viet domus india 2015 08

India R200

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20 Volume 02 Issue 09 August 2013 / RKDS Structure as iconography / Kochi-Muziris biennale bits of beauty everywhere / Joseph Grima engineering and tradition / Julian Worrall rebuilding communities / Khushboo Bharti a quest for cultural nostalgia / Heidi Specker m g road / Specker, Weski, Vyas, Niggemann city as dimension / Clare Arni space and possession / Dekho, Codesign amar in the making

EditorialThe investigation with forms and ideas of visuality continue in this issue too. We move into the street and urban spaces looking at the way they are animated and decorated, and what it means to document that. Jaipur belongs to a region with great visual traditions of paintings on walls, with the classic case of Shekhawati. In this city, the paintings on city surfaces seem to be an important 'quest for nostalgia' through government commissions, irrespective of which party forms the government. Forms of representation come under the scanner here as historical figures as well as prototypes of 'traditional' figures are painted and sculpted. Motifs seem to get classified as tribal or otherwise, and preferences emerge as to what kind of images should get drawn on which surfaces. All of this produces a graphic mélange of contemporary life and built form in the city, with images from a past that is imagined as ideal and beautiful. It is not a juxtaposition of images across historical periods, but an overlapping of the living city, spaces and architecture with images that construct an ideal past, a past that states and governments aspire to encourage within their populace. The rich photographic documentation with detailed annotations by Khushboo Bharti helps us to understand the landscape that is contemporary, that is struggling and the ways in which modern societies produce their pasts, along with governmental support and narrative structures — some borrowed, along with some imagined and re-imagined out of context.In the same line of thought we engage with M G Road — a name, a road one finds in every Indian city. However, this M G Road is the one in Ahmedabad, where Heidi Specker, a photographer, from Leipzig, Germany is trying to understand the city through a photo-interpretation of the road with this name. She attempts to overlap the city she has imagined and tried to figure out with all the knowledge and information that she has collected even before coming to Ahmedabad, now with the road she walks down. Names like Corbusier, Mahatma Gandhi and the Sarabhais become her cues to dissect the road. There is a zooming in and out in her photo-documentation... from the façades of nondescript buildings to pieces of modern sculpture and the flow of fabrics, she develops a portfolio of collected images. Heidi Specker also brought along some of her students, who, along with students from the National Institute of Design (NID), worked on a photo-documentary of the city and its spaces, which essentially collects the city as a collage of elements and visual formations. The city which is a collection of parts in a way, and a series of

objects, visual experiences and constant discoveries, gets structured and understood through the series of images each student has put together. This collection becomes the beginning of a process to investigate and analyse what urbanity means and how cities achieve characteristics that are specific to them, yet the city extends and exists beyond these imagined and identified characteristics. These images also capture that which otherwise may appear chaotic, without any cogent and cohesive structure and visual frame; drawing our attention to corners and juxtapositions which we would miss as a frame belonging to a larger narrative, otherwise.A third collection of street images comes from Clare Arni; at a cursory look these are images that vibrantly capture street-walls strongly painted with a variety of subjects and illustrations. However, what the frames here capture is the way these brightly painted walls engage the street and its users. With changing economic condition, the ever-growing nature of cities in India and again specifically Bengaluru which has drastically undergone changes socially as well as culturally... a study of this nature keeps in mind the way we perceive what is private and what is public, what is religious and cordoned off, or what is shared and available to many. As newer economic relationships have emerged, religious, ethnic and regionalist approaches to cities and their spaces have also grown. In this situation, what does a painted street mean? What does a painted street indicate, allow and harbour? One is reminded of the wall painting project in cities such as Mumbai, where groups of youngsters come together on Sunday mornings to paint an allocated spot on long walls along roads and in neighbourhoods — however, these often tend to be message boards, emphasising middle-class imaginations of what is good and what is bad, and promoting a sort of 'valid and acceptable street art'. While street art has always been spontaneous, and graffiti has meant claiming a street politically and opposing normative values imposed by institutional forms, the Wall Painting Project in fact introduces a form of institutional approach to even street art now! Against this, photos by Clare Arni show how streets can be taken-over by painted surfaces actually indicative of claims and conflicts.Extending our interest in design and the aspect of visuality we engage with a book called Dekho, literally asking you to see... based on the premise of seeing, looking, and the many aspects of the visual world we design, represent and hence construct. The book is a wonderful collection of interviews with many designers, discussing from typography to exhibitions, public information projects to design

education. This book is truly a first step towards comprehensively putting together a history of design in contemporary India. We bring to you a discussion on the making of this book and the idea behind it, as well as one of the interviews, that with Amardeep Behl, the designer of the exhibition at the Panjpani Gallery, Khalsa Museum, a building designed by Moshe Safdie, in Anandpur Sahib, Punjab. We believe these discussions on designing spatial narratives are something that will interest our readers.In a manner of directly discussing architecture, we look at the Volvo-Eicher Headquarters in Gurgaon, Haryana designed by Delhi-based Romi Khosla Design Studio. And we also discuss how at the Kochi-Muziris Biennale artists engaged with the architecture and built spaces of the city — a condition that emerged out of the difficult situation within which this biennale took place. Architectural elements, sites and built volumes with their form, location and constructional characteristics became the grounds for artistic enquiry and integration into the city of Kochi as well as the other concerns each artist was working with. This indicates to us the expanse that space and architecture offer in a cultural endeavour of this sorts as well as the unpredictable and elastic life and nature of buildings.The Volvo-Eicher Headquarters sits in the mish-mash of architectural constructions in Gurgaon, Haryana clearly defining a sense of its own identity which comes from its structural logic and posturing. Structure, in this case, literally generates the architectural ornament and iconography of the building. As the architects mention, the realisation of building with its various parts manufactured in different parts of the world is nothing unique or revolutionary today, however, for this to be successful within the current context of Gurgaon, is surely an achievement of sorts since various parts have been crafted with close interactions with small metal workers and many visits to the Delhi markets. Combining precise computer technologies with craft skills available in the vicinity has indeed indicated towards a system of architecture for the future. And finally, the visual logic of the built form emerges from the structure itself.With these ideas, we bring to you once again an issue of Domus India that forever keeps expanding the scope and definition of architecture, spaces and design.—KAIWAN MEHTA

domus 20 August 2013

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8

The east German city of Dessau had recently organised an exhibition that was originally held in 1922 in Calcutta at the Fourteenth Annual Exhibition of the lndian Society of Oriental Art. This exhibition titled Das Bauhaus in Kalkutta (The Bauhaus in Calcutta) is a reconstruction of the same.

(Also see pages 25 and 26)

In the beginning was the Word (cogito ergo credo)From the exhibition Das Bauhaus in Kalkutta (The Bauhaus in Calcutta)—Georg Muche

1922

Rights: Bauhaus-Archiv Berlin

12

Young Woman,Part 4 of the book

10 Original Lithographs

From the exhibition Das Bauhaus in Kalkutta (The Bauhaus in Calcutta)—Johannes Itten

1919

Bauhaus Archive Berlin, VG Bild-Kunst Bonn, Photo: Markus Hawlik

10

Envelope to: Utopia. Documents of reality, Utopia VerlagFrom the exhibition Das Bauhaus in Kalkutta (The Bauhaus in Calcutta)—

Margit Tery-Adler

Weimar, 1921

Rights: Judith Adler, Bauhaus-Archiv Berlin

This text is a foreword from the book Govind Narayan’s Mumbai: An Urban Biography from 1863 edited and translated by Murali Ranganathan

Gyan Prakash

is the Dayton-

Stockton Professor

of History

at Princeton

University. His

general field of

research and

teaching interests

concerns urban

modernity,

the colonial

genealogies

of modernity,

and problems

of postcolonial

thought and

politics. He is

also the author

of Mumbai Fables: A History of an Enchanted City by Princeton

University Press,

2011

14

August 2013domus 20

Op–Ed / Gyan Prakash

A text of urban conciousnessThe city is dead. Urban theorists tell us that the city no longer exists as a distinct, bounded entity. Urban sprawl and globalisation have turned cities into barely legible legal nodes in vast urbanised systems of communication, transnational flows of people, capital, commodities, images, and ideas. The world is now comprised of megacities with ever-extending reach and rapidly diminishing inner unity. Increasingly obsolete is the idea of the bounded city, defined by an internally coherent civic life, organised as a public space inhabited by rational citizens, and structured by clear relationships to the region, nation, and the wider w orld.Mumbai is often described in similar terms. Newspaper and magazine commentaries, and literary and academic writings frequently portray the great city in ruins. Where once textile mills and docks had hummed to an industrial rhythm, there is now the cacophony of the post-industrial megapolis. In place of the clearly defined city of mills, dockworkers, employees, and trade unions, there is now the socially amorphous world of the megacity strung out tight between its rich and poor ends. Civic services are bursting at the seams under the pressure exerted by explosive and unplanned growth. Nativist passions, communal riots, the nexus between corrupt politicians and greedy businessmen, have destroyed civic consciousness and wrecked the city as a coherent and cosmopolitan space. So when the Shiv Sena officially renamed Bombay as Mumbai in 1996, to many the re-christening seemed to formalize the transformation that had already occurred. The flood in 2005, when large parts of the city went under water, only darkened the sense of doom. The human bodies, animal carcasses, and garbage floating in the water appeared to expose the malaise set deep in the city’s body.Etched in this portrait of death and ruin are the outlines of a remembered city. Its shape peers through the images of the creaking infrastructure, eroded institutions, and ethnic eruptions on the city’s cosmopolitan skin. Yes, the city had changed, but also identifiable in accounts of transformations wrought by post-industrial growth and globalisation is the idea of Mumbai as a specific place. The city’s residents experience their globally situated and connected environments as decidedly local lifeworlds, thick with particular experiences, practices, imaginations, and memories. In fact, the awareness of change has only sharpened Mumbai’s urban consciousness and produced a surfeit of interest in the city. Consider the recent proliferation in the number of novels, nonfiction works, and films about Mumbai. Architectural historians have retrieved records and photographs to produce portraits of the history of the Island City’s built environment. A renaissance of scholarly interest in Mumbai is clearly evident in the spurt of studies by historians, anthropologists, and urban researchers. The enhanced focus on Mumbai not only reflects the growing importance of urbanisation, but also draws attention to the question of the modern city as a society.The English translation and publication of Govind Narayan’s Mumbaiche Varnan as Govind Narayan’s Mumbai: An Urban

Biography from 1863 should be seen in the light of this growing interest in the city. The first full account of Mumbai written in any language, Govind Narayan’s text is well known among students of the city’s history. It was composed before the ramparts of the Fort were torn down to accommodate the city’s growth. Yet, even at this early date, the text registers an urban consciousness. It describes Mumbai as an urban society, not as a subset of the nation or region. The Island City appears as a spectacle, a visual object to behold and appreciate. As Govind Narayan describes Mumbai’s sights and sounds, he suggests that we are witnessing the emergence of something new. He presents himself as an observer of this emergent reality, taking us on a guided tour of its wondrous social and cultural landscape.Combining observation of daily life with accounts of the city’s built environment, institutions, and people, and interspersing

historical details with legends and myths, Govind Narayan writes excitedly of Mumbai as a dynamic city, as a marvellous metropolis of cultural and linguistic diversity. He depicts the cotton trade and cotton mills, describes the city’s religious patterns and festivals, provides a view of its drinking and gambling dens and criminal life, and paints pictures of its street life. These descriptions anticipate the representations that we now associate with Mumbai. Thus, he writes of the presence of a cosmopolitan array of religions, ethnicities, languages, classes, castes, and communities in the city. The Hindus, he says, consist of over a hundred castes, ‘with no end of differences and variations within these castes.’ Then, there are ‘other castes – the Parsi, Mussalman, Moghul, Yahudi, Israeli, Bohra, Khoja, Memon, Arab, Kandhari’. Also listed are the ‘hatted raced’, - the English, Portuguese, French, Greek, Dutch, Turkish, German, Armenian, and Chinese (p. 50). Diverse and complex, Mumbai is also presented as a dynamic city of opportunities, a place that attracts people from all over in search of work and fortunes. Accounts of its famous Parsi merchants and traders serve as evidence of the chance for advancement and wealth that the city offers. So great are these opportunities that no one need go hungry. ‘In this City of Mumbai, the poor and the maimed, the lame and the crippled, the deaf and the dumb, the blind and the maimed, the good and the bad, the thief and the scavenger, the fool and the fraud, whoever one may be, is deprived of neither food nor clothing’ (p. 58). Obviously, this is not meant to describe an actual situation but to convey his image of the possibilities that Mumbai offered. In fact, a striking feature of Govind Narayan’s text is its unalloyed enthusiasm for the city. As he moves from topic to topic, now describing its urban form and then sketching its social architecture, a strong undercurrent of admiration for the city runs through the text. He strongly appreciates the environment of the modern city that he identifies in the mint, the telegraphs, metalled roads, railways, docks, cotton mills, Town Hall, the courts and the police, and street life. Recognising the formation of a new society in these spatial forms, he registers the development as a doubly colonial project. Thus, while expressing support for British efforts to develop and manage Mumbai, he also records its history as a colonial project, i.e., as an attempt to establish mastery over nature. He writes about the filling of breaches and the cutting down of trees as part of the city’s growth. We learn about the construction of docks and piers, and roadways and embankments as acts of human artifice to bend nature to culture. But these acts of progress were also acts of destruction. They involved, for example, the imposition of an abstract geographical grid over lands infused with religious and customary meanings. Govind Narayan’s recording of this process, however, also reveals that these acts of erasure were not complete. Consider, for example, his account of the construction of the Worli embankment. In describing the embankment’s erection, he recounts a legend according to which the project did not succeed until the engineer followed goddess Mahalaxmi’s instructions that he received in a dream. She told him to retrieve her idol buried in the seabed and install it in a temple. Once this was done, the embankment project was successful (p. 74-75). Whether or not historically accurate, the legend undercuts the story of a relentless march to progress. Gods and goddesses do not go away but return to haunt the site of their expulsion. As a record of Mumbai’s nineteenth century history, as a text of urban consciousness, Mumbaiche Varnan is superb. Its unavailability in English so far has meant that this fascinating indigenous account of Mumbai has remained inaccessible to readers without the knowledge of Marathi. We owe a debt of gratitude to Murali Ranganathan for translating this text and making it available to the wider readership that it so richly deserves.—

Op–Ed

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August 2013domus 20 Op–Ed

Zara Audiello, curator, lives and works in Belgrade, where she has opened a gallery. In 2009 she co-founded Association 22:37, a critical and curatorial collective that operates between Milan, Barcelona, Berlin, Venice and Belgrade. She is also project manager for Art & Tours, an agency of artist walks and guided tours of contemporary art, architecture and culture in Berlin and Belgrade.

Lorenza Baroncelli, architect, researcher and curator, today she collaborates on several research projects regarding the relationship between landscape, new technologies and conflicts in Italy, Colombia and Serbia.She worked with Giancarlo Mazzanti (Colombia) from 2011 to 2013 and with Stefano Boeri (Italy) since 2009

16

Op–Ed / Zara Audiello, Lorenza Baroncelli

Slavic rhapsody

The Balkans today are a paradigm for the failure of Europe: the

economic gap between countries of the north and countries of

the south, the inability to predict the impact of the prolonged

financial crisis on nations such as Greece, Spain and Italy,

and the separatist pressures in states like The Netherlands,

Finland and Austria, fuelling fears that the old continent may

experience a history like that of the Balkans.

The term “balkanisation” is still largely interpreted negatively

— as a synonym for small-scale wars and fierce, bloody

divisions between multiethnic communities. There is a need

instead to observe and utilise the potential underlying the

centrifugal forces. Since the breakup of Yugoslavia, Belgrade

has been experiencing a slow relaxation of urban planning

laws, in marked contrast to the strongly centralised regulations

in force during the Communist era. Today this process sees

the coexistence of state and public buildings alongside

private property without any clear legislation regulating the

relationship between them. Despite the structural rigidity

of the pre-existing urban fabric and the lack of regulations

governing it, the city is demonstrating an unexpected capacity

to accommodate and adapt to the needs of its citizens in this

post-Communist period of transition.

So who is taking care of Belgrade’s transition?

The key players in this change are certainly not institutional

figures (politicians, architects or urban planners). But neither

are they the citizens, who in developing areas of the world such

as South America, India and Africa are obliged to construct

pieces of city with the means and technical knowledge at their

disposal in order to satisfy their basic needs. What is occurring

in Belgrade, on the other hand, is a gradual revolution guided

by the dreams of an emerging middle class (professionals,

small-scale entrepreneurs and figures from Serbian culture

and subculture), who are creating specific interventions

by bringing together technical knowledge and territorial

networks to conceive and construct a new design for the city.

The first is the relationship between cultural production and

urban spaces, a situation exemplified in the story of DJ Buca

and the BIGZ Building. The BIGZ is one of the city’s most famous,

and most gigantic, brutalist structures of the 1930s. The former

headquarters of the National Printing Institution, it remained

abandoned for many years. DJ Buca, an irrepressible dreamer

and a star of Belgrade’s underground cultural life, introduced

electro-trance music to the Balkans, took hallucinogens in

air-raid shelters, and animated the demonstrations of 1992,

which led to the fall of Slobodan Milošević. In 1995, along with

two partners, he decided that renting a space inside the still-

abandoned BIGZ would be a forward-thinking choice, and so

he opened Klub Studio 69. Within a few months, following a

series of psychedelic parties attended by thousands of people,

the BIGZ began to host the city’s most important cultural

production and social spaces — recording studios, ateliers

and lounge bars — becoming the fulcrum of Belgrade’s

underground cultural scene between 1990 and 2010.

Another story, this time about the regeneration of the city’s

degraded areas, involves Maja Lalić, the Mikser Festival and

the Savamala district. Springing up at the point where the

Sava River flows into the Danube, Savamala was Belgrade’s

first urban centre. As one of the most important hubs

for infrastructure and commerce in the Balkans, it has

experienced periods of both affluence and decay, most recently

during NATO’s embargo and bombardment of the city, when it

was abandoned and became the city’s most dangerous area.

Today the neighbourhood is experiencing a gradual rebirth

thanks to positive initiatives like Mikser Festival. The festival

came into existence in 2000 — through the persevering efforts

of Maja Lalić — as a creative space open to young artists,

designers and architects. It has rapidly become the Balkans’

most important art and architecture event and has forged

itself an outstanding reputation. But the Mikser Festival’s

importance goes beyond its status as an international event.

Indeed, its significance also lies in its capacity to redesign the

fortunes of Savamala, which has evolved from a decayed and

unsafe area to become one of the city’s most fertile districts

for creativity (with a consequent rise in property prices),

successfully overcoming the lack of vision in politics and

urban planning.

The third story regards the U10 collective and their gallery

at 10 Kralja Milana. The breakup of Yugoslavia had major

repercussions for the Serbian art world. While the cultural

embargo limited its international influence, the country’s

institutions only promoted work with strong nationalist

leanings, thus marginalising artistic practices that failed to

correspond to prescribed criteria. Contemporary art,

once excluded from the mainstream, has now returned

to the country and its streets and is being renewed by

collective processes.

In November 2012, a few young artists — who were fresh out

of art school and well aware of the difficulties of accessing the

national and international art worlds — convinced a builder to

loan them a large, empty, semi-concealed space on the ground

floor of a residential building in the historic city centre. Today

this gallery is, without a doubt, one of the most interesting in

the city, not only due to the quality of the young artists’ work

on show, but also because it undermines the complex economic

dynamics of the art world.

These three stories are expressions of a hard, conflict-ridden

and extreme city, but one that is, at the same time, alive and

creative. In Belgrade melancholy and irony exist side by side.

As a city, it has not attempted to erase its own history, conflicts

and suffering, but to build on them to create its own character,

aesthetic and vision of the future.

It is a city made up of histories, passions, impulses, fears and

those same emotions that the artistic disciplines (above all

architecture and design) have, since rationalism, forgotten

to catalyse and which we should perhaps begin to examine

once again. This consideration may help to reveal not only

new technical and artistic directions, or fresh urban planning

strategies to apply to our cities, but also act as a tool to reassess

the potential that a balkanisation process can unleash, as well

as rethinking our identities as part of this incredible, and at

times troubled, Europe.

