The enhanced nature of the Tectoniques culture
Jean-Pierre Chupin
(p. 10-13)
Though only just reintroduced into the lexicon of contemporary architects,
tectonics, according to some, is already close to exhausting its potential.
A categorical rebuttal of this allegation can, however, be found in recent work
done by the eponymous Lyon agency for which “tectonics” is not just a slogan
or a doctrine, but a shareable, open-ended, enriching conception. There are,
in fact, forms of tectonics that are doing very well. Better still, they incorporate,
at different programmatic scales, perspectives on constructional thinking that
the emerging environmental consciousness would do well to adopt. And here,
it should be added, aesthetics sacrifices nothing to ethics. Constructional choices
are not legitimated by sustainability alone, and do not pit nature against culture
in the name of ecology, or diminish the complexity of urban, social, economic
—in a word, human—situations. In fact I would say (and this will be my guiding
thread) that constructional thinking should always amplify and reinforce
the cultural primacy of the idea of nature.
Since 2001, I have been working with Kenneth Frampton, and researchers in a
wide range of disciplines (in a French-speaking context, given that by then the
subject was already well advanced in the English-speaking world), to develop
tectonics, not as “the” key, nor as a retrograde rallying call (though in fact criticism
of this kind been levelled, unjustifiably, at Frampton himself, who besides
being an eminent historian is a critic of modernity), but as the fulcrum of an
open, inevitable debate on constructional thinking. “Inevitable,” because it takes
place, symbolically, in the type of potentially rewarding, but often improbable,
encounter between engineers, artists and architects that characterises,
for example, the approach adopted by the Grands ateliers de L'Isle-d'Abeau,
in France's Isère department, which is a leading centre for teaching, research
and experimentation in construction. We foresaw conflicts of vested interests,
and the kind of apprehension that is liable to be aroused by any approach which
can be seen as over-erudite, and confined to questions of procedures and techniques.
We had anticipated the cacophony of expert viewpoints that we did
in fact observe, but not the media campaign of misrepresentation, though in
the end tectonics may be fated always to split off from its scientific foundations
and fall foul of superficial interpretations. On the other hand, as Cyrille Simonnet
has noted, an explanation may lie in the nature of the word itself, which, both in
English and in French, sounds like a double click of the fingers, conveying a musical
intensity and rhythm. But does this justify its being identified with a more or
less improvised, more or less disarticulated dance form that children mockingly
mimic? One might have hoped for better, though without being overly worried.
After all, architects do not have a monopoly on “tectonics,” any more than
geographers or geologists. But it would be a pity if the concept were identified
exclusively with a passing fashion. It has contributed to a demonstration that
everything possible has not yet been said about the profundity, both auditory
and corporeal, of constructional culture, and its true nature, which in the end
is more prosaic than poetic, and which benefits from the authenticity and affirmation
of constructional dispositions.
The architects of Tectoniques (as they themselves say), are concerned with
rhythm and musical interpretation when it comes to making decisions about formal,
structural and constructional orientations. Let us take a closer look at what
is involved in these orchestrations of assemblages in wood, metal and concrete,
which the Tectoniques team characterised as “unplugged” in their previous
publication, and which they now call “explicit” (as enthusiastic downloaders
of music files that can be frank, up-front and crude).
In order to get a better idea of the causes they seek to champion, let us (if only
for the sake of migraine avoidance) leave aside the theoretical, historical debate
on tectonics, and concentrate on the architectonics; because it was the second
ethmological part of the word, the tekton (denoting the art of the carpenter),
that was of interest to the team when it came to choosing a name and a programme
of work. They do not deny that after completing their (chaotic and
indigent!) studies they had to, as it were, go back to the drawing board, and to
the sources of architectural construction, in other words the sizes, proportions
and selection of the primary elements, and their in situ assembly. This latter
aspect of the question was crucial, in that the team regarded the construction
site itself as the crucible and touchstone of the design process.
Unrepentantly whimsical, the Tectoniques team does not see construction as
a question of details, but rather as a sort of Lego game; and it is this metaphor
that we must take into account if we are to understand their modus operandi.
The fact that the great majority of their projects exploit the possibilities of wood
should not mislead us. This is not an architecture of carpenters, but rather of
musicians who know about mechanics. As exponents of paradox, they aspire
to, and dream of, edifices that are as easy to dismantle as to assemble. And this
certainly explains the high degree of legibility, in terms of constructional layers,
that is a hallmark of their work, since one such layer may often hide another.
Taking the nature / culture dichotomy as our hermeneutic standpoint, let us
look at the project which in my view gives the best counter-example to the
naturalistic interpretation of solid wood architecture: the Espace nordique
for biathlon in Bessans, in the Savoie department. It would be difficult to imagine
a more basic concept than the athletes' reception facilities. And it would
be difficult to imagine a more impressive backdrop than this proud, massive
mountain, this block of granite that dominates the horizon. But we suspect (and
the dimensions of the structure confirm the suspicion) that there's snow on the
way! Result: a deep roof, including a heavy, oblique section placed on posts that
seem, by comparison, surprisingly frail. The beams are numerous, though in
fact everything seems so solidly and cleanly arranged that one almost overlooks
their necessity. It is on the other side of the building that an impeccable rhythm
appears; and the biathletes must certainly appreciate this facade. The doubling
of the joists means that the vertical elements are clamped on both sides. The
roof is covered in thin leaves of stone; in this project, everything is a question of
strata. On the mountain-facing side, the wall is sturdy and opaque, and on the
ski-slope side, facing the valley, the facade is open, in the urban sense of the term.
The glazed parts contrast with what the transverse section seems, at a distance,
to suggest, namely that this is not a chalet in the depths of nature, but a long
strip of terrain, raised and detached, as though the ski slope extended from one
extremity to the other. It would scarcely be surprising if a tram stopped here, so
fundamentally urban is the architecture. At each end, three stays projecting from
the wall—three small points of suspension—generate an inner rhythm. And the
configuration leaves room for extension. So this is not a stopping place, after all.
(...)
Jean-Pierre Chupin is an architect, and a professor at the
University of Montreal. He is also a researcher at the Laboratoire
d'étude de l'architecture potentielle (
www.leap.umontreal.ca).
With Cyrille Simonnet and Kenneth Frampton, he edited
Le Projet Tectonique (Geneva, Infolio, 2005).
