Diagrams of Interface, or, Deleuze and Gauttari’s

Legacy to Architects

by Tim Adams

A paper presented at the Deleuze Symposium, University of Western Australia, 1996, shortened
version published in Der Architekt 9, (September 2000)

What does it mean for an architect to think? That is, can one think in Architecture, not about it
(everyone has a thought about it), but can one think something with it? Can there be a genuinely
architectural concept? A question already asked by the French architect Jean Nouvel (1992: 28)
but a question that must be asked by all architects who read Deleuze and Guattari.

But why should architects be interested in Deleuze and Guattari? Or conversely, why should
any of Deleuze and Guattari’s non-architectural readers be concerned with architecture? What’s
in it for both groups? Both have a common interest in such Deleuze-and-Guattarian concepts as
“machine,” “speed,” and “abstraction” for they originate in the work of architectural critics
Lewis Mumford, Paul Virilio and Wilhelm Worringer, respectively. Secondly, Deleuze and
Guattari sometimes use architecture to support their arguments, for example; the Gothic
cathedral as a performance of “minor science” in A Thousand Plateaus (Deleuze and Guattari
1993: 364 and 368), the buildings of Carlo Scarpa that turn the thickness of the plane into a
genuine concept in What is Philosophy? (Deleuze and Guattari 1994: 195), the Baroque church as
an allegory for the Leibnizian monad in The Fold (Deleuze 1993: 5) and the extraordinary
buildings of Shin Takamatsu as a demonstration of the polyphony and diachrony of space in
Space and Corporeity (Guattari 1993: 143). The last example is taken from a 1990 paper Guattari
delivered at the Columbia University School of Architecture in which Guattari makes the ethico-
aesthetic paradigm from Chaosmosis (Guattari 1995) available to architecture, and also by
implication visa versa, making architecture available to Chaosmosis. So there is already ample
give and take between Deleuze, Guattari and architecture to justify developing the initial
question -- “what does it mean for an Architect to think?” in Deleuze-and-Guattarian terms.

But first, by way of a left-handed approach to Deleuze and Guattari’s vast body of work, the
concept of diagram from A Thousand Plateaus (particularly in the fifth plateau entitled: “587 B.C.
- A.D. 70: On Several Regimes of Signs”) will be introduced. Left-handed because it is connected
to the work of Charles Sanders Peirce. Peirce claimed that his mental left-handedness rendered

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him inadequate in terms of linguistic expression but superior in terms of thinking in diagrams
(Peirce was in fact ambidextrous, he used to impress his students by simultaneously writing an
equation with one hand and its solution with the other). Architects are also mentally left-handed
to the extent that they agree with Peirce when he writes, “all valid necessary reasoning is in fact
. . . diagrammatic” (Peirce 1931: 23-24). Architectural students may for example struggle with
Leibniz’s language in the Monadology (Leibniz 1965: 148-163) yet instantly grasp with intuitive
understanding Deleuze’s diagram of the Leibnizian monad in The Fold (1993: 5). Such an intuition
says Peirce, “is the regarding of the abstract in a concrete form, by the realistic hypostatization
of relations; that is the one sole method of valuable thought.”(Peirce 1931: 383). There are many
such diagrams scattered throughout the writings of Deleuze and Guattari so this approach to
their work may prove to be useful for “left-handed” architects.

The importance of Peirce for Deleuze and Guattari cannot be denied, for example they make
Peirce's term “pragmatics” synonymous with their own term “schizoanalysis” with which they
name their entire project (Deleuze and Guattari 1993: 146). Peirce was the first to make
pragmatism a philosophical concept, it is a method for establishing meaning based on the
practical effects produced, based on not what a thing is but what you can do with it. Peirce is
also the founder of modern semiotics. His
basic trichotomy of signs is; 1) the icon
which signifies by resembling its object: a
painting of fire for example, 2) the index
which signifies by really being affected by
its object: such as smoke indicating there is a
fire nearby and 3) the symbol which signifies
by depending on a learned convention: as when someone shouts, “FIRE!” in a crowded theatre.

Peirce places diagrams along with, but separate from, images in the first category of icon. This
being the case, why should Peirce make such extravagant claims for diagrams; that all valid
reasoning, all creative synthesis and even all algebraic equations are all predominantly
diagrammatic, when he categorizes diagrams as relying on merely iconic resemblances? Surely
indexical signs are closer to the real and symbolic signs more creative. Not so says Peirce, firstly,
all signs are mixtures composed of varying degrees of the three basic classes so that a diagram is
only predominantly an icon -- the diagram is also aided by symbolic conventions and uses real
indexical effects. This is what Roman Jakobson calls one of the most important and shrewd
features of Peirce’s semiotic (Jakobson 1971: 349) and a feature that Deleuze and Guattari
reinforce in their redeployment of Peirce (Deleuze and Guattari 1993: 136). Therefore the

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predominantly iconic diagram can have the creativity of the conventional sign and the
connectedness to the real of the indexical sign. But the reason why the diagram is so important
to Peirce’s semiotics is because it can represent the essential relations of parts of one thing with
analogous relations in its own parts. Diagrams are not resemblances, although sensuous
resemblance is certainly not ruled out for them (after all, all signs are mixed so diagrams can
have images too), they are instead veridically analogous to the thing represented thus giving
diagrams the capacity of revealing unexpected truths about their objects. One of Peirce’s
examples is the chemist who experiments with small samples of a substance by forming a
diagram of the molecular structure for all such elements. The experiment is performed on the
molecular structure of the object, in other words on real relations between parts with
corresponding relations on the diagram. Peirce calls this the “system of diagrammatization” by
which experiments are made with the real by performing operations upon diagrams that exactly
capture the nature of the relations concerned: similtaneously an experiment with thought and
with matter (Peirce 1933: 411-414).