—

ZARA AUDIELLO (www.beoproject.org)

LORENZA BARONCELLI @lorenzabaroncel

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23

Editorial

Op-ed Gyan Prakash

A text of urban consciousness

Op-ed Zara Audiello, Lorenza Baroncelli

Slavic rhapsody

Journal

Romi Khosla Design Studio, Suprio Bhattacharjee

Structure as iconography

Deepika Sorabjee

Bits of beauty everywhere

Joseph Grima

Engineering and tradition Julian Worrall

Rebuilding communities

Filipe Magalhães, Ana Luisa Soares

The Metabolist routine

Street Diaries Khushboo Bharti

A Quest for Cultural Nostalgia

Street Diaries Heidi Specker

M G Road

Street Diaries Heidi Specker, Thomas Weski,

Daniel Niggemann, Pradyumna Vyas

City as dimension

Street Diaries Clare Arni, Abhimanyu Arni

Space and possession

Contemporary Museum for architecture in India curated by Kaiwan Mehta, text by Mohor Ray, Codesign

Dekho

Contemporary Museum for architecture in India Amardeep Behl, Codesign

Amar in the making

Cold CaseLuigi Spinelli

Casa al Parco

Rassegna

Lighting

CoverThe image is from the

Panjpani Gallery, Khalsa

Museum; the exhibition is

designed by Amardeep Behl.

The hand-painted mural in

the miniature style depicts the

culture and the day’s activities

in Punjab through experiential

narrations aided by a play

of lights. This is from one of

the many interviews in the

book Dekho (2013), which is

developed and produced by

Delhi-based Codesign

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106

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Contents20

24

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25

Dessau, DE; Kolkata, IN

1922 Calcutta Revisited

—

Journal

The recently held exhibition titled Das Bauhas in Kalkutta (The Bauhaus in Calcutta) organised by the Bauhaus Dessau Foundation in the east German city of Dessau was a highly significant show that took us back to a time in history when the political and social climate in Europe and in Calcutta (now renamed Kolkata) was very different from what it is today

Known for its unorthodox way of teaching and

innovative training, Bauhaus was one of the first

schools of design that, in its fourteen years of

activity, was responsible for bringing radical and

utopian thought in the field of art, design and

architecture and was also the pioneer in uniting

art with technology. Bauhaus was founded by

Walter Gropius in 1919 in Weimar, Germany and

was a breakaway from the classical German

culture and was responsible in bridging the gap

between the artist and the artisan. While many

would know the above mentioned facts but a

lesser known fact is that the first ever Bauhaus

exhibition outside Germany took place in Calcutta

in 1922 with the initiative of Stella Kramrisch

and Abanindranath Tagore. The 2013 show in

Dessau organised by Bauhaus was an attempt

at reconstructing the exhibition that was held

in Calcutta in 1922, and was based on extensive

research and original documents, newspapers,

photos and films that were collected over the

years. The exhibition in 1922 witnessed, probably

for the first time, cultural cosmopolitanism

and dialogues between different cultures at

such a geographic scale. The show included

works by Bauhaus masters Wassily Kandinsky,

Paul Klee, Johannes ltten, Lyonel Feininger and

Auguste Macke alongside contemporary artists

from Calcutta such as Gaganendranath Tagore,

Abanindranath Tagore, Nandalal Bose and Jamini

Roy who were known for their experimental art in

India. The common thread among all these artists

was modernity through cubism and abstraction.

Stella Kramrisch, then a teacher of Indian and

European Art at Santiniketan from 1921 to 1923 had

requested Bauhaus to send artworks by Bauhaus

members so as to present it alongside the Indian

contemporary artists in a joint exhibition at the

Fourteenth Annual Exhibition of the lndian Society

26

Journal

Lyonel Feininger, Mellingen, 1919Bauhaus-Archiv Berlin, VG Bild-Kunst Bonn

of Oriental Art in Calcutta in 1922.

The exhibition was an interesting

juncture in world history as Germany

was recovering from the aftermath

of the World War I and Calcutta was

a British colony and was awakening

to the idea of independence at

that moment. While the Bauhaus

movement worked towards reversing

the split between art and production

by returning to the crafts as the

foundation of all artistic activity,

it also played an important part to

trigger globalisation of art in its true

sense by being part of the exhibition

of 1922 in Calcutta.

Kalyani Majumdar

Bauhaus Dessau

www.bauhaus-dessau.de

Mumbai, IN

Experimentation of ideas through moving images

This June it was a rare opportunity for all movie lovers to witness the screening of experimental cinema in their original format at a free retrospective of Indian cinema titled Hundred Years of Experimentation (1913-2013) at Films Division, Mumbai

The three-day festival opened with the silent

mythological film Raja Harishchandra produced

by Dadasaheb Phalke in 1913, and even though

it falls under the purview of popular cinema,

it was also a benchmark for experimentation

as the first full-length motion picture in India.

The event was curated by filmmaker, scholar

and anthropologist, Ashish Avikunthak and

documentary filmmaker, Pankaj Rishi Kumar.

“The conceptual rubric traces its theoretical

geneologyfrom Gandhi’s ‘experiments with truth’

rather than Western art historical lineage of

experimental or avant-garde. Although these terms

are temporally analogous to the 1920s and have

an aesthetic origin, experimentation in Gandhi

has a metaphysical, self-reflexive and ontological

root,” notes the curatorial concept. The films were

divided thematically into experiments with gods,

state, school, documentary, short film, gallery and

animation. The three-day event was in many ways

an anthology of experimentation in Indian cinema

from the very first movie by Phalke to the movies

made in the post-colonial independent India of

the 1960s and 70s where these films generated a

dialogue with Indian history, tradition, culture

and religion. In the 90s video art and installations

became part of the art space, and artists started

to converse with the audience through moving

images. This retrospective attempted to reflect on

the cinematic experience and cinematic thought

as it took us through a trajectory that described

the changing thought process and socio-political

scenario that existed at the time when these films

were made. This intervention also triggered a

conversation that needs to be continued in order to

understand the real meaning of ‘experimentation

in cinema’ in India as this term is loosely used by

popular media. Kalyani Majumdar

Films Division

www.filmsdivision.org

Previous page: painting class, Kala Bhavana; photographer unknown; Rabindra-Bhavan Archives, Santiniketan

Image from Journal of the Indian Society of Oriental Art, 1981

↑

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domus 20

27

August 2013

Montréal, CA

A disheartening observation: most

of what we think we know about

the use of computers by architects

during the personal computing

revolution of the late 80s and early

90s is hearsay, mostly based on

misconceptions. Part of the problem

has to do with evidence. If we trace

the genealogy of “the digital” from

the many familiar techniques

in use today, an explosion of

computational practices in this

pivotal decade appears, but the

details of how computers were

used — who clicked which button

when — remain elusive. Archaeology

of the Digital, the exhibition by Greg

Lynn, is the first to start unearthing

evidence and begin putting together

a nuanced account of the complex

ecosystem that spawned the digital

architecture we see all around us

today. Matthew Allen

until 13.10.2013Canadian Centre for Architecturewww.cca.qc.ca

Archaeology of the Digital

photo © CCA, Montréal

Since its inception, the aim of The

System of Objects has been to show

Dakis Joannou’s approach to art

collecting. He is collaborating with

architect Andreas Angelidakis, who

is presenting Joannou’s world in an

uncommon and non-conventional

way. Inspired by Jean Baudrillard’s

seminal 1968 book The System of

Athens, GR

System of ObjectsObjects, Angelidakis takes a look at

the collections Joannou has put

together over years of passionate

dedication and gives them new life

by arranging them in the space of

the Deste Foundation..

until 30.11.2013Deste Foundationwww.deste.gr

The discussions revolving around

various perspectives on the theme

of space at the 14th Arquine

Conference were very enriching.

"Space as infrastructure", the concept

presented by Yoshiharu Tsukamoto

from Atelier Bow-Wow was one of

ArquineMexico City, MX

the most interesting, for suggesting

that action in a space is not only

an intervention, but also a tool

for constructing various forms of

interaction. Clora Romo @clora

www.arquine.com/en/congreso

28

Structure as iconography Gurgaon, IN

29

Structure as iconography

TextSuprio Bhattacharjee

PhotosSaurabh PandeyChandu Arisikere

DesignRomi Khosla Design Studio

Gurgaon

Something big has been moved into the placeless glitz of

Gurgaon. It has less shine and is more obsidian. And instead

of the impenetrable easy-off-the-shelf countenance we have

a seemingly ceaseless flutter delicately hung. This is less of an

insular fish tank and more of a Stevenson Screen.

Seemingly paying homage to automotive containers in which

automobile manufacturers would earlier transport their

unfinished products in an SKD (semi-knocked down) condition,

the building’s undeniably powerful structural iconography can

lend itself to amusing metaphors. As if a giant port crane has

plonked this open container neatly onto a flatbed trailer. Oh,

where’s the towing truck?

This building, the Volvo-Eicher Headquarters, is one of the

newest additions to Gurgaon’s fervently growing assortment of

buildings. What sets this one apart, at first glance of course, is

its sheer stance and expressiveness of structure, that catapults

a comparatively modest building (it only has 6 storeys) to the

foreground of the urban mish-mash it is a part of.

A study in how construction technology can show a path to how

we build in the future, the entire building was componentised

and effectively ‘built’ off-site with techniques employed

that attempt at a balanced approach between the precision

engineered edifices of the erstwhile ‘High-Tech’ genre that we

were enthralled by during the latter part of the 20th century,

as well as the ‘loose-fit’ approach that is necessary for building


This spread: built in the tropical climate of India, given the present water and energy crisis, the design of the Volvo-Eicher Headquarters building explores possible ways forward for modern architecture, employing a balanced mix of traditional and global technologies

30


within a largely ‘informal’ and non-mechanised construction

sector within the country. The country still has a persistent

craft tradition, as pointed out in previous articles on the works

of Kamath Design Studios, Studio Amita Vikrant and Vir

Mueller. And the greatest challenge of any work of architecture

within this milieu that chooses to employ sophisticated

techniques and engineering (whether in its design or in its

actual execution) is to achieve the tenuous balance between

‘what-one-would-like-to-do’ and ‘what-really-can-be-done’.

In this case perhaps, there were lesser doubts on the part of

the client to support a building that is well, pre-engineered,

but not off-the-shelf. Also the very setting of the project (in a

dense urban setting where there would be considerably lesser

challenges in terms of ‘sophisticated’ construction) pointed

towards a balance that could be struck. Heavy engineering

and fabrication came courtesy of modern steel factories in

Bidar, Karnataka — the place where the famed metal crafting

techniques of ‘Bidriware’ have their origins. Local metal

craftsmen were made a part of the project too — in the process of

assembly as well as the finer details. The façade was fabricated

in Mumbai. In many ways, the project’s execution could

point towards how, in the future, ‘reconciliation’ between the

‘local’ and the ‘not-so-local’ can be struck. Also the persistent

metaphor here is that of how the automotive industry works

This page: the client welcomed the building’s unusual design that resonates with the cultural and climatic reality of Gurgaon, while justifying the functionality of the spaces within


31

This page: the architectural design approach is that of an exposed-steel span-free engineered building

32


too, wherein a majority of components are manufactured

off-site.

Typologically, the building prescribes to the generic within a

relatively modest footprint — and understandably so, as it tries

to maximise the envelope volume. This may also have been a

prerogative from the point of view of LEED certification. The

broad two-storey base houses lobbies, shared staff facilities as

well as open-plan exhibition and user-experience spaces,

while the set-back four-storey block houses typical open-plan

office spaces. An uppermost ‘penthouse’ offers workspaces for

senior management with the option of a charming screened

terrace garden that would also house the mechanical and

services equipment.

On a site that is oriented roughly in the South-East-to-North-

West axis, the building tries to maximise its exposure to

north light for the workspaces by positioning the bulk of its

services on the longer South-West façade, which also forms a

considerable heat-sink to the blazing afternoon sun. Roughly

configuring an open ‘T’ within the rectilinear typical floor

plan, the services maximise efficiency in terms of the floor-

plate arrangement, allowing for large column-free office

spaces. While the delicate all-encompassing ‘wrap’ of kite-like

fluttering armatures over the generic glass-and-terracotta-

spandrel-panel box makes for an enticing visual proposition,

one wonders whether there could have been some scope of


33

Image indicating the scale of the joinery and the different components coming together

View of the spiral staircase within the building

The spiral staircase during the construction stage

The trajectory of this building has been quite different from other similar structures because of the construction methodology employed; various aspects of this building have been crafted with close interactions with local metal workers

↑

↑

↑↑

34


1 Lobby

2 Main staircase

3 Open work space

4 Enclosed cabin

5 Meeting / conference room

6 Fire escape stair

7 Server room

8 Toilet

9 Pantry

10 A.H.U. room

11 Louvre

12 Canteen

13 Information meeting area

14 Exhibition space

15 UPS room

16 Services room

17 Entry ramp

18 Exit ramp

19 Green area

20 Service staff

21 Security hut

22 Service equipments

23 Senior management

24 M.S. + wood pergola

Design Romi Khosla Design Studios, New Delhi

Principal Architects Romi Khosla, Martand Khosla Design TeamChandu V. Arsikere, Ram Pandarathil Nair, Sanjoli Tuteja

1 Typical floor plan

2 Ground floor plan

Structural ConsultantFrischmann Prabhu

MEP & LEED Consultant Spectral Design Services

Client Eicher Goodearth Pvt. Ltd.

LocationGurgaon, Haryana

DRAWINGS FACT BOX VOLVO – EICHER HEADQUARTER

Project Area9,972 m2

Project Phase2010 - 2012

1

3

4

554

3

4

107

89

8

1044

6

2

1

11

1

2

5

5 5 5

5

6

13

14

19

1219

17

16 10 20

20

8

8

19 6

18

20

2010

7

15

3

20

19 19

x

A

x

21

21

16

18

6

9

19 20 19201920

22

0

0

10m

10m

1

2


35

3 Elevation A

4 Section xx

DRAWINGS

11

11

19

17

19

1

11

11

19

22

22 23 23

19

44

311

24

4 3

1213

4

3 4

5

24

11

0 10m

3

4

36


This spread: the solar façade louvres have been hand fixed to pre-determined positions for modulation determined by complex calculations for each façade

1 Glazed curtain wall comprising of 24 mm insulated (HS) glass unit

2 Terra-cotta cladding comprising of ms (HDG-75 microns)

brackets, metal shims welded to steel structure along with vertical

aluminium box sections (anodised 25 microns) bolted to the

MS brackets

3 Raised floor comprising of steel cementitious infill on 500 x 500 x

30 mm thick interchangeable steel panels overlaid with 5 mm thick

carpet tiles

4 80 mm + 80 mm thick Zinc galvanised steel shallow composite

floor decking

5 39 mm thick checkered aluminium walkway on 150 x 75 mm twin

galvanised steel brackets supporting vertical flanges of virendal

truss supporting louvres

6 42.4 mm diameter MS railing

7 Perforated aluminium louvres attached to the vertical bracings

8 150 x 75 x 12 mm thick vertical flanges of virendal truss

supporting louvres

3

4

2

7

8

X

XA

1

5


37

defining the orientations and exposures differently, with

say, more glass area on the northern aspects, considering the

relatively dense metal scrim and the oblique angles at which

sunlight may brush past those façades.

Without doubt, the building's unforgettable iconographic

signature is its oversized, super-scaled braced box, with the

bowstring strut seemingly forming the axis along which the

rib-like vierendeel beams supporting the perforated aluminium

screens twist or rather ‘warp’, seemingly (and metaphorically,

yes) bent by the Gurgaon heat. Its sheer ponderous nature and

firm stance makes it a brawny companion to the gossamer-

like wispiness of the sunscreen. At first glance the immediate

contrast may strike one as odd — more so as one never really

gets a grasp of how the braced box ‘sits’ on the ground (it’s

lower frame seems to have gone ‘missing’) while the sunscreen

manages to define a specific geometry. The broadened base here

is perhaps a typological monster — what if we could have seen

the two braced cubes float free off the transverse staircase core,

seemingly levitating themselves in a cheerful, frolicking see-

saw over the not-so-fancy neighbours, with the base discreetly

tucked in?

The other significant and welcome aspect of the architecture

is how it eschews a sense of visual ‘refinement’ in favour of

a tectonic language that is ‘rough-at-the-edges’ — discarding

the overwrought corporate imagery of a ‘desired slickness’.

Details and junctions are not meant to be covered up under the

sheen of a supposed designer attire, but are rather exposed and

displayed unassumingly for contemplation and inspection. This

furthers the building’s core conceptual driver as an exercise

in ‘making’. Reused wood from packaging material from the

truck manufacturer’s factories reinforces this ‘rawness’ on the

exterior pergola that wraps the two-storey base, as well as in

the furniture that has been custom-designed. View of the louvres as seen from within the building

↑

38


For the interiors, all packaging material of all the Volvo trucks that arrived in India were saved up and used to construct nearly 80 per cent of the interior woodwork

↑


39

The building boasts of significant environmental strategies

too — such as the reduced water usage, a lower running energy

bill due to significant sun-shading in addtion to greater ingress

of natural light, as well as the significant usage of recycled

materials — as described earlier. Of course the paradox is how

the carbon footprint can be minimised in constructions like

this, where components need to be manufactured and shipped

in from distant places. This is a challenge that the global

construction industry has been facing for quite some time now.

With a few simple but dramatic gestures, this office building

becomes a celebratory assertment of the possibilities of

construction and the integration of precision engineering and

local craftsmanship.

— SUPRIO BHATTACHARJEEArchitect

View of the building within its backdrop, during different times of the day, and at night

↑

40

Bits of Beauty Everywhere


41

Historically, Venice is the oldest biennale city, the

first biennale was held here in 1895. Subsequently,

over the next century, as biennales have spread

around the world, (almost virally in the last

decade, to keep up with that internet concept), the

predeliction for the majority to be held in or near a

port city, must be noted. Havana, Istanbul, Sydney,

Shanghai, Sharjah – biennales of “resistance”

perhaps, but they don’t resist in following a

time-tested tradition in siting. Art was never a

commodity in the past as it is oft decried now, but

the increase in its movement has to be one of the

defining factors of the history of art in the 20th

century. Never before, has contemporary art, been

so contemporarily viewed, by a public, miles away

from where it was produced, not just virtually,

but exhibited around the world. And so it is, that

India’s first biennale, the Kochi-Muziris biennale,

comes to a port, Fort Kochi. A site that trade has

touched down upon, through conquistadors

and moors, on Roman ships and humble dhows;

now, shipments arrived, not to be traded in the

traditional sense, but in a broader one in

keeping with the idea of conceptual art: ideas

pollinated from afar pervaded the ever receiving

Malayali mind.

In choosing Fort Kochi, co-founders and artists

themselves, Riyas Komu and Bose Krishnamachari

could not have sited it better. With crumbling

shipyards and abandoned warehouses, a multi

ethnic literate local community, high end

boutique hotels and affordable homestays, past

history and a live creation of new – in a few

walkable square kilometres, albeit in sapping

heat, it was a biennale that had the element of

discovering artworks in decay that hinted of past

splendor – memories evoked in architectural

spaces that once were bustling; and now bustled

with life once more. Cash strapped for funds after

the promised amounts from the government were

withheld following protests, nothing was done

to spruce up most of the spaces; some so raw they

must have stopped an artist’s heartbeat. In the

ensuing chaos at the start, these spaces

saw artists push the envelope beyond urban space

crunching limitations.

Architecture, in recent times, being represented

more and more via images finds itself part

of a visual world, the spatial aspect has been

appropriated increasingly by historians,

Text

Deepika Sorabjee

Installation by L N Tallur titled Veni, Vidi, Vici

↑

↑

42

geographers, sociologists and theorists rather than

architects themselves. If architecture is more than

functional space, what better way to explore it

emotively, historically, socially and aesthetically,

than for contemporary art to appropriate this

functional yet beautiful dereliction at Fort

Kochi, and through ploughing of its history, and

explorative use of space bring back the volume of

architecture, in so many tactile ways?

The main venue, Aspinwall House, is a sprawling

complex of warehouses and offices of the

erstwhile J P Morgan Company, arranged around

a central space, with one edge of the quadrilateral

compound bordering the sea. Overlooking the port

terminal, it was a beacon to incoming biennale

visitors, who chose to reach the island by the

water route – artist Robert Montgomery’s verse,

neon lit the lapping port waters against its low

walls. The road entrance led one into a spacious

central clearing, that supported artworks on

the ground and ones strung from trees, (artist

Srinivasa Prasad’s memory nest high up in the

coconut palms was accessed by a gunny sack

stacked walkway; narrow, it went high enough to

give the agoraphobics the jitters) and acted as the

de facto central square of the biennale – like the

congregating centrality of a piazza in an Italian

town – everyone checked in to plan the day’s

wander. And a wander it was. With all the works

not up on the opening day, there was much back

and forth in the initial weeks checking to see

progress; by the biennale’s end in March though, it

was all in place.

