|
|
| THE FLYING DUTCHMAN IN ANDREJSALA Laima Slava Conversation with the author of the project of the Latvian Contemporary Art Museum Rem Koolhaas, Riga, 3 September 2006 | |
| |
| Laima Slava: Holland is a small country, but it has always been wealthy. You create projects in countries that are big and wealthy. Was it a challenge for you to do a project in a small country that is often named as the poorest EU member state? Rem Koolhaas: Actually, not at all. Holland may be very rich, but they are very mean with money. The Dutch never invest a lot in architecture. And actually some of the buildings we did in Holland are extremely cheap. In any case, I don't have a lot of sympathy for luxury in buildings. I think luxury as an intellectual thing about quality, or about tensions, is perhaps important - intellectual quality is for me a luxury. But luxury in terms of materials, or in terms of visible money thrown away on a project, does not appeal to me. For instance, we did a large conference centre in the 90s, in the north of France, and we had almost no money for it. So we pretended we were doing a building in Kolkata. It worked very well, but it looks very poor, and the look of poverty is something that I have a lot of interest in. I am also currently looking, kind of separately from the architecture, as a research project, at some of the poorest parts of Africa, the city of Lagos. There I'm investigating how poverty is compatible with the very big city and what the effects are. I've never seen an important connection between investment and architecture. On the other hand, of course, we live in a very interesting moment, where power is changing very quickly, where it is very unbalanced, and where a lot of political tensions are happening. I think in that sense this is a very interesting country, because it has a recent history that includes being part of the Soviet Union, with all that this implies in terms of idealism, failure, economical disaster, repression - and now it is European, with everything it implies. And for that particular reason I am extremely interested in working here - simply because it provides a particular context. L.S.: So context is important for your work? Your assistants came here and researched the situation, the place and also the cultural history. This indicates serious involvement. R.K.: I've also been here many times myself. This is maybe the tenth or twelfth time that I am here. Let me say, context does not only mean the visual context; there is also political, historical, psychological, financial context. We always think it is important, but we do not always respect it. In other words, we want to know it in order to define our attitude towards it. So we always have a different, changing relationship with context. But what we have to know here is that we're doing two things. We're doing urban planning and we're doing a different thing inside the urban plan. So, in an ironic way we're establishing our own context, on a minor level. L.S.: What attracted you to this particular spot in Andrejsala? R.K.:I think what appeals to me in this project is simply the fact that we're doing something that we've never done before - which is, work with an existing building. So that alone enables us to really experience something that we haven't experienced before and to think about issues we haven't thought of before. What I hope to convey and to show is that I'm not particularly happy with the way architecture is going today. The status of architecture, and particularly the invention of the world of "star architects", is really something that I'm very sceptical about, because it kind of forces you to be constantly more extravagant and extreme, etc., etc. I think in the long term it is a very unhealthy phenomenon. So this particular case appeals to me because we can do something which is really intelligent, where much of the visual impact is given by something that already exists - the power station. L.S.: But you're changing it! R.K.: Yes, we are changing it, but still the largest impact will be what exists, not what we add to it. What we're adding is a certain way of using it and it is an intelligent way of using it; but still it is mainly about something that was there and not about something that we can impose. And I think technically right now it is an interesting thing to do. Simply because it is one of the ways in which you can escape the clichÈs of the "star architect". L.S.: I've met with scepticism - even from artists - as to whether this building is necessary, whether it will not become just another fortress of bureaucratic ambition. Have you determined what exactly makes a building live? Is it possible to consciously include these aspects in a project? R.K.: I think it is a very legitimate question - whether a museum is not something that concludes something, rather than something that stimulates something new. But we have been working with this issue for a very long time, and there are certain elements that we are introducing or interpreting in our [building] that make it not just an attractive thing for people to look at, but also [provide] large amount of spaces for production and spaces for laboratory-like conditions. We want to make something unique in making storage accessible, so that there is not just an official version, but also an unofficial version of what you see. And in this case I think what we are discovering about working with something that already exists is that it has a greater range of possible uses than something that you design anew, afresh. So there are a lot of ambiguous spaces or spaces that can be used in many ways. Of course it depends on who is running it, how it is run, etc., etc., but I'm sure that in terms of the architecture there will be a lot of informality, undefined areas that can be appropriated in many ways by artists. L.S.: What, for you, was the main function of this building? What gave you the most difficulty? R.K.: It's too hard to talk about difficulties; at the moment we are only at the concept, and we think the concept is to restore. There is a whole series of very complex technical things that we have to resolve. We have to define in a very creative way the relationship between what exists and what is new. But so far we've actually discovered potential rather than wrestled with problems. L.S.: Good architecture for public use is an event in itself. In your opinion, can such an architectural event give society a positive jolt? R.K.: What people don't realise enough is that at the beginning of every architectural effort there is an initiative which is taken by somebody else. It is not always us who make an event. There are certain demands that we try to meet. I think some of our things are really very discreet, and some of our buildings can be very modest. So I think it is a mistake to think that everything we do is crying out for attention. We try to make our buildings interesting - but [they have] to perform their task as well. And I think that here, if everything goes according to plan, it will surprise you in terms of what you can do with old things, but also of how supportive new things can be. We are not only interested in forms; from the very beginning it has been our passion and also our conviction that what happens in a building is at least as important as how it looks. We have been particularly sensitive and precise in terms of that part of architecture, in creating things like that. L.S.: The overall image of the building was defined as "inclusions in amber". Was this your idea, or more of a journalist invention? R.K.: I think that part is just journalism. But, basically, if you look at many of these situations where existing things were converted, then something happens which I don't like - the old, existing building dictates all the proportions, all the spaces. It's dictatorial. You can look at the Tate, for instance: every proportion is dictated, there is