Diagrams link science with art. “The geometer draws a diagram,” says Peirce, “which if not
exactly a fiction, is at least a creation, and by means of observation of that diagram is able to
synthesize and show relations between elements which before seemed to have no necessary
connection.” This is not unlike the work of the artist says Peirce, who “introduces a fiction; but it
is not an arbitrary one; it exhibits affinities to which the mind accords a certain approval,” this
leads Peirce to conclude that “the work of the poet or the novelist is not so utterly different from
that of the scientific man”(Peirce 1931: 203).

Deleuze and Guattari acknowledge Peirce as the true inventor of semiotics (Deleuze and
Guattari 1993: 534, n. 41) and proceed to modify his concept of diagram for their own purposes.
Diagrams are now “abstract machines,” they are the “cutting edges of creation and
deterritorialization” (Deleuze and Guattari 1993: p. 531, n. 39). The following two examples
demonstrate their important concept of deterritorialization. If territorialization is the
partitioning and coding of any continuum whatsoever, be it in time or in space, such as a bird’s
refrain that claims for itself particular coordinates; in the continuum of the forest, in the
spectrum of sound, and in the flow of time, then deterritorialization is a decoding, a transversal
line of flight across all those coordinates: the musicality of the refrain captured in a song. But
reterritorialization is always waiting to reinvest such transversal flows with a recoding and a
repartitioning: the refrain is captured in a town clock to mark the hours of the day for organised
labour, or in a national anthem that locates some and alienates others. Another example, tribal
cultures territorialize the body by inscribing it during elaborate rites of passage, Capitalism then

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deterritorializes the body by creating the private individual as the owner of his or her own body,
but at once reterritorializes that body as the body of the proletariat whose production must be
regulated by the State. The problem then is how to separate a positive deterritorialization that is
unlimited from a negative deterritorialization that is at once reterritorialized.

When Deleuze and Guattari redeploy Peirce’s trichotomy of the sign, they claim to have
changed the basis of the trichotomy from relations between the signifier and the signified
(relations of; similarity, real effect, and convention) to relations between territoriality and
deterritorialization (relations of; territoriality, reterritorialization and negative
deterritorialization) (Deleuze and Guattari 1993: 531, n. 41). Here they conflate Peirce with
Saussure because in Peirce’s terminology it is relations between the “representamen” (the
perceptible or imaginable object that represents another object) and its “Object” (the referent)
that determine the trichotomy (Peirce 1932: 136-7). They do this because they consider Louis
Hjelmslev, “the only linguist to have actually broken with the signifier and the signified”
(Deleuze and Guattari 1993: 523, n. 28). But they later contradict themselves when they
reconsider Hjelmslev to have also been dependant upon the signifier and signified (1993: 526, n.
22 and 528, n. 46). Saussure’s term “signified” corresponds more closely to Peirce’s third term of
“interpretant” (the meaning of a sign, its content) but any exchange of terms between a
dichotomy and a trichotomy will be problematic. A result of this change is that now “diagrams
must be distinguished from indexes, (Peirce’s “indices”) which are territorial signs, but also from
icons, which pertain to reterritorialization, and from symbols, which pertain to relative or
negative deterritorialization.” Diagram therefore must form its own special category of “the
diagrammatic or abstract machine (that) does not function to represent, even something real, but
rather constructs a real that is yet to come, a new type of reality” (Deleuze and Guattari 1993:
142). In other words, the positive deterritorialization (a diagram) that must be distinguished
from negative deterritorialization (a symbolic sign). A diagram is for them an abstract machine
on a plane of consistency, and “the plane of consistency is the abolition of all metaphor (all
icons, indices and symbols); all that consists is real . . . there is no ‘like’ here, we are not saying
‘like an electron,’ ‘like an interaction,’ . . . these are electrons in person, veritable black holes,
actual organites, authentic sign sequences” (1993: 69, parentheses added).

Taking their cue from Hjelmslev’s metasemiotic in his Prolegomena to a Theory of Language (1961),
with its great variety of semiotics (scientific semiotics, non-scientific semiotics, connotative
semiotics, non-linguistic semiotics and even non-semiotic), Deleuze and Guattari introduce their
own “transsemiotic” regimes of signs. These include presignifying, signifying, countersignifying
and postsignifying semiotic systems. Dorothea Olkowski (1990) has already discussed these

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regimes so here it will only be added that Deleuze and Guattari warn us that this is an
arbitrarily limited set, what they do insist upon is that all semiotics are mixed semiotics: “all
semiotics are mixed and not only combine with various forms of content but also combine
different regimes of signs” (1993: 119). This extends Peirce’s insight about the sign always being
mixed to the sign system itself. Our interest here lies in the diagram which, say Deleuze and
Guattari (1993: 136) is a transformation that blows apart all the semiotic systems hence their
term “asignifying diagram” because it is an abstract machine that is itself deterritorialized
leaving nothing but matter and function: “an abstract machine in itself is not physical or
corporeal, any more than it is semiotic; it is diagrammatic (it knows nothing of the distinction
between the artificial and the natural either). It operates by matter, not by substance; by function,
not by form . . . a matter-content having only degrees of intensity, resistance, conductivity,
heating, stretching, speed, or tardiness; and a function-expression having only ‘tensors,’ as in a
system of mathematical, or musical writing. Writing now functions on the same level as the real,
and the real materially writes” (Deleuze and Guattari 1993: 141).