While Aspinwall was left in its ruinous state

for artists to intervene, Pepper House, further

down the road, a compact warehouse for a

pepper trading company, was spruced up for the

biennale. White washed and a café within, it was

interesting to see the view from the entrance – in

an unimpaired built to function plan, the entrance

went past old offices, across the now manicured

courtyard’s lawn, straight through another

arched gateway to the sea-front dock – economy of

function purposefully built for the pepper to

enter from land, once graded and priced was

loaded onto ships at the sea end.

But it was the creaking, collapsing Moidu’s House

(Heritage Plaza) that was the jewel that glittered

in the cobwebs and perhaps termite-ridden dust.

Offered by its owner just two months before

the biennale was to open, cash strapped as they

were, there was nothing the foundation could do

to it – it added to the excitement of discovering

Brazilian artist Ernesto Neto’s sinuous, droops of

cloth filled with spices in an attic reached by the

brave through a trapdoor, or sitting on unsure

wooden floors mesmerised by Australian artist

Angela Mesiti’s video, the music resounding in the

capacious darkness.

There were sites scattered around Fort Kochi

where individual artists exhibited. Artist and

teacher Nandakumar drew attention to the

abandoned Mattancherry Palace gardens and

temple by installing his artworks in that neglected

space; Zasha Colah and Sumesh Thakur Singh,

curators at Clark House, used a house in Jew

town appropriately called Mandalay Hall for a

presentation of Burmese art; Rose Street bungalow

on Princess Street, had Jannis Kounellis install

bentwood chairs arranged in circles around a

pile of cinnamon sticks – one imagined, mothers

sitting, mourning lost sons, as in a novel from

South America. It wasn’t the only time the

biennale transported one, in an instant, elsewhere.

In a room below at street level, videos by Chinese

artist Ai Weiwei protest videos brought you

sharply into contemporary times, mood shifting in

a biennale achieved simply.

—

In staging a biennale in a setting where there

are no institutional spaces, using found spaces

became the overarching plan – a practical one

too; tight economics and remnant colonial

architecture made these sites at Fort Kochi

Srinivasa Prasad's memory nest high up in the coconut palms titled Erase was accessed by a gunny sack stacked walkway

↑ ↑

Bits of beauty everywhere Kochi, IN


43

evocative beyond erstwhile usages and histories,

as patinas were left untouched and debris

strewn, worked around. It drew attention to

current economics and cultural practices – the

architecture was then not just about the spaces

but about time itself; of time lapsed and proleptic

prophecies. The curatorial brief was succinct and

pithy – the site was the canvas the artists were

to draw upon; the history of the site may have

informed most but the unprecedented availability

of thousands of square feet of space in cloister-like

settings, and the sitings of these along an active

seafront the views and light thereof, played a

principal factor in most works.

Destuffing Matrix 2012, by CAMP (a Mumbai-

based collaborative studio, organised by Shaina

Anand and Ashok Sukumaran) is a video work

that addresses the sudden joint appearance of a

“new container terminal, facing the waterfront,

sharing their most visible parts.” Ports breathe,

relentlessly, like human lungs of a city’s trade,

through the inspiration and expiration of goods

in and out of the city, a city survives, lives. The

artist statement goes on to explore these boxes

within boxes, “boxes resist images, but also offer

an invitation to the curious.”

From early recce visits to the site, Shaina Anand

found it “clear that Fort Kochi’s large spaces

Artist Robert Montgomery has created a poem about exile in light on the sea-facing façade of Aspinwall House titled Fado music in reverse

Alex Mathew's work titled Untitled

↑ ↑

44

(Aspinwall and Pepper House, but also all the

other waterfront properties between Fort Kochi

and Matancherry, including disused piers etc)

offered amazing, often dilapidated spaces for

installing large-scale art work. Their lure was

now quite different from the original function of

these spaces as warehouses and godowns.” CAMP

responded to what they saw as a contradiction

between the theme of the biennale (the antiquity

of the trade route, the mythical Muziris, and an

early, eclectic form of globalisation), and “what

looked back at you” as one looked out of any

seafacing window from the Fort Kochi venues

– “the first thing to stare back at you was the year-

old Valarpardam International Container Trade

Terminal, operated by Dubai Ports World (and

surrounded by Vypeen, Ernakulam, Willingdon

Island and Fort Kochi, and hence the cynosure

of the entire city, its rather visible new symbol

of global trade.) A corner room of Pepper House

became the venue where this dialogue between

the view from the window and the venue could

take place. “Abutting us, was the customs office,

with the customs boat docked, and in front of

us container ships would wait to be loaded and

unloaded,” Anand points out.

Indeed, the view from these windows at biennale

venues competed with the art works themselves.

Cranes lift and deposit these multicoloured

containers from ships, “but what’s in them?

Where is the spill of goods and the longshoremen

on the harbour? Where are the warehouses? The

action of stuffing and unstuffing a container

which now happens in the hinterland, in special

customs areas or SEZs, became the point of focus

for our new work, Destuffing Matrix for KMB

2012” explains Anand, continuing a series of

works CAMP has done on port cities – Sharjah,

Liverpool, Beirut and now Kochi. The video is as

mesmerising as the real life incessant activity

– in a grid like frame, nine channels are shown

simultaneously, 4 rows of 3 screens each stacked

one on the other show cotton yarn, scrap metal,

coffee, polyurethane footwear, coconut fibre etc

being loaded and unloaded continuously, port calls

being yelled in languages that reflect a thriving

port history, past and present.

Artists used the remnants of a recent past as

well – at Aspinwall House, Nalini Malani used an

office space with the remnants of wall posters as

a screen the video work In Search of Vanished Blood

was projected on; Valsan Kolleri using existing

cement shelving recycled organic material into

objects, an eerie haunting presence was created

in the detritus of a life he fashioned. Beyond the

works, in absentia, the viewer was left wondering

over the demise of more than what the artists

Life is a river, an installation by Ernesto Neto at the biennale

↑↑



45

proposed – that of hasty, incomplete departures of

recent occupants from these intimate rooms.

For some, the backdrop was an exciting trigger to

contemporise the space – light and airy for large

photographic displays, or dark and capacious to

screen videos in cinema scale widths, as did Amar

Kanwar and Ranbir Kaleka.

In a long room spanning the breadth of the

building at Aspinwall House, white tiled torso

high walls separated the space into cubicles in the

former Aspinwall laboratory. No longer housing

white-coated lab workers, experimentation of

a different kind was afoot. Artist Atul Dodiya

chose the former laboratory space for a work that

displayed 231 photographic portraits of people who

he has encountered in the course of his makings

and travels as an artist.

Initially Dodiya had a completely different work in

mind. But on a site visit, the laboratory appealed

to him, – “no other artist was willing to accept

that space” – and he thought that a photography

installation would work well. Certainly the space

allowed for a variation in displaying the pictures

– on the walls and on the cubicle separator ledges,

the light coming in through the windows bounced

off the white tiled interior even as the windows

provided a shifting view of boats against Dodiya’s

stills of people. The ledges provided an eye level

view of the photographs, the cubicles forced people

to meander, as if at an art show vernissage and

the museum quality glass Dodiya used, allowed

for no reflection despite the light; a certain

immediacy was the advantage he created out of a

difficult space. “I had a clear notion of where a few

images would go, these were the starting points

of the install. As I unpacked the photographs the

cubicular nature of the space naturally formed

groupings, as in the mother-daughter enclosure, or

where one image triggered a memory of another

– the install created its own narrative,” says

Dodiya. As the viewers came in, not all of Dodiya’s

personal collection of people who informed his

world were recognisable to them, yet inadvertently

he noticed them position family members by the

few they did recognise, such as artist M.F.Husain, as

they clicked a memory to take away, much like the

studio portrait at a village mela. Here instead of the

Taj Mahal or Shah Rukh Khan as backdrop, an old,

popular tradition was insidiously contemporarised

in a biennale space.

The larger spaces at Aspinwall afforded artists

to think expansively even as they turned to the

history of the buildings. Some referred to the

structure of the buildings (L N Tallur), others to

ancient archaeological sites (Vivan Sundaram,

Sudarshan Shetty), in doing so the building

blocks were reflected on and more ambitiously

A video work at the CAMP space at the biennale

↑↑

46


↑

landscapes brought in. These created mise-en-

scènes not seen in the box-like gallery spaces of

the metropolises, they harked more to film sets,

indeed some artists created sets (Sundaram) for

their ensuing video works. Artists like Sudarshan

Shetty and Amanullah Mojadidi (who marked

plans of an imaginary unearthed house in

uncovered earth), took to digging underground

– like archaeologists at Muziris, the hyphenated

second name of the biennale, they drew on

the past, using contemporary artisanship in

executing their concept of architectural space.

Mumbai artist Sudarshan Shetty visited Muziris,

the site reputed to be the ancient port Mucheri

at Pattanam, 30 km north of Kochi, where

archaeological digs have uncovered traces of

trade with the Roman empire. The flooding

of Muziris led to the creation of modern day

Kochi’s deep harbour. Reflecting on the idea of

archaeology, “which relies on evidence to arrive at

the interpretation of facts”, Shetty wanted to take

this idea of interpretation further. Manufacturing

objects outside and then placing them in pits

dug to simulate an archaeological find – “as if it

belonged there” – Shetty wanted to “play the role

of an artist as an eccentric mediator between fact

and fiction.” Away from the main compound of

Aspinwall House in a separate area that housed

a printing press, the remnants of the building

became his connect to his Muziris visit. In his work

I Know Nothing of the End comprising of ‘Cenotaph’

(hand carved in wood) ‘Water’ (a small fountain

in the centre of the cenotaph) and ‘Rangoli’ (using

coloured powder poured on a photograph of a pot

breaking), he plays with the idea of authenticity,

what’s new, what’s old, what’s past, what’s

present, of impermanence and the reassembling

and remaking of objects involved in erasure: “its

disappearance being a condition of its making,

which perhaps can be read as the guiding principle

of my work.”

Artist Vivan Sundaram evoked Muziris by

recreating a ruin in a ruined shed. Here was space

that allowed him to use the terracotta shards

gleaned from the Muziris site, in Black Gold, to

refashion his version of the mythical city. Re

enacting the flooding, he filled it with water and

filmed the draining. Adjacent to his work in the

same space, Subodh Gupta used the soaring height

of the warehouse to crank up his installation – a

boat then cascaded with belongings down from

the roof to floor. These were gestures the artists

could take because the spaces allowed soaring

imaginations to soar, spreading dreams to occupy

heights unabashedly. Sheela Gowda and Cristoph

Storz’s Stopover, a spill of 170 granite rice grinding

stones, from warehouse interior to deck to sea, was

one of the most evocative pieces in the biennale –

the history of the abandoned rice grinders needn’t

have been known, the visual was a compelling use

of site. These were multifarious landscapes within

spaces, impossible to have been conceived but for

the site itself.

In the seafront warehouse, L N Tallur brought in

the material literally into his work. “During my

site visit, I saw J.P. Morgan stamped Mangalore

terracotta tiles on the roof, (in Mangalore, there

is a Morgan gate even today). The Basel Mission

tile factory that made terracotta roof tiles in

Mangalore was taken over by the English after

the war and was renamed the Commonwealth

Tiles factory. The J P Morgan tile factory site

in Mangalore which started around the same

time is abandoned now and in the same state

as Aspinwall House,” says Tallur. “I wanted to

reflect the ceiling on the ground using new

Mangalore tiles, and that is how the work was

triggered.” Using the tiles in an inversion of the

roof in an installation Veni, vidi, vici, tiny hatha

yoga postured figures people it – Tallur ties up the

ethnological figures made in colonial times, as

This page: an installation by Sudarshan Shetty titled I know nothing of the end he plays with the idea of authenticity, of impermanence and the reassembling and remaking of objects involved in erasure


47

in the then Victoria and Albert museum displays

in Bombay / Mumbai, with the multi-racial

terracotta tile manufacturers, and captures the

multilayered history of the current biennale site

and practices of time past.

Along the promenade outside the Cochin Club,

Sanchayan Ghosh used an existing beach

marina to house his sound piece that showed

the crossover of foreign words into the local

language, the different tongues of history voiced

out in evolutionary transition, even as big and

small boats sailed by as a reminder of voices still

crisscrossing oceans.

—“There’s perfume burning in the air

Bits of beauty everywhere,

Shrapnel flying, soldiers hit the dirt.”

Madeleine Peyroux/’Blue Alert’

Peyroux may not have been singing the blues

about the Kochi Muziris Biennale but there was

spice perfume and shrapnel on opening night, blue

oceans called out despite government refusals

to release funds. Art lovers hit dirt literally – the

grand old ladies of Cochin shook the dust off

derelict skirts; salted, wasted docksides were

retreaded and timbred floorboards refashioned

stories – bits of beauty hung in the humid Fort

Kochi air, blew everywhere.

— DEEPIKA SORABJEEWriter

I II III

IV

V

I,II,III L N Tallur ties up the ethnological figures made in colonial times

and captures the multilayered history of the current biennale site

using new Mangalore tiles IV Mattancherry warehouse work by UBIK titled Past Present Past V Kochi Tower by Rigo 23

Photos courtesy the artists

Engineering and traditionA foray into the office of Junya Ishigami in Tokyo reveals new aspects of his design philosophy, intent on creating architectural experiences poised between engineering challenges and simple gestures


49

Bewildering and beautiful

Walk into Junya Ishigami’s new office in the Roppongi

neighbourhood of Tokyo, and the first thing you’ll notice

between the model-laden desks and workstations is a large,

gaping hole in the concrete floor slab. I peer down into the

basement: a sea of models from past projects are haphazardly

piled in stacks as far as the eye can see. Ishigami’s collaborators

(relatively few, considering the office’s prodigious model output)

seem to have become so accustomed to the abnormality of

a gaping void in the office floor as to no longer notice it, and

seem mildly baffled by my surprise. Like all exceptionally

true visionaries, Ishigami operates by creating a powerful

reality-distortion field, and the hole in the floor is perhaps

the least exceptional thing his collaborators must learn to

metabolise. Each project is an opportunity to question the

basic assumptions of every aspect of architectural practice:

from engineering to furniture and from climate control to

circulation, Ishigami envisions a condition or an experience,

then stretches architecture to the limits of impossibility

to realise it. Much as with the James Turrell’s Skyspace

installations, in which extraordinary lengths are taken to

isolate the simplest of experiences — the act of observing

the sky change colour — for Ishigami the experience is the

architecture, and the envelope is simply a device that triggers

the experience. As a result, there is an utter indifference to

the effort required to produce this experience: Ishigami’s

architecture runs the spectrum from near-impossible

engineering challenges to simple gestures of displacement.

The distinction between three projects currently underway

in the office provides a clear demonstration of this contrast.

On the same campus of the Kanagawa Institute of Technology

where in 2008 Ishigami completed the workshop building (see

Domus 913, 2008) that first brought him worldwide recognition

for its open plan interrupted only by the slenderest of columns,

an even more ambitious endeavour is in the making. Like the

partition-free workshop building, it confounds all existing labels

for university-building typologies. Ishigami calls it a “cafeteria

combined with a semi-outdoor multipurpose space”, and the

awkwardness of this rather inelegant description only serves,

when one is confronted by the model, to underscore just how

extreme the project’s ambition is. On the one hand, the building

is the simplest of gestures: a single room, and one with a rather

low ceiling at that — 2.3 metres, low enough to be able to raise

an arm and brush your hand against it. On the other, it is one of

the most phenomenal engineering challenges to have ever faced

a university cafeteria, because this room is the size of a football

pitch, and not a single column supports the roof throughout the

entire span. This roof is a single, thin (nine-millimetre) sheet of

tensioned steel, perforated by unsealed rectangular openings

that allow light and elements to enter the space, creating a

semi-enclosed garden. Above, a thin layer of soil transforms

the roof itself into a landscape of grass and vegetation. It is

simultaneously megastructural and intimate, effortless as a

gesture and bewildering in its scale, and like Ishigami’s previous

works it has a deeply human dimension: as the steel roof plate

expands and contracts with changes in temperature, the ceiling

Photo Yasushi Ichikawa

Design

junya.ishigami +associates

Photos

Yasushi Ichikawa,junya.ishigami +associates

Text

Joseph Grima

Project for a residential centre for the elderly. The study models highlight an exercise in working on variations of traditional housing typologies

50

Junya Ishigami / A studio visit Tokyo, JP

height varies by as much as 80 centimetres, as

though the building were alive and breathing.

Commissioned to design a home for elderly

patients suffering from dementia, Ishigami again

side-stepped the conventional route towards

building-making. The brief specified the need for

an architectural environment that the residents

would easily be able to recognise, facilitating the

process of identifying their own residence through

the unique characteristics of each space. The

proposed strategy employs a technique known in

Japanese as Hikiya, or moving a house from one

location to another without disassembling its

structure: in place of a single building, the centre

is composed of a multitude of wooden houses

collected from villages throughout Japan. In fact,

it’s very much like a small village compressed

onto the site of a single building: the individual

elements fit neatly into one architectural structure

Photo junya.ishigami+associates

For the new complex of homes for senior citizens affected by dementia, Junya Ishigami opted to salvage and renovate structures of old houses slated for demolition, located in various parts of Japan. The method adopted, known as Hikiya, entails the removal of the entire building frame without any disassembly. The structure is then transported by a flatbed truck

↓


51

Photo junya.ishigami+associates

thanks to the tatami mat grid that governs most

traditional Japanese domestic architecture. Each

unit possesses a distinctive character defined

by the building frame’s proportions, which vary

depending on the location and time period, as

well as the technique of the carpenters who

built the house and the way it was inhabited. A

unique, recognisable identity is embedded in this

wooden skeletal framework and its original roof,

but the complex is given a unitary identity by

“abstracting” the vernacular architecture through

the substitution of the cladding with metal and

glass. “The objective,” according to Ishigami, “is

to create a new type of hybrid space that could

not have been conceived either by contemporary

architecture or classical architecture alone.” It’s

a deeply empathetic architectural solution that

hybridises architecture and urbanism into a space

which is new yet culturally familiar to its residents.

Photos Yasushi Ichikawa

↓

In Ishigami’s studio, work progressing on the models of homes for the elderly. The structures vary according to their original geographic location and the technique used by the carpenters who made them. Each has its own characteristics, which are exploited to aid the future inhabitants’ sense of orientation

Above right: the site in Akita Prefecture where the parts of the salvaged dwellings were gathered prior to their refurbishment to create new homes

52



Project for the cafeteria on the campus of the Kanagawa Institute of Technology. The pavilion is developed horizontally on a single floor, with a surface of about 110 x 70 m, and covered by a thin steel roof that floats at a height of approximately 2.3 m

The cafeteria roof consists of a single nine-mm-thick sheet of steel with numerous perforations. There are no supporting columns to interrupt the interior space. A thin layer of soil on the roof allows vegetation to grow, thereby restricting the temperature of the steel beneath it. The range of temperatures nonetheless causes the building’s interior height to vary between 2.10 and 2.90 m

↓

↓

N0 10 m

1 Grass field2 Cafeteria3 Kitchen4 Kiosk5 Entrance

UNIVERSITY CAFETERIA

CREDITS

Design Architectsjunya.ishigami+associates

Structural EngineeringKonishi Structural Engineers

General ContractorsKajima Corporation,Takasago Thermal Engineering Co., Ltd.

Site Area 129,335.04 m2

Building Area 6,210 m2

CompletionSpring 2014

1

2

3

5

4


53


N0 10 m

54


SENIOR CITIZENS’ HOUSING

CREDITS


Structural EngineeringJun Sato Structural Engineers Co., Ltd.