no freedom for the architect. The existing building remains a guiding force. So I was looking at a practical way of avoiding that, and I think that is what we have found - simply by embedding or including it into a larger whole we can appropriate this part and also have a large area of freedom where we can do exactly what we want and where we can do our own architecture. So, the issue was to find a way to not become victim of the existing substance, but to find freedom in this kind of situation. L.S.: Would you say the Andrejsala situation is more or perhaps less interesting than the Tate Modern project, for which you also submitted an entry? R.H.: In the project for the Tate I was also trying to find independence from that existing building. It is a very nice project but we didn't win. And I think that here this independence from the existing building is the strength of the project. But in the meantime, I would say that maybe now I have a little more interest in the existing architecture, because 10 years ago, the ego of the architect was a little more under control. Now, 10 years later, it is really out of control. So, because it is out of control, my interest in treating the existing thing with respect and looking at what possibilities it contains is greater than those ten years ago. In that sense, architecture is a constantly shifting technique, or strategy. L.S.: You are also creating a project for St Petersburg; I saw an entire room dedicated to it at the Arsenale during the Venice Biennale. This project also looked into the current explosive increase of the volume of space devoted to art. What is your opinion of this matter? R.H.: What I was trying to do in Venice - we have participated in perhaps ten competitions for museums, and we have always come very close, but have never really won any of them. So this was an evaluation of the situation itself, but also of our role in it. And we discovered in Venice that we have designed so much art space - I don't remember exactly, I think it was something like 44 football fields. So there was a sort of insanity of this constant expansion. And that is why I am so profoundly happy that we now have the masterplan of the Hermitage, because there I agreed that I would not add anything. Our only goal there is to look at the existing spaces and the existing architecture, and to put them together in a new way. But we are there totally; we will not do any new architecture there. So it is almost a more curatorial approach. And that is part of the same resistance against the star system that forces us to do more and more absurd things. The masterplan is for the project to be finished in 2014, to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the Hermitage Museum. L.S.: What would be the way to address the suspicious attitude of the public, who think that a society with so many social problems cannot afford a new museum? R.H.: It is a political question, of course, about what the priorities are. And it is really hard for me to judge whether this is a priority in this situation here. But on the other hand, I think that there has been here a very strong tradition of a really unique way of looking at the world. It is partly generated by being conquered by so many people, and by being part of the Soviet Union and retaining an independence in spite of the fact of being appropriated by many different cultures. This independence in a way doesn't have a centre, or a visible point of manifestation, and that is how we understand this museum - something will be made visible. Therefore I can imagine that it plays a certain role and has a certain benefit for everybody. I think also it is very important to attract and to make manifests not only to the population but also to the people who come here - so that it plays a role not only for the population but also in making a manifest to other people. So I think it is probably a politically and culturally valid or important effort. But is it specifically better to make an orphanage or a museum - I really cannot judge. L.S.: What are your thoughts on your life of a "flying Dutchman"? I read somewhere that about 300 nights in your year are spent in hotels. Architecture, however, is a thing for permanent, lengthy use in one particular place... R.H.: No, no. I published a book ten years ago, called S M L XL [with Bruce Mau], and there we did statistics about our lives. That situation has changed completely. You cannot do architecture the way we do it - which is very personal - without being there. Currently I'm in the office for three weeks, and then I have one week of travelling. But many things can differ between building in China and building in Portugal, so you also have to be there to see how it goes. L.S.: Many Chinese architects are working in Europe, and now there is also a movement in the opposite direction - European professionals are working in China. How does this exchange of experience work? R.H.: Basically, I like to engage myself. For instance in China we are working with Chinese partners. For the first year that we worked on this project we had 14 Chinese people in our office. They opened a Chinese restaurant in our office, so our office became much more Chinese. And now I have very strong relationships with a number of Chinese architects whom I respect. I am making a bit of an effort to also make sure that they can do things here or in other situations where I have an influence. So I make sure that in some part of the plan we will have Chinese participation. L.S.: Which influence is now stronger - East to West, or West to East? R.H.: I think there's a balance. There's a lot of Chinese talent. And, of course, what is interesting is that in China there is still a lot of very socially orientated architecture, so I think you will be surprised by the depth of Chinese architects in three or four years. L.S.: How do you see the future of architecture? I remember seeing you two Venice Biennales ago, at the Arsenale "Utopia Station", having a conversation with Anri Sala, a young Albanian architect, who, with his video projects of repainting buildings in a depressive environment, is now expressing himself more as an artist (I recently saw his project on show at the Tate). Do you take an interest in what young people are bringing to architecture right now? R.H.: Of course, our office in itself is almost like a platform for new talent. Some ten people from different countries are currently working [there]. We try to cultivate this - for instance, in my research in Africa I discovered a couple of promising people and brought them here, where they worked in the office, and then they went to America, to Princeton. So it is a constant influencing of possibilities. I am not very enthusiastic about architecture today, so that is why I haven't participated in architecture biennales, but more in art biennales. I find the system leads to very predictable and indistinctive results right now. L.S.: Why? R.H.: Perhaps the most important influence has been the fact that the public sector has been so increasingly absent from the area and domain of architecture. This means that everything we do is private and for private interests, and therefore the social dimension, which I think is very important, is lacking. L.S.: What is your idea in architecture - what are you working for? You are constantly making choices. R.H.: Yes, we have many ideas about architecture. One of our roles is being researchers. We write books about the city, we follow the development of city, which is a very important idea in architecture. We try to find in globalisation the points and moments that enable us to do significant, modern buildings which are not only forms but also actually have a relationship with the local culture and intervene in this culture; that's a very important part. And then there is, of course, the private agenda of wanting to do things that are beautiful and useful. | |
| go back | |