A tensor in mathematics is the resultant vector of components in two or more directions, in

other words an abstraction that is no less real than its components, and, matter, content,
substance, and function are all terms pertaining to the Hjelmslevian sign model, a model that
has had a considerable effect on Deleuze and Guattari therefore justifying further explanation.
Louis Hjelmslev (1899-1965) was a Danish linguist whose influential school of semiotics is
known as “glossematics” (from the Greek glossa: “language”), a professor of comparative
linguistics, “he had a solid knowledge of forty or fifty languages. And he had learned and
forgotten just as many” (Hoeg 1993: 162).

Hjelmslev’s sign model is outlined in

chapter 13 of his Prolegomena (1961: 47-60).
Instead of Saussure’s bilateral sign model of
the signifier (the sound-image) and the
signified (the concept) of the sign we find
“expression” and “content” as two
inseparable planes of the “sign function.”
Each plane is further stratified into; form
(the system of sign forms: an open net),
substance (semiotically formed matter: the
shadow of the net projected on the purport) and purport (presemiotic matter: an undivided,
amorphous continuum ). The misleading term “purport” (ostensible meaning, sense or tenor of

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a statement) translates the Danish word mening . Umberto Eco (1985: 44-45) prefers to call it
“matter.” Taking Hjelmslev’s example of colour, the content-purport (or “matter”) is the colour
spectrum, the content-form is the colour morphemes (the units of signification unique to each
language that correspond to bands of the spectrum) and the content-substance is the specific
instances of colours (the projection of a specific language-net onto the colour spectrum). This
explains, for example, how the English morphemes for green, blue, grey and brown may cover a
similar bandwidth of the colour spectrum as the Welsh morphemes for gwyrdd, glas and llwyd
yet when we compare the boundaries from one colour to the next on the spectrum they do not
coincide. In addition Hjelmslev discovered a parallelism between the two planes, so we
similarly find that for the plane of expression there is an expression-purport (the continuum of
human phonetic and graphic potential, such as the continuum made from the larynx through
the roof of the mouth and to the lips sliding through a k-area, a t-area, and a p-area), an
expression-form (the phonemes and graphemes, units of sound and text unique to each
language) and an expression-substance (specific expressions, such as when someone writes or
says “brown”). Hjelmslev describes the sign as “the unit consisting of content-form and
expression-form and established by the solidarity that we have called the sign function” (1961:
58). This is an immanent definition of the sign, as a function posited between two functives that
presuppose each other. The sign function is then the reciprocal solidarity of the content-form
and the expression-form. If the sign can be said to be of something other than itself then it is --
“paradoxical as it may seem -- a sign for a content-substance and a sign for an expression
substance” (1961: 58). (In Deleuze and Guattari’s words, a “tensor” with components pointing in
opposite directions.) But, as Hjelmslev concludes at the end of the Prolegomena, it is “precisely
through that immanent point of view and by virtue of it, language returns the price that it
demanded . . . instead of hindering transcendence, immanence has given it a new and better
basis; immanence and transcendence are joined in a higher unity on the basis of immanence”
(1961: 127). This Hjelmslevian dictum can also be read as the approach to reading Deleuze and
Guattari taking place here: it is precisely through their philosophy of immanence and by virtue
of it that we may find a higher unity of philosophy and non-philosophy, in our case: a higher
unity between philosophy and the architecture that transcends it.

We have seen how both the Hjelmslevian sign model and Peirce’s concept of the diagram are
used by Deleuze and Guattari, their task then is how to combine them. The diagram is an
“abstract machine” that occurs at the level of purport, the misleading term “purport” being
replaced by “the state of unformed matter on the plane of consistency,” which, like Hjelmslev’s
purport must not be confused with chaos of any kind, it is instead an assemblage of human,
animal or machinic potential. If the diagram’s content and expression are rendered indiscernible

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due to the variability of their plane of consistency then the diagram can be said to be an
“absolute deterritorialization” otherwise it remains only relatively deterritorialized (1993:.91)
The diagram therefore is not a sign at all, it only becomes mixed with signs due to the
“language-function.” “The abstract machine as it relates to the diagram of the assemblage is
never purely a matter of language, except for lack of sufficient abstraction. It is language that
depends on the abstract machine, not the reverse”(1993: 91). The same can be said of
Hjelmslev’s purport. The absolutely deterritorialized diagram is “pure Matter-Function,”
meaning it belongs to the amorphous matter upon which the real is projected, for example when
a language-function conjugates the planes of content and expression by projecting its net in two
directions like a tensor.

