Site model for MOS's Afterparty (Source: NYT)
What do we mean when we say that architecture is a form of cultural production? If we modify this question, modulate the use of the word "form", we come up with something like this: if architecture is a form of cultural production, then architectural form is a type of cultural expression. To confuse the situation even more, we deploy an arsenal of buzzwords to describe this situation. For example, we argue, pound our fists, invoke theoretical canons and convince naysayers that architectural form is borne out of a specific sociopolitical context. We use words like "zeitgeist", "apotheosis", etc., to express this marrying between a building and the time in which it was conceived. Like literature, art, or cinema, architectural form can fall victim to a type of determinism.
MOS Principals Hilary Sample and Michael Meredith stand behind a model of Afterparty (Source: NYT)
And this continues to this day. When asked by a New York Times reporter to comment on their winning entry for MoMA's yearly P.S. 1 Young Architects Competition, architects Michael Meredith and Hilary Sample of MOS invoked the current economic crisis as the impetus behind their project. Their project, a varied assortment of thatched, woven cones sitting on P.S. 1's trapezoidal courtyard is, according to the Times, "meant to honor and reflect current economic realities." The architects chose to title the project "Afterparty" in order to express such a sentiment. But this is a sobering and reflective party -- an opportunity to create a "more modest and thoughtful architecture" after "the economic party is over."
Critics for the Times and other national newspapers seem to agree, at least in principle. The operative term here is "hangover", a term of art that tells of excess and lingering headaches. Commentary from the past couple of months thus speaks of an "architecture hangover" and reiterates how intrepid experiments from the 1990's and early 2000s have failed gain traction in this post-Bilbao, post-Experience Economy climate. Architecture, that most capital-intensive and capital-reliant of endeavors, is having its rug pulled out from under its feet. A worldwide economic recession has shaken the architecture profession, and no one seems to have any idea when it will pull itself up. Not so strangely, such observations are tempered with the language of opportunity. A hostile economic climate will lead to a resurgence of vital and meaningful architectures.
Rendering showing Afterparty's conical, thatched forms (Source: NYT)
MOS's choice of materials for their Afterparty project suggests an austerity proper to the current economic climate. There are no gilded, sinuous forms, no fabricated spider webs. Afterparty is essentially a combination of aluminum tubing and fabric weave that takes advantage of temperature differentials and induction currents to create welcome breezes what will counter the New York summer heat. Those familiar with the competition brief know that such a sparingly use of materials is to be expected. All P.S. 1 competition entries are required to adhere to the strict $70,000 budget maximum, thus ensuring a field of entries that, by current standards, is done on the cheap. The idea of innovation as a by product of stringent competition parameters is not new. The relatively meager budget cap for the Young Architects Competition ensures a level playing field. But now, given the current dire economic circumstance, MOS's frugal use of material seems especially appropriate.
Inside Afterparty's Canopy (Source)
The same could be said for Afterparty's forms. Cones and domes spread across the P.S. 1 courtyard, creating a partial canopy over the entire site. But these are not exactly cones and domes. Each have an oculus and touches the ground on four points. The domes appear like pendentives, controlling transitions from a cubic to a hemispheric volume and vice versa. In Afterparty, however, there is no such transition. Or rather, there is another type of modulation between surface and ground. Afterparty's pendentive-like legs help create a series of arched passageways underneath the canopy. Unilke Frei Otto's Munich Stadium -- essentially a web of forms hanging above the ground -- here, Afterparty's forms come to rest lightly, delicately on the ground. It is a fitting metaphor: architecture has coming back to Earth, slowly, deliberately, reminding us of its collaborative and public roles.
The Times piece affirms this point of view with a tale of teamwork. The architects tell the reporter how MOS student-employees helped load a model of Afterparty into a minivan just in time for the competition deadline. This story implies an esprit-de-corps that counteracts the starchitect stereotype: a small firm like MOS is now really the sum of its parts. Principals, employees, are all vital links in what is, in essence, a design collective -- a model of a professional practice that is highly-stylized with pursestrings drawn tightly.
Here, then is another type of production. Labor. Hours spent behind a computer mouse-jockeying. Hours spent with knives and other cutting implements, giving form to form, building models. And this is only for the competition entry. Here, then, is a model of private practice for days of dwindling clients and scurrying capital.
Meredith and Sample invoke the names of Louis Kahn and Anni Albers as inspiration. Yet this invocation carries a significance far beyond Afterparty's material and formal qualities. Kahn's ability to transition from "high tech" to "very primitive", as well as Albers' deftness with mass producible and esoteric combinations of materials also suggest the role of labor in the design process. We need not think further of the Kahn's capital complex in Dhaka, a series of interlocking brick and mud volumes built by local masons with limited tools. The courses on the building's facades bear the mark of this labor: horizontal reveals mark the extent of the Bangladeshi builders' daily progress. MOS's summoning of Kahn's work as the inspiration for Afterparty's cones and domes is therefore a quotation, a reference to a previous building and architectural practice now placed inside inverted commas.
An architect's looking to historical precedent is nothing new. For example, we can look to Colin Rowe's important "The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa" (1947) to understand what it means to place architectural precedents in inverted commas. When referring to Le Corbusier's ability to summon geometric principles a la Palladio, Rowe tells us how quoting architectural precedent requires wit and a quick-on-the-draw ability to readily associate the old with the new. Although this is done with a wink and a nod, quotation serves a more important purpose. It places a reader or critic on alert that precedent is about to be de-contextualized and used in service of an argument. This is what Terry Eagleton would later refer to as a "Janus-faced temporality": an ability to look to the past in order to move into the future. In some instances, very far into the future.
And what future could Afterparty be referring to? What future does MOS place in inverted commas? It is a future that invokes issues of form and labor. But it is also a future familiar to fans of Alien, Ridley Scott's 1979 sci-fi screamfest. In the film, the crew of the commercial towing vessel Nostromo wakes from a deep sleep to find that their shipboard computer has answered a distress call from LV-426, a remote planet very, very far away from Earth. In the film, the tiny Nostromo tows a giant, sprawling refinery containing millions of pounds of mined ore.
This assembly of tug and cargo bears, at least in a passing glance, some formal similarities to MOS's Afterparty. A careful squinting of the eye would reveal the Nostromo to be a series of tall, narrow cones and domed structures sitting on a surface, much like Afterparty's thatched structures for the P.S. 1 courtyard. One could even say that the Nostromo's cargo reads as dessicated, shredded version of Afterparty. The Albers-inspired weave has now become a network of tatters, ossified into a monolithic, machinic superstructure.
Nostromians analyzing a distress call from LV-426: Ian Holm, Sigourney Weaver, Tom Skerritt, and John Hurt, from Alien.
The similarities continue. The Nostromo's crew compartments become the stage setting for a drama involving distributions of labor. In one scene, crew chief Dallas (Tom Skerritt) reminds the rest of the Nostromians of company policies regarding payment arrangements. Complaints are raised about the ship computer's answering of the distress signal from LV-426, as this mission will potentially delay a return to Earth (and payment as well). Dallas reminds the crew of their contractual obligation to answer and investigate the distress call. The crew are essentially underpaid, overworked employees charged with the dirty toil of interplanetary exploration. Back on Earth, far away from LV-426's hostile climates, corporate clients are about to bank on a windfall of royalties.
Toiling behind consoles: Tom Skerritt and Sigourney Weaver aboard the Nostromo (top), and MOS in their office (bottom) (Source)
If the Nostromians are not busy hosting (quite unwillingly) the "xenomorph's" future offspring, Scott often captures them sitting in front of computer monitors. As in contemporary architecture practice, the sordid business of interplanetary exploration requires hours of retina-burning sessions in front of a computer. The work is similar, but is it thankless? The difference would be that for those interns and employees that worked on Afterparty and other projects by MOS, or even those who worked with past winners and runners-up, labor is understood to be thankless at first. Association with a winning entry ensures a bigger reward in the future. Being an employee (paid or unpaid) at an architecture firm also requires a "Janus-faced temporality."
Ask an underpaid intern working in the entertainment industry about low wages, and he or she will rationalize their below-poverty-line existence by saying something about being paid in information. Something similar at play is at work in the architectural profession. We can label it as an asymmetrical relationship between labor and pay. An intern will spend hours toiling with computers and models, and often in hopes of a big payoff in the end. Thanks to Afterparty, MOS employees will be able to transition into other jobs and gain their own 15-minutes of New York Times-mediated fame in the end. But current economic woes will delay the promise of such success indefinitely. The price to pay for architectural excess is that most undesirable of situations: a final modulation from an architecture hangover to a labor hangover.