Designs on the Body: Film /Architecture/ Writing

Author(s): David Wills

Reviewed work(s):
Source: Assemblage, No. 19 (Dec., 1992), pp. 96-105
Published by: The MIT Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3171179 .
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David

Wills

on
the
Body:
Designs
Film
/Architecture/W

DavidWillsis Professor
of Frenchat
LouisianaStateUniversity
wherehe
teachesfilmandliterarytheory.He is the
authorof a bookon surrealist
poetry,
coauthorof Screen/Play:Derridaand Film

Press)and
Theory(PrincetonUniversity
WritingPynchon:Strategiesin Fictional

of IllinoisPress),and
Analysis(University
coeditorof the forthcoming
Deconstructionand the VisualArts Press:Art,
Media, and Architecture(Cambridge

Press).
University

Assemblage 19 1992 by the Massachusetts

Institute of Technology

Rome, July 1985.Ventimiglia,twenty miles fromwho knows

where.Bordertowns, howeverinsignificant,assume such an
importance.The name is irrepressiblymarkedin a particular
language.Or so it seems beforeyou strikethe transpositions
and transliterations- Nice/Nizza, Mont Blanc/Monte
Trst/Trieste.But there remains
Bianco,Brenner/Brennero,
from time to time the sound of a name that has no other, in
the idiosyncrasywe call experience,or by means of the idiosyncraticimpositionof history;one that representsthe passage into the other.Ventimigliasounds like such a name. It,
too, has a Frenchcounterpartthat you missed because you
nevercrossedoverby that route.You say it, Vintimille,and it
just doesn't have the same effect. For there is alreadythe
desireto pass into the registerof the finalvowel, in spite of
the linguisticsuspension,in spite of the gape of a wordthat it
representsin yourown tongue. Ventimiglia,pronounceit and
you have crossedunmistakablyinto Italian.And into the
belly of the Western world,or into its sex. Into a confounding of the two. Into Liguria,for example,where the dish of
predilectionis knownby the tools that produceit - al pesto
-done in the way of the mortarand pestle of unlimited
suggestiveness.Crossinto Italyand you crossinto a confoundingof digestivedisorderand fecundation,or at least
penetration,in the versionI know. I have no reasonfor it, it
might just be the traveling.It might just be the sitting for
hours on a trainen route to the expectationof hot white
nights, any season,hot nights of slow sex in a patient exploration of a whole body eroticizedfrom toe to forehead,clean
and freshbut sweatingnevertheless,nothing but the simplest
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ingredients,ripetomatoes or fruiteaten with or without the

skin, something freshand moist, peeled and consumed in a
combinationof yourchoosing,like fichi e prosciutto;gently
invertthe order,the season,the language,the gender,engender the whole disarrayof the digestivesystem that this entails:eating when you should be sleeping,makinglove when
you should be eating, sleepingonly when there is no more
love to make or nothing else to eat, doing all three at once is
enough to close down the metabolismor have the stomach
and the bowels explode.There is no constipationwithout
vomiting and diarrhea,no travelingwithout some alternation
of both, no possibilityof Rome without each in close association with close repetitionsof the sexualact in turn, in congruence, or competition, with the sight of monuments in varying
stagesof decay.
It is in Rome that this will finallytake place.The name
Ventimiglia,once pronounced,serveslittle purposehere,
except for the significanceit gives to the effect of a crossover,
an idiosyncraticassertion- that of the Italianlanguage,that
of a personaltravelogue- which is also a confounding,of
languages,of places,of bodilyparts:the whole parergonal
gambit that I wish to implement here.' So if I have no particularexplanationfor the word,I have a sort of pleonastic
reconfirmationof it in a film from 1987 by PeterGreenaway.
The Bellyof an Architectbegins with a traincrossingfrom
Franceto Italy,throughVentimiglia,its countryside,its cemetery,its station. It begins with the conjunctionof sex and
(in)digestion,the concurrenceof growthand decay,of expansion and constipation,that will structurethe whole film.
StourleyKracklite,architect,and his wife Louisaaremaking

love -

she conceiving, it turns out -

in a train passing

throughVentimigliaen route to Rome, wherehe will attempt

to organize -

and be thwarted at it -

an exhibition honor-

ing the eighteenth-centuryFrenchvisionaryarchitect

Etienne-LouisBoullee.Kracklitewill fall to his death from
the VictorEmanuelmonument, provokingLouisato give
birth (or provokedby her givingbirth) in the companyof the
Italianorganizersof the exhibition,the Specklers- her
father'scountrymen- who have seduced her.And so the
film will end. For the time being.
The progressionof events fromVentimigliathroughscenes
organizedarounda seriesof Romanmonuments that in-

