Architecture and the Public Good

Architecture and the Public Good

Architecture and the Public Good

Tom Spector

Anthem Press

An imprint of Wimbledon Publishing Company

www.anthempress.com

This edition first published in UK and USA 2021

by ANTHEM PRESS

75–76 Blackfriars Road, London SE1 8HA, UK

or PO Box 9779, London SW19 7ZG, UK

and

244 Madison Ave #116, New York, NY 10016, USA

Copyright © Tom Spector 2021

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021937357

ISBN-13: 978-1-78527-734-4 (Hbk)

ISBN-10: 1-78527-734-0 (Hbk)

Cover image: Image by Tom Spector.

This title is also available as an e-book.

CONTENTS

List of Figures

Acknowledgments

1. The Architecture Profession and the Public Good

2. The Architecture Profession in Capitalism

3. Who Is the Public?

4. Public and Private

5. Toward an Architecture of Publicness

Appendix

Notes

Bibliography

Index

FIGURES

  1.1 Louis Kahn

  1.2 Architecture culture map of the United States

  2.1 2016 Revenues for the largest architecture firms

  2.2 Rents increase as design quality increases in commercial office buildings

  2.3 Chicago skyline

  2.4 Boston Towers

  2.5 Globalized AE revenues, 2016

  3.1 Taksim Square, 2013

  3.2 Tahrir Square, 2011

  3.3 New York Firemen’s Memorial, 1913. Harold Magonigle, architect

  3.4 Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial, 1982. Maya Lin, architect

  3.5 Oklahoma City National Memorial and Museum, 2000. Butzer Design Partnership) (210 feet of the fence remain outside the memorial)

  3.6 National 9/11 Memorial and Museum–2011. Michael Arad, architect; Peter Walker, landscape architect; and Daniel Libeskind, master plan

  3.7 Empty Sky Memorial, New Jersey, 2011. Frederic Schwartz and Jessica Jamroz, Frederic Schwartz Architects

  3.8 Trafalgar Square, Pride March, 2010

  3.9 Black Lives Matter, Charlotte, NC

  4.1 Isaiah Davenport House, Savannah, Georgia

  4.2 San Francisco Lesbian-Gay-Bisexual-Transgender Community Center

  4.3 Green-Meldrim House, Savannah

  5.1 American Institute of Architects, September 12, 2017

  5.2 The Capitol Mall, Washington, DC

  5.3 The Archway at Rowes Wharf, Boston, SOM architects

  5.4 Oklahoma City, Bricktown

  5.5 San Francisco Federal Building, Morphosis and Smithgroup architects

  5.6 Salt Lake City Federal Courthouse, Thomas Phifer architects

  5.7 San Francisco City Hall

  5.8 California Academy of Sciences, San Francisco, Renzo Piano Workshop, architects

  5.9 City of Arts and Sciences, Valencia, Santiago Calatrava, architect

5.10 British National Library, London, Colin St. John Wilson, architect

5.11 Biblioteque Nationale , Paris, Dominique Perrault, architect

5.12 The Oculus, World Trade Center, New York, Santiago Calatrava, architect

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The material and arguments in this book have been in development for a number of years. Parts of the argument have originally appeared in other publications and been tried out in other venues. A discussion of the coercive aspects of our codes of ethics was first aired at a conference convened at Cambridge University in 2003 by Nicholas Ray and Andrew Saint and later appeared as a chapter in the book Architecture and Its Ethical Dilemmas edited by Nick Ray. The problems with moral relativism under globalization were presented as a paper at the 2018 conference of the International Society for the Philosophy of Architecture in Colorado Springs.

A discussion of the disjunction between good design and good business was first tried out as a presentation at the London School of Economics in 2001 and presented in a revised form at the 2017 American Institute of Architects (AIA) North Dakota chapter conference. An essay on my interest in the applicability of Habermas’s work on the public to thinking about architecture was presented at Newcastle University in 2010 and first appeared in print in the journal Scroope in 2011. A discussion of publics and counterpublics was presented in Boston in 2012. An essay on the need to acquaint feminist architecture and feminist ethics first appeared in the journal Center in 2007. I have tried out the concept of publicness on several occasions and in print as a chapter in the Routledge Companion to Architecture and Social Engagement edited by Farhan Karim. Many thanks to everyone who listened, read, questioned, and challenged me to improve.

