in graubünden / a conversation with peter zumthor

In GraubündenA conversation with Peter Zumthor

7

In GraubündenA conversation with Peter Zumthor

FEUILLE À FEUILLERue Monrose 70 Monrosestraat

Bruxelles 1030 Brussel FF

9

16

18

26

34

42

52

58

66

CONTENTS

Conversation between Peter Zumthor and Barbara Stec

Shelters for Roman Archaeological Site

Atelier Zumthor

Zumthor House

Saint Benedict Chapel

Residential home for the elderly

Vals Therme

Credits

10

Shelters for Roman Archaeological Site

11Atelier Zumthor

12Saint Benedict Chapel

13

Zumthor House

14Residential home for the elderly

15

Vals Therme

16

We are sitting near the fireplace. The fire has

retrieved practically the whole house from the

dusk. Just a moment ago, music was reaching us

from the entirely-open mezzanine above. It should

come from above - Peter Zumthor wants to transfer

this feature of the old house in Haldenstein, which

he adapted himself, to the new one, designed to be

situated right next to this one. There is already

a crane standing there and the foundations are

being cast. Zumthor likes his old house and its vari-

ous elements, and he wants to include those that

have already been successfully tried here in his new

one as well. Sitting right in front of the fireplace,

we can see the kitchen, the library, the music

parlour which is also a study, and windows on two

opposite sides. Those in the kitchen are hugging up

to a rock wall so snugly that you get an impression

of a house that has been chipped out of the moun-

tain. The ones in the library and the music parlour

form a long belt that opens impressively

onto a vast panoramic vista of the Alps.

Conversations with Peter Zumthor5 January ‘03 - at home

17

Peter Zumthor [laughing] In normal things. I think that, when you work, it is use-

ful to keep observing and redefi ning the theme. The most important is the primary

theme: the basis of the design work. I believe that our work consists in acting

around this basis. I start with a theme which contains an idea.

PZ No. The theme is an idea, a concept (but not a conception), some changes, nov-

elties. When developing a work, I keep asking myself: what is it like - this concept

that keeps changing a little; where is the “hot nucleus” of the theme, because I

would not like to lose it. I think this is always one thing - the core, the nocciolo,

the fruit stone, the nucleus - which should not be lost. It needs to be pampered,

handled with care, with tenderness.

PZ It’s clear. You think and consequently another thought emerges as a logical

continuation of the fi rst one, so there’s a linear interdependence of cause and effect,

of question and answer. While intuition, feelings, emotions, associations are a huge

story, a vast space with a dense cluster of lines, also...

PZ Beauty comes with time. At fi rst, there’s the process of talking, feeling, evoking

images and questions: What emotions are inspired by this image? And that one?

What recollections does it call up? It has to be asked over and over again - what

emotions are brought about by a specifi c thing. Forget about intellect. A classic

internship in our offi ce starts with a conversation. I ask a question: What do you

think about this? A young architect says: According to the conception of... I stop

him: No. Not “according to the conception”. Say what you feel when you look at

this thing. Is it right? Stimmt es? He says: no... something seems wrong here.

The next question is: what? What is the thing that is wrong, that bothers you?

The fi rst question pertains to the fi rst emotion, and only the next one to intellectual

refl ection. The sphere of emotions is much larger, more spacious than intellect.

PZ Yes - it is direct, quick, but also vast, spatial, while the intellect is a line to me.

Barbara Stec You explain your architecture gladly and clearly. Your lecture in Krakow in the What is Architecture? cycle fasci-nated us with its precision and simplicity. But there is still some mystery lingering on. What does Peter Zumthor’s mystery consist in?

BS That base, the idea - is this not the design yet?

BS Is this perhaps that “nocciolo duro della bellezza” [the hard core of beauty] from the title of your text deliv-ered at the Piran symposium in Slovenia? Are you fond of this phrase produced by William Carlos Williams?

BS Also quicker, spontaneous...

BS Emotions create a space and the intellect - a line?

Chur, Graubünden

SHELTERS FOR ROMANARCHAEOLOGICAL SITE

21

PZ ... the memory of the body going back thousands of years, accumulation of

things, reactions...

PZ Yes. Refl ection is slow. The intellect needs time, but in the meantime, in order

to survive, you need to react immediately. Spontaneous emotion defends life. It tells

us for example: No! Run! Fear is fast and this is how it saves. If someone wanted

to answer the question why they are afraid of something, they might get killed

before trying to answer.

PZ Maybe so: all that I have inside me is more important than all that I know.

My tennis teacher tells me: “Do not think too much! If you think too much, you

destroy your spontaneous reactions, the refl exes of your organism”. I think that it

is very important for a design project to be stuck in the emotional space, which is

vast and complex. It’s not just thinking! Yes, there is a soul in us: there is the

soul, not just the knowledge.

PZ I agree with you absolutely. The world of emotions is very complex and spread

over time. However, a conscious reaction is preceded by sensual, unconscious

refl exes, which almost attack. And, right away, intelligence steps in, followed by the

intellect. If I feel good, I ask: why am I feeling good? What’s happened?

BS ... with memory...

BS ... with what man learnt as civilisation developed, adapt-ing to various living conditions.

BS Is this spontaneity of emotions more genuine, sincere?

