either side extend the plaza transversely when desired through a set of sliding and folding partitions. Overhead, the floor slabs progressively steps inward such that at its crown, the tip of this spatial enclosure is nearly four storeys above ground – like the void that hides beneath a ‘shikhara’ – deceptively solid

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Below: conceptual sketches of certain spatial models that were discussed during the conversation with the architect; they include drawings of IIM Ahmedabad, and representations of Dravidian/South Indian Temple models

This page top and opposite page top left, and below left: the building has a low scale upon entry. The front takes the form of an imposing dwar or gate that rises from the ground. Far left and far below right: visualisation of the entrance plaza.

Left: visualisation of the amphitheatre. Below left: visualisation of the view from the ramp lobby.

Below right: visualisation of the the central gathering space

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from the outside, but hollowed out on the inside.

This momentous space is at once outdoors – connected as it is through a number of spatial ‘sluices’ to the elements – the gap in the roof, the transverse streets, as well as clerestories and openings.

One will never cede to appreciate the breeze, nor the sky. I am informed that the terrace of this plaza will actually become a large ‘ground’ – that in the future can accommodate any needed vertical expansion through the use of a steel structure. The architect likens this ascent from a heavy base to a light shaft and then even a lighter crown to classical models, and describes the change in materials to achieve this gradation of lightness. The floors of the public spaces, which possess a semi-outdoor character, will be in cobbles of dressed basalt – a stone that epitomises the building culture of the Deccan; while the more defined spaces are in ‘Macharella’ or Andhra chocolate – a dolomite variant. The architect chose these materials for their chromatic affinity to the facing brick that clads the building’s walls, as well as for their affordability and ability to weather. Besides, Girish speaks enchantingly of how he wishes the building to age and weather as quickly as the materials allow, such that the students and users of the school begin to appreciate the beauty of a surface’s materiality, and the mark of time upon any surface. He opposes the contemporary fascination with the gloss and spic-and-span, and prefers the weathered beauty of old buildings as well as the imperfections of material – such as the cast concrete soffits – that are left untouched to show off their ‘birthmarks’ as the architect pronounces them elatedly. Our conversations veer towards our shared affinity for Mandu, and the sheer beauty of a ‘living ruin’. This brings us to the discussion of landscape. With the aforementioned vegetation on the roof, as well as the presence of courtyards within the spatial structure of the building, one begins to sense a future vision of what the architect begins to

Previous spread: scales change dramatically in the building, with the exposed concrete ceiling never at rest, plunging downward, or rising proudly. This sets the tone for the spatial structure of the entire school. This page, left: the gap observed on the top of the dwar runs right through the centre of the building. It is covered in glass to prevent the ingress of rain (also see previous spread, right).

This page below and opposite page: intimate courtyards punctuate the flow of spaces, but there never seems to be a moment where one does not become aware of the presence of the landscape, or a streak of sunlight, or the sky

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describe as a ‘used’ building – and the fact that native vegetation has been prescribed – such that after a few years it will appear as if the landscape was ‘always there’, and the building wound its way around it. I can begin to imagine the transformations that would take place. Wild grass on the roof. Large native trees swaying to the breeze. Grasses at the edge of the streets shooting away at the distance, flowers that bloom during specific seasons. Our shared aversion to a ‘manicured landscape’ hits home, as does a shared aversion to the portrayal of the artifice as an object that resists the marks of time.

The ground plane continues to rise with the ascent of the landscape, past another transverse street, and for once I am grateful for a building that does not resist the topography, but rather revels in its very nature. The studios terminate this ascent along the central axis – with axial interstices between them that lead to the foothills beyond. Each studio is a two-level space, similar to the famed studio spaces of B V Doshi’s CEPT, and a set of folding doors extend this space southward over shaded patios that will step up to form mini-amphitheatres. A retaining wall was avoided thus, and the fact that this is a building that is built within a limited budget hits home as well.

Bridges span the voids throughout the building, and chance encounters will be the order of the day. Yet there are also myriad nooks that will offer moments of pause and solitude. A deep connect is forged with the ground and the sky. The architect likens this connection to a transcendental yet primordial human urge – and he speaks of how the terrace above the Kanvinde Court will have high parapet walls that will obscure the inevitable urbanisation in the near future, ‘such that the student shall connect to the sky’.

This building is the first within what is planned to be a design campus spread over a tight site of 5 acres. The school of architecture will be accompanied by a school of design that will be twice its size, and a future hostel building shall terminate the central axis. The tight nature of this urban site defines the building’s design as an inner realm within a square perimeter, which the architect likens to a South Indian temple – a parallelogram that reveals itself ‘layer after layer’ like a set of nested figures-within-figures – as one moves through its concentric entities to the most sacred space; in this case the ‘living room’ of the Kanvinde Court. The ‘promenade architecturale’ here unfolds in this fashion.

Another model that Girish recalls is that of the ‘institutional courtyard’ – like the one at Kahn’s IIM Ahmedabad. And the sense of a changing datum within an institution and how it alters our perception of the place, similar again, to Kahn’s IIM. And the architect fondly recollects childhood memories of the courtyard of the fabled Raste Wada in the old city – that he could see every day from his room.

This building holds many treasures, and as such becomes an act of pedagogy in itself.

True learning comes through experience and discovery, and this building will become such a place of learning – with the marks of time and use etched proudly upon it. As the Academic Coordinator excitedly mentions, ‘every day I find something new here’. What greater gift could one ask for? This is a pivotal moment for our architectural culture.

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