Foucault (1977: 200 and 1980) provides us

with an architectural example of just such a
diagram when he discusses Jeremy
Bentham’s 1791 ideal prison-form, the
“Panopticon.” A unidirectional optical
device in the form of a circular building
consisting of a well-lit, one-cell deep,
perimeter wall centred around a shaded
observation tower within which the warden
“sees all” (pan-optic) without himself being
seen, thus guaranteeing an air of constant
surveillance despite his periodic absences.
“A brutal dissymmetry of visibility” writes
Jacques-Alain Miller (1987: 4). One could
call this the architectural expression-form
that corresponds to the following semiotic
content-form: power through the asymmetrically subjection of gazes, or visa versa (Hjelmslev
tells us that these terms are arbitrary and therefore interchangeable). But as Foucault observes,
the Panopticon form is not a symbol of power, it has no hidden meanings, the mechanism is itself
a neutral and universal diagram of power reduced to its simplest form as an architectural/optical
system. Yet neither is it a utopian ideal located nowhere as a critique of society. It is a specific
and concrete mechanism for the operation of power in space. It is as a diagram on a plane of
consistency that Foucault himself makes use of Bentham’s Panopticon. As an abstract machine it
forms; 1) “interstratum” assemblages with concrete machines on the stratified planes of
expression and content: homes, schools, barracks, clinics, and prisons as techniques of control

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and delinquents, deserters, the sick and the criminal as needing continuous and anonymous
control, and 2) “metastratum” assemblages with other potential diagrams, each with their own
interstratum expressions and contents. A destratifying line of flight creating new abstract
machines, no less real for being newly created. There is just such a metastratum continuum
running from the asymmetrical gazes of the Panopticon to the reversed gaze of the mirror as the
diagram of “heterotopia.” Foucault (1986: 24) chooses the mirror as the diagram of his concept
of heterotopia because it makes the real and the mythic simultaneous in the space in which we
live and because the mirror is itself real. Its interstratum concrete machines are cinemas,
honeymoons, vacations, museums, libraries, gardens, and ships, and their contents are the
curious state of being in another place or in another time, stepping outside of all the flows time
and space and exposure to the infinite. “The ship is the heterotopia par excellence,” writes
Foucault (1986: 27), “in civilizations without boats, dreams dry up, espionage takes the place of
adventure, and the police take the place of pirates.”

The second example of the destratified, deterritorialized diagram comes from Guattari’s
Molecular Revolution (1984: 154), where he writes, ”diagrammatic redundancies . . . put the de-
territorialized elements of sign machines to work on reality itself. An example of this would be
the blueprints -- the physical and mathematical specifications -- for Concord.” The blueprints for
the Concorde form a set of essential becomings, specifications, and articulations that are
sufficiently deterritorialized to correspond with the most deterritorialized articulations of the
materials of expression; aluminium, titanium, electrical and semiotic fluxes, to form assemblages
with the reterritorialized and restratified contents of power formations; concrete machines such

8
as specific countries, specific territories, specific factories, and specific “facialities;”
draughtsperson, researcher, engineer, scientist, manager and so on. “They relate to a mixed
semiotics,” says Guattari, “they activate a negotiation between different semiotic and material
registers. At the level of the plane of consistency, that negotiation is made possible (possibilized)
by abstract machines; at the level of real forces, it is organized by concrete machines . . . .
Abstract machines exist not in some transcendent reality, but only at the level of the ever-
present possibility that they may appear. They represent the essence of the possible” (Guattari
1984: 156).

Not only is the work of Deleuze and Guattari liberally illustrated with diagrams of their own
invention (see for example Deleuze and Guattari; 1983: 282 , 1986: 74, 1993: 135, 137, 146, 185,
218, & 545, 1994: 25 & 56, Deleuze 1993: 5, 20, 26, 105, & 111, Guattari 1984: 73) but their work
also relies heavily upon recurring verbal images such as music scores, rhizomes and trees,
Artaud’s body without organs, nomads, the wasp and the orchid, Balinese plateaus of intensity,
a bird’s refrain, war machines, and specific works of literature, music, painting and architecture.
Each one of these signifying images should also be taken as being mixed with elements of the
asignifying diagram, as concrete machines that have the potential to become lines of flight
continuous with a string of abstract machines. All semiotics are mixed semiotics and all images
are mixed with diagrams. All that is needed to prove this is for us to find articulations within
the image/diagram that are absolutely deterritorialized thus joining articulations that transcend
the limits of the image to form a single block of material becoming. For example the images
associated with the Panopticon and the drawings of the Concorde mixed with their more
diagrammatically pure physical and mathematical specifications. A diagram captures the
relationship between parts, the essence of the real with a minimum of redundancy so that new
connections and new potentials are revealed already within the real.

A pure diagram is simply an interface. All it can do on its own is buzz: it can have only degrees
of intensity, resistance or conductivity, speed or tardiness, what Deleuze and Guattari call “a
pure Matter-Function” where matter pertains to the unformed potential of Hjelmslev’s purport
and function pertains to his definition of the sign as a “language-function,” only here they are
speaking in “transsemiotic” terms that includes the asignifying semiotic of diagram. Michael
Heim (1993: 77) has defined interface as the face-to-face meeting of two or more information
sources. Interface, he adds, is a buzzword that cues conversations, momentarily gaining our
attention but it also strikes a deeper resonance that cuts across the entire spectrum of life: “the
word buzzes, we push on it, and suddenly a magic door swings open to who we are and where
we stand in history” (1993: 76). Clearly the expression “interface” is mixed with a powerful

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diagram, because the diagram of interface is a diagram of the diagram itself, the expression
“interface” being the very image of diagram. The diagram defined as pure Matter-Function is
nothing but the meeting of two or more matter sources, in other words, a plane of consistency
consisting of nothing but relationships between heterogeneous unformed matters.