BS Yes, but emotions are sundry. Affects - the basic, reflex-ive ones that result primarily from the body - include not only the sensing of heat or cold, but also the four elemen-tary ones: expectation/surprise, joy/sadness, attraction/distaste, fear/anger. Combinations and various shades of these feelings form new ones - still without the interme-diation of conscious analyses. But there are also emotions evoked by notion-based valuation. A smell may be merely pleasant, but how much stronger an emotion is when this smell is associated with your mother’s cake. A photograph may be void of any special expression, but when you learn the story of the people in it, it will move you deeply. Jean Piaget writes that “honesty is nothing without intel-ligence”. A lot of very strong emotions are created by knowledge and reflection. Recently, there’s been much talk about sensual architecture, which you want to touch, which you recognise more clearly with sounds, which catches and leads the eye. Some people are more sensitive to these external stimuli and sense even more impressions. But this may be the first, very physical base, which triggers emotions evoked by the large sphere of emotional intelligence.If my understanding is correct, it’s not only the sensual, affective perception of the world that you mean when you talk about emotions?

23

PZ I think that, in design work, what is important is that original, somewhat naive

feeling, but just how big the share in it of emotional intelligence is which accumu-

lates experiences and works a little like memory - 1 do not know. Maybe it partici-

pates already in its creation. Subsequently, developing the original idea, you may

change it, but more often than not what you need to do is just explain it anew.

PZ In most cases, architects are used to working on conceptions, forms. They regard

a plan as a plan, a drawing as a drawing. I am not interested in paper. I look for

architecture. I want to know how to enter the drawing to see the truth. I have to

move around within the world of this drawing and forget the drawing as such.

To me, a drawing is a space score. Each line is like a note in a music score. It sounds

with space. I ask: can you hear the music? That is - can you see this place?

This moment in space? This elevation? A young architect often says: yes, I can

see it. Then I ask: from where? From what vantage point?

PZ Of course. Because if I can see, I always have a specifi c vantage point. So I ask:

where can you see it from? As a bird’s eye view? From that window on the ground

fl oor? Where can you see it from? This is a very simple translation of a design.

Let’s go back to the score. Let’s imagine Mozart. He begins to correct the form of a

music notation; he isn’t correcting the contents of the notation, but only the form of

the score, but he knows what this change means to the music and to sound because

he can hear. At the offi ce, I always translate the line of the drawings into space.

PZ That I do not know. But, already as a child, I was confronted with designs

of furniture which I subsequently made. I worked in my father’s workshop.

Those designs were specifi c production drawings rather than conceptions.

A table, a chair, a wardrobe. Hence my treatment of a drawing as information.

BS But intelligence not only explains a reflex, and its origins, but also is capable of changing it! For example, of turning distaste into admiration.

BS Maybe, in design, there is too much talk of notions and narration, while this original emotion is ignored or not intercepted.

BS So as to catch them “off guard”: can I really see it or do I just think I can?

BS Have you always had this ease of translating notation into a spatial image, or did it come with experience?Can this be learned?

BS It seems to me that you combine two abilities that rather seldom occur in conjunction: abstract sensitivity to ambi-ances and emotions and a skill of precise vision of a specific object, a place in space. Usually, we encounter either great visionaries or perfectionist craftsmen. You find an idea in the vast space of emotion and then you know how to build it based on the available materials. This specific image does not however emerge at the beginning...

25

PZ No, not at the beginning. It takes a long process. But the idea, which has no

shape at fi rst, is very important. Gradually, you need to fi nd some realness for it.

At the end and in the end, architecture is a physical body. But the precise design

should not be made too early. Sensing the atmosphere is not so easy at all. It often

comes with diffi culties. And building the atmosphere, the one that we want,

is even more diffi cult, [laughter] I think that this combination of ideas, moods

and emotions with the physical properties of materials, their weight, warmth,

hardness, softness, humidity, is very important. It is obvious that, when you take

two materials and put them together, you create something between them, some

energy. You put them close to each other and see that there is an approximation

point at which they begin to interact. Beforehand, they are indifferent, then

they connect, but tension a-rises between the indifference and the connection.

The energy, tension and vibrations, the harmony between materials - this is

what architecture is to me.

PZ It’s diffi cult to talk about these internal, physical tensions, but it’s easy

to feel them.

PZ No. You need to just be confronted with them, look at them rather than imag-

ine them. We always have samples of materials at our offi ce. I can see right away

which one go well with each other and which do not. Sometimes, my colleagues do

not manage to sense that energy between two elements as soon as I do, but when

I tell them how I see them, they admit that I’m right. This is why I think that,

individually, feelings that are very much internal are also very, very common.

PZ No, they’re not that! The more subjective, the more objective. The deeper we

immerse ourselves in individuality, the more common, deeply and typically human

a sensation becomes. A thing that is situated deeply is shared by all. This is a quite

well-known observation.

PZ Yes? It’s interesting...

BS This is standard physics: elements of matter react to one another depending on mass and distance.

BS My impression is quite contrary: it’s easier to talk about them than to feel them.

BS Are they not subjective, unique?