Many thanks also to the peer reviewers at Anthem Press for their insights and criticism. You have improved this work. Finally, many thanks to Nick Ray, whose supportive criticism at various stages of this project were invaluable to its realization.

Chapter 1

THE ARCHITECTURE PROFESSION AND THE PUBLIC GOOD

Introduction

I love being an architect. My fellow architects’ deep wells of idealism, artistry, and technical knowledge always challenge me to be better. But, as a profession, architecture needs improving. Our profession has struggled for so long to articulate a durable, convincing, and encompassing ethical place in the world that its vulnerability has become one of its regular features. Challenges to its legitimacy are both commonplace and come at us from several directions: indirectly from the forces of globalization which are transforming practice in ways that undermine moral agency, more pointedly from neoliberal economists who question the efficacy of all state protections and politicians who are suspicious of professional expertise, from related occupations seeking to improve themselves at our expense and, even from within, by an enduring fractiousness that leaves it relatively easy pickings for the others to invade or dismantle. Combine the unresolved tensions within the profession that have been with us from the outset with those external sources of attack, and you have a profession whose tenuous status is belied by the situation’s ubiquity. If you’ve only ever lived in a tornado, then that is your normal. But we can step outside the swirl to envision a better way of practice so that the good of the profession prevails. To do this, however, we must understand and resolve our internal conflicts before we can turn our attention outward with both clarity and a common sense of purpose.

Figure 1.1 Louis Kahn

Source: Courtesy American Building Museum, Robert Lautman Collection

While a profession may well function as a locus for certain societal tensions—the legal profession prominently so—the architecture profession’s internal conflict, created along the suture between art and service which in no small part defines it, unfortunately leads us to undermine our ethical mission in the world almost as soon as we assert it and, in the process, reduces the profession’s potential as a force for good. This tendency toward self-abnegation asserted itself yet again in late 2020 when the American Institute of Architects’ (AIA’s) influential New York chapter, in response to the eruption of social justice protests of that summer, issued a high-minded statement against those architects designing criminal justice facilities in the United States due to the deep-seated racism driving much of the criminal justice system, while only days later in London The Guardian reported on a spate of British architecture firms forcing their employees into fraudulently claiming pandemic furloughs.¹ Thus, while some architects push their national organization toward new ethical horizons, others are seeking to subvert the most basic moral responsibilities to their employees, to their fellow architects, and to a nation trying to ease the social cost of the pandemic crisis. This is how we undermine our best impulses and our determination to prove the profession’s importance to the world. We look outward to champion the need to fight racism and global warming, to promote social justice in our cities, to encourage recycling, to achieve net zero emissions and cultural diversity in our work, while at the same time on the inside the profession makes little progress on its own racial diversity, drives women out of it, awards work glorifying autocrats, and fails to enforce the dignified treatment of its most vulnerable members. If we want to change our profession’s standing in the world so that it can become a more effective force for its improvement, a strong place to start would be by doing a better job of living it.

The enduring fracture between art and service that lies at the root of this situation would not be so momentous were it the case that those practitioners whose actions do the most to undermine its ethical aspirations operated in the profession’s dark and marginal crevices, like the medical profession’s pill mills do. But the opposite is closer to the truth. Our famed artistic heroes are rarely our moral exemplars and our service champions go mostly unsung. We honor such important figures in modern architectural history as Louis Kahn, Frank Lloyd Wright, Mies van der Rohe, and Richard Meier whose art either requires disdain for such Enlightenment-based, middle-class niceties as prudence, temperance, justice, reduction of class differences, the nobility of all work and the ineliminable dignity of all persons—or else the ability to exercise such disdain is treated as a perk of their elite status.² The collective urge to shrug off architects’ more embarrassing actions because art requires them cannot help but place stress on our claims to professionalism. The result is an ongoing, seemingly interminable, often impatient, and sometimes downright mean internal discourse over the art and service divide. How did things get this way?