How does Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of diagram relate to architecture? We have already
seen how Foucault isolates an architectural work (Bentham’s Panopticon) as a powerful
diagrammatization of vast fields of social control, and how Guattari focuses on the blueprints of
the Concorde as the diagrammatic correspondence of deterritorialized articulations in various
zones of action. Since architecture also depends on blueprints for its existence, Guattari’s
example can be made to include architectural plans. But we can supplement these examples
with many contemporary architects for whom Deleuze and Guattari and their concepts have
entered their very production of expressions, in their theoretical writings. This fact virtually
guarantees there must be some element of the Deleuze-and-Guattarian diagram already in their
“purely” architectural production because the plane of consistency (the deterritorializing
diagram) is always immanent to the strata of expression (their architectural discourse) and
content (their architectural images): “absolute deterritorialization is there from the beginning,
and the strata are spin offs, thickenings on a plane of consistency that is everywhere, always
primary and always immanent”(Deleuze and Guattari 1993: 70). So those architects who give
recognition to Deleuze and Guattari in their writings do so because they recognise something in
Deleuze and Guattari that is already in their own work, namely the deterritorializing diagram.

Deleuze, in reply to Michel Cresole’s criticism -- that he merely lives off the experiments of
others without really risking anything himself -- tells us that his approach to the history of
philosophy has been, “a sort of buggery or (it comes to the same thing) immaculate conception. I
saw myself as taking the author from behind and giving him a child that would be his own
offspring , yet monstrous.” (Deleuze 1995: 6 ). The imagery is apt since Cresole is a gay activist
and HIV has made unprotected anal sex very risky. Reapplying Deleuze’s own method at a
second degree, are not the architects discussed in this paper Deleuze’s own buggers and their
bastardised buildings claimants of his legacy? This is the test for the interferences and wild
proliferation in practices outside philosophy repeatedly advocated by Deleuze. He thinks that
all philosophy, including his own, “must be judged in the light of other practices with which it
interferes” (Deleuze 1994: 280).

In the space remaining we can do little more than list those architects who have incorporated
elements of Deleuze and Guattari into their conceptual and concrete machinery, suffice to add

10
that each case can easily justify a book-length investigation into their indebtedness to Deleuze
and Guattari, for instance the 170 page work on Eisenman and Deleuze (Adams 1993). My aim
here is to register the size of the impact Deleuze and Guattari have already made on the field of
Architecture and that it is sufficient to warrant the attention of anyone with an interest in either
architectural theory or Deleuze and Guattari. Also to add that I have received many requests for
just such a list so I have reason to believe it will be of some use.

Two of the best known of Deleuze and Guattari’s architectural followers are Peter Eisenman in
New York and Jean Nouvel in Paris. Eisenman was closely associated with Deleuze and
Guattari in the influential edition of Architectural Design (1993) featuring a profile on “Folding in
Architecture” and including an excerpt from The Fold (Deleuze 1993) alongside an image of the
concept model for Eisenman’s Emory
Center project. But Eisenman began
commenting on Deleuze in his polemical
writings as early as 1984 and has
periodically done so ever since (Eisenman;
1984, 1991, 1992a, 1992b, 1992c, 1994, 1996a,
& Architectural Design 1993: 24).
Eisenman’s work centres around Deleuze’s
book The Fold, and the concepts he uses
include the Baroque fold, the affect, smooth
and striated space, singularity, haecceitas
(this-ness), and the event. Each one of
Eisenman’s buildings and projects, from
House I (Eisenman 1972) to the recently
completed Aranoff Center of Design and Art
(Eisenman 1996b), is based on a set of
analytic diagrams or “notational
transformations.” Taken together these
form a single, “metastratum” line of flight,
and individually an “interstratum” assemblage with a potentially infinite series of concrete
machines (Eisenman’s processes are arbitrary and aleatory, they could have easily produced
different outcomes so that each diagram corresponds to a potential series of buildings). The
resultant series of concrete machines form a line of diagrammatically determined projects that cut
transversally across the world of predominantly programmatically determined architecture. (A
program in architecture is a minimum set of functional requirements in terms of floor areas and

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relationships between rooms: a diagram, because it does capture a relation of parts with
minimum redundancy, yet it is a negative deterritorialization because it reterritorializes on a
single best possible outcome and fails to form a continuum with other diagrams.)

Jean Nouvel has apparently only ever

made one specific reference to Deleuze and
Guattari, but has repeated this reference in
at least three different contexts indicating
its significance (Nouvel; 1992a, 1992b, &
1996). Here then is Nouvel’s reference:
“After Foucault I found much of interest --
as well as some distress elements -- in the
books of Deleuze and Guattari and
especially in their most recent publication
What is Philosophy? For they explained
things that have been familiar to me for ten
years, but in a far more precise, advanced, and intelligent way. But in the end, they were
speaking of concept, percept, and affect, while I was talking about concept, sensation, emotion.
The idea that the notion of concept is reserved for philosophy led me to ask myself whether I
had been guilty of misusing it. And then, when I saw there ‘is no simple concept. Every concept
has a number of components . . . it is a multiplicity’; when I read that a concept ‘has an irregular
outline defined by the number of its components, that every concept has a history, that every
concept has a future, that each concept will be considered as the point of coincidence and
condensation of its own components,’ I felt that I understood that this could equally well be
applied to a purely architectural concept. That there could be a correspondence between the
world of philosophy and the world of architecture.” Nouvel’s chief interest in Deleuze and
Guattari centres on What is Philosophy? because his work tries to combine art, science and
philosophy in architecture. But Nouvel breathes the same air as Deleuze, lives and creates in the
same milieu; he was intensely engaged with the events of May ’68, he has been influenced by
Paul Virilio (in the late 60’s both Virilio and Nouvel worked together for the architect Claude
Parent), and he strongly identifies with the French-Swiss film maker Jean-Luc Godard. When
Nouvel uses concepts like territory, noology, percept, affect, chaos, and transversality, he has no
need to refer to anyone else because he is speaking the same language as Deleuze and Guattari,
the lingua franca of May ’68. It is no surprise then to discover that Alejandro Zaera finds that,
“Nouvel operates through formulas, machines of an abstract nature that produce an