BS Could you offer advice on how this inner energy of materials, objects can be reached? In your texts, you often write: “things seem to speak” - e.g. “this design seems to say: it will be exactly like this”, or: “this window seems to say: I’m new”; “Edward Hopper’s paintings seem to say: a special force resides in the common things of everyday life”. How should things be understood? I recall that also Le Corbusier was fascinated with something that was emanated by things.

Haldenstein, Graubünden

ATELIER ZUMTHOR

29

PZ Exactly...

PZ This is a beautiful idea. It refers to the realness of things and consequently

a specifi c building.

PZ Wirklichkeit. The realness, signifi cance, reality that produces the effect

of existence.

PZ This is something normal to me and I don’t think that I’m exceptional. Maybe

I have more confi dence for myself and patience in watching, without thinking.

BS In L’espace indicible (1946), he wrote about radiation of things. You have written: “l need to cling to the thing in itself, get close to the essence of an object that I am to create, trusting the inherent force of the structure which, if devised with sufficient precision in terms of its place and function, is capable of developing without the need of any additional infusion of artistic value”. I can see Zumthor’s interest, so I look up the fragment in Le Corbusier’s text. “A flower, a plant, a mountain exist in a certain environ-ment. If they attract attention with their all-powerful attitude which inspires confidence, it is so because this conspicuous attitude evokes specific radiation, a reso-nance. Made sensitive to so many natural bonds and moved, we stop to watch the space which is organized with a grand sweep; we then assess the interaction of what we are looking at”.

BS To Le Corbusier, the fourth dimension of space was not time but rather that internal radiation of things. He believed that architecture should subject the radiating realness to some processing.

BS There is a word that recurs in what you say or write: realness. You have written: “lt is only between the realness of a thing and imagination that a sparkle of art may erupt”. What do you mean when you mention the notion of realness?

BS How can one “cling to things” and feel the “effect of their existence” so strongly?

BS Can this be called contemplation of things?

31

PZ Yes, exactly, contemplation rather than meditation. To start with, strive to

understand what a place wants from us rather than impose what we want on it.

What is needed is confi dence in this feeling. By the way, I think that architectural

education is a little too academic; it doesn’t touch that point of the physical realness

of architecture but rather stays within the sphere of philosophical argument.

My students at the Accademia di architettura at Mendrisio know me and know

that I hate these discussions. Additionally, when they start talking this way

themselves, I interrupt them and ask: tell me about what moves you, what strikes

you, where warmth is, the soul, the passion. If there is no passion, I’m not interested

in what you think. But if there is passion, words come easily by themselves,

and they are simple words.

PZ And it’s the same thing again - it’s not emotions, soul that you design, that you

structure. What you design is a building which leaves space, that void as a recep-

tacle for emotions from things in themselves. To leave that void - but actually more

than just leave - you need to create atmosphere for receiving it.

PZ I am not interested in using a thing as a metaphor, an allegory. The realness of

life is primary, while aesthetic and practical merits are secondary. Architecture has

a body of its own because its in it that life happens. Emotions.

PZ I have heard something...

BS So, with realness we go back to emotions. To grasp that effect of existence, “to design with an intention not so much to provoke emotions, but to receive emotions” - this is your sentence again.

BS You also often use the term “the body of architecture”. Such was the title of your text delivered during the Form Follows Anything Symposium in Stockholm in 1996 and also of your Krakow lecture. Architecture is not like a body, but it has its own body, an architectural one. It’s a term that instantly evokes the subject of life. Because a body is alive. It seems to me that when you talk about the body of architecture, it is this inner life that you want to bring up. It’s not about appearance, but rather about that inner vibra-tion that you often write about. In my opinion, the most beautiful complement for architecture is to say that it has a body, that it lives within its architectural area of life.

BS Have you ever encountered a tendency to fold in archi-tecture? It is proposed here to turn the rigid costume of architecture into its ‘flexible’ body.

BS I get the impression that you’re the one who is successful in turning into reality what architects have been theorizing about, being fascinated by the principle of a fold. Or perhaps that you come the closest to the system of Gilles Deleuze himself, as presented in his book Le Pli.

33

In a nutshell: folding is simply the extremely painstaking work of developing the project from the original seed of the programme - your theme base - through to the final effect, which surprises us with its form. The very form is not being designed here, but rather comes into being due to the influ-ence of internal forces, present mainly in the function, in materials, and of external ones, coming from the place with all its wealth and complexity. You too speak about the importance of the place and function and about inner vibra-tions in materials. But folding architects use computer meth-ods to prepare the data, e.g. about the place, from geology, climate, history through... the number of passing aeroplanes.They use Rene Thorn’s and Jacques Lacan’s diagrams. Then they map these diagrams on topographic’ grids and transform the seed of the theme. This practice is used, e.g., by Peter Eisenman, Bahram Shirdel...

PZ Yes, yes. I think that I talk about similar things in a more normal sort of way.

My vision of architecture is more connected with realness rather than with theory.

Often, in the fi nal effect of work - in a building - 1 can see the theory that was

presented by an architect. I don’t like that. It is different at the beginning of work:

then theory is needed, but it rather must turn into reality and vanish. I don’t like

it when, in the end, forms are produced that deafen you with their talkativeness.