Facilities EngineeringES Associates Consulting Engineers

Photos junya.ishigami+associates

Much of Ishigami’s work is permeated by this deep empathy

for the humdrum exercise of living everyday life. In a suburb

of Tokyo (“a landscape comprised of a repetition of nothing

but ready-built houses that continue endlessly”), the office

recently completed a residence for a young couple that injects

a microcosm of nature into the deeply artificial environment

of the city. One could describe it as an exercise in the act of not

creating an architectural image: unlike most other examples of

recent domestic architecture in Japan, the exterior is understated

to the point of anonymity, almost perfectly camouflaged into

its mundane and rather harsh urban surroundings. On the

interior, however, the act of making architecture is subsumed

by the desire to create a landscape — a point that is driven home

clearly by the exposed soil in the corner of the living room, from

which a small forest of trees springs into the double-height

space. Looking out onto the street, one realises that the interior

space of this residence somehow feels more like an outdoor

space than the regular, strictly aligned cityscape outside.

What sets Ishigami apart from others of his generation is the

simplicity of the gestures through which his architecture is

produced, irrespective of the complexity required to execute

them. His architecture is uncompromising but deeply human,

driven by the desire to transform simple gestures of everyday

life into architectural experiences, and to turn the everyday

into something bewildering but beautiful. Perhaps the hole

in the floor of his office is a quiet reminder of how threatening

architecture can be, and how easy it is to be swallowed by it. —JG

The house designed for a young couple demonstrates that for Ishigami “the act of making architecture has the same value as the act of creating a landscape”


55

0 2 mN

1 Lower terrace

2 Garden

3 Kitchen

4 Washing machine

5 Refrigerator

6 Dining table

7 Bookshelf

8 Bathroom

A Ground floor planB Upper terrace floor plan

HOUSE WITH PLANTS


Structural EngineeringJun Sato Structural Engineers Co., Ltd.

Horticulture DesignEquipe Espace

Textile CoordinationYoko Ando Design

CREDITS

Site Area 115.44 m2

Total Floor Area 69.22 m2

Design Phase01/2010—01/2011

Construction Phase02/2011—06/2012

1

A B

7

8

2

3

6

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56

Rebuilding communities

While the reconstruction in Japan proceeds at a slow pace, a group of architects has created a series of public buildings working directly with local communities, erecting kindergardens, community spaces and play centres near temporary housing zones. Although modest in size, these projects are profoundly appreciated by their users thanks to their spirit of sharing

Text

Julian Worrall

Photos

Edmund Sumner

57

Two years later

Disasters fade from memory. This fact is at once their tragedy

and their blessing. It is an inevitable truth that the living must

bury the dead, and occupy the places where the dead once lived.

The survivors cannot but remember their dead and fear the

power that took them away. But in order to go on living, they

must in some important sense forget these things too. In this

way, disasters starkly reveal a fundamental truth of life itself,

compressing and amplifying the gentle rustle of generational

renewal into a terrible roar of destruction.

These meditations are prompted by my encounter with a

survivor of the tsunami, an irrepressible middle-aged Japanese

woman named Mikiko Sugawara. We meet in front of a wood

stove, in a quirky building overlooking a desolate plain of

concrete foundations, roads leading nowhere and weeds. This

is all that is left of Sugawara’s hometown, Rikuzentakata, once

home to over 23,000 people. The building is the built realisation

of one of the “Home-for-All” community centres in temporary

housing zones that Toyo Ito has pioneered with a band of friends

(the KISYN group, made up of Kengo Kuma, Toyo Ito, Kazuyo

Sejima, Riken Yamamoto and Hiroshi Naito) and protégés since

the disaster.

The Rikuzentakata Home-for-All was the outcome of a

collaboration between Ito and the younger architects Kumiko

Inui, Sou Fujimoto and Akihisa Hirata. Models documenting

A destroyed municipal building in the town of Minamisanriku, Myagi Prefecture, which has now become an impromptu memorial

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58

Rebuilding communities Tohoku region, JP

the project’s design process were exhibited at the Venice

Architecture Biennale in 2012, along with photographs showing

the scale of the devastation by Rikuzentakata native Naoya

Hatakeyama. The project was widely applauded and picked

up a Golden Lion for Best National Participation, a verdict that

has since been reinforced by the recent award of the Pritzker

Prize to Ito. But here, looking over Rikuzentakata’s landscape

of loss, reflecting on the enormity of what happened and the

enormousness of the reconstruction task ahead, the glamour of

Venice seems a long way away.

It has been over two years since the great tsunami of 3.11

savaged Japan’s northern Pacific coastline. For those not

directly affected, the event has faded from view, even as it

continues to cast long shadows over the national psyche.

Fears of a belligerent North Korea and an assertive China now

outweigh anxieties of natural disaster and nuclear radiation.

The challenge of reconstruction has become one among

others. The country has tacked right, the markets have rallied,

and the fragrance of sakura blossoms fill the spring air. Life,

irrepressibly, goes on.

Yet what is striking when touring the devastated areas is

just how slowly the reconstruction appears to be proceeding.

The force of the tsunami literally wiped off the map many

of the fishing and port towns that once nestled in the inlets

of Tohoku’s convoluted ria coastline—places like Onagawa,

Otsuchi, Minamisanriku, and Sugawara’s own Rikuzentakata.

Today, over two years later, these towns are still silent

wastelands pockmarked with stagnant pools, grimly presided

over by a few hulking shells of shattered buildings. Beyond

the tidy mountains of cleared rubble, restored trunk roads

and the serried ranks of temporary housing ranged on higher

ground, there is little sign of the 19 trillion yen (approximately

150 billion euros) earmarked by the national government for

reconstruction up to 2015.

The apparent stasis belies the intense process of jockeying and

negotiation proceeding behind the scenes. The business of

reconstruction planning is a highly political game involving

local communities and landowners, all levels of government,

engineers and planning experts, and private companies large

and small jostling for a slice of the reconstruction pie. Even after

a plan has been settled upon, numerous obstacles—logistical,

administrative, economic and political—must be cleared before

a community can proceed with confidence down its own path to

recovery. Formerly productive lands may be rendered unusable

by subsidence or seawater, as in the case of Kesennuma. A plan

to relocate a town to higher ground out of future harm’s way

may be stymied by the lack of available land or the resistance of

key private landowners, as in the case of Babanakayama.

The plan itself may require massively time-consuming

preparatory work, such as at Onagawa, which aims to raise its

ground level by 17 metres using transported earth, an enormous

undertaking requiring at least 5 years. In Japan, a country

where land ownership is widespread and fragmented, private

land rights are protected and consensus is highly valued,

reconstruction is slow work. It’s just as well, as Shigeru Ban told

me with a wry smile, that “Japanese people are the most patient

people in the world”.

In this contested arena, independent design architects are

very much the little fish, largely overlooked and even actively

discouraged by the bureaucratic mechanisms of reconstruction

planning. Their contributions are volunteer efforts in most

cases, bypassing the official processes to work directly with

local communities, aiming to bring shelter, solace and a

modicum of comfort to those suffering the greatest need. A

non-profit organisation called Archi+Aid has taken on a key role

in assisting this process. Based at Tohoku University in Sendai,

Archi+Aid aims to facilitate the interaction of independent

architects with both the disaster-affected communities and the

government apparatus, linking knowledge of local conditions,

administrative procedures and a network of architectural

expertise. One initiative that Archi+Aid is advancing is the

“Core House” project designed by Atelier Bow-Wow, a cheap,

The Home-for-All, which Toyo Ito, Kumiko Inui, Sou Fujimoto and Akihisa Hirata recently completed at Rikuzentakata, a town in Iwate Prefecture. The vertical structure was built with cedar trunks stripped of their bark. They were selected from trees uprooted by the tsunami in a nearby nature reserve, the Takata-Matsubara forest

Asahi kindergarten in Minamisanriku by Tezuka architects

↑

↑


59

↑

The town of Rikuzentakata, which in 2010 had a population of about 23,000, was literally wiped off the map by the tsunami of 11 March 2011, as can be seen from one of the terraces of the Home-for-All, a building that has assumed the difficult role of a social centre for a community that lost around 80% of its homes

60


↑

The Asahi Kindergarten, designed by Takaharu and Yui Tezuka of Tezuka Architects, was built to replace the nursery school that was completely destroyed by the tsunami at Minamisanriku, in Miyagi Prefecture. The project, which was funded by UNICEF’s Japan Committee, was constructed with Japanese red cedar trees that were killed by the sea water. The trees have sacred importance, having been planted in 1611 following the tsunami of that same year, exactly four centuries before that of 2011

Every component of the building has been constructed in wood, without the use of metal joints. The load-bearing elements therefore have a massive appearance. The architects used traditional woodworking techniques, “because these ancient crafts have allowed Japanese architecture to survive for more than 1,300 years”

↑

↓


61

The Home-for-All built by Riken Yamamoto for the town of Kamaishi, in Iwate Prefecture. The building is situated next to a temporary residential complex also designed by Yamamoto, together with students from the Yokohama Graduate School of Architecture. At night, the structure lights up like a lantern, and functions as a meeting point for the inhabitants of the adjacent refugee camp

↑

62



63

single-room wooden house with plumbing that can be self-built

from prefabricated components, and which is flexible enough

to be combined and expanded as communities regain their

economic footing. The Core House aims to provide a method

for communities to rebuild housing in a bottom-up way, rather

than relying on standardised offerings of public housing

provided top-down by government.

Going directly to local communities means that the architects

enjoy more liberty, but it also means that they generally

don’t get access to public reconstruction funds, and many

such projects are precariously financed by private donations

or charity organisations. Yet, despite being of modest scale

and limited reach, these projects have frequently been more

successful and appreciated by their users than official responses,

challenging bureaucratic imperatives of impartiality and

neutrality with the architect’s eye for individual distinctiveness

and local community character. In the case of the Home-for-All

project, six different schemes have been completed so far, each

of distinctive design including ones by Riken Yamamoto and

SANAA. Others are currently underway. Particularly charming is

the Children’s Home-for-All, the product of a collaboration by Ito

with another of his young protégés, Maki Onishi. With privately

sponsored and funded projects such as the Home-for-All

initiative gaining both local support and international acclaim,

such efforts are changing the conception of the architect’s role

and possibilities in conditions of post-disaster reconstruction.

On that day at the Home-for-All in Rikuzentakata, I asked

Sugawara about her experience of the disaster and the period

since. I saw her eyes flicker as she composed herself, as she must

have done to countless others, before recounting her story.

It was a tale of incomprehensible violence, terrible loss and

arbitrary survival. Yet despite losing half her family and all her

possessions, there was an improbable but unmistakable note

of joyful defiance. She had been spared, and now she had to

make her survival count. She threw herself into the recovery,

becoming the local community leader. As her story turned to

the creation of the Home-for-All, her eyes began to sparkle with

enthusiasm. The ghosts of the dead seemed to melt away as she

talked. The architecture of the project, in its jaunty optimism

and unpretentious, open-hearted forms, seemed to be the perfect

vehicle for her remarkable energy and personality.

Then it dawned on me that this was no accident. For Ito, the

disaster posed fundamental questions regarding the purpose

of architecture. With this small project he had deliberately

engineered the process to transcend the individual egos of the

architects, while bringing the local community in as equal

partners in the design process. Sugawara was therefore as

responsible as the architects were for its form and character.

As we talked, the space she presided over welcomed neighbours,

workers, casual observers and curious outsiders, clambering

up the external stairs to take in the view, or joining us in front

of the stove for a chat. All were welcomed as I was—somehow

real conversations between strangers were possible here. This,

it seemed to me, was what a public space should be: both an

intimate kernel for an emergent community as well as an open

place for encounters with outsiders.

In these small but significant projects, the reconstruction

process is bringing architects and local communities together in

ways that are transformative for both sides. Local communities

experience the sense of possibility that an external creative

perspective can offer. Meanwhile, architects are finding out

how contested, messy and yet deeply rewarding reconstructing

communities can be.

—

JULIAN WORRALL @julianworrall

Associate Professor at the Waseda University, Tokyo

Designed by Toyo Ito with Maki Onishi of the practice o+h (Maki Onishi and Yuki Hyakuda), the Children’s Home-for-All is a play centre built on a temporary housing estate in Higashimatsushima, Miyagi Prefecture

↓

Inaugurated last January, the Children’s Home-for-All provides the refugee camp with a cheerful landmark. It is highly recognisable to children with its three roofs shaped as a cupola, a pyramid and a spire

↑

Text & photos

Filipe Magalhães, Ana Luisa Soares

64

The Metabolist routineJapanese Metabolism was more than just an architectural movement: it was a lifestyle. Two young Portuguese architects, who currently reside in Kisho Kurokawa’s Nakagin Capsule Tower, report on their daily 21st-century life in one of the 20th century’s most iconic buildings

27 DECEMBER 2012

Living the Metabolist dream

Every time we meet an architect and our address comes up we

get the same reaction. “What’s it like to live in the capsule?” is

the first question. Then we get some sceptical remarks about

the available floor area, followed by curiosity regarding the

rent. While our courage is praised (not more than our luck), we

always give the same answer: “It’s different from what we were

used to.”

Inside, the space doesn’t seem that small. And, honestly, it

doesn’t even seem so relevant in our daily lives. The capsule

perfectly fulfils its modern function of a “machine for living”

and, as a couple, which theoretically makes the experience

22 DECEMBER 2012

Sometimes you get lucky

We first went to visit Kisho Kurokawa’s Nakagin Capsule Tower as

architects (and tourists). We got lost on our way there and ended

up arriving late in the evening. The initial impact was strange: it

was as if we were looking at an old friend that we had known for

a long time, an interesting feeling when you first visit a building

you thought you knew everything about. Only one capsule had

the light on. “Curious,” we thought. We entered the lobby, but the

doorman quickly saw us out. “No visit! No picture!” were the only

two phrases we could understand.

By chance, while we were being ushered back out onto the street,

a Japanese man in his late 50s was arriving and, in nearly perfect

English, he started asking us questions: “What fascinates so

many people about this building? What brings you here?”

We were caught off guard by those questions and replied

truthfully. “We’re architects. We’ve just moved to Tokyo and we

tremendously admire this building. We’d like to live here.” Kenzo-

san laughed, gave us his business card and said: “Maybe

I can help.” Thanks to this encounter, a few days later we would

be living in the Nakagin Tower. Indeed, Kenzo-san had his office

in one of the capsules and a friend of his had another available

for rent.

We met his friend, who subsequently became our landlord,

and he was delighted to find someone as enthusiastic about

the building as he was. When he was young he had dreamed

of living there, read everything about the building and the

Metabolists, and had ended up buying his own capsule, where

he lived for several years before moving to the suburbs upon

his marriage.

He was really happy that someone still believed in the building

and wanted to live there. On the day we moved in, the capsule

owner greeted us with the key and said something we will not

forget anytime soon: “You are very likely the last people to live

the Metabolism.”


65

Opposite page: Metabolism had very few opportunities to translate its principles into built projects, and the Nakagin Capsule Tower, built between 1970 and 1972 by Kisho Kurokawa in Tokyo’s Shimbashi district, is certainly the most famous example. The building’s two concrete towers, standing 11 and 13 storeys high, are connected to one another and have a stair and elevator shaft at the centre of each. They house a total of 140 prefabricated capsules, each of which is independent from its neighbour, being attached as a projection from the central load-bearing frame This page: the windows were originally fitted with a fan-shaped brise-soleil, of which only a central pivot remains; view of an interior with the table folded away

even more extreme, we can live normally. We are happy here.

We prefer to live in a smaller space in central Tokyo than in a

big house in the suburbs. Our routine is to leave home in the

morning and return at night to rest. We feel like normal, happy

examples of the “contemporary nomad” whom Kurokawa wrote

about. Nevertheless, it still feels like we are living somewhere in

between a hotel and a scientific experiment.

The window is large and circular; it seems huge in such a space.

Our room faces west, overlooking the surrounding buildings

and the Shimbashi crossing, which at night is filled with lights.

The frame is fixed, to avoid accidents, yet this precludes natural

ventilation in the room. In the ’70s, all the windows had a

round fan system that controlled the amount of light coming

in, but today only the metal support in the middle of the

window remains. As a result, and despite the fact that we put

up a blue curtain, every day at 6am light invades the capsule.

At first, sleeping was a problem, but now we are used to it.

All the surfaces are in contact with the outside and the

insulation is not particularly good. The result is simple: the

capsule is sweltering in the summer and freezing during

winter. There is an enormous ventilation system integrated

into the original design of the capsule. The wheel button allows

three options: “fan”, “low” and “high”, but the air temperature

cannot be controlled since it is set by the general system of the

entire building. The air ducts are damaged in many places and

some residents speak of possible contaminations. Even though

we use an electric heater and the capsule is warm when we go

to bed, all the heat quickly dissipates overnight.

When we take off our jackets or get changed, we have to store

everything right away. The space is limited, but ergonomics is

all-encompassing. A 35-centimetre-deep closet covers the entire

south wall and serves as the storage system for the capsule,

simultaneously featuring a sideboard, a dining table, a wardrobe

and a set of shelves to store other objects. There isn’t much

space for coat hangers, but the table is large and folds away,

disappearing when not required. It is relatively low, like a sink,

The netting that was placed over the building’s facade after an earthquake last December

↑ but its latch is impressive: while the table is folded down in

the horizontal position, the mechanism is collected in a cavity

and becomes coplanar with the table, so your elbows don’t hit

against it. The capsule encloses similar small details everywhere

— in a very simple and almost imperceptible way, Kurokawa

made living in such a space easier. As time passes, we get the

feeling that maybe we don’t need more space than what we

have now.

The TV is not the original, although it is the same size. The radio

doesn’t work and the only functioning buttons on the “control

panel” are the ones that switch on the two sources of light in the

room: a large central lamp and a small, individual reading light.

The fridge is small and tight, like a minibar, but very useful. The

freezer is not sealed and thus becomes the cooling unit. We were

lucky that it works, because placing a standard refrigerator in that

space would have been a nightmare.

As it was designed for the man of the future, whose very busy life

would leave no time for cooking, the capsule does not include any

appliances, so we were forced to buy a small kettle and a portable

electric stove. Sometimes we cook but it isn’t easy, especially if

we’re both at home. After some experimentation, however, the

process got smoother. We realised the bathroom extractor fan

is so powerful that it can ventilate food smells from the entire

room, and the table can be used simultaneously as a kitchen

work surface and dining table. The secret is organisation (as with

almost everything we do in the capsule). When we’ve finished

cooking, we do the dishes in the bathroom sink and have to put

them away immediately. During the night, we only hear the old

refrigerator running. If we feel like eating something before going

to bed, or if we’re just not in the mood to cook, we always have the

convenience store on the entrance floor, which is open 24/7.

The bed was a major problem. We couldn’t find a bed or mattress

to fit the capsule, and we needed space to store our suitcases. Since

we were having problems, and had access to the University of

Tokyo’s carpentry workshop, we bought some materials and built

our own bed, tailored to our needs. With a little DIY philosophy we

Nakagin Capsule Tower Tokyo, JP

66

↑

↑

↑

The majority of units are in a bad state of repair, and few are still used as dwellings. Each added element, such as the air-conditioning units, has been installed without respect for the original design

The wheel button of the ventilation system; and the control panel of the elevator

Ana Luisa Soares in her living unit. The capsule’s internal measurements are reduced to the bare minimum (2.3 x 3.8 x 2.1 m)

achieved a good result, and even added a few more

boxes for storage on the bed’s accessible side. On top

of the structure we placed an air mattress, which

fits perfectly.

The bathroom is particularly well organised. The

walls are made of a washable plastic, turning the

WC into a capsule within the capsule. In a visit to

some of the abandoned units, the advanced state of

disrepair of the remaining elements compared to

the sanitary divisions was plainly visible. Since this

is an interior space with no windows to the outside,

the door has a round frosted glass window, which

brings natural light into the bathroom. Despite

the space’s minute proportions, there is a bathtub

instead of a shower, something very typical in

Japanese culture. The toilet, sink and tub are a

single plastic piece that functions as a whole and

organises the space. Soap dispensers, a lamp, a towel

holder and some small shelves are subtly placed on

the walls to avoid the need for a cabinet. There is an

electric plug next to the sink, protected from water

by a metal screw cap. To flush the toilet we press a

button.

We rarely see any of our neighbours, and despite

having lived here for a few months, we’ve never

come across anyone in the elevator. There is no noise

in the other capsules and sometimes we have the

impression that no one else lives in the building.


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7 JANUARY 2013

Current condition

Every time we leave our capsule and look up at the ninth-floor

balcony, while waiting for the elevator, we remember the

earthquake of late last December, when Tokyo shook and the

tower rocked violently. The building is not prepared to withstand

strong earthquakes, but after 40 years these events are seen

as normal.