spiredBoulleeor, of one, that he inspired- the Mausoleum

of Augustus,the Pantheon,the Colosseum, the baths of the
VillaAdriana,the piazzaand dome of St. Peter's,the Forum,
the PiazzaNavona,the EUR building- to the fatalconclusion will providethe narrativestructurefor the film. A series
of events will plot out the countdownto the date of the exhibition, set for nine months from the beginningof the film,
definingalso, of course,the periodof gestation.
Repeatedwith some consistencyin a numberof Greenaway
films, at least in A Zed and TwoNoughtsof 1985 and The
Cook,The Thief,His Wife,HerLoverof 1989 in additionto
The Bellyof an Architect,is a fairlyfamiliarmoralschema
that contrastsand probablyvalorizesan idea of naturalcreativity,or creation- here that of Louisa'sbaby,desiredby
both husbandand wife but a long time in coming - over
againsta constipatedcreativity- that of Kracklite,who, like
Boullee,rarelymanagesto see his projectsto fruition,has
veryfew buildingsto his credit,and has this all rot inside him
to producewhat seems, in the end, to be stomach cancer.
Throughthis same schema anotheroppositionmight also be
drawn,thrownup with almost predictableregularity,that
between practiceand theory:one fruitful,the other barren,
one responsiveto the demands of the marketplace,the other
collapsingunderits own visionary(over)weight.
But in spite of all this we arenot in the film, we cannot pretend that contrivance.We are at best in some writingof it.
Nevermore nor less than that. We can have recourse,for
instance,to the book of it, whereinGreenawayreproducesa
seriesof one hundredand twenty postcardssent by Kracklite,
duringthe courseof the film, to Boullee'slast-knownor
imaginedaddress.2Some of the postcardsappearin the film,
many more of them in the book. There is much that could be
said about these postcards,but I shall confine myself to the
way Kracklitesignshis name. Invariably,as we see it handwrittenin the film: "St. Kracklite."The idiosyncrasyis extreme, given the rarityof the forename.As an abbreviation
for the name Stephen the signaturemight be easilyrecognizable, but Kracklite'sname is Stourleyand we cannot but read
the second initial- if there can be such a thing - as the
film'soffer of excess, perhapsthe markof the supplement
itself. Desire for canonizationaside, the appendedt might
thereforestand for adjunction,or more precisely,conjunction
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Wills

itself, chiastic intersection,if you will, of what the film concocts or contrives:notably,the intersectionof the body and
architecture;but also this reading,passingby the film in an
inverserelation,like scenes glimpsedthroughthe windowof
a speedingtrain;this reading'sgeneralizationof bodily functions - not that the film doesn't permit,even encourageit
- to the sexual function in particular;this superpositionof
sex upon the form of a city;and lastly,the appendedt as the
signatureof constructionitself, architecturalconstructionas
the adjunctionof beams and creationof rightangles,the
intersectionof structureand function.
Hence if I were to open, at what I could alwaysinsist was
random,on page 135 of the screenplay,at postcardsnumbers
36 and 37, those dated 19 and 21 July 1985, respectively,
there would be set in trainthe fiction of a voyageto Rome
made on those dates some five yearslater,and the fiction of a
numerologicalcryptdesigned,by some as yet undisclosedor
undiscoveredseriesof calculations,to producethe number
45.3The pretext for such a writing:imagininga plan for a
building- say Hadrian'sPantheon- as blueprintscovered
with measurementsreducedto all mannerof combinations
of Is, Vs, Xs, Ls, Cs, Ds, and Ms. These seven letters could as
well be the letters of architectureitself:graphicrepresentations of the columns, arches,vaults,and domes that constitute it. All this and more, but especially,the effect of the lure
itself, the hermeneuticalbaiting that still conditions our
readingafterall this time. The film, as I see it here, will be
the pretext for such a pursuitof the sign as number,for its
disclosureor discovery,and the number45 will be displaced
ratherthan revealed,displacedto become the numberof the
angle that is both the foundingpossibilityof a dominant
traditionof architecture- wherebytwo forty-five-degree
angles are joined to producethe rightangle - and what we
might alreadycall the deconstructionof the traditionthat
massivelyprivilegesthe squareat the expense of the hypotenuse, the oblique, or the diagonal.Or 45 half the numberof
degreesFahrenheitstandingin view of a Berninifountain in
the PiazzaNavonalate at night aftercarpacciocon rughetta
consumed in the shadowof Sant'Andreadella Valle;or my
number,some coefficient, factor,or denominatorof bodies
in Rome, their perfect roundness,not that they are perfectly
round,but that their roundnesspretendsto perfectproportions, I mean the curveof buttocks caressedand slightly