Architecture, in my view, as a notion of the body that we have talked about,

is not there to teach us something, to tell a story, but rather for be lived in. Isn’t it

so? To be lived in and not to simulate life. This may be why my architecture differs

from the one you talked about. Although I have a similar opinion, that the place

is very important, always different, unique, one that needs to be understood.

But I think that I myself am much, really much better than even the best

computer! [laughter]

PZ Every human being is one as long as they open up, enter the place in a true,

real manner. Because there’s the place - but there’s also a great world in yourself.

All that we have been talking about, what you have and what you know, experi-

ences, awareness. All your worlds juxtaposed to the place that radiates. And you are

the most sensitive instrument of cognisance. The things that are in you and which

you don’t have to be aware of entirely - this is your reason, your wealth. This is a

very deep truth pertaining also to collective memory and we are lucky to have one.

When I sense a place, something moves me more, something moves me less or not

at all. But if something moves me, I ask right away what it is and I start to analyse

whatever it is. The intellect steps in because I have to know how to enclose such a

living void. Because, in the end, architecture is an auxiliary art to this mystery.

I think that a void is the core of architecture. You cannot design a void, but you

can design its boundaries. And this is when a void comes into being.

PZ Of course. To me, the most fascinating thing is this living fragment of space

encompassed by boundaries. Also in a city, when I see a public square, unnerving

outskirts, everything being more or less traditional, I can feel that living void. Or a

house, one, two, three houses in a valley, here nearby, in a gorge with steep slopes

BS You’re a specialist in sensing places...

BS To me, this is still the body of architecture, delimiting the inner life.

Haldenstein, Graubünden

ZUMTHOR HOUSE

37

[Zumthor uses the word: Schluchf ]. This is what I am interested in very much,

that void. How do you create it, make it full of atmosphere, adequate to the need

(this is important), where nothing is an obstruction, and there’s only that directness.

The German language has an adequate word for that: die Stimmung - the mood,

ambiance; etwas stimmt - something hits the spot, matches the ambiance, but also:

Instrumente werden gestimmt - instruments are being tuned. All this is the base to

me, the need. The fold theoreticians talk about the seed, programme, inner code;

perhaps I am more pragmatic, closer to physical realness. But perhaps this is almost

the same... And then, this base is the starting point for long-term work - still on

that fi rst, original theme. There always has to be an image. At fi rst, it is not clear.

I can see some things while others are in the mist. And this means that I have not

yet worked long enough. During the design process, these things become clearer

and clearer. It is also possible to live in this space that is being designed, to move

around in it. I am in the spaces that I design when I take a shower, when I wake up;

I enter the room that is being designed to see what it’s like and if I like it. And only

then do I go to the offi ce and check the models and plans if it really is like I see it

in my imagination. Space meaning: void. What I’m interested in is work on the

boundaries, the outskirts of this mystery of the void. It’s important how it radiates,

how light spreads within it, what it does to it, what it is like on objects. Light is a

mystery, too. Isn’t it? So, what are the walls of this void like; do you want to enter it;

does it give you warmth, tranquillity... ? All these words are a little traditional...

PZ I think that it’s natural to want to get to know the family you make a design for.

I quickly sense what they like and what they don’t. I’m very open. But I have a need

to be trusted. After all, I am a specialist; maybe I just know better. I think that,

if there is this openness between people, it is not diffi cult to understand this unique

couple, marriage, family. Sometimes, the client is a friend. The lady pharmacist that

I am designing a house for in Chur, the Haus Schwarz, which looks just like my

new house, has a lot of confi dence in me. This is a very good client because she asks

me what I like, how I would do it for myself. Her house will be different from mine

in that inner space that we keep talking about, but with similar, identical details.

PZ Yes. But, in Bregenz, we were trusted by the inhabitants of the city.

BS With this strong, personal commitment and sensing of space, what is the process of designing the intimate space of a private house like? You’ve mentioned designing a house for a family with six children. A separate flight of stairs leads to each of the four bedrooms upstairs. This is peculiar rout-ing, with a strong impact on how space, privacy is sensed. You call your new house, which is currently under construc-tion, a “house for walking” because it is designed as an elongated U, encompassing long, narrow spaces.

BS This confidence is also inspired by your successful built projects. Although, you’ve mentioned the great distrust shown by clients in Bregenz.

BS Since we’ve brought up the subject of the Kunsthaus in Bregenz, I’d like to ask about inventiveness. You’ve written that designing means to you an inventiveness which is not to consist in surrealistic inventing but rather in discovering.

39

PZ Yes. There are houses which are built a bit like aeroplanes - there’s the original

beautiful design, and then a whole series is made. I’m not interested in this. I like

the process. All our projects are very different from one another as fi nal forms.

When you compare, say, the old folks’ home in Chur, St. Benedict’s Chapel, the

baths in Vals, the Kunsthaus in Bregenz - each is different. I also like to look at

projects in the process of being designed - after a month, a year... when I see that

the emerging form talks about the work process. Work, specifi c work, and things

fi nd their places, they enter into their own order. This is a process of looking after

something, like after a plant - perhaps this simile is a bit exaggerated, but you know

what I mean- you work on something that must develop by itself over time. I think

that, in our case, forms come by themselves. And this is what I like. We don’t work

on the form, we’re working on...

