Michael A. Vuksta
This realization of the poetic nature of architecture, coupled with my work with light and materials in the art of photography, characterizes my affinity with the ideas and works of Louis Kahn. Long before I came across his writings and teachings, I had mentioned to my surprised photography students that we ourselves and other things composed of matter are frozen light. To make this statement more palatable, I revised this reference to ourselves to read: light slowed down. Their surprise was compensated by my own wonder when I later encountered Kahn’s reference to matter as being “spent light.” This “light” and this “spent light” were to play a significant role in the design of his buildings.
This affinity motivated my choice of his works as resources for my students’ understanding of the “unmeasurable” dimension of architecture. Too much should not be made of this dichotomy of the measurable and the unmeasurable, since Kahn himself had a great reverence for both of these manifestations of light. This categorization is artificial and fails to direct us to the integration which Kahn’s buildings and Whitman’s poems suggest.
Earlier in this essay, I referred to the ability of poetry to illuminate and inspire, where the more practical exercises in skill-building had failed. This ran contrary to my expectations in preparing the previous curriculum. I had thought that this sequential development of graphic skills would be better received. But a more conceptual reference to architecture, through words and poetry, intrigued them. Proceeding from this unknown relationship proved more successful.
Kahn’s attempted integration of materials and the sense of man is most apparent in the following passage which animates matter:
You say to brick, “What do you want, brick?”
Brick says to you, “I like an arch.”
If you say to brick, “Arches are expensive, and
I can use a concrete lintel over an opening.
What do you think about that, brick?”
Erick says, “I like an arch.”
To paraphrase these lines in the sense of Whitman, brick is ready and prepared for you to look upon it. Both artists express a harmony of man’s will with nature. But nature has its laws and man must respect this. Scully, in referring to Kahn’s theories of architecture relates:
“The whole represents a realistic appraisal of Kahn himself—and perhaps of the way all human ‘creation’ works: first the general conception, really a kind of preconception hammered out largely below the surface of consciousness from what one knows and remembers; this shapes the symbolic configuration which enables the mind to ask new questions in a pragmatic sense, which may lead finally, if rarely, toward something with its own proper character, unique, perhaps new.”
You may be thinking, “This is all some pretty heady stuff, but what am I going to do in my classroom?” Or, perhaps you consider this anthropomorphism ideal for your students, who inhabit a world of dreams. A look at Kahn’s ideas on the institution of school can provide some insight, if not some solace: “I think of school, as an environment of spaces where it is good to learn.” This may be easy enough to agree with, but he has something more to say about the origins of school: “Schools began with a man under a tree who did not know he was a teacher, discussing his realization with a few, who did not know they were students.” What we discover in Kahn is an attachment to what comes before the knowledge of a thing. He associates with beginnings. His theory is to return to the curiosity, intuition, and delight which accompanies the discovery of new things. “Because after all, the bird outside, the person scurrying for shelter in the rain, the leaves falling from the tree, the clouds passing by, the sun penetrating; these are all great things. They are all lessons in themselves.” Kahn’s thought, like Whitman’s, embraces all, energizes all.
With this in mind, let us leave the fear of what to do in the classroom and expand our concept of what and where to learn. But be sure not to leave the Spirit of School behind, “The existence will of school (which) was there even before that man under a tree.” Even he cannot become too complacent; he must expand his experiences.
Kahn identifies the desire to leam as one of the three great desires of man. The “desire to meet” and “the desire to well-being” are others. So, let us meet at one of his places of well-being, the Yale Center for British Art on the corners of High and Chapel Street in downtown New Haven. I have come up with something concrete (and steel, and glass, and oak, and linen) to use with your students. I intend to present two examples of architecture, one product, one process, in order that you and my students might believe in architecture.
In case you haven’t lost faith in this and are still with me, I am now going to provide an analysis of the building, in order to establish some aspects of Kahn’s architecture which will be used in the activity that appears at the end of the text.
Before I went off into an apology and appeal for you to remain with me, I left you standing on that street corner in downtown New Haven amidst a composition of concrete, steel, and glass. You haven’t found the oak and linen, yet? The true believers among you may have risked stepping inside and have discovered it. While the others are here on the street, I’d like to look at what Kahn has said about the street: “ . . . in the city, the street must be supreme. It is the first institution of the city. The street is a room by agreement, a community room, . . . for common use. Its ceiling is the sky.”
Watch out now, bring your head down, no, you don’t have to duck as you enter under the void in the corner of this rectangular solid that is the entrance to the Center. It is a transition space between inside and outside, a kind of porch, which brings you under the protection and influence of this building. It even serves the city and one of its great things, that “man scurrying for shelter in the rain.”
As we proceed through the door (ah, here’s the oak), we enter a tall interior court which provides another subtle transition from outside to inside. We are entirely exposed to the building’s vertical dimension. Here too, the ceiling is the light of the sky. Light is structuring the entire space, illuminating this void in the solid four walls. Borrowing from Charles Moore, the four walls, the one floor, and the one ceiling—these six planes—have created a seventh and new dimension.
Now that we are in the building, I’ll stop having fun with you and give you some specific concepts to work with when you bring your students here. I am not going to say anything about the paintings on display here, but you should certainly avail yourself of them, since they are one of the reasons for this building’s existence. The particular nature of these paintings prompted Kahn to arrange for the maximum amount of natural light with which to view them. In Kahn’s vernacular, it is as if the paintings said to the architect, “We want a room filled with natural light.” The architect, who had developed a rigorous communication with materials and buildings, has responded adequately.
Aside from the grand entry we are standing in, there are other places you should visit within the building. They are the stair tower (round, but not spiral), the large interior court on the second floor, and the fourth floor, where the viewing of paintings in natural light is most prominent. Attention should be paid to the voids created by the windows, which also frame pictures for viewing. They provide an oscillation from inside to outside, further enriching our spatial and perceptual experiences. Finally, you should arrange to visit the study gallery, also located on the fourth floor. I will refer to it as a resource for some criteria in the project for students.
These places provide many concepts which may be used for looking at and analyzing other buildings. They can serve as guidelines for constructing problems and activities for the student. A quick review shows that we have spoken of site, entry, volume, shape, and transition. Others which are obvious, but have not been mentioned, are: pattern, regularity, ordering or organization of rooms, and boundary. A closer look at the corners of the fourth floor will reveal a kind of ornament or detailing, that announces the meeting of different materials. It articulates an element of the support system. Kahn had felt that the joint was the beginning of architecture and, indeed, in many styles, ornament grows from this point. In this particular case, the steel rises to form a pyramidal shape that fits tightly against the slant of the concrete members. Kahn has spoken of the building as leaving a history or trace of its construction. This articulation is an example of such a trace.
Before you leave the building, you can stop at the gift shop, where you will find a book presenting a detailed explanation of the Center’s history and construction. At the information desk, you will learn of a more formal tour which is given at the Center. A film about the architect is presented on Saturday mornings and could prove helpful to you.
As you arrive outside the building and as you move away from it, look back to see how the organization of materials suggests the arrangement of the rooms inside the building. Does it anticipate the interior? And what is the support of the building? And what is the purpose of the steel?