12
extraordinary conceptual mobility,” that he, “operates through diagrammatic rather than
geometric functions” (Zaera 1994: 45 & 51).

Perhaps lesser known among the Deleuze-and-Guattarian architects of the diagram are Jennifer
Bloomer at Iowa State University and Marcos Novak at the University of Texas. Bloomer’s
architectural installations are fetishistic assemblages of domestic detritus (beads, feathers,
animal bones and metal wire) that function as diagrams of “minor architecture.” For example
the “Tabbles of Bower” project for the
Chicargo Institute of Architecture and
Urbanism (Bloomer 1992). “The concept of
minor architecture,” she writes, “is both
properly deduced from Manfredo Tafuri’s
concept of ‘major architecture’ and
illegitimately appropriated from Gilles
Deleuze and Felix Guattari’s concept of
minor literature” (Bloomer 1993). Tafuri, on
page 82 of his book Theories and History of
Architecture, defines major architecture as
being that which is complicit with the
process of rationalising the senses and
naturalising the course of civilisation, and
Deleuze and Guattari (1986: 16) tell us in
Kafka, Towards a Minor Literature that the first characteristic of minor literature is that in it a
major language is affected with a high coefficient of deterritorialization; Kafka the
Czechoslovakian Jew writing in a style of German that renders German into a diagram of its
own irreducible distance from territoriality, the nomadic, immigrant, gypsy nature always
inherent in it. Minor architecture is therefore diagrammatic of senses that have taken flight
within architecture’s rationalisation of the senses. Bloomer says that one of the tasks of minor
architecture is to operate critically upon the dominance of the image. We have seen how the
diagram is immanent to the image but must not be confused with it. The image involves iconic
resemblances that pertain to reterritorialization while the diagram involves a parallelism of
deterritorialized relations that do not function to represent the real but construct a real that is
yet to come.

13
 The “site” for Marcos Novak’s architecture is “cyberspace,” the plane of positive
deterritorialization par excellence. The term cyberspace was first used in William Gibson’s
science-fiction novel Neuromancer of 1984, but is now used everywhere as shorthand for the
internet and all the computers and realities, computer files and virtual realities it links up, so
the very term itself performs a nomadic deterritorialization. Novak defines cyberspace as “a
completely spatialized visualization of all information in global information processing systems,
along pathways provided by present and future communications networks, enabling full
copresence and interaction of multiple users, allowing input and output from and to the full
human sensorium, permitting simulations of real and virtual realities, remote data collection
and control through telepresence, and total integration and intercommunication with a full
range of intelligent products and environments in real space”(Novak 1993: 225). In short,
cyberspace deterritorializes the body so that Novak’s “liquid architectures” then function as a
diagrammatization of the body’s new transversality through a “total immersion” in multiple
virtual dimensions. Novak creates virtual environments consisting of an experimental
architecture in four dimensions that when
navigated using a head-mounted display
presents the constantly changing three
dimensional shadow of a higher reality.
For example his ongoing project, Dancing
with the Virtual Dervish: Worlds in Progress
(Novak 1996) which can be visited on the
World Wide Web branch of the Internet. In
contrast to Bentham’s Panopticon that is a
diagram of territorialising social control
through surveillance, Novak’s virtual
realities form a “Pantopicon,” a diagram of
deterritorializing the body through
cyberspace. “I coin the word pantopicon,
pan-topos,” writes Novak, “to describe the
condition of being in all places at one time,
as opposed to panopticon -- seeing all
places from one place. The pantopicon can only be achieved through disembodiment, and so,
though it too speaks of being, it is being via disintegration, via subatomization of the
consciousness, rather than by concentration or condensation” (Novak 1995, p. 145). Novak’s

14
interest in Deleuze and Guattari centres on A Thousand Plateaus (Novak 1995, p. 153) and
Deleuze’s two Cinema books (Novak 1995b, pp. 43-44).

No list of Deleuze and Guattari-influenced architects should fail to mention the Japanese and
the Dutch. Mention should be made of Guattari’s interest in the work of Japanese architect Shin
Takamatsu who he has interviewed for the Japanese journal Toshi (Guattari 1989). The interest is
mutual because Deleuze and Guattari have had a strong following in Japan ever since Anti-
Oedipus was translated into Japanese in 1986 (Deleuze and Guattari 1986b).