PZ Exactly, on everything else, but not on the form. The form creates itself because

it has to - when you take materials and mark the boundaries of the void that we

talked about. It emerges in the end as evidence of the design process.

PZ In architecture, there’s always some content to be grasped in form. I’m most

successful with the form, I think, when you can’t sense it in my work, when the

form speaks merely about the content. This is when I like the form, and it seems

to me then that I experience the content in as simple a manner as never before.

PZ [laughter]... and if not, then we go back. We never change the form itself, but

we go back to see again the conditions, the theme, and we fi nd the choice that was

an error. Because I am convinced that correcting just the form without going back

is artifi cial and will sound alien.

PZ Always, in the end, it is evidence of our work, authenticity - a building is

created. It is an evaluation of the design process, it testifi es to all the work.

BS ... on everything else?

BS Could you then formulate your design methodology?

BS And if not?

BS The form emerges on its own, as it were, as a result of the work on other elements of the design and it cannot be changed.

BS Yes, but your inventiveness is not just the uniqueness, the exceptionality of each project, but also the inventing of new structures or connections between materials that have not existed before. Admirable is the inventiveness of the Kunsthaus in Bregenz: e.g. the way large glass panels are suspended without any holes being punched through them, or the structure of the curtain wall. You create new tensions between materials that are in common use today. Do you feel that you are a bit of an inventor when you design? The discoverer of the potential hidden in the materials of a structure?

Sumvitg-Cumpadials, Graubünden

SAINT BENEDICT CHAPEL

45

PZ Of course. In the case of the museum in Bregenz, we said to ourselves at the

outset: it would be a big mistake if we built a façade that would seem to be saying

“I’m high-tech” or “l want to belong in global architecture made of glass”.

The work process was similar to the activity of an artist, maybe one like Joseph

Beuys, who liked the material. When you like a material and you approach it

sincerely because you like it, you treat it adequately well, with tenderness. To us,

glass was such a material. And it was for glass that we looked for a masterly, albeit

common way of use. Without creating that affected language, but rather decod-

ing the simple principles. It was clear to us that you can’t make holes in glass if you

treat it with sincerity, that you always see all the rims, that it should not be stressed

or pressed on. This is an example. With this intention comes inventiveness.

Then you say to yourself: this is possible! There has never been a glass elevation

without punching holes in glass, but this must be possible because it seems natural!

There’s never been a glass ceiling without a metal grillwork of frames, but it should

be possible to freely suspend panels that do not touch one another, so that they show

their rims and air can fl ow through between them. Rims are important in glass.

So a number of elements in the Kunsthaus were designed as an invention, but it

was not inventiveness in itself, resulting from curiosity and strive for originality.

It was born as a natural process of solving the structure in accordance with our

intention to treat well the material that we liked. Architects often ask me how it

was possible to make terraces without expansion joints. Anyone who has had some

contact with the building practice will know that there must be expansion joints

every four metres. There are none at the museum in Bregenz: neither at the gallery

levels nor on the stairs. We worked on this - like on an invention - for a very long

time. I think that my primary background is very important. I was brought up in

an environment where people worked with materials. My father always designed

some structures; he built a house by himself; experimenting was something obvi-

ous. That practice gave me a sort of confi dence that, when I wanted to achieve

something, it would be possible. I am also an architect who listens, with great atten-

tion and sincerity, to specialists, contractors, builders, engineers who help me erect a

building. A lot of discussion, work, exchange without end - this ping-pong: they-us,

we-them, they-us - all of that in order to understand what is possible and what

is not. In a production process, you always need to know what the best machines

are today, the best tools to process materials. We enter the design process together.

Diffi cult does not necessarily mean impossible. I think that contractors trust me or

begin to trust me after some time and they know that I can feel the material and

I don’t want anything impossible, even when it seems so at the beginning.

Besides, from the outset, I explain my idea to contractors in such a way as to

make them feel that they are co-designers in the project. Then they begin to work

with the same passion as everyone else at our offi ce. I like to talk to craftsmen.

And they become proud that we, architects, talk to them like to partners, ask for

their advice, treat them seriously. But when a thing in the design is not practicable,

I change it. Because, when something is impossible, then it is impossible.

When a specialist explains to me that there’s a specifi c device which just cannot

cut a specifi c curve in glass, then I admit that he is right. But in numerous cases

I begin to wonder if that long glass panel could not be positioned differently, or the

disc changed in the machine. .. and my specialist is infected by me with this strive

for inventiveness. But this takes time and conversation.

BS To you, change does not at all mean the necessity of compromise. In Krakow, you seemed indignant when I told you that my teacher had called architecture an art of com-promise. In Peter Zumthor’s architecture, compromise does not exist, but still, when developing an idea in an elongated work process, you do change the design.

47

PZ I keep changing the design, but it’s for the better. Exactly in order to avoid

changing the idea. A compromise is a change for the worse, meaning a change of

what we like the most, the hot nucleus of the theme. And you mustn’t do that.