raisedas if profferedto the touch in a streetlikelycalled Via

Rotonda,the curvebetween waist and hip, the creaseof a
curvewherethigh meets pubis;45 their number,perhapsalso
the numberof a hotel room wherethe same curvesmove and
glisten undera film of perspiration,the numberof wordsthat
sing with a final vowel before one makesan end of lovemaking
in Italian,the same wordwhy not whisperedforty-fiveor four
hundredfifty times, of course I exaggerate,maybe no more
than that to it, in fact;45 the numberof my excess, the exact
degreeof my exaggeration.Forty-five,a numberchosen by
chance or by design for the codes, the ciphers,the crypts
wherebythe secretsare concealedand divulgedin a crossplay
of writing,counting, and architecture.And sex and Rome,
for in writingof these one is automaticallyin the crypt,the
bowels,or the belly of an architecturalconstructionof meaning; in the relationsbetween body and buildingthat this film,
via Boulleeand Kracklite,bringsinto focus;and in the city of
monument and ruin of monument, erectionand detumescence, concamerationand disintegration,whereit all takes
place.
Greenaway'stalent, his intelligence,lies in the level of intellectual interestthat such artificesin his films generate,in the
extent of their interdisciplinaryreach.On the other hand, the
body/buildingrelationkeys into the whole fertility/degeneracy,
creation/decay,birth/deathsystem of oppositionsthat threatens to reducethe film, in my view, to yet anotherlogocentric
complaint,reducingthe playof contrivanceto an opposition
whereinthe structureof contrivanceitself would be presumed
to disappearin favorof the domain, or sphere,of the natural,
an idealized,noncontrived,prior,and privilegedspace.
Resistingsuch idealisminvolvesreadingthese intersectionsas
points of radicaldeparture;it involvesaskingthe question of
how to discover,preserve,or contrivethe heterogeneityof any
medium. It is a profoundlyarchitecturalquestion, to the extent that architecturesupposedlyinvolvesthe impositionof
function overthe seduction of form,or vice versa.The whole
architecturalinvestmentlies in the playbetween the two.
Architecturaldesign would thereforenecessarilypose a question about the heterogeneityof the medium, of itself as
medium, and of any medium; it would inevitablyraisethe
question of the limits to this heterogeneity.How farcan this
heterogeneitybe radicalizedbefore the buildingcollapses?In
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any case, to what extent is permanence,de facto or de jure,a

function of architecture?
In this film the dome functions as the thematic structureof
the body/buildingrelationand as a particularlyfecund crypt
of meaning.One can see it all beginningwith the dome. A
domus,or house, it is no doubt the startingpoint for architecture:the idea of a roof overone's head. From those first
prehistoricvaultsin the Istrianfields made of stones laid in
carefulspiralsequence to createa self-supportingshelter,to
the design of Hadrian'sPantheonarchinghigherand higher
and finerand fineruntil the hole at the top crossesinto pure
ethereality.But if the dome is at the beginningof architecture it is also at the end or outerlimit, where it becomes
mausoleum,cupola,pantheon, in other words,monument.
In the movement fromhouse to monument one can arguably
see a movement from priorityof function to priorityof structure, fromarchitectureto sculpture,if you will. Not that the
monument has no function, but its function no longerconcernsthe living, it no longerconcernsliving itself. A mausoleum is thereforethe antithesisof the domusat the same
time as it is its apotheosis:a house for the dead to go on
living in. All this, however,is reasonedfrom a logocentrismor
egocentrismthat is in question or in suspensionhere, occurringas a tension in TheBellyof an Architect.Frommy point
of view, the movement of architectureis by definitioneconomic, a managementof the oikos (Greek,"house"):a controllingand thus necessarilyalso a testing of the limits of the
domestic, of domestication;a placingof the thresholdin
general.Here, for instance,as if there were everanywhere
else, a placingof the thresholdsof readingand of sense.
Kracklite'sbelly appearsas such a threshold,displayedon the
borderbetween Franceand Italy.He lies on his backafter
makinglove and pats it, speakingof the "homeof the dome
and the arch ... and good food."4One might find here another originfor architecture,in the body as originalhome,
with the dome as simulacrumof the human belly,whereby
digestionratherthan breathingbecomes the signifierof the
livinghuman being. But he has just rolledover,displayinghis
belly as a sign of satisfaction,of satiation,whereasarchitecture needs to be readin terms of desire.Or at least aspiration.
might be the wordfor architecture,and it would
"Aspiration"
need to be understoodas repeatingthe structureof desire.A

