Arhitektura

[Kundera]

2 hours ago, Blažujka Dobrodolska said:

jel ovo dvorac nikole republikanca?

Ne znam, ali oseca se ta estetika voznesenja.

[Hamlet Strašni]

Ако  је Сењак, мислим да јесте...

[Tihajeza]

Mislim da je Dorćol, ranije je bila sakrivena, pa se ukazala kada je otvoreno gradilište u Venizelosovoj.

https://maps.app.goo.gl/FKpJnSpQn8PpVfaUA

Edited January 15, 2021 by Tihajeza

[gospa buba]

i meni se chini da je dorcol, iza sportske gimnazije, bukvalno je dobila dimenziju pojavom neke gradjevine iza. ili makar ima neka slichna.

sent from bubamoto

[Tihajeza]

10 Светозара Милетића
https://maps.app.goo.gl/FoFt4V6PUu5QhMCN6

[Filozof manijak]

Čime li se Sandule bavi u životu, kad mu je ovaki čardak izrastao?  

Edited January 15, 2021 by Filozof manijak

[kud u maglu Simoviću]

golubarstvom

[Kundera]

Zgrada emanira klasicizmom i otmenoscu.

[kud u maglu Simoviću]

http://slobodnifilozofski.com/2020/10/drustvena-temporalnost-estetskih-formi.html?fbclid=IwAR1hu_PB3akJyLqyQmUDkt69L-eDFpKRrgzxrwsVD4uvbG8_lHo3fppp3UY_aem_AYYZ3fG-bRUNzNOuO8Yuzv6G4rMQOCXJ-ZANmrtaCy-I_-pGKJ3vbpYJpt5Xn-b4tsOw6wlYgTLjh_5JS3Zr_QwIVLIoAMj7csE_4WnmZIfgWBVkkMwu1NQK9Isy_-GBpzc
 

o estetskim formama u arhitekturi, od brutalizma do neoliberalnog elitizma

[eumeswil]

Super tekst.

When Is the Revolution in Architecture Coming?

We need to build places we can’t stop looking at. It will involve lots of plants.

 

Quote

But that is not what the architectural community thinks. That last picture, Alejandro Aravena’s Angelini Innovation Center, was called by the Pritzker jury “remarkably humane and inviting.” His work is “welcoming,” they say, and “deepens our understanding of what is truly great design.” When I read things like this, I feel like I must be of a different species to these jury members, because I literally cannot see how that structure could be described as humane or welcoming. Words seem to mean different things to me and to them. 

 

Perhaps it is that architects speak in a special language, and what looks to me like an arbitrary and ugly assortment of random stark rectangles is, to them, a kind of Morse code saying “Hello! Come inside! Happy to have you here.” But if that is the case, it doesn’t redeem the buildings for architects to have designed them using a special insider code that makes their beauty only visible to other architects. 

 

Beauty. What is beauty? Beauty is that which gives aesthetic pleasure. Beauty is both subjective and objective—subjective because it is “in the eye of the beholder” but objective in that “pleasure” is something you either experience or you do not. If a building isn’t giving people pleasure to look at, then it is not beautiful, because beautiful things are things that you want to keep looking at because seeing them brings joy. 

The fact that beauty is both subjective and objective means that a thing can be beautiful to some people and not to others. I think it is fair to say that Pritzker Prize-winning buildings are beautiful to architects, who clearly receive pleasure from looking at them. They are just not beautiful to me. I suspect they are not to the majority of people, either, or at least I suspect that the majority of people get (objectively) more pleasure out of looking at the ancient buildings of the first half of my presentation than the contemporary buildings in the second half. I believe definitive proof of this is that tourists come from all over the world to just to look at Hindu temples, Japanese gardens, the French Quarter, Venice, and Gaudi’s buildings in Barcelona. People literally plan entire trips, carrying themselves across the world, just so they can be near these buildings and drink them in up close. I cannot imagine anyone who is not an architect visiting the Pritzker Prize buildings. 

 

Why? Is it just because the first buildings are “old?” I do not think it is. Instead, I think that people do not visit the contemporary buildings because they do not give certain feelings to the viewer, feelings that people enjoy feeling. They do not amaze, enchant, or make the jaw drop. They lack the kind of intricacy that means you can stare at them endlessly and keep finding new things. They feel dead. Architect Christopher Alexander, whose work I cite frequently, would say that they lack what he calls “the quality without a name,” which he uses to describe a certain kind of quality that places can have that gives us a certain kind of feeling that is difficult to describe but nonetheless real. Alexander argues that our subjective feelings matter, and so “word associations” assessments like the one above do matter. If a place feels cold and off-putting and you don’t want to visit it, well, it’s badly-designed, unless the purpose is to repel people, in which case it is well-designed but just strangely sociopathic. 

