Architectural pilgrimage is implicitly appreciated in architecture and design circles, especially by students who are encouraged to “travel to architecture,” with the focus on the Grand Tour as a means of architectural exploration. However, the expression has not been made explicit in the fields of architectural history, pilgrimage studies, tourism research, and mobility studies. I explore how pilgrimage to locations of modern architectural interest affects and informs pilgrims' and architects' conceptions of buildings and the pilgrimage journey itself. Drawing initially on a European architectural pilgrimage, the personal narrative highlights the importance of self-reflection and introspection when observing the built environment and the role of language in mediating processes of movement through and creation of architectural place-space.
Until 1969, when Paris's wholesale food markets were moved to the Parisiansuburb of Rungis, Les Halles, the market district in the center of Paris, fedmuch of the city's urban population. Les Halles was not simply a place wherefood was bought and sold, but also a highly visible and symbolically chargednode of communication between the countryside, the state, and the bodies ofParisian citizens. Due to its centrality and visibility, Les Halles came underenormous pressure to physically symbolize the state's relationship to the “market.”In turn, the architecture of the markets at Les Halles came to stand in forthe powers of the state to organize a flow of goods from farm to body. Fromthe 1763 construction of the Halle au blé, to the 1851 ground-breaking on VictorBaltard's iron and glass market pavilions, to the construction of the CentrePompidou and the Forum des Halles in the 1970s and 1980s, the markets atLes Halles were regularly redesigned and rebuilt to accommodate and/or produceshifting notions of architectural, social, and financial order.
Hydrological Design for the Ecologically Responsive City
In this article, I explore conceptual strategies encouraging an ecologically responsive, water-centric approach to architectural design, such that design interventions become nature/culture hybrids connecting urban dwellers to larger hydrological conditions. I consider the notion of horizons as one mechanism for working out a trajectory for sustainable architecture, one that highlights experiential and environmental concerns simultaneously. In a conceptual shift, theorist David Leatherbarrow’s treatment of “three architectural horizons” (the equipmental—the objects of one’s immediate setting; the practical—the enclosure of a building; and the environmental— what lies beyond) are reshuffled: the practical expands to the watershed (the bioregion as common dwelling place) while environmental processes couple with the equipment of buildings, such that architectures deliver net positive watershed impact.
This article explores Paco Roca’s graphic novel La Casa (2015) with attention to the structuring role of architecture at two interrelated levels of analysis. At the level of theme and represented content, the comic employs architecture as a mediator of emotional connections and familial grief. At the level of comics form and visual narrative structure, artistic choices underscore the architectural properties of La Casa’s own construction. Repurposing the notion of ‘iconostasis’ from Andrei Molotiu provides a way of bringing together the reader’s self-directed perusal of the comic’s page and the characters’ self-directed navigation of their grief. The characters’ collaborative construction of a pergola as an architectural addition to their father’s house holds two meanings. It provides a degree of emotional closure, further contributing to the architectural theme of the comic, and it pulls the architectural structure of the work towards a cathartic narrative resolution.
This article addresses one of many complex questions concerning the spread of Islam in the territory of Kazakhstan, in particular the northern Aral region. Based on fieldwork, the author analyses architectural monuments, such as Gappar's grave, Baspaq cemetery and Matygul's grave, which represent Islam in the allusive functions of a mosque and funeral chamber. On the basis of a comparative analysis of monuments from the Middle Ages, such as Abat-Baytak, with the monumental constructions over graves in Kazakhstan, it is concluded that the Sufism trend of Islam prevailed in this region.
Kibbutz Yakum as a Case Study
Amir Har-Gil and Inbal Ben-Asher Gitler
Architecture and landscape constitute key aspects of fictional realistic drama in film and television. In fictional films whose plots take place on Israeli kibbutzim, on-site cinematography is a central means of achieving a realistic and dramatic portrayal of the communal settlement and its social space. In this article, we investigate five productions filmed on location at Kibbutz Yakum. We argue that these filmic representations of architecture and landscape reify the image of the kibbutz as an introverted society that denies individuals their privacy and upholds the centrality and presence of community. By comparing the actual sites with their presentation in films, we show that the physical space of the kibbutz was filmed selectively in a manner that immortalizes its communal, 'classical' image, which in reality no longer exists. The kibbutz's transformation from a communal to a privatized society is purposely veiled in these films, preserving the kibbutz's established image.
Elimination of the Kaiserbau as a secular sacrifice
Mélanie van der Hoorn
The demolition of undesired buildings is often an ambiguous event: it can be seen as a brutal attack by some people, whereas others consider it necessary to construct something new. What needs to be accomplished is not a simple physical act, but principally the acceptance of disposal as something needed and wanted, rather than unnecessary wastage. Here resides the controversial and ambivalent character of many acts of disposal. Detonation, therefore, is a passage that acquires its relevance thanks to a careful orchestration of the event in which an unwanted piece of architecture is thrown into the public spotlight, proffering a glimpse of a multiplicity of possibilities, while simultaneously providing a remarkably powerful dual experience of the durability and ephemerality of man-made structures. The biography of the Kaiserbau in Troisdorf illustrates these issues: once a would-be mega-hotel between Köln and Bonn, the concrete structure was dynamited on 13 May 2001—a spectacle attended by no less than 20,000 people, despite the ungodly hour at which it took place.
This article considers the site and space of Les Halles as an ongoing intellectualfascination. It specifically looks at how architects have historically approachedLes Halles as a “site of modernity” and puts into context the most recent renovationand the architectural competition to design Les Halles in 2004-2005.It will consider the projects and their viability from a cultural perspective andopen the question of the site and the city's future form.
The Berlin Wall was built three times: in 1961, in the mid 1960s, and again from the mid 1970s onwards. This article attempts to interpret each manifestation as political architecture providing insights into the mindset and intentions of those who built it. Each phase of the Wall had a different rationale, beyond the straightforward purpose of stopping the citizens of East Germany from leaving their own country and forcing them to suffer under communist rule. The deliberately brutal-looking first Wall was a propaganda construct not originally intended to exist for more than a few months. The functional but dreary Wall of the mid 60s was calculated to have a longer lifespan, but within few years it, too, became an embarrassment for the East German rulers. Yearning for international recognition, they demanded a smoother-looking, better designed Wall—supporting their fiction that this was "a national border like any other."
Few tools of Nazi propaganda were as potent or as permanent as
architecture. At the instigation of Hitler, who had once aspired to be
an architect, the Nazi regime placed unusual importance on the
design of environments—whether cities, buildings, parade grounds, or
highways—that would glorify the Third Reich and express its dynamic
relationship to both the past and the future. Architecture and urban
design were integral to the way the regime presented itself at home
and abroad. Newsreels supplemented direct personal experience of
monumental buildings. Designed to last a thousand years, these edifices
appeared to offer concrete testimony of the regime’s enduring
character. A more subtle integration of modern functions and vernacular
forms, especially in suburban housing, suggested that technological
progress could coexist with an “organic” national community
rooted in a quasi-sacred understanding of the landscape.