Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Marta Lopez Marcos - PHD - Spatium Negatio
Marta Lopez Marcos - PHD - Spatium Negatio
Seville, 2018.
Table of contents
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS. 8
(DE)CENTERING. 12
Diomede Islands. 16
Moonwatchers. 22
The Path of the Sun. 24
Decentering Europe (I). 35
Objectives of the project. 50
Methodological approach. 66
Spatium negatio. 95
Recovering negativity. 95
Space (as exteriority) and negativity. 112
Negative avant-gardes. Interactions in space, negativity and politics. 123
Counterspaces in the city. 141
(DIS)CLOSING. 518
I would also like to thank the teams of the Institute of Architecture and Building
Science and the Doctoral Program in Architecture of the University of Seville for
the work they have done during these years to improve the quality and promote
the internationalization of research. I am particularly grateful to Prof. Dr. Antonio
Tejedor Cabrera, the director of both entities, for his guidance and interest in this
project; and to the members of the research group Out_Arquias [HUM853] for
supporting and giving me space.
I would also like to thank those who have allowed me to access their work and
materials to build this work. In this sense, Steven K. Peterson holds a special place
for his availability and generosity when discussing and updating his contributions.
Thanks also to Igor Hansen for making available to me the wonderful archive of
his parents, Oskar and Zofia Hansen, because the personal dicovery of their work
9
has been a deeply moving experience. Obviously, this acknoledgement extends to
the staff of all the libraries that I have visited, both those of the aforementioned
universities and those of the Architects’ Association of Catalonia and Kunsthalle
Basel.
Finally, these last words of gratitude are for the most important people in my
life, without whom I would not have been able to carry this work to fruition.
Therefore, it is dedicated to my parents, who have always supported me and put
my career and well-being above everything else. To my sister Maria, for being my
confidant and for being always there to share our mutual concerns. To Fran, for
everything; for his patience, for being my positive counterpart and cheering me
up in bad times. To my friends and colleagues, for reminding me that there is life
beyond the screen and the word processor... and to my grandfather Tomás, wherever
he is, for teaching me how to read, write and, above all, to think.
10
11
(DE)CENTERING.
Ich habe den Geist Europas in mich genommen –nun will ich den Gegenschlag
thun! (Friedrich Nietzsche, Fragmente Anfang 1880 bis Sommer 1882, vol. 3,
chapter 9, 8 [77])
The sun never shines at the same time in the same way. The Geopolitics of
philosophers Peter Sloterdijk and Alain Finkielkraut clearly point it the Sun
out during an intense dialogue by stating that “geopolitics of the sun
have become simple and plain geopolitics” (2008, 149). The image of
the sun has been habitual in religious and philosophical discourses,
since it functions as an absolute point of reference from which to
establish a relation towards the Other(s) while defining space in time.
In this regard, the philosopher Ray Brassier transforms Freud’s words
in Beyond the Pleasure Principle: “In the last resort, what has left its
mark on the development of [philosophy]1 must be the history of the
earth we live on and of its relation to the sun” (Brassier 2003, 421).
Every day, when the clocks in London strike 10 in the morning
and until 11.59, three different days coexist in the Earth at the
same time. During this short period, it is 23.00 the previous day at
the American Samoa, and 00.00 the next day at Kirimati Island, in
Kiribati. This temporal juxtaposition, which takes place day after
day, is a product of the human need for organizing spaces and times
with respect to natural courses and the path of the sun. Although
the cycle is permanent and has slightly changed in millions of years,
the measurement of time has helped to generate a differential spatial
conscience.
Even if each point in the Earth’s surface has a specific solar time
–more or less similar to that of the areas included within its time
zone, a system which became popular during the second half of the
nineteenth century– each region has adapted this zone according to
geopolitical reasons. Therefore, time zones are not identical segments,
but irregular areas covering the surface of the planet. Thus, natural
time is distorted and translated into a sort of “functional” time, a
time depending on geopolitical circumstances. For example, most of
Introduction 13
01
2 The time zone of mainland Spain was changed in 1940 during the dictatorship
of Francisco Franco, in order to make it coincide with the German schedule.
3 This is one of the claims of the sociologist Floya Anthias in her work on
positionality. Rather than using heuristic and ambiguous concepts such as ‘identity’ –
despite their importance– for analytical purposes, Anthias (2002) opts for the use of
specific aspects that integrate the question of identity, not by avoiding it, but displacing it
to multiple issues, because of its processual character. In this regard, narratives on position
are one among many ways of approaching the issue identity.
14 [DE]CENTERING
at once, and humans –as well as non-humans– continuously establish,
juxtapose, re-draw, blur and break the limits of these fragments of
reality. Some of these marks remain unnoticed, like slight streams
running under the surface, and others are deep and difficult to ignore.
Therefore, “to dwell means to leave traces” (Benjamin 2002, 9): to
draw, to mark the territory, even if those steps are never to be retraced
again. Although Benjamin was referring to the bourgeois interior
with these words, the use of spatial references highlights the necessity
of a certain sense of orientation, a method to re-read our traces and
leave new ones therefrom. If the scale is expanded, we find ourselves
immersed in a field of multiple traces, generating an infinite number
of trajectories and new references. In this regard, being in the world
requires the ability of navigating through this dense mesh of traces left
by oneself and the others, but this is only possible if accurate means
of orientation are available. Maps, as Michel Serres unveils in Atlas
(1995), are not made to lead us somewhere, but to make us aware of
where we are. Cartographies, lines, signals, beacons… either physical,
virtual or imaginary help us not to get lost through the life-long
process of inhabiting the world. What is essential is to recognize an
image of the world –beyond its materiality–, and to understand the
different realities that coexist within it.
The dividing line, either physical or virtual, implies a spatialization4
of conflict, a noticeable rupture between different worlds which has
been accorded between communities. Each one holds a position, a
referential location, and this gives birth to a wide range of spatial
denominations which are used to identify and recognize every one of
these groups and societies: Middle East, the West, global North/global
South… and of course hundreds of toponyms related to the relative
position with respect to the rest of the territory: Australia, North/
South America, South Africa…Many of them were given by colonial
powers; thus, the reference relates to the position of the metropolis.
Introduction 15
However, some others like Zhongguo (China), which derives from
“Middle Kingdom” or “Empire of the Center,” comes from the
traditional names that the Chinese people gave to their territories, as
they considered their land to be in the center of the world; or Nippon
(Japan), meaning “the sun’s origin,” and which was given precisely by
the Chinese. Still today, the country is considered to be “the Land of
the Rising Sun,” as it is one of the most eastern points of the world
according to Western-centric representations.
Even in a time when globalization has blurred to a great extent
the decisive character of an original location conditioning the life
of the inhabitants of a specific place, the necessity of controlling
space and time is related to positions with respect to other realities,
usually leading to absolute systems of reference, that is, “eternal and
substantial” (Kierans 2007, 77), organizational principles not limited
by nature or history. Thus, the absolute –the unlimited, the somehow
mysterious Other– that lies above and below the human being
(natural forces, geological processes and elements, cosmic movements)
has functioned as a mean to comprise, arrange and give meaning to
countless constellations of relational strategies. Through a syncretistic
mixture of popular beliefs, science and religion, those elements
considered to be out of reach of human action –that is, the sun and
other celestial bodies, the ocean, telluric currents, etc.– have played
a significant role since the dawn of time in the way humans have
represented and understood their time and space. More specifically,
the relation between the cosmic –as the radically other– and the
terrestrial has been crucial for the tracing of divisions and differences,
as they emerge naturally from a simple counterposition of elements.
The sun and the stars, as elements that can be noticed from every
point of the Earth, have configured an absolute system of reference
for many groups and societies, first as divine-symbolic factors, then
as political benchmarks. This transition, from the mysterious to the
political, may be explained from a conflict-based view of politics, to
which we will return on several occasions hroughout this work.
Diomede Islands.
16 [DE]CENTERING
02
5 The pre-raphaelite John Everett Millais reflected in one of his paintings the
difficulties of crossing the North-West Passage and the glory achieved by those who
succeeded. An old sailor, accompanied by his daughter, sitting at a desk full of complex
and incomplete maps stares at the observer with an expression of fatigue, but also of
hope. The title of the painting, which was synonymous with adversity and death, contrasts
with the subtitle with which Millais presented it: “It might be done and England should do
it,” emphasizing the importance of crossing the north of the American continent for the
British Empire.
Introduction 17
of tensions, antagonisms and radical alterity seem to vanish in this
thin line of separation between two islands: a calm, silent, empty
space where nothing special appears to happen;. In fact, it is usually
divided in popular Eurocentric cartographic representations. However,
the continuity of days and nights is measured and referenced in this
space. It is here where the path of the sun ends and begins –though
arbitrarily– day after day. For that reason, Big and Little Diomede are
also known as Tomorrow Island and Yesterday Island: the continuum
space-time is at the same time ensured and altered between both
pieces of land.
Few inhabitants occupy this interstitial space between these two
countries; actually, the Russian island is not inhabited –only a weather
station and a base of Russian Border Guard troops remain there–,
and the American one is home to a small settlement (Diomede) with
less than 200 inhabitants. Despite the lack of population, political
resonances of this space are notorious, mainly because of their
confronted position and their proximity.
Polemos and Curiously, the very name of Diomede6 has strong political and
agon warlike connotations. In the fifth book of Homer’s Iliad, Diomede,
son of Tydeus, is presented as a brave Aechean warrior who fights
in the Trojan War. When he is prepared to confront Hector, Ares,
god of war –who fights on behalf of the Trojans–, intervenes as a
common soldier in order to protect the Trojan prince. Although in a
first moment Diomede recognizes the true nature of the warrior and
refuses to attack him, the goddess Athena, his protector, encourages
him to do it. During the battle, Ares throws his lance to Diomede,
but he fails and, by counter-attacking, the Greek hero injures the god,
stabbing him in the side and forcing him to abandon the battlefield.
After this and other diverse incidents, the furious Zeus orders all
other Olympians not to take part in this human conflict anymore.
Therefore, the action of Diomede, unleashing the anger of Zeus,
forces the transfer of polemos from gods to humans: the generation of
conflict and confrontation would lie solely in the hands of mortals,
who would have to deal with this responsibility from then on. This
6 Even though, the islands are named after St. Diomede, since they were re-
discovered by the Danish explorer Vitus Bering on August 16, 1728, the day on which the
Russian Orthodox Church celebrates the day of the martyr St. Diomede.
18 [DE]CENTERING
03 04
Introduction 19
05 06
Counter- Two years later, a group of artists and architects also made their
monuments contribution for a rapprochement between the two powers. The
Institute for Contemporary Art in New York and the USSR Union
of Architects in Moscow launched the Competition Diomede in
1989, being “the first architectural competition sponsored by two
organizations in the USA and the USSR” (“Competition Diomede”
1989, 54). More than a thousand architects and artists from 28
countries sent their proposals, among which were well-known
figures such as Yona Friedman, Oskar Hansen, Paolo Soleri, Diana
Balmori or Aleksandr Brodsky and Ilya Utkin. This huge collection
of paper architecture curated by Glenn Weiss was shown in a
travelling exhibition – from New York to San Francisco, Seattle, Los
Angeles, Moscow, Leningrad, Minsk, Tashkent and Montreal– for
two years, so its impact could reach both blocs. However, everybody
knew that the ideas would never be materialized. For that reason,
most of the proposals were not at all realistic and did not aim at
designing a permanent encounter, since this was not the objective
of the competition. Instead, artists and architects were playing with
imaginary connections, virtual spaces that transcended the division
between both islands. Some of them did not even try to establish a
physical union; facing the Piranesian etchings of Brodsky and Utkin,
20 [DE]CENTERING
07 08
8 On the verge of a new period of tense relations between the United States and
Russia, another architectural ideas competition for the Bering Strait was organized in 2009.
It is interesting to compare the entries for both competitions, since the last ones focus on
Introduction 21
Moonwatchers.
much more practical connections (tunnels, platforms, etc.) than the ones designed twenty
years before.
9 An exhibition about the series was organized under the same title, between
September and November, 2001 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art of New York
(Rewald 2001).
22 [DE]CENTERING
09 10
Introduction 23
How many possible worlds are hidden behind this feeling of unease,
restlessness, even anxiety? And what if this force remains contained
and does not succeed in becoming action?
The discovery To bring forward once again the image of the setting sun in a Western
of the Other context –specifically European, since that is the ultimate framework in
which this work is inserted– means to recognize the lineage of thought
that goes back to Ancient Greece with the “traumatic discovery” of the
Other –and therefore, of the plural, or the “many”– in Asia (Carrera
2015, 131). Since that moment, Western philosophy emerged, as
Alessandro Carrera points out, and the newborn Europe continued
to expand its horizons, positioning itself towards other territories
through an asymmetric perspective. Thus, Europe constructed an
image of itself that would be forever tied to Otherness. The Italian
philosopher Giacomo Marramao, following Merleau-Ponty (1964),
says:
What is, then, the European difference? Not just on the boundary between
ourselves and others, which is tracked in any collective logic of identity: from
the tribe to state, from the clan to the nation. (...) It is located rather in the fact
that, while all other civilizations are characterized self-centrically, identifying as
“the center of the universe” (...) Europe, however, is constituted by “an internal
polarity between West and East.” The antithesis between East and West is
therefore a mythical-symbolic exclusive property of the West, a typical Western
dualism unverifiable in other cultures. (Marramao 2006, 63)12
In many ways, the West has been regarded as the last land on
Earth –finis terrae–, beyond which the darkness of the unknown
spreads, as well as the hope for a better and more perfect existence.
Revolving around the point where Atlas embraces the world,13 the
12 See also Franke (2014, 87). Recalling Rémi Brague, he quotes: “nothing is really
proper to Europe except ‘to appropriate what is foreign to it’” (2014, 88).
13 “And here, here is the man, the promised one you know of -/ Caesar Augustus,
son of a god, destined to rule/ where Saturn ruled of old in Latium, and there/ bring back
the age of gold; his empire shall expand/ past Garamants and Indians to a land beyond the
zodiac/ and the sun’s yearly path, where Atlas the sky-bearer pivots/ the wheeling heavens,
embossed with fiery stars, on his shoulder” (Virgil and Day Lewis (transl.) 1986, 184).
24 [DE]CENTERING
11
14 Magun (2013, 6–11) traces a clear evolution of the meaning of the term. From
its astronomic/astrological origins, it is supposed to be transferred to the political realm.
The word “revolution” designates a sort of “countermovement”; it carries a contradictory
meaning between destruction, repetition and forward movement.
Introduction 25
12 13
26 [DE]CENTERING
14 15
17 The German term Abendland (literally meaning “the land of evening”) was
first introduced as a synonym of Occident by the German theologian Caspar Hedio in
1529 (as the archaic plural Abendlender.) Since then, it has been used –and discussed– by
many writers and thinkers, especially those related to the German world (Martin Luther,
Hegel, Oswald Spengler… and more recently Massimo Cacciari or the Austrian filmmaker
Nikolaus Geyrhalter). The ideological connotations of the term are quite ambiguous, having
been recently appropriated by the xenophobic German group Pegida.
18 Pardo develops a new understanding of nature as a form of exteriority by
criticizing the traditional, nostalgic interpretation of it –which is fully invalidated, as
everything is artificial in one way or another- and placing techné as nature in motion.
Although today more than ever, nature has always been hidden: “(…) when I stop
imagining nature as a green field where men of the antiquity could go on the weekend
without traffic jams, pesticides or acid rain, I discover a hidden world that is constantly by
my side, and still, it is exterior and anterior to me. Something that, blinded by the idea of
Introduction 27
that moment (Brassier 2003, 421), since a new way of uncovering
it was emerging through scientific knowledge. With the advent of
electricity, and thus of artificial light, the image of the sun lost its
symbolic strength; it was desecrated in a way, as it was no longer the
absolute source of light that ruled the rhythm of the world. Highly
rationalized modes of production led to the disappearance of the
division between day and night –one of the most urgent symptoms of
globalization. This emergent temporal continuum led to a progressive
appropriation of factors alien to human nature by a more developed
conscience of an interior realm. Consequently, interiors such as the
factory, the bourgeois home, or the commercial passage configured
the Western urban space of the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries. In these spaces, isolation from the outside provides a
specific atmosphere of protection and enclosure, motivating the
transition from communitas to immunitas.19 This degradation of
exteriority –understood as the constitutive characteristic of space–20
and, in consequence, the submission of space to time, is crucial to the
hypotheses of this work, and it will be necessary to go back to this
disjunction several times through the text.
The black sun Despite being substituted by the myriad of electric lamps that
illuminate the metropolis, the sun was still there, although it turned
black in the paintings of Odilon Redon and Marc Chagall –the latter
before and the former after the World Wars. It is a sun that no longer
illuminates, but rather confirms the association of the forces of decay
(fin-de-siècle, in the case of Redon) with the image of a “cosmological
catastrophe” (Larson 2004, 132). It is worth remembering that the
Greek katastrophé means a “mis-turning” or “over-turning” that
nature as an unlogged forest or an unfenced grass lawn, I would have never dare to call
nature” (Pardo Torío 1992, 115).
19 Sloterdijk studies the paradigm of immunity in a world where the human is
expelled in his trilogy Spheres. Besides, the Italian philosopher Roberto Esposito has a very
fruitful work around communities (2003) and immunities (2005).
20 “[Space] is not exteriority in the sense that it is ‘outside’, but that it constitutes
the Outside; and such exteriority means that everything is exterior within it: each part of
space (each Space) is outside of space and at the same time constitutes the exterior of all
other spaces, of all space; if space is the expression of time, if the exterior is the distension
of the interior, then it must be said that each ‘region’ of space is exterior to all other
regions at certain points” (Pardo Torío 1992, 35). [T.A.]
28 [DE]CENTERING
Brassier (2003, 421), also following Lyotard,21 associates to the
distortion of “the terrestrial horizon relative to which philosophical
thought orients itself.” The shine of the triumphant setting sun of the
West was darkening because of horror, disenchantment and despair,
announcing the end of a cycle that seemed to never start again. The
sun was black as black was the art that Theodor Adorno formulated
in 1970 in his Aesthetic Theory (2002; Gutiérrez Pozo 2009); an art
pervaded by dark colors, and thought of as the only art capable of
salvation against the horrors of humanity.22 In a sense, the paintings
of Redon, especially his terrible noirs, seem to anticipate this ideal. At
the same time, the surrealists would play with an enigmatic sun that
throws improbable shadows: a “midnight sun” for Tzara or a “false sun
at three in the afternoon” was the light of Chirico’s The Enigma of a
Day, in front of which Man Ray would photograph Breton.23
On the opposite side,24 the futurist opera “Victory over the Sun”
by Mijaíl Matiushin and Alekséi Kruchónyj was premiered in 1913 in
Introduction 29
16 17
the pre-revolutionary St. Petersburg offering a very different attitude
towards the sun, which is seen as an obsolete source of energy that
must necessarily give way to the era of the modern man: thus, the
star is removed from the firmament, confined in a concrete box and
given a funeral by the Strong Men of the Future. The work, written
in zaum (a “transrational” experimental language created and used by
Russian-empire futurists) and counting on the participation Kazimir
Malevich as costume and scenery designer, was received with anger
and discontent by the audience. Nonetheless, it was anticipating a
break with the linear conception of history based on the primacy and
absoluteness of the sun, bringing back human reason to the center.
Other suns While Europe was subsumed in one of the deepest crisis of its
history, broken and contemplating the black sun of despair and
melancholy for decades,25 brighter suns would appear in other parts
sustained the world. It is also affirmed that Prometheus was chained to these mountains
by Zeus for revealing the divine secrets to men, and thus the gods sent a flock eagles to
devour his liver, in continuous renewal. This myth, to a large extent, represents the soul of
Europe, in permanent crisis and regeneration.
25 In Soleil Noir (1987), Julia Kristeva traces the historical links between depression
and melancholia from a Freudian perspective. The title of her book is taken from a poem
30 [DE]CENTERING
18 19
of the world; for instance, in the East, where the sun rises, particularly
in the People’s Republic of China. The very name of China has also
strong geopolitical connotations, as it means “the Central Kingdom”;
the center of a universe that contemplates the rising sun before any
other land in the world. The establishment of the Communist regime
opened up a completely new rhetoric of progress and development
which enhanced some of these visions; even Chairman Mao was
called the Great Helmsman, that is, the one who directed the destiny
of the nation towards the future. Consequently, the image of the sun
as a symbol of strength and progress is very present in contemporary
Chinese culture; indeed one of the projects considered for the leader’s
mausoleum had the shape of a huge red setting sun–as if the cycle had
been closed.26
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world –of course, if we adopt
the Eurocentric projection– the United States of America emerged
by Gérard de Nerval (1854), entitled “El Desdichado” (“The Disinherited”): “Ma seule étoile
est morte, - et mon luth constellé/ porte le Soleil Noir de la Mélancolie.” (“My sole star is dead
-and my constellated lute/ bears the Black Sun of Melancholy.”)
26 Paradoxically, today the contemplation of the sun in Beijing is almost impossible,
due to the thick cloud of pollution that covers the Chinese capital.
Introduction 31
as the powerful extension of the old Abendland, operating as a more
advanced version of the Europe that could have been and never was.
In this regard, the Romanian-American illustrator, Saul Steinberg,
offered a sharp, critical view on the issue from an urban perspective.
His drawings were frequently published in the weekly magazine The
New Yorker. From the sixties on, Steinberg started a series of drawings
reflecting the world view of Manhattanites, towards the East or
the West and always using the sun as a referent. Steinberg’s earths
are extremely compressed, as if the eye could see the Eastern and
Western coasts of the USA at the same time. Everything in between is
deformed, hidden or shown in an arbitrary way: Northern Europe and
Africa are almost invisible, while Russia (or Siberia), China, Japan,
or India appear as a thin strip in the horizon announcing the arrival
at the American Pacific coast –in the drawing of the early seventies.
In the end, by emulating the old empires where the sun never set,
Steinberg bitterly advances David Harvey’s definition of globalization
as a “time-space compression” (Harvey 1992). These drawings
have been copied and reproduced countless times. Curiously, The
Economist’s front cover of March 21st 2009 showed an interpretation
of Steinberg’s visions from an equally caustic Chinese perspective,
depicting Europe as an insignificant island where expensive, luxury
items (represented by Hermès and Prada) can be bought. Still today,
this fascination for the sun is still alive in Manhattan –another center
of the world–, where thousands of people congregate twice a year to
contemplate the alignment of the sun with the streets of the urban
grid in the east-west direction; a phenomenon that is repeated in
many American cities, as a consequence of a rational urban structure
characteristic of the New World.
Still, European artists continue gazing at the sun, but in a different
way; either with terror, like Laurent Grasso and his Soleil Double rising
above the ruins of a warlike Europe and reflecting, once again, terrible
signs in the sky;27 or with pessimism, like Damien Hirst and his Black
32 [DE]CENTERING
20 21
22 23
24 25
Introduction 33
26
Sun made of death flies stuck on the canvas with resin.28 The image
of the dark sun appears once again, like in the paintings of Redon
and Chagall, but in a more terrible way through a mass of dead lives
that become recognizable as we come closer to the round canvas. The
titles of previous fly paintings (Armaggedon, Who’s afraid of the Dark?,
or names of diseases such as AIDS, Cancer or Leprosy) reinforce the
catastrophic-nihilistic character of the work, which seems to mirror
Michel Serres’ eclipse and the contradiction between the reversible
and irreversible character of time, also studied in Soleil Double’s
counterfilm Soleil Noir (2014) through the inert, darkened landscape
of the ancient Roman city of Pompeii.
We anticipate the exact moment of an eclipse. We say: tomorrow, at twelve
thirty, the sun or the moon begin to hide. What does it mean: tomorrow? For
me, it means that one more day weighs on my past or shortens my future,
and so, because of wear and fatigue, death becomes closer. In the realm of the
planets, this concerns only a configuration as it has has already occurred and
that will be reproduced a considerable number of times. The prediction of this
eclipse, tomorrow, is the account of a closed cycle, the measure of a rhythm.
Therefore, we anticipate future or past, either. The time of this astronomy is
reversible. (...) The equilibrium of the world is only long, it is not eternal. The
28 Between October 2015 and January 2016, the Beyeler Foundation in Basel
organized an exhibition called Black Sun, devoted to the influence of Malevich upon
contemporary artists.
34 [DE]CENTERING
return of the reversible is nothing more than an interval: withering, mediocre or
immense. (Serres 1991, 75–77)29
Introduction 35
27
nations with the United States and the shift of power after the Second
World War reinforced the transatlantic displacement of the West
towards the American continent. Since then, contemporary West is
generally assumed to include the European (or rather, the European
Union and near Western countries) and North American (mainly the
United States and Canada) territories. However, this spatial division
is far from being definitive and consensual. In The Myth of Continents,
Martin Lewis and Kären Wigen (1997, 50 ff) propose seven versions
of the spatial West as conceived by several authors through history.
The first versions are extremely exclusive, including only England
or some original powers, such as Britain, France, the Low Countries
and Switzerland, whereas some others associate the West to medieval
Christendom. These conceptions are progressively expanded with the
Atlantic Alliance, to which some other territories were often added,
such as Japan, South Africa or Australia for different reasons (race,
wealth, “high culture”…) In the end, a final version is presented,
in which the whole world is included within a global, dominating,
dystopic West. Whatever the case may be, the West usually appears
as a broad territory defined through supremacist motives, such as
cultural, political, economic or racial hegemony. This is one of the
reasons why, facing the tradition initiated by Hegel and continued
36 [DE]CENTERING
by Oswald Spengler or Arnold Toynbee, an author like Alastair
Bonnett (2004, 1) declares that, despite being white, born and living
in England and educated in a Western context, he does not recognize
himself as a “Westerner.” In fact, it is hard to label oneself as a
Westerner being acquainted of such a disturbing lineage.
Nonetheless, the European-American union started to perish
severely with the end of the Cold War, but especially after the terrorist
attacks of 9/11 and the 2003 Iraq War (Lehti 2010, 93). In this
regard, Marko Lehti (2010) considers that the question of the West
is not territorial, but rather based on two different discourses: the
American one, founded on a “modernizing mission” (2010, 103)
and global hegemony, and the European one, which hinges upon
a community, cultural self-consciousness that constantly puts into
question its own limits and position. While the American West
“is used for seeking legitimation for American, as well as Western,
norms and values that are still claimed to have legitimacy for defining
hegemonic order,” the European West “omits claims for hegemonic
legitimacy in a global sense and is not used for claiming international
legitimacy but, rather, for seeking the approval of EU citizens” (Lehti
2010, 109). Besides, it is worth remarking the European rejection of
certain US policies and actions, either through a –mostly cultural and
social– “anti-Americanism” (Lehti 2010, 97) or a will to independence
in relation to American political and economic power. An example
of this attitude can be found in the initiative of Jürgen Habermas
and other European intellectuals such as Jacques Derrida or Umberto
Eco to publicly express their refusal of the Iraq War instigated by
the United States, as well as in the massive demonstrations that took
European streets for the same reason. In the core of the fracture
between Europe and the US lie two very different projects. Facing
the American self-conscience, which recognizes itself in the positive
side of binary antagonisms (good/evil, friendly/dangerous, self/non-
self ) and identifies itself with values such as hegemony, capital and
unity –the “utopia achieved” of Baudrillard (1988)–, it could be
argued that the European condition is deeply-rooted in negativity,
despite the attempts of civilizatory discourses centered on progress
and superiority: indeed, the notions of diversity, fragmentation, crisis
or difference are today, more than ever, present within the European
discourse and mentality.
Introduction 37
The idea This argument, however, is quite paradoxical. The immanent
of Europe negativity of the “idea” of Europe, its irrational and ungraspable
rhythms –reflected in its very contingency and indetermination, also
in spatial terms–, are by no means compatible with a Eurocentric
conception of the world. In fact, negativity has been traditionally left
outside the rational project of the West: the idea of Europe as the
summit of the civilization process, launched by Hegel and extended
through the narratives of Enlightenment and Modernity ceased to
be sustainable long time ago. But in the end, after all the attempts
for reconstruction, positive celebration of difference and a pretended
“unity in diversity,”32 only Unruhe remains. The feeling of restlessness
and agitation that Hegel and Friedrich detected within the core of
European culture persists beneath the project of a common land in
permanent crisis. The protests against EU migration policies, the
strength of social movements during the first decades of the century
or the referendum on Brexit are just a few proofs of this everlasting
struggle that, ultimately, poses the question on European identity.
Who are the Europeans? Is there a European identity? And, with
regard to the topic of the research, how to define a European space, if
such a thing exists? Is the European Union, as Sloterdijk (2013, 171)
has diagnosed, the embodiment of a “great interior,” a geopolitical
apparatus for immunity? The answer is uncertain (Castells 2004;
Boyer 2006, 315), considering the plurality of discourses and points
of view.
In a report for the Portuguese Presidency of the Council of the
European Union in 2000, the sociologist Manuel Castells questioned
the existence of a European fixed identity. Rather, he advocated
“an identity in the making, that is a process of social production
of identity” (2004, 5) that should be parallel to a series of social,
political, economic and cultural aspects. Castells highlighted
possible strategies in education, communication, multiethnicity
or mobility that would contribute to the generation of a common
ground for Europeans and, among them, he outlined the relevance
of bridges between cities and regions to enhance cooperation and
the reconstruction of cultural ties. The urban realm emerges once
32 “United in diversity” was adopted in 2000 as the motto of the European Union
through a contest involving 80,000 students from 15 European countries.
38 [DE]CENTERING
again as a privileged field for political action and the construction
of difference. Despite the enormous leap between the European
medieval burgs and cities and today’s extensive urban networks
and agglomerations –a transition that Henri Lefebvre characterized
and extended as the progression from absolute and historical space
to abstract space (1991)–, there is still a sort of common logic
behind European urban space, usually parallel to the public sphere.
Theoretically, this space sustains and promotes relations among
individuals; it is not a simple scene for interaction, but rather an active
dimension in allowing or forbidding what can and cannot be done
or said –the scene versus the ob-scene–, which is agreed through social
consensus. Public urban space is the highest expression of democratic
space. Whether this ideal is translated into social practice, it puts
forward a problematic issue that will be addressed later. In any case,
to deepen in the European construction entails to reflect on its urban
dimension as a space for both encounter and conflict.
The success of the modern European-born concept of public
space33 linked to a democratic, bourgeois sphere, has provoked
its expansion and use as a homogenizing umbrella term under
which to designate diverse forms of urban –generally open– space.
However, this space presents different connotations in each society
or community that can hardly ever fit in the realm of the public as
it was originally conceived, even within Europe, where the modern,
romantic notion of an egalitarian and democratic public space no
longer provides an accurate model for conflictual, social contemporary
practices (Borja 2004; Berroeta Torres and Vidal Moranta 2012,
12). For instance, Beijing hutongs are completely different from
Manhattan’s grid, the Eixample of Barcelona or the Medina of Fez.
Although they all may be roughly considered to be “public spaces,”
both urban typologies and social practices are radically different in
each case. This generalization lies, once again, in the reduction of
differences that Western-centric perspectives impose –sometimes
unconsciously– to the rest of the world. Thus, if the West exists
because of contemplation of and confrontation with other realities,
33 Dense, compact, open and available, pervading the urban tissue. It differs from
the American one in scale and density, as the American city is usually much more disperse,
whereas European compactness favors participation and gathering.
Introduction 39
the views and conceptions originated in its midst represent a burden34
over other spaces that tend to be assimilated under these conditions,
despite their diversity. In this way, the world appears as a centralized
entity, usually through a binary opposition between the “West and the
Rest,” as Shohat and Stam (2014) indicate:
Europe is seen as the unique source of meaning, as the world’s center of gravity,
as ontological “reality” to the rest of the world’s shadow. (…) Eurocentrism, like
Renaissance perspectives in painting, envisions the world from a single privileged
point (…) Eurocentrism (…) organizes everyday language into binaristic
hierarchies implicitly flattering to Europe: our “nations,” their “tribes”; our
“religions,” their “superstitions”; our “culture,” their “folklore”; our “art,” their
“artifacts”; our “demonstrations,” their “riots”; our “defense,” their “terrorism.”
(Shohat and Stam 2014, 2)
34 “Concepts such as citizenship, the state, civil society, public sphere, human
rights, equality before the law, the individual, distinctions between public and private, the
idea of the subject, democracy, popular sovereignty, social justice, scientific rationality, and
so on all bear the burden of European thought and history. One simply cannot think of
political modernity without these and other related concepts that found a climatic form
in the course of the European Enlightenment and the nineteenth century” (Charkrabarty
2007, 4).
40 [DE]CENTERING
28
29
Introduction 41
colonial studies, is the first step toward an inevitably partial, though
honest discourse on difference from any perspective.
The historical tension between the West and the East as its
counterpart –from which the very idea of the West emerges through
counterposition– opens a fruitful space for the exploration of inherent
contradictions within the European context. Without pretending
to ignore other regions, placing the focus on these traditionally
antagonistic constructions, with origins in the empire of the Persian
basileus and the European, Libyan and Scythian barbaroi (Duque
and Hernández Sánchez 2009, 5), makes possible an intensive
investigation that could be eventually extended to other areas and
communities. In the end, both constructs are equally imaginary
and fragmented in spite of their seeming monolithism, although
common roots –or ferments, as Merlau-Ponty (1964) would call
them– are still active and should not be disregarded. As for Europe,
its self-consciousness and internal problematic, being permanently
scrutinized as the subject of its own critique (Merleau-Ponty
1964; Franke 2014), represent its most remarkable strengths and
contributions to philosophy and thought; a differential element that
cannot be detached from the European attitude towards knowledge.
This self-negation and radical openness has its roots in apophatic
theology, in which God cannot be defined but negatively. This
evolves to the impossibility of totally grasping the Other, through
contributions of authors such as Novalis, Paul Celan, Georges Bataille,
Jacques Derrida or Gianni Vattimo. Even though, this condition is
not unique to Europe. Franke (2014) sees traces of “deconstruction
of any sort of concept of stable or self-subsistent identity” in several
Eastern texts and traditions like Advaita Vedanta, Mahayana
Buddhism or Taoism:
(…) even in its most radically self-negating forms, the critical universalism by
which Europe ostensibly distinguishes itself (…) turns out on historical and
cross-civilizational examination to be a factor actually connecting Europe with
other cultures and traditions rather than separating it from them. (Franke 2014,
91)
West / non-Wests Besides, Bonnett (2004, 2) argues in The Idea of the West that “it
appears that non-Western ideas about the West, in many cases,
precede Western ones; that it was the non-West that invented the
42 [DE]CENTERING
West.” The arrogant Western “closeness” is suddenly opened when
it clashes with other positions that, instead of trying to dominate
existence, aim at echoing “our relation to Being”– such as Chinese
or Indian thought (Merleau-Ponty 1964, 170 ff), which are not
empirical or anthropological specimens anymore, contrary to what
Husserl asserted (Merleau-Ponty 1964, 168). Without falling
into orientalism, and having attempted to dismantle a possible
“occidentalism”35–that is, understanding the West as a monolithic
construction– by making a distinction between different Wests, it can
be concluded that we face a dichotomy that is only apparent, since
each space is constituted by a myriad different realities. We are thus Double bind
immersed in a double bind36 that remains unresolved, since both parts
are permanently trying to unveil and understand the other in a non-
exclusive, counter-productive manner that is however incredibly fertile
for the purposes of a research whose interest mainly lies in openings
and contradictions, not conclusions. In this regard, the project may be
considered an apophatic one, because of its “radical openness” toward
the Others (Franke 2014, 86).