What is missing from the contemporary prize-winners above? My own feeling is that there are a few things that spark feelings of delight in a place that are missing: 

• Color
• Warmth
• Human scale 
• Intricate decoration 
• Lots of plants and patterns from nature 
• Mesmerizing symmetries 
• Sense of history 
• “Places for the birds” (to be explained)
• More controversially: feelings of “life” and “beauty” 

Some of this is objectively true, even if you disagree with me about whether it matters. The Pritzker Prize winners above are less colorful. They don’t have elaborate handmade mosaics. They don’t have gargoyles. They are more asymmetric. These things are not in dispute. Where it gets more controversial is the squishier feelings-based stuff. Is a place “warm?” Is it “monolithic?” Is it humane? And of course most contentiously, is it “dead” or “alive” and is it “beautiful?”

 

I think it’s clearly true, though, that the first set of pictures I posted are of the kinds of places that are no longer built by contemporary architects. There is a tendency toward minimalism and asymmetry. You can see the ideologies of “form follows function,” “less is more,” and “ornament as crime” in the buildings. You can see the disappearance of the kind of elaborate, nature-inspired detailing that was present in the greatest buildings across many centuries and cultures. There are no “places for the birds to live,” which is how artist Molly Crabapple describes the nooks and crannies of traditional buildings. (It’s a serious problem, too. The human-driven decline of bird populations, in addition to being an injustice against birds, has a negative impact on human happiness.) There is a fierce resistance among many practitioners and academics to returning to traditional forms, which is seen as reactionary or backward or disobeying the rule that architecture must embody the Spirit of Its Time.

[roksi]

Quote

What Happened After Mexico’s Greatest Architect Was Turned Into a Diamond
By Alice Gregory

May 21, 2017

 

 

n April 27th, more than a hundred people gathered in the underground auditorium of a prestigious contemporary-art museum in Mexico City. Those who couldn’t find seats lingered outside, watching a live video feed of what was transpiring within; more than seventy thousand others streamed the proceedings at home. For almost two hours, the audience looked on as epic and often metaphysical questions—of faith, language, taste, value, ownership, legacy—were debated with ferocious intensity. The subject of the discussion was a diamond—2.02 carats, rough-cut—which, as I reported last year, was made from the compressed ashes of the late Mexican architect Luis Barragán. Created with the permission of the local government in Guadalajara, where Barragán was buried, and with the blessing of his direct heirs, the jewel was set in a silver engagement ring. The ring was conceived as part of a project by the American conceptual artist Jill Magid, with the idea that it might be exchanged for the architect’s professional archive, which has been kept in Switzerland for close to twenty-five years.

 

Barragán has been dead for three decades now, but he still haunts his buildings, which are among the most celebrated in Mexico. Even casual visitors to his home in Mexico City leave tours awestruck by its beauty and sense of ceremony, intensely curious about the famously private man who dreamed it up and made it real. Barragán, who was, by all accounts, a quiet perfectionist, is often compared to a priest by those who knew him, and Mexicans take patriotic and almost spiritual pride in the fact that he is theirs.

After his death, in 1988, Mexican institutions proved unable—or unwilling—to purchase his professional archive, and legend has it that it was bought as an engagement present for Federica Zanco, an Italian art historian who was then the girlfriend of the head of Vitra, the Swiss furniture-manufacturing company. Since then, Zanco has studied and maintained the archive in Basel, while many—including Magid—have been denied access. (Zanco and her husband deny that it was an engagement present, and have not accepted the gift of the ring.) Magid has, for more than a decade now, created art based on intimate relationships she has forged with otherwise anonymous institutions: the Dutch secret service, a surveillance team in Liverpool, the New York City police. She has said that with her latest project, which in its entirety is called “The Barragán Archives,” she “entered into a new territory of privatized power.”

 

Since presenting Zanco with the diamond, last June, Magid has exhibited it in San Francisco and released a book of essays about the project. She had also been preparing for her newest exhibition, the product of nearly five years of work, “A Letter Always Arrives at Its Destination,” at the Museo Universitario Arte Contemporáneo (MUAC). The show, which is devoted entirely to “The Barragán Archives,” was publicly announced only a few weeks before the opening—an idiosyncratic press strategy meant to mitigate the potential for scandal. Over the past several months, the transformation of Mexico’s greatest architect into a diamond had gone from cocktail-party fodder among the local intelligentsia to national controversy. Hotel clerks knew about it; so did taxi drivers, suburban retirees, and my Airbnb host. They all had opinions.

Many of the critics and curators I spoke with in Mexico agreed that an article published last August by Juan Villoro, a prominent Mexican writer, had set the tone for many of the dozens that followed in the mainstream press. “The master of austere spaces is now a banal decoration,” Villoro wrote in a scathing op-ed. “What explains this grotesque act of recycling?” He went on to suggest that the diamond was “worthy of a horror museum.” The piece closed with the warning that, as a result of the art work, the nation’s mass graves might be soon viewed as jewelry stores.