Architecture’s Culture of Patronage

Though the architecture profession as we know it, like most professions, owes its intellectual debt to the Enlightenment and its material origin to the Industrial Revolution, it has never fully rid itself of the culture of aristocratic patronage that sustained it prior to these transformative events. The distance between this eighteenth-century dedication to George III in a book by William Chambers:

To THE KING. I HUMBLY beg leave to lay at Your Majesty’s feet the following Dissertation upon an Art of which You are the first Judge, as well as the most munificent encourager […] Your Majesty’s dutiful servant and faithful subject, WILLIAM CHAMBERS.³

And Office of Metropolitan Architecture (OMA) partner Renier de Graaf’s approving reference to a statement by Frank Gehry:

I think the best thing is to have a benevolent dictator—who has taste! ⁴

is mainly one of formality, not intent, and it gestures to the idea that the remnants of the aristocratic patronage orientation have proven quite durable, though altered into what we know as the star system, into the present day in both education and in the maintenance of elite status. The architecture profession is particularly susceptible to a childlike desire for protective father figures, more so than other professions, because of its determination to favor the intangibles of art or design over such quantitative measures as profits, productivity increases, reductions in mortality or the number of people elevated out of poverty as primary indices of success. Achievement, then, is measured by how successfully the artist elevates his or her patrons above mere popularity.

Denise Scott Brown, who has been a close observer of this situation, understands well the implications of this determination: Why do architects need to create stars? Because, I think, architecture deals with unmeasurables. Although architecture is both science and art, architects stand or fall in their own estimation and in that of their peers by whether they are ‘good designers,’ and the criteria for this are ill-defined and undefinable.⁵ Scott Brown suggests that, lacking objective criteria, a persona (a guru) must stand in as the object of desire or criticism. That persona’s ability to answer to no one and run roughshod over others becomes a success indicator. Thomas Fisher writes that this orientation hurts the profession’s ability to assert its societal benefits: Our design culture, ironically, may present the greatest hurdle to demonstrating our value.⁶ Indeed, as we shall see, many of the claims architects make lack hard evidence. Fisher points out that architects surely have a significant role in quantifiable public welfare functions, such as enhanced energy savings, but is quick to say that architects do a poor job of quantifying the results:

Too many in the profession hold on to the out-of-date idea that quantifying the effects of design somehow diminishes it and destroys its mystique, an idea that mystifies most people outside of the profession and that lessens our influence. Add to that the equally antiquated idea of the gentleman architect who shouldn’t appear to need or want money—a self-fulfilling prophecy that too many clients have been all too happy to oblige.⁷

The profession’s vacillation between art and service—haughty artists held up as mirrors of real achievement, but emphasizing service when presenting itself to outsiders—greatly explains why it has never resolved these tensions in the training of future architects. The tensions originated in the nineteenth century, where the pinnacle of architectural training, the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, was entirely patronage oriented. Prospective students—nouveaus—seeking entry at the Ecole could apply directly by way of portfolio or instead sign up to learn directly under the tutelage of an established master who was not part of the Ecole. Students, not enrolled in the Ecole, trained in these ateliers with the hopes of passing the entrance exam and those who were already in the Ecole sought recognition through their association with a known practicing master. The masters ran their ateliers as status symbols of their greatness. Their students’ success at the Ecole and at the annual Salon not only reaffirmed their masters’ greatness but also brought more commissions. Success bred success. The greater the master, the more talented students wanted to associate and align themselves with a proven track record at both the Ecole and the Salon. Competition among the independent ateliers meant that the Ecole could raise the bar even higher guarantying that it would get only the best of the best.