(…) I like maps, because they lie.
Introduction 43
Returning to the spatial issue, it may be clearer now why the idea
of a European space is so blurry and ambiguous. It is certainly not
defined by the borders of the European Union, and it is not easy to
define where geographical Europe starts and ends (is Russia European
or Asian? And what about the North African Spanish enclaves, or the
French DOM-TOM?) In Uncertain States of Europe (2003), the Italian
architect Stefano Boeri recognizes this complex relation between
European identity and European space, placing the emphasis in urban
space and the instrumental crisis for its representation. For this reason,
he develops a series of observational techniques that he calls “Eclectic
Atlases,” through which urban space is regarded from a combination
of multiple angles and viewpoints. Thus, the temporal dimension
could be included as well within an abstract, comprehensive depiction
of an urban space in permanent mutation. But despite the attempt
to overcome traditional geographic methods (which are inefficient
and insufficient to address the complexity of a transforming space)
by adding other materials and layers, Eclectic Atlases still fall into the
impersonal, hegemonizing, reductionist geographical representation of
space, according to the critique that the urban historian M. Christine
Boyer (2006) poses on Boeri’s strategy. Besides, the metabolic analogy
of European space as a self-organizing organism is problematic,
according to Boyer, since it is based on swallowing, positive synthesis
and overcoming of difference: “It sees territorial expansionism,
imperialism and militarism as natural processes and not contentious
processes of social, economic and political origin. Wars and conflicts
are merely viewed as inevitable outcomes” (Boyer 2006, 330). Finally,
she argues for the need of a strategy that “deconstructs the exaggerated
importance of Europe and reformulates East-West distinctions,”
(Boyer 2006, 326) taking into account other spaces –such as the
Mediterranean. This would entail an approach toward European space
through the irresolvable clash or crisis that takes place within itself
and in relation to other spaces. Consequently, geographical methods
–“abstract and detached from reality as any other map used as a
metaphor for spatial ordering, a surface for notating field observations,
or a medium of rationality” (Boyer 2006, 332)– should take second
place to “living” tools that suit the changing character of urban space.
44 [DE]CENTERING
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49
01
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02
861)– that is lost in the product. Setha M. Low sees that social production and social
construction of space are different, but coexistent (1996, 861 ff).
3 “(…) the neologism globalization makes its first appearance in the 1960s,
precisely in the field of international law to indicate the new terms of the ‘Hobbesian
problem of order’ (as a famous definition proposed by Talcott Parsons in his work The
Structure of Social Action, 1937) after the end of the ‘Westfalia model’, that is, an order
of international relations orchestrated by European powers and based on the exclusion
54 [DE]CENTERING
puts it (2005,5), implies both a simplification of the multiplicity of
space and a disdain for non-Western spatial practices and conceptions.
Besides, this “linearity” in time vaguely reminds of Hegel’s end of
history (2001):
We are not to imagine them as having their own trajectories, their own
particular histories, and the potential for their own, perhaps different, futures.
They are not recognised as coeval others. They are merely at an earlier stage in
the one and only narrative it is possible to tell. That cosmology of “only one
narrative” obliterates the multiplicities, the contemporaneous heterogeneities
of space. It reduces simultaneous coexistence to place in the historical queue.
(Massey 2005, 5)
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negation, as well as being considered a realm for the possible and the
multiple.
In this context that relates social sciences and humanities to Counterspace
the political and the spatial, the notion of counterspace emerges:
mainly outlined from the field of political geography (Lefebvre
1991; Oslender 2010), it suggests the organization of an alternative
space that cannot exist if not in the reverse of space itself. Despite
the interest that this Lefebvrian term generates when analyzing
relations of resistance and differentiation, its theoretical background
and connotations, as well as its materialization, have been scarcely
addressed by researchers. In this regard, a further exploration of
counterspaces and the clarification of their possibilities opens a wide
field of research that allows to rethink and enrich the contemporary
notion of space as it has been expounded before.
Although the Lefebvrian counterspace has been one of the main Contre-espace
triggers for the present project, it was the Franco-Belgian artist poétique
Raoul Ubac (1942) who first used the term to name “le contre-espace
poétique,” that is, the space recreated by the spirit which, often linked
to artistic creation, transforms and penetrates the immediate space of
experience as its reverse. The exploration of this contre-espace is clear
in Ubac’s photographic and sculptural work, influenced by surrealism
and employing a series of techniques (solarization, overexposure,
collage, “burning” or “petrification”) that distort the image, even
melting the negative of his photographs in order to reveal another
formless one that, however, would not be possible without the original
positive. Although Ubac’s counterspaces differ significantly from
the meaning that Lefebvre would give to the term decades later, it is
possible to find some connections between both conceptions, since
Lefebvre also proposes to imagine the city from its reverse:
The future city, if it is possible to sketch its outlines, would be pretty well
defined by imagining the reverse of the current situation and taking this inverted
image of the world upside down to the extreme. (Lefebvre 1968, 158)4
interpretation of the ‘city’ in the sense of ‘city’ vs. ‘country’, or city as a specific spatial
form, would be a distorted understanding of Lefebvre’s work and, in any case, it would
imply an impoverishment of its meaning.”
58 [DE]CENTERING
05 06
5 Libero Andreotti and Nadir Lahiji have deeply studied this aspect of Benjamin’s
work in The Architecture of Phantasmagoria (2016), understanding “phantasmagoria” as the
ideological function of contemporary architecture.
6 However, it is important to remark that Cacciari “rejects as ideological
construction any irrationalist interpretation even of the Romantic period –of Novalis and
Schlegel– that precedes what he calls negative thought. No rhizomes, no philosophy of
imagination au pouvoir (imagination in power) in the Italian theory of the Metropolis. The
reader should then be aware that there are two types of rationality or rationalizations: one
positive, hopeful, sunny, even if in contact with modern negativity, and the other dark, with
no hope, no nostalgia, no projects, but endlessly at work as a process of rationalization,
capable of integrating the failure of reason into its total rationalization. As Cacciari phrases
it in his 1980 Oppositions article, ‘the uprooted spirit of the Metropolis is not ‘sterile’ but
productive par excellence.’” (Lombardo 1993, xxvii–xxviii)
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07
This is why there can be no proposals of architectural ‘counterspaces’: any search for
an alternative within the structures conditioning the mystifying character of planning is an
obvious contradiction in terms” (Tafuri 1969, 79). [T.A.]
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which dissolves it, a non-city that is not the opposite of the city, its dark side or
its inverted hidden face, but a perpetual undoing of what has already been done
and an incessant remaking of what we have just seen disintegrating before our
eyes. (Delgado Ruiz 2003, 124)8
8 [T. A.]
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advocacy for autonomy has often resulted in “a retreat to the winter
quarters of formal ideology.” Moreover, “[t]his repeated retraction has
historically produced a repository of forms at the disposal of every
new dominant ideology, at the same time that it reduced the reach of
the disciplinary field to such a reduced core that it seems to have been
dissolved” (Minguet and Tapia 2016, 295). This crisis affects also the
role of the architect who, although not anymore the “Architect of the
world, the human image of God the creator” that Lefebvre (1968, 60)
saw in Le Corbusier, seems to be deprived from social agency and the
possibility of contributing to a fair society. One of the main objectives
of the research is to refute this assertion and claim for a relevant role
for architects that, together with other social agents, work for a sound
built environment taking into account socio-spatial processes, without
dismissing the singularities of the discipline.10 This involves the will
to find links for a re-elaboration of the socio-political commitment of
architecture.
Another consequence of the debate on autonomy is the question Architecture,
about the role of critique and theory within architecture. The frequent critique, theory
dismissal of theory by architecture practitioners (Graafland 2010)
–a new branch of the debate initiated in the journal Perspecta by
Robert Somol and Sarah Whiting (2002) and Michael Speaks (2006)
on the issue of criticality opened by K. Michael Hays (1984)– has
instigated a wave of counter-efforts to restore the role of theory and
within culture, and specifically architecture. Although Speaks is right
when suggesting that theory cannot work as “fast philosophy” (Speaks
2006, 101) and others, like Swyngedouw (Lahiji (ed.) 2016, 52),
confirm the deadlock in which “critical urban-architectural thought
is subsumed today,” the current circumstances make necessary “more
and better theory,” as Libero Andreotti claims (Lahiji (ed.) 2016, 78).
A theory capable of engaging the social context while taking into
account the possibilities of architecture and other spatial disciplines is
key to propose possible spatial actions and strategies which could be
10 See Montaner (2007, 23) in terms of architectural critique: “And not only
critique, history and theory are connected but also the field of architectural critique is not
autonomous at all. Since architecture is situated between art and technique, its language
and interpretation are always related to languages and interpretations of art, science and
thought. In short, the mission of architectural critique should be to establish bridges in
both directions (…)”
Methodological approach.
(A)methodos To deepen once again in the dimension of space after centuries of
theory and knowledge through extremely diverse approaches is not
an easy task. The winding, multiple paths that have been traced –
and erased, and retraced– over the comprehension of space makes it
difficult to open a new one that may only add more confusion and
rhetorical intricacy to an already dense mesh of knowledge. Rather,
the approach followed throughout the research consists in revisiting
some of these paths and situating oneself in crossroads positions
that could shed some light over the questions posed before. For this
reason, the research method is not understood in the sense of the
Heideggerian methodos, defined by Derrida as a “technique (…) to
11 Daniel Barber (2005) has made an attempt to escape this division and recover
the sense of opposition to the status-quo within the architectural discipline by theorizing
what he calls “militant architecture.”
12 A long tradition of architectural interventions with political character supports
this assertion. For instance, see “Acción Política desde la Arquitectura” (Montaner and
Muxí 2011, 54–66).
66 [DE]CENTERING
gain control of the way [odos]” (in Leach and et al. 1997, 302), but
as an attitude towards the density of knowledge, of what has been
already said. In this regard, the (a)methodological approach of the Destructive
research is closer to the Benjaminian “destructive character” (1999, character
541 ff), which “sees nothing permanent. But for this very reason he
sees ways everywhere (…) Because he sees ways everywhere, he always
stands at a crossroads” (Benjamin 1999, 542).13 It is possible that the
architectural character of the essay, full of spatial references –room,
space, emptiness, ways, walls, etc. – was one of the features that
fascinated Manfredo Tafuri, who in an interview in 1981 (Liernur and
Tafuri 1983) associated this passage with another one in the Arcades:
“Forge ahead with the whetted axe of reason, looking neither right nor
left so as not to succumb to the horror that beckons from deep in the
primeval forest” (Benjamin 2002, 842). From this, Tafuri concludes
that the notion of method is not thinkable in terms of critique, since
he does not know “how to destroy with a method” (Liernur and
Tafuri 1983). This refusal to a method challenges a research process
that has been motivated by critical positions and finds in critique one
of its main instruments for spatial inquiry.14 Therefore, the proposed
methodological approach can be assumed as a particular way of
walking through this “forest,”15 instead of using means to control and
dominate it– a negative methodology for a research on negativity.
Methodological approach 67
The conclusion of the route may be uncertain, but there is no doubt
that it will be enriched by multiple confrontations and encounters
experienced along a way full of crossroads and intersections. Thus, the
words of Diderot when he regarded his own essays may be applicable
to the course of the present research: “Who knows where the chain of
ideas will lead me?” (Montaner 2007, 10)
The objectives explained above set a field of interests that make
more plausible the constitution of a frame of reference instead of
a fixed fulcrum from which to operate. The limitations of such a
decision are already known. For decades, research on architecture has
been absorbed by the model of the social sciences,16 and contemporary
academia somehow still privileges purely scientific approaches.
However, the field of architectural research is far from determined
and established, since it is in permanent construction. The uniqueness
of the discipline, halfway between the realms of theory and practice
–as well as science and art–, has promoted several efforts to find
appropriate methodologies of research, which at the same time may be
adapted depending on the topic or subject. Contemporary academics
such as Linda Groat and David Wang (2002; Sattrup 2012), Sanford
Kwinter (Kwinter and Risteen 2007), Ákos Moravánszky and Ole W.
Fischer (2008) or Peggy Deamer (Lahiji (ed.) 2016), among many
others, have reflected upon the condition of research in architecture
and accurate methodologies to conduct it. All of them agree on the
hybrid, particular character of the discipline and on the complexity
that undertaking a research project on architecture entails. From
this stems the necessity for “atypical or unexpected combinations of
methods” (Groat and Wang 2002, viii). In this regard, the work of
Groat and Wang offers a series of architectural research methods that
may be adjusted to the scope, subject and questions of investigation
motivated by the objective of acquiring knowledge “about how built
environments could enhance human life”(Groat and Wang 2002, xi).
Besides, they offer a wide view of potential topics that can be subject
bushes and, if necessary and when technical means and courage allow it, over the forest,
the virgin forest, the ‘gaste fôret’ of Perceval, the dark forest of Dante.”
16 Peggy Deamer (Lahiji (ed.) 2016, 113) associates this fact with architectural
autonomy as “a necessary response to save the discipline from non-creative forces” after
the sixties.
68 [DE]CENTERING
of architectural research, highlighting their diversity: from technical
and construction aspects to the generation of theory.
Before unfolding the set of tools and instruments that constitute
the operational framework of the research, it is worth reflecting on
the convergence between theory and practice in which architecture
–like other spatial disciplines, such as art or urbanism– is situated.
This position enables the transfer of knowledge between both realms,
which is essential for the purposes of the research.
Peter Sloterdijk (2013) traces an exhaustive genealogy of what he Bíos
calls bíos theoretikós, the way of life of those who were devoted to the theoretikós
inner domain of thought and absent from external circumstances,
as if they were “dead,” away from the world. The moments of
ecstasy (ek-stasis) and absence (often associated to apathy, athymia)17
experienced by the theoretical subject, whose first incarnation is
identified by Sloterdijk as Socrates, were to be designated as epojé, the
term that Husserl borrowed from the Greek skeptics to designate the
“abstinence of judgement” (2013).
Sloterdijk proclaims the death –or rather, murder by “modern
epistemologists (…) naturalist philosophers, ideologists and troubled
spirits of all kinds” (Sloterdijk 2013, 14)– of the homos theoreticus,
acknowledging at the end of the book that it is impossible to restore
this way of theoretical life: “(…) epistemological modernity has
decided (…) to break with the sublime fictions of disinterested
reason and to appeal to the cognizant to return from their contrived
mortifications”18 (Sloterdijk 2013). The need to “stop” in order to
exert theory requires a void amidst contemporary speed that is usually
difficult to open.19 However, Sloterdijk alludes to the possibility
of exercising a theoretical life in our days, although with a lower
17 The collision of ecstasy and apathy, as Magun points out (2013b, 89), leads to
melancholia –“another institution of negative affectivity that Aristotle proclaims to be close
to philosophy,”
18 [T.A.]
19 “(…) the sheer speed of telecommunications undermines the time needed for
scholarly contemplation. (…)Theory’s temporality is traditionally belated. (…) theory is
impossible because we have no time to register events” (Chun 2011, 94).
Methodological approach 69
intensity. There is a third way in between the active and the passive/
contemplative that the author calls “exercitant life”:
According to its nature, exercitant life constitutes a mixture realm: it appears
as contemplative without sacrificing the features of activity; it appears as active
without losing the contemplative perspective. Exercise is the oldest form and
with the greatest consequences of a self-referential praxis: its results do not come
together in objects or external circumstances, as it happens when working and
producing, but they configure the exercitant himself and bring him ‘into shape’
as a subject capable of doing things. (Sloterdijk 2013, 17)20
20 [T.A.]
21 (Bill 1901; Moravánszky 2003, 3; Gadamer 2004, 122)
22 The author (2013) points to ten conditions that triggered the murder of
theoretical life: the re-implantation of theory into practice (mostly through neo-Hegelians,
such as Marx); the break of modern thinking with the fictions of epistemic sovereignism
(through Nietzsche); the infiltration of the classical principle of “apathy” by partisan
thinking (through Lukács); the subversion of the Western culture of rationality by the
phenomenological analysis (through Heidegger); the shock caused by events such as
70 [DE]CENTERING
condition to exercise thereof. In this sense, it is unconceivable today
to leave the sensible world and retire to the heights of thought without
contemplating the possibility of coming back. This progressive murder
made possible the translation of modern and contemporary modes
of theory to disciplines that had been traditionally tied to the realm
of practice (at least in the West), such as architecture and urbanism,
which until the eighteenth century (Hegel’s essay on architecture is
highly relevant in this regard) had only been nurtured with knowledge
directly derived from praxis.
Talking about space and negativity today from an architectural
point of view would make no sense if it were not oriented toward
a specific, sensible reality –in this case, urban space and its Western
connotations and identification with “public space.” For these reasons,
the notion of theory as “fast philosophy” is rejected here, in favor
of a movement that ties together theory and practice, reinforcing
each other: the theoretical moment of reflection on a perceived
reality infuses practice with new tools, while at the same time
contemporary architectural practice serves as a starting point for the
generation of theory. Besides, if this movement is filtered through a
critical perspective and put in relation with the social, the mission of
architectural theory and practice appears:
The task for architectural theory is to adjust the register of architectural activity
from the autonomous realm of aesthetic effect to an expanded realm of multiple
and unstable engagements with the social. The task for architectural practice
is to find available openings to destabilise current regimes of production—
continuously. (Barber 2005, 249)
Once the framework and positions have been clarified, and finally
facing Benjamin’s terrible forest, the instruments for the immersion
shall be displayed. Despite their diversity and their different origin, it
is unavoidable to combine them in order to undertake the research,
Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the belief in the disinterested knowledge of modern science;
the bombing of systematic philosophical thinking and natural-scientific worldview by
existentialism; the introduction of the academic discourse hustle by the sociology
of knowledge; the attempts of feminism to unmask all discursive orderings that have
been developed as fabrications of a dominant masculinity; the refutation that performs
contemporary neurology of apathy in theory, and the overcoming the myth of the isolation
of the knower in recent scientific research (through Latour).
Methodological approach 71
given the complexity of the subject and the multiple angles from
which it is approached. The transfer of knowledge between different
fields is essential and amplifies the scope of the process.
Critical interpretive research.
Architectural and urban theoreticians have largely relied on the
hermeneutical method to develop their activity (Pérez-Gómez
1997; Muntañola Thornberg et al. 2002; Hassenpflug, Giersig,
and Stratmann (eds.) 2011; Kidder 2011; Bertin 2013; Seamon
2015), partly because of the possibilities that it opens when trying to
understand static, “silent” artifacts whose reality cannot be grasped
through merely material or positivist premises, but through their
interpretation, mainly based on the idea of “text analogues” that
are interpreted in order to learn “their intersubjectively shared, and
different meanings” (Schwartz-Shea and Yanow 2012). Since their
new rise in the sixties, hermeneutics as a method has evolved from a
textual character to be open to other realities.
Critical Together with phenomenology,23 hermeneutics constitutes the
hermeneutics philosophical background of what is called “interpretive research”
that can be identified with “investigations into social-physical
phenomena within complex contexts, with a view toward explaining
those phenomena in narrative form and in a holistic fashion” (Groat
and Wang 2002, 136). Schwartz-Shea and Yanow (2012), who have
devoted an entire book to this approach, acknowledge that both lines
of thought have influenced research practices based on interpretation
through a series of key ideas:
72 [DE]CENTERING
(…) that the artifacts humans create, whether in the form of language, objects,
or acts, embody what is meaningful to their creators at the time of their creation;
(…) that those artifacts may, however, have other meanings to other (groups of )
people who encounter and/or use them: knowledge is situated and contextual
(or “local”), as are “knowers” (including researchers);
(…) that what is meaningful at the time of an artifact’s creation might change
over time or in a different location of usage;
(…) that meaning-making draws on “lived experience”—a term that has come
in some treatments to include the holistic, embodied ways in which humans
move through the world;
(…) that language is not a transparent referent for what it designates nor does
it merely “mirror” or “reflect” an external world but, instead, plays a role in
shaping or “constituting” understandings of that world, and is itself, in this
sense, one of the “ways of worldmaking” (…) (Schwartz-Shea and Yanow 2012)
Methodological approach 73
is taken into account. Critical hermeneutics, rather than a closed
method, consist on a “theoretical project seeking to radicalize the
task of comprehension” (Roberge 2011, 17). It is still an ongoing
approach, always under transformation and reformulation, so it
usually leads to open conclusions and further questions; something
that may be seen as a limitation, but which undoubtedly matches the
character and objectives of the research since, as it has been clarified
before, the research does not seek for certainties or truths, but for
new ways of understanding. Consequently, the research endorses
the emancipatory paradigm (Groat and Wang 2002, 33), which
recognizes multiplicity and diversity as part of the inquiry process as
well as being promoting transversal approaches, taking into account
social, political, cultural, ethnic, and gender issues. Besides, it aims at
opposing “the unconscious dominance of racial, ethnic, gender, and
Western-focused biases in the vast majority of research” (Groat and
Wang 2002, 33).
An urban-architectural research from a critical standpoint would
not be fully accurate without acknowledging the work of Manfredo
Tafuri. The mere recognition of conflict as an essential moment in
the construction of space makes re-visiting his work worthwhile.
Despite his much-reviled pessimism and his chronological approach,
considering that history is not the core of architectural theory
anymore (Solà-Morales 2009, 124),24 his study of the urban and the
architectural from their connection to ideology and not as mere forms
supposed a shift on the understanding of the relation between space
and politics.
(…) I intend to describe forms of contradiction that are held together
“heroically” (…) by a cultural moment oscillating between the need of certainty
and leaps towards the unfounded. (Tafuri 2006, 26)
74 [DE]CENTERING
Besides, Tafuri’s contributions cannot be overlooked in a research on Negative
space and negativity, since he traces a readable articulation between thought
Cacciari’s negative thought and architecture,25 which is especially
pertinent to the purposes of the research, despite its contextual
limitations. Although this articulation will be further explored, suffice
it to say, by now, that Tafurian critique26 recognizes the contradictions
and limitations of architectural practice with regard to emancipation.
Thus, negative forces of capitalism –“the transitory, the temporary,
the contingent, and the oppositional” (Day 2011, 95)– appear
as unavoidable in its own advance and also in the architectural
project. This situation could only be countered by embracing and
unveiling these forces, consequently breaking with the dialectical
logic. This argument is particularly harsh, since he leaves no space for
alternatives: he “reveals every artistic and theoretical development—
apparently without exception—as operating within the logic of the
capitalist system and as being ‘historically necessary’” (Heynen 1999,
135).
Strictly following these theses, it would not make sense to
undertake any research on architecture in an emancipatory context.
Nonetheless, even when radical utopias are no longer possible, one
can still recognize the forces that maintain the capitalist project going
forward and unveil contradictions from within, though knowing that
its advance is practically unstoppable. An attitude that resembles the
“content pessimism” that Manuel Delgado describes:
That pessimism is, however, enough cheerfully cynical not to become into
passivity and not to imply abandoning social battles, but to join them even
Methodological approach 75
enthusiastically, though always with the smile of someone who does it because
he has nothing more important to do or does not want to lose friends. (Delgado
Ruiz 2015)27
27 [T.A.]
76 [DE]CENTERING
2002, 122) and privileges. Being conscious of this difference –
because of class, race, gender, etc.–,28 they usually operate through
transformative actions, which obviously are located in space and
have spatial consequences. Contemporary urban (public) space is
a privileged field of study for these multiple relations and tensions
between publics and counterpublics that ought to be considered
permanently throughout the research process.29
Taking into account these counterpublics in the proposed case Counternarratives
studies makes it necessary to question the “official” or hegemonic
narratives on space. Therefore, counterspaces opened by these groups
will be exposed through counternarratives that “splinter widely
accepted truths about people, cultures, and institutions as well as
the value of those institutions and the knowledge produced by and
within those cultural institutions” (Given (ed.) 2008, 132)– and
we could add those narratives produced by power institutions in
general. Kagendo Mutua (Given (ed.) 2008, 132) proposes two
forms of counternarratives that are present in the research: the first
one questions the narratives generated from a Western perspective,
situating the West at the highest moment of development,
toward which all other cultures should strive. The second form of
counternarrative is more general, challenging any kind of widely
accepted narrative or story supported by unquestioned knowledge.
This double meaning is addressed through the critique to the concept
of public space from a Western perspective and the particular cases
that illustrate the presence of counterpublics and counterspaces in
non-Western contexts.
28 Usually the term is associated with groups that claim for specific social
rights (feminists, LGBTQ+, ethnic minorities, etc.) However, strictly speaking, other
counterpublics, whose demands are not so righteous, can be identified: neo-Nazis, or
white supremacists, who stand against a general, non-violent, liberal public.
29 “Relational ethics is a contemporary approach to ethics that situates ethical
action explicitly in relationship. If ethics is about how we should live, then it is essentially
about how we should live together. Acting ethically involves more than resolving ethical
dilemmas through good moral reasoning; it demands attentiveness and responsiveness to
our commitments to one another, to the earth, and to all living things” (Given (ed.) 2008,
748).
Methodological approach 77
However, it seems convenient that a research on space counts on
other means than text to expand the comprehension of the actions
and socio-spatial processes that take place in specific situations and
contexts. To this end, images and visual material accomplish a crucial
function in spatial research; they are not a mere supplement to the
text, but they present their own discourse as “a hybrid space between
description and project” (Viganò 2012, 667). Thus, the juxtaposition
of texts and images adds a new layer of complexity to the research,
as they cannot be understood spearately. Notwithstanding the
deceptiveness that has been attributed to the image and the visual
in contemporary thought, their value as a source for interpretation
and construction of knowledge should not be undervalued. Instead,
visual material registers spaces and counterspaces that we construct,
producing at the same time a simultaneous gaze (Van Toorn 2008).
Beyond the aesthetic impression it may cause, the seduction power
of the image –which requires to be approached with caution, to the
point that Lefebvre stated that “image kills” (1991, 97)– is seen as a
way of engaging socio-spatial processes and extracting conclusions,
as well as opening new questions through the whole research process.
The unthinkable Images are not simple illustrations; in the end, they express what
cannot be said through textual language and unveil the unthinkable –
or the unthought– within a system (Boyer 2007, 172).
(Extended) relational aesthetics.
(…) art is increasingly being accepted as an equally valid form of access,
to ‘reality’ and can be seen scientifically as an externalization of perceptual
functions. (Moravánszky and Fischer (eds.) 2008, 45)
78 [DE]CENTERING
08
30 Aguirre mentions, for instance, the polemic reading of Claire Bishop (2004) in
October, which was harshly criticized in a letter by Liam Gillick (2006), one of the artists
present in Bourriaud’s book.
Methodological approach 79
even before the term was coined– in the context of art exhibitions and
galleries. For instance, he recalls how the artist and critic Liam Gillick
(2006, 106) detected in Cologne, at the beginning of the nineties, a
division between a group of artists who advocated transparency within
art (Andrea Fraser, Clegg and Guttmann, and others) and another
group that recognized the importance of finding and articulating “a
sequence of veils and meanderings” in order to “to combat the chaotic
ebb and flow of capitalism” (Philippe Parreno, Dominique Gonzalez-
Foerster and others). This latter position, which would occasionally
give birth to the notion of relational aesthetics, opens a space for
critique against a dominant culture that uses transparency as a main
tool for maintaining its hegemony.
Either within or out of the institution, relational aesthetics –
understood beyond its own temporality– provides tools to establish
the link between space and politics –either as negotiation and
consensus, as Bourriaud does, or in terms of antagonism, resistance
and negativity (Aguirre 2017)–, which is essential to the objectives of
this research project. Indeed, conflict appears as a very specific type
of relation and, at the same time, as the ultimate object of politics.
The work of the French philosopher Jacques Rancière seems to be
valuable to further elaborate this connection, as Toni Ross (2006)
understands when revisiting his writings on aesthetics and politics
in her response to Bourriaud’s relational aesthetics. It is important
to keep in mind that Bourriaud advocated the absence of conflict in
favor of negotiation and consensus in artistic practice. To counter
this assumption, Ross interprets Rancière’s notion of the aesthetic
regime of art in order to push relational aesthetics further from
the consensual constraints of liberal politics, based on symmetrical
relations that assume the existence of democratic equality in society.
Asymmetrical Considering that this equality is far from being real and that we are
relations immersed in a mesh of asymmetrical (power) relations, the possibility
of a relational aesthetics based on dissent and conflict appears to
provide a more fruitful framework for the purposes of the research.
One of Rancière’s most determinant contributions is the
examination of politics from an aesthetic perspective as “the
distribution of the sensible” (Rancière 2004b), in which he detects
how “spaces, times, and forms of activity” determine how and in what
80 [DE]CENTERING
way individuals participate of the something-in-common shared by
the group (2004b, 12). Thus, following Aristotle, a citizen would be
the one who “has a part in the act of governing and being governed” Distribution
(2004b, 12), while those excluded do not possess this status. In this of the sensible
sort of choreography of partitions and distributions – of “spaces
and times, of the visible and the invisible, of speech and noise”
(2004b, 13)–, Rancière finds the aesthetical character of politics –
from a certain a-historical standpoint. Therefore, political activity
is understood as the activity of distribution: “nothing is political in
itself ” (Rancière 1999, 32), but rather everything is ordered through
politics. Thus, political activity –always local and precarious (Rancière
2004a)– is possible because the establishment of relations between
objects/bodies, as well as their calling into question. The author
adds a second term, the police, to designate the means by which this
distribution is regulated, the “law that defines a party’s share or lack
of it” (Rancière 1999, 29). The police is then in charge of establishing
consensus, while “dissensus” (disagreement, conflict) is an issue of
politics (Van Toorn 2012, 60).
The double theorization of “the politics of aesthetics” and
“aesthetics as politics” opens an interesting field that has been further
developed and explored. If Rosalyn Deutsche (1996) had already
introduced the link between spatial politics and artistic practice,
Roemer van Toorn (2012) relies on Rancière to transfer these notions
to architecture while advocating its political possibilities against the
post-critical discourse. By bringing together the critical concept of
autonomy and the interest of projective practice in everyday life, van
Toorn proposes the acceptance of conflict within the very discipline
as a political question. Besides, he places architecture’s political
potential in the capacity of organizing space and time and creating
“possible encounters” for new relations and conflicts (2012, 60). Once
again, the imagination of the possible appears as an essential task of
architecture –and the architect. As examples –despite the connotations
of interiority that both projects may present and that will be later
addressed–, he proposes Wiel Arets’ university library on the Uithof
in Utrecht and Rem Koolhaas’ Casa da Música in Porto, where spaces
and paths are juxtaposed not presenting clear, typical arrangements,
but opening the possibility for collective practice avoiding consensus.
Methodological approach 81
09 10
82 [DE]CENTERING
However, the concern about Western connotations of public
urban space have to be addressed, thus invalidating an approach
concentrated exclusively on Western socio-spatial processes. Instead,
a methodological strategy based on negativity triggers a shift towards
the other and the different. Despite the cultural background in which
the research project –and the researcher– is inserted, the contestation
of a deeply assimilated concept requires to divert the gaze at some
point. If the seductiveness of images has already been outlined, the Seduction
diversity of cities and modes of life share this power. This fascination
for other urban universes is not because of exotism or their attractive
otherness, but by virtue of the reversal of certain values and situations
that are recognized as global from a Western perspective: they are
seductive because they force ourselves to abandon our convictions
and reconfigure our view of the world. The action of abandonment,
of deviating oneself from a fixed path, is at the origins of the wicked
force of seduction: to seduce (from the Latin se-ducere) means to lead
astray, to deviate. This force, however, was obliterated through the
bourgeois era according to Baudrillard (1990, 1), since it did not fit
within the natural and rational realms. But it is precisely its capacity
to destabilize and threaten which makes it fundamental for the
research:
Seduction, however, never belongs to the order of nature, but that of artifice
(…) This is why all the great systems of production and interpretation have not
ceased to exclude seduction -to its good fortune- from their conceptual field.
For seduction continues to haunt them from without, and from deep within its
forsaken state, threatening them with collapse. (…) Every discourse is threatened
with this sudden reversibility. This is why all disciplines, which have as an axiom
the coherence and finality of their discourse, must try to exorcize it. (Baudrillard
1990, 2)
The task, then, is not to completely decipher the code of the three
selected urban fragments to elaborate an extensive cartography of each
one of them, but rather to deviate the research apart from established
truths and narratives, both in a local and a global perspective that
challenges Western preconceptions. These three case studies –
understood as seductiones– do not belong to a traditional Western
context, although Western traces and relations can be detected in
different ways, either because of its influence or its absence. For
Methodological approach 83
instance, Beijing can be seen as the urban embodiment of a physical
system that radically differs from the Western one throughout history,
although nowadays there is a tendency to endorse certain modes
of life and inhabiting that resemble some of the West that will be
further explored. Warsaw, on the other hand, is the capital of a state
that shares the European project and which holds some of the most
traditional values of Western culture such as the Christian-catholic
tradition. However, its peripheral condition with respect to the
European core and its alignment with the communist bloc after the
Second World War have left some traces that are worth revisiting,
such as the work of Oskar Hansen through human perception and
interaction between bodies and objects. Lastly, the case of Istanbul
represents both the scission and encounter between East and West; a
chiasm that poses a conflictual relation that still resonates today, even
in the virtual realm. The study of these three cases has been conducted
through a series of field trips, the revision of available bibliography
and graphic material and interviews with some main agents. The
objective is not to elaborate a thorough portrait of each city through
specific spatio-temporal situations, but to bring out some conditions
that remain concealed beneath their layers, as pentimenti that hide
possible, non-fulfilled stories and spaces that may reinforce the
understanding of their urban reality.
Thought and Finally, what remains now is the clarification of the structure of
(counter)motion the present work. For this reason, we should come back to Sloterdjik
(2013), who associates theoretical activity –now embedded within
exercitant life– with back and forth movements. The sage, once again
represented by Socrates, leaves the external world when thinking.