constant over-reachingof its own economy is what impels

architecture- bigger,higher,lighter,like the dome of the
Pantheon.And frankly,the belly does not workout that way
for me, not here and now, lyingwith Rome. I would want to
suggest,as the screenplaysuggestswhen Kracklite'sbuttocks
appearin the windowas the trainpauses in Ventimigliastation, framedimage for a line of spectatorsstandingon the
platform,that the dome worksbetter as a backside,and defecation ratherthan digestionor breathingas the signifierof
the living;or at least not one without the other;at least not in
Rome, not in the Rome I know.Afterthat, it all runson, from
digestionthroughdefecationto sex. We don't need Rome for
this connection, to remindourselves,as so many have before,
that the distancebetween sexualorganand anus is uncomfortablynegligible.We have Batailleto remindus that eroticism is affirmationof the continuitythat is death by means
of the prodigalityengenderedby decayand putrefaction.A
crumblingRome is thereforeinevitablyerotic. But my idiosyncraticcontention would be that in Rome sex is defined by
the curveof the buttocksmore than anythingelse, at least in
the Rome I know.And then Rome is defined by digestive
problems,the constipationand diarrheathe film refersto. It
is a matterof an upset stomach, as the sayinggoes: the upset
stomach is the converseof the belly, the upturnedbuttocks
that arethe beautyof and sign the sex of Rome. In the contemporaryidiom the belly exists as something of a perversion,
the hypernaturalsignifierof excessiveconsumption,tending
to that point wherethe naturaltips over into monstrosity.
Lookat Kracklite.He is almost proudof his - "builtwith a
perfectand enviablecenter of gravity"- but his aspirations
for it arediminutiveratherthan augmentative.5Caressingthe
belly- and I speakhere as one who has neverbeen pregnant,
though not forgettingthe extent to which Kracklite'smalady
might be readas male hysteriaor phantasmof maternity
caressingthe belly involvesa flatteningmotion, its direction
is vertical,downward,impelledby the desireand imagination
of the pubic caress.But caressingthe buttockshas more of
the circularabout it, more of a self-sufficiency,however
strongthe desirefor the hands to move down and inward,to
clutch and spreadthe thighs. Its perversitylies elsewhere,in
the attitude whose idiom is againborrowedfrom the Romans, a tergo.This way union involvesmore of an architecturalfit, an archwith you the tympanum,the cushion of your

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partner'sarsesnug in yourpelvisand againstyourbelly, a

cock for a keystone.And this way also, in terms of the buttocks, one finds a closerand thus more architecturalrelation
between bodily form and bodily function, the two imposing
themselves as harmoniousbut at the same time raisingthe
whole unansweredquestion of how defecationmight also
relateto formsof beauty. But the Romanway is also that of a
dog, and the only dog in the film, one that eats vomit, relates
thematicallyto this sexualposition in terms of which the
spectatorcannot distinguishwhich orificeis being entered,
where the primalscene is, as it were,an abominationagainst
nature.As a resultof which, in Rome, fallen on all fours,one
tail penetratinganother,we are all dogs and wolfmen. We are
mutant or prosthetized,and the matter is, like the tail, concentratedon or in the backside,becoming the site of a mutation or a prosthesis,a falloutof nature.Nothing more natural
than defecation,nothing more catastrophicthan diarrhea.
Nothing more naturalthan copulation,nothing more against
naturethan a tergosex, to all appearancesconfoundingentrances,functions,genders,species. Centauror wolfman,
half-animalhalf-human;self-dividedand halfwayto a combination of human and machine, on the thresholdof a prosthesis. Coming in throughthe backdoor,to all appearances.
Coming into the dome that bringsus back to one of the first
prostheses,for buildinga house is like any operationof the
techne,any construction,both for and againstnature- for
protectionin the mannerof a cave, againstmortalityby
virtueof its durability- and buildinga house is as well an
irreversiblestep in the directionof the mechanical,site of
an articulationof the machine and the human body.
The architecturalsignificanceof the backside,in contrastto
Architect'sbelly/domerelation,is also a fact of etymology.
At least this is so if one paysattention to the specialFrench
wordfor that curvatureof the haunches that is my inspiration
or aspirationin this journeypast a film of Greenaway'sinto
the bowels of Italy:the wordcambrureis derivedfromcamera
(Latin/Italian,"room");the specificityof a room or chamber
is, in Latin,preciselyits curvature,that of the ceiling or that
of the loins where I burymy head to sleep a simulacrumof
death afterreachingto the limit of whateverrecessesthe
body, the house, the word,the room can offer.
In The Bellyof an Architectthe belly/dome/mausoleumcon-