PZ Yes. [laughter] But the story is quite the other way round. Cutting the rock into

strips was the simplest thing. At the very beginning, I was told that there was a

machine which could cut rock automatically, day and night, into narrow strips as

long as one metre. But I had a different idea. As it can be seen in the model made

of pieces of stone, I wanted to build walls of huge, solid blocks. People started ask-

ing me questions: where are you going to get these big chunks of rock; how are you

going to transport them here? For two years, I didn’t know the answer. I don’t

know, [laughter]. Dio mi aiutera! [God will help me!]. Then came the moment

when I went to a quarry, met the boss there and asked him to prepare me the larg-

est blocks of rock they have, for the following day. What I saw next day just terri-

fi ed me. I had imagined powerful rocks, and then even the largest ones turned out

to be very small! I was absolutely disappointed. But walking around the quarry,

I noticed stacks of thin slabs, trimmed for fl ooring. The quarry was full of such

thin panels. I saw that such treatment of rock is the simplest and the easiest.

I understood that, out of the thinnest elements possible, I needed to build the

massiveness and homogeneity of a block of rock. Like in woven fabric: the thinner

the thread you use and the more densely you press them together, the more solid,

smoother fabric you get. I asked Pius, the boss at the quarry, how I could get two,

three different thicknesses. He said this was no problem. I asked what made that

type of rock different. He said that you could make very long and narrow slabs by

cutting it.

PZ [laughter] You see, what seems to be somewhat unique here was actually the

simplest and most practical thing. It resulted from the quality of the rock and the

quality of the cutting machine.

PZ Isn’t it simple?

BS In each of your projects, there is some craftsman-like perfection, something unique. When I found myself in the stony world of the baths in Vals, I understood what rock mass meant. You achieved the homogeneity of rock by cutting it into narrow strips, almost incredibly thin compared to a block of stone. One can clearly sense the pressure of these horizon-tal elements and, on the scale of the whole wall, this produces the coherence of tension, like in solid rock.

BS Hence the unusual structure of the walls in the baths?

BS It’s sufficient to be open at the right moment, to change a two-year-old vision of the project and make the right decision. [laughter]

50

We take a short break. There are books on the

mantelpiece: Keeping a Rendevous by John Berger;

a thick volume of Architekturtheorie im 20.

Jahrhundert; a photocopy of L’uomo delta folia by

Edgar Allan Poe; Goethe’s Werke, Kommentare und

Register, Band 11, Autobiographische Schriften III.

Zumthor takes the anthology of 20th century

architectural theory and, with embarrassment, tells

me that his text is included in it as well. I ask if he

feels like reading those various theories. He laughs.

Puts the thick volume back and takes a small, black book.

51

PZ ... like in the body that we keep going back to. It is not known where that

fascinating life is. You know the anatomy and the complicated life processes,

but life remains a hidden nucleus. Still, you recognise infallibly a living body

among beautiful dummies. You do not need to cut a body to see that it is alive.

Actually, you mustn’t do it, or life will evaporate!

PZ The skin, the organs are very important to an organism: you need to get to

know them better and better and work on them. The same way, in the body of

architecture, there are organs, skin - and at the end there’s architecture - the ambi-

ence. The soul of that architecture appears only when we are not painstakingly

trying to show it, I think. Well, maybe its there at the very beginning and all you

need to do is to take care of it... Many have talked about that: Le Corbusier, Goethe,

Handke, Bergman. This is a different idea of creating things than the formal one.

Form, whether beautiful or ugly, is a totally different matter. A house may have

the same ambience as, for example, a tree. No one asks the questions whether it is

beautiful or ugly and how it is shaped formally. It is natural within its own order

which is suffi cient.

PZ Exactly. Nature is always beautiful. Whether in nice or in bad weather.

But buildings - not always. Some lose a lot when it rains. I want to build buildings

that are not ugly when the sun ceases to shine.

PZ Yes, there are such places, often the outskirts of a large city, for example.

So, my answer would depend on the assignment. If the devastation were signifi -

cant, I would have to be allowed to build something big, which would be capable

BS The skin, the shell is very important. Grown into the interior and still receiving external bodies...

BS By this approach, every plant or animal is beautiful.

BS And what does an ugly place mean to you? In Krakow, I asked if you had built anything at an ugly place, because what I know grows out of a beautiful landscape or at least a pretty context. Then you replied: find me the ugliest place in Krakow. So I’m asking: if a place is ruined, soulless, how do you collaborate with it, imbibe this identity?

PZ This is wonderful! I prefer Goethe. Let me read you some fragments. This is

much profounder, touches the core of things that I’m interested in. For example,

the question: how do you build an idea which is not standard and develop things

in such a way as to make each of them fi nd their origin... Or this, Philipe Jaccottet’s

thoughts about Magritte’s work. He can see a painting which contains of course a

lot of mystery, poetry. But a disappointment arises in him. This painstaking effort

to present a secret, to show how big a poet I am, how well I sense the mysticism of

the world - this bothers him. Exactly. Mysteries should be left covered. This is my

theory. [laughter]

BS Also in architecture, that “hard core of beauty” must be inside, and then it will become manifest on the outside in its own way. Without an opening, a wound...

Chur, Graubünden

RESIDENTIAL HOMEFOR THE ELDERLY

55

of changing the depressing ambience. To “charge” e.g. an estate of blocks of fl ats

with atmosphere, a square would be needed, a street, say, two kilometres long. But

there are also lots of small things to be either improved or removed. Details begin

to work slowly in a given space. Let me go back to saying that nature is always

beautiful and when you cast away what man does, you will restore the beauty and

harmony of the landscape. Unfortunately, more often than not, people - we - litter

the physiognomy of the earth. Cast away man’s structures and see how beautiful

nature is.