He is absent, somewhere else –“Where are we when we think?,”
Hannah Arendt asks (Sloterdijk 2013). As a consequence of the act
of thinking, this displacement suggests the mobile character of “being
outside”; Sloterdijk remembers that Heidegger32 also found an affinity
between the Greek ekstasis and the Latin existentia, revealing once
again the dynamic character of an apparent static activity. Hence,
84 [DE]CENTERING
the moment of absence (that Husserl would associate with epoché,
suspension) acquires spatial connotations.33
The course of the present research has been enhanced by multiple
absences and returns to the world of practice. Many thoughts and
ideas have been bracketed –or suspended, as this is the function
that the Spanish philosopher Félix Duque (2001) attributes to this
orthographic sign– for long periods of time until they were ready to
be communicated. Therefore, the articulation of the work responds
to these round trips, exercising a movement and its opposite at the
same time: five movements and counter-movements towards the
realms of the physical city, the body in space and the real-virtual
relations between human and non-human agents, interrupted by three
seductiones to alter the prescribed path.
33 In fact, Sloterdijk (2013) suggests that Plato built the Academia as a space
(“heterotope construction”) for those who were entirely devoted to the activity of
thought.
Methodological approach 85
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93
Spatium negatio.
Spatium negatio 95
01
history–, share a common interest for the negative that each one of
them tackle from specific points of view. An intentional reading of
their contributions, always with the issue of space in mind, points
out the most relevant figures in the generation of a philosophy of
negativity that, in addition, have opened some bridges between space
and the negative. This means that not all Western philosophers of
negativity have been included in this section; rather, only those who
somehow offer productive relations between both space and negativity
have been taken into consideration.
Opposition, Unlike the other three authors, Artemy Magun starts his account
equilibrium on the theories of negativity from classical antiquity, to which we
shall return in several occasions throughout the text. Magun (2013,
83) detects that the forces of the negative are already present at the
origins of Western thought in Greece, particularly understood in a
rhetorical and dialogical manner. He places the origins of Western
negativity in the Pythagorean School, which understood the world
through the coupling of contraries (Magun 2013, 83). However,
this conception of the Pythagoreans –who believed in the unity
of astrology, music, mathematics and thought, as well as in the
numerical essence of reality– was based on a static equilibrium, a
cosmic perfection underlying the universe.1 It was Parmenides of
Elea who first questioned this universal reversibility, relegating the
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negative to the realm of opinion (doxa), inferior to that of truth
(aletheia). This asymmetry inaugurates a whole tradition of thought
in which the path of negation is considered to be that of “ambiguity,
imagery and subjective irony” (Magun 2013, 83); besides, any Being,
negation implies an immediate affirmation just by naming what we not-Being
want to negate. Parmenidean metaphysics paved the ground for many
other thinkers and philosophers, such as Democritus, who approached
the question of being (associated to the full) and not-being (to the
void) from a materialist perspective where both being and not-being
coexist as real entities; or the sophist Gorgias, who associates negation
with imagination, criticizing Parmenides’ identification of being with
logos, as it is possible “to conceive and name the nonexistent things”
(Magun 2013, 84).
Magun does not mention other relevant episodes, such as the
Antilogies of Protagoras, in which the sophist –disciple of Heraclitus–
showed how the same argument can be presented from opposing
views, or the Socratic maieutic dialectics, the method to draw out
ideas through progressive dialogue and questions. Both the sophists
and Socrates influenced Plato, who was the first philosopher to pose
the problem of the negative as the problem of thought, or rather
“of thought’s ability to discriminate between that which is and that
which is not” (Brassier 2013, 177). Not only did he adopt the back- One and
and-forth dialectic developed by his master, Socrates, but he also Nothing
formulated the question of not-being and its relation to being by
suspending the Parmenidean axiom –“being is, and not-being is
not”–, although some of the ideas of the Elean are still recognizable.
For Plato, negation is difference, the Other of Being, and he
distinguishes four ways of thinking this otherness (Magun 2013,
85): as multiplicity; as ungraspable and transcendental otherness; as a
plural other facing the non-existence of the One, and as Nothing –the
absent and unthinkable One.2 The Platonic khôra, to which we shall
of the Eminent Philosophers. Book VIII, Pythagoreans [26]. Translated by Robert Drew Hicks
(1925).
2 In this sense, humans are permanently struggling with the contemplation of
truth and the imperfect means we have to reach it: “We are condemned to having to deal
with an addition of darkness in all things,” although philosophy would open the possibility
of illumination (Sloterdijk 2010, 24).
Spatium negatio 97
return later, was already a spatial conception based on pure negativity;
it is the “receptacle without qualities” where images are generated,
appearing as a “formless space” only definable through that which
occupies it. The khôra described in Timaeus is a realm for specters,
imperfect images of the ideas, thus being a sort of interval between the
sensible and the intelligible which however situates negativity out of
dualisms, escaping binaries and dialectics (Derrida 1995).
Relational In his Categories, Aristotle argues for a relational negativity,
negativity that is, things are not positive or negative per se, but only when
opposed to another term.3 Thus, the Other, as well as in the work
of Plato, appears as the main pillar of negativity (Magun 2013, 86).
Parts 10 and 11 of the Aristotelic work are devoted to contrariness
and opposition, of which the philosopher identifies four types:
correlativity –for instance, the relation between “double” and “half,”
or “knowledge” and “the thing known”–; contrariety –between “good”
and “bad,” or “black” and “white” (“either/or” relations)–; privation
–“blindness” and “sight,” when one of the terms is considered to
be a natural state and the other represents a lack, a privation of a
positive state–, and finally, “affirmation to negation” or contradiction
between mutually incompatible statements –“Socrates is ill” and
“Socrates is well.” What is remarkable about these sections is that
Aristotle sees negativity as an active force and not as a static encounter
of “indifferent positivities,” thus anticipating the work of Kant and
Hegel on the negative (Magun 2013, 89). Besides, anticipating
future conceptions of space as a negative, relational realm, the Greek
philosopher would define space as the result of defining all contraries.4
Before discussing the role of negativity in modern thought, it
is worth recognizing the influence of Christian Neo-Platonism in
medieval and scholastic philosophy. Negation, through the so-called
98 [DE]CENTERING
via negativa, was promoted as a privileged –although not exclusive– Apophatic
way to know God by stating what It is not, since it is impossible to thought
know what It really is. Hence, only a-gnosia and contemplation would
be possible. This mode of discernment, called apophasis (contrary
to kataphasis, related to affirmation), was followed by thinkers such
as Pseudo Dionysus the Aeropagite (who invites to know by not
knowing, illuminated by a “ray of darkness”) and later by John Scotus,
Meister Eckhart and scholastics such as Duns Scotus and Thomas
Aquinas, creating a language of “radical openness”5 (Franke 2014, 90)
towards the unknown through uncertainty and elusion. Again, it shall
be remarked that this way of knowing through negation is not unique
to Christian and Western thought, but rather it is present in earlier
Eastern traditions, such as the Madhyamaka school of Mahayana
Buddhism, wu wei in Taoism and Neo-Taoism,6 the Hindu school
of Advaita Vedanta and the Vedic notion of neti neti (“not this, not
this”), or later with the Sephardic Jewish philosopher Maimonides and
his Guide for the Perplexed (1904) and in Islamic negative theology,
lahoot salbi. Indeed, many Greek classical texts arrived in medieval
Europe through the Arabic culture, hence the assimilations and
transfers to Christian thought.
It is still possible to recognize the echo of this tradition in a crucial
assertion that has been traditionally attributed to Baruch Spinoza:
“Omnis determinatio est negatio” (“every determination is negation”)7
Spatium negatio 99
when arguing that since the universe has no determinate form or
shape, all forms and shapes “introduce negativity” into God/the
universe, “who does not contain it per se” (Magun 2013, 92), as it is
infinite and ungraspable. Thus, affirmation and negation appear as
tied to each other, as different moments of a same logic. This would
have strong repercussions in German idealism, especially in Hegel,
who would understand negativity as the motor of his philosophical
Critique and system. Immanuel Kant would also deal with negativity at some
negation point, but it was not a central issue in his philosophy. Despite this,
some authors consider that he made some relevant contributions in
this regard, and so Magun (2013, 92 ff) focuses on his pre-critical
period, when he writes a brief text entitled “Attempt to Introduce
the Concept of Negative Magnitudes into Philosophy” (1992) in
1763. Departing from mathematical concepts, Kant makes a crucial
distinction between logical opposition –a sheer lack, “nihil negativum
irrepraesentabile” (Kant 1992, 211)– and real opposition, which
corresponds to a material force of resistance, repugnancy (Repugnanz)
–“nihil privativum, repraesentabile” (Kant 1992, 211). In the third
section of the text, Kant recognizes the negative, obscure character
of the psychological forces of imagination and the unconscious,
although he does not explain this further. Diana Coole (2000), who
explores the Kantian Critiques, perceives the German philosopher
as “an ambiguous figure (…) who engendered or succumbed to
negativity in his attempt to exile it, but in whose project of critique a
certain negativity is nevertheless embraced” (2000, 13), even though
when negativity as a modern problem had not yet been formulated.
Thus, in the texts of Kant, it is possible to appreciate the incipient
movement from classical negation –as action– towards a modern
sense of negativity, understood as potentiality. This negativity opens
the possibility of critique as a “process of interrogating rationally-
unjustifiable authority, whether philosophical or political” (Coole
2000, 40).
being. As then figure is nothing else than determination, and determination is negation,
figure, as has been said, can be nothing but negation.” [The last two sentences are
translated from Latin, being the original text as follows: Haec ergo determinatio ad rem
juxta suum esse non pertinet: sed e contra est ejus non esse. Quia ergo figura non aliud quam
determinatio, et determinatio negatio est; non poterit, ut dictum, aliud quid, quam negatio esse.]
100 [DE]CENTERING
However, Kant is permanently struggling against inconsistencies
and contradictions when trying to establish the limits of reason –in
a spatial, almost cartographic system that is, according to Adorno
(2004, 388), “a system of stop signals”–, leaving outside those
elements that do not fit into the system, such as imagination and
doubt to a certain extent. This attitude is clearly reflected in his texts,
in which he always tries to overcome and rationalize negativity instead
of embracing contradictions and dualities –what Coole (2000, 41)
calls “generative negativity.” Kant aims at dissolving sceptical, pre-
critical thought by rendering positive and productive the problem of
the limit:
The problematic engendered by scepticism (…) undermines epistemic
confidence in the truth or accessibility of the given (the positive), sustaining an
interrogative and doubting attitude towards it. Things are not what they seem.
A sceptical attitude invokes the possibility, at worst, of a void (outside the mind
there is nothing; objective reality is an illusion; what seems to be present may be
absent) or, at best, of a slippage between subject and object, with its attendant
uncertainties concerning misrepresentation and error, where knowledge might
dissolve into contingency or fantasy. (Coole 2000, 16)
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and Nietzsche on the other, displaying a tension between “grounding”
and “freedom,” certainty and deconstruction.
Hegelian metaphysics are actually regarded as an extension –or
even the “consummation” (Sloterdijk 2010, 79)– of Christian-
Platonic metaphysics. His dialectics, simultaneously ontological and
methodological (Coole 2000, 52), is deeply rooted in the philosophy
of Plato and the introduction of difference within the realm of Being.
Both understood knowledge as a gradual process that moves from
elementary forms to concrete, more perfect ones, although Hegel
would be the one to introduce the dialectical character of time and
history, coinciding with the revolutionary discourse of Enlightenment
and opening a vast field to be explored by further adventurers.
Besides, the dialogical character of Platonic dialectics is not present
in Hegel, who understands the process as an individual progression
inserted in the path toward universal realization.
The movement of a being that immediately is consists partly in becoming an
other than itself, and thus becoming its own immanent content; partly in taking
back into itself this unfolding [of its content] or this existence of it, i.e., in
making itself into a moment, and simplifying itself into something determinate.
In the former movement, negativity is the differentiating and positing of
existence; in this return into self, it is the becoming of determinate simplicity.
(Hegel 1998, 32)
The abstract, floating ideas of Plato, which represent the ultimate Identity and
stage of knowledge, would crystalize into Hegelian particular difference
consciousness, which continuously evolves and goes beyond itself
through contradictions and entanglements, “to discover in the end
that its identity (…) lays not in an abstract sameness or an empty self-
contemplation, but in going outside itself (…): inhabiting exteriority
and difference is how we reach a knowledge of ourselves that,
moreover, always differs and escapes” (Barrios Casares 1995, 129).9
the Deleuzian interpretation of Hegel and, at the same time, evoke a retreat from the
exterior realm –which is theorized and explained by Pardo (1992).
10 “In continuity with the Platonic metaphysical tradition, [Hegel] is not ready to
give negativity full rein, that is, his dialectics is ultimately an effort to ‘normalize’ the excess
of negativity. For late Plato already, the problem was how to relativize or contextualize
non-being as a subordinate moment of being (non-being is always a particular/ determinate
lack of being measured by the fullness it fails to actualize; there is no non-being as such,
there is always only (…) In the same vein, Hegelian ‘negativity’ serves to ‘proscribe
absolute difference’ or ‘non-being’: negativity is limited to the obliteration of all finite/
immediate determinations” (Žižek 2012, 199).
11 “The modern history of the human spirit—and not that alone—has been an
apologetic labor of Sisyphus: thinking away the negative side of the universal” (Adorno
2004, 327).
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and a definitive answer would be too simplistic, given the diversity
of interpretations to which the work of the German philosopher
has been subject. For instance, Marcuse mentions the reaction from
positive philosophy (mainly Schelling and Stahl in Germany) against
Hegelian negativity and the permanent critique of the real, which,
according to them, “repudiated any irrational and unreasonable
reality” (Marcuse 1941, 325) through a transcendental reason
that obliterates the nature and experience of things –in this sense,
positive philosophy establishes a link with scientific positivism. Later,
influenced by Nietzsche, French anti- or non-dialectical philosophers
such as Derrida and Deleuze would return to Hegel to criticize the
binaristic reduction to which plural and diverse difference is subsumed
in his philosophy. Rather, they would advocate a philosophy of
affirmation to a greater or lesser extent.12 However, Noys (2010, 25
ff) makes a clear distinction between these two philosophers; while
Deleuze represents an “adieu” to negativity, Derrida embraces a “weak
affirmationism” that cannot be reduced to an anti-dialectical position.
On the contrary, others have seen a predominance of the positive
in different aspects of his work. In this regard, Alexandre Kojève
(1980, 171)13 does not consider Hegelian dialectics as a dialectical
method, but an empiricist or phenomenological one “in Husserl’s
sense of the term”; even “positivist” and contemplative. For his part,
Merleau-Ponty, during his lectures at the Collège de France (1970),
explored dialectical philosophy and would detect a transition from the
earlier to the later Hegel, whose position evolved from the negatively
12 Partly because the profusion of spatial references in his work (folds, plateaus,
rhizomes…), Gilles Deleuze became –and still is– extremely popular among architects
and architectural theoreticians in the wake of deconstructionism, as a source of thought
and inspiration for projects and texts. However, his work has been often misread and
distorted, leading to the creation of pseudo-philosophical concepts to justify certain
decisions. Andreotti and Lahiji (2016, 157) and Spencer (2016), among other, warn about
the uncritical appropriations of Deleuzian terms in the field of architecture and relate
these practices to the proliferation of spectacular, iconic architectures which enhance the
neoliberal phantasmagoria generating an overloading aesthetic experience which stuns and
blocks the user/spectator.
13 There is a consolidated tradition in French philosophy around the notions
of negativity and the dyad identity-difference. Vincent Descombes (1988) recapitulates
the main contributions on the topic from philosophers such as Kojève and his Hegelian
interpretation, Derrida or Deleuze.
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society damaged by the horrors of World War II,14 after which the
real and reason do not concur anymore, negative dialectics aims at
resisting a Hegelian system “that reproduces the vices that it pretends
to eradicate” (Aguirre 2014, 188). Thus, contradiction acquires a
main role that had been denied by traditional dialectics, without
contemplating an Absolute, a totalizing logic or a final synthesis.
In any case, the ground broken by Hegel is so wide that it is Differential
impossible to navigate through it by following a univocal direction, negativities
as the amount and disparity of interpretations and works on him
demonstrate. This reflects the multiplicity of senses of negativity that
operate intertwined –and not sufficiently clarified– in his oeuvre,
which Coole (2000, 60) distinguishes as “differential negativities”:
(…) one whose mobility is unrepresentable yet invoked by stylistic strategies
that convey its generativity; one that is rendered more lawful via the deployment
of logical categories which structure dialectical dynamics; and finally one
that only masquerades as the negative. The first of these is the most elusive
and brings Hegel closer to philosophies of alterity and difference than is
often acknowledged; the second is associated with a critical hermeneutics
and praxis, as well as with a recognisably dialectical rhythm of formation and
rupture; the last is where Hegel’s infidelity to the negative is located in an
idealist, metaphysical move that renders him a philosopher of identity. These
three dimensions could again be described respectively as negativity which is
affirmative; as negation which mediates negative and positive, and as surrender
to positivism. (…)To the first, most heterogeneous, negativity there clings a
politically-radical aura since its generativity promises a relentless destabilising of
every reified form, although it is difficult to redeem its promises in any collective
action or critique. The latter are more definitively related to the second, where
the imbrication of negative and positive occur and where ideas and material
14 “History is the unity of continuity and discontinuity. Society stays alive, not
despite its antagonism, but by means of it; the profit interest and thus the class relationship
make up the objective motor of the production process which the life of all men hangs
by, and the primacy of which has its vanishing point in the death of all. This also implies
the reconciling side of the irreconcilable; since nothing else permits men to live, not even
a changed life would be possible without it. What historically made this possibility may as
well destroy it. The world spirit, a worthy object of definition, would have to be defined
as permanent catastrophe” (Adorno 2004, 320). See also the chapter After Auschwitz
(Adorno 2004).
15 “My relationship with Hegel is very simple. I am a disciple of Hegel, and the
presumptuous chattering of the epigones who think they have buried this great thinker
appear frankly ridiculous to me. Nevertheless, I have taken the liberty of adopting towards
my master a critical attitude, disencumbering his dialectic of its mysticism and thus putting
it through a profound change, etc. etc.” (Marx 2008, 32).
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implies an “other” to be confronted with.16 As a parallel tendency
to the French one –often divergent, but with several interests in
common–, the Italian operaists reinterpreted Marxist dialectics per
via negativa, that is, they considered that the workers’ action against
their work caused the evolution of capital, not vice versa (Aureli 2008,
9). After the autunno caldo of 1969, Mario Tronti, Antonio Negri,
Raniero Panzieri or Massimo Cacciari were some of the philosophers
and political thinkers who concentrated around operaism, although
their ideas would soon differ.17
Having recognized the fracture opened after Hegel –and
broadened by Marx, once he deprives dialectics of its metaphysical
implications and introduces political dynamics, force and counter-
force, capitalism and proletariat–, it is necessary to land in order to
understand how negativity has been significant –and if it still is– in
the modern understanding of space. It should be noted that, despite
its metaphysical origins, negativity will be explored from now on
as a force intimately related to social action and resistance, as it was
conceived after the Marxian revolution. However, it is fundamental
to be aware of its origins –at least in Western thought–, as they will
shed light on some of the questions addressed throughout the text.
Thus, negativity will be mainly considered as a force, emerging from a
dialectical understanding of the world but being more than a reverse
dependent on affirmation or its positive counterpart. Rather, negation
is action; the negative is ultimately related to otherness (see Brassier
2013, 180) and difference; it does not represent a mere opposite,
since “everything seems pregnant with its contrary” (Marx 1969,
500). However, to elaborate a richer definition of negativity, other
contemporary positions should be considered. For instance, in a paper
on Kristeva’s Revolution in Poetic Language, Sina Kramer (2013, 465)
defines negativity as “the force that brings identity and difference into
relation,” opening the possibility to think negativity and exclusion as
political critique.
[Kristeva associates] Negativity (…) with excess, with the primary processes,
with heterogeneity and with “infinitesimal differentiation”. This negativity is a
disruptive movement, what Kristeva calls a “liquefying and dissolving agent”
that is the condition of the possibility of anything like a stable subject, but that
is also the possibility of that subject’s dissolution and fragmentation. (Kramer
2013, 467)
Either/or Once surpassed Hegel’s vision, it is, then, more accurate to talk of a
Both/and force that opens a wider space to alternative possibilities to being, not
only focusing on “gaps and disjunctures,” but also on “the negative
magnitudes of imagination” (Magun 2013, 117), which unveil the
possible hidden behind an hegemonic reality. In this regard, a radical
dialectical perspective of either/or is not as fruitful as the more subtle,
inclusive one (both/and), related to tangible realities and to abstract
conceptions and representations of space, as Peio Aguirre (2014, 187)
suggests when analyzing the task of critique today.
Given the complexity of the present situation, systems of reference
will be continuously changing throughout the discourse, in an
explicit or implicit way. In any case, a dichotomic understanding
of the negative seems reductionist and would not allow an accurate
comprehension of its potential. The negative is a working force, which
organizes and unsettles at the same time; it is both a foundation
and a revulsive, as Manuel Delgado (2003) points out in his
“non-city,” or as the English poet John Keats defines as negative
110 [DE]CENTERING
capability: contemplating the world without wanting to reconcile Negative
its contradictions or enclose it into a rational system, “when man capability
is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without
any irritable reaching after fact and reason” (Keats, Letter to George
and Tom Keats, December 1817), which is nonetheless linked to
exceptionally creative characters.18 Similarly, negativity appears as a
fundamental attribute of art, at least as understood by the Frankfurt
School. Contrary to pop culture or consumerism, both based on
affirmation, one of art’s main functions is to “confirm the operations
of negation or rejection of the world as it is presented to us” (Aguirre
2014, 44). In any of these interpretations, the negative is regarded
as a strong transformative power, as this research project aims at
underpinning.
There is still a dimension of negativity that has not been addressed Negativity as
yet, and whose influence has been crucial to the Western conception exteriority
of space: it is that of a subordinate reverse, which emerges as an
asymmetrical relation usually applied to space as subsumed to time.
In fact, Pardo (1992, 48) sees that the whole Western philosophy is
founded over the “History of the Spirit –of culture– as the history
of the emancipation of conscience of all exteriority (progressively
represented by ‘space’) and gradually conquered ‘in the course of
time.’ Hence the permanent Hegelian distinction between ‘rational’–
or real– stories and ‘factual’ stories –irrational and unreal–, which
he precisely considered as ‘exterior.’” Once again, Hegel (2004, 37)
sets a point of departure for the research when he conceives space as
negated time that has to be itself negated in order to apprehend and
intuit nature. However, although this dimension will be explored in
the next section, we can anticipate that the modern transformations
Attend to yourself: turn your attention away from everything that surrounds you
and towards your inner life; this is the first demand that philosophy makes of its
disciple. Our concern is not with anything that lies outside you, but only with
yourself. (Fichte, First Introduction to the Science of Knowledge, 1797)
19 Aguirre (2014, 189-190) uses Gus van Sant’s film Promised Land (2012) as
an example of how some cultural products reflect how negativity is used by power for
its own interest. The film shows the struggle between the representative of a fracking
company who aims at convincing a small town of the benefits that such an activity could
bring them and an eco-activist who rejects the project and manages to change the minds
of the inhabitants. The contradiction between the character and occupation of the main
characters (the good guy is actually the multinational’s worker and his antagonist is the
ecologist) contributes to reinforce the conflict between positive and negative values.
112 [DE]CENTERING
Modernity could be explained through the process of subordination
of space to time. The Cartesian division between res extensa and res
cogitans already established the differentiation of two independent
realms: the first, abstract, exterior and separated from the sensible
reality; the second, subjective and belonging to the inner dimension
of mind, through which knowledge and thought are possible. Here,
José Luis Pardo (1992, 22) notes how these dimensions would be
associated to space and time respectively and how the privileged
realm of the subjective interior –identified with the subject who
thinks– would gradually become “time,” following a line of thought
“from Kant to Heidegger going through Hegel, Husserl, Dilthey and
Bergson.” Augustine had already advanced the idea of the rational Self,
who can only grasp the truth from within, and exterior would remain
as the realm of mutability and imperfection for centuries.20 Space has
been broadly identified with an exterior measurable and graspable
thanks to inner reason, which is the only certainty the modern
subject could trust. It is not surprising that the Kantian notion of a
human mind defined by the capacity to return to itself from cosmic
exteriority is directly reflected, according to Sloterdijk (2013, 25), in
Benjamin’s bourgeois interior that “for the private man, represents the
universe. In the interior, he brings together the far away and the long
ago. His living room is a box in the theater of the world” (Benjamin
2002, 9).
Long before this bourgeois inner fortress, the Western recognition Theater
of the interior as the privileged space of thought and truth is evident of mind
in spatializations such as those built by the Italian philosopher Giulio
“Delminio” Camillo. In L’Idea del Theatro, during the first decades
of the sixteenth century, Delminio conceived a hypothetical hybrid
space between theater and library in which all the universal knowledge
would be contained and interrelated thanks to the machinic capacity
of the human mind. This “Theater of Memory,” which as Bologna
indicates represents a miniature of the universe, manifests itself
spatially as “a totalizing encyclopedia based on the relations between
ideas, images and words” adopting the form of the Vitruvian
amphitheater that Fra Giocondo would later re-discover and interpret
Abstract space Like time, space is a “pure form of sense or intuition” (2004, §258,
34), but both differ in their condition and relation to being, since
space is “abstract objectivity” and time “abstract subjectivity.” The
fact that space is considered to precede time in thought –also in the
structure of Hegel’s work– is quite significant, since it implies that
the philosopher perceives space as an inferior, more basic category
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compared to time,22 which is motor, transformative power: “[t]he
truth of space is time, and thus space becomes time” (Hegel 2004,
§257 Zusatz, 34). Conversely, space would be the distorted and
external expression of time.
(…) time itself is the becoming, this coming-to-be and passing away, the actually
existent abstraction, Chronos, from whom everything is born and by whom
its offspring is destroyed. The real is certainly distinct from time, but is also
essentially identical with it. (Hegel 2004, §258 Remark, 35)
116 [DE]CENTERING
evolved throughout history from elementary forms –or symbolic
architecture, present in ancient Eastern civilizations such as Egypt
or India– to more sophisticated stages, that is, classical –Greece
and Rome– and romantic architecture, corresponding to European
Christendom. Needless to say that the association of different stages
of architecture with specific cultures is far from being innocent, since
the whole Hegelian philosophical system pointed to the superiority
of Western civilization over the rest of the world and, in this case,
differences in architectural systems served as a means to justify and
demonstrate this supremacy.
Architectural elements also evolved progressively into more Negative form
advanced and rational forms, harmonizing both purpose and beauty.
Subsequently, the column is more perfect than the pillar inasmuch
as the former is configured by itself, as an independent element
characterized by other components that clarify and expose its function
–the pedestal and the capital–, while the latter is constituted “as it
were to be a negative limitation imposed by something else, or to
be determined accidentally in a way not belonging to it on its own
account” (Hegel 1975, 666), as an external force or constraint –
anticipating the question of positive and negative space, the fill and
the void, that would be addressed by later generations.
Following the same logic, a building is the more perfect the more Primacy of
it depends on its own particularity, going beyond its purpose and the interior
material fragmentation. Hegel posits the Christian gothic temple
as the best example of this elevated form of architecture –romantic
architecture–, where utilitarian limitations are exceeded by a fixed
and eternal character that transcends any kind of purpose. Contrary
to the open Greek temples, the inwardness of the gothic church
responds to the interiority of the Christian spirit, that turns itself
towards the interior of human soul away from external and mundane
circumstances (Hegel 1975, 686). Once again, interiority and
enclosure prevail over exteriority, which does not possess an absolute
truth or ultimate value (Kierans 2007, 76).
Nevertheless, it is possible to find connections between space Relational
and negativity much before Hegel, through different systems space
and argumentations that still result to be of great interest for a
contemporary understanding of space. Before Hegel advocated an
24 In a letter from June 2, 1716 to Samuel Clarke, the British philosopher who
defended the physical system of Newton, Leibniz refutes this model as follows: “The
Author [Clarke] contends, that Space does not depend upon the Situation of Bodies. I
answer: ‘Tis true, it does not depend upon such or such a situation of Bodies; but it is That
Order, which renders Bodies capable of being situated, and by which they have a Situation
among themselves when they exist together; as Time is That Order, with respect to their
Successive position. But if there were no Creatures, Space and Time would be only in the
Ideas of God” (Clarke and Leibniz 1717, §41, 113).
25 In The Shape of Space (1994), Graham Nerlich offers an interesting and thorough
overview of the notion of space and the connections between Western metaphysics and
science, focusing on the debate between realists and relationists from the seventeenth
century to our days. These questions exceed the scope of this research, although they
have been very relevant for its contextualization.
26 It is remarkable how what is known as “Speculative Histories” has made strong
inroads into the mass media . To take one example reflecting the contemporary sense
of philosophic materialism and its transfer towards project action, the latest publications
of Zero Books deserve a visit, as they fertilize a specificity area with the OOO theory
(Oriented-Object Ontology) in which its main advocate, Graham Harman, strenuously
tries to establish connections with the most consolidated (but not less problematic, as
Manuel de Landa has written) Bruno Latour’s ANT theory (Actor Network Theory).
The movement of speculative realism was born after a conference held at Goldsmiths
College (University of London) in 2007. Headed by figures such as Harman, Ray Brassier,
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Lars Spuybroek or Sjoerd van Tuinen (2017), who reflect on the
formal and generative conditions of Gothic and Mannerist space and
architecture, respectively.
The influence of these diverse conceptions of space and the Spatium
clashes between some of them would soon resonate in other parts negatio
of the world. The Oratorian Father Tomás Vicente Tosca, a Spanish
contemporary of Leibniz and Newton,27 exposed a heterogeneous
conception of space combining diverse elements in his Compendium
Philosophicum (1754). The work of Tosca as mathematician, architect,
philosopher and theologian is quite eclectic, combining ideas from
Aristotle and the Neoplatonic tradition, taking some advances from
his contemporaries. In the Compendium, Tosca asks himself about the
constitution of space in relation to bodies which occupy it, offering a
sensory and relational perspective in negative terms:
I know that some of the Ancients say that space is a real thing, which
can be penetrated with all bodies, and extends to all sides; this is indeed
not understandable, and is ridiculed by everybody. Furthermore, if the
aforementioned space is a “true positive,” it has certainly been created by
God. Namely, there are no non-created entities except for God: however, the
aforementioned space has also not been created (…) Namely, this space also
Quentin Meillassoux or Iain Hamilton Grant, speculative realism (and its variations, such
as speculative materialism) aims at undermining the “correlationist,” anthropocentric link
between thinking and being, privileging human over non-human existence: “the conviction
that there can be no access to a reality that is independent of human subjectivity and its
mediations through the senses, the unconscious, language, technology or, indeed, art and
aesthetics. ” (Van Tuinen (ed.) 2017, 1)
27 Tosca belonged to the Novatores movement, a group of Spanish scholars and
thinkers that developed their activity in a period preceding the scientific revolution and
the Enlightenment. They were usually rejected by the most conservative sectors of the
religious power, as their ideas tended to rationalism and empiricism –in fact, the name of
the group had pejorative connotations when it was first coined. The Novatores, in general,
were aware of the marginal role that the Spanish territories played in the European
scientific and philosophical scene (which persists today to a lesser degree), as the Valencian
doctor Juan de Cabriada shows in one of his writings: “(…) it is a pitiful and even shameful
thing that, as if we were Indians [!], we should be the last to receive the news and public
lights that are already scattered throughout Europe. And also, that men who should know
all of this are offended by the warning and bitter by the disappointment. O, and how true
it is that trying to set aside the impression of an antiquated opinion is the most difficult
thing that is demanded from men!” (Carta filosófico-médico-chymica, 1687)
extends on the outside of the Heavens: but God has not created anything apart
from those things, which are contained in the World: Therefore, such a space
has not been created by God. Then, if this space has been created, for sure it has
been created in time: So, I now ask “Where is this space?” What was it?
Certainly, it was a capacity of this space: this capacity would also be a space.
Therefore, there would be a space outside of space, which would be a space of
the space, which is absurd: namely, the argument of a “space of the space” could
be continued to infinity.
2. If this space is any kind of negation, what does it negate? If you claim to
negate the body (corpus), what can be put?
(…) Namely, if a locus (place) is the negation of a locus, certainly this holds
for the corpus (body) in it, it is itself put into negation: you will see why this is
ridiculous. (…) So if a corpus is put in a locus, the locus vanishes. It is not worth
mentioning, that this space is not a negation; rather an absence of body (…)
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Moreover, all absence is subjected to this vastness: hence, what would this
subject then be, in which the aforementioned absence of body would be?
Certainly, such a subject, which would be a real positive (…) So, space (spatium)
is not something distinct from a corpus located, be it positive or negative (…)
Hence, there are no real spaces (spatia realia) in the world (Mundus), except for
the bodies themselves which exist in it. That is, in the world there are no other
actual spaces, except for the bodies themselves, which extend into the sphere of
the highest Heaven (…) can truly be called spaces.
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negativity as a force in both physical and social space, as well as on
their mutual interaction, since it would be impossible to grasp the
complexity of space from a singular perspective. We are in space, but
we also create space; it is continuously being produced, changing and
evolving in front of our eyes, around and within our bodies.
Negative avant-gardes. Interactions in space, negativity and politics.
Thanks to art, instead of seeing a Single world, our own, we see it multiply...
(Marcel Proust, À la recherche du temps perdu, 1927)
30 “The conjunction in each of their titles (theories and history, architecture and
utopia, language and its critique) stages an agon in which architecture’s social vocation is
enabled but also contained by its own powers of representation” (Hays 2006, xii).
31 [T.A.]
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09 10
11 12
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saw its entire understanding of the world altered. Together with the
progressive transformation of Western society, after the industrial
revolutions, the constitution of modern states and the rise of the
bourgeoisie, space could not be read as an abstract realm or a pure
container (the space of Newton and Descartes). Rather, space depends.
It depends on a multiplicity of perspectives, systems of reference,
geometries (Euclidean and non-Euclidean), scales and, of course,
time. This relative conception of space, which is essentially modern,
could be further extended and connected with a wider notion, that is,
a relational (social) space, where space appears only through processes
and relations.34
The first decades of the twentieth century and the artistic
experiences that took place during these years offer a privileged
framework to observe the interaction between these different aspects
of space, along with a glimpse on the negative forces that configure
and emerge from it. Furthermore, from a socio-political perspective,
the context provided by European avant-gardes has proven to be
fruitful in order to analyze and interpret the connections between
space and society, mainly through art and –sometimes– architecture.
Many authors have deeply studied these connections from the
standpoint of negativity: from Renato Poggioli (1968) or Peter Bürger
(1984) to the Venetian tandem Tafuri-Cacciari (Tafuri 1987; Cacciari
1993), and more recently Cristoph Menke (2011), or Hilde Heynen
(1999; 2000), Gail Day (2011) and Sven-Olov Wallenstein (2016)
who clarify the Tafurian interpretation. However, it is necessary to
go back in time to understand how the space of the avant-gardes
emerges.