Takamatsu himself has put to work such concepts as the “celibate machine” and “machinic
desiring” in his design process. Riichi Miyake, when describing the encounter between Deleuze
and Guattari and Takamatsu says, “Deleuze/Guattari opened a new horizon by their criticism
of Freud, and Takamatsu is drawing on latent forces that prescribe the source of cities and
architecture in an attempt to achieve the incarnation of desire” (Miyake 1990: 13). For
Takamatsu, his home town of Kyoto is of particular importance, it is the plane of consistency
upon which he creates his architectural diagrams of deterritorialized intensity, he says, “a city is
a continuous surface. An immense virtual image -- that’s what a city is. And no city has devised
this image as skilfully as Kyoto . . . the problem, in every respect has been one of ‘intensity.’ For
in this city, even the slightest deviation will loosen the fetters of mutual immunity between city

15
and architecture, and through the subsequent occurring loss a dynamic field of architectural
language is created. In this respect, as long as this is taking place in Kyoto, it becomes
presuppositional that a certain high critical point must be surpassed, and for this very reason the
very greatest ‘intensity’ is necessary” (Takamatsu 1993: 9 & 11). Other Japanese architects, along
with the concepts of Deleuze and Guattari they use include; Todao Ando (assemblage), Toyo Ito
(nomadism) and Kazuyo Sejima (sooth space) (Breslin 1990: 46, 47 & 50).

Although the Dutch are last to be listed, they can make legitimate claims to have been the first
to recognise the importance of Deleuze and Guattari for architecture. Gijs Wallis de Vries (1993:
57) in a very useful introduction to the subject, tells us how certain Dutch architectural theorists
first took an interest in Deleuze as early as 1972 with the English translation of Deleuze’s Proust
and Signs. Since then Kees Vollemans has been introducing students to the work of Deleuze and
Guattari at the Architecture Department in Delft, Joost Meuwissen has started the Journal
Wiederhall, which is full of articles on the subject, and the architects Ben van Berkel and Rem
Koolhaas have been working in a Deleuze-and-Guattarian fashion, in deed if not in word.

Mention must also be made of the rapidly expanding number of commentators on the subject,
besides de Vries there are useful essays by Wim Nijenhuis (1991), Ignasi de Sola-Morales (1992),
Kojin Karatani (1992), John Rajchman (1992, 1993, & 1994), Christian Girard (1995), Elizabeth
Grosz (1995) and Bernard Cache (1995a & 1995b). The last two are of particular interest; Cache
because as well as being an architect with the Objectile team in France, actually attended
Deleuze’s seminars at the University of Paris in Vincennes for many years. Deleuze honoured
his student by writing in The Fold (Deleuze 1993, p. 144, n.3) that “in my view this book (Cache’s
forthcoming Earth Moves: The Furnishing of Territories) seems essential for any theory of the fold.”
Cache is a master diagram-maker and Deleuze includes some of Cache’s diagrams in his own
book. Deleuze’s comment on Cache’s book led to it being published in English prior to any
publication in the original French, such is the strength of Anglo-American interest in The Fold
and architecture. And Grosz, because, although she is not normally an architectural critic (most
of her work concerns feminism, the body and lesbian subjectivity), she has nonetheless written
the essay most sensitive to the pitfalls of any simple application of Deleuze and Guattari to
architecture. She writes, “to ‘introduce’ Deleuze to architecture is, in any case, a strange
proposition, given the peculiarities of a Deleuzian enterprise so resistant to the notion of
‘application’ (theory is not so much to be applied as used), and which, in being transported to
other areas so readily spawns jargon-filled replications of the terminology, without the
disordering effects of his analysis” (Grosz 1995: 128). Here Grosz is taking seriously the warning
from A Thousand Plateaus that tells us to “Stop! You’re making me tired! Experiment, don’t

16
signify and interpret! Find your own places, territorialities, deterritorializations, regime, lines of
flight! Semiotize yourself instead of rooting around your prefab childhood and Western
semiology” (Deleuze and Guattari 1993: 139). We might add: semiotize architecture instead of
rooting around Deleuze and Guattari, or, beware the prophets of deterritorialization for they,
like Zarathustra, are great deceivers.

One more experiment before we conclude:

Piotr Kowalski. Grosz says that when we
continue Deleuze and Guattari’s project
rather than translate and apply it, then all
of architecture will stutter or at least
tremble, echoing what Deleuze and
Guattari (1993: 98 & 134) and Deleuze alone
(1993a: 26) have said about the Romanian
poet Gherasim Luca, who (among others
but especially Luca) makes language itself
stutter through diagrammatic redundancies
rather than signifying or subjective
redundancies. There is no direct link between the French-Ukrainian architect and the work of
Deleuze and Guattari other than an image of one Kowalski’s structures appended to Guattari’s
essay for the journal Flash Art (Guattari 1986), a connection that goes entirely unexplained. Yet
Kowalski diagrams this stuttering of architecture particularly well (it is no coincidence then that
he also knows and sometimes collaborates with the poet Luca). Kowalski went to MIT to study
mathematics but switched his subject to architecture, then worked for the architects I. M. Pei,
Marcel Breuer and Pier Luigi Nervi, before basing his own studio in Paris in 1953. Kowalski’s
process consists of using “sculpture machines” to create multiple and unforeseen results, such as
when he uses variable rubber sheets as the formwork for his concrete or transparent polyester
works, when he uses various placings of plastic explosives to deform similar sheets of steel in
different ways (Kowalski 1965), when he places beds of grass on revolving turn-tables so they
grow into perfect cones (Kowalski 1969), and when he places a variety of gasses into glass
shapes that mysteriously glow different colours when placed in the same electric field (Hugo
1983). Kowalski describes himself as a “fundamental form researcher,” the art objects created
being merely the by-products of his continuous search for the objective laws that connect matter
with energy. His research is experimental architecture because he makes material diagrams
(abstract machines on a plane of consistency) that not only map fields and forces of energy (a
parallelism of positive deterritorializations: nothing but degrees of intensity), but also demands