PZ I’m a traditionalist in the sense that what is important to me is history, the

memory coming from a place. A cityscape, for example, is studded with people’s

stories, good and bad, and this is its wealth. It isn’t tradition that I’m interested in,

but rather culture, memory, continuity meaning history, the present and the past.

But this continuity is not linear to me - it doesn’t run from the past to the future

like a train. Development happens by leaps, it makes loops, circles... Time is not a

straight line; perhaps its route is a circle...

PZ Ha! “Falda”. “Falda”? [He laughs trying to pronounce it in Polish] But certainly,

time has its cycles, periods to which it goes back, as in life functions. During a cycle,

things change. I think that you need to be aware that there is the place and a whole

world in you that do not stop. There’s always my choice which creates an interaction

with a place. And only with that realness comes imagination, inspiration.

PZ La Zisa... it’s a Norman building above Palermo. I know it. It’s full of atmo-

sphere that is Norman and Mediterranean at the same time. Odd, standing next

to Greek temples. Some of them moved me. There is serenity in them. Or here,

further on... Andrea Palladio.

PZ This adds up to a whole.

PZ One of my favourites. I mean there is a group of architects in whose works

I sense something special, for example in Le Corbusier’s works. I’m interested in

BS So architecture that grows harmoniously out of the natural crust of the Earth is closer to you? In your texts, you emphasise the importance of clinging to a place, to its physi-ognomy. But you’re not entirely a believer in tradition. You have written that if a building merely continues what is local and reiterates what the place already has, there is no con-frontation with the world and no presence of the contempo-rary. At the same time, you write about your disappointment when a window tells you: I’m new.

BS Or a fold - falda?

BS So Wirklichkeit to you is not just a specific place, but the whole realness of a human being at that place.

Zumthor reaches for Goethe again.

BS Is he your favourite architect?

57

the same thing as them. Le Corbusier, Frank Lloyd Wright, Palladio, Goethe...

Please, listen to this, Goethe writes about Palladio’s Carita abbey in Venice here,

built merely in ten percent. Only ten percent, but you can feel the genius, the com-

pleteness, the complexity. “Such a work should be studied for years” says Goethe.

Further on, about Vicenza, Goethe writes: “My favourite Palladian building was

allegedly the house in which the artist lived”. And fi nally the Rotonda, absolutely

stunning... Or this - during a meeting of the Olympic Academy, discussion on

whether innovation or emulation is more useful to fi ne arts? Splendid! This is

what I like. More than that thing.

PZ Yes. They leave more space.

PZ Exactly like this. You’ve said it all. Eyes open, and so forth. I want to give a

student confi dence in himself or herself. Be open, look at things, look for a theme,

a strong idea that fascinates you, follow that theme! General education is one thing,

when you get knowledge and create a base, for example in high school. But the

other thing is: trust your truth. I want to cooperate, based on this rule: I’m the same

as you - to make them realise that this older architect does not know everything,

and sometimes knows nothing. I get pleasure out of being just as naive, joyous and

void of knowledge as they are. This is nothing bad! These are the moments when

dialogue starts, light, simple. After our meeting during the holiday season, my col-

leagues, architects, told me: “You were a bit like Plato with his disciples - a half was

made by your introduction, the other half was created by the students themselves”.

I like it when young people open up and speak their minds. For example, a girl told

me then: “No, this is not true what you’re saying; it’s not like this, that we all have

some place of our own, a collection of things that we identify with. After all, there

are the nomads”. She herself had lived with the nomads, lived in tents, wandered.

PZ ...that wandered but still was a place.

PZ Personally, I think that a place is an identity.

He points to the anthology of architectural theory.

BS Do you prefer to look outside strict theory of architecture, in Handke’s, Williams’s poetry, Goethe’s commentaries?

BS There’s no such thing as Peter Zumthor’s style, but still one thing recurs: high quality, masterliness always in a dif-ferent form. You’re a professor at the Academy of Archi-tecture in Mendrisio. You create a special bond with your students. How does one teach students this high quality, mastery which has no constant form, but is always mani-fested in a different one? How does one teach that the only rule is: be always open, ask questions anew, look with your eyes wide open?

BS She had a place that wandered.

BS And what does identity mean to you?

Vals, Graubünden

VALS THERME

61

PZ Yes. Maybe this is my weakness, but this is how I feel about it.

PZ I’m designing a modest architectural intervention into an old zinc mine in the

village of Sauda. It is still this openness. And time.

PZ Yes.

PZ Ah, yes, The American Lectures.

PZ I like it very much. Of course, not metaphors, and so on, but atmosphere.

PZ It’s not like this all the way. Please, imagine a large room or a house that are

supposed to be the setting for various situations. An ambiance that is too specifi c,

a stage set for just one show would reduce the content volume, the absorptiveness

of the void that we’ve talked about. But it’s something different when we make an

installation setting for a jazz festival. Then, creating an appropriate atmosphere

through the stage set is very important. Architects can learn a lot of things from

stage setting. Primarily, to leave space for ambience. I’m not against stage setting

in architecture. A stage set artist currently works at my offi ce.