In the next months, the project was called, among other things, “a sickening story” and an example of “neoliberal magical realism.” The diamond itself was referred to as a “tacky memento” and a “cheap souvenir.” Necrophilia was invoked and the words “barbaric” and “desecration” used. Barragán’s Catholic faith was cited; distant relatives emerged to announce themselves disgusted. Nobody seemed to object to the diamond on the same grounds: some thought it was sacrilege, others called it an act of arrogant American paternalism, and many believed it to be the result of an unforgivably negligent local government.

 

In February, an open letter was published, full-page, at a cost of two hundred thousand pesos (roughly ten thousand dollars), in a handful of Mexican papers and Web sites, calling for an investigation into the public servants who had allowed Barragán’s ashes to be exhumed, and for an audit to determine whether taxpayers’ funds had been used to exhume them. The letter included a request for a public apology from various people involved in the diamond’s production, and an invitation to “members of the Barragán family who supported Jill Magid to reconsider their behavior.” It closed with a plea that the diamond be pulverized and the dust returned to the “proper and dignified place where Barragán was buried and from which it should have never been removed.” The letter was signed by a miscellaneous group of seventy-three people, including distant family members, writers, nuns, and lawyers. A few days after the exhibition was announced, another open letter was published, this time written by a prominent architect, asking that the museum cancel the show. Instead, the institution organized a series of panel discussions to take place around the time of the opening.

Meanwhile, within much of the art world the project was interpreted as a political bellwether. muac’s chief curator, Cuauhtémoc Medina, was among the project’s staunchest defenders. “It’s curious that the intellectual and artistic community transforms its aesthetic unease or personal disgust into a longing for a type of patriarchal and pre-modern moral authority,” he wrote. Medina had seen the response to the art work as part of a disturbing pattern in which art-engaged audiences called for the censorship of unsettling ideas. Christopher Fraga, an anthropologist who studies Mexico City’s contemporary-art scene, compared the response to the work to the recent protests triggered by the inclusion of Dana Schutz’s painting of Emmett Till in the Whitney Biennial, in New York. “The idea that a tactical response to my being offended by an art work is to call for that art work not to exist is a very extreme reaction,” Fraga said. Othiana Roffiel, a Mexico City art critic, called the diamond “at once superfluous and indispensable, illusory and undeniable, mournful and promising” and questioned whether “the form, which offends so many people, was necessary to cause the effect that has been unleashed.”

 

 

Like Magid’s previous projects, “The Barragán Archives” relies on expository paperwork and legal forms. Magid keeps meticulous documentation of everything relating to her work; it is easy to imagine a future iteration of the project that incorporates the reactions of the Mexican press. Ever since presenting the ring to Zanco, Magid has carefully followed the articles that have been written about her, scouring Google News results, commissioning translations, at times wanting to respond but stopping herself from doing so. Her practice demands—and is even made of—her own emotional involvement with the people and structures of power she engages. She knew that the disputation was ultimately a symptom of the project’s success, but the attention made her anxious, nervous about the show’s reception and sometimes even about her physical safety. These feelings, too, were arguably a part of the work.

 

As had been arranged by the museum, on the night of the exhibition opening, Magid would discuss her work with two lawyers, a “cultural promoter,” a professor of aesthetics, and Medina. Ricardo Raphael de la Madrid, a political analyst and academic known in Mexico for his TV work, would serve as moderator. At the event, I sat in the second row, behind members of the Barragán family and among audience members wearing the global uniform of the artistic élite (interesting eyewear, colorful silk socks). Like Magid, I listened to the debate, which was conducted in Spanish, on my headphones via a real-time and occasionally florid translation. “There’s been an architecture of noise that has erected a citadel of controversy,” Medina said. Gesturing upward, to the floor of the museum where the exhibition would open that night, he continued, “Finally, people will be able to see if the Minotaur is really inside.”

 

The panelists were given strict instructions about who could speak when, and for the most part they followed them. Nonetheless, the air in the auditorium was uneasy and the conversation often aggressive. At different moments, the cultural promoter, a man named Cesar Cervantes, who is the heir to a taco chain and the owner of a Barragán-designed home, criticized Magid for not knowing Spanish, questioned her visa status, and suggested that she had been manipulated by members of the Barragán family. The bald, bespectacled professor of aesthetics accused Magid of “conniving” and said that she had “vulgarized Barragán’s legacy.” Magid is articulate, self-possessed, and petite; as the only woman onstage, she was dwarfed by her fellow-panelists. Although Medina defended her, and one of the two lawyers repeatedly declared the project legally sound, Magid appeared vulnerable when she was not the one speaking.