We come from a country where there is no seismic activity, and

for us it was scary to see the capsules colliding into each other.

We dashed down the concrete staircase, which seemed safer, and

on the way we saw some neighbours acting as if nothing were

happening. In Japan, an earthquake is somehow part of daily

routine. A couple of days later the building was covered with a

net, as a “precautionary measure” and “only for a few days”, so as

to prevent anything from falling onto the sidewalk. Maybe we’re

wrong, but something tells us that the net is here to stay.

Although it is known as “Nakagin Tower”, the building is

actually composed of two attached towers. Each has an elevator

core with a staircase going up in a spiral. On every landing there

are two or three doors, but in reality there are many “landings”

that don’t correspond to regular floors. There are 78 units in

tower A and 62 in tower B. The numbering system is simple: we

live in capsule B807 — tower B, 8th floor, door number 7.

Signs of previous residents are present all around the capsules

and corridors. In our capsule, the most evident marks are the

strange wallpaper, a carpet covering some degraded spots in

the original flooring, and the air-conditioning unit that had to

pierce through a wall in order to be installed. At Kenzo-san’s

office, nothing original remains except for the bathroom, and

the entire space is filled with revivalist furniture; a neighbour

two doors down has created a warehouse and lined the interior

with metal shelves. Most capsules are generally used for

functions other than living.

The interior spaces gradually get larger towards the staircase,

which is suitable for storing bicycles, boxes, shoes, garbage, etc.

There is no hot water in the capsules. In order to wash ourselves

with hot water, we could either install a water heater by

ourselves, or use the shower on the common entrance floor. Like

most residents, we chose to use the common shower facing the

street. Every day we have to schedule our shower time, which

isn’t difficult since there are so few of us. Due to the deterioration

of the plumbing, new pipes were installed a few years ago, but

the job was done carelessly and the doors of the capsules were

cut so that the pipes could pass through. Indeed, everywhere

around the building it is clear that the structure was never

respected whenever some kind of repair was necessary. All

solutions are patches.

There are perhaps ten to fifteen people living here, and most

of the capsules have been abandoned. Some are “sealed” with

plastic, while others don’t even have locks so you can enter and

see the advanced state of dilapidation: walls are crumbling,

shelves are broken, and garbage, mould and moisture are

everywhere. From the emergency stairs, outside, you can see

damaged roofs and holes all over. The ground and office floors

work normally and are well maintained, but the capsules are

slowly disintegrating.

The doorman leaves at midnight and only comes back at around

6AM. The door stays unlocked all night. Tokyo is so safe that

the building only needs protection from the hordes of tourists.

Until he got used to us, the doorman would always run up to

the elevator telling us we could not enter. We had to show our

contract several times to prove that we were not tourists.

Someone is invariably standing at the door every day when we

leave. Dozens of tourists — predominantly architects — stand on

the other side of the street taking pictures. Most of them try to

get in, like we did months ago. Usually we are approached when

someone notices that we are leaving the tower. In the beginning

we were happy when this happened, and we would even show

our capsule, but as time passed this became so frequent that we

now comprehend the doorman’s brusque reaction to us the first

night we came here.

The bathroom is a plastic monobloc set in a corner next to the front door. The capsules were conceived to be replaced every 25 years

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68


Photo Joseph Grima

This page, clockwise: Kenzo-san in his capsule B702; Filipe and Ana Luisa on the emergency stairs; the corridor along which the capsules are distributed; the entrance lobby to the tower; the residents’ letterboxes


69

17 JANUARY 2013

Past/present/future

We often speak with Kenzo-san, who tells us

that some of the remaining inhabitants talk

of demolition as if it were imminent, even

mentioning specific dates.

Every day we hear new rumours and conflicting

information. Nevertheless, a few days ago we

met a young Japanese man who had bought five

capsules and was restoring them by himself

in his spare time. Despite so many abandoned

and decaying units, somebody still believes in

the building’s future. Contrasting approaches

by the building’s diverse inhabitants outline an

uncertain future.

The demolition almost went ahead in 2007.

Plans were approved and some owners were

completely in favour of it, but a public petition

with the support of the Japan Institute of

Architects (JIA) saved the building at that time.

Faced with this situation, Kurokawa proposed

an obvious solution: “Why not replace the old

capsules with new ones? That was the idea all

along.” However, the idea fell through. Six years

have passed since then and the doubts regarding

the building’s future remain.

At over 40 years since its completion back in

1972, the tower that was a modern icon is now

seen by some as obsolete, and even a bad idea.

Nevertheless, maybe the update suggested by

Kurokawa could revive the idea that sustained

the building’s conception to begin with.

The idea of demolition and renewal was an

integral part of the Metabolist ideology, so it’s

somewhat ironic that there’s all this controversy

surrounding the tower’s demolition, updating

and current state of decay.

Tokyo has changed a lot since the ’70s. At first

the tower stood alone, but over time it found

itself surrounded by tall buildings. Facing it, a

once busy highway is now closed, with no cars

crossing it any longer. During the ’90s several

skyscrapers were built across the street, blocking

the sunlight that arrived from the south. The

convenience store is not the same.

The city has lost its love for the Nakagin Capsule

Tower and intends to demolish it in order to

profit from the sale of the valuable square

metres in this area, which lies at the edge of the

fashionable Ginza district.

The most tangible materialisation of Metabolism

has become part of the scenery. Now rotting, it

has become disposable.

—

FILIPE MAGALHÃES, ANA LUISA SOARES Architects, www.falaatelier.com

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This spread: the two peaks of the towers house the systems and water tanks; the Shimbashi district seen from the second-floor platform. This area lies next to Ginza and has a high market value — a factor that in 2007 prompted the owners to consider the possible demolition of the Nakagin Capsule Tower. Kurokawa, backed by the Japanese Institute of Architects (JIA), proposed substituting the worn-out capsules; some of the portholes are shielded by a lateral curved panel


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72

A Quest for Cultural NostalgiaA critical examination of art patronage and policy by state government and its effect on contemporary and traditional art production, aesthetics and choice for art location; this research study, based on art in public spaces within Jaipur, presents an important perspective

In her article “art without heart”, Manjula Padmanabhan

explains the role of the artist and the authorities in forming

a collective aesthetics through public art, an aesthetic which

not only reflects the general trend in art but also the political

will behind the patronage provided to these works . To a certain

extent this becomes clear while travelling around Jaipur;

although public commissions for art were acutely sporadic in the

earlier times, more recently a surge is visible in installation of art

at public spaces since the last 10-12 years, showcasing the themes

inspired from the cultural and political plethora of Jaipur.

Over the years the murals paintings are reduced to a pastiche

of past glory with works that have either started to deteriorate

with neglect or new works have replaced earlier murals. On the

other hand, the sculptures in the public space too are witness

to modified aesthetics. With a new government in power after

every five years, these public space commissions have thus

become critical record of a larger political and cultural discourse

which is important to decipher to enable an understanding of the

changes in policy making which in turn effect art production, its

placement and aesthetics.

Mural paintings

One of the essential aspects of public art in Jaipur is the

apparent importance given to the continuation of tradition in

art production. Historically Jaipur was established by Sawai Jai

Text & Photos

Khushboo Bharti

Singh on 18th October 1727 and over the years many rulers came

to the throne of Jaipur and added to the cultural and political

growth of Jaipur, but the name that is important in the course

of increasing and adding to the aesthetic value of Jaipur by

directly contributing to the city structures was that of maharaja

Sawai Ram Singh II (1835-1880). It was in his reign that all the

buildings facing the main bazaars were painted pink with floral

motifs in white, thus giving the city the famous name of pink

city. This is one of the most prevalent myths about Jaipur. It is

true that Sawai Ram Singh II developed the city in interesting

ways — it also includes an experiment in 1868 that involved

painting every street with a different coloured wash. As soon as

this was recognised as a hideous mistake in 1870, the pink wash

was restored; the other version of the myth is that the city was

painted pink to celebrate the visit of the Prince of Wales in 1876.

This too is a confusion based on the regular practice of giving

the major public buildings a fresh coat of colour wash before the

visits of distinguished people: the late 19th century reports of

the state's building department record this being done on a

number of occasions when Jaipur was visited by the viceroys

or similar dignitaries.

Today, planning regulation ensures the maintenance of the

pink façades but leaves it to individuals to determine the precise

shade; many have opted for a pastel shade of pink far removed

from the original terracotta or geru which was sustained in Ram

Amar Jawan Jyoti Conceived by architect and city planner Anoop Bartaria, the Amar Jawan Jyoti brings together political aspirations and the heritage of Jaipur. The work,

Amar Jawan Jyoti in Delhi, also integrates elements from iconic structures of Jaipur such as Jantar Mantar and Statue Circle Chattri. This symbolic structure, dedicated to the martyrs of war, is placed on the road that leads to Vidhan Sabha of Jaipur.

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STREET DIARIES


73

Far above: View of the Tonk Phatak Over Bridge, depicting a panel with engraving inspired from tribal motifs.Above: View of the Ajmer Overbridge

The police memorial and the road leading to the Narain Singh Circle bus stand

Singh’s time, but now only patches of it survive on parts of the

city walls. Geru imitates the colour of the region’s sandstone

also used most notably in the Mughal imperial cities of Delhi,

Agra and Fatehpur Sikri. Given that a part of Sawai Jai Singh’s

intention was to establish his capital in Jaipur as an alternative

power base to Mughal authority, it is not surprising that aspects

of the design reflect this ambition. Thus, along with the karkhana

(workshop) tradition — influenced by the Mughal system of

department-wise division of the imperial household — the

colour wash imitating the geru colour completes this illusion

of proximity with Mughal courts. Traditionally, only the main

entry gates to the city were painted with floral motifs along

with the walls surrounding the old city with background of

geru overlaid with white floral motifs. Although this tradition is

continued till today, its manifestation is limited to the overhead

bridges, under bridges and other boundary walls around, besides

major connecting roads in Jaipur, within the old city and the

newer, developed areas which are being painted in shades of geru

and decorated with white floral motifs or simple lines.

The 60s saw another addition to this tradition. The post-

independence craft revival within Jaipur initiated the process

of re-establishing karkhanas where miniature paintings were

produced on industrial scale, but these were private-owned

institutions run by artists trained under the Bengal revivalist

school tradition. The government, on the other hand, gave a

major responsibility of reviving the craft of blue pottery to Kripal

Singh Shekhavat. Along with this was granted a commission

to paint murals on the interior walls of the railway station.

Following his own style of revivalist painting, he conceived the

mural panel with figurative narrative themes showcasing the

culture of Rajasthan.

In the successive years to come, public space art commissions

were only granted for sculpture but this changed in the decade

of 1990 with the completion of Jawahar Kala Kendra (JKK). When

Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh built Jaipur he was moved by two

seemingly conflicting sets of ideas and images. On the one hand

there was the oldest theory of the Navagraha Mandala — the

mandalas of the nine planets, which scholars believe was the

origin of the city plan of Jaipur, with one of the planets moved

to the opposite corner in order to avoid an existing hill — and on

the other was Jai Singh’s interest in astronomy, and a profound

belief in the theory of science and progress which culminated

in the form of Jantar Mantar — the astronomical instruments

constructed to measure, with the greatest possible accuracy, the

movement of sun and stars across the skies. And it is this dual

concept that was followed in the formation and conception of

Jawahar Kala Kendra by architect Charles Correa in 1990 which

was constructed taking influence from the Jaipur city plan. JKK

is a metaphor for these theories: a contemporary building based

on an ancient notion of the cosmos, the very same Navgraha

Mandala, with one of the squares moved aside, so as to provide

a point of entry and to recall the gesture that creates and revives

the original plan for Jaipur and a visual directory for cosmology.

The external walls of the building are clad in red Agra sandstone

topped by a coping of beige Dholpur stone — the same materials

used for the Jantar Mantar observatory and in keeping with the

tradition established by the maharaja Jai Singh of painting the

city with the geru wash to imitate the Mughal architecture of

Red Fort or the Fatehpur Sikri since the same stone used in JKK

is used at Fatehpur Sikri and Red Fort. Throughout Jawahar Kala

Kendra, the traditional symbols of planets are visible, recalling

the surfaces and symbols or astronomical instruments at the

Jantar Mantar observatory. Another element that represents the

inspiration from the Jantar Mantar is the use of mural paintings

on the interior spaces of the structure to depict cosmology. These

works partially also reflect inspiration from Jain cosmology and

are painted by the traditional miniature painters, suggesting

the continuation of the miniature painting tradition of Jaipur

in the large scale mural format. Jawahar Kala Kendra was the

first incidence after a prolonged gap where a public space such as

JKK — being promoted as the arts and cultural centre of Jaipur —

utilised the miniature paintings style as large scale mural panels.

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74

A Quest for Cultural Nostalgia Jaipur, IN

Opposite page: Bhaskar Overbridge

Suresh Sharma. Although an abstract painter, Suresh Sharma depicted paintings in a style that he had evolved during his graduation studies, therefore meeting with the requirement of government directive of painting

artist Ramu Ramdeva, who again did not follow the government directives of depicting the past and heritage of the state, and resorted to his vision for

on a laptop and mobile.Thus this bridge provides an example where the artists have moderated their vision and style to accommodate the government's insistence on traditional

one of the reasons why the works survive in a fairly good condition, without being under the constant threat of getting permanent spitting marks by pedestrians. The images also depict various festivals of Rajasthan, although a few works are more detailed than others since the time that was allotted to this artist

This page: Ajmer Overbridge

senior artist Sumahendra, who took inspiration from the style of Kishangarh and Shekhawati paintings and incorporated the lively themes inspired from narratives of historical personalities, sports of Jaipur, heritage structures

The bridge was not selected to be repainted during the second phase of

in 2013, due to construction of the metro track in Jaipur, with no reminisce of the artworks preserved in the process.Since this bridge has vertical and horizontal space, the murals too have iconic depictions of folk performers. The space on this bridge is laced with lively depiction of various animals such as elephants, deer, horses etc.


75

With the coming up of the decade of 2000, and under the BJP

government tenure as ruling party, the paintings got a new lease

of life with the completion of various over bridges and walls

connecting major centres of the city. The government, for the

first time, commissioned a multitude of contemporary artists

from Rajasthan, but mainly from Jaipur, to paint these bridges.

The selection of the artists saw an assortment of modern artists

and traditional miniature painters. The directive given by the

authority to the artists mentioned themes which include, for

example, festivals, folk instruments, traditional motifs, etc.

This directive by the government on the themes and topics meant

that few artists who work in abstract and semi-abstract styles

had to undermine the style and incorporate figurative art. Thus

the style of these artists is not visible; what is visible, however,

is a subject and figure-oriented work which compiles with the

already popular figurative arts be it in contemporary arts seen

in the art galleries or the miniature paintings seen in the

traditional karkhanas.

Sculptures

If the above mentioned paragraphs portray the traditions in

mural painting, the tradition of sculpture-making has also

garnered a regular patronage for centuries. The evidence of

this is the fact that the traditional sculptors or murtikar (idol

makers) still live and work in the Murti Mohalla within the

Khajane Wallon ka Rasta in the western part of the walled city.

These traditional artisans continue to produce idols of gods

and academic naturalistic-styled portrait sculptures of famous

personalities. And a continuation of this tradition is manifested

in the art adorning the public spaces of Jaipur.

At this juncture, it becomes vital to understand the two

distinctive categories of sculptural production in Jaipur that are

installed at several important public places.

In the first category are included the colossal works adorning

the cityscape which serve as communicating symbols for the

society. These public creations can be put in the category of

commemorative sculptures for their socio-political significance

as memorials blending the elements of academic naturalism

prevalent in sculpture tradition with contemporary practice,

without any visibility of ostentatious feel: the life-size police

memorial at Jawahar lal Nehru Marg, the Tagore image at

Ravindra Manch, portraits of Jawaharlal Nehru, Indira Gandhi

and Mahatma Jyotibaa Phoole, and along with these are the

sculptures of Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh, and Maharaja Sawai

Man Singh.

The second category incorporates sculptural tableau which

revolves around the themes of festivals and culture of Jaipur

incorporating academic-style figurative sculptures garbed in

traditional attires and engaged in activities reflecting the myriad

festivities. Highly ostentatious in their approach, with emphasis

on details, these sculptures mark a stark differentiation from the

portrait sculptures explained earlier.

However, in both these categories of sculpture production the

concern is not just to create an object of beauty, rather to let the

entire structure of the sculpture to communicate in a direct

visual manner and not necessarily be an intellectual activity for

the onlooker.

An exception to these two categories of portraiture or the tableau

sculpture is the Amar Jawan Jyoti dedicated to the martyrs

of war, designed as a symbolic representation of not just the

military service but as a commemoration again to the two iconic

and landmark symbols of Jaipur — the statue circle and the Jantar

Mantar — along with the inspiration taken from the Amar Jawan

Jyoti of Delhi. This may suggest the government’s intention to

establish Jaipur as a cultural base confronting the proximity to

and central authority of Delhi; it is not surprising that aspects of

the design reflect this ambition of the BJP government, an act of

power display which Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh too usurped with

the formation of Jaipur as his capital and an alternate political

power base to the Mughal empire.

The second example can be seen in the form of installation

created at the central park. This 12-piece abstract installation,

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This page: Gair Dance Tableau SculptureAmongst the group sculpture installations commissioned in Jaipur since the 2005, the Gair Dance group installation is the most ambitious in terms of the scale of individual images. Conceptualised by architect and city planner Anoop Bartaria,

acknowledging the performance of Gair dancers and singers. The placement of this panel is equally important as the Gair is a royal dance done during royal ceremonies, thus the panel is placed on an island in front of the Rajmahal Palace

The works are placed on very low pedestals rather than the high pedestals usually visible in public installation in Jaipur to increase visibility from far. The conceivers of this work increased the scale of the individual sculptures to thus make the work visible from a distance.



77

This page: Gangaur Procession Tableau SculptureThis grou p of sculptures, conceived by architect and city planner Anoop Bartaria and sculptor Rajesh bhandari, is placed on the island in front of the Rambagh Palace, Jaipur, while the road leads to Moti Doongri Fort and Ganesh Mandir, both patronised by the royal family of Jaipur. The tableau sculpture thus is one more example where the location of the images marks an association with the theme of sculpture and royal family; Gangaur Festival procession being a royal event, this group sculpture is thus the longest tableau to be found in Jaipur.

architectures in Jaipur created by Anoop Bartaria.

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Gurjar Ki Thadi Underpass

oriented composition for this location. The subject matter again depicts the royal procession which the artist had created earlier too on the Kathputlinagar wall. Along with these, the heritage architectures within the old city is also highlighted in the compositions. Different views of the underpass carry depictions of procession themes and heritage buildings.

JP UnderpassMrinalini Kumawat is the only artist along with Samander Singh Khangarot to

Kumawat was commissioned to paint. Apart from the standard theme of royal and village life, the artist has incorporated elements which include lively depictions of monkeys, deer, cows and peacocks.The space under the staircase has niches which are painted in decorative

and other advertisements.


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79

This page: Jawahar Kala KendraThe façade of JKK that leads to the

depicting a male and female kathputli.

Hooja, it was revealed that initially she was asked to make these scupltures in metal but the commission did not get formalise and later, the same concept was given to a local artisan who made the present scuplyures and also painted them.The images also depict the various paintings on the front walls of the art gallery in JKK.Originally, the wall behind the craft museum at JKK was painted with an iconic image of Krishna in the form of govind deva ji (the popular form of Krishna in Jaipur). Artist Ghanshyam Nimbark discussed the particular work with Charles Correa and it was decided to paint the image with minimum elements and decorated in black, white and red so that the colours retain brilliance for a longer duration under the sunrays.

80

This page: Bais Godam Underpass

commissioned to miniature artist Samandar

with a white and pink colour combination on the middle divider wall, while one sidewall

the desert theme of Rajasthan.The other sidewall of the underpass remains

could not agree to similar terms within the contract. This project was recently exhibited at the Artisans Art Gallery in Mumbai.

donated to the city by French artist Christian Lapie, was made

in collaboration with various private organisations of Jaipur, is

again a tribute to the Jantar Mantar as well as the city of Jaipur,

inspired by the theme of astronomy and astrology, thus giving

tribute to the vision of Sawai Jai Singh for the city of Jaipur.