BS And, having such a strong identity of your place, one that you identify with, you can understand places that are absolutely alien. You have been invited to work on a project in Norway because you have a reputation of an architect who can recognise places ... despite this strong Swiss iden-tity.

BS A point on earth, physical, specific?

BS “Slow process”?

BS This slowness that you also talked about in Krakow reminds me of quickness in Italo Calvino’s perfidious approach. The association occurred to me while I was read-ing your commentary on his term vago (nondescript, vague, nice, pleasant). You wondered how to turn this pleasant ineffability into reality in architecture. And, after Calvino, you answer perfidiously: in precision.

BS I found a thought about spectacularity in your book. I sense that you are annoyed by “architecture for the stage”, “its gestures want to be as effective as possible and want to be looked at. There is little space left for me”. So, stage-set architecture that wants to be looked at is not your favourite?

BS Oh! This is a surprise. Although, I’m probably begin-ning to understand. You treat the art of stage setting with awareness - rare among architects - of what it is: creation of a framing scenery for a performance. Putting boundaries around this void for the ambience that you have talked so much about.

63

PZ No? Oh... then I’m very disappointed.

PZ It doesn’t matter that much: short-lived or long-lasting... If the effect lasts for a

short time, it is important too. It can last just a moment! You didn’t see our Expo

pavilion in Hanover. It was a stage set. Especially, when musicians, barmen, visitors

appeared on it. The pavilion was built with stage-set effect in mind, seductive with

views, elements of light, movement, overlapping plans, the lively action of the show.

It was a stage set. Also the evening in Basel that we are preparing with the students

at our academy... is going to be a stage set. At the museum, at dusk, we’re going to

start a public meeting entitled: Ambience in Architecture. I have selected exactly

that moment at dusk when the light is the most appropriate to me. I like the idea

of the students creating a 1:1 stage set in a large room, because that room itself

has to speak about atmosphere. Otherwise, my arguments will not be credible,

they may sound false.

PZ Big words! [laughter]

PZ This word is too strong. True is the clarity that I ask new questions on

each occasion, and then over again. This is what I like. The place, the time,

the need - are different.

PZ This is how I understand the truth. I am the only element that remains the

same, but not identical all the time, because I keep changing.

PZ Yes. I’ve noticed that people like to say “Oh! Zumthor is a minimalist archi-

tect...”, “Oh! Zumthor is an architect of wood...”, or now: “Oh! Zumthor is an

architect of beautiful things!”. Wait a little! [laughter]

BS The way I feel about it, there are no short-lived effects here; they are protracted in time. I enter the baths and the longer I stay at this place, the more I like it.

BS But still, although you talk about atmosphere and emo-tions, you do not strive for them as much as it is done in a short, intensive stage performance. The time of architecture is different from the time of looking at a stage set, and therefore probably emotions are distributed differently in this living void? Your architecture is to me more self-restrained and it doesn’t say “I want to be looked at”.

BS Thank you very much for this reflection, but I thought somewhat differently, that you preferred elegance, self-restraint, minimalism, purity of space, truth...

BS Is there anything in architecture that could be called a lie?

BS Taking on new situations without cliches can be seen in your practice. Each project, building is different.

BS Are you the only continuity?

66

Text taken from Casabella #719, February 2004. Conversation between Barbara Stec and Peter Zumthor.

PHOTOGRAPHY CREDITS

CREDITS

Cover - Daniel La France

On the way to Vals

p.4-5 Daniel La France

View from Haldenstein

p.11 Daniel La France

Exterior of Zumthor’s atelier


Interior of St Benedict Chapel

p.13 Casabella #719

Exterior of Zumthor’s house

p.14 Casabella #719

Exterior of Residential

home for the elderly

p.15 Casabella #719

Exterior of Vals Therme


Exterior of Shelters for

Roman Archaeological site

p.20 Casabella #719

Detail drawing of Shelters for



Interior of Shelters for








67


Exterior of Zumthor’s atelier

p.32 Casabella #719

Interior of Zumthor’s atelier

p.38 Casabella #719

Interior of Zumthor’s house

p.41 Casabella #719



Exterior of St Benedict Chapel


Exterior of St Benedict Chapel

p.48 Casabella #719

Section drawing of

St Benedict Chapel


Interior of St Benedict Chapel

p.44 Casabella #719

Detail drawing of

St Benedict Chapel

p.40 Casabella #719


p.41 Casabella #719


p.34-35 Casabella #719


p.36 Casabella #719


p.28 Casabella #719

Elevation drawings

of Zumthor’s atelier

p.30 Casabella #719

Interior of Zumthor’s atelier

68


Exterior of Residential




p.60 Casabella #719

Schematic plan of Vals Therme

p.62 Casabella #719

Interior of Vals Therme

p.65 Casabella #719

Interior of Vals Therme

p.64 Casabella #719


p.64 Casabella #719



On the way to Vals

p.54 Casabella #719

Window detail of Residential


p.56 Casabella #719

Interior of Residential


in graubünden / a conversation with peter zumthor

Documents

peter zumthor5

old house

primary theme

home17peter zumthor

music parlour

design work

pz beauty

vast space