17
an interaction between the architect, space, and the viewer/inhabitant. His one-man shows are
“more mathematical demonstrations or even psychotests than artworks or games”(Kowalski
1969: 45). He gives us a “grammar of space,” the transversal laws connecting chance, energy and
matter, but also those laws connecting architecture, art, and science. It is this transversality that
makes all architecture shudder. “It took him 10 years to find a few simple principles, and now
he wants us to have them at hand, to use them for our own purposes. Will we be able to stand
the challenge, to do something with his alphabet?”(Kowalski 1969: 45)

To conclude, architects are attracted to the work of Deleuze and Guattari because they find
there a philosophy that tirelessly exteriorises itself, that connects the extremely abstract to the
exquisitely sensuous, that makes inter-disciplinary interferences, in short -- a thought from the
outside. The danger is that there is a ready-made institutional role for such a thought already
within architecture: the institution of architecture needs to connect to the university, to a wider
cultural sphere, and to an ethico-aesthetic authority that is more stable than the contingent
demands of economy and function to justify its separation from civil engineering and lay
draughtsmanship. Such an institutional, signifying, and despotic use of Deleuze and Guattari’s
work is clearly antithetical to their project, which is, after Foucault, essentially “to develop
action, thought, and desires by proliferation, juxtaposition, and disjunction, and not by
subdivision and pyramidal hierarchization” (Deleuze and Guattari 1983: xiii). Such an
institutionalised reception can only be avoided if architects and architectural commentators do
something with it, add their own regimes of signs, semiotize architecture in unforeseen ways,
rather than canonising it by simply disseminating its jargon. John Rajchman (1994) adding his
own concept of “lightness” is a positive beginning in this direction.

Non-architectural commentators on Deleuze and Guattari find the subject of architecture

interesting, and here Elizabeth Grosz (1995) is a case in point, because it can function as a kind
of litmus-paper testing the water for the potential of other social practices doing something
concrete with Deleuze and Guattari. For example, one can ask is a thoroughly Deleuze-and-
Guattarian architecture possible, if not, what consequence does this have on the projects of
liberation of desire and the critique of totalising power within feminism, politics and art? The
danger here is when only the images of architecture are examined, leading to an underestimation
of the revolutionary potentials of both architecture and Deleuze and Guattari because their
tendencies towards diagrams is ignored. Glossy colour images of architecture reterritorialize
desire upon despotic hierarchies that stratify areas of expertise and knowledge, they signify
“this is a work of pure architecture,” while architectural diagrams transversalize desire among

18
all the strata, they signify nothing. The solution is to always search for the diagram hiding
within the image.

What is it to introduce a new diagram to architecture? (to paraphrase John Rajchman 1994: 5).
Here is one -- and its expression-substance is the phrase one architecture. It has been
deterritorialized from literature and it remains deterritorialized because it is the diagram for all
architectural images. It is the diagram of diagrammatization itself, of finding the transversal
diagram within the strata of images. The diagram is hidden here, in this extract from Henry
Miller’s novel Sexus and every architect will have to draw it anew for themselves, in their
preliminary sketches (and in their built projects) that construct a real that is yet to come.

“The race of visionary architects was as good as extinct. The genius of man had been canalized
and directed into other channels. So it was said. I could not accept it. I have looked at the
separate stones, the girders, the portals, the windows which even in buildings are like the eyes
of the soul; I have looked at them as I have looked at separate pages of these books, and I have
seen one architecture informing the lives of our people, be it in book, in law, in stone, in custom; I
saw that it was created (seen first in the mind) then objectified, given light, air and space, given
purpose and significance, given a rhythm which would rise and fall, a growth from seed to
flourishing tree . . .”(Miller 1993: 185, emphasis added).

What does it mean for an Architect to think with architecture? It means that he or she makes
architectural images into diagrams of one architecture. This requires a high level of intensity that
knows nothing of translation or application yet is radically open to all sources of knowledge,
sensibility and experimentation. Then architecture will stutter so fast that it buzzes, and nothing
else.

19
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Illustrations
1. The Panopticon (Evans 1982, p. 203).
2. The Concorde, main sections of the airframe (Blackall 1969, pp. 32-33).
3. Peirce’s diagram of the sign (Peirce 1932, p. 159).
4. Hjelmslev’s sign model (Noth 1990, p. 67).
5. Eisenman’s diagram for the Aronoff Center (Eisenman 1996b, p. 118).
6. Nouvel’s Institut du Monde Arabe, axonometric (Nouvel 1992b, p. 36).
7. 4DChamber from Novak’s Dancing with the Virtual Dervish: Worlds in Progress
(Novak 1995a, p. 151).
8. Detail of Bloomer’s Tabbles of Bower assemblage (Bloomer 1992, p. 29).
9. Takamatsu’s Nishina Dental Clinic, axonometric (Takamatsu 1990, p. 40).
10.Kowalski’s experimental architecture (Kowalski, 1969, p. 47).

23