Yet these two works are vital and the most recent examples of

public space art which diverge from the main stream practice

of public space art by utilising symbolism and showcasing the

amalgamation of traditional and culturally significant symbols

from the past.

Another distinction can also be made in the manner of studying

the timeline dividing the art works done under the tenure of the

Congress government as opposed to the works commissioned

under the BJP government.

Under the tenure of the Congress party, public art commissions

were mainly about the commemorative sculptures displaying

portraits of political personalities and important congress leaders

or social reformists. On the other hand, under BJP leadership

the public space commissions mainly dealt with large groups

of sculptures which reflect the festivals of Jaipur, the portrait

sculpture of the Maharaja Sawai Man Singh, the Amar Jawan

Jyoti, and along with these, the mural paintings on and under

the bridges or roadside walls depicting the cultural plethora.

Thus, where the commissions under the Congress reflect an

importance attached to past leaders, the BJP gives significance

to the cultural symbols from the past and the present. Although

with the Congress back as ruling party in the state, the

kind of public commissions for art it would propose is yet to

be witnessed.

Location for the art works

JLN Marg — a road connecting two extremes of Jaipur, north and

south, the city palace and the airport — a straight broad route

with the university, colleges, cultural centres and government

offices running along its either side: it is at this road that the

placement of the first government-sponsored public sculptures

began with commemorative sculptures such as the Gandhi

statue, and the police memorial. The placement of these

sculptures is such that they face the Gad Ganesh temple in the

north of the city which has always been a sacred element in the

planning of the city of Jaipur during Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh’s

time and it was during his reign that the construction of the

city palace was done facing the north, directly towards the Gad

Ganesh temple. This is not the first incidence of sculptures placed

in line with Gad Ganesh and city palace in the north; before this,

the portrait sculpture of Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh at the statue

circle (erected during the time of Maharaja Sawai Man Singh)

too was placed facing the north and more recently the portrait

of Maharaja Man Singh are made facing the sacred temple of

Gad Ganesh and the city palace. Thus the city palace, the Elbert

Hall, the portraits of the maharajas and the JLN Marg, all face the

sacred form of architecture, the Gad Ganesh.

With the expansion of the city over the years, it became pertinent

that other roads be utilised too. What we see, thus, are two

divergent public space engagements by two political parties BJP

and the Congress. In the previous component of sculpture, I have

already explained the two differing subject matters but it is not

just the subject matter, it’s the location of the public space art

commissions too that differs.

Most of the sculptures commissioned by the Congress are

positioned in front of prominent government building,

whereas the works commissioned under the BJP government

are located on sites that are close to buildings that were made

by the maharajas and are now heritage properties, or they are

positioned on major tourist routes. — KHUSHBOO BHARTI Art historian and academic at IICD, Jaipur



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This page: The Peacock GardenOne of the most expensive projects commissioned for public space in jaipur, the space was designed by architect Anoop Bartaria. Artist Samader Singh Khangarot was commissioned and a traditional metal caster was employed to make the peacock sculptures around the garden. Well appreciated by the citizens of Jaipur,

sculptures of peacocks which became less over the years due to theft. The space under the Malviya Nagar bridge forms a part of the Peacock Garden, thus

the artist Samander Singh Khangarot was directed to paint peacock motifs and characteristically at this space too the artist has utilised pink and white colour scheme.The space was designed for visitors to relax and appreciate the aesthetics, thus benches were laid around the park; although the popularity of this place has languished over the years.The image shows one of the only peacocks in the garden in dancing posture with open feathers, while another shows a closeup of the space with a peacock on the fountain.

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M G RoadJuxtaposing the historical with the urban, photographer Heidi Specker captures the essence of one of the most commonly used street names across the country — MG Road, in Ahmedabad — as a reflection of the country itself

The invitation from the Goethe Institute/Max

Mueller Bhavan for participating in the Germany

Year of India, 2012 caught me by surprise, about

one year before my actual trip to India. I was to be

in Ahmedabad for four weeks — a city that I did

not know and a culture that was alien to me.

Long before my departure, my mind was already

in Ahmedabad. My ideas and imaginations

oscillated back and forth between the past and

the future.

There were questions: What was Ahmedabad?

What is the history of this city? How has its history

registered into its architecture, in the cityscape?

Who had shaped it? Where would this history be

visible and will I find these places? Will they be

like I had imagined them to be? What am I still

not thinking about? What will surprise me? And

finally, how can I get a legible, visual context?

Artistic work? Will four weeks be enough for

that purpose?

I had already made an important decisions before

my departure, due to the shortage of time — I

wanted to make Mahatma Gandhi, the Sarabhai

family and Le Corbusier my protagonists. The plan

was to photographically link the development

of the textile metropolis of Ahmedabad — the

so-called Manchester of India — to these people.

The content-related important prerequisite for

this idea was that these three subjects share some

similarity; they represent modernisation, for

striving for positive change and for progress. At

the same time, Gandhi, the Sarabhai family and Le

Corbusier differ in their influence and dealings.

As the leader of the Indian independence

movement, Gandhi propagated non-violent

resistance and civil disobedience. He settled

upon Ahmedabad as the location of his ashram.

The Sarabhai family, who owe their wealth to

the textile industry, displayed their interest

towards contemporary artists by extending

invitations to their residence in Ahmedabad;

Robert Rauschenberg had been to their residence

in 1973 and collected materials, bought fabrics

on his journeys in the area. John Baldessari

was invited in 1990. At the same time, the

Sarabhais committed themselves to tradition

Text & Photos

Heidi Specker

STREET DIARIES

83

and established the Calico Museum of Textiles

in 1949, where the world-renowned collection of

Indian fabrics and textiles spanned five centuries.

In keeping with the same spirit, to unite tradition

and modernity, Le Corbusier began to build four

houses at once in Ahmedabad — private houses

such as Villa de Madame Manorama Sarabhai and

the Shodhan House, as well as the Ahmedabad

Textile Mill Owners’ Association House (ATMA

House) and the city museum, the Sanskar Kendra,

as public houses. His architecture creates a radical

notion of space with traditional handicrafts.

The picture folder MG Road, with 27 photographs,

places historical locations next to urban daily

situations, traditional handicraft next to the

fragmentary. There is no place in India which

does not have a street by the name of MG Road,

thus, it is not only Ahmedabad that is reflected in

my work. This is not the aim of my activity; it

only refers to the formulation of the typical

and the universal.

—


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City as dimensionA collaboration between photography students of The Visual Academy of Art in Leipzig, Germany and the National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad, explores the question of looking at cities and the quest to comprehend the familiar, as well as the unfamilar. The shape and form of urban spaces, streetscapes, and urban objects becomes the subject of visual investigation into the nature of cities

WorkshopParikrama

TextHeidi Specker Thomas Weski

Pradyumna VyasDaniel Niggemann

Photo by Antje Guenther

↑

↑

Photos by Anders Forsmark

STREET DIARIES

85

This page: photos by Thomas Krueger

The history of this project dates back to 2010. We

were approached by Mr Heiko Sievers, Director of

the Goethe-Institut / Max Mueller Bhavan New

Delhi, who expressed an interest in initiating

a collaboration between German and Indian

academies of photography. This was to be a part of

the Year of Germany in India — Germany and India

2011-2012: Infinite Opportunities — organised to

celebrate 60 years of diplomatic relations between

Germany and India. The Visual Academy of Arts

in Leipzig, where both of us teach, welcomed his

proposal. As the National Institute of Design (NID)

in Ahmedabad is an art and design institution

of enormous repute and one of the few in India

where photography is taught, we readily agreed

to partner with them and to collaborate with the

NID’s Department of Photography. We also decided

that StadtRäume — CitySpaces, the theme of the

Year of Germany, would be the general focus of

our project, which would address the issue of rapid

urbanisation and its effects in Ahmedabad. The

project was realised with great support from the

Goethe-Institut / Max Mueller Bhavan Mumbai,

in particular, the support of its director Dr Marla

Stukenberg and the programme coordinator

Jayashree Joshi, and the support of Dr Deepak John

Mathew, the coordinator of the NID Photography

Design Department and our principal counterpart

at NID.

If one looks at the city as dimension, its sheer

size becomes the scale and theme, and can be

understood instinctively in spatial terms. Initially,

a city was defined by its area — large city: sprawl,

small city: manageable. Then the space developed:

congested areas with very high houses on a

small space or a collection of very small houses

on a large expanse. In the coordinate system of a

metropolis, everything is possible. To make the

issue more complex, there is also the scale of 1 and

0. 1 which stands for infinitely many people. We

speak of mega cities with a population of millions,

where the millions are as yet in double digits. The

0, on the other hand, stands for few, infinitely

few people. These are the shrinking cities that

maintain their volume while remaining vacant,

but are shrinking in size as their populations

decline. Photography has explored the

development of cities from the very start. The

medium itself has also developed rapidly and kept

pace with the urbanisation of the landscape and

the cities.

More than a year before setting out for

Ahmedabad, we started preparing our

photography class at the Academy in Leipzig for

the project; over the course of two semesters,

the students collected as much information as

possible about the city and its history. We screened

topically relevant documentaries and feature

films to sensitise the students to possible issues

and motifs, and we discussed Indian photography

and visual arts. We also invited photography

students from other German universities who had

already been involved in similar projects in India.

But we primarily studied photographic projects

that dealt with the documentation of cities in

different cultures, as we wanted to broaden

our approach to and research on StadtRäume

— CitySpaces.

The research work proved to be extremely difficult.

In contrast to Delhi, Mumbai or Kolkata, cities for

which there is a plethora of images and a wide

range of artwork, Ahmedabad is virtually a blind


86

City as dimension Ahmedabad, IN

spot. This was certainly one of the reasons why the

Goethe-Institut suggested that we base the project

here. Contemporary images were just about

impossible to find and the ones that were available

were mainly of the gigantic Sabarmati Riverfront

Project, a large urban planning project on an

almost-utopian scale. As though it is the done

thing, the animations and renderings produced

and available on the net depict something

visionary, something that seems to have only

little relevance for the present ground realities.

Nevertheless, a look beneath the surface reveals

residency. They stayed at the NID guesthouse

on the new NID campus which proved to be

perfect, as they were able to interact with Indian

students on a daily basis. Immediately after their

arrival, the students began implementing their

individual photo projects. It had been agreed that

the students would work exclusively with digital

formats so that that the work in progress could

be regularly presented, discussed and critiqued.

These sessions were organised jointly with

Deepak Mathew’s class, where the students were

also working on the CitySpaces theme. Halfway

the explosiveness of the mega project in terms of

its design and environmental impact, as well as

the impotence of traditional technological vision

and research, which seem to be quite removed

from reality.

After one semester, we selected 12 students for our

project. Most of them had never been to India. In

the second semester, these students were asked

to draft a concept for their respective projects

as precisely as possible. Under the guidance of

Heidi Specker, the group eventually travelled

to Ahmedabad in August 2012 for a four-week


87

This page: photos by Thomas Krueger

Photos by Nikhil Patel

Photos by Akash Anand

↑↑

through the residency, the German and Indian

students together started to select images for their

exhibition in the NID gallery in Ahmedabad. We

settled on Parikrama as the title of the exhibition.

Digital photography and mega cities are central

elements in our world today; their future

dimensions are completely open. What both

phenomena have in common is the incredible

speed at which they are changing and adopting

a new role. It is virtually impossible to come up

with an appropriate depiction or definition of

a metropolis, as it tends to be an embodiment

of its development potential or of the imagined

potential, rather than the here and now. The

present is thus more trend than fact. In this

project, the trend defined the space where the

students met and attempted to grasp and depict it

in their work.

We noticed that the German students were

quicker to post their photographs on Facebook

with the message ‘Here I am!’ than to ask and

discuss the question: ‘Where exactly am I?’ with

their Indian colleagues in the workshop. In this

context it is interesting to note that Parikrama in

Sanskrit means ‘the path around something’ or

to move around a central core. Both mega cities

as well as digital photography seem to have lost

their ‘core’. Hence the focus of the project was on

re-defining the core of the city and its dimension

through digital photography. This dimension is

reflected in a vast and diverse range of works. The

students and their works in a metropolitan area

go around smaller places while being encircled by

the theme.

The Indian and German students were moving

within a shared city / time / space, in a dimension,

so to speak, that would not have been possible

without collaborating within the framework of

the project. Their work is less about a concrete

representation and more about subjectively

founded concepts of urbanity that respond to

the fiction of the mega city with a personal view,

add perspectives, and highlight the space in

everyday life that lies between a black spot and

a bright future.

The exhibition opened on 7 September 2012. The

photographic works of 12 German and eight

Indian students were on display, each with a

specific approach and interpretation of CitySpaces

in Ahmedabad. In February 2013, Parikrama

was shown at the Goethe-Institut Mumbai in

a reduced and different form. It was curated by

Daniel Niggemann, one of the participants of

the residency.

— HEIDI SPECKER, THOMAS WESKI Professors, Academy for Visual Arts, Leipzig, Germany

Heidi Specker is an artist and a professor for Photography. Thomas Weski is a photography curator and a professor for Cultures of the Curatorial. Both teach at the Academy for Visual Arts in Leipzig, Germany. The authors would like to express their heartfelt thanks to all who contributed to the implementation and success of this unique project. A special thanks goes

Ahmedabad. They also acknowledge the contribution of translator Ritu Khanna, and

88

City as dimension Ahmedabad, IN

Photos by Annegret Schlegel

Photos by Ajit Bhadoriya

↑

↑

ready ourselves for India and the metropolis

of Ahmedabad with its five and a half million-

strong populace. Of our group of 12 students,

only two had any experience at all of the Indian

subcontinent. Most of them had never been to

Asia before. Even if almost no one exactly found

what they had defined in Germany, most of them

have been able to work on the questions framed

at home. This could not have been possible

without the exchange with the students of NID.

In the daily workshops, we mutually presented

our work and discussed our project ideas for those

under the title CitySpaces standing invitation.

Thus, the Indian students provided us concrete

help by helping us find the correct locations for

our images; but their opinion was a lot more

important. Stereotypes were exposed and

questions on the relevance of themes and artistic

approach from the German and Indian point of

view were discussed.

Influenced mostly by a journalistic account of

India, we tried to approach the city without

resorting to this familiar pictorial canon. What

are the specific visual characteristics of this

city? How are its structures laid out? The form

and aesthetics, the function and organisation

of a contemporary Indian industrial city were

deemed worth of investigation. We tried to gain

insight as much in the historical city centre as

in the modern temples of consumption that are

the shopping malls, whose construction as well

as closure seem inflationary. We also looked at

road traffic, the interaction of people and the

transportation of goods.

How the billboard-interventions define the

perception of the urban space and how they

accentuate the architectural symbols became

the subject of our inquiry. Similarly, the

renovation and redesign of the construction

project of Ahmedabad and the landscaping of

the promenade over 10km on both sides of the

river, the Sabarmati Riverfront Project came

to illustrate for us the change the mega city

Ahmedabad is undergoing. We suspect this

echoes the overall current urban development

of India.

It was outstanding to meet people at a distance

of about 6000 kms, who work on the same thing

despite displaying large cultural differences

at first glance; and that there was a friendly

exchange — which continues.

— DANIEL NIGGEMANNParticipant of the workshop


89

Photo by Sebastian Kissel

↑

Photos by Franziska Schurig

↑ ↑

1961 and has been a centre for design education,

practice, and research since then. NID is the

leading design school in India that bases its

ideology on balancing traditions and modernity

in the context of design solutions. NID has several

student exchange programmes with institutes

from various nations; this encourages exposure

to the best of international trends. These

programmes are conceived in such a way that

they bridge cultures and nationalities through

design understanding.

Parikrama was one such international

exchange programme that happened between

the Photography Design Department at NID

Gandhinagar and the Academy of Visual Arts,

Leipzig. Photography students from Leipzig,

along with their mentor Heidi Specker were

hosted by the Photography Design Department

at NID. Deepak John Matthew (Coordinator,

Photography Design, NID) and Heidi Specker

mentored the students for a month in various

aspects of photography.

Students from both the countries were meant to

work on one theme — the city of Ahmedabad,

which is a 600-year-old city with several

complexities; it also offers many contexts to work

with. This is a city on the verge of becoming a

metropolitan city. The complex structure of east

and west Ahmedabad shows the divide between

the old and the new. The students could take up

any aspect of the city and work on the same.

This was a challenging task for students from

both countries. Students worked with aspects

of constructions, water, old traditional structures

such as chabutaras (bird feeders), chaos, textiles

and fabrics, environment, street fashion, and

the inside world of the city. Each came up with

an interesting corpus of work at the end of

the workshop.

Apart from doing considerable amount of work,

students exchanged ideas and communicated

them at various levels. Regular review sessions

exposed students to the works of each other, and

constructive feedback. With this, the workshop

also accommodated many photo-books and

review sessions to gain a larger perspective in

history and various genres of photography.

The experience of living together enriched

each student’s experience of other cultures

and customs.

At the end of the workshop, students from both

institutes put a show at the Design Gallery at NID

Ahmedabad; this show was called Parikrama.

The show gave very interesting perspectives on

the city of Ahmedabad. Later, the same show

travelled to Mumbai at the Max Mueller Bhavan

gallery, along with an exhibition show by Heidi

Specker called M G Road.

Parikrama has paved the road for long-lasting

relationships between the two institutes and

countries. It was indeed a matter of delight

when NID, by way of conducting ‘Parikrama’,

was invited to be a part Year of Germany in India

for celebrating 60 years of the India-Germany

relationship. Relations between different cultures

can be fostered through art and by art.

— PRADYUMNA VYASDirector, National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad

90

Space and Possession A documentation of the uniquely “Indian” modernity that is responsive yet upholds a sense of affinity for history and tradition that is taking over the streets of Bengaluru, poses a pertinent question — that of ownership of spaces — public, private or shared

Text

Abhimanyu Arni

Photos

Clare Arni

STREET DIARIES

Vibrant artworks form the backdrop of everyday life in Bengaluru

↑


91

As India undergoes a demographic shift from the rural to the

urban, old ideas of urban space will need to be changed to

accommodate the unique interaction between the forces of

privatisation, led by India's increasing level of integration with

the global economy, and the older forms of social arrangement

and demarcation. This does not mean that the streets of

Bengaluru are witnessing a siege of the immemorial by the

modern, but are rather seeing a dynamic and responsive

expression of a particular modernity that is being produced by

uniquely Indian circumstances.

For global economic integration to take place, private property

rights and paid-for spaces are necessarily becoming emphasised.

Yet, this has not triumphed in becoming the only way that

we think about space; nor has it led to a wholesale tragedy for

its general users. Equally, so-called "modern" views of space,

the municipal mindset that emphasises civic beautification,

monumentality or transport efficiency must encounter ideas of

space that hold it to be sacred, ritualistic or communal.

Public space can also be contested and shared by various

communities that may not necessarily associate or interdine.

History and climate mean that expressions of religious belief are

not restricted to closed, or formally allocated spaces: an exterior

wall or outdoor shrine means that the shared space may be

sacred to a particular community, without a formal recognition

of that fact nor the means to exclude other groups — the very

meaning of shared space.

Since Nehru, it has been a cliché to describe India as a palimpsest

of different histories, cultures, languages, processes etc. However,

it is true that the Indian urban space is such an interaction

of multiple imagined geographies that overlap, complement,

contradict, embellish or destroy each other — the sacred, the

commercial, the municipal, the private, the social, the communal

etc. The crudeness of formal property demarcations and private-

public boundaries belies the vast complexity of meanings that

swirl around a roadside or maidan; for instance, is a tree on one

of Bengaluru’s urban village streets the property of that village,

or the Corporation, or the whole population? Or does it belong to

the adjoining property? Or all? Which claim eventually endures,

though, is part of the great game of modern urban politics.

— ABHIMANYU ARNIWriter

Shrines painted on walls complement the religio-cultural aspect of daily life, without excluding groups that do not share the same sentiments

↑

92

Space and Possession Bengaluru, IN

This spread: While images of prominent personalities, movies and other abstract ideas adorn the sidewalls, the streetscape serves as a public space for almost every imaginable activity


93

94

This spread: The streets — the quintessential “shared, public space” within an urban setting — become the hub of all activity, be it religious, social or pertaining to entertainment

Space and Possession Bengaluru, IN


95

encompasses architecture, travel, social documentary and cultural heritage. She has been published by leading British book publishers such as Phaidon and Thames and Hudson, as well as magazines.