 

One premise of Magid’s work is that the ring is not and will never be for sale. It can be accepted only by Zanco and only in exchange for the archive. This did not prevent those onstage from asking repeatedly about the ring’s value and how much it cost to make. Magid refused to give a dollar amount but explained that prices are made available online by the company that created the diamond. When addressing claims that she had disrespected Barragán’s legacy, she shook her head. “Not only do I love his work, but the questions around his archive—what is accessible and what is not—affect the way his legacy goes forward,” she said. “Things that have come from your side of the table, include asking me to destroy an art work and to censor a show. These are demands, demands for silence. I am working against the questions of silence.” The audience erupted in cheers.

 

By this point, the discussion, which had been largely philosophical, had turned to what, exactly, the project had revealed about local customs regarding art preservation, the sufficiency of current laws to protect human remains, and Mexico’s responsibility to preserve its own culture**—**a question that was argued bitterly when Barragán’s professional archive left the country, years earlier. Magid started to look more relaxed. “I felt a great sense of relief,” she told me later. She was glad to know that the work’s provocations were working. The moderator wrapped up the discussion, and, just before Medina announced the exhibition open, he took a small bow. “So,” he said, “We invite you to see the Minotaur.”

 

Upstairs, the ring sat in a velvet box behind glass. In anticipation of the forthcoming crowds, museum guards were already in the galleries. They paced, waiting for the doors to open, and intermittently peered at the diamond, which was illuminated by a spotlight in an otherwise dark display case. As many visitors would remark later in the night, it looked quite small.

 

 

 

Luis Barragán

 

 

 

[roksi]

On 21.4.2021. at 23:12, eumeswil said:

Super tekst.

When Is the Revolution in Architecture Coming?

We need to build places we can’t stop looking at. It will involve lots of plants.

 

 

 

uh ovo bas prilicno subjektivan pogled na stvari. 

 

Quote

Beauty. What is beauty? Beauty is that which gives aesthetic pleasure. Beauty is both subjective and objective—subjective because it is “in the eye of the beholder” but objective in that “pleasure” is something you either experience or you do not. If a building isn’t giving people pleasure to look at, then it is not beautiful, because beautiful things are things that you want to keep looking at because seeing them brings joy. 

 

arhitektura danas, tacnije, dobra arhitektura, nije prevashodno fokusirana u okviru monumenta (pa samim tim ideja sta bi bio lep monument je zapravo suvisno) vec odnosa - kreiranje smisaonih i kvalitetnih prostornih odnosa za boljitak koriscenja/upotrebe istih. tako da se radi o estetici drugacije prirode nego sto to izgleda ocekuje autor citiranog teksta.

 

plus nije bas da se ne razmislja vise o prirodi ili da se negira odnos ka istoj samo zato sto je modernizam odbacio ornament. ionako je to (ornament) puko vizuelno/simbolicko prisutstvo prirode. upravo van der rohov farnsworth house vise priblizava coveka prirodi nego sto to cine gargoyles-i;))

 

izmedju ostalog ono ka cemu se krece savremena arhitektura su i razmisljanja o simbioznim resenjima (e.g.) kao i preplitanje prostorne arhitekture, urbanizma.. daleko od toga da je to nesto novo ali je poenta da "lepota monumenta" (od modernizma pa na ovamo) nije vise primarna.  

 

 

[Pixie]

The Tokyo Toilet

 

Toilets are a symbol of Japan's world-renowned hospitality culture. Public toilets will be redesigned in 17 locations throughout Shibuya with the help of 16 creators invited from around the world. We invite you to take a look at the uniqueness of each of these facilities.

 

Creators:

• Tadao Ando 
• Toyo Ito
• Tomohito Ushiro
• Masamichi Katayama
• Kengo Kuma
• Junko Kobayashi
• Takenosuke Sakakura
• Kashiwa Sato
• Kazoo Sato
• Nao Tamura
• NIGO®
• Marc Newson
• Shigeru Ban
• Sou Fujimoto
• Miles Pennington
• Fumihiko Maki

 

[Sludge Factory]

 

[Ras]

Podeljene su nagrade na konkursu za rekonstrukciju Ložionice: Ovako bi mogla izgledati rekonstruisana Ložionica u Beogradu (gradnja.rs)

 

Veb izložba sa pristiglim radovima: WEB izložba - Konkurs Ložionica (konkurs-lozionica.rs)

 

Moj favorit je utopistički rad pod šifrom XY23101 - radna šifra 07 koji amfitetar sa muzičarima izlaže nesnojnoj buci intenzivnog saobraćaja Mostarske petlje (ili obrnuto?), negira postojanje BW, a čitav teren zasađuje drvećem.

Da sam geadonačelnikIČIĆ, posumnjao bih da je rad pod pseudonimom zapravo poslao moj zamenik!