Neither the Ecole nor the ateliers taught in any organized way the mechanics of putting buildings together. According to Jean-Paul Carlhian,

It never attempted to nor ever had the pretention of teaching architecture: it was not a professional school by any stretch of the imagination. What institution whose curriculum never required more than two exercises requiring the drawing of wall sections would ever aspire to such a reputation? The Ecole, in the mold of many a French institution of higher learning, concerned itself with the shaping and training of minds: it aspired to teach future architects how to think, architecturally; and by introducing them to a carefully devised multiplicity of exercises exposed them, time and again, to the exercise of judgement.⁸

A contemporary account by John Meade Howells of the Ecole system may sound disturbingly real to employees of some firms today. The nouveaus were treated abominably: "The atelier is, in its way, like a tiny republic—a slaveholding one, I was going to say, for the nouveau is an actual slave, though without the hopelessness of real slavery, since he is at the same time the embryonic ancien."⁹ As with the modern elite office, without the nouveau, the atelier could not exist; and this is primarily a matter of ways and means.¹⁰ "In the atelier world, then, simply two classes exist: the ancien, who is everything; the nouveau, who is nothing. A third and higher class might be added, a sort of high-priesthood, surrounded in its isolation by a strict doctrine of infallibility."¹¹

After the Ecole was dethroned as the standard-bearer of architectural education by modernism, the Bauhaus sought to provide an example for the democratization of the culture of patronage:

Gropius eliminated such traditional, hierarchical, and status-oriented titles as professor and student, substituting instead the term master and, for the varying levels of students, apprentices, journeymen (those how had passed the first examination set by the Weimar’s local guilds), and junior masters […] Yet despite the Manifesto’s elevated claims and the new titles for students and professors, the Bauhaus was little more than a conventional academy when it opened its doors to its initial 150 students.¹²

Apparently, these attempts at democratization were more thorough with the art and design students than with the architects, whose work had some market value. By 1922, Whispered complaints about Gropius’s use of publicly subsidized Bauhaus students in his private architectural office began to be heard.¹³ Thus, the conditions of slave labor of future architects crept in anyway.

Even though the Ecole des Beaux-Arts artistic values became superseded by those of modernism, the school’s aristocratic attitude toward work, in which a student’s investment of time is treated as infinite and therefore valueless, combined with the patronage orientation in which the master holds the keys to the mysteries of design, has remained part of the culture in both modern schools and elite offices. This is precisely how Louis Kahn’s office operated. In Kahn’s office, young employees

rarely stayed for more than a year or two; they returned home or simply had to make more money because we often didn’t get paid for four or five weeks at a time […] it’s also something that you can’t really emulate. I tried that in the early days of my own office, but it really didn’t work. You have to pay the bills. So, the world is certainly blessed with Kahn’s work, but it’s a very rare thing.¹⁴

About the persistence of this orientation, Denise Scott-Brown has observed: "The authoritarian personalities and the we-happy-few culture engendered by the Beaux-Arts stayed on in Modern architecture long after the Beaux-Arts architectural philosophy had been abandoned."¹⁵ The direct repercussions of this orientation can be found in the difficulty the profession has in establishing its value to the outside world, in the frequency with which its practitioners ignore the basics of fair labor practices, and in its reluctance to call out sexual harassment of employees at all levels.

As any fraternity brother knows, hazing builds both camaraderie and resilience while it inculcates the status quo. Howells describes a demeaning event which consisted of meanly clad nouveaux being paraded down a Parisian street to the sound of brass instruments, while being sprayed with cold water. While this hazing ceremony might have been unpleasant, at least it had the virtue of being overtly what it was.¹⁶ Too much hazing goes on today under the guise of other names. As Stella Lee says,

To really effect change, we need to focus on culture, and where it is solidified—in education. Architectural education is plagued by the mentality that suffering is a necessary part of its practice. Sleepless nights and poor self-care seem to be par for the course for creative production. As a guest juror at a university architecture department, I once watched in horror as a student fainted from lack of sleep during her presentation.¹⁷

Nowadays, employers are more sophisticated. They treat employees as either friends, management, or fellow team members, and thereby insinuate that everyone is responsible for pulling his or her share of the load—but the trick is that only the employer or manager gets to define the load. These are exactly the sorts of tactics used by the British firms against their employees during the Covid-19 pandemic which were exposed in The Guardian . This modern hazing leads to a version of Stockholm syndrome among employees who become the enforcers when a young employee stubbornly insists that he or she will only work a standard week. According to Andrew Maynard,

This attitude, as expected, put me on a crash course with management. When it was clear that I was going to be uncompromising my employer became passive aggressive and easily rallied a handful of fellow employees against me. I was accused of not being a team player. I was accused of not being committed