96

Dekho, a book of interviews and design ideas, presents

a narrative history of design in modern India. It begins

with the question of 'identity' and discusses in detail

the aspect of work and visuality in design practice

Accounts of seeing

CONTEMPORARY MUSEUM FOR ARCHITECTURE IN INDIA

TextCodesignKaiwan Mehta

Identity being closely linked to culture, is a complicated matter in a country as profusely diverse as India. Across the country, in addition to natural and geographical diversity, manmade rituals of language, celebration, food and apparel alter every few hundred kilometers — making it complex to chalk out a pan-Indian sensibility in design. As a design studio working with local and international brands for a predominantly Indian audience, we often face comments like “This does not look Indian”, or references to clichés as “This is Indian”, “This works for India”. Despite the emergence of multiple forums for showcase of design in India, there is little knowledge of the behind-the-scenes stories of designing in and for India. Dialogue only around a few finished examples of design, precludes knowledge-sharing about experiences, alternative viewpoints, failures and revelations that inspire. For students and young practicing designers, there is little access to the real-life experiences of designers in India. To understand the fine connections between tradition, culture, modernisation and design, and to inspire a truly ‘Indian’ way of design, it is imperative that we nurture and create repositories of knowledge. This body of knowledge should provide room for introspection, for reflection. It should provoke new questions. Most of all, it needs to be real — honest and bold from the experiences of practitioners in India. Dekho is an anthology of inspirational conversations with designers in India, probing their stories for cues to the development of design in India and highlighting approaches that are unique to designing for India. In 2007, Dekho began as an idea, fueled by constant conversations within the studio about the lack of Indian heroes for young design students. For the next few months, working through an intimate network of contacts within the community, we traveled — meeting and recording conversations with designers, whose thoughts and work struck a chord with our quest to understand the unique context of Indian design. The selective addition of international voices for the publication came about with the desire to present stories that contained relevant cues for contemporary design development in India. The experience of the raw content that we gathered, was overwhelming in parts. With the first prototype of Dekho as a publication in our hands, we paused to consciously think about our role as curators and creators. In the next 3 years, there was a great surge of activity in design forums and platforms in India, yet most of these continued to be showcase-based, and lacking the voice of the designer. This was also in part due to the lack of writers with a good understanding of design, and the absence of connections between design and the world/issues at large. After an extended break, the effort behind Dekho was revived with greater clarity. People, places and stories were revisited —

for stories within their stories, for contexts that had changed in the interim, and for new people who had inspired us. The conversations were re-captured to focus on issues and ideas that

97


This spread: images showing the different layout designs in the book

are pertinent to the maturing of design in India, ranging from inclusive approaches to developmental communication, revival of dying Indian scripts, to the future of design education and the building of an iconic Indian brand by design entrepreneurs. The conversational format of Dekho, stems from the latent richness that is at the core of conversations, as opposed to a commentary or report. Conversations have the innate quality to break boundaries, meander through seemingly unrelated territories and converge at points of relevance, and most importantly, open up ideas for interpretation. While editing and creating formats for the stories, we have been conscious of retaining quirks of the spoken word — which may not always conform to norms of written language — but are expressive and laden with the speaker’s intent.Book design in India has been largely relegated to two extremes — academic and textual, or showcase-based, ‘coffee-table’ publications. Dekho explores possibilities in print design — driven by individual stories. Design for Dekho is a rich visual narrative that creates an experience of the unique context of each person, their work and their ideology. The book is designed to not just be read from start-to-finish; but with multiple layers of image and

Reading Dekho—The book Dekho is indeed a unique and valuable compilation of notes, memories, processes and shared histories. It is valuable as it documents, practically for the first time in India, design as a practice and profession, a process and investigation in the modern and contemporary scenarios. Not that design has not been documented before, but the former productions have been coffee-table books that glamourise design rather than elaborate its process; they have played on the visual richness of designed forms, the lure of their photography, the exuberant colours that objects in India use, and at times tried to locate them in a historical progression or continuity, but history here has meant only chronology.The book Dekho seems to emerge from two interesting starting points — a conceptual frame, that of 'identity' and second, the pressure in practice to address history as process and investigation. The question of 'identity' has been primary in the worlds of art, architecture and design through the second part of the nineteenth century and all of the twentieth; post-independence the issue has taken curious colours, and emerged in conversations on its design, practice and teaching, in different ways. Artists have explored it through abstractions, narrative imagery, while also extending tantric imagery in modern abstract art, and so on. Architecture addresses the question on the one hand by going to symbology and image-based references, while technology was also extended into interpreting form and material as 'modern-Indian'. Institutions like the National Institute of Design or Centre for Environmental Planning and Technology, both in Ahmedabad, generated a whole approach to teaching design around the question of Indian identity. An attempt to document this history is not only brave, but a much-needed exercise for sure.Further, what is very necessary to note is how for Codesign, the design firm that initiated and executed this project, and produced the book, felt the need for this project through questions within their practice. The relationship between practice and its history is very important, and the demands of that relationship give this book the form it has adopted. Interviews as a form of investigation and documentation have played a very important part in documenting histories of work in fields such as art and design in the recent decades. Simple and pointed questions have encouraged stories of great value that are also very detailed. In these stories emerges a history, not one that is institutional or controlled by a historian's voice and argument, but the history which is a landscape of ideas, promises, disappointments and

text, it is meant to be experienced anew, with each new story and each new page.Dekho means “To See” in Hindi. At the outset, it is a simple word, as is the intention behind the project — to build context for design in India not by imposing a set of characteristics or rules, but simply sharing real, personal experiences of designing for/in India.On deeper scrutiny, ‘See’ can mean a dozen different acts of recognition — Discern, spot, notice, catch sight of, glimpse, make out, pick out, spy, distinguish, detect, perceive, watch, look at, view, inspect, view, look round, tour, survey, examine, scrutinize, understand, grasp, comprehend, follow, take in, realize, appreciate, recognize, work out, get the drift of, find out, discover, learn, ascertain, determine, establish.That, is what we hope the experience of Dekho will achieve for the reader—multiple take-aways and interpretations, making for a diverse and richer view of design in India.— MOHOR RAYEditor, Dekho; Director, Codesign Brand Consultants Pvt Ltd

struggles. The meandering narratives are also ripe locations for investigating the journeys design training, studio practices, job commissions, pedagogic attempts travelled. We bring to you here the introductory notes of the authors as well as one of the interviews from the book, as a way of further reinforcing the attempts of this book in recording, investigating and debating design practice in modern India.Dekho which means 'to see' in Hindi is an interesting title. The authors see it as a celebration and engagement with many aspects of 'seeing', vis-à-vis design, and they list them out. However, it maybe interesting to note that maybe 'design' as a category of acts and actions, is something that emerges only in the 19th century. Arindam Dutta's masterpiece Bureaucracy of Beauty outlines some of these issues. Well, then in this case one could also debate the primacy of 'visuality' vis-à-vis design — how much of design is about 'seeing'? Is it also a moment of modernity that premises design on the aspect of visuality, sight and vision? In what ways, and in which aspects of the occupied and experienced world, does visuality play a role, and how? What has sight discovered for us, shaped for us, and so also, restricted for us? As we can start to think of these questions, the demand that resides in the word 'Dekho' — a call to look, and hence think, closely, carefully and with responsibility and method/meaning is also interesting, and surely the need of the hour!— KAIWAN MEHTAArchitect and critic

(This text is the introduction to the book Dekho)

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Amar in the making

MAKIINTH

AMARIN THE MAKING

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164_Amar In The Making

CONTEMPORARY MUSEUM FOR ARCHITECTURE IN INDIA


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For over fifteen years now, Amardeep Behl has been orchestrating immersive spatial experiences in his search for a modern Indian idiom in storytelling. Moving beyond the labels of an exhibition/museum designer, Amar has brought poignant and fresh perspectives through his responses to spaces and volumes—critical developments in the practice of narrative-based spatial design in India. His body of experiences so far is akin to a rich Indian tapestry—layered with colour, warmth and meaning.

AMARIN THE MAKING

165

For over fifteen years now, Amardeep Behl has been orchestrating immersive spatial experiences in his search for a modern Indian idiom in storytelling. Moving beyond the labels of an exhibition / museum designer, Amar has brought poignant and fresh perspectives through his responses to spaces and volumes-critical developments in the practice of narrative-based spatial design in India. His body of experiences so far is akin to a rich Indian tapestry — layered with colour, warmth and meaning

Codesign—Your romance with design began

as a student at the National Institute of Design,

Ahmedabad. What led you to explore design beyond

the institutional confines of the classroom?

Amardeep Behl—I joined the National Institute

of Design (NID) in 1978 and fell in love with the

campus. I thought — if there is a paradise, it is here,

it is here. When they called us for the orientation

session and told us we are adults, I thought — this

is it!

At the same time, I was also interested in

architecture. I had already been in CEPT (Centre

for Environmental Planning and Technology) for

a month. I had seen the application form for NID

and I thought taking a design school’s entrance

examination would help in preparation for the

examination for CEPT. I received the NID offer

letter after I joined CEPT, and this created great

confusion. I had topped the CEPT entrance with five

others. When asked, the unanimous advice of my

peers was not to make the shift. Architecture was

hardcore, design was considered too flowery. But,

the more I visited NID, the more I was fascinated

by its multidisciplinary activity. There was 16mm

cinema. There was cell animation and graphics.

Industrial design was big. Before I moved school, I

went and spoke to everyone concerned about the

decision. The conclusion was, one, architecture is

architecture, and two, the decision was mine alone.

I joined NID. I had gone there to study film,

concerned about the film scene in India. I wanted

to make nice short films. After two semesters I

thought I would do graphic design. Then I also toyed

with the idea of doing product design — you know

how men are into materials and machines.

Foundation was great fun. Laurie Baker visited

the campus a few times — he showed us his work

and gave talks. He started coming for a course

on experimental architecture and this was to

have exhibition design as a programme under it. I

Invterview withAmardeep Behl by Codesign

100

Amar in the making Dekho

We joined the programme under Dashrath Patel.

By the third year, courses were going downhill

and we wanted to learn so much more. We even

created a new exhibition design structure and were

very earnest when we sent a letter to Dashrath

explaining that we needed more inputs in lighting,

structures, etc. Two days later he came and asked us

in all seriousness if we wanted to leave. We told him

we loved the discipline and we just wanted better

inputs. He assured us that things would be sorted

out. But nothing really changed. Rajan Khosa — a

friend who was drawn to film — thought of joining

FTII (Film and Television Institute of India) and

I — still attached to architecture — wondered if I

should go back to CEPT. We couldn’t make up our

minds and decided to get our inputs ourselves.

At the time, Gajanan Upadhyaya was designing a

house for the NID Executive Director. I asked him

if we could work on the project and he agreed. We

told Pathan from the photography department

that we wanted to learn studio photography; he

welcomed us aboard. Then we went to Moorthy, a

film-maker who was a part of the film department,

and told him how passionately we wanted to

work with film. He was happy with our interest

and invited us to develop a script with him for a

feature-length film based on a press article. Before

we knew it we were buried in work. We started

working frantically and it was great fun. We got

quite close to Moorthy, who used to try and get

us lots of freelance work. One such project was to

document a Kafila (procession) of a religious guru

in Mathura. With about four thousand feet of film,

a 16mm camera and two Super 8 cameras which

could record for about thirty seconds and three still

camera kits, we moved into one truck and

two cars.

We went to the coordinator of exhibition design

department at the time, and told him of our

plan to study with experts in different subjects

like sociology, philosophy, though not about

the project with Moorthy. We told him that

we needed to take a semester off, and we were

willing to take a year drop so that we could join

the next batch. But the administration wouldn’t

have us ‘walking in and out as we pleased, like it

was our house.’ We cooked up a story about how

we were going to learn film and do some training.

We went off for the project with Moorthy and

it was great fun. After about three months, we

returned to NID, only to realise that we had been

expelled from the institute. The faculty was

divided on the issue. Our parents came down to

the institute and explained to the director that

absence without permission could not amount to

expulsion and that the institute could be taken

to court. And that the most they could do was

to penalise us for the year. We were given a year

drop, which was exactly what we wanted.

In the meantime, Rajan decided that he wanted

to study film, and went on to apply to FTII. He

never returned. I decided to carry on doing design.

I came back to NID. By then I was in no batch

because the courses kept changing. I did my own

thing. It was quite nice.

My final graduation project was a corporate

exhibition. I worked for Hindustan Thompson

Associates, which has now become J Walter

Thompson. They had an exhibition design cell;

I knew them from my internship days and they

made sure I returned for my final graduation

project. We did a large exhibition at Pragati Maidan

in 1984 for the State Trading Corporation. The

exhibition won the first prize.

When I finished my graduation project, Rajan

was working on his diploma film at FTII (Film and

Television Institute of India). Since I had helped

write the script and knew well what he was doing,

I went there to art direct the film. I stayed at FTII

for a few months, designing and building sets for

his film in the studios there. It was great fun. After

design at NID, FTII presented itself in great contrast

as a dark place. In these three intense months I

worked and dreamt of travelling.

When I graduated from NID, I never thought I would

set up a design studio. I had major dreams. The

plan was to trek and walk around the mountains,

start from the Northeast and end at Ladakh. I

thought vernacular architecture was its best in the

mountains, their architecture was very important

to them. They make just enough for themselves,

because of difficult building conditions. I thought

I would take a year travelling this stretch. But that

was not to be.

When I was in FTII, I received a letter from Ajoy, a

senior from NID Exhibition Design. He had been

offered a job from USIS (United States Information

Service), with a salary of R 4000, which was a hell

of a lot of money then. Ajoy asked me to come back

and start a design office with him, otherwise he

would take up the job. I thought about this for some

time… two–three days of intense thinking. And I

left to get hooked up and I’m still into it.

Earlier, just before graduation, Ajoy and I had

started working together. We had a big project from

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Mahindra and my experience at HTA had put me in

touch with vendors, allowing us to do this project

from design to execution. Unfortunately the project

head at Mahindra fell seriously ill. The project had

to be cancelled just when we were purchasing

materials. So they gave us a rejection fee of about

thirty thousand in a time when four thousand

rupees was a huge amount of money. I came back

to Delhi and started Oriole Design with the money.

In 1986 I took up a duplex apartment, where I would

stay on top and run the studio below. We started

with a few small projects then soon got bigger ones.

Cd—The Gandhi Exhibition was the first big project

you undertook. As a relatively young design

practice, what was the experience like?

AB—In the days when Gorbachev was

restructuring society and the Red Army was very

much around, we did the Gandhi Exhibition. The

Soviet Union was still a closed country when

the Festival of India travelled to four cities there.

The Gandhi Exhibition was part of the festival

and travelled to six Soviet cities. The festival was

first inaugurated in Moscow, and then it went to

Volgograd where the Russian army had defeated

the Germans in World War I. Then it was taken

to Siberia to a city called Novosibirsk in January,

where there was six feet of snow and the ground

was devoid of vegetation.

We were taking a half-naked man to the Soviet

Union. And he was a vegetarian. Those are two

things you cannot do there — roam half naked

and get greens to eat — it’s just packed with snow.

I thought we were headed for disaster because

people would just not relate. But the response we

got was amazing. That made it special.

The exhibition was quite large, especially in

Moscow. This allowed us to use different materials

that reflected Gandhi’s life. He was born in a

concrete and lentil household — so plaster wears

off walls and exposes bricks. Then he goes to South

Africa where he is asked to leave the first-class

compartment of a train, and the harshness of

the situation is reflected in metal. Then he starts

practicing Satyagraha at Tolstoy Farms and leads

protests against the apartheid. The material here

changed to corrugated metal. When he got it all

together in Ahmedabad, in the Sabarmati Ashram,

it was all done in wood. In his prime he lived in

a beautiful mud hut in Sevagram. When he was

assassinated in Birla house, he was in the garden.

There was a stone wall in that garden — we used

stone to describe final moments in his life — his

achievements immortalised in stone.

The basic elements of the exhibition were taken

there by us and the layout of the space changed

from city to city. The Soviets provided us with

carpenters and logistics. India was the only

country, outside the Iron Curtain that they had

relations with. We were half capitalist, but we were

friends to the Soviet. We were treated with great

love and affection. We had asked for a number of

carpenters and trucks over fax earlier. Dates had

been fixed for these arrangements. We landed there

to find that it was quite like India; there were no

trucks and the carpenters had not arrived. Ninety-

two of our crates were waiting at Moscow airport

— some large and some tiny. We were waiting on

site with no materials. When some transportation

was finally mobilised, they brought crate 28 and

crate 90, and they gave us four carpenters instead

of twelve. There was utter chaos.

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102

All the trucks in the Soviet Union were busy

complying to their operational procedure where

all food stuff would arrive at Moscow and then get

redistributed throughout the country. The trucks

were deployed in distributing fresh fruit. Two

days before the exhibition, a hundred and fifty

soldiers from the Red Army walked in asking if we

needed any help. And before long, they were at it

and everything was going up. Since we were only

two or three designers in a thousand square metres

of exhibition space, something was bound to go

wrong with unsupervised construction. While

the inauguration lamp was being lit, there

were still carpenters working on the roof of the

Sevagram hut — they had to hide for the duration

of the ceremony.

From Novosibirsk the exhibition travelled to

Irkutsk, a town deep in the Siberian forest. We

went there in spring, by a propeller-driven plane

which flew us over the Tiber. Our President, R

Venkataraman, was travelling to Ulaanbaatar with

a stopover in Irkutsk, making it convenient for him

to inaugurate the exhibition there. Suddenly the

exhibition was going to be very important. The

Russians would also send senior dignitaries for an

exhibition inaugurated by the Indian President.

Again, as before, we were waiting and there was

no team, and some trucks were missing; they could

not give us carpenters either.

One morning an armoured truck arrived. Two

Siberian guards stepped out with Kalashnikovs and

opened the truck. Out came ten prisoners marching

and one of the guards said “here’s your team.” By

the end of it we were all friends — the guns and

tunics lay discarded and soldiers, prisoners and

designers worked as one. The armoured van left in

friendlier air.

The Russians were very serious about their

exhibitions — owing to a surfeit in cinema,

exhibitions became a part of Soviet entertainment.

One carpenter from our team in Moscow spent all

night in a queue on the street to see an exhibition

to which people were being allowed to enter in

batches. A town across the river near Irkutsk liked

the Gandhi Exhibition so much that they made it

a permanent structure in their town. It was a nice

feeling — we had reached the hearts of people.

Cd—The Khalsa Heritage Memorial Complex has

been ten years in the making. Tell us about the

journey and what it means to you.

AB The importance of the Khalsa Museum project

to me is at multiple levels. One, it is one of the few

genuinely narrative museums. It is a storytelling

museum. The typical museum is an artefact-based

museum. You have collections, you have artefacts,

you display them. And this is purely a narrative

museum, which has no artefacts. The scale of the

museum is tremendous. To do a museum of that

scale, with no artefact and no collections, is by itself

a very big, unique sort of experience. Second, it was

a community-based project — it is a project on the

Sikh community and the Punjabis. It wasn’t just a

national-level museum or a state-level museum.

It was dealing with the story of a community and

of a culture. And third, it was a project where the

client actually wanted an experiential, world class

museum, and they left us pretty much to ourselves

to find an answer, find a solution, which was world

class and unique.

The project went through various phases. When

the project started at NID, I was a core team

member. During the second phase, I became the

main member, working with NID. Design Habit

was asked to work on the project in its third phase,

so the museum that has come up is the result of

what we did as Design Habit, over three and a half,

four years.

In its first phase with NID, the museum was

imagined to be a technological museum, where

use of technology was the big thing. In the second

one, we continued from where NID had stopped

work, but were told that there was not as much

money to spend on technology. Also, there were

questions about whether they would be able to

maintain the technology in Anandpur Sahib. It

was decided that we find a solution that wasn’t so

high-tech, but retained the impact. So, the third

phase started with this premise. It was three

iterations of design, only the research was carried

on as the consistent element.

What is unique about the museum is also the

spaces. It was designed by Moshe Safdie, and the

spaces are immense. Normally, in a museum, you

have a large footprint, and the height of the gallery

is proportionate. Here, the spaces are very different

— the galleries are tiny, we have huge heights,

sloping walls, sloping roofs and a small footprint.

Moshe had already designed the building before we

started designing the museum. We had to meet the

spaces head-on, blend them, so that it would seem

they were designed in consonance.