Hegel had definitely included architecture among the arts Architecture as
(specifically, the most primitive one), although his idealism would Raumkunst
gradually lose strength opposed to the rise of empirical modes of
knowledge. Thus, the interest for architecture from a theoretical
34 These three dimensions are explained by David Harvey (2004; 2012), while he
considers that there is not a hierarchy between them, but a dialectical tension that keeps
them together and related to each other. Although this terms come from the field of
political geography, they are useful to our hypotheses in the sense that they remark several
aspects of space that are relevant to architectural and urban practices. Other authors who
share these dimensions are Martina Löw (2008) or Christina Hilger (2011), among others.
35 Giulio Carlo Argan (1961) would situate the turning point between architecture
as representation of space and architecture as determination of space in the Baroque
period: here, space is not conceived as a pre-existent reality to be ordered, but as
something that can be created, transformed and materialized through clashes, folds,
cavities, contradictions…
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08
art historian Alois Riegl was also one of the initiators of a new
conception of space, although certainly more “Hegelian” than his
German colleague. Schwarzer (1991, 56) mentions Schmarsow’s
(1905) disagreement with Riegl’s vision of ancient architecture as
the enclosure of volumes, “the creation of clear boundaries, of strong
centralized entities,” which he had characterized through the image
of the Pantheon four years before (Riegl 1901). On the contrary, and
despite the importance of inner room for Schmarsow, movement and
“the generation of culturally stimulated rhythmic patterns” (Schwarzer
1991, 56) is, according to him, the essential task of architecture.
In any case, thanks to this whole line of study, space began to be
regarded as a dynamic object of study, and not as a “dead” a priori or
undialectical element in opposition to time, as it still happened until
the end of the nineteenth century (Moravánszky 2003, 122). Then,
architecture, like other arts, was not an imitation of the past or nature
anymore, but a dynamic, creative discipline capable of transforming
reality and not only simulating it. However, as Montaner (1997,
28) indicates, this kind of space (dynamic but enclosed, perceptible
although mostly visual) would be immediately surpassed with the
development of the artistic avant-gardes. The German sculptor Adolf Raumganze
von Hildebrand, belonging to the same generation but not so much
concerned about architecture as his contemporaries were, opened a
way for space as continuum (Raumganze) that would be crucial for the
emergence of the space of the avant-gardes, which some authors relate
to “anti-space” (Peterson 1980; Montaner 1997).
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Utopia (1976) and The Sphere and the Labyrinth (1987)–, in which
capitalist progressive rationalization and Simmel’s metropolitan space
are regarded as a nurturing scenario for the avant-gardes. It is precisely
in the tension between capitalist rationalization and the “downfall
of reason” –especially perceived in metropolitan space (Tafuri 1976,
78)– where the Italian historian places the dialectical movement that
activated avant-gardes.
Through the frenzied rhythms of metropolitan life, Georg Simmel Metropolis and
(1997, 174–85) portrays an urban society that grows and lives parallel Nervenleben
to money economy, thus provoking an intensification of mental and
psychic life (Nervenleben) that affects both the individual and the
urban collective. Life in the metropolis is frantic and accelerated, and
the alteration of metropolitan times –punctuality, calculability and
exactness (Simmel 1997, 177)– is precisely detected through changes
in spatiality. Perfectly calculated and precise it works an enormous
machine that swallows and rationalizes all kinds of flows, either
economic or social and where individuals and objects are assigned
a specific monetary value. To appreciate this urban whirlpool, one
needs only to watch Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1926), Ruttmann’s Berlin,
Symphony of a Great City (1927) or take a look at Georg Grosz’s
scenes from Berlin or his own Metropolis (1917), in which the space
of the city is represented through an extreme perspective and where
nothing is static; even empty space seems to move, because it is not
empty at all, but filled with activity, people, advertisements, messages,
light, flows. Everything is connected to the rest of the metropolis,
unveiling a space of relations that still persists today, amplified, as well
as its effects over the psychic life of its inhabitants. This is reflected
in Tiqqun’s work, following the particular framework of the Bloom
Theory with a highly-Simmelian resonance:
The most demented, and at the same time the most characteristic concretion
of the spectacular ethos remains -on a planetary scale- the metropolis (…) In
the metropolis, man experiences his own negative condition, purely. Finiteness,
solitude, and exposedness, which are the three fundamental coordinates of this
condition, weave the décor of each person’s existence in the big city. Not a fixed
décor, but a moving décor; the amalgamated décors of the big city, due to which
everyone has to endure the ice-cold stench of its non-places. (Tiqqun 2010,
14–15).
Entzauberung In this regard, the figure of the German sociologist Max Weber
and his notion of “disenchantment” (Entzauberung) are essential
to complete the Venetian tandem’s reading of the metropolis in
the twentieth century. Weber studied how the logic of technical
rationalization and progress had progressively pervaded reality,
displacing the realms of the magical and mythical, hence leading to
a sensation of “disenchantment of the world” (1946) –an expression
recalling Schiller’s Entgötterung der Natur (“the de-divinization of
nature”) – that becomes a defining characteristic of the modern,
capitalist society.36 Cacciari (1993, 31) would consider Weber as the
one who detects the essential negative character of the metropolis,
“the affirmation of a bourgeois-capitalist theory on the negative”
(Cacciari 1993, 15) that would eventually overcome Simmel’s analysis,
especially after his posthumous work The City (Weber 1987).
Without losing perspective on Weber’s disenchantment, Tafuri goes
one step beyond to grasp the forces of the “tragic” experience of the
metropolis (1976, 78) –which, according to him, is the ideal scenario
to contemplate the modern “downfall of reason” foretold by Piranesi–
within the domain of the arts. If Grosz, Lang or Ruttmann offered
direct, literal visions of the metropolis, Tafuri goes back to the text of
Simmel –through the gaze of Massimo Cacciari (1993)– in order to
36 Walter Benjamin also deals with a similar issue in his famous essay “The Work
of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility” (Benjamin 2008, 19–55), where he
poses the question of “the loss of the aura” affecting the modern work of art.
132 [DE]CENTERING
08 09
And so Tafuri asks: “does it not seem that we are reading here a Merz
literary comment on a Schwitter Merzbild?” (1976, 88) By referring
to the collage works of the German artist Kurt Schwitters, Tafuri
points to the chaotic and everflowing forces of money economy
(Heynen 1999, 130). In fact, Schwitter’s Merzbauten represent the
most extreme materialization of such flows and their effects on things,
as if they were literally floating in space, disordered and accumulated
without an appreciable hierarchy. Thus, the Merzbau drives the
forces of the metropolis to its latest consequences in a giant spatial
collage. Static, Cartesian, enclosed space is definitely substituted
37 “If traditional space finds its highest expression in the unitary world of the
Renaissance, in which there is no analytical separation between the elements of space
and the form in which conic perspective expresses the image of man as the center, the
Copernican revolution of science in the seventeenth century is in the origin of anti-space.
This is when space begins to emancipate, when it becomes independent and relative to
objects in movement within an infinite cosmic system” (Montaner 1997, 28–29).
134 [DE]CENTERING
10 11
38 [T.A.]
39 The magazines Mecano, G, and Merz resulted from this synthesis. (Tafuri 1976,
95)
40 During a research seminar on the current situation of architecture organized
at the School of Architecture of the University of Seville in 2005, professor Rafael
González Sandino initiated a debate on negative avant-gardes and their reconsideration.
His presentation and the subsequent debate can be found in Spanish and English in: https://
outarquiaspublicaciones.wordpress.com/category/libro-sobre-la-situacion-actual-de-la-
arquitectura-genealogias-diagnosticos-e-interpretacion/
136 [DE]CENTERING
“truly autonomous art has to be revolutionary; truly sovereign art,
formally describable” (Menke 2011, 39).41
Returning to the subject of space, the rupture with the previous
model and the immersion into a spatial abstract continuum precisely
respond to the subjacent task of the avant-garde to subsume the
conditions of a mechanized society, influenced by the advance of
objective science and technology. Unlike philosophy, which had
preserved the primacy of time and the subject, factual sciences saw
the world represented as space and discredited the subjective vision
that led to their crisis (Pardo Torío 1992, 255). Accordingly, space is
a privileged medium for avant-garde artists and would be regarded
as means to transfer art into life, eventually leading to the Hegelian
“death of art” (Tafuri 1976, 89). Evoking the relevance of Schwitter’s
Merzbau, this is one of the main reasons why architecture, and
specifically the Bauhaus, undertook the task of translating these
experiences into a concrete, lived form, due to the incapacity of the
artistic avant-gardes to reach the productive reality (Tafuri 1976,
96).42
The city, “the real place of the improbable” (Tafuri 1976, 96), Nihilism
already observed by Baudelaire, Weber, Simmel, Benjamin and fulfilled
many more, represented the final scenario nurtured by all tactics
and strategies tested in art, the machinery that kept capitalist society
progressing as a giant “Metropolitan Merz.” Thus, architecture
definitely enters the political arena as an instrument to materialize
the modern utopia: first with the Bauhaus, then with Modern
Movement, architecture was the tool to organize the metropolis as
a productive, rationalized organism. “Architecture or Revolution”
was the slogan, coined by Le Corbusier in Vers une Architecture in
1922, that articulated the promise of a new society and a new (anti)
space; a promise that, according to Tafuri, was never to be fulfilled,
since architecture should be the object of the whole plan, and not the
41 [T.A.] Menke sets the basis of the aesthetics of negativity in this relation.
42 “Mondrian was to have the courage to ‘name’ the city as the final object toward
which neoplastic composition tended. But he was to be forced to recognize that, once it
had been translated into urban structures, painting—by now reduced to a pure model of
behavior—would have to die” (Tafuri 1976, 92).
138 [DE]CENTERING
indeed, a certain opacity in Mies’ transparency that detaches it from a
phantasmagoric character that will be later analyzed.43
Facing the impossibility of progress and utopia, the incapacity Negative
of architecture to change the world, the counterpart of the modern utopia
project –the “negative utopia”– emerges in silence, heir of Piranesian
atmospheres. Shane (2011, 25) describes negative utopias as spaces
of maintenance of memories and codes (monuments, libraries,
archives…) “meant to stand outside of the flow of everyday life and
time. They reflect and invert normal and everyday flows, and their
fixed visual order is important to a community’s sense of place and
continuity. They are meant to be static, resistant to progress (…)”
Idealized, still, perfect and stable, static models for a better world, a
better future, but which were “eventually integrated into the industrial
production process. Tafuri contrasts the fixed, negative utopias of
More or of Mies van der Rohe (…) with capitalist entrepreneurs’
restless drive toward perfection (…) and modern designers’ devotion
to a shifting, positivist utopia” (Shane 2005, 87). Thus, in the series of
Carceri, reflecting a massive, imaginary architecture in decline, Tafuri
(1978) sees the crisis of the architectural object and the problems
posed by the extensive infinity of space; a critique that would find
its extension in the drawings of the Campo Marzio and lead to
the dissolution of any language: “The Piranesian utopia” –Tafuri
concludes (1978, 103)– consists precisely in making this objective
contradiction absolute and obvious: the principle of Reason is revealed
as an instrument capable of giving birth –apart from all sueño– to the
monsters of the irrational.”44
According to the main scholars and critics of the avant-garde, Crisis of
including Tafuri, Bürger or Poggioli, historical vanguards failed (modern)
to articulate a project that could counter the totalizing system of reason
140 [DE]CENTERING
intermingled in a dynamique d’enfer, as Jean-Paul Baïetto, the director
of the plan, described it (Day 2011, 73). A chaotic, urban piece which
grasps the flows of the metropolis and extends them beyond the local
limits through a continuous space where people are in permanent
movement.
Counterspaces in the city.
(…) many major creative acts require oppositions, polarities and contradictions
in order to emerge. (Zalamea 2013, 17)
We have seen how negativity acts as a force that pushes and Antinomies of
transforms reality through invisible but firm reactions. Also art, as creativity
producer of reality, is immersed in the processes of the negative and its
action is possible because of this condition. In a particular incursion
to this creative dimension of negativity in art, the Colombian
mathematician and writer Fernando Zalamea (2013) studies the
“antinomies of creation” through three major figures of Modernity
–Paul Valéry and his Cahiers, Aby Warburg and his Atlas Mnemosine
and Pavel Florensky and his transdisciplinary work on the limits and
antinomies of thought–, whose works unveil the essential character
of contradiction with regard to creativity and the modern experience.
These “major creative acts,” as the author argues throughout the whole
book, emerge from inner and outer tensions, struggles and ruptures
with reason that are situated at the very core of Modernity. A primeval
expression of this emergent force that triggers the creative act could
be found in what Hegel called Unruhe, the “restlessness” that agitates
spirit and precedes action.
However, when this Unruhe is transferred from the individual
subject to the social realm, new implications emerge. In this situation,
the creative act is not the achievement of a single subject anymore,
but a collective product in which multiple agents intervene. Thus,
political –and spatial– questions arise: how does space appear, how is
it transformed? What should it privilege and what should it obliterate?
Which are the tensions and relations –between governments, citizens,
minorities, migrants, etc.– that make possible the rupture and the
emergence of a new space? How do several views enter in conflict –the
ultimate object of politics– with the others?
142 [DE]CENTERING
14
47 The multifaceted approach of Culot (as cultural historian, teacher and member
of ARAU) is not exempt from criticism, partly due to his ambitious objectives and the
complexity of the links between architecture and the city from a political perspective. This
issue is analyzed by Shane (1977) after Culot’s presentation at Peter Cook’s 1976 Art Net
Rally.
16 17
144 [DE]CENTERING
(Brugmans and Petersen (eds.) 2012, 6), together with three main
Test Sites in Rotterdam, Sao Paulo and Istanbul. Within this context,
the Dutch Randstad represents an example of a contemporary urban
ecology which works at different levels through counterposition and
differentiation of its parts, elements and agents. It constitutes an
urban region of global relevance that functions within a much more
local context, where relations between cities, provinces, industrial
or agricultural areas, institutions, companies, etc. create a particular
set of conditions which determine the role of such a region from an
international perspective. The Dutch architects and urbanists Daan
Zandbelt and Rogier van den Berg explored this spatial situation
in a project selected as countersite for the Biennale. The project –
entitled Mid-size Utopia: Best of Both Worlds– focuses on the vision
of a new intermediate region of interconnected, medium-scale cities
within the Netherlands, combining the benefits of the proximity
to a global leading region such as the Randstad with a more local,
attractive, healthier environment in connection to rural areas and
other European regions. In fact, one of the most appealing aspects
of the project is the preliminary distinction between the Randstad
and seven intermediate zones in its periphery. These spaces configure
a territorial structure with different islands and logics: mobility
networks, resources, economic activities and competitiveness,
urban and demographic density, transnational clusters… It is clear
that a whole system lies behind the performance of the Randstad
as a node of global relevance, and part of this success is due to
those countersites, which at the same time see the proximity of the
Randstad as one of their main strengths –and threats as well. In other
words, the global impact of the region is deeply related to specific
relations with other spaces, and even the differences between them are
crucial to understand its particular character. Without its countersites,
the Randstad would surely be different: it needs of these spaces –even
when they may enter into conflict– to maintain its status.
In this sense, it is possible to trace several coincidences between Reverse City
these projects and what Paola Viganò (2012) calls “the Reverse
City,” as a proposal for the contemporary European urban project
that emerges by inverting and breaking traditional codes within the
146 [DE]CENTERING
mainly controlled by geometric and visual means.50 Although Lefebvre
would not define the term “counterspace” explicitly, it appears several
times in his work, either related to everyday life or rather to the
extraordinary. It is, above all, a different space: it can certainly be an
“utopian alternative” (1991, 349), but it is also related to specific
spaces of contestation:
When a community fights the construction of urban motorways or housing-
developments, when it demands ‘amenities’ or empty spaces for play and
encounter, we can see how a counter-space can insert itself into spatial reality:
against the Eye and the Gaze, against quantity and homogeneity, against power
and the arrogance of power, against the endless expansion of the ‘private’ and of
industrial profitability; and against specialized spaces and a narrow localization
of function. (Lefebvre 1991, 381–82)
148 [DE]CENTERING
18 19
20 21
52 In this passage, Tafuri was referring to the exhibition “Italy: the New Domestic
Landscape: Achievements and Problems of the Italian Design” that took place at the
MoMA in 1972, in which Superstudio and Archizooom were included in the section of
“counter-design.” Tafuri, in his writings, severely criticized the work of neo-avant-gardes for
nurturing the utopian dream (Tafuri 1976; 1987; Biraghi 2014). Pier Vittorio Aureli (2008,
76–79) pictures and analyzes the relationship between the historian and these neo-avant-
garde groups.
150 [DE]CENTERING
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Tiqqun. 2010. Bloom Theory. The Anarchist Library. bloom.jottit.com.
Van Tuinen (ed.), Sjoerd. 2017. Speculative Art Histories. Analysis at the Limits. Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press.
Viganò, Paola. 2012. “The Contemporary European Urban Project : Archipelago City, Diffuse
City and Reverse City.” In The SAGE Handbook of Architectural Theory, edited by G. C. Crysler, S.
Cairns, and Hilde Heynen, 657–70. London: SAGE.
Weber, Max. 1946. From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology. Edited by H.H. Gerth and C. Wright
Mills. New York: Oxford University Press.
Wollen, Peter. 1975. “The Two Avant-Gardes.” Studio International 190 (978): 171–75.
Žižek, Slavoj. 1993. Tarrying with the Negative. Kant, Hegel, and the Critique of Ideology.
Durham: Duke University Press.
———. 2012. Less than Nothing. Hegel and the Shadow of Dialectical Materialism. London;
New York: Verso Books.
Images.
03 Giulio Paolini. “Mimesi,” 1975-1976. Source: Giulio Paolini, FER Collection, Ulm.
04 Giulio Paolini. “All’istante,” 2006. Galleria Enrico Astuni, exhibition Negative Capability-
Paintings, Bologna 2013. Source: Photograph by M.Ravenna, Galleria Enrico Astuni.
05 Anetta Mona Chisa & Lucia Tkáčová “After the Order – Graphs,” 2006-2010. Galleria
Enrico Astuni, exhibition Negative Capability-Paintings, Bologna 2013. Source: Photograph by
M.Ravenna, Galleria Enrico Astuni.
08 Tomàs Vicent Tosca i Mascó. “Plano de la ciudad de Valencia,” 1703. Source: Biblioteca
Valenciana Digital.
10 Karl Ehn, Karl-Marx-Hof, Vienna, 1934. Source: Das Rote Wien Wachsalon.
157
11 Ludwig Hilberseimer, “Hochhausstadt,” 1924, in Großstadt Architektur, by L. Hilberseimer,
1927.
12 Adolf Loos, Goldmann & Salatsch Building. Michaelerplatz, Vienna. Source: ArchDaily.
13 Otto Wagner, Church am Steinhof, Vienna, 1907. Source: Der Architekt, XIV, 1908.
14 Adolf Hildebrand. “Cain and Abel,” 1890. Soucre: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Gift of
James Holderbaum and Brooks L. Beaulieu.
18 Paul Citroen. “Metropolis,” 1923. Source: Metalocus, Paul Citroën/ Artists Rights Society
(ARS), New York / PICTORIGHT, Amsterdam.
19 Piet Mondrian. “New York City I,” 1942. Source: Musée National d’Art Moderne – Centre
Georges Pompidou, Wikimedia Commons.
20 Mies van der Rohe, Alexanderplatz. Project overview, 1928. Source: eikongraphia.com
21 Giovanni Battista Piranesi. “Carceri d’invenzione, Plate XIV,” 1761. Source: Chris
Mortensen, “Inconsistent Images.” arts.adelaide.edu.au
23 Michelangelo Caetani “La Materia della Divina Commedia di Dante Aligherie,” 1855.
Source: ArtStack.
24 Giuseppe Terragni. Drawing for the Danteum project in Rome, 1938. Source: Museo
Virtuale Astrattismo Architettura Razionalista Como, Lombardia Beni Culturali.
26 Atelier de Recherche et d’Action Urbaines, Brussels. Proposals for the renovation of Les
Brigittines. Existing situation. Source: Wonen-TA/BK, 15/16, 1982, 49.
27 Atelier de Recherche et d’Action Urbaines, Brussels. Proposals for the renovation of Les
Brigittines. Proposal by ARAU. Source: Wonen-TA/BK, 15/16, 1982, 49.
28 Zandbelt & van den Berg. “Mid-Size Utopia,” 2012. Source: IABR, Zandbelt & van den
Berg.
29 Zandbelt & van den Berg. “Mid-Size Utopia.Streekpark Bussloo,” 2012. Source: IABR,
Zandbelt & van den Berg.
30 Gaetano Pesce. “Project for an Underground City, in the Age of Great Contaminations,”
1972. Source: MoMA, Graham Foundation.
31 Superstudio. Axonometric of the project for “Italy, the New Domestic Landscape,” 1972.
Source: MoMA, Graham Foundation. Museo Pecci, Betarice Lampariello.
32 Ettore Sottsass Jr. Untitled environment for “Italy, the New Domestic Landscape,” 1972.
Source: MoMA, Graham Foundation. CSAC, Università di Parma.
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159
On (the Politics of ) Space.
1 Martina Löw explores the condition of the division between private and public
space, showing how, despite the blurriness of this separation, it is tacitly perpetuated
by institutions: “However permeable and contradictory this distinction might be, it is a
constitutive societal principle upheld by rules and resources. This structure manifests itself
in a range of isolable and recursively reproduced structures. There are legal structures,
which, for example, guarantee privacy; social structures which prescribe a different code
of conduct in public and in private; economic structures of unpaid housework as opposed
to gainful employment, etc. But the separation of public and private is also articulated in
spatial structures, in the design of buildings, in the lockability of buildings, in the conception
of the living room as a space accessible to the public by arrangement, in the design of
cafés in imitation of private spaces, etc. these spatial structures enable action” (Löw 2008,
38–39).
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very particular and heterodox position that distances him from this
group– the one who directly addressed the question of space as such,
ultimately influencing radical urban scholars such as David Harvey,
Edward Soja and Manuel Castells –although the latter would fiercely
criticize the French sociologist in his first major work The Urban
Question (Castells 1977, 86–95).
Literature on Lefebvre is incredibly vast. After a period of oblivion La production
during the eighties and nineties –except for the enormous influence de l’espace
that he had on the works of geographers like David Harvey, Edward
Soja or Milton Santos–, his work has experienced a renewed interest
in the beginning of the twenty-first century: not only many of his
texts have been re-edited or translated –the Spanish version of La
Production de l’Espace was not launched until 2013–, but also they
have been object of research projects and scholarly texts by a second
generation of interpreters2 and disseminated among activists and
a general public interested in urban issues. Despite the fact that
Lefebvre’s work should be primarily understood within a post-war
urbanization context, its contemporariness lies in its attempt to
advance in the process of desecration and the will to make the space
of the city (or the urban realm) accessible to everyone. Lefebvre does
not provide, however, any set of practical tools or methodology to
work on the space of the city in order to transform it. Rather, his
complex, abstract theoretical reflection on space and the city –inspired
by German dialectics and French phenomenology (Schmid 2012,
60)– is open to appropriation by society and different generations to
project –even practice– their desire and expectations in their urban
context. It is pensée vive, living thought, which evolves and can be
even ambiguous in certain moments.
My hypothesis is the following: it is in space and by means of space where the
reproduction of capitalist production relations takes place. This space becomes
increasingly an instrumental space. (Lefebvre 1974, 223)
2 The project “Rethinking Theory, Space and Production: Henri Lefebvre Today,”
led by scholars such as Łukasz Stanek, Christian Schmid and Akos Moravánszky, started
in 2008 and has greatly enriched the Lefebvrian landscape through congresses and diverse
publications (Stanek 2011; Stanek, Schmid, and Moravánszky (eds.) 2014; Lefebvre 2014).
http://www.henrilefebvre.org/ (See also Elden 2004; Shields 2005).
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02 03
4 Lefebvre saw Picasso as the “herald” of this modern, abstract space: “What we
find in Picasso is an unreservedly visualized space, a dictatorship of the eye - and of the
phallus” (1991, 302). However, he paved the ground for a differential space, by depicting
the contradictions of the former.
and perpetuate the hegemony of abstract space, and that they should
be seriously taken into account in order to counter it –or at least,
proposing an alternative spatiality–, since abstract space tends to
pervade all aspects of social practice.
Against this reductionist, invasive model of space, illusory,
transparent and completely intelligible, Lefebvre glimpses the
possibility of other spaces that, although coexisting within abstract
space, are generated by counterforces and actions of resistance by
social minorities. Contradictions inner to abstract space allow the
appearance of differential space –which is a kind of counterspace.
Against abstract quantity, differential space poses quality; against
a value-based system, differential space may be based on use value
(1991, 381), and so on and so forth. Thus, space is not only a “stage,”
but the product of struggle and conflict. However, an assemblage of
many differential spaces would not be enough to supplant abstract
space, or any kind of dominant space, if we look beyond Western
capitalism. Instead, according to Lefebvre, a whole new “other
space” would be necessary for this task (Hiernaux-Nicolas 2004, 21).
Nonetheless, this does not subtract importance to the emergence of
counterspaces and differential spaces, since society may appropriate
certain spatial habits different to the dominant ones. The success of
these “other” spaces is, in any case, not relevant to the purposes of
the research at the moment. It is important to note that, despite the
critiques Lefebvre has received for his “utopian” character, others, such
as Mark Purcell (2013a; 2013b) prefer to understand his vision of
urban society as “a virtual object, a possible world (…) that is already
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06 07
6 “Subject and object, Descartes’s res cogitans and res extensa, and the Ego and
non-Ego of the Kantians, post-Kantians and neo-Kantians” (Lefebvre 1991, 39). Many more
could be added: the One and the multiple, Platonic sensible and intelligible realms, body
and soul…
7 Edward W. Soja (1996, 60) would call this strategy “Thirding-as-Othering” in his
work Thirdspace, highly inspired by Lefebvre’s spatial triad.
8 Neil Brenner (2000, 373) uses the term “spatialized counterpolitics” to name
the strategy against abstract space.
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his work from Marx, although he diverts his perspective in certain
occasions–,9 the relevance of representation in his work is quite
problematic, especially in a contemporary context in which relations
are paid more attention than events, contrary to what has been
done in traditional Western thought. Lefebvre does not totally reject
representational thought, although he was interested in its critique to
a certain extent. In the mid-twenties, he joined the founding team of
L’Esprit –a journal that was only published twice–, in which authors
questioned traditional philosophical practices “which privileged
representation over action,” and where Lefebvre once wrote: “To
represent Being, is to stop being” (Shields 2005, 33). Later, Foucault’s
concern on the gap between things and words and the influence of
Débord and the situationists paved the way for a period dominated
by a hostility toward the representational. However, the question of Presence and
representation plays a central role in his spatial triad in The Production absence
of Space, and in La Présence et l’Absence (1980) he addresses the issue
again from an ambiguous perspective. In his words, the aim of the
work is the following:
What is the purpose of this book? A theory. For what? To decree the end
of representations with the end of ideologies, or of culture composed of
representations? That would be too ambitious. What is at stake in the book
is situated between: a) the acceptance of the representational as a social,
psychic, political fact; b) global rejection. The theory does not allow to abolish
representation, but to resist those that fascinate us and perhaps to choose the
representations that allow to explore the possible against those that block it, that
fix when fixing. (Lefebvre 1983, 26)
9 Rob Shields (2005, 34) detects an important difference Marx and Lefebvre:
“Even though he was one of the greatest champions of Marx, Lefebvre’s own intuition
drew him and his formulation of Marxism towards a more Nietzschean, Bakhtinian
celebration of the unquashable character of ‘joy’ and ‘life’. It is in this sense that Lefebvre is
a philosophical romantic. Marx rages in favour of humanity, but under the sign of Reason—
the ‘crucified sun’ of repressed spontaneity, energy and desire that Lefebvre had first
revolted against (…)”
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08
At ten thousand meters above the ocean, at this moment, I think with nostalgia
in your country, Octavio Paz, and with anguish in the country that I will find
again. My own ideas falter. What is the purpose of radical criticism, that of
everyday life, that of the State? The claim of the right to difference or to the
city? In the countries of America and Asia, I saw thousands and millions of
people aspire to a solid daily life, to yearn for a stable state, to worship political
leaders, expecting from them an acceptable daily life - bread and images - more
than freedom or quality. Are we not entering the time of crowds, into the mass
society, without knowing well what that represents? In this society, the masses
seem to accept the domination of people who have knowledge and power. (…)
If I understood Marx even a little, it seems to me that, according to him, the
working class can and should be overcome, therefore carrying to the extreme
automation to get to non-work. There is nothing in common between this
thought and the apologies of manual labor, of productivism, whether capitalist
or socialist.
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is why I am writing to you, Octavio Paz, to inform you of my concerns, without
expecting from you some words that resolve these contradictions. Such words
are impossible, but the smallest word that indicates where we are, where we are
going, would have an incomparable value. In a few hours I will return to find
the Europe “of ancient parapets”; the Europe in crisis, as they say: the logos in
decline, France and the continent prey to its destiny. Would not that destiny
be, from the beginning, to render emptiness? Where do you see living, creative
forces? The best are devoted to deny, to destroy...
No doubt you, poet and philosopher, have more reasons to keep faith in the
future of your continent, your country, your work than we Europeans stalked
by disaster and despair. However, should we find the discoveries (what a word! I
hesitate to use it, when I think that it is still written in Europe that this or that
Western navigator “discovered” America or Mexico!), let us say, the promises
of West, to be null and void? You already know this question. It traverses your
poems and your theoretical work. As an initial quote to a book that I began
in Mexico and that I will dedicate to you, I will use this phrase that closes
Conjunctions and Disjunctions: “For the first and last time, the word presence
and the word love appear to the edge of these reflections: they were the seeds
of the West, the origin of our art and our poetry. In them, lies the secret of our
resurrection.” I agree, Octavio Paz. (Lefebvre 1983, 8–11)13
It has already been explained how space became a central issue in Spatial turn
Western thought during the twentieth century, to the point that it
has been called “the century of space” (Foucault 1998; Löw 2015).
This interest served to reorient approaches and methods in diverse
fields, not only exact and natural sciences –with regard to the
emergence of non-Euclidean geometry, the theory of relativity and
so on– or engineering –which has allowed human exploration of
space beyond the Earth–, but also social sciences and humanities:
sociology (Lefebvre 1991), geography (Soja 1989; Harvey 1992),
history (Braudel, Santa Arias, Angelo Torres), literature studies (Hess-
13 [T.A.]
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Moreover, the events around 196814 supposed an attack against the
modern paradigm and its progressive character, and this included
architecture in a moment when people realized that they were able
to build their own space, with the generalization of “the right to
the city” and participatory spatial practice.15 If space was negated to
architecture –and architects– as its essence, what remained?
In fact, Stanek (2012, 49) remarks how some of the most relevant Architecture
architectural thinkers of the last decades position themselves against as space?
an “architecture as space,” such as Venturi and Scott Brown (2004;
also Venturi, Brown, and Izenour 1977, 6–7) or Rem Koolhaas
(2007). Also in Latin America, reactions against the spatial essence
of architecture was palpable, for instance in the works of the Chilean
writer José Ricardo Morales (1984), who criticized the inherited
conception of architectural space from Hegel and the central
European school, or the also Chilean architect Isidro Suárez (1986),
who followed the path of Juan Borchers against a reductionist use
of space in architecture (De Stefani 2009). Beyond the ocean, the
Japanese architect Kazuo Shinohara, while praising the work of
Giedion and the association of a specific architecture to a concrete
epochal spatial conception, noted that this link would be unthinkable
in Japan, since the concept of “space” as such never existed there.
Moreover, notions like “temporal space,” “fluidity” or even the nexus
between architecture and progress are impossible to translate, as
there is no space, but void; hence, the beauty of traditional Japanese
architecture lies in the “non-existence of space” (Shinohara 2011,
244).
Interestingly, most of these critiques have something in common:
their refusal of space as an abstract entity. In general, the architectural
reaction to the spatial turn was a questioning of modern architecture
and its tights with the extensive, geometrical and dominant space of
16 “It may thus be said of architectural discourse that it too often imitates or
caricatures the discourse of power, and that it suffers from the delusion that ‘objective’
knowledge of ‘reality’ can be attained by means of graphic representations. This discourse
no longer has any frame of reference or horizon. It only too easily becomes - as in the case
of Le Corbusier - a moral discourse on straight lines, on right angles and straightness in
general, combining a figurative appeal to nature (water, air, sunshine) with the worst kind of
abstraction (plane geometry, modules, etc.) “ (Lefebvre 1991, 361).
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10 11
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Architecture should question the idea of its prior incarnation, both of meaning
and of its social function, and hence of its present modes of legitimation. And
what will the forms of this investigation look like when they carry out this
disengagement? These are the questions that architecture faces, an architecture
that no longer has canon, but only, as a starting point, its own, unique
possibility of being: its acquisition of form. (Eisenman 1996)
19 Speaks had been developing the idea of “Design Intelligence” from 2002, when
he started a series of twelve articles in A+U reflecting on several architectural offices that
practiced this mode of architecture.
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12 13
14 15
16 17
Even when our times may seem “normal” or “ordinary” to some like
Schumacher, there are still some circles within architectural theory
and practice that, although recognizing the exhaustion of previous
forms of criticality, still resist to lose the social vocation of architecture
and its possibility to think of an emancipatory space through the
borders, remains and residues that Tafuri detects, even acknowledging
that the battle could never end. In this regard, the field of “reflexive
architecture” proposed by Arie Graafland, opens a critical path
based not on discrediting, but on uniting, building bridges, and
therefore productive, without losing sight of “(human) nature,” that
is, notions of gender, ethnicity, wealth or and class. Referring to the
contributions of Bruno Latour on critique’s recent loss of strength,20
Graafland claims:
Instead of moving away from facts, we have to direct our attention toward the
conditions that made them possible. For architecture it implies the redirection
of our thoughts to what I would call an architecture of the street. A reflexive
architectural way of proceeding, renewing empiricism, and addressing the
sophisticated tools of architectural deconstruction and its inherent construction
– or better, the lack of– social construction. (Graafland 2012, 98)
20 Latour, Bruno. 2004. “Why has critique run out of steam? From matters of fact
to matters of concern,” in Critical Inquiry (30), pp. 225-248.
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However, this is not enough for others. Having harshly criticized
the post-critical attitude as mere pragmatism in which practice –“the
real”– obscures underlying issues, Tahl Kaminer (2005) rejects the
projective approach as well, considering that it is associated with a
material and technological progress that, at the same time, implies
a certain paternalistic ethics (“a standard quality of life and well-
being has to be reached in order to transform society, i.e., export our
democratic, progressive mode of life to the others.”) The result of such
a strategy can be appreciated in testimonies like Zhu’s “Criticality in
between China and the West” (2005), from which it can be deduced
that China needs of the West –especially Koolhaas– to clarify and
evaluate its own architectural panorama. The reverse situation is also
considered, but with a clearly asymmetrical strength. In sum, the
refuge in aesthetics and projective practice –where Kaminer situates
Somol, Koolhaas, Van Toorn or Stan Allen– only covers up the
struggle of tackling the commitment between architecture and society.
But how can architecture address the impact of the financial crisis
in 2008, whose effects are still palpable? How to tackle the problem
of access to housing in Europe, the refugee crisis, the safety of women
and children in cities? Even when the aim of theory is not to solve
all the problems, or to give an answer to all questions, theoretical
reflection cannot be completely substituted by direct practice, as
tempting as it may be. To escape the deadlock, the written dialogues
between Peggy Deamer, Libero Andreotti, David Cunningham and
Erik Swyngedouw in Can Architecture be an Emancipatory Project?
(Lahiji (ed.) 2016) offer an interesting choral perspective about
renewed ways of constituting the architectural discipline, without
losing a certain autonomy, but also incorporating a critical perspective,
even from the earlier stages of the formation of the architect. Going
back to the issue of space, architects have much to learn from other
spatial agents, such as social movements, as Swyngedouw (2016, 66)
suggests. Moreover, it is necessary to rethink architectural methods
and organizations with regard to spatial intervention. Urban space, in
general more plural and complex than the spatial unit of the building,
opens a whole experimental field to this purposes.
In “‘Criticality’ and Its Discontents”(2004), George Baird was
curious about the future of the firm of Elizabeth Diller and Ricardo
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rhythm, which makes it different from the urban fabric within
which it is inserted. This is why it is possible to read it as a reverse,
as an-other space that stands in contrast to the space below it. A
Foucauldian significance may be glimpsed here: “[t]he point of
heterotopia is not that it designates a type of space, focusing purely
on spatial arrangements or material/physical elements, but that it
approaches spaces as expressive or constitutive of (other) discourses”
(Wesselman 2013, 22).
The High Line has become a world-known example of a successful
public urban space, and it has become one of the major attractions
of the city. However, architecture and landscape design cannot take
all the credit here. It is often omitted that the project responds to
a social initiative that began in the eighties, when the activist Peter
Obletz defended the preservation of the structure against the group
of property owners that planned its demolition. In the first years of
2000, the newly instituted Friends of the High Line, which gathers
residents and sympathizers of the space, began a process to define a
proposal for the dismantled railway. Together with this bottom-up
process, in which architecture plays an accompanying role secondary
to the social process, it is important to remark the tension between
productive and counterproductive aspects that it presents. There is
no doubt that the park has become a major attraction for tourists
and visitors, but even if it has had a great economic impact in the
city, the Line for itself seems to avoid a productive logic, departing
“from the dominant discourse of economic profit” (Wesselman
2013, 24). Therefore, we are facing a place which does not produce
economic benefit per se –on the contrary, it is a place for leisure and
non-production–, but which is constantly interrupted by productive
devices –such as the cart described by Wesselman (2013, 24)– and
whose presence motivates consumption and economic activity. This
contradiction is never hidden, and is intrinsic to the whole structure.
Politics of the (global) city. Polemos, polis,
politics
There is a strong tie between the notions of polemos, polis and politics.
Beyond the semantic roots of each term, Chantal Mouffe (1999, 14)
exposes the relation of politics with polemos –antagonism, conflict–
and polis –the capacity of living together. Both realms have been
often considered to be mutually exclusive, giving priority to the civic
22 Women, slaves and foreigners did not have the right of citizenship in Ancient
Greece.
23 Sloterdijk (2018) mentions the resumption of pain after the Trojan War, which
resonates during the journey of Aeneas to Rome, the new Troy of the West. Through
Virgil, the fugitive Trojan hero would pronounce the following words before Dido, Queen
of Carthage, after she had asked him about the fall of Troy and his subsequent seven years
of wandering with his people: “Infandum, regina, iubes renovare dolorem” (“A grief too great
to be told, O queen, you bid me renew.”)
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citizens (Zwischenraum), that is, the space of freedom (Arendt 1997,
113), usually identified with the agora. This space does not exist
either in the domestic realm or outside the polis, with regard to the
relations with other territorial entities: in these domains, the exercise
of violence and imposition is the basic means of power. Transgressing
the limits of the polis –nomos and hybris at the same time– would
entail the loss of the citizen’s identity. Later, the Romans, after the
“repetition” of the Trojan war in the territory of Lazio –narrated by
Virgil in the Aeneid–, extend the political space outside the walls of
the city through the treaty and the alliance, “the natural continuation
of the war” (Arendt 1997, 118): construction after annihilation. With
this recognition of the other, first as enemy, then as ally, the law –lex,
consensus omnium– is created as a “durable bound” after the exercise of
violence (Arendt 1997, 120).
Despite the impossibility of returning to the polis model, especially
after the socio-political crisis experienced during the last years in
many cities of the world, the Greek polis and the Roman urbs-civitas
still resonate in the memories of the European city. However, the
political cannot be limited today to territorial and warlike questions.
For instance, Bruno Latour (2007, 818) detects up to five different
meanings of the political: the creation of new associations –between
humans and non-humans– and cosmograms, according to science and
technology studies; the identification of the political with “the public”
and its problems, connected to Dewey and pragmatist philosophy;
the political as sovereignity, following Carl Schmitt; the Habermasian
political as communication among citizens (deliberative asemblies)
and, finally, the political as “seemingly apolitical” governmentality, as Everything /
studied by Foucault and diverse feminisms, among others. It seems nothing is
that “everything is political,” as Foucault deduces from the Schmittian political
definition of politics (based on the friend-enemy distinction), adding
in turn that if “nothing is political, everything can be politicized,
everything may become political” (Foucault and Senellart (ed.) 2004,
505). We are facing here an ambivalence that has opened a broad field
of discussion that would crystallize into post-foundational politics
(Rancière 1999; Marchart 2007; Deuber-Mankowsky 2008), which
recognizes the absence of transcendental truths in the basis of political
thought. In particular, Jacques Rancière (1999, 32) would echo the
Foucaldian assertion adding that, for something to be political, it
Global cities The relation between city and politics has always been present,
although they have been permanently reconfigured and retraced in
different times and spaces. Still today, we are witnessing a tendency
toward an increasing leading role of the cities as regional economic
motors and political centres. In fact, they are occasionally becoming
even more relevant than nation-states because of market deregulation
promoted by national governments, amidst other reasons (Jacobs
1985; Baird 2014, 121; Gelbke 2014, 167). After the rise of European
and American metropolis during the nineteenth and the early
twentieth centuries, a new term was coined to describe the new urban
phenomenon that consisted on bigger, stronger world-leading cities.
The notion of “global city” became popular after the Dutch-American
sociologist Saskia Sassen’s pivotal work on the issue (Sassen 1991;
2005). Already preceded by Patrick Geddes’ (1915, 46) understanding
of world cities as competing entities, global cities represent key
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nodes in world economy because of the concentration of business,
financial and cultural services. These cities are highly populated,
internationally recognized and interconnected through physical and
communicational infrastructures that facilitate flows of people and
information. Although Sassen (1991) initially assigned this status to
three specific cities –London, New York and Tokyo–, the list is much
longer today, including Paris, Hong Kong and many others.
In the late eighties, David Harvey (1989) detected a shift to what Urban
he calls “entrepeneurialism” as a new model of urban governance competitiveness
based on competitiveness among cities, including business and
market-oriented strategies. In this regard, we are recently attending
an outburst of reports and documents from several agencies and
institutions addressing this issue. Research groups and networks like
the Globalization and World Cities (GaWC) Research Network or
the consulting firm A.T. Kearney publish periodical rankings in which
cities are classified according to different parameters: business activity,
information exchange, personal well-being, cultural experience, etc.
If a city moves up or goes down on the list it means that its global
status has changed with respect to the last measurement. The tone
of this kind of reports is very variable depending on the publishing
institution or agency, using either a softer, socially-empowering
approach –such as The Competitiveness of Cities by UN-Habitat
(2013)– or directly remarking economic development and the
importance of private investment (The Economist Intelligence Unit
2012; Forum 2014).
As an example of the last category, the report named Hot spots:
Benchmarking Global City Competitiveness could be taken. It was
published in 2012 by the Economist Intelligence Unit (EIU) –an
independent branch of The Economist Group– and commissioned by
Citigroup, one of world’s leading multinational banking and financial
services corporation. Similarly to other documents of its kind, several
rankings of cities are elaborated in order to compare them and assess
their competitiveness according to different indicators. These are
(in order of importance): economic strength (30%), human capital
(15%), institutional effectiveness (15%), financial maturity (10%),
global appeal (10%), physical capital (10%), environment and natural
hazards (5%) and social and cultural character (5%) (The Economist
Intelligence Unit 2012, 35–36).
Iconic One can easily imagine the main objective of the report by taking
architecture, a look at its cover page, which illustrates it in a very graphic way.
power The image shows an unusual Formula One race, in which cars are
representation driven across a spherical track (the globe) by some of the highest-
ranked cities in terms of urban competitiveness: New York, London,
Singapore, Hong Kong and some others approximating from
backward positions. Interestingly, the “drivers” of the cars are depicted
as groups of iconic buildings, most of them skyscrapers located at the
financial cores of each one of the cities: New York is represented by
the Statue of Liberty and buildings such as the Empire State and the
Chrysler; London by the Big Ben, St. Paul’s cathedral and the City;
and Singapore and Hong Kong by their respective Central Business
Districts. Cities in the background are represented by skyscrapers as
well.
There are some details of the illustration that might call the
attention of the observer, and one of them is the presence of historic,
monumental buildings in the representations of New York and
London –the Statue of Liberty, St. Paul’s Cathedral and the Clock
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Tower–, while references to cultural heritage are almost non-existent
in the pictures of other cities. Even if the illustrator only pretended
to present a recognizable drawing of each one of them, we could
ask ourselves why historic monuments have been used to represent
the most competitive cities, which, besides, are Western. One could
argue that most of Asian cities that appear in the ranking –such as
Hong Kong and Singapore– do not have many representative historic
icons, as their development and transformation into “global cities”
are more recent. But it is not unreasonable to imagine that cities like
Buenos Aires (the first South American city that appears in the general
ranking), Cape Town or Nairobi (two of the very few African cities
in the document) would have been represented in a similar way, with
skyscrapers and central business districts. Besides, most of the built
heritage preserved in many of these cities was erected during colonial
periods, so their image is similar to Western representative buildings.
It seems that Western representational heritage works as an added
value: others are “less representative,” they do not mean anything to
the Western(ized) public –presumably most of editors and potential
readers–: they do not represent them, as they do not belong to their
space.
Another issue that comes to mind when analyzing the illustration
is that of iconic architecture as representation of power (in this
case, economic power). If economic forces have displaced politics as
the main structure ruling global relations, probably its spaces have
acquired more relevance than those of political and social function.
Corporate headquarters are the new icons of the city, extending the
influence of the twentieth-century skyscraper. In fact, the cover of the
EIU report does not show any parks, squares, streets or malls, which
have been usually considered to be spaces of community in urban
terms and the main elements that constitute the physical, “hard” layer
of public space.
In sum, the space of globalization is easily recognizable and
representable. The relevant constructions of CBDs, large-scale iconic
monuments and buildings and representative commercial spaces are
the spatial image of global capitalism; its representation of space –in
Lefebvrian terms– seems to have acquired universal dimensions.
This spatial scenario corresponds to the contemporary geopolitical
24 Fukuyama’s End of History (1992) is one of the most controversial works of the
late twentieth century. Following the steps of Kojève and Strauss, he concudes that the
“end of history” has arrived, understood as the implementation of a social homogenous
status. Derrida, in Specters of Marx (1994), criticizes the link between the end of history
and Judeo-Christian eschatology. However, for Sloterdijk (2010, 38–39), the book has
been misinterpreted in many aspects, since its ultimate goal is not to make an apology
for neoliberal democratic systems, but to recover a “political psychology on a basis of a
reestablished polarity of eros and thymos.”
25 Pardo (2011) illustrates the rupture between modern and ancient times with
the image –already used by Walter Benjamin– of the French revolutionaries in 1789,
who took the streets of Paris shooting all the clocks they found along the way. It was a
way of saying that times were changing, that a new era was beginning: to break with the
temporality of the old regime implied the possibility to carry out a true revolution. The
political dimension of the ancient wheel of time, which is made explicit in Hamlet, cannot
be restored after a break in the pact between rulers and gods in modern times (Pardo
Torío 2011, 365). Canetti (1978) also highlights the importance of the order of time for
the wielder of power: great leaders (like Julius Caesar, Christ or Napoleon) saw their
person as the central, ordering element of time, just as Chinese history is told through
imperial dynasties. Thus, “[a] civilization comes to an end when a people no longer takes
its own chronology seriously” (1978, 398).
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coined “post-truth,” which actually designs an emotional lie that
politicians and managers use to alter public opinion –even when their
speech have proven to be false.
Talking of a “post”-political situation, which would initially lead Post-politics
us to understand a temporal sequence, implies something more than
a moment of overcoming. Otxotorena develops the logic of “post” for
a space-temporality that confers to the last decades of the twentieth
century a sense of permanent controversy, marked by the symptomatic
proliferation of prefixes alluding to a future characterized by
remoteness instead of certainties. The list is quite extensive: post-
(Lyotard, Jameson), late- (Jencks), trans- (Rodríguez Magda), super-
(Augé and Starobinski), hyper- (Lipovetsky), ultra- (Todorov)... In the
words of Otxotorena (1992, 16), to use the “post-” prefix would imply
the existence of a past moment “and therefore failed, despite its own
initial expectations.” Thus, postmodernity is translated as the crisis of
modernity, this being understood as a change, a continuous transit
that has not yet reached its end. But leaving aside the genealogy of the
term –which may have arisen in the absence of a more adequate one–,
the post-political framework has been studied and articulated by some
contemporary authors and philosophers (such as Slavoj Žižek, Jacques
Rancière or Alain Badiou). Within it, opposition and difference are
totally obliterated in such a way that the forms of power have ceased
to be properly political. Within a post-political logic, capitalism and
market economy structure the social and economic order, apparently
without possible alternative systems. The forms of government are
structured around a false consensus which conceals any form of
difference or discrepancy. In this way, it is possible to undermine the
basis of any political system, since politics generates and deals with
conflict, but never does it attempt to elliminate it. Mouffe (2007,
4) also recalls that the political is always linked to issues that require
a choice between conflicting alternatives, and cannot be reduced
to technical issues to be solved by experts (Said 1983, 136).26 The
26 This conception is close to the agonistic vision of politics that share Mouffe and
Laclau, which lies in the impossibility of finding hegemonic systems that work perpetually;
on the contrary, there is a struggle between opposing hegemonic projects that can never
be rationally reconciled. “Contrary to the various liberal models, the agonistic approach
that I am advocating recognizes that society is always politically instituted and never forgets
that the terrain in which hegemonic interventions take place is always the outcome of
previous hegemonic practices and that it is never an neutral one” (Mouffe 2007). It situates
conflict as an alternative to a violent resolution of it.
27 Hannah Arendt, among other authors, had somehow anticipated the advent
of the post-political, having stated that “(...) we cannot help calming our concern when
we have to conclude that, in mass democracies, both the impotence of people and the
process of consumption and oblivion have surreptitiously imposed themselves, without
terror and even spontaneously -although such phenomena are limited in the free world,
where terror does not prevail in the political in the narrower sense and in the economic
realm” (Arendt 1993, 15).
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play area for children, consisting of a series of entertainments beneath
the trees of Pollok Park in Glasgow. Demonstrators protested over
the usurpation and economic exploitation of a public space by a
private company, but they were ignored in the official channels of
political management. According to Padisson, the main reason for this
exclusion lies in the fact that the demand of the citizens run counter
to the interests of the local government. However, rulers wanted to
justify that citizen participation had been conducted throughout the
process. Thus, the Glasgow Parks and Leisure department launched
a survey in 2005 to consult citizens which problems were affecting
urban green areas in their opinion and what they proposed to solve
them. The unanimous response was the demand for an improvement
of leisure facilities in parks. Nonetheless, how they should be
improved and under what conditions was not open to public inquiry.
Facing this deliberate silence, authorities decided that the best solution
was to leave the problem in the hands of a private company. In theory,
politicians were acting according to what citizens wanted, but they
did not let them choose how to transform their public space. This
consensus is rather dubious because of the strategies through which
it has been established: while protest generates confrontation, the
survey represents consensus, thus being much more characteristic of
post-political government logic: “Limiting participation to relatively
superficial forms of democratic engagement avoids conflict problems”
(Paddison 2010, 24). The art historian Rosalyn Deutsche (2008, 11–
12) uses the case of a small square (Jackson Park in Greenwich Village,
Manhattan) to illustrate how public space is basically a property from
a neoliberal point of view, when an association linked to the park
closes its gates to prevent homeless people from wandering around.
Thus, the post-political manifests itself spatially, also from its Dissolution
origins, which are usually situated in the fall of the Berlin Wall; of conflict
a fact that would forever change global geopolitical space. This
spatial reorganization is the expression of the dissolution of conflict
between the two great blocs (the Western-capitalist and the Eastern-
communist) and the beginning of an era in which politics is marked
by global consensus. With the fall of the wall, the rest of the world
opened its doors to capitalism. But the great change at a global scale is
not limited to a major crisis between two parts, but revealed through
a multitude of minor-scale crises and transformations around the
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postdemocratic trends will enjoy a long life. They create the preconditions with
which democratically elected leaders can get away with presenting themselves
as commanders in chief. If political thinking limits itself to advising the
commander in chief, concepts such as democracy and independent judiciary
cultures are only chips in a strategic game. (Sloterdijk 2010, 219)
28 [T.A.]
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misunderstandings are usually rooted in the linear character of the
narratives of modernity, as Doreen Massey suggests:
Central to the history of modernity, for example, has been a translation of
spatial heterogeneity into temporal sequence. Different places are interpreted as
occupying different stages in a single temporal sequence in the various stories of
unilinear progress that define the West against the rest (such as modernization or
development). (Massey 2005, 229)
To Massey, this means that the approach to the global as a closed Westernization
space inserted within a linear temporality and oriented towards
progress implies that some countries or regions are more developed or
“advanced” –it is important to remark the temporal connotation of
the term– than others: “Western Europe is ‘advanced’, other parts of
the world ‘some way behind’, yet others are ‘backward’. ‘Africa’ is not
different from Western Europe, it is just behind” (Massey 2005, 68).
From this point of view, all groups and processes would tend to follow
the same line, the line of progress traced by Western societies. This
Western-centric approach, related to a colonial discourse, obliterates
difference and dismisses other narratives of space and time. Besides,
it is usually overseen that a half of the half of the world who lives in
cities, do not live in world, global or mega cities. (Cuthbert 2011,
252)
Facing this multiple and contradictory scene, some key aspects
can be extracted to include difference within the narratives of the
global city. Instead of studying them as competitive entities, they Urban
could be approached again as singular ones, with specific and unique fragments
characteristics despite the influence of global factors and relations.
Even when the city as a unit is seriously contested (Saunders 2005, 29;
Cuthbert 2011, 227) and the limitations of the city as a concept have
to be recognized, urban space offers a diversity of situations likely to
be approached without falling into the dialectical traps of local/global,
flat/spiky. Specifically, the urban fragment appears as a methodological
unit that is open to difference and singularity at the same time, being
part of a wider constellation of fragments that is not to be understood
from a global, homogeneous perspective. The solid research work on
the urban fragment, constructed by authors such as Rowe (1978),
Oswald M. Ungers and Rem Koolhaas (Aureli 2011; Hertweck and
Marot (eds.) 2013), Shane (2011) or Viganò (2012), facilitates the
The public is the neurotized “double,” the bad conscience of the private
individual. (Duque 2001, 107)
The world Going back once again to the form of the world and the images
as a sphere that we use to locate ourselves in it, the figure of the sphere seems
to be the most accurate, in principle, to represent our space or, at
least, the most usual. The world has not always been a sphere, except
for a few erudites who anticipated its cosmic shape much before
it was demonstrated with the Magellan-Elcano circumnavigation
and confirmed with the first pictures of the Earth from space in the
twentieth century. The perfection and regularity of the sphere make it
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especially significant as a system of reference: as Félix Duque (2001,
39) notes, it has neither beginning nor end; neither top nor bottom;
neither right nor left. If anything, it has an interior. Not only Duque
justifies the pertinence of this figure as the image of modernity, but
others like Peter Sloterdijk associate modern space with the sphere, or
rather a multiplicity of spheres that, coexisting and composed by other
spheres, recreate our spatial belonging to a primeval cavern or womb:
we live (with)in couples, families, homes, groups, cities, societies,
environments… which constitute different –though not necessarily
independent– spheres.
Ultimately, the word “sphere” is used to designate certain domains
or realms; hence, we talk of a social sphere, of atmospheres, spheres of
action, influence or interest, a domestic sphere, a sensory sphere, and
even a public sphere. In particular, this last idiom was popularized by
Jürgen Habermas and his contributions on the public (1974; 1991).
In his original works, however, the German Öffentlichkeit does not
have the geometric connotations of the English (or Spanish) term.
Nonetheless, Öffentlichkeit defines the specific, enclosed domain
of publicness that ressembles the Arendtian “common world” that
“gathers us together and yet prevents our falling over each other”
(Arendt 1998, 52).
The urban /
The reason why urban space is not a mere background or
the public
scenography for social activity responds, to a great extent, to its
identification with this public sphere –at least in Western societies; to
the point that “urban space” and “public space” are usually mixed up,
blurred, not clear or taken for granted without further questioning.
Manuel Delgado finds other more accurate concepts to describe this
particular type of space: social, common, shared, collective or even
urban space “as a differentiated space-time for reunion, which registers
a generalized and constant exchange of information and which is
articulated through mobility” (Delgado Ruiz and Malet 2007).29 Even
if we will focus on public space under its urban meaning, it is worth
exploring the relationship between the urban and the public, which
have traditionally forged the negative form of the city.
29 [T.A.]
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authors like Elias Canetti (1978) have studied–, the address of public
speech is both personal and impersonal. Discourse plays a very
importante role in the constitution of a public, since Warner (2002b,
99) also considers it to be “the social space created by the reflexive
circulation of discourse.” Similarly, Manuel Delgado (2011, 35)
defines the public as a “collective character.” Following Habermas,
Reinhart Koselleck, John Dewey and Gabriel Tarde, Delgado
segregates the public from the crowd (the rabble, the multitude): the Public vs. crowd
public, as the main community in democratic societies, is constituted
by means of a spiritual link; it is comparable to the spectators of
an auditorium, reflexive, critical and rational. Meanwhile, the
multitude is constituted through the agglomeration of physical
bodies, fussionated as a single one: from the nineteenth century
on –a period in which revolts and insurgency were common–, the
crowd has been described as “infantile, criminal, bestial, primitive,
histerical –that is, feminine [!], even diabolic” (Delgado Ruiz 2011,
35). According to the Spanish anthropologist, the mission of a “public Phantom
sphere” remains the same: to make the “dangerous” classes and groups public sphere
(slaves, workers…) think themselves as citizens forming part of an
“inter-class confraternity” (2011, 38). Thus, this emergent “public
space” is an imposed element by (Western bourgeois) citizenism, in
which the apparent preponderance of values such as peace, tolerance
or sustainability serves to create an intimidatory atmosphere, in
which dissident or marginal groups (homeless people, prostitutes,
immigrants…) are automatically repressed. In this regard, Rosalyn
Deutsche recalls Bruce Robbin’s The Phantom Public Sphere (1990),
in which he argues that public sphere is a phantom because of
the misleading and oppressive meaning in which the social ideal
“public” is founded: “The ideal of a non-coercive consensus that is
reached through reason is an illusion that is maintained through the
repression of differences and particularities” (Deutsche 2008, 53).
The quotations opening this section can be compared in the light of
this contradiction: in the end, public space is a spectral illusion, the
unattainable ideal of the democratic-individualistic society.30
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The critical theorist Nancy Fraser brought to the fore the idea of
a counterpublic in an article in 1990 by criticizing Habermas’s
assumptions about the public sphere. Against an idealized, equalizing
vision of the public in which differences should be set aside fro
the sake of a rational debate, Fraser (1990, 64) denounces the
impossibility of overlooking difference within the public: “such
bracketing usually works to the advantage of dominant groups in
society and to the disadvantage of subordinates.” Thus, she proposes
to name as “subaltern counterpublics” those groups that have been
traditionally left outside the normative public: women, workers,
peoples of color, homosexuals or even children and elderly people,
since their capacities would be not recognized or needed within the
public arena. Recognizing a counterpublic as a reverse public dignifies
these collectives, since they represent a group with common interests
–as the dominant public does– without accepting its totalitarian
discourse –you are either in or out.
In addition to Fraser, several scholars and writers have remarked
some of the problems that a public sphere rooted in an illustrated
bourgeoisie poses. For instance, Alexander Kluge and Oskar Negt
(1993) formulate the doubling of the public sphere through the pair
bourgeois-proletarian, being the proletarian public sphere a historical
counterconcept to the bourgeois one. However, the authors unveil
the integrative mechanisms of the bourgeois public sphere that make
possible its ubiquity, its hegemony beyond any disruptive counter-
sphere and the exclusion of other forces and counterpublics –in this
case, the proletariat as a parallel phenomenon to the emergence of the
bourgeoisie and the industrial city.
Today, talking of public space entails talking of the urban: both Polis vs. oîkos
social life and urban form can be understood as representational
elements of a city. Despite the contemporary generalization of this
identification, its roots are deeply embedded in Western culture, even
when it has not been always that evident. The most obvious starting
point to understand this pairing seems to be the classical distinction
between private and public, where the latter corresponded to the
space of the polis and the former to the domestic realm, oîkos. Hannah
Arendt (1993; 1998) devoted part of her work to the study of this
division stemming from Ancient Greece and, in a way, spatializing this
32 Different from das Publikum, constituted by people who “have not achieved the
Enlightment” (Jarzombek 2014, 71)
206 [DE]CENTERING
2014, 69). The capacity described in the second maxim, that is, being
able of become the other for a moment, suppressing self-hood and
having a “disinterested interest in the life of other people” (Jarzombek
2014, 73) is, according to Jarzombek, what clashes with the notion of
the public that, with the influence of Hegel, was generalized through
the emergence of European nation-states. The need of a stable public
within the sovereign state was not compatible with the Kantian
enlightened society, something that finds continuity in Delgado’s
arguments in El Espacio Público como Ideología (2011): “Kant (…)
wants us to do much more than just ‘express ourselves’” (Jarzombek
2014, 75), but to be able to surpass the barrier between me and the
others. As idealistic it may sound, this adds an interesting question
for a critique of contemporary public space: it should be more than a
space for mere communication and observation, and even more than
a space defined by conlict and confrontation, as it will be argued later.
Public space necessarily includes its Kantian spectre, in which the
individual has to go out of him or herself in order to become the other
for a while.
Still, the idea of the public that Kant evoked is far from becoming
possible and adopted in contemporary societies. Jarzombek finishes
his chapter with a description of an imaginary Kantian city:
First, it would be a city without houses. A house would be the symbolic locus of
“family” and there are no “families,” so no houses. It would probably be a city
of apartments. One could envision any number of scenarios from linear cities
to sprawling field cities to smaller more irregular towns. At regular frequencies
in the city there would have to be meeting and seminar rooms, and places
where people can visit and talk. A university as such would be too top heavy for
Kant; there would be instead a loose infrastructure of exchange-and-learning
centers and community colleges. The city would also have a good deal of glass,
both transparent and reflective, for in the Kantian world there is no mandate
for private intimacy as it is conventionally understood today, namely as an area
outside the jurisdictional gaze of the State. “Private space” as it conventionally
might be called would be needed, but only as places to get away and think about
things. (…)
There would also be no professions in the modern sense. And that means there
would be no architect professionals. As to how the city would get built, the
closest model today that might work for Kant would be “design-build” where
clients and architects work together to solve problems. But if everything were
design-build, there would be no progress, no conceptual jump into a better
world that is so critical to the Kantian Enlightenment project. We would just
have a continual repetition of the same. The genius, or several of them, would
be required, meaning that the city would have an occasional building by Frank
Gehry or Le Corbusier. We would study these buildings and appreciate them
just like the other great works of art that make up the history of civilization. The
city would even have an assortment of memorial statues dedicated not to our
politicians, but to these artistic geniuses as inspiration for those who think that
they can be the next genius.
The cities that emerged in the wake of modern and industrial states
had little to do with this ideal urban space that Kant would have
imagined. In fact, the initial, modern public space of the citizens did
not ressemble this neutral, egalitarian space of the sensus communis at
all. The hypothetical transparent space for exchange and learning was
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substituted by assemblies, parliaments and later, in a smaller scale, by
cafés and clubs where male bourgeois citizens discussed and created
public opinion, far from the irrational working-class crowds and
other secondary sectors of the population such as slaves and women.
Only exceptionally, figures such as Olympe de Gouges,33 Madame
de Staël or Olaudah Equiano were able to capture the attention of
society by addressing subjects of public concern through their writings
and actions. Being included in this public sphere, ruled by strict
communication and social codes, was not an easy task for people
like them, who did not share the characteristics of a mainly white,
bourgeois, male audience. This was the social situation that Habermas
took as the origin of the modern public sphere that, as it has been
stated before, has been strongly criticized from different positions.
At the urban level, the way in which open city space was organized
and designed at that time was also highly hierarchical and codified,
following the logic of public separation and scientific progress. Shane
(2011), following Françoise Choay, argues that the scientific urbanism
developed by Ildefonso Cerdà, which became a paradigmatic reference
in modern city planning, was deeply influenced by the ideas of Leon
Battista Alberti and Thomas More. Alberti proposed that “[t]he public
space of the city was controlled by the new science of perspective,
and each building had a place in the visual hierarchy of the city
corresponding to the social station of its owner” (Shane 2013, 85).
It was more a bottom-up strategy, designing types through scientific,
structured and combinatorial codes of diverse elements. Meanwhile,
More’s model was more static, top-down organized, but much more
critical towards the social order, staged on the city of London and its
poor conditions. “Public space was, in his vision, sacred space, an idea
descended from classical ideals about the Greek agora and Roman
forum” (Shane 2013, 85). The influence of these models, however,
would gradually disappear with the emergence of a new vision of
urban space as social, relational space, as it will be explored in further
chapters.
34 Mostly from the fields of literature and composition studies (Farmer 2013).
210 [DE]CENTERING
26
27
Public space Last, the authors detect a third narrative which consists on public
and conflict space as a space of dispute and conflict. We have already mentioned
the positions of several authors who, despite the differences between
them, may fit in this category: Habermas’ critics, such as Fraser,
Negt, Kluge, Deustche, etc., but also other authors like Lefebvre
(1967), De Certeau (1984),Mitchell (2003) Massey (2005), or those
who, like Chantal Mouffe (2007), hold an agonistic perspective
of public space.36 Thus, this position argues for “the reaffirmation
of identities, the reversion of inequalities and the preservation of
differences”(Berroeta Torres and Vidal Moranta 2012, 13). Getting rid
of an idealized, soft conception of public space, these authors situate
difference and conflict at its core, which can only be constituted by
appropriation, based on Lefebvre’s right to the city. In this regard, a
space becomes public precisely when people wants it to be public and
reclaims it.37
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Despite their differences, these three perspectives recognize
the disjunction between an “ideal” public space –understood as a
collective space for expression, exchange and confrontation– and
reality. There is, indeed, a gap between a healthy, diverse, open
public space and its pseudo-public, hypercodified substitute that is
often identified with open urban space. However, it would be too
pessimistic to talk of a failure of public space, considering that, as
space, it is in permanent construction and it should not be predefined
as if it were subject to a linear process with an expected result. Instead,
it would be necessary to react against both the narrative of loss and
the dominating conception of a soft public space, which limit the
possibility of an inclusive urban space where conflict can be shown
and managed. Would this shift entail the emergence of a public space
of counter-spaces?
space. This private and privileged space had inherent in it, from its beginning, the seeds
of public space: the fact of its existence provoked desire, its privacy functioned as a taunt
to the public that felt left out. Once that space has been taken over by force and made
public, it has inherent in it, in turn, the seeds of private place, the seeds of a redefined and
reinhabited privacy: the public that takes it over is working its way up to the royalty or the
presidency or the corporate office. Private space becomes public when the public wants it;
public space becomes private when the public that has it won’t give it up” (Acconci 1990,
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Images.
01 Bruno Barbey. “Paris, 11th arrondissement. Worker and student demonstration from
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03 René Descartes. “Aether vortex around suns and planets.” Source: Principiorum
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221
21 Richard Florida. Urban areas population graphic, 2005. Source: Richard Florida, “The
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Source: NSW Art Gallery.
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27 London’s privately owned public space, 2017. Source: Guardian Cities, Greenspace
Information for Greater London CIC (GiGL).
222 [DE]CENTERING
223
(RE)PLACING (or how the Western notion of space is
challenged through social practice in urban places)
The conquest of space by the project implies its rendering as omni-measurable,
its subdivision, and hence its conception as quantitatively calculable and
manipulable. The conquest of space is the liquidation of the place as a collection
of things, as a mutual belonging of things and dwelling. The conquest of space
is the plundering of places: it conceives of space as a void to fill, a pure absence,
a lack. Space is mere potentiality at the disposal of the technico-scientific
project. To the Architekt belongs precisely this conception of space: space is pure
void to be measured-delimited, void in which to pro-duce his new forms. It is
hence necessary, for this pro-ducing, to empty space of places-a radical Ent-
ortung of space. Making-space here becomes liquidating-nullifying, making-
void, “displacing”, rather than giving-places. For this producing, the void is
nothingness. But in this same notion of the void (die Leere) we do not hear
nothingness, but rather das Lesen, the collection, “in the original sense of the
collection that dominates the place.” To empty is, then, to prepare a place, to
grant a place, to collect in a place. (Cacciari 1993, 167–68)
Until now, the relation between space and place has deliberately been Space and
omitted. Much has been said about this complex nexus, which does place
not belong to the main framework of the research. Therefore, instead
of delving into the exhausted dialectical tension between a mainly
abstract, generic dimension and its concrete counterpart –already
studied by Swyngedouw (Swyngedouw 1989),1 Lefebvre (1991),
Entrikin (1991), Merrifield (1993), Tuan (2001), Massey (2005), Löw
(2008), Shinohara (2011) and many other authors–, the question will
be posed regarding the nature of the first movement that now starts.
If the metropolis followed a logic of “radical uprooting” that
annihilates the possibility of dwelling (Cacciari 1993, 199), place
(different from “fragment”) appears as the space that we inhabit and
frequent, if we understand “place” as the qualification of space, related
to daily life and habits. Therefore, it has connotations of belonging
225
and appropriation by people and things located in it: somehow, we
feel we belong to certain places, or they belong to us, to our lives.2
The verb “to place” has a more or less univocal signification.
Originally derived from the ancient Greek term plateîa (shortening
of πɉȽɒɂȽ Ɂɟɑ, “broad way”) and the Latin platea (“wide street,”
“public square”), it means to situate, to locate something (locare,
to concede a locus) in a specific settlement, usually within space.3
However, “to replace” has a double meaning which sheds some light
over the relation between place and space. The first sense designates
the action of restoration to a previous position, whereas the second
means to occupy or fill this position with something else. Both
movements are described by a single term that always entails a new
action of placing. In the end, constituting space is a continuous act
of placing and replacing: not only people and living entities and
social goods, as Löw (2008, 38) remarks, but also trajectories, habits,
structures, ideas… which also configure and belong within space.
However, as she points out:
[Places] do not disappear with the objects. They remain available for occupation
by others. (…) Places come into being through situating, but they are not
identical with situating, since places continue to exist for a certain time even
without the situated, or merely through the symbolic effect of the situating. The
constitution of space therefore systematically generates places, just as places are
prerequisite to the coming into being of space. (Löw 2008, 42)
226 [RE]PLACING
01 02 03
During a lecture at the UIC School of Architecture in Chicago, the Grids, labyrinths
architect and writer Emmanuel Petit (2014) explored the transition and loops
between different spatial (political) models throughout the twentieth
and twenty-first centuries. Petit argues that the expansive, scientific,
revolutionary space of the grid that characterized the first part of the
twentieth century was succeeded by the post-modern, evolutionary
space of the labyrinth, with no interior or exterior, embodying
values of democracy and freedom. However, he notices that, today,
the dominant spatial paradigm is oriented towards the interior by
means of centripetal spaces and constructions such as loops, orbits or
spirals, as a reversal of the former models. The transition between the
two last models has much to do with the relation between interior
and exterior: while the spaces of Modernity and Postmodernity
are expansive, and therefore eschew the possibility of an inside,
contemporary space tends to the construction of this inside, protected
from the external world, in the form of loops, vortexes or capsules.
To illustrate such an argument, the lecturer connects a series of
images of contemporary constructions (museums, headquarters,
public buildings, art installations…) that follow these formal involute
patterns in which space gravitates attracted by an internal core. Since
Petit suggests that this shift in the spatial paradigm is related to the
influence and proliferation of global media environments, it seems
that we are returning to the idea of a privileged interior (condensed in
this kind of “spatial terminals”) that resists against the extensive and
mutable exterior realm of the city.
228 [RE]PLACING
Wallenstein (2009) or Lahiji (2014)–, space is no longer regarded as a
passive, indifferent milieu. Rather, it starts to be conceived as an active
element that can be –intentionally or subconsciously– transformed,
arranged and manipulated not only to produce sensations and
meanings, but also to embody the socio-political project of modernist
architecture during the first decades of the twentieth century for an
egalitarian, progressive society.
However, the project of Modernity started to show severe Exhaustion
symptoms of exhaustion during the second half of the past century, of Modernity
leading to a deep crisis of modern rationality. Jean-Louis Genard
(2008, 96) situates a relevant precedent of this reaction in the critique
of the imaginary order of reason on behalf of Heidegger and Adorno,
who would speak respectively of a “technical” and an “instrumental”
modern rationality, to which the problematic categories of
“standardization, functionalism, specialization” and many others are
ascribed. These questions were particularly challenging for architecture
and urbanism, directly embedded in the capitalist production system
and the functionalist logic. In this context, a new wave of criticism
emerged, giving rise to an important disciplinary crisis with multiple
positions. Interestingly, Charles Jencks (1984) situates the starting
point of this impasse in the “negative event” –as Petit (2013, 13)
describes it– of the demolition of Minoru Yamasaki’s Pruitt-Igoe
residential complex in Saint Louis, Missouri in 1972.5 The fall of
the social housing towers represented the decadence of the modern
project and the inability of its architecture to reflect and improve the
conditions of real life.
Genard (2008, 96–100) distinguishes two narratives that stem Narration
from this crisis of reason in architectural circles. On the one hand, of loss
some authors like Alberto Pérez-Gómez, Christian Norberg-Schulz or
Marc Augé adopted a “retrospective narration of loss” which aims at
situating the capacity to make sense on something other than reason,
be it “tradition (...) the vernacular, regionalism, the body, the affect,
sensibility, the genius loci, the context of course and the historicist
5 The architect also built Manhattan’s WTC twin towers, which collapsed after
the terrorist attack in 2001. From that moment on, the “era of self-reflective irony in
architecture” that had begun with the demolition of another Yamasaki’s work came to an
end, as Petit (2013, 13) sharply points out.
230 [RE]PLACING
Jacques Derrida or Michel Foucault in the following generations of
philosophers and thinkers contributed to the return of space as a
principal subject of study, which largely exceeds the constraints of
construction and geometry.
During and after this spatial turn, architecture as a discipline Loss of primacy
has experienced how one of its main instruments has become a over space
transversal, recurrent element of contemporary thought, this fact
implying a certain and progressive “loss” of primacy of architecture
over it, as it has been previously argued. In this regard, architecture
remains decentered, seemingly having lost one of its constitutive
elements. In fact, there is a wide diversity of positions concerning this
issue. For instance, Rem Koolhaas (2002) coined the term junkspace Junkspace,
to qualify the excessive, all-pervasive remnant of modern space that architecture
spreads across the cities, mallifying them by means of fake experiences as envelope
and simulacra in a time of consumption and homogeneity. Six years
later, Zaera-Polo (2008) explored the potential of the envelope and
its capacity for separating and regulating spaces as means for political
expression, always embedded within the physical dimension of
building; a membrane-like architecture that seems to be inspired
by Sloterdijk’s Sphären. Like Petit’s loops, all these impressions of
contemporary space and architecture offer a general prospect of a field
dominated by spectacular, performing thresholds that encapsulate
immersive interiors, isolated from what remains outside.
It has already been proposed that the contemporary, global notion
of space is broadly influenced by the neutral, abstract and omnipresent
space that science and colonization processes generalized before and
during the Enlightenment. This notion was largely embraced by
modern architects during the first decades of the twentieth century,
once freed from the constraints of Euclidean geometric space.6 If
in the sixties Aldo van Eyck (Smithson (ed.) 1962, 600) already
6 Still, the geometric structure through which we perceive reality is resistant and
cannot be dismissed easily: “Have you noticed that geometric figures cannot be visualized
except in a void? This characteristic is essential for understanding Euclidean space. It is
not all nature, it is an abstraction, an imaginative invention. For 2500 years, the concept
has conditioned our thinking so much that we are virtually forced to live in cubes and
rectangles: square rooms and houses, parallel streets. We cannot be comfortable with a
circle in architecture unless we have squared it” (McLuhan and Powers 1989, 133). [T.A.]
232 [RE]PLACING
avant-gardes.7 However, this generalized vision would change during
the last decades of the twentieth century, when the spatial turn in
social sciences and the crisis of modern urbanism transformed the
conception of space and the ways of exploring it.
The very idea of articulating space and its other may well be Duality and
understood in a context of concern for dualities, division and non-identity
non-identity, which Emmanuel Petit (2014) reads as foundational
features of postmodern architecture.8 He finds a paradigmatic image
of this aspect in Steinberg’s cartoon of a dreaming cube, where the
discrepancy between the actual volume and the “metaphysical”
hexahedron is displayed.9 Besides, Petit traces the constitutive
character of non-identity with regard to the philosophies of paradox
and irony back to the aporetic thought of Zeno or Kierkegaard’s
two visions of life in Enten-Eller (“Either/Or”). The genealogy of
this maximum tension between opposites and doubles is extremely
complex and vast, and could be extended to other works and
figures such as Dostoyevsky’s disturbing novel The Double (1846)
on the self-destructive impulses in the search for identity, or in
the phantasmagoric, legendary image of the Doppelgänger. Also in
painting it is possible to find a large number of examples in which the
double, the reverse or the inverse are explored, either in a conventional
way (symmetries, copies, engravings…) or through very particular
expressions, such as the trompe-l’oeils of reverted framed paintings
by the Flemish Cornelis Norbertus Gijsbrechts in the seventeenth
century, or the imperfect symmetries in the klecksographies of
the German poet and physician Justinus Kerner in the nineteenth
century, that curiously would be later used by some psychologists
–like Hermann Rorschach– as a tool for studying the subconscious
dimension of the human mind. More recently, we can find examples
of reflections on identity and difference in the sculptural work of the
7 See the section Negative avant-gardes. Interactions in space, negativity and politics.
8 But not limited to it… Adorno (2002) already pointed out that any work (of
art) is always reified, since its materiality places it in “a position of non-identity with regard
to itself” (Aguirre 2014, 209).
9 The capacity of Saul Steinberg to play with meaning and representation has
raised the admiration and interest of several authors and thinkers such as Roland Barthes
(2001) or E.H. Gombrich (1983).
07 08 09
10 11 12
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Turner prize winner Rachel Whiteread, whose work deals with the
materialization of the void within and around objects through the use
of casts and diverse materials and the expression of absence through
imaginary realties, such as in her Nameless Library (2000) in the
Viennese Judenplatz. We could also cite –although the list would be
endless– Descombes’ Le même et l’autre (1988), written in 1979, and
its doubled title page, which are playfully distinguished by the author
with an interesting inscription showing the intrinsic otherness within
the identical, and thus unveiling the content and the main topic of
the book.10
Going back to architecture, double constructions such as Stanley Post-modern
Tigerman’s Little House in the Clouds (1976), John Hejduk’s Crossover doubles
House, the development of Eisenman’s cubic houses, Eduardo
Chillida’s Poet’s House (1980) or the more radical image of OMA’s
floating swimming pool (Koolhaas 1994, 307–10) which moves
when one swims towards the opposite direction that one wants to
reach, represent the postmodern insertion in this lineage of duplicity
and tension between the self and its other. Also Oswald M. Ungers
proposed a series of projects that explored the notion of duality
and non-identity, like in his project for a double house in Berlin-
Spandau (1977, in collaboration with Hans Kollhoff) or the “absent
column” built at the first Venice Architecture Biennale in 1980.
This last reference could be compared to the Hegelian description
of the pillar (Hegel 1975, 666), which takes its shape from without
itself, negatively, in opposition to the space it configures. Indeed,
we could recognize, with Daniel Berthold-Bond (1989, 79–80),
a possible translation from Hegelian negativity as motor to the
interplay of positive and negative spaces, being the latter more than
“sheer absence,” but rather the “other” that makes the positive figure
intelligible.
It seems that this series of unchained images and ideas provide an
interesting framework in which Peterson’s dyad of space and anti-
space may be inserted, and such connections have been revisited and
10 “This page reproduces the previous one. Other, it is the same. But to prevent
the reader from not taking into account this second page, attributing it for example to a
binding error, I had to write this warning, which does not appear on the first page. To be
the same, it must be other” (Descombes 1988). [T.A.]
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“figure-ground” method. Drawing techniques have been essential for
architectural activity and, in this regard, the use of poché (generalized
by the Parisian Beaux-Art’s School system and used by architects and
urbanists such as Auguste Perret or Camillo Sitte to explore and show
spatial relations) used to be determinant in architectural compositions,
in which “full” and “empty” space were separated. Obliterated during
the first decades of the twentieth century, interest in this technique
was recovered by scholars and architects such as Louis Kahn, Colin
Rowe or Alan Colquhoun (Castellanos Gómez 2010, 171). Peterson
was aware of Kahn’s interest in the plans of the Scottish castles14 that
he shows in his article, and in the possibilities that the thick wall offers
for different uses and configurations (Lucan 2007, 42).
Robert Venturi (1977) would use the term, distinguishing between Open / closed
open and closed pochés, giving it a more “spatial” meaning and pochés
elaborating a critique on the modern paradigm of continuity and
flowing space that obliterates the distinction between interior and
exterior. Rather, he would focus on the contradiction and tension
between openness and closeness, following a disruptive both/and
instead of an either/or logic: differentiating as well as relating. Venturi
finds the treatment of leftover, residual spaces to be the gradating
element between this openness and closeness, which at the same time
configure the main, central space through “contrast and even conflict”
(1977, 82). Thus, the poché appears as something more than a graphic
tool or a figure-ground distinction to determine the form of the
built fabric, but it is also a means to explore and articulate its spatial
characteristics in an integral way.15
The impact of the ideas of Colin Rowe on Peterson’s work is
evident, and the topic of urban solid and void (and their inversion) is
also present in the master’s writings. In Collage City (1978), together
with his colleague Fred Koetter, Rowe observes the inversion of the
14 Jacques Lucan (2007, 42) also extracts this idea from Denise Scott-Brown
(1984), “A worm’s eye view of recent architectural history,” Architectural Record, february
1984.
15 There are several contemporary texts reflecting on the implications and
possibilities of the poché as a representational tool. We would highlight the studies of
Jacques Lucan (2007; 2012), Raúl Castellanos-Gómez (2010), Chiara Toscani (2011) or
Michael Hebbert (2016)
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17 18 19
separated from each other. In practice, Rowe and some of his former Figure / ground
students used this technique for their proposal in Roma Interrotta
(1978), the competition organized by the American architect Michael
Graves which reinvented Nolli’s figure-ground Rome plan16 through
the intervention of different architects and urbanists in separate
fragments. Contrary to other proposals, such as that of James Stirling,
whose proposal is fully integrated within the abstract, neutral space
of modernity, Rowe and his colleagues recover the density and texture
of the ancient capital, recovering the importance of streets and open
spaces from a French-nineteenth century perspective (Chimacoff, in
Graves (ed.) 1979).
Even before writing the article on space and anti-space, Peterson
explored –somehow unconsciously– these notions in his own projects.
The clearest example is the proposal he presented together with
Barbara Littenberg (his partner and also pupil of Rowe) and David
Cohn for the international competition for the transformation of Les
Halles in Paris that took place in 1979. The reversal of the traditional
walled town, situating the most active elements outside, embedded
in a “public wall”(Peterson 1980b) that works as a precinct of the
inner free, green space.17 The complex, articulated by means of
16 The most interesting feature of Nolli’s plan is the qualification of private and
public spaces, but also the recognition of the semi-public condition of some buildings, such
as churches, basílicas and other major pieces using fill and void patterns. Rowe, Sartogo
and other architects participating in the competition acknowledge and make their own
interpretations of this technique in a varying degree.
17 Another coincidence between Peterson and Venturi is the conception of the
Wall as an “architectural event” (Venturi 1977, 86), which creates space and configures
architecture.
Leftover spaces.
The contemporary notion of space seems to be far from radical
dualities and either/ors, as it is more a hybrid concept which does not
respond to such antagonisms: we are inhabiting a relational, hyper-
connected space where the encapsulated interior and the entropic
exterior are relative, to the point that Koolhaas’ junkspace—a sort
of anti-spatial space—has become our ordinary milieu. Thus, an
architecture that aims at recovering its sense of space is confronting a
much more complex scenario than that after the failure of the modern
project.
Nonetheless, Peterson’s text still offers evocative images that
certainly open new paths to rethinking the relation between
architecture and space. It is again in the work of Soane where he
detects a specific kind of space that acts as the counterpart of the
geometrical, contoured space of architecture. This negative space
(or derivative space, as he names it in the interview) is “the specific
design of a physical solid to solely serve the formation of space, both
inside and outside itself. It is a condition of multiple appearances,
looking solid and being empty” (Peterson 1980a, 101). In such
manner, John Soane’s appropriation of the space within the wall of the
drawing room of his house represents a clear example of this tactic.
This “condition of appearance” renders negative space extraordinarily
contemporary, since it brings together the real and the possible.
Residual space Going back to the initial idea and the controversial dominant
spatial model of our times, in which interior appears again as a
privileged realm, it is possible to revisit these notions in the light
of negativity and the possibility of a counterspace. With regard to
the existence of alternative, interstitial spaces which remain open to
innovative actions, it seems that acknowledging and embracing the
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20 21
18 To illustrate his argument, Žižek clarifies: “(…) inside and outside never cover
the entire space: there is always an excess of a third space which gets lost in the division
into outside and inside. In human dwellings, there is an intermediate space which is
disavowed: we all know it exists, but we do not really accept its existence – it remains
ignored and (mostly) unsayable. The main content of this invisible space is of course
excrement (in the plumbing and sewers), but it also includes the complex network of
electricity supplies, digital links, etc. – all contained in the narrow spaces between walls or
under floors” (Žižek 2010, 259–60).
19 The author uses the paradigmatic example of the slum as a place “whose
existence is not part of [the city’s] ‘ideal-ego,’ which are disjoined from its idealized image
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The urban fabric of certain cities represents a paradigmatic example
of these adapted, interstitial spaces, such as the triangular parks
and plots which emerge after the imposition of an orthogonal grid.
However, in a smaller scale, new possibilities for these “spandrels”
are not so clear from an architectural perspective, unless we focus
our attention on those spaces which Soane and others have already
explored. It is interesting to cite here, albeit in a tangential way,
the comments of Adolf Loos towards this duality when it comes to
shaping space:
There are architects who do things differently. Their imaginations create not
spaces but sections of walls. That which is left over around the walls then forms
the rooms. And for these rooms some kind of cladding is subsequently chosen
(…) But the artist, the architect, first senses the effect that he intends to realize
and sees the rooms he wants to create in his mind’s eye. (Loos 2008, 170)
of itself” (Žižek 2010, 271). The notion of Bauman and Agamben’s counterlaboratory as
a potential space to test new modes of subversion again the capitalist city seems to be
related to this interpretation.
20 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHL_dt518_0
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22 23 24
25 26 27
28 29
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between buildings, creating new space for indeterminate uses, while
Barry projects a Spatial Enigma, a series of explorative platforms
among built elements, inviting people to enter and discover an
unknown, residual space that offers new possibilities of use, or non-
use.
Finally, the artistic-architectural display by Apolonija Šušteršic
in the lobby of the MUSAC –the Museum of Contemporary Art of
Castilla y León in León, Spain– in 2013 occupies an intermediate
position halfway between both disciplines. By reinterpreting the
iconic facade of the building by Emilio Tuñón and Luis Moreno
Mansilla, the work of Šušteršic brings together two conditions that
have been discussed throughout this chapter: first, the physical object,
conceived as a display case to exhibit other works by the same artist,
is presented as a marginal architecture dependent on the space of the
museum; however, its function is extended as a generator of activity,
inviting the visitors to interact with it, using it as a piece of furniture,
a display element or simply as an unexpected spatial reference.
Besides, the replication of the exterior design of the building dislocates
its identity, which is duplicated in its interior space through an-other
element, identical and different at the same time.
These materials form an apparently unconnected constellation of
examples that, however, could be analyzed and expanded with many
more situations, thus generating an unmapped but suggestive lineage,
spatializing the desire of situating oneself between the hypersensuous
comfort of the surrounding environment and the distressing
conscience of exteriority, therefore breaking with traditional and
dichotomic visions of space. Besides, in a time when architecture
as envelope has acquired a certain strength (both as a representative
facade and as a membrane to regulate thermo-hygrometric
conditions), it seems that, once again, the interior appears as a
privileged realm in a global scale, coinciding with what Sloterdijk
(2013) calls “the World Interior of Capital.” As a consequence, the
exterior space, the space of the city and social relations loses strength
and interest on the part of some sectors of the discipline. Against this
situation, some professionals and authors from diverse fields propose
to rethink the links between architecture and space from a relational
perspective, and not as a radical limit between involute enclaves and
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30 31
At this point, there are some words which have been used several
times throughout the text –(counter)space, void, urban, public,
openness, society, politics, representation, etc.– that lead us inevitably
to think of a certain spatial typology. Whether as a central, privileged
space of the city or as part of an urban network of local open spaces,
the square has usually been considered to be the quintessential
category of urban space. Sometimes called plaza or piazza, due to
the influence of the Mediterranean models, the square is a space full
of meaning and activity: it serves as a main meeting and gathering
point for inhabitants and foreigners. It is usually delimited by more
or less prominent constructions (churches, town halls, offices…)
and it often contains representative and symbolic elements that tell
us something about the history of the place, such as monuments,
statues or memorials. Besides, its spatial character, its openness and
dimensions –opposite to the more constrained axial configuration of
the street– facilitate a wide range of individual and collective actions,
either organized or spontaneous, so it works as a social condenser.
This apparent functional indeterminacy and the expression of certain
community values define the association of the square with the notion
of public space in Western societies, although in other contexts it
acquires similar values even when the idea of “public space” does not
correspond to the Western one.
In Lefebvrian terms, the square as such could be understood as
the product of specific representations of space, as it is an abstract
element derived from the management logic of the city and closely
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in terms of dominant and dominated-appropriated space.22 These
concepts were explained by Lefebvre23 from a Marxist perspective
–even though Marx himself did not define them clearly (Lefebvre
1991, 165). Although both characters may appear combined, the
domination of space implies a submission to technology and labor
force, while its appropriation has more social connotations. Besides,
the square can also be regarded as a dominant space, that is, as “the
realization of a master’s project” (Lefebvre 1991, 165). But once
again, the concept of domination should not be understood only
from a merely technical-productive perspective, as social aspects of
domination are always present: the square as space of representation is
usually a materialization of the established social order.
Nonetheless, not all squares have the same meaning: only some
concentrate this representative character within the urban fabric,
and always with different implications. The square can be the stage
of democracy, but it can also be the one of authoritarian power,
including military parades and public executions; or of protest and
insurgency, either by extending the space of power, or by reacting
against it. Arguably, there is not a dialectics as such between dominant
and dominated space; rather, this double contradictory condition
is always present. With regard to the mechanisms of appropriation
and reappropriation, Lefebvre (1991, 167) understands them as
processes implying a modification of the original purpose of a space.
As an example, he cites the case of Les Halles in Paris, a space that
went from being a market to a gathering point for the Parisian youth
during the transitional years between the sixties and the seventies. In
this case, the appropriation process has had more or less permanent
effects in time.
Agora If it has been decided to highlight the importance of the square
–and not any other type of urban space–, it is because the square
is much more than a mere spatial urban typology; it is also a social
construction that, besides, is deeply rooted in Western tradition.
Although we cannot deny the existence of similar spaces in different
town and urban areas forged by the influence of diverse cultures,
the Western (and particularly the Mediterranean) model has proven
to be a successful one, given its appreciable characteristics that
provide an open, sound, communal space for the general public or
the community. In fact, it can be argued that the physical form, or
void, of the square responds to its social function, and vice versa.
Once again, it is necessary to go back to Ancient Greece in order to
understand this specific type of urban space from its foundation.
The association of space and politics in the West has its first
precedent in the Greek polis, considered to be the seed of the
European city. The polis as an enclosed space ruled by specific laws
created by and for free-born citizens (excluding women, foreigners
and slaves) is the first clear association between politics, society and
space. Outside this confined zone, the private home and the foreign
territory remained as separate realms where freedom was unthinkable
because of the absence of the principle of equality (isegoria) beyond
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the limits of the polis. Therefore, as we have seen, these spheres were
governed by means of family and war, as hierarchical and dominant
structures where order was imposed through violence and strength. It
has been also mentioned that Hannah Arendt (1997; 1998) reflected
thoroughly on the foundations of the Greek polis, where freedom of
speech lies at the basis of the public domain, that is, word, speech
and discussion among equals were a condition –and a guarantee–
for freedom. As a consequence, space becomes an essential medium
for primeval democracy, since public speaking needs a gathering
point, a place where citizens can hear and see the others and be
heard and seen by them. Thus, the physical phenomenon of the
assembly has evident repercussions in spatial terms, and so emerges
the agora as the open space where all free citizens have the ability
and the duty to speak and express themselves to their peers. In this
regard, freedom and place are inextricably connected, since the
citizen is free only within the limits of the polis, where the space of
encounter between them (Zwischenraum) is possible (Arendt 1997,
133). This has its most palpable expression in the public area, the
vast, empty space in the middle of the polis where, besides, violence
and brutal imposition are excluded. Certainly, changes introduced
during the modern period, including the emancipation of women
and the working class, extended this freedom to every citizen, at least
theoretically, suppressing the aristocratic factor that characterized
classical democracy. Although this political-freedom identity has
varied enormously throughout time, still the public and representative
character of the square remains today.
However, the free space of the agora was also inevitably linked to
other kind of activities, mainly commercial and economic. The market
as the counterpart of the agora is the space of activity and production,
where trade and exchange relations take place. This function, which
was deeply assimilated in oriental cultures in the form of the bazaar,
was initially associated to productive life as a less refined and exclusive
mode of human activity:
(…) it was the ever-frustrated ambition of all tyrants to discourage the citizens
from worrying about public affairs, from idling their time away in unproductive
agoreuein and politeuesthai, and to transform the agora into an assemblage of
shops like the bazaars of oriental despotism. (Arendt 1998, 160)
24 Also the ancient agora of Athens was “forumized,” filled with different uses and
buildings after the Roman conquer of the Greek territories.
25 Arendt (1997, 124) considers foreign policy as a specifically Roman notion that
served as a basic form to their republican and imperial politics.
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34
37 38
39 40
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spend leisure –unproductive– time after work or during the weekend,
together with parks and gardens. Thus, workers and middle-classes
share the city under a pretended democratic equality which unfolds in
space. Moreover, this relative strengthening of the public sphere and
the remote possibility of restoring a space of equality led to the use of
public squares and other open spaces as places for demonstration and
protest: not only in Europe, in the wake of the French Revolution and
during many riots and rebellions in England, Italy, Spain, Russia in
the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, but also in the United States
and Latin American countries during their processes of independence
and emergence of new states. However, most of these demonstrations
–led by proletarian, feminists, slaves and other counterpublics– would
be violently repressed by official powers. The proliferation of this
kind of events clearly transformed urban landscape through actions
of appropriation and occupation. In this regard, the contradiction
inherent to public space becomes clear in terms of violence and
repression: despite their civic, consensual nature, many public spaces
have been the stage for violent episodes, as Picon (2008, 10) recalls
when exploring the violent dimension of architecture.
Modern urbanism, as one of the strongest tools for the generation Urban planning
of new representations of space, was a useful means to control and social
these effervescent uprisings and suffocate their effects. Once again, control
Paris is the paradigmatic example of an urban transformation with
social objectives beyond modernization and the upgrade of health
conditions. Under the mandate of Napoleon III, prefect Haussmann
conceived and executed an ambitious renovation plan for the French
capital between 1853 and 1870, until then severely affected by
problems of crime, overcrowding, disease and social tensions. For that
reason, the Emperor commissioned a plan to transform the capital
into a modern, healthy, beautiful city, with an extensive network of
wide roads, boulevards and parks to improve circulation, ventilation
and light conditions, as well as providing the population with nice
spaces to inhabit. However, these humanitarian purposes were not the
only ones to motivate the transformation. Considering that Paris had
suffered continuous rebellions and riots prior to the establishment of
the Second Republic, Haussmannization has also been regarded as
an attempt to control the crowd in the streets and facilitate military
maneuvers in case of uprising (Mumford 1970, 96; Harvey 2003,
26 [T.A.]
27 The plan was thoroughly implemented at all levels, not only the urban one,
but also on an architectural scale. Haussmann also traced specific rules for residential
buildings, creating a very specific type of block that characterizes the center of Paris. These
blocks were created for bourgeois families, but they had spaces for servants: the so-
called chambres de bonne were apartments on the top floor with a surface area of around
6–12 m2 and offering minimal facilities. Toilets were shared with other servants, and the
rooms could only be accessed by separate staircases, so wealthy families did not have to
share space with their domestics. Although in the beginning of the twentieth century new
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41 42
since it expels the working classes and their workplaces from the city
center to the banlieues, leaving it free for high and middle classes, but
connecting both areas with large boulevards and roads to facilitate
police action in case of unrest. The straight line and the empty,
inaccessible square surrounded by traffic become spatial tools for
control and repression, as well as for the creation of a specific type of
public: “The expression of the Nation-State is, in fact, the emptiness”
(Duque 2001, 11). Lefebvre (1991, 312) also reflects on the utility
of abstract space and the fragmentation of social life, comparing the
Parisian Place des Vosges, as a meeting place, with la Concorde and
the space in front of the Royal Palace as voids with no life, inserted
within a visualization logic developed by the Haussmannian strategy
that “mortally wounded” the qualities of a particular urban space.
However, regardless of the objectives of the imperial plans, the
urban transformation of Paris proved to be unsuccessful in terms of
efficiency of military and police interventions. The Paris Commune,28
regulations were introduced in order to improve the quality of these spaces, still today
they represent a clear class division, since they are now hired by low-income workers or
students who want to live in the city center.
28 Marx devoted a brief text to the episode of the Paris Commune (Der Bürgerkrieg
in Frankreich, 1871), in which he treats it as a paradigmatic example of proletarian power.
Many years later, Lefebvre (1962) would return to the Commune after Marx, but from
his particular point of view. The counterposition that he articulates between Paris and
Versailles is interesting as a reflection of the opposition between the proletariat and the
capitalist class, the new and the old order; as well as the qualification of its urban actions
as “revolutionary urbanism.” For Lefebvre, the Commune was a movement “aroused by the
negative elements –therefore, creators of the existing society.” [T.A.]
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[A]n enclave is a self-organizing, self-centering, and self-regulating system
created by urban actors, often governed by a rigid hierarchy with set boundaries.
It serves to slow down and concentrate nomadic flows using a variety of
techniques, from perimeter walls and gatekeepers to formal, geometric devices in
the plan of the settlement. (Shane 2005, 177)29
29 A more extended definition appears in Urban Design since 1945: “The enclave
is a space defined by a perimeter with one or more entries and a clearly defined centre
(…) As an organisational device, the enclave serves as a collecting point for people, objects
or processes that fall within the purview of a single urban actor who controls the space,
its contents and its perimeter. Hierarchical systems of control and top-down command
structures radiate out from this dominant actor, who nests many enclaves within enclaves
to aid sorting and memory. This nesting of enclaves within enclaves can scale up to
encompass a whole city, as in imperial Beijing, focusing symbolically on the Forbidden
City. Urban actors altered the role of the enclave when they paid more attention to flow
and process in the city, so the enclave became a stationary point in the system, where
people, goods or services could be temporarily located and stored in places like hotels,
warehouses or storage yards, docks and containers. Later still, enclaves became containers
for urban fantasies and imagery, a means of way-finding, attraction and identification for
different areas of the city (…)” (Shane 2011, 37)
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47 48
increase the rate of open space within the city, promoting more
hygienic and favorable living conditions to the Parisians, who had
hitherto inhabited an unhealthy city. While Baudelaire laments in
his poem “Le Cygne” the loss of the old Paris,32 and Engels criticizes
in The Housing Question (1872) the new structure of the city, which
represents a systematized instrument of alienation, Zola is amazed by
the new city and its healthy, vibrant, productive character, as if it were
a living organism in which each component has its specific function.
However, the writer would not feel so enthusiastic with regard Work vs.
to the position that recreational space for workers would reach, leisure spaces
necessarily inserted into the new Haussmannian plan. Since Zola had
“always identified laziness with waste,” and consequently “whatever
has no use” should have “no place” (Hollier 1993, xvi), he strongly
criticized urban open spaces, as he believed that recreational space
should not be present within central urban fabric, but rather outside
the city walls, as he idealized in his text about Saint-Ouen, published
in the Tribune in 1868, in which he describes a day off for the
working classes.33 Contrary to the enclosed, suffocating enclave of
32 “Le vieux Paris n’est plus (la forme d’une ville/ change plus vite, hélas ! que le coeur
d’un mortel” (Les fleurs du mal, 1861, LXXXIX). “Old Paris is no more (the form of a city
changes, alas, faster than the mortal’s heart)” [T.A.]
33 “I stayed until evening in the midst of the people in their Sunday best. Not many
cardigans, lots of workshirts: a gay and open crowd of workers, young girls in cloth hats
showing their bare fingers covered with needle-pricks, men wearing cotton whose rough
hands still bore the imprint of tools. The joy in this crowd was a healthy one; I did not hear
a single quarrel, I did not see a single drunk… It was the gaiety of good children, sincere
bursts of laughter, pleasures with no shame attached” (Quoted in Hollier 1993, xvii).
34 The question of work and leisure will be addressed in the chapter “[Em]
bodying”.
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49 50
blood and it leaves purified and fresh” (1970, 48).35 Hollier speaks of
these two poles of a system where work is the main core: through it,
“foundation and origin of humanity,” homo faber is able to “liberate
the animal” (Navarro 2002, 132). The factory, indeed, is the motor,
the core of the modern city. Although Zola understood the suburban
park or the square –and not the museum– as the epicenter of rest
and working catharsis, one could outline a parallelism between both
enclaves, since the contemporary museum reflects to some extent
the functions of the square: the place to see and be seen and, above
all, to enjoy stipulated leisure time; to spend a non-productive time
rigorously absorbed within the logic and times of labor.36
35 [T.A.]
36 Another parallelism between the square as central urban space and the
museum could be articulated from Agamben’s identification of the museum as the temple
of capitalism, acquiring a sacrificial dimension that the square has held –and still holds–
in some occasions: “everything today can become a Museum, because this term simply
designates the exhibition of an impossibility of using, of dwelling, of experiencing. Thus, in
the Museum, the analogy between capitalism and religion becomes clear. To the faithful
in the Temple (…) correspond today the tourists who restlessly travel in a world that
has been abstracted into a Museum. But while the faithful and the pilgrims ultimately
participated in a sacrifice that reestablished the right relationships between the divine
and the human by moving the victim into the sacred sphere, the tourists celebrate on
themselves a sacrificial act that consists in the anguishing experience of the destruction of
all possible use” (Agamben 2007, 84). Without delving into the square as a place for public
execution, it is possible to find multiple global examples of “museified” squares which have
lost their possibility of use.
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a meaning immanent in the social. Instead, the democratic invention invents
something else: the public space. The public space (…) is the social space
where, in the absence of a foundation, the meaning and unity of the social is
negotiated-at once constituted and put at risk. (Deutsche 1996, 273)
Beyond its physical and historical conditions, the square today is a Square
space for negotiation, a permanently contested and (re)appropriated as room
space. But above all, the square is a room, a heterotopia within an
atopic,37 limitless world of incessant circulation. Cacciari (2011, 35)
notices that the acceleration of the processes of urban transformation
prevents that the transits between successive generations are fluently
constituted and, as an immediate consequence, house and non-house,
dwelling and non-dwelling are connected; they are obverse and
reverse, front and back. To remain is not to inhabit. Only territory –
not the city– is inhabited, through the places it provides, like silences,
like stops. If everything is frantically moving in the metropolis and
subject to permanent acceleration, the square sets a measure to the
immeasurable, to perpetual mobility that only recognizes passages as
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271
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272 [RE]PLACING
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275
SE-DUCTIO I: BEIJING.
01
The city sprawls endlessly over the northern plains in the shelter of the
mountains. As an old tree trunk, its concentric structure unveils the
age of its multiple layers, which enclose one another like sacred rings
preserving the history and the form of the city. However, concentric
perfection dissolves progressively as we move away from the center
toward the peripheries, where the city becomes a living, formless mass
in permanent expansion. It is practically impossible to draw a fixed
map of ir, since it expands in an almost unpredictable way. Future
urban developments are constantly projected and rethought, making
it difficult to imagine how the city will look like in the next years.
The Beijing Planning Exhibition Hall hosts an impressive 302-square-
meter model on the scale 1:750 that shows how the Chinese capital
would look like in 2020. The historic core and the concentrations of
skyscrapers in business districts stand in contrast to developing areas
that have are provisionally represented by generic models of buildings
whose layout and arrangement are still to be defined. The model
stands over a huge 1000-square meter back-lit glass panel depicting
the outskirts of the city, which have been considered to be less relevant
for the purposes of the model and whose surface exceeds by far the
perimeter of the museum’s room. It is the indefinite projection of a
city in permanent becoming that however needs to materialize its
future appearance, even in an imaginary, ephemeral way.
277
02 03
1 The name of Beijing also has geographical connotations. While jing means
“capital,” bei is “north.” Beijing was conceived as the Northern capital, in opposition to
Nanjing, the Southern capital.These names have changed several times throughout history
depending on the situation of the capital for different dynasties.
279
geographical thought.2 Its orientation was determined by the five –not
Numerical space four, since the center is also included– cardinal points. This layout
was extremely effective for the application of numerical schemes,
which played an essential role in quantity and spatial regulation: the
duality of yin and yang, five elements and cardinal points, the Nine
Divisions of the Hongfan (The Great Plan described in Confucius’
Book of Documents) twelve temporal markers, sixty-four hexagrams…
The numerical dimension of traditional Chinese culture, going
from “two to abundance” and differing significantly from Western
numerical orders –the One, duality, dialectics, trinity…– combined
all this elements to control and regulate the city, as well as granting
it a recognizable code for its intellectual understanding (S. Li 2014,
6–16). All these numerical references appear in varying degrees in the
layout of the ancient core of Beijing, the Forbidden City, built during
the fifteenth century and hosting the imperial residence for the Ming
and Qing dynasties within the Imperial City until 1912, with the
abdication of Puyi and the founding of the Republic. The multiple
palaces, gates and temples of the city are structured according to a grid
pattern, with a strong 7.8-kilometer long axis running from north
to south –since this is the orientation that favors the flow of qi, the
natural energy present in all living creatures.
3 Liang and Chen had studied in the United States and England, respectively, so
this fact maybe raised the suspicion of some officials and colleagues, who saw a certain
Tiananmen square.
Highly codified with severe rules about what is allowed and what is The illustrious
not within its perimeter, the case of Tiananmen Square is special for broad field
several reasons. It is not a conventional urban space, but rather the
symbolic center of the city and the country. It belongs to the category
of “noble or illustrious spaces” that Hassenpflug (2010, 29) considers
to be, together with commercial places, the main articulators of
Chinese social and symbolic space that would roughly coincide with
what is understood as “public space” in other contexts.5 The square
is a key space in the People’s Republic, as it provides the perfect stage
for massive concentrations which legitimize the established order:
parades, national festivities and commemorations take place in a
central urban space that works as a giant stage. Interestingly, the
modern Chinese term for the square is guangchang, meaning “broad
field.” The people in the square represent the identity of the masses, so
size and scale are relevant in the conception of such an extraordinary
space that has, and should have no equal in all of China.
During the imperial period, the square was not articulated as
such, although it did respond to the hierarchical structure of imperial
power: the T-shaped void with its arms emerging from Tiananmen6
represented sacred rays emanating from the Emperor’s head, the
heart of the Forbidden City,7 which radiated to all departments of
the empire (H. Wu 1991, 91). However, the space in front of the
southern gate deserved no special attention or care during the early
8 The so-called Ten Great Buildings are the Great Hall of the People, the National
Museum of China (both in Tiananmen square), the Cultural Palace of Nationalities, Beijing
and the main square of the capital was renewed and extended. With
the building of the Mausoleum of Mao in 1977, the square was finally
completed: then, the center of Beijing was located at the Monument
to the Heroes, after a displacement of great symbolic impact. On the 9
Railway Station, the Workers’ Stadium, the National Agriculture Exhibition Hall, the
Diaoyutai State Guesthouse, the Minzu Hotel, the Overseas Chinese Hotel (demolished in
1990 and reconstructed) and the Chinese People’s Revolutionary Military Museum.
9 Wu Hung refers to the urban planner Chen Gan as the promoter of this shift;
after the 1949 revolution he applies Friedrich Engels’ argument about the significance of
“zero” to move the center of Beijing from the Imperial throne to the square (H. Wu 2005,
7–8).
10 [T.A.]
11 The members of the Gang of Four were judged and sentenced to imprisonment
in 1981 for crimes against the CCP, Marxist-Leninist ideology and attacks to their rivals.
12 This clash between intellectual and working classes was maintained even after
the death of Mao, who had fostered it under the appearance of a false class struggle
in which the intellectual was the enemy of the worker. In this way, more anger and
resentment emerged among the people, collected in that “national bank of revolutionary
affect” that had started with the antifeudal anger of peasants prior to Mao’s rise (Sloterdijk
2010, 172). Consequently, a wave of hatred and repression was triggered against
intellectuals, who were mistreated and publicly humiliated in all possible ways for the sake
of the Cultural Revolution (Lu 1996, 143).
16 17 18
19 20 21
15 Haw (2007, 129) states that the most accurate estimate is that around 400
demonstrators were killed, as well as a few hundred soldiers. The official preliminary figure
given by the Chinese government was 241, including 23 soldiers; however, the Chinese
Red Cross counted around 2,600-2,700 (L. Lim 2014, 7). A recently declassified British
diplomatic cable alleged that at least 10,000 people were killed in the massacre (Lusher
2017).
16 Louisa Lim (2014, 86) conducted an experiment with young students, asking
them if they recognized the famous “Tank Man” photograph by Jeff Widener depicting
a man standing alone in front of a line of military tanks in Tiananmen Square during the
24 25
protests. Some of them assured that they had never seen the image before, while others
gave vague answers or refused to speak about it.
The fact that Tiananmen protests almost coincided in time with the Postmodernism
fall of the Berlin Wall reinforces the discourse on the post-political in China?
framework. With the 1989 protests, many see the beginning of a
radically new age in China: paradoxically, some authors and historians
match the riots with the advent of postmodernism in a country
that, despite the inexistence of a modern period17 comparable to the
18 Chen (1997) labels this dual character between political and apolitical as “post-
political” in his essay, using the term in a different way than Western radical philosophers
have been doing more recently.
29 30
20 [T.A.]
21 Even in the seventies, the Western lack of knowledge of what was happening
in China was evident, as Henri Lefebvre recognizes (1974, 229): “A rural nucleus operates
with a certain autonomy and disposes of a part of the social surplus value created in it,
but we do not know by what procedures. It should not be forgotten, on the other hand,
that China is starting. We lack theoretical and information elements. In Paris, rumor has
it the Chinese government has abandoned this path of fast development with regard to
armament, which requires the rapid growth of the metallurgical industry, and the urge
to reinforce the chemical sector has also emerged due to the need for fertilizers. Our
understanding of the Chinese case cannot, for the moment, be more than fragmentary,
and consequently we can make criticism of the Soviet model, but without opposing it to
other models with convincing arguments.”
the world (Hobsbawm 1995, 412 ff). Today, if we divided the country
in two areas of equal size through an imaginary diagonal line from
Heihe (north-east) to Tengchong (south), the eastern part would
contain a 94% of the population. The rest of the country remains a
rural demographic desert.
This polarization is palpable even within the highly populated The image
area. When taking the high-speed train from Beijing to Shanghai, of China
more than a thousand kilometers of forgotten rural land are crossed,
whereas large urban areas grow in an impressive way, through
exacerbated construction and investments. It seems that the center
of China, if any, is no longer Tiananmen, but OMA’s CCTV
headquarters located in the East Third Ring Road within the CBD,
which emerges as a new “city within a city,” a complex system
which follows its own internal logic. The controverted Chinese
public television opts for a globalized and universal image, which
somehow replaces the traditional icon of Tiananmen with great
buildings showing the economic potential of China to the world.
The emblematic presence of Koolhaas’ creation –which has been
nicknamed “big pants” by locals–, has intensified the debate on the
iconic, literal character of urban image in China, which has been
always present even in the most traditional constructions. In 2016,
the Chinese central government issued a directive against an excessive
architecture which is qualified as “oversized, xenocentric, weird” and
deprived of cultural tradition. Instead, buildings should be “suitable,
economic, green and pleasing to the eye” (C. Li 2016).
22 Its symbolic character has not been lost despite its museification: it still hosts
main national events and venues and, besides, it is still the chosen space for dissent and
attacks against centrality, as it happened in 2013 with the attack attributed to the Uighur
minority, a racial community from the Xinjiang region which often protests against the
policies of the central government.
23 “This metaphysics leads to a moral and familial (or bioethical) political construct,
with an emphasis on oneness, from the person to the family, the state, and the universe, as
one moral order. For Europeans in classical antiquity, however, the universe is generated by
these references from cosmos to earth. The sun that appears in the
famous national mural This Land so Rich in Beauty (by Fu Baoshi and
Guan Shanyue, 1959) placed in the Great Hall of the People rises in
the east, contemplating the changing, diverse but unitary landscape
of mainland China, concentrating all times and seasons in a single
image. The same sun was expected to descend upon Earth after the
death of Mao, a turning point in the history of the country.24 All the
entries for the competition to build a mausoleum for the chairman
in Tiananmen’s Square pointed to the limitless relevance of the leader
as the main source of universal energy; indeed, one of the designs
featured a giant, 100-metre high red orb representing the rising sun
(Sang and Barmé 2008) –and not the setting sun, usually associated
with death in Western culture.
Finally, the sun arrived in Tiananmen Square, but not as a colossal The sun
tomb or a triumphant, rising star. The smog cloud covering Beijing over Beijing
evidences the strong pollution problems that the country is facing
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BeijingThatWasnt.inc&issue=014.
Shane, David Grahame. 2011. Urban Design since 1945: A Global Perspective. Chichester:
Wiley.
Sloterdijk, Peter. 2006. Esferas III: Espumas, esferología plural. Madrid: Ediciones Siruela.
———. 2010. Rage and Time: A Psychopolitical Investigation. New York: Columbia University
Press.
Sparavigna, Amelia Carolina. 2013. “Sunrise and Sunset Azimuths in the Planning of Ancient
Chinese Towns.” International Journal of Sciences 2 (11): 52–59.
Sudjic, Deyan. 2011. The Edifice Complex: The Architecture of Power. London: Penguin Books
Limited.
Villard, Florent. 2014. “One day in Beijing avec les Gao Brothers.” In L’esprit des villes,
1:159–85. Gollion: Infolio Éditions.
Watson, Rubie. 1995. “Palaces, Museums and Squares: Chinese National Spaces.” Museum
Anthropology 19 (2): 7–19.
———. 2005. Remaking Beijing. Tiananmen Square and the Creation of a Political Space.
London: Reaktion Books.
Xu, Yinong. 2000. The Chinese City in Space and Time. The Development of Urban Form in
Suzhou. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.
Images.
01 A woman looks at the model of Beijings city master plan. Source: Photograph by Guang
Niu, Getty Images. The Guardian.
02 The two ancient schemes for Chinese imperial capitals, Chang’an (Xian, top) and Beijing
(below). Source: Spiro Kostof, The City Shaped: Urban Patterns and Meanings Through History,
Bullfinch Press, 1991.
03 The various stages and positions of the capital Beijing through the ages. 1. Nanjing (Liao
Dynasty); 2. Zhongdu (Jin Dynasty); 3. Dadu (Yuan Dynasty) and 4. Beijing (Ming-Qing
Dynasty). Source: Quadralectic Architecture.
06 Liang Sicheng and Chen Zhanxiang. Proposal for the new administrative center of Beijing,
1950. Source: Beijing Municipal Archives.
07 Street scenes. Beijing and Shanghai (2010-2016). Source: Photographs by the author.
09 Aerial view of Tiananmen and the Imperial City, 1900. Source: Bundesarchiv, Wikimedia
Commons.
10 Qing Tiananmen and environs, flanked by the government ministries. Source: Linda
Hershkovitz,“Tiananmen Square and the Politics of Place.” Political Geography 12 (5), 1993, 403.
13 Pro-democracy protesters link arms to hold back angry crowds, preventing them from
chasing a retreating group of soldiers near the Great Hall of the People, on June 3, 1989. Source:
Jeff Widener, Associated Press. Internazionale.it
14 First Chinese Contemporary Art Exhibit. Artists performing on “No Turning Back” signs,
February 1989. Source: zonaeuropa.com
15 A Chinese couple on a bicycle take cover beneath an underpass as tanks deploy overhead in
eastern Beijing, on June 5, 1989. Source: Rare Historical Photos.
16 Beijing University students put the finishing touches on the Goddess of Democracy in
Tiananmen Square, on May 30, 1989. Source: Rare Historical Photos.
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17 Goddess of Democracy, 30 May 1989. Source: Photograph by Liu Heung Shing, Associated
Press. New York Times (Chinese Version).
18 Opposing icons: the statue of the Goddess of Democracy faces Mao’s portrait, 1989.
Source: Wu Hung, “Tiananmen Square: A Political History of Monuments.” Representations 35 (1),
1991,111.
19 Demonstrators covering Mao’s portrait, May 23, 1989. 23 maggio 1989. Source: Ed
Nachtrieb, Reuters/Contrasto. Internazionale.it
20 Man standing in front of the tank in Tiananmen Square. Source: Jeff Widener, Associated
Press. New York Times (Chinese Version).
21 The burned and lynched body of infantryman Cui Guozheng, 1989. Source:
standoffattiananmen.com
26 A man holding a Coke bottle at Tiananmen Square, 1981. Source: Photograph by Liu
Heung Shing. CN Create.
27 Sun Zixi. “In Front of Tiananmen Square,” 1964. Source: National Art Museum of China.
28 Wang Jinsong. “Taking a picture in front of Tiananmen Square,” 1994. Source: artnet.com
29 The Gao Brothers next to their work Mao’s Guilt, 2009. Source: Photograph by Shiho
Fukada,The New York Times.
30 Wang Guangyi. “Mao Zedong AO (black grid),” 1988. Source: Art Asia Pacific.
32 Zhou Jun. “Bird’s Nest No. 2,” 2006. Source: Red Gate Gallery.
33 Night view of Changan Avenue, Beijing. Source: Imaginechina, Corbis. The Guardian.
35 Beijing Central Bussiness District, 2016. Source: Wikimedia Commons, user: morio.
36 Fu Baoshi. “This Land so Rich in Beauty,” 1959. Source: Google Arts & Culture.
37 A design for the Mao Memorial Hall in Tiananmen Square featuring a ‘red sun’. Source:
Sang, Ye,and Geremie R. Barmé, “A Beijing That Isn’t (Part I).” China Heritage Quarterly, no. 14,
2008.
38 “Smog-hit Beijing shows sunsets on a giant TV to remind people what the sun looks like,”
2014. Source: The Register. ChinaFotoPress via Getty Images.
In this fragment of the Platonic dialogue of Gorgias, Socrates tells The barrel
a story in which the image of the perforated jar or vessel appears; of the Danaids
an image that would lie beneath the work of his disciple, Plato.
This singular receptacle that can never be filled, but spills the liquid
poured into it, is rooted in the mythological barrel of the Danaids,
the daughters of king Danaus who were condemned to fill eternally a
bottomless receptacle with water and a sieve, after being found guilty
of the murder of their husbands. This everlasting spillover, resulting
from the perpetual labor of filling and leaking, reflects the idea of
porosity, the quality of that which is permeable to fluids through a
perforated surface.
Pardo (1992, 85) uses the same image to illustrate exteriority, the
realm of passion, body and space. While “soul” is a recipient, it may
hold or spill the content poured into it. According to the fable, the
task of the philosopher –and the initiated– is to occlude progressively
the pores of the crater, so it can retain the “liquid” without losses,
creating a perfect interior. On the contrary, the “foolish” or
“uninitiated” cannot seal their jars full of holes, being constantly
permeated by desires and passions that overflow their necessities and
313
cannot be satisfied; they are incapable of keeping anything because
of their “incredulity and forgetfulness,” in opposition to the sage, the
Academic, who preserves the interior by means of faith and memory
escaping the painful destiny of the eternal return. The incontinent,
exterior being is permeable, and thus oblivious and doomed to
repetition.
Body as Deepening in the multiple meanings of the fragment, Pardo (1992,
membrane 63) pays special attention to the condition of the human body as a
sepulcher, a tomb –“in our present state we are dead”–, which means,
according to the Spanish philosopher, that the body is the agent of
forgetfulness, transforming life into death because of oblivion, of its
capacity of leaking, letting go:
The body is the effect of oblivion; and since oblivion is nothing other than
the outpouring of the soul out of the barrel which contains it, the liquid
-the memory- which pours outwards is the body itself, the flesh in which the
soul incarnates and is buried. (…) Just as soul is an effect of memory, just
as memory is not a set of remembrances stored in a pre-existing cavity (the
soul), but memory, when preserved, when retained, constitutes a well-sealed
interiority (the soul-cavity), the flesh is the element of oblivion, that which
the soul becomes when it is poured through the holes of the bottomless crater.
Forgotten memories do not fall to an exterior that precedes them, but rather
constitute, when spilling out, the exteriority open on all sides, “un-covered, and
unrepressed,” naked, the surface without limits or outline that is the body itself.
(1992, 64)
2 The philosopher Jean-Louis Déotte (2013) would also study the porous
condition of architecture and the city through the experience Walter Benjamin. During
their stay in Naples, Benjamin and Asja Lacis (1978, 165-166), overwhelmed by the
changing rhythms and spaces of southern Europe, would write: “As porous as this stone
is the architecture. Building and action interpenetrate in the courtyards, arcades, and
stairways. In everything, they preserve the scope to become a theatre of new, unforeseen
constellation. The stamp of definitive is avoided. No situation appears intended for
ever, no figure asserts it ‘thus and not otherwise.’” This entails a way of understanding
space as something that retains and lets go at the same time. For Déotte (2013, 51), as
Benjamin understood, the city does not exist in itself, but is always mediated, configured by
apparatuses.
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01
soul, echo the treatment the human body has received in Western
culture, as a contingent, perishable envelope whose only value lies
in the capacity of containing the soul. In the Christian tradition,
body has been despised for being considered an easily corruptible
element that nonetheless could become a vehicle for salvation through
physical suffering, deprivation, the repression of appetites and
passions and ultimately, work and labor. This tradition has heavily
influenced the modern understanding of the body, although many
voices have defended the importance of the corporeal dimension
and the possibility of embracing pleasure, life (as well as death) and
irrationality as intrinsic faculties of the human being.
This vindication of the exterior man –and woman– has been
made by many authors, to the point that it would be impossible to
elaborate on each of these discourses –nor is it the purpose of this
chapter. However, two of them may be useful as a starting point,
considering their relevance and their broad influence on the ideas of
many others. In this respect, Nietzsche was probably the one who
most fiercely opposed the Platonic-Christian primacy of spirit over
matter, soul over body, and the oppression exerted from the domains
of religion, metaphysics, moral or state. His frail, suffering body was
for sure a field of experience which made him grasp the forces of the
corporeal and its inextricable link to life and the subject: “it does not
315
say I, but does I” (Nietzsche 2006, 23). From his particular discourse,
creative and destructive at the same time, the German philosopher
challenged the Western conception of the experienced body,
situating it as a (Dionysian) primeval field of tensions, latencies and
contradictory forces. Although a certain spirituality is still preserved
–more corporeal than intellectual (Coole 2000, 113)–,3 body appears
as a quasi-independent intelligence, having “an instinctual sense of
its own vital needs” that ought to be followed by the free subject. In
this regard, Coole notices how this Dionysian body is mostly spatial,
outward-oriented, since not only it exists in space, but also transforms
it:
(…) through its styles, its gestures, its dancing, the body also organises space,
carving it up, re-orienting it; it lives spatially and architecturally; it inscribes the
spaces that differentiate and give form to the spatial. Indeed the Dionysian seems
to inhabit space rather than time, which is why everything can coexist in one
differentiated and interconnected dimension in the cycles of eternal recurrence.
Perhaps it is in this negativity beyond time that its deification is finally achieved.
Nietzsche sometimes writes indeed as if action, performance, style – rhythmic,
gestural rather than linguistic, symbolism – were the only authentic mode of
inscribing meaning without doing violence to life. (Coole 2000, 114)
3 “The body is a great reason, a multiplicity with one sense, a war and a peace,
one herd and one shepherd. Your small reason, what you call ‘spirit’ is also a tool of your
body, my brother, a small work- and plaything of your great reason” (Nietzsche 2006, 23).
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interior that contain the other in the form of absence.4 This gap
or fissure keeps the lived body as a dynamic entity, unfinished and
incomplete, in permanent construction that extends itself in space, as
well as opening it.
These germinal ideas serve as an introduction to this chapter,
which, far from a phenomenological interest –that in architecture
could be traced back to Norberg-Schulz, Bollnow or more recently,
Juhani Pallasmaa, to name a few–, is devoted to the relations between
bodies and space, specifically situated in the fields of architecture
and the city. However, many other issues will be addressed in order
to offer a wider comprehension of these relations, which have been
explored from the angles of politics, biopower, literature or feminism,
considering that bodies are much more than perceptive structures or
productive/reproductive devices, but they can also be unproductive,
that is, not subject to a rational labor or breeding regime. Following
José Luis Pardo once again, body is a perforated membrane between
interior and exterior, one of the basic forms of exteriority that,
together with city and nature, incarnate the bottomless barrel that
cannot contain Being and thought in their entirety, but let them go
outside through the pores of its surface.
Against architecture.
Man is “the measure of all things, of the existence of the things that are and
the non-existence of the things that are not. (Protagoras, quoted by Socrates in
Plato’s Theaetetus, 152a)
In a text named “The city and the bodies,” the philosopher Luis Body and
Arenas (2011) recalls the humanist fascination with proportion and proportion
geometry in human body, reflected by canonical drawings such as
Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man (literally inspired by Vitruvius’ treatise De
architectura)5 or the Modulor designed by Le Corbusier. Since nearly
4 This is a recurring topic in the work of the French philosopher, who through his
critique of rationalism as a form of violence and imposition in modernity (like in Theodor
Adorno), explores the impossible dissolution of “positive and negative –sense and non-
sense, visible and invisible, identity and non-identity” (Coole 2000, 122).
5 The proportions indicated by Vitruvius in De Architectura, relating human
body and architecture, were studied by many other thinkers, architects and artists of
04 05
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five hundred years separate both of these works, it seems that some
of the most basic principles and interests of Western architecture had
barely changed during that period; among them, the identification
of more or less static geometrical proportions and symmetries as an
analogous model both to human beauty and built elements, reflecting
the regularity and precise, divine order of the world.
Although proportions and geometry have never been completely
abandoned and still persist in architecture in many different ways –as
Arenas (2011, 37) recognizes, until the end of the twentieth century
architecture has been “if not cosmography, at least antropography”–,
the art historian Rudolf Wittkower (1960) and some of his
contemporaries would intuit changes that were to come after the
definitive collapse of classical science, when proportion was relegated
to a matter of individual sensitivity. Already in 1957, Wittkower
and the British architect Peter Smithson had had a discussion at the
RIBA about the relevance of proportions, which Wittkower defended.
Instead, Smithson argued that they had only been valid until the
decade of the forties, when architects were seeking for certainties
and confidence. Bruno Zevi, who also participated in the meeting,
claimed that, at that moment, “no one really believes any longer in the
proportional system” (Wittkower 1960, 210). After this encounter,
Wittkower adopted a much more ambiguous position, avoiding any
attempt to defend a system based on proportions (Montes Serrano
2003, 70), and recognizing that future generations of architects would
probably detach themselves from proportion as a scientific system for
aesthetic order.
Antoine Picon (2008) has studied and typified this kind of
encounters between science and architecture. He also exemplifies
Renaissance Italy, like Fra Giocondo and Francesco di Giorgio Martini. Cesare Cesariano’s
scheme deserves a special mention. The first translator of the books of Vitruvius draw a
scheme in which the human anatomy is forced by elongating the limbs in an exaggerated
way, so that the body fits within the circle and the square at the same time, with the navel
in the center; unlike Leonardo, who adjusted the body to one or another figure through
different positions. Thus, Cesariano’s Vitruvian man seems to represent the primacy of
geometric proportion over the human body. Interestingly, the drawing would become
the emblem of Peter Eisenman’s IAUS, located in the center (navel) of New York, and
represented in a revolving door whose reverse was the Modulor of Le Corbusier.
6 One of the core ideas of modernity is to separate natural and social spheres.
(Latour 1993)
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architecture are opening hopeful paths). Nonetheless, it is clear that
the relation between body and architecture is still instrumental and,
to some degree, oppressive and prescriptive, leaving aside other aspects
that are not exclusively functional or representational. Even the
deconstructivist attempt to incorporate entropy, excess and instability
in an architecture without essence, reflecting the destabilization of the
postmodern world (with Peter Eisenman and Bernard Tschumi in the
lead) did not escape this representational character of architecture as
“the mirror of nature”; first as order, then as chaos (Arenas 2011, 41),
with architectures that trap the human body through intricate forms,
paths and loops.
Apparently, we may have liberated ourselves from nature, but
not from architecture. It is worth going back to the origins of this
bold pronouncement, inspired by a time when the question of the
oppressed human body was starting to be taken seriously in the West.
The work of Georges Bataille is compelling in this regard, as he tried
to break with the traditional view of the body as the expression of
ideal nature and divinity, but without detaching it from its nature
by subjugating it to reason. Instead, he embraced human body in
its full exteriority and multiplicity, amidst the generalized process of
disenchantment and rationalization of the corporeal –it should not
be forgotten that, during these years, scientific experimentation in
humans, eugenics and mass extermination methods were experiencing
an international golden age.
Body is the core around which the work of the French writer
pivots: it is the cursed and imperfect part of the Self, which it both
repels and tries to forget and hide. Through the tragic dichotomy
of eroticism and death, Bataille presents the human body in its full
crudeness, challenging the prudish conception of it as the impure
container of soul and reason. His provocative and disturbing
texts present the corporeal as “living quicksand” (Navarro 2002,
10), constructor and destructor of meaning at a time. Body is
contradiction and polarity, bringing together the opposing drives
of human condition; thus, it is impossible to reduce it to a single,
homogeneous discourse, since it is constantly vanishing, changing
and challenging its context. This fact, as Ginés Navarro points out
(2002, 10), represents a menace against all order and conceptual
The prison Bataille would complete Masson’s drawing with the sentence:
“L’homme a échappé à sa tête comme le condamné à la prison” (“Man has
escaped his own head as the convict from prison”) (1936). Here, body
itself is compared to a prison, the paradigmatic building of order,
control and repression. Navarro (2002, 11) proposes to seek for “the
traces of the body” in pictures and words, but also in architecture:
“constructions, temples, monuments,” all of them being “metaphors
of the body.” From this anthropic view of architecture, Bataille
speaks of the prison as the generic architectural element reproducing
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human’s own skin, understood as shell and enclosure: “The image
of Acephalus, thus, should be seen as (...) the negative imago of
an antimonumental madness involved in the dismemberment of
‘meaning’” (Hollier 1993, xii).
This symbolic attribution can be several times in the works of the
French writer, among them the one he wrote on Notre-Dame de
Reims in 1918, where architecture appears as the image of social and
cosmogonic order, emulating the body of Christ crucified. Over the
urban turmoil –the rambling, chaotic town–, the cathedral stands
still, vertical and triumphant. But after the German bombardment
of Reims during the First World War, the cathedral, that once
seemed eternal, ceased to be a symbol of order and beauty to become
a sign of death and destruction. Later, the Parisian Bastille would
be the analogous element that Bataille would describe in his essay
“Architecture” of 1929: architecture here is no longer a symbol,
but the imposition of order itself, so it is attacked and taken by the
revolutionaries, because of their rejection of established power:
(…) it is in the form of cathedral or palace that Church or State speaks to
the multitudes and imposes silence upon them. It is, in fact, obvious that
monuments inspire social prudence and often even real fear. The taking of
the Bastille is symbolic of this state of things: it is hard to explain this crowd
movement is other than by the animosity of the people against the monuments
that are their real masters. (Bataille 1970, 15–16)9
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08 09
Bataille, the only way to get rid of this centuries-old tyranny of
architectural forms is the way impressionist painting opens up to the
formless and the monstrous.13 If this is read in terms of Lefebvre’s
Production of Space, it is evident the importance of the representative
to maintain existence and cohesion of social relations of production
and reproduction. In particular, relations of production are often
represented through buildings, monuments and works of art. Lefebvre
clarifies that this whole system has its own operating rules (1991,
32). However, is it possible to break with the logic of these systems,
or rather rewrite the conditions in which the representations of social
relations occur? Removing architecture’s link to violence seems to be a
complicated task.
After the revolt of the people against their own space (against Self-negating
the Bastille in Paris, but also during students and workers’ riots in architecture
1968), it is in La Villette where architecture turns against itself,
(Bataille 1970, 15–17). Translation by Dominic Faccini in: Dominic Faccini et al., “Critical
Dictionary,” October Spring (1992): 25–26.
13 Diametrically opposed to Bataille’s position, Hans Sedlmayr (Sedlmayr 1957,
95–111) denounced the “attack on architecture” that was being carried from diverse
fields. From his reactionary perspective, Sedlmayr considered that landscape architecture
and artificial ruins (depicted by Hubert Robert, Caspar David Friedrich and, we could
add, Piranesi) were the triggers for the dethronement of architecture because of their
“anti-architectural,” hazardous, formless condition. It was, paradoxically, revolutionary
architecture and the dominance of “basic geometrical forms” (such as the cube, the
pyramid or the sphere, in Ledoux and Boullée’s constructions, “negating the earth as a
basis”) that he points out as the definitive attack that would have an impact on modern
architecture, which he qualifies as “unsound and inhuman.”
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12
The city of Turin is one of the vertices of the so-called Italy’s industrial
triangle, together with Milan and Genoa. Also known as the
Automobile Capital or the Detroit of Italy, the city is one of the most
industrialized poles of the country, playing an essential role during
the postwar years (thanks mostly to automotive industry), when
the Italian economy was starting to recover again. During times of
crisis, the cities of the triangle have hosted thousands of workers and
migrants from southern regions in search of stable jobs and salaries in
northern factories. Thus, the identification of the region with labor
and production is very present in the Italian –and even European–
social imaginary.
In the city center, in the middle of the significant Piazza Statuto
–inserted in the ancient Roman decumanus– a monument to the
construction of the first gallery of the Fréjus Rail Tunnel during the
second half of the nineteenth century, connecting Italy and France,
recalls the industrial character of Turin. The monument, inaugurated
in 1879, is a massive pyramidal mound of stone crowned by Lucifer,
the light-bringer, who floats triumphant over a group of exhausted
Titans, lying painfully amidst the rocks. The presence of the angelic
demon reinforces the mysterious character of the square, which was
once the site of the guillotine, close to the Roman necropolis and
the enclave for public executions. Originally the most occidental
zone of Turin, this orientation to the West (the place of dusk and
death) amplifies the legends and beliefs that relate this urban space
with negative, diabolic energies. Indeed, Lucifer has been regarded
as the fallen angel, one of the multiple incarnations of the devil in
the Christian tradition. However, the irrational and otherworldly
328 (EM)BODYING
13 14 15
330 (EM)BODYING
showing visible signs of exhaustion after a period of unprecedented
growth, leading to massive losses of jobs protests and generalized
discontent.15 Besides, the international Left was suffering a deep
transformation, boosted by the progressive destalinization of the
Soviet Union that, in consequence, was threatened by the fear of a
generalized loss of credibility of communism. These facts prepared
a breeding ground for the appearance of numerous international
critical groups around the Left –following the path traced by previous
collectives, such as the Johnson-Forest tendency in the States or
Socialisme ou Barbarie in France.16
In Italy, this particular situation led to the emergence of operaismo,
a political theory and movement founded by the politicians and
writers Raniero Panzieri, Mario Tronti and Antonio Negri and
visibilized through the creation of the journal Quaderni Rossi in
1961, which served as the dynamic theoretical base for the group.
The movement, far from homogeneous, would soon start to divide
because of multiple tensions, conflicts and theoretical disagreements
among its members.17 In any case, the main contribution of operaists,
at least at the theoretical level, was the inversion of the focus of the
critique of capitalism: instead of addressing the planes of circulation,
distribution, and consumption, operaists shifted the orientation
towards “a structural and global analysis of capitalism in terms of its
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This idea was further extended by Panzieri’s colleague, Mario Reverting
Tronti, to the point of reversing his argument and causing a new capitalism
division within the group. Tronti saw, contrary to his fellow, that it
was the working class, and not the other way around, who exerted
pressure over capitalism provoking this kind of leaps forward,
determining the level of its development (Tronti 1963; Aureli 2008,
31–32).18 Thus, his proposal was to counter capitalism from within it,
since the development of capitalism would ensure a stronger capacity
of the working class to attack it:
This meant opposing to capitalism’s positive process of creating its own value the
workers’ negative process of creating value, which consisted of their will to be
nonwork, to refuse work, that is, to be the “material lever of capitalist dissolution
placed at the decisive point of the system.” (Aureli 2008, 32)19
18 The also collaborator of the journal Quaderni Rossi Romano Alquati reached
a similar conclusion, as indicated by Matteo Pasquinelli (2015a, 6): “At the beginning of
the industrial age capitalism started to exploit human bodies for their mechanical energy,
but soon it became clear, Alquati notes, that the most important value was originated by
the series of creative acts, measurements and decisions that workers constantly had to
perform. Alquati calls information precisely all the innovative micro-decisions that workers
have to take along the production process, that give form to the product, but also that give
form to the machinic apparatus itself.”
19 Quoting Tronti’s “La fabbrica e la società,” in Quaderni Rossi, (2), pp. 1-31, 1962.
334 (EM)BODYING
force the capitalists to present their objective necessities and then subjectively
refuse them; to force the bosses to ask so that the workers can actively -that is, in
organized forms- reply to them: no. (Tronti 1966, 262)20
whole course of its history, to give a gradual peaceful form to the continual revolutionary
upsets of its own economic mechanism. (…) At different levels, the proletariat is called to
collaborate in the development. At different levels it must choose the specific form of its
political refusal. (Tronti 1963)
23 See chapter: “Se-ductio II: Warsaw.”
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18 19 20
21 22 23
25 Nevertheless, Tafuri (1972; 1976) was very critical with these anti-utopian,
negative positions –also considering Superstudio or the work of Italian designers exhibited
at “Italy: The New Domestic Landscape” in 1972–, since he understood their proposals
as a retreat from mass production (from which architecture could eventually intervene
efficiently) to the limited realm of luxury and exclusive goods for the elites.
26 For Aureli (2013), No-Stop City was developed both as a counterpart and
an emulation of Superstudio’s Continuous Monument, which reduced architecture to a
monumental, single formal gesture that would progressively swallow the whole urban
world. Instead, Archizoom’s project represented the city without architecture.
338 (EM)BODYING
24 25 26
27 28 29
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Nonetheless, even though the actions of the movement represented Counter-
an important step forward for the Italian society, what happened revolution
after these bursting years was the opposite to what they intended.
Indeed, Paolo Virno (2003, 127) speaks of a “counterrevolution”
that appropriates and reverses revolutionary mechanisms and
achievements:
“Counterrevolution” is, literally, a revolution in reverse. That is: an impetuous
innovation of the modes of production, forms of life and social relations
that, nevertheless, consolidates and relaunches the capitalist command. The
“counterrevolution,” like its symmetrical opposite, leaves nothing intact.
It determines a prolonged state of exception, in which the expansion of
events seems to be accelerating. It actively builds up its peculiar “new order.”
It forges mentalities, cultural attitudes, tastes, uses and customs; in short,
an unprecedented common sense. It goes to the root of things and works
methodically.27
27 [T.A.]
28 It has been recently restored, in 2016, aiming at recovering the values of
communism and the working class in Italy, following the figures of Gramsci and Palmiro
Togliatti.
29 [T.A.]
30 Chiesa and Toscano give a very accurate account of the sociopolitical panorama
of present-day Italy in the introduction to The Italian Difference (Chiesa and Toscano 2009,
1–10).
31 This attitude coincides with the third stage of the project of autonomy
proposed by Castoriadis (2001). This phase, starting in the second half of the twentieth
century, determines the end of this project, based on the primacy of reason as
foundation for human emancipation. Castoriadis describes this period as “the retreat into
conformism,” as a time of passivity and “collective amnesia” after the World Wars, the
imposition and uncritical assimilation of the neoliberal discourse and the surrender to
“representative democracy.”
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30 31 32
We have seen how one of the main contributions of operaism has Anthropogenic
been to place the variable of the body as one of the central elements industries
of the capitalist machinery, and how it has moved from the factory
to a more extensive urban environment. On the one hand, the body
appears appropriated by work forces as a means of production: this
is what Pasquinelli (2014, 197-188) reads from Marx’s Organic
Composition of Capital through Marazzi’s “anthropogenic industries,”
in which machinic fixed capital is transposed into the human living
body, presenting an uncertain scenario that can be seen either as
totalitarian or favouring autonomy and emancipation. On the other
hand, it has already been seen how Hardt and Negri (2009) celebrate
the “joyful encounters” of rebel bodies in the pathological metropolis,
apart from the chaotic rhythms of the capitalist machinery. This
connects with Bifo’s interpretation of the soul as clinamen (Smith
2009, 9), as the “tendency for certain bodies to fall in with others”
to constitute a world between them. However, despite these forces,
other voices recalled the enormous difficulty of counteracting
these mechanisms, preferring to delve into them from a negative
perspective. From a similar point of view, although keeping a certain
distance, some contemporary phenomenons could be read as a false
escape valve for the exhausted body, which unconsciously remains
within the infinite cycle of capitalist production.
Amidst the rationalized process of work and labor, the worker
counts on a few days per year to escape duty and free his/her body
344 (EM)BODYING
performance and the encounter with “the other.” But despite these
brief events of exteriority, the integration of the holiday period within
the capitalist work machinery becomes more and more evident over
time: hyper-sexualization of (female) bodies as attractive products for
touristic marketing, identifying beach as a site of seduction and desire
and exerting pressure on specific groups to obtain a “beach body”
(Jordan 2006); or the displacement of the household/workplace to the
holiday destination –affecting mostly women (Crouch and Desforges
2003)– are only some of the forms of bodily violence derived from
the “liberating” period of holidays. Neither must be forgotten the
consequences of the generalization of communication technologies,
which facilitate the interruption of vacation for working reasons, since
the worker is permanently available via e-mail or text message,32 or the
urban processes of “touristification” affecting diverse landscapes and
city centers.
Tourism is only one of the phenomena that illustrate what the Creating
Operaists like Panzieri were recognizing years ago: as the working class new publics
enjoys better, more comfortable living conditions, the capitalist system
keeps going. There is a need for new publics, new target groups who
benefit from it, constantly satisfying new needs and desires inoculated
by producers: firms, entrepreneurs, media… The intellectual worker
is the new laborer, outside the factory, producing immaterial goods to
be globally consumed by others who, in different parts of the world,
share and want to maintain the same status.
Still, the very idea of a “working class,” usually depicted as a grey
mass of tough, (male) workers leaving the factory where they spend
most of their time, is outdated and simplistic as a way of recognizing
this specific type of public, as so it is the romantic, indifferent attitude
of the bourgeois or the cool, cosmopolite and diverse “creative class”
dissected by Richard Florida –who would later recognize its capacity
to generate inequality in urban areas (Florida 2017). This type of
generalization of specific publics –like the Habermasian bourgeois
public sphere– tend to obliterate minorities and counterpublics,
346 (EM)BODYING
decision-making capacity and authority for violence, taking the form
of a body; not metaphorically, as in Hobbes’ Leviathan, but in a real
way: the state would exist through bodies and not outside of them
(Esposito 2005, 159).
Recalling again the work of Bataille, body would be the only
model that humans have to shape their world, and thus face the
impossibility of confronting chaos: “the model (...) will be the Self and
its other, its shadow, the body, because it is all they have” (Navarro
2002, 36). Hence, a duplication of the human being takes place: the Doppelgänger
Self is not integrated in the body as a mere instance of the psyche,
but comes off of it, as a doppelgänger that tends to remain hidden
and repressed. At least, this is what the French writer detects as a
recurrent symptom in Western culture for centuries. As a reaction,
the theorization of biopolitics and the emergence of the posthumanist
debate have prompted a different understanding of corporeality. From Devouring
the body itself, it is possible to interpret reality escaping the individual exteriority
sphere, since humans co-exist with other beings and things. If these
processes are further observed, it is noticeable that the condition
of immunity is constantly reflected even in places we inhabit, for
instance, in the city arranged to face the enemy or the plague. In
this sense, José Luis Pardo (1992) denounces the Western spatial
program, which involves the absorption of the Other within the Self,
“devouring” and consuming its own exteriority. Thus, the basic forms
of exteriority (nature, city and skin-body), through which the Self is
inevitably “spilled” from within outwards –as the Acephalus, whose
entrails appear before our eyes– open up a way to a counterfigural
understanding of human spatiality, different from Western traditional
assumptions.
Foucault’s inaugural line of thought meets the Nietzschean- Anti-humanism
Bataillean anti-humanist tradition. Thus, his contribution represents
a starting point for an approach that leaves aside for a moment
dominant communicational, discourse-based power relations to
focus on other planes of existence that escape, to a certain extent,
the established preeminence of reason. In this regard, his work
has been broadened, either through extension or critique –or even
348 (EM)BODYING
36 37 38
350 (EM)BODYING
39 40
41 42
43 44
352 (EM)BODYING
artificial and precarious conditions. As pointed before, some experts
detect urban-like features in refugee camps, as their inhabitants are
constantly transforming their environment into a more “human” one.
For Bauman (2008, 48), refugee camps are very similar to Goffman’s
“total institution,” of which there is no escape and which, in turn,
prevents any alternative way of life. Kleinschmidt also states that “in
the Middle East, we were building camps: storage facilities for people.
But the refugees were building a city. These are the cities of tomorrow.
The average stay today in a camp is 17 years. That’s a generation.
Let’s look at these places as cities” (Kleinschmidt and Radford 2015).
However, despite the tendency to recreate pseudo-urban conditions in
these sites, the camp is undoubtedly an anti-urban solution, lacking of
the facilities and deserving conditions of everyday life that inhabitants
need to feel safe and comfortable. In fact, some researchers have
demonstrated that “those refugees who have opted out of the camp
system – even when that means forgoing any humanitarian assistance
– have established an effective alternative approach to exile” (Hovil
2014). This will to live in the city, to be part of an urban community
–with all the advantages it has to offer–, brings once again the topic of
the city as a motor, as a node; and in this particular case of migration,
a proper spatial organization at all levels –especially in local and
regional levels– is essential. In this regard, the UNHCR launched two
years ago a new policy of alternatives to camps, recognizing that it is
more sustainable and positive to integrate refugees within urban or
rural communities. (UNHCR 2014)
The spatial dimension of all these processes is obvious, and the Liquefied bodies
idea of interiority appears again when dealing with this kind of
enclosed spaces. However, borders, which have traditionally been
understood as more or less defined regions separating interior and
exterior, have already exceeded their conventional definition to
become contingent or even fluid, since they no longer respond to
the physical form of a delimited space, but rather recreate a different
counter-figure which surpasses the limitations of an enclosed area.
This is particularly relevant in a moment when migration flows
(especially from countries at war or affected by social conflict to
other regions, such as Syrian people demanding refuge in Europe and
western Asian countries) are acquiring and unprecedented intensity.
An example of this transition from rigid borders to “liquefied bodies”
354 (EM)BODYING
contemporary capitalism does not plan space as it was traditionally
done, but it has found its particular way of doing so, linking spatial
planning processes paying attention to flows, fragments and, above all,
to security within its own space, threatened by external attacks (even
so, Lefebvre insists that capitalism tries to solve the contradictions of
space in its own way but has not been able to achieve it, because of
its efforts to redirect production relations by altering the functioning
of spaces). In any case, capitalist planning has also found destruction
as an essential mechanism through violent restructuring: it is what
Kenneth Hewitt (1983) called “place annihilation.”
Zygmunt Bauman quoted Adam Curtis and his documentary Exteriority
series The Power of Nightmares (2004) in order to explain how and fear
security has become a Western obsession and why nobody questions
these strategies of fear: “In an age when all the grand ideas have lost
credibility, fear of a phantom enemy is all the politicians have left
to maintain their power” (Adam Curtis, quoted in Bauman and
Agamben 2008, 99). The endless war declared to terrorism by the
West has its main battlefield in the “external” territory (Iraq, Palestine,
etc.), while being attacked in its territorial “interior,” in a so-called
asymmetric war (Lambert 2012, 23), leading to an unprecedented
development of security technologies and prevention: for Graham
(2011, 88), militarism and urbanism have never been so close. Under
what he calls the “new military urbanism,” he defines a series of pillars
on which it relies, understood as a way of integrating militarized
surveillance, control and attack practices in all strata of the city.
These include infrastructures, day-to-day architectures and urban
networks as means of propagating political violence, which make cities
extremely vulnerable, in the face of threats of power outages, short
circuits, and interruption of service. On the one hand, the attacks of
the insurgents on the centrality of the system (attacks in New York,
London, Madrid, Paris...) are recognized; on the other hand, we
find practices of systematic de-modernization of urbanized societies,
as the United States and Israel have done against Gaza, Lebanon or
Iraq (2011, 100–103). There is also a fusion between these forms
of militarization and the cultural, urban and material currents
that occur in different societies, through a popular technological
imaginary materialized in surveillance circuits (CCTV), intelligent
vehicles, etc., but also in video games or virtual entertainment that
356 (EM)BODYING
individual. As a self-controlling machine, humans are not only under
the gaze of the “Big Eye” of governments and power institutions,
but also under their own means of control. Thus, the contemporary Panopticon vs.
panopticon lies in the capacity of decision of each individual: what panchoreographic
should be communicated and what should be hidden. This results
in “unlimited surveillance” through both top-down and bottom-up
control chains which constitute a totalizing system. These conclusions,
elaborated by Han in The Society of Control (2013, 87–95), are
expanded through the active research conducted by the Spanish artist
Jaime del Val and the German philosopher Stefan Lorenz Sorgner.
Based on a metahumanist framework (2011), both assert that the
panopticon system is already obsolete, since we have passed from
the panoptic to the panchoreographic, a “biopolitical meta-system
of control” in which bodies are preventively appropriated. Basic
movements and habits, such as those involved in the daily use of
computers or video games, but also means of transport or sexual
practice, compose an inoculated “choreography” through which
bodies are programmed to continuously feel and satisfy artificial
needs and desires, something which is “crucial for the functioning of
markets, for the proliferation of contemporary regimes of affective
production and for the perpetuation of global violence” (Del Val
2009, 7). By producing global standard affections, the so-called
“capitalism of affect” (Del Val 2009, 2)40 presents a more complex
‘economy,’ the administration and government of human history.” Thus, the term dispositif
“designates that in which and through which, one realizes a pure activity of governance
devoid of any foundation in being” (2009, 11). Secondly, it is related to young Hegel’s
“positivity” as the “historical element (…) loaded (…) with rules, rites, and institutions
that are imposed on the individual by an external power, but that become, so to speak,
internalized in the systems of beliefs and feelings” (2009, 5–6). Finally, Heidegger also used
the notion of Ge-stell, (dis-positio, dis-ponere): the gathering together of the (in)stallation
[Stellen] that (in)stalls man, this is to say, challenges him to expose the real in the mode
of ordering [Bestellen]” (quoted in Agamben 2009, 12). However, it is worth mentioning
the warning in negative terms that Matteo Pasquinelli (2015b) makes about Agamben’s
interpretation of the Foucaldian dispositif: he reminds us, through an itinerary from
Foucault to Georges Canguilhem and Kurt Goldstein, that “[t]he contemporary history
of the concept of dispositif has been running, then, from normative potentiality (potentia,
puissance) to normative power (potestas, pouvoir) and not, as Agamben believes, from a
divine plan to a secularized technological plan.”
40 The “affective turn” is one of the numerous shifts that have been diagnosed
during the past decades. In this case, Patricia Clough (Clough and Halley (eds.) 2007,
2) defines affect as “potential bodily (…) often autonomic responses” that exceed
consciousness and meaning-making processes, located in a pre-subjective realm. This
turn, which is produced to a great extent after the contributions of Deleuze, also has its
repercussions in architecture, as Petit (2013, 28) argues: “It was also Deleuze who offered
architects the notion of ‘asignifying form’ and ‘affect’ (including the complicated relationship
between affect and affection - affectus and affectio) to replace the previous construal of
form as signifying text.”
41 The term kinesphere was coined by the Hungarian dance artist and theorist
Rudolf Laban to define all the possible reach of a body.
358 (EM)BODYING
48
In the same vein, Wallenstein (2009, 38) also believes that Anti-anatomical
techniques of normalization informed by relations of power and bodies
knowledge “produce subjects and objects through an infinite modeling
that today extends into the smallest fibers of our bodies and desires.”
However, this “infinite capacity” infused into bodies can impulse the
exercise of resistance and transformation. In this regard, the work
of Jaime del Val is significant from a corporeal perspective, since he
considers that bodies are essential for the (re)production of capitalist
strategies in the society of information as generators and embodiers
of affects. But at the same time, the artist operates immersing his
body within the dominant informational/communicative logic in
order to deconstruct it and show its contradictions. It could be argued
that Metabody is an attempt to accomplish the task that Benjamin
assigned to art, that is, “to undo the alienation of the corporeal
sensorium, to restore the instinctual power of the human bodily senses
(…) not by avoiding the new technologies, but by passing through
them” (Buck-Morss 1992, 5).
Thus, Del Val’s aperspectival, anti-anatomical work –showing
unrecognizable, monstruous bodies, amorphous flesh, sounds,
formless gestures... through intradermal cameras, sensors, and
other technological devices– dissolves binary assumptions and
standardized constructions around vision, bodies, gender... in a
way that he both makes use and dismantles hegemonic systems of
360 (EM)BODYING
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23 Dogma. “Locomotiva 3,” proposal for the area of Spina 4, Turin, 2010. Source: Dogma.
24 Archizoom. “No-Stop City,” 1970. Source: Andrea Branzi, No-Stop City. Archizoom
Associati. Orleans: HYX, 2006, 54-55.
25 Archizoom. “No-Stop City,” 1970. Source: Andrea Branzi, No-Stop City. Archizoom
Associati. Orleans: HYX, 2006, 10.
26 Archizoom. “No-Stop City,” 1970. Source: Andrea Branzi, No-Stop City. Archizoom
Associati. Orleans: HYX, 2006, 96-97.
366 (EM)BODYING
27 Archizoom. “No-Stop City,” 1970. Source: Andrea Branzi, No-Stop City. Archizoom
Associati. Orleans: HYX, 2006, 106-107.
30 “Seaside holiday,” 1900s. Source: Photograph by Cecil Hewitt. Daily Mail, Archant.
32 Condé Nast Traveler cover page, June 2014. Source: Condé Nast Traveler.
33 “The Blue Marble.” The Earth seen from Apollo 17, 1972. Source: Wikimedia Commons.
34 Cover page of The Capsular Civilization. Source: Lieven De Cauter. The Capsular
Civilization: On the City in the Age of Fear. Rotterdam: NAi Publishers, 2004.
35 Edward Steed. “That’s where we are right now,” 2014. Source: The New Yorker.
39 Immigrants in the fence of Melilla. February 18, 2014. Source: Photograph by Jesús Blasco
de Avellaneda, eldiario.es
40 Za’atri camp in Jordan for Syrian refugees as seen on July 18, 2013. Source: US
Department of State, Wikimedia Commons.
42 Kigeme Camp in southern Rwanda, 2012. Source: Photograph by Laura Eldon, Oxfam.
Wikimedia Commons.
43 Refugee Protest Camp Vienna, tents next to the Votivkirche, 2012. Source: 20000 Frauen.
45 Dancer interacting with Rudolf Laban’s Ichosaedron, c. 1950. Source: Digital Dance
Archives UK.
46 Reverso. “Metakinesphere,” 2014. Source: Reverso: Jaime del Val & Cristian García.
Metabody.
47 Reverso. “Microsexes/ microdances,” 2014. Source: Reverso: Jaime del Val, Metabody.
48 Reverso. Metabody Forum 2017 Greece, with the Refugees in Lesvos & Athens. “Metatopia
4.6 – Contesting hyperborders in the Algoricene.” Source: Photograph by Knut Bry. Reverso: Jaime
del Val, Metabody.
367
SE-DUCTIO II: WARSAW.
Europe is a process, always in fieri, something that is indefinitely becoming truth,
while facing a double risk: either to consolidate, still, as a center of irradiation
or, conversely, to alienate itself, being attracted to a more powerful orbit. It is
itself only when it is expelled out of itself. Hence the constant need for reflection.
Logically, its fate may be expressed by an infinite judgment (‘Europe is not-Asia’),
so it suits the ambiguity of the term Occidens (‘the one who/ what dies’ – ‘the
one who/ what gives death.’) (Duque 2003, 439)1
1 [T.A.]
369
01
explore self-awareness: “Man has always tried to unfold himself in order to try to know
himself. Recognizing one’s own image in the pool of water or in the mirror is, perhaps, one
of the first authentic hallucinations that man has experienced (...) Mind has constructed
representation from its own reflex base. And art has become one of the specialties of this
representation.” [T.A.]
4 It is worth recalling here the image of the confronted pavilions of Nazi Germany
and the Soviet Union of Paris in 1937. With regard to official spatiality, especially in
authoritarian regimes, there is a clear desire to show the image of the state as wielder
of power and manager of violence. Sudjic (2011) highlights the mimicry of architectural
projects from opposite regimes –Nazism and Stalinism–, which were placed face to
face at the Universal Exhibition in Paris in 1937. Both pavilions are equally bombastic
and intimidating, with a material and aesthetic treatment so similar that it is virtually
impossible to distinguish which is the one by Speer and which by Iofan, if not for the
obvious symbolic elements (the swastika, the hammer and sickle...) Turning to the current
situation, it is possible to check that this mimicry still operates, as seen through the prolific
reproduction of “architectures of spectacle.” However, this mimesis responds to the logic
of consumption and branding: iconic architecture not only provides an opportunity for
economic growth, but also for the supposed assertion of identity and meaning of a place
inserted within the global network.
371
throughout its history. Secondly, as a result of this, the construction
of the contemporary Polish nation is quite recent and has been
strengthened with the conclusion of World War II and the territorial
disputes between Nazis and Soviets. The Stalinist influence on the
People’s Republic would continue until Stalin’s death, giving way to
a more flexible socialist government that would end up collapsing
for various reasons (the appearance of Solidarność Labor Union, the
popular reaction against communism or the changes in the USSR,
among others).5 Finally, as previously mentioned, Poland has become
part of the European project despite having a peripheral position with
regard to the western core. This is precisely why an understanding for
a plural, though fragmentary, vision of its geopolitical entity seems
unavoidable.
Dissolving The interstitial situation in which Poland is placed is directly
the city reflected in Warsaw, the capital that was once considered to be the
“Paris of the East” and razed by the Nazis during World War II.
David Crowley (2008) recalls the spatialization of the city through the
new urban imaginary that Polish architects and planners generated
by thinking the new Warsaw, whether from western or eastern
perspectives –or from the tension between both positions. Probably
one of the most explicit links between both realities before the
War was articulated by the architects and planners Szymon Syrkus
and Jan Chmielewski (1935a; 1935b), who in the early thirties
presented the plan Warszawa Funkcjonalna (“Functional Warsaw”)
to the International Committee for the Resolution of Problems in
Contemporary Architecture (CIRPAC, the elected executive body
elected of the CIAM). The fundamental concept of the plan lied in
the intermediate position of Warsaw within the continent, between
the most representative cities of the European West and East, that is,
Paris and Moscow.6 The plan, being extremely conceptual, went far
5 In fact, Poland was part of the cordon sanitaire –along with Finland, Estonia,
Latvia, Lithuania and Romania– through which the Western powers would try to
reconfigure the map of Europe and isolate the Soviet Union after World War I
(Hobsbawm 1995, 32).
6 “(…) Paris and Moscow were not only symbolic centres of the East and
West: they were sometimes invoked –albeit often in caricature– to represent different
conceptions of the modern city. One might be described as the image of the utopic city:
the other as its heterotopic shadow” (Crowley 2008, 773–74).
05 06 07
08 09 10
373
beyond the physical reality of the city. Through a renewed, complex
network of continental connections through land, sea or air, Warsaw
was imagined to transcend the material realm as a dissolved node
in tension between two opposite poles. This was the first plan that
graphically represented Warsaw’s strategic importance as a point of
contact between East and West,7 and it was based on this geopolitical
vantage point that the proposal was forged to dematerialize the
physical city and give way to land flows, communication, spatial
relations and intersections between areas, fields, the city and even
chaotic, peripheral regions. This disintegration was the logical
outcome of a precarious urban structure – which would practically
disappear after the War – and was triggered by the possibility
of producing a dramatic change in the landscape, as in a real-
life experiment on a tabula rasa that had long been the object of
discussion in architectural circles.8 Warszawa Funkcjonalna opened
up a new school of thought regarding land use in which the priority
was to create and expand urban networks and infrastructure, taking
advantage of Warsaw’s – and Poland’s – intermediate position in
the middle of the European continent. For Crowley (2008, 769),
not only did the plan represent a project of Warsaw as a European
city; it “intended to become Europe itself.” These connotations were
obviously called into question after the Second World War, after
the bombing and destruction of the Polish capital by the Nazis.
The reconstruction of the city, which had disappeared in more than
80%, led to the need for a radically different position within the new
geopolitical configuration of Europe, which was then completely
divided. In this context, the plan becomes even more suggestive: when
7 “(…)Warsaw would rise to become the biggest European city in the 20th
century ‘due to the fact that this is the place where East meets West and where the most
colossal exchange to be imagined, the exchange between the continents, would take
place’ (…) In Warsaw goods and men changed from the Russian broad gauge to trains of
European scale” (Kohlrausch 2008, 7).
8 The plan was presented during the CIRPAC meeting held in London in 1934,
where it earned no shortage of praise from members such as Le Corbusier and Walter
Gropius (Kohlrausch 2008, 10).
9 The search for a reference is usual during the processes of state reconstruction
after the war. In a way, this has strong repercussions in cultural and artistic production,
both in official trends and in more eccentric ones. In East Germany, for example,
Arno Fischer’s photography presents, in an alternative way, the process of the Aufbau
through apparently banal everyday scenes opposed to the images of the reconstruction
disseminated by the government (Crowley and Reid 2002, 85–104). In the case of Poland,
this debate on references is extended in post-Stalinist art and the relation between Polish
art scene and the West (Rottenberg et al. 2009).
10 Among these publications, Pijarski (2013) mentions Warszawski tygodnik
ilustrowany (“The Capital. Warsaw Illustrated Weekly,” 1957); Nowa Warszawa w ilustracjach
375
11 12
13 In this regard, the magnificent work of the Russian orthodox priest and
polymath Pavel Florensky The Reverse Perspective (2006b) is revealing in the sense that
he interprets the codes of the orthodox icon in the light of mathematical thought and
avant-garde art. Other essays on the perception of art have been collected in Beyond Vision
(2006a).
377
14 15
refuge precisely in art, in the ephemeral, where they would have the
chance to keep experimenting and proposing a new spatiality outside
the limits of state power. Although many of them had the approval
of the government, most of the major projects of these architects
were never built, due to the inability to execute any public project
that did not respond to the interests of the Party. In fact, working
in groups was one of the main strategies followed by architects
excluded for ideological reasons in order to remain active (Fudala
and Zamecznik 2010). Properly speaking, the group could not be
labelled as subversive or radical –like other artists and collectives that
would appear in the seventies and eighties to denounce the situation
of the Republic, as Akademia Ruchu14 or Claus Hänsel.15 But beyond
specific political positions, architects and artists like Oskar and Zofia
Hansen, Stanisław Zamecznik, Lech Tomaszewski or Wojciech Fangor
continued working for a new spatiality and new forms of expression
Space to restore human relations towards the spatial environment. It seems
between us no coincidence that the exhibition organized in 2010 at the Museum
of Modern Art in Warsaw around the work of Zamecznik and his
colleagues was entitled The space between us; a headline with strong
18 19
20 21
18 Although there are no references to this particular work, Hansen was aware of
Eco’s notion of the open work through his book Six Walks in the Fictional Woods (1994),
that Hansen mentions in Zobaczyć świat (2005b, 21).
21 His labor was also recognized abroad, since he was invited as lecturer and
teacher on several occasions in other countries. During his stays in Helsinki, Delft, Oslo,
Trondheim, Brussels, Antwerp, etc. he had the chance to meet other teachers and
students like Lucien Kroll or Svein Hatløy. The latter would later found the Bergen School
of Architecture, whose educational program is highly inspired by Hansen’s methods.
22 Both films can be accessed online through the film library of the Museum of
Modern Art in Warsaw: http://tpm.artmuseum.pl/en/filmoteka
23 The projects from the documentary were developed during the same years as
LCS and show some similarities: for instance, the use of linear systems linked to transport
lines, or the creation of architectural frameworks for housing, as proposed by Jacek
Damięcki. Other housing ideas included the dom ogród (garden-house) by Tadeusz Kaden
or the domy wiszące (hanging homes) of Wieslaw Nowak.
eastern and western states. Here again, the aim is to create a system
capable of linking Europe, with Poland playing a key role.
Lastly, if there is anything that sets LCS apart from other linear
proposals, it is the social and political aspect. Its feasibility depended
on the commitment of the government and the authorities in terms
of planning, given that this was a project that did not merely aim
to provide the land with a functional urban system. In addition
to ensuring mobility from home to work and highlighting the
importance of collective areas and community leisure spaces, the
model encouraged individual initiative by having residents build
their own homes. This involved a dual process: on one hand, each
individual had the freedom to create their own space in accordance
with their situation; on the other hand, each person’s interests
would have to be adjusted to suit the community, meaning that
the individual process was inextricably entwined with the collective
one. The flow of food, transport, resources and the like, as well as
the pursuit of greater efficiency in those processes, fostered what
Łukasz Stanek (2014, 220) defined as “biotechnological urbanism.”
In essence, LCS represented a laboratory, a support on which to test
lifestyles in an entirely socialist state based on an infrastructure in the
Marxist sense of the term; i.e., upon a material basis to determine
social development and change.26
26 Hansen believed that Open Form would provide a solution to the problem of
the Great Number (Hansen 1961), i.e. the difficulties arising from a gradual increase in
35 36
population and in social and spatial needs, by means of individual and group initiatives. “The
Open Form (...) does not exclude the energy of the client’s initiative but on contrary treats
it as a basic, organic, and inseparable component element. (…) The Open Form is to aid
the individual in finding himself in the collective, to make him indispensable in the creation
of his own surroundings” (Hansen and Hansen 2014, 7 ff).
It has been already pointed out that approaches to the West became
usual while the Stalinist influence was progressively diluting during
the “thaw years.” This fact has had a serious impact on the symbolic
and representational level in a country with such a convulsive history
during the twentieth century. Even today, the debate about the
pertinence of certain monuments, symbols and memorials is still alive:
with the process of de-communization of the country, the focus was
displaced from the victims of fascism (victims of Stalinism has been
obliterated during many years) to a certain “Christianization” of the
memorial sites, especially Auschwitz after the visit of the Pope in 1979
and the commemorations of catholic martyrs like Maksymilian Kolbe
or Edith Stein (Ochman 2013, 36 ff). In 2016, the Polish Institute of
National Remembrance started a campaign to urge local authorities
to take monuments to the Soviet armed forces (the so-called
“monuments of gratitude”) off the streets and to change the names of
places related to the communist period, and one year later, president
Duda has signed into law a bill on the prohibition of communist
propaganda that regulates the demolition of Soviet-era monuments.
For some time after deciding to take part in this competition we felt helpless.
No gesture, no form of expression, no colour could, in our eyes, express,
commemorate, or celebrate what happened in this place. The realisation of
the fact that we are to create a symbol of the 20th century’s morality required
responsibility and humbleness from us. We all agreed that what we would design
had to be an expression of silence. (Hansen 2005a, 130)
28 “The perspective of the wide, black slab of ‘The Road’ introduces the viewer,
fresh from of their everyday existence, into the grounds of the Auschwitz-Birkenau camp
from the back (…)There is no single place of homage – the entire camp is a scene of a
tragic experience (…) Finally, when we reach the end of “The Road,” we enter the open
space of the fields...We return to life, to appreciate its value and to see our everyday
problems in a different light” (Hansen 2005a, 130).
29 Quentin Stevens, Karen A. Franck and Ruth Fazakerley (2012) have recently
explored the notion of the counter-monumental as a critical mode of commemorative
practice in which power relations are spatialized in a different way by shifting the traditional
approaches around the subject, the site, visitor experience and meaning. They also
distinguish between those that adopt anti-monumental strategies (counter to traditional
principles) and those which they call “dialogic,” which counter a specific existing monument
and the values it represents. In this regard, The Road would be an anti-monument, like
other Holocaust memorials like the one by Jochen and Esther Gerz in Hamburg. Examples
of dialogical monuments are Henry Moore’s Goslar Warrior or Maya Lin’s Vietnam Veterans
Memorial in Washington.
30 Based on the concept of the sculptural understood as a combination of
exclusions (not-landscape, not-architecture), Krauss (1983) develops a Klein group to
relate the different environments from their understandings both positively and negatively.
Although the method is purely structuralist, it manages to establish complex relations
between the architectural and the landscape, the built and the unbuilt, to explain the
transition between the traditional sculptural and the sculptural in the expanded field, which
appears when problematizing oppositions among which the modern category of sculpture
is located. In this new field, the author places artists such as Robert Morris, Robert
Smithson, Michael Heizer, Richard Serra, Walter De Maria, Robert Irwin, Sol LeWitt,
Christo or Bruce Nauman.
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of communication system in the Warsaw region. Source: “Warszawa Funkcjonalna,” 1935.
06 Jan Chmielewski and Szymon Syrkus “Functional Warsaw.” Scheme of planned areas in the
extension of Warsaw. Source: “Warszawa Funkcjonalna,” 1935.
07 Jan Chmielewski and Szymon Syrkus “Functional Warsaw.” Intersection nodes between
planning areas. Source: “Warszawa Funkcjonalna,” 1935.
08 Jan Chmielewski and Szymon Syrkus “Functional Warsaw.” Districts with planning
priority. Source: “Warszawa Funkcjonalna,” 1935.
09 Jan Chmielewski and Szymon Syrkus “Functional Warsaw.” Existing chaos in the Warsaw
region (analytical map, established by the Regional Plan Office of the city of Warsaw). Source:
“Warszawa Funkcjonalna,” 1935.
12 Bernardo Bellotto. The New Town Market Square with St. Kazimierz Church, 1778.
Source: Wikimedia Commons.
13 The Marketplace of Warsaw after the WWII bombings (left), and after its reconstruction
(right). Source: Art in Society.
15 Lech Tomaszewski. “Mesh- experiment with spiderweb,” 1970s. Source: Tomasz Fudala
and Marianne Zamecznik, Przestrzeń Między Nami/ The Space Between Us. Warsaw: Museum of
Modern Art in Warsaw; 0047 Oslo, 2010. Photograph by A. Wróblewski, Agnieszka Putowska-
Tomaszewska.
409
16 Stanisław Zamecznik, Oskar Hansen, Wojciech Fangor. “Study of Integrated Space,” 1957.
Source: Archive of the Museum of Academy of Fine Arts, Warsaw.
18 Oskar Hansen. Project for the extension of the Zachęta Gallery (section), 1959. Source:
Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
19 Oskar Hansen. Project for the extension of the Zachęta Gallery (model), 1959. Source:
Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
20 Oskar Hansen. Project for the Museum of Modern Art in Skopje, 1966. Source: Courtesy
of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
21 Oskar Hansen. Project for the Museum of Modern Art in Skopje (model), 1966. Source:
Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
22 Oskar Hansen. “Closed form, Open form,” 1958. Source: Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar
Hansen Foundation.
26 Students at Oskar Hansen’s studio with instrument for exercise “Rhythm”1957. Source:
Archive of the Museum of Academy of Fine Arts, Warsaw.
27 KwieKulik.“Game on Morels Hill,” group action with Oskar Hansen, 1971. Source:
KwieKulik Archive.
28 Oskar Hansen. Active Negative of flat at Sędziowska street, 1955. Source: Courtesy of Zofia
and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
29 Oskar Hansen. Active Negative of flat at Sędziowska street. Different perspectives, 1955.
Source: Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
30 Network of transport routes planned for Poland. Frame of the documentary “Jak będziemy
mieszkać w roku 2000”, 1971. Source: Courtesy of Telewizja Polska.
31 Jacek Damięcki. Project fpr a flexible housing block (model), 1969. Source: Photograph by
Simone de Iacobis. Fundacja