nection turnsaroundthe figureof Augustus.In the screenplay Kracklite'sRomanapartmentoverlooksthe Tomb of

Augustus.Earlyin the film he steals a stackof postcardsof
the Augusteumand of a sculptureof the emperor,after
which he begins writingto Boullee.He photocopiesand
enlargesthe stomach regionof the sculptureas the basis for a
seriesof drawingsand meditationsconnected with his deterioratinghealth and his suspicionthat Augustuswas a victim
of poisoningby his wife. This is the first sign that Krackliteis
neglectinghis workon the exhibition in favorof a neurotic
downturncentered on his health. He producesgraphicsin
which Augustus'sbelly is filled with multicoloredround
formsthat could be stones or figs or fetal domes. The drawings and graphicsinvadehis hotel chamber,litteringthe floor
along with books and models until the whole room is occupied by the proliferatingdisseminativeeffect of that firstor
originarytheft or copy, the bed finallystrippedof its mattress
to become a pedestalfor a Buddha-likeKracklitesitting
drawing.The room as model for the dome has been crowded
inside out, renderedabyssalby a monumentalliving statue
that implies the petrifactionof its model, the death of the
room'soccupant,just as the belly as dome is invaginatedby
diseasesrealor imaginarybut in all cases connected to the
monstrosityof the architecturalproject.
Kracklite'sdigestivedisordercould be one of the three things
suggested:poisoned figs, as he believes;"dyspepsia,fatigue,
over-excitement,excess - and unfamiliarfood, lack of exercise and too much coffee - maybe also too much egotism,"
as the firstdoctor diagnoses;6or the cancerit seems to turn
out to be. Nothing particularlyarchitecturalabout any of
this, one might say.But whetherorganicallyor synthetically
induced, by acidity,toxicity,or cellularmutation, it is a matter of either bad plumbingor structuralfailure.Thus nothing
could be more architectural.For the relationof anatomyto
architecturedoes not end with form,assumingit could be
provedto begin there, assumingwe could knowwhereform
begins and ends, but operatesalso in terms of bodily function
in general,especiallyenterologyand gynecology.Kracklite
concentrateson the former,buildingwhat, accordingto his
wife, Chicagoanscall the CharnelHouse, "abuildingsuffering from excess cholesterol."7CaspasianSpeckler,his rival,
usurperof his wife and exhibition, favorsthe latter,contend-

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ing that "architectsought to know about everything- reproduction ... gender... sex ... especiallysex."8Figs, of course,
poisoned or not, are the perinealfruit,connecting sex to
defecation.Botanistsdo not even considerthem a fruit,but
rathera fleshyreceptacle,a botanicalchamberthat bears
seeds. They are the prototypicalbearerof poison, such that in
Englisha victim is said to be given an Italianfig. Saythe word
in Italianand you areonly a vowel, only a gender,awayfrom
saying"cunt";somewhereit crossesover,in popularLatin
maybe,so that the sign of the fig is that of the clitorisprotrudingfrom the vulva; say "Idon't give a fig"and you are in
effect saying"Idon't give a fuck."Whether they arethe
aphrodisiacLouisaopines them to be afterKrackliteforces
one into her mouth or have the laxativevalue assignedto
soft-fleshedmultigranulatefruit in general,whetherthey
crackto evoke the female sex or the cambrureand form of the
buttocks,figs are probablythe most corporealof fruitsand
thereforethe most architectural.When they rot, they crack,
burst,deflate, collapse,and crumble:at once carrionand
ruin. In any case, so the legend goes, in the film at least,
Augustusdied of them; his mausoleumis thereforea monument to them.
A postcardfrom Krackliteto Boullee,VictorEmanuelBuilding, Thursday,2 January1986:
I havebecomeobsessedwiththe smellsof decay:a dustbinof
an old womanon the Corsowho
maggotsat the Campidoglio,
sleepson the pavement,the smellof the pissoirby the Spanish
the
Steps,the driedexcrementalongthe TiberEmbankment,
- yet - withdisappointdustbinlorryat the Otellorestaurant
ment I haveto reportthattheyall smellthe same.Decayalways,
ultimately,smellsthe same- andnowI am identifiedwithit.9
What is this relationbetween architectureand smell?Besides
the obviousmattersof plumbingand garbagedisposal.
Should we insist on furtherevidence of the analogybetween
the buildingand the human formby wayof the domus,the
insistent economy of relationsbetween interiorand exterior,
even the internalorganic,and the playof penetrationand
expulsion,solidificationand disintegration?An architecture
of the digestivetractfrom ingestionto defecation,Kracklite's
stalled in the intestine, somewherealong,as we are reminded,
its twenty-sevenfeet.

This piece of triviais told to Kracklitein a scene that takes

place in the public baths. In the film, the scene that follows
(framedbeforeand afterby shots of his wife and her loverin
bed) has Kracklitein a clinic about to undergoa gastroscopy,
writingpostcardsand coiling twenty-sevenfeet of rubber
tubing into a heap outside his belly. But in the book, Kracklite is next encounteredsitting on the floorof an elevator
with an eight-year-oldboy. He has just come from the baths
and, carryingtoo much as always,has spilledhis postcards:
I'msendingthemto myfriendin Paris... it'llhelphim findhis
wayaround.He diedin 1799- that'snearlytwohundredyears
ago - that's a long time - though Rome hasn't changed that

much.Do I smellfunny?

(He sniffs his armpits.) .....

It'sthe smellof deathI reckon.'

Kracklitehas spilledhis postcards,and now his guts. He has
admitted his own mortality.He is in an elevator,which is,
more than the bathroom,the architecturalequivalentof the
intestine and defecation,a solid object forcedthrougha
narrowchamber,stoppingat each floor,or digestiveorgan,
disgorgingin smallor largequantitieson the level of the
street or continuingon into the basement or the bowels of
the city.
So would there be an architectureinspiredby the chemical
senses to deconstructthat based on the visual?An idea of
shelter,an economy that accounts for the most intimate
functionsof the organism,there wherethey meet their most
intimate contradiction,in the confoundingof smells emanating from the armpit,moistened skin,variousorifices,in the
confoundingof inside and outside, function and form?Such
an architecturewould necessarilyconfound its own relation
to the body and to the artisticobject, returningus to the
question of sculpture.
For the nexus representedby Augustus,his belly and his
death, his statue and his mausoleum,producesa move from
architectureto sculpture.But it makesno sense to arguehere
that one precedesthe other, sculpturebeforearchitectureor
vice versa.That would be to repeatthe non-questionof
whetherfunction comes before structure,artbefore construction,necessitybefore superfluity,essence or substance
beforeornament.The fact, encounteredhere, that both

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intersectin the body suggestswhat the presentdiscussionhas

alwaysassumed,namely,that they inhabit a common space.
If there were such an architectureof the nonvisual,still
founded on the body, the passagefrom human form to constructionwould indeed have a point of relayin statuary,the
belly connection not just some fantasy
Kracklite-Augustus
born of an imaginativephotocopieror filmscribe.Its passage
would be signaledby the closing of the eyes, the denial of the
visual,the absence of the living eye. Augustus'seyes are
closed. Granted,there is a characterwho chisels noses off
statues, seeming to offer comment on the olfactoryor chemical senses. He collects them in a bag and in the penultimate
scene - of the film at least - he is encounteredselling them
outside a police station on the Campidogliowhere Kracklite
is being questioned in connection with his drunkenfrenzyof
the previousnight. The interrogationtakesplace outside, at a
table acrossfrom that held by the purveyorof noses. Hence, if
my concern is not to establisha teleologyof architectural
development,but merelyto point to moments or structures
of rupturein the institution of architectureas subordination
of function to form, of shelterto design, an institution that
derivesfrom a set of assumptionsconcerningthe natural
hierarchicalconstructionof the human body, then the photocopies of Augustusand the amputatednoses would simply
inscribethat ruptureon the statue. And the question of an
architectureof rupturethat relatesto smell againstsight, or
as well as sight, would be posed as much by the removed
noses as by the closed eyes. Besides,in the thematic schema
of the film, the removalof noses relates,more obviouslythan
to the matterof smell, to the idea of Kracklite'scuckolding
and sterility;it can as well be readthroughthis schema as a
sign of the confoundingof sexual function, like unnatural
intercourse,like a fixationon the buttockswith or without
the scent of decay,with or without the eyes open.
It is the undecidabilityof the one and the other, form and
function, the question that is the whole architecturalquestion, the question of the line between architectureand art,
home and statue, that I am attempting to drawor outline
here. How does one find the point at which it passesover,
goes from diversionto perversion?The film makesits choices,
it seems, between fecund belly and cancerousbelly, between

home and mausoleum,between celebrationand exhibitionism. But it seems not to realizethat these areless opposites
between which to choose than variationsto be chosen
among, within the same structuralspace. Or perhapsnot
even chosen among but rathernegotiated,like this writing,
weavingin and out of the formsand functions made available
to it, exploitingbordercrossingsfor its own enjoyment,
throwingup a seriesof constructionsarounda set of images
called a film, or windingthat film arounda text of idiosyncraticmemoriesand projections,coming to rest afterall else,
here, this time, again,eyes closed and head restingon the
fleshycurvesthat constitute the realand the ideal of ancient
and presentRome.
The firstdomes are those closed eyes, the firstfountains
those imaginedtears,simulacraof the realtearsof separated
love. Kracklite'sname is both the descriptionand the
deconstructionof this idea. There is a fissurein his name: it
begins to divide and scatter,to become a name for his eyes,
and then for everyeye in its tendency to close or squint, its
generaldesireto give the appearanceof not seeing.
Justafterdawn on Thursday,22 August 1985, Kracklite
comes home to the sound of laughterand sits transfixedin
front of a keyholewatchingCaspasian,who paradesnaked
with a Boulleetowerfor a phallus,makinglove to Louisa.
And the child watches Kracklitecry,the primalityrelayed,
back to front of course,down the corridorto anotherscene
where the child'smother watcheshim watchingKracklite
watching,and so on. It is supposedlythe moment of purest
visuality,purestspectacle.But it is also wherethe inside
breaksout, where the cruellight of day seeps throughthe
shuttersyou thought were clamped tight, where intimacy
shatterslike a crumblingstone, wherethe house or home
begins to be poor shelter,and even the statues get cold, close
their eyes, and cry.
The childwatcheshim.
Child:(InEnglish)Whatareyoucryingfor?
Kracklite:(Withoutmovinghis body,but lookingat the child)

There'sa draughtin the keyholeandit's makingmyeyeswater.

Woman: (Hervoicejust audible fromthe roombehindthe child, in

Italian)What'sthe mancryingfor?
Child:(InItalian)He'sgot a draughtin his eyes."

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assemblage 19

"Unospiffero,"the child says,"Diceche ha uno spifferodi aria

negli occhi."The Italianworddescribesa currentthat blows.
It translatesas a "draught"in English.More precisely,in
terms of the film, it begins as a draughtin Englishand translates into Italianwherebythe peculiarusage of the English
worddisappearsout the window,as if blown away.But there
is much to retrieve.Not that translationis to be conceivedof
as an inevitableloss any more than a certaingain, for in exploiting it here I will againbe seekingto emphasizethe effect
of a passage,the originarycontaminationof one languageby
another,one mode or formby another.
With referenceto the body, the draughtsignifies,in the first
place, an inhalation,a drawingin or toward.To come to
mean a currentof airthat blowslike some accident upon the
body this sense must be turnedaround,like so much else
here, so that inhalationbecomes exhalationor expulsion.
Besides,one does not normallyget a draughtin the eyes
unless one has a habit of lookingthroughkeyholes;a draught
more likelyfallson the back,or on the nape of the neck as I
inhale and exhale with acceleratingregularityand striveto
expel what is inside me into the inside of you.
Then, when we come to architecture,it is hardto hold back
the contagionof senses of draughtsblowingin any numberof
directions.Apartfromkeyholes,a draughtcomes through
cracksin badlydesignedor badlyconstructedbuildingsor in
those ruinedby age and fallen into decay.A draughtis in this
sense a failureof architecture.Or of the architector againof
his draughtsman.It is somethingvaguebut chillingthat
blowsbetween them and becomes a blurredline of demarcation between the artistand the technician.For if there were
some differenceto be establishedor maintainedbetween
sculptureand architecturein terms of whicheverof these
formsremainsclosest to home, on the one hand, or to the
body, on the other, and if this were to be relatedin turn to a
differencethat one might want to make between artistand
designer,between a prioritygiven to form and one given to
function, if the home were alwaysalreadya body and the
body alwaysalreadya home, and these differencescalled into
question, at least from the point of view of this backhandor
backsidereadingof a film by PeterGreenaway,then there
would indeed be a certainlogicalcontinuum to this very

undecidability,extending all the wayalong the line of architecturalproduction,among those distinctionsthat continue
to operateaccordingto the same principlesof demarcation,
between architectand draughtsman,between draughtsman
and builder,between builderand laborer,and so on. This
much should have been obvious.
The draughtis that disseminatingwind and it is there at the
beginningof both the artisticand the architecturalmoment,
there wherethey arebarelydistinguishable,creatinga crack
in the dome that is the eye, in the crackitself, in the firstline
that is drawn,in the trait itself. In French,trait is the word
for whateveris drawn.It is throughsuch a compact logic,
throughsuch a system of relaysof object relations,sexual
relations,perceptualrelations,and linguisticrelations,all
articulatedthrougharchitecturaland corporeallines and
limits, throughsuch a draughtin the eye, that this primal
scene leads us.
With this primalscene we arebackat the beginning,at
whateverpassesfor, or passesfrom,the beginning.Backat
the firstcrackin the eye, the firstact of perception,the first
visionarymoment, but all we can drawfrom it is a type of
blur:a line that blursas it draws.The firstcrackin the eye,
the firstdraught,is the firstline drawn,at once the beginning
and the end of all things. The line is drawn,the eye is
opened, but a draughtblows,tearsflow, and it all blurs.The
firstline drawnslices the eye like a Bufiuel/Dalirazor.In
opening it violatesthe perfection,the originarywholeness,
the perfectform. It is the crackin the dome.
Two possibilities:The crackin the belly, the Cesareanmoment, the end of a gestation and the beginningof many
things:an end for the film. Or, on the other hand, the upset
stomach,the belly turnedover,the Romanway,a tergo,
anothercrack,the backsidethat is anothertype of eye.
Againstthe grainof the logic of the firstpossibility,that of
Greenaway'sBellyof an Architect,I have tried to inscribe
somethingof the second.At the same time: to drawa line
throughRome, to plot a trajectory,to traceand crossa frontier, to make an idiosyncraticvoyage,a storyof chasingtail.
Time now to backoff, tell or drawa final tale, or tail, this tail,
end.

104

Wills

Notes

FigureCredit

What follows is extracted from a

chapter of a book-in-progress,entitled Prosthesis,that attempts to
produce two types of discourse
within the same body of writing:on
the one hand, what might be called
an academic or theoretical discourse;on the other hand, what
might go by the name of creative,
fictive, or autobiographicaldiscourse.

Boullee's cenotaph to Sir Isaac

Newton, from RichardA. Etlin,
The Architectureof Death: The
Transformationof the Cemetery
in Eighteenth-CenturyParis
(Cambridge,Mass.:MIT Press,
1984).

1. As it turns out, the name

Ventimiglia is derived from the
Vento family of Genoa, who established their fiefdom in the area in
the middle of the thirteenth century before selling to the Grimaldi
of Monaco in 1346. See Edouard
Baratier,Georges Duby, and Ernest
Hildesheimer,Atlas historique:
ProvenceComtat, Orange,Nice,
Monaco (Paris:LibrairieArmand
Colin, 1969).
2. See Peter Greenaway,The Belly
of an Architect(London: Faberand
Faber, 1988).
3. In this shortened version,what
suffers most from the truncations
that have been operated is the play
of numbers. Since, however,the
numbers function as much as figures for hermeneutic operations
in general as anything else, their
sparseand enigmatic mention here
is not unrepresentativeof the role
they play in the chapter as a whole.
4. Greenaway,The Bellyof an
Architect,3.
5. Ibid., 12.
6. Ibid., 41.
7. Ibid., 12.
8. Ibid., 47.
9. Ibid., 174.
10. Ibid., 73-74.
11. Ibid., 66.

105