What we have finally made, is an experiential

narrative museum. We have used technology, but

we have used it correctly. Technology that can be

IV



103

maintained. We have made the museum by hand;

It is a handmade museum. It is largely installation

based. There is a lot of craft — hand-painted murals,

metals, textile, just about every material one can

think of. It is very rich in colour, in texture, in use

of materials, to the extent where you wonder how

so much colour and material can be put together

cohesively in a space. The story is spiritual. It is

about the ten Gurus. At one level, it beats rationale

that how can so much colour and so much material

be used for a Guru period space, but what we

have achieved is a very quiet, well-balanced,

introspective — almost spiritual — space.

The journey has been very rewarding. The nicest

thing is that the people of Punjab are responding to

it extremely beautifully, they resonate with it. We

are getting four thousand people a day — and to

have that many visitors is very big, for museums.

From the intellectual to the NRI, to the man from

the street, the trader, the farmer, the student —

they all seem to be responding to it very well.

The main visitor is the man of the soil. Here we have

audio guides, we have installations, we have fine

textile work, painted work, miniature painting

styles, metaphorical installations in beaten metal

and glass — but the nice thing is that all kinds of

visitors seem to be responding well to the stories. It

gives me a great joy.

I was always afraid, while designing, of people

turning away and saying it is too elitist.

One did a lot of thinking, spent many years

trying to understand the Gurus as deeply as one

could, understand the philosophy of the Gurus as

deeply as one could. One tried to understand the

time period in which the Gurus lived. One tried

to see the art of the time period. For instance, to

create fifteenth century Punjab, we studied the

Jain miniatures. As we moved to the sixteenth

century, we saw the art change. We saw how people

represented trees or costumes in those days. We

based our imagery on these. In Sikhism, there is

the contemporary calendar art representation,

then there is the very old representation in the

JanamSakhis and the folk representation. There

is nothing in between. We have analysed the

calendar art kind of style, which was started

by this famous artist called Sobha Singh for the

Gurus. Then we saw the earlier representations,

the Mughal style, and we amalgamated all this.

I think what this museum has done is create a

representational art for Sikhism in modern times.

It is the result of a lot of churning with the material

and it hasn’t been easy. It is like the culmination of

a long journey.

When we started the project, we were also

enthusiastic about finding the modern voice in our

design. This is the dilemma we — all designers,

especially designers today — face. What is our

modernity? As a museum on Sikhism and Punjab,

the questions are — what is the modern visual

language for Sikhism, and how do you establish

concepts of this nature. What is our modern

aesthetic, our Indian language? What are our

elements, our colours? And when you work with

space, it is all of that. The Japanese have found some

answers — they have actually compartmentalised

it very well — their tradition and modernity. We

haven’t. The Khalsa Museum is trying to really find

the Indian language, and in a very contemporary

way. We have had miniature artists do hoarding-

style paintings. We have taken traditional craft

styles and created a contemporary language with it.

V

104

It took a long time to complete work, because, for

one, working with the government is very difficult.

This project is a unique project, it is a handmade

project, very difficult to make, very difficult to

specify and draw — not a regular tender-based

project, but had to be implemented through the

regular tender process.

Cd—For more than twenty years now, you have

worked with many young designers. What do you

expect from a fresh design graduate in terms of

their approach to work and outlook in life?

AB—I expect a fresh graduate to be hungry.

There must be a great desire to learn. I don’t think

you learn design in your education. I don’t think

you learn design in five years of practice. I think

design is a lifelong thing. There are no easy answers

to it. I think it is important that we all should be

hungry, we should be wanting to learn more. We

should be a little uncomfortable — design doesn’t

happen when you are too comfortable. That

restlessness of wanting to find the right resonance

to whatever you are doing has to be there. There

has to be a huge amount of anxiety to be able to

do better than what we are doing. It is not about

being able to do better than someone else, one has

to exceed oneself. Your work is not your shadow,

your work is your journey, so it has to be more than

what you are. You have to be able to put more than

what you know in your work, so that the work

makes you step up. You can’t work by thinking of

looking at other design solutions, it has to come out

of you only, but it has to exceed you. There are those

times, when there is a swelling in the heart, when

your chest expands, and you feel you have come to

something and you can’t describe it very well. But

you know it is very good. That is what design has to

do to us. It has to make us see ourselves better. Then

that work will always be unique and it will always

stand out. It will always have something, it will

always have an energy. Because you have put that

energy in it, it will give something back to you. It

is not the money and all that. It will give you back

right there. So, the deal is good, you have already

received from it. —

VI

Codesign conducted the above interview with Amardeep Behl; all text and images are extracted from the feature of the same title in the book Dekho (2013). The book is an anthology

developed and produced by Codesign.



105

I Images showing opening spread of the interview as

designed in Dekho

II The Panjpani Gallery, Khalsa Museum. The gallery

depicts the culture of Punjab — the land of five rivers,

reminiscing the passing of time and the day's activities

aided by a clever play of lights

III & V This page: Images showing the layout design of the

interview in Dekho

IV A wall painting from Gandhi: An Indian Revolution

travelled to the (then) USSR in 1984 and has since

been housed in Irkutsk near the picturesque lake

Baikal, Siberia

VI Miniature style painting showing daily activities of the

people in the region of Punjab

VII Visitors at the Panjpani Gallery

VII

Codesign is a brand and communication design practice, which is also involved in the creation of independent content

Milan, IT

106

edited by Luigi Spinelli

CASA AL PARCOCold Case 62 years later domus 263 11/1951

Gardella’s roof

Designed by Ignazio Gardella

between 1947 and 1948 at

Piazza Castello 29, the Tognella

condominium was recently in the

news when the Milanese woke up

to find the building wrapped in

scaffolding, whose unusual height

raised suspicions about what

was going on inside. Architecture

websites were alive with inferences

and justifications, a petition was

presented by specialist magazines,

and the Order of Architects opened

an investigation. Readers can gain

a fuller insight into these events at

http://casaalparco.blogspot.com,

but the controversy essentially

revolves around the granting of a

“permission to build a penthouse for

use as servants’ accommodation”,

an addition not envisaged in the

original project, as shown in a photo

by the architect’s son Jacopo. Now

a modest cap has appeared resting

on the raised and sharply projecting

horizontal plane with which

the architect had concluded his

building. While waiting to see what

will materialise from beneath the

scaffolding and from the surprises of

city council practices, we believe a

useful contribution to the debate can

be made by Gio Ponti’s interpretation

(in Domus in 1951) of what is meant

by a roof in Ignazio Gardella’s

architecture. “This building by

Gardella stands out for a number

of aspects that have been subject

to much consideration by modern

architects. For instance, Gardella

resolved the roof by separating it

from the built volume, which is the

best answer to a necessary difficulty,

because there has to be an eave (in

buildings that are not excessively

tall and not clad with incorruptible

materials). It is indispensable and

we are grateful to Gardella for this

example. This idea of a separate eave,

of a roof ‘beyond the architecture’,

or the roof as a ‘halo’, enables the

building’s volumes to be coherently

finished as such. However, in order

to ensure dimensional consistency

between the building and its roof,

Gardella lets the roof back into the

architecture. As a result, the volumes

are made lighter and indeed seem

to disappear (this house is more a

play of diaphragms, of walls, than a

walled solid), by showing the walls

and roof side by side, and cutting

a vertical sequence of windows

through them. Thus the architect

brings about a subtle, light and

elegant vertical modulation that

blends perfectly with the light (as

is proper) horizontal covering of

the roof (so to speak, but no longer

so).” With this publication Ponti had

understood the characteristics and

significance of the “park house”,

even before Gardella repeated

this architectural idea two years

later with his houses for Borsalino

employees in Alessandria, which in

turn inspired the roof of the house in

Barcelona for José Coderch’s Instituto

Social de la Marina. —LS

from

Some pages from the article “Villa a Milano”, published in Domus 263, November 1951, pp. 28-33. Left and top left:the Casa Tognella condominium today. Photos by Orsina Simona Pierini


107

The Casa Tognella condominium has four basic

characteristics: the clarity of its plan; the dialogue

between its facade structure and its interior

partitions; the roof detached from the staggered

volumes; and the elegance of its details and

finishings. Today one can note an emptying out of

its interiors and their fragmentation into different

real-estate units on each floor, the replacement of

its window frames, and the erection of a raised

level. “Architecture is precision in the proportional

play of its component parts,” wrote Gio Ponti,

providing us today with a critical comparison

against which to measure the substance of the

building’s new “halo”, the profile of its window

frames, or the complicated routes described by

its new plans, constrained by the position of the

staircase. Finally, there is the rooftop addition.

Indeed, the construction that now emerges so

glaringly seems to sit awkwardly on top of an

architecture with which it bears no relationship.

It ignores the tripartite plan, in which the original

volume was totally encompassed between the

two internal bearing walls. Nor does the new

construction consider the choices of material

and construction that endorsed the architectural

languages of its two fronts — walled and trilithic.

Many modernist houses have been readapted

in the course of time and have come down to us

in an already woefully altered state, having lost

that proper connection between types of plan and

material culture recognised today as the essence

of modernist culture. That fate had not struck this

park house, until recently miraculously frozen in

time. —Orsina Simona Pierini Milan Polytechnic

108

Rassegna Lighting

LightingLights and materials

The revolution in light sources, now much in

evidence, has over the recent years brought

about some extensive change in terms of design

approaches to luminaries and light fittings of

all kinds and in every category. A new-found

freedom of expression given by light sources that

are increasingly miniaturised and increasingly

powerful has led to the design and production

of lamps that are both original and innovative,

especially when it comes to their outer casing. As

such, the world of industrial design has nurtured

the conception of an exciting new chapter in the

The material most readily associated

with the notion of light never ceases

to amaze with its infinite declinations

and design interpretations. Young

Canadian designer Omer Arbel has

studied Carlo Scarpa and traditional

Murano glassworking techniques in

the making of multicoloured balls

that are each different from the other

(series 57, Bocci). Artist-designer Arik

Levy, meanwhile, has come up with an

airy and mobile sculpture that plays

on the transparency of glass and the

perception of colours (Jar RGB for Lasvit).

A traditional screen for light, fabric is

one of the most reworked families of

materials in contemporary (lighting)

design. Young Swedish designers

Form Us With Love, for example, have

used industrial felt in a similar way

to metal in the creation of an unusual

modular “diffuser” (Hood, for Ateljé

Lyktan). Also surprising in terms of

functionality is the large suspended

light Silenzio, designed by Monica

Armani for Luceplan: the circular

crown serves not only a decorative

purpose but also provides effective

sound insulation.

The lightness and flexibility of LEDs

is easily associated with the same

characteristics found in steel and

aluminium. This physical affinity

has been put to use in the Elle T1

wall lights (by Jannis Ellenberger for

Prandina) and the Alya hanging light

(by Gabriele Rosa for Nemo Cassina).

The Fluida table light (by Studio

Natural for Martinelli Luce),

meanwhile, exploits the weight and

magnetic quality of the metal base as a

dynamic device that enables it to take

on endless configurations.

Often cast out from the world of

more noble design, luxury can also

become part of a stimulating design

brief. The diffusion of precious

metals presented in a number of

recent exhibition events has been

accompanied by uncertain and

partial reinterpretations of painterly

and pre-modern decoration. There is

no shortage of exceptions, however,

and one of them is the large Argent

lamp (by Dodo Arslan for Terzani)

that exploits the particular way that

polished silver reflects light.

Precious metals and crystals

MetalFabricGlass

Above

LASVITAbove

LUCEPLANAbove

MARTINELLI LUCE Above

TERZANI

109


eternal history of combining light and matter.

Many traditional materials such as glass and fabric

have been addressed in a new way or have seen the

addition of new functions and expressions, while

some decidedly unusual materials like wood and

stone have been added to the extensive range of

lamps available. If all this effort has not been in

vain, within these strange objects that combine

light and matter one can perhaps perceive the glow

of another energy — a brighter and more powerful

energy than light itself: the energy we call design.

—Guido Musante @GuidoMusante

Slender and flexible, LED strips

invite experimentation into form,

movement and the plastic nature

of the body of the lamp. Archetto

(by Theo Sogni for Antonangeli), for

example, is a fun lamp for outdoor

use, conceived as a simple silicone

“tube” whose shape can be altered

as desired. Designer-architect Nigel

Coates, meanwhile, has taken

inspiration from the shapes of single-

cell organisms to reveal the intimate

natural DNA of plastic materials (the

Crocco lamp, for Slamp).

Used widely in furniture production

and the building industry, “natural”

materials like wood or stone are rarely

applied to the design of light fittings.

The rare exceptions often contain

germs of innovation and original

forms. Confirmation of this can be

seen in the heavy stone ziggurat-like

shade of Spiralitosa (by Raffaello

Galiotto for Marmi Serafini), or in the

light wooden pattern that features

in Stick, designed by French designer

Matali Crasset for Fabbian.

This category does not embrace a

single material but the way that all

materials are applied in the sector

known as technical and architectural

illumination. The light fittings that

belong to this group are generically

characterised by the way the

aesthetic aspects of the materials are

neutralised in favour of the perceptible

quality of the light. Despite being

invisible, the materials in this context

play a key role in determining the

effectiveness of the impact of these

lamps in space.

Borges showed that every good

classification must have the category

“others” (“et cetera”). Otherwise our

notional catalogue would not be

able to include a lamp made of water

(Dama, Trecinquezeroluce) or full

of crushed glass, like Shaker. This

latter example (by ADA Design for

Leucos) presents itself as a fusion not

only of original materials but also of

perceptive suggestions, iconographic

references and surreal connections—

which Borges himself probably would

have appreciated.

Others (bits and pieces)TechnicalWood and stonePlastic

Above

SLAMP

Above

FABBIAN

Above

ZUMTOBEL

Above

LEUCOS

110

Rassegna Lighting

ARTEMIDE www.artemide.com

EMPATIACarlotta de Bevilacqua, Paola di Arianello

Subtile densities and transparencies articulated using the expertise of master Venetian glass-blowers feature in the shade of the Empatia lamp. The LED is housed in a tube of extra-thin glass that does not absorb heat.

DELIGHTFULL www.delightfull.eu

GRAPHIC LAMP COLLECTION Nuno Corte-Real

The Graphic Lamp Collection is an eclectic range of lights that incorporate various types

amusing series offers a wide selection of wincandescent or neon bulbs.

SWAROVSKI www.architecture.swarovski.com

MARTINELLI LUCE www.martinelliluce.it

FLUIDAStudio Natural

the two bases can be combined in various positions to respond to different demands for illuminating

ESMEHarry Allen

TOBIAS GRAU

www.tobias-grau.com

STUDIOTobias Grau


111

ATELJÉ LYKTAN www.atelje-lyktan.com

CHROMAKEY

www.chromakeydesigns.com

R HOUSE www.rhouse.in

HOOD Form Us With Love

A hanging lamp shaped like a hood that can be used to add a distinctive touch to open-planned and neutral communal ar-eas and workspaces. It has a modular structure in three pieces

sheets of pressed industrial felt that make up each modular element can be added together to achieve a lamp of the re-quired dimensions.

OKAPI LED GE Lighting

A range of exterior light fittings, Okapi LED is available in 20, 30 and 44W versions and is designed to have a 50,000-hour life, the equivalent of 12 years of use with an average of 4,000 hours per year. Okapi LED

side and post-top mounting designed for street lighting, and a decorative mounting option that is ideal for street furnishing in pedestrian areas, parks and gardens.

GE COMPANY www.gelighting.com LIVING IN STYLE www.livinginstyle.co.in SCHÜCO www.schueco.com

VIBIA www.vibia.com

MERIDIANOJordi Vilardell

An outdoor lamp that can also be used as a seat. Its design is based on the contrast between the light emitted and the shad-ows projected by the structure of the lamp into the space

from the ground and directed downwards, held by a structure in steel rod that, as well as acting as a support, has a decora-tive form, reminiscent of a cactus plant.

R HOUSER House offer a wide range of lighting solu-tions ranging from chan-deliers, table lamps, floor lamps, ceiling lights, outdoor lights and more.Good lighting enhances the mood and desirabil-ity of a space. It contrib-utes greatly to people’s

blend into traditional and contemporary décor beautifully so

on it and the shade covered with silk fabric is a great way to mix up style of lighting in your home and add warmth to any space.

CHROMAKEYChromakey presents desk lamps made out the headlight of a

well established designers and of the younger promising ones.

comfortable space that is splashed with white washed walls, letting the products stand out with their varied colours,

includes designer clocks, desk lamps, laptop sleeves and personal organisers amongst many others. Apart from lamps the store houses some of the most contemporary pieces which blend style with a unique component such as, an Intriguing chair modelled by renowned designer Fenny G is exclusively available in India at Chromakey and a centre table designed using the refurbished scraps of a refrigerator.

LIVING IN STYLELiving in Style founded in 1995 is one of the premiere sellers of

brands from around the world. With both contemporary and classical designs Living in Style provides ample options for

SCHÜCOSchüco is a worldwide premium supplier of aluminium windows, doors and façade system. Schüco in India is working with chosen

with the highest design requirements, without compromising

with system solutions for sustainable, aesthetic architecture from a single source. Slender face widths, for example on window

Germany quality standards.

112

Rassegna Lighting

VINAY SWITCHESNightinglow

-

LUTRONEnergi TriPak

PHILIPS HUE ANCHOR BY PANASONIC

NIGHTINGLOW www.vinayswitches.com

PHILIPS HUE www.meethue.com

ENERGI TRIPAK www.lutron.com

ANCHOR / PANASONIC www.anchor-world.com


113

PHILIPS Lumiware

Driven by innovation, Philips is India’s leading lighting company and the pioneer in home decorative lighting and has always demonstrated how great lighting transforms

lights can help you create the perfect atmosphere at your home with a powerful impact on the energy savings and

From table lamps and recessed light, to decorative and accent light a variety of Philips light bulbs can be used in

The home decorative lighting portfolio is not restricted

Lumiware range that includes LED coasters, wine coolers,

LIGHTBOX

Occhio, Bocci, Moooi, Vibia, Foscarini, Diesel, Flos, Verpan,

deal in hi-end architectural and decorative lights, for indoor and outdoor spaces, providing a complete solution for the

advises from the design stage to installation, on signature

a platform for innovative, functional, beautiful forms that

attempts to cover various spaces in the house and blends

CAPPELLINILace Metal Lamp

Fuwl got the idea of a Lace Metal lamp from a Swedish metal -

technique of manufacturing steel mesh with gradient sized

since it has great characteristics as a lampshade as small holes that cover the light source, gradually get bigger to diffuse the

and fragility, a very nice contrast: the gradient holes add to this

thing about the production of the lamp is that no waste mate-

MAGPPIECoat Hanger Lamp

essence of design for living, where every object connects with an emotion to create a perfect balance between design

moves away from the conventional idea of “just a lamp” to create a more unique, multifunctional design that acts as a lamp, coat hanger and storage, adding an element of

THE GREAT EASTERN HOME

style chandeliers and this collection is a perfect blend of

feel to it that adds a sense of panache and eclecticism that goes

LIGHTBOX www.lightbox.co.in MAGPPIE www.magppieindia.com

CAPPELLINI

www.cappellini.it

THE GREAT EASTERN HOME

www.greateasternstore.com

PHILIPS

http://www.philips.co.in

Armstrong World Industries (India) Pvt. Ltd.

Branches:

Representatives:

Boomerang, A-Wing, Unit No. 304, Chandivali Farm Road Andheri (E), Mumbai - 400 072. Tel: 022-3048 0800, Fax: 022-2491 3604e-mail : [email protected]

Ahmedabad : 09376133127 Bengaluru : 080-26576367 Chandigarh : 072-2633680Chennai : 044-42175303

Cochin : 09633009209Bhubaneswar : 09937042387 Coimbatore : 08754457957

Hyderabad : 040-32009868Kolkata : 033-24014755 Lucknow : 0522-2201143

Ludhiana : 09316919120

Gurgaon : 0124-2385671

Guwahati : 09678069393

Indore : 073899 42297

Jaipur : 08769217000 Nagpur : 09325995527

Pune : 09373323149

Nashik : 09325995556 : 09325676005Surat: 09346783496Vizag

RNI NUMBER MAHENG/2012/45937Regd No. MH/ MR/ WEST/ 305/ 2013-2015 on 26th & 27th of Previous Month Published on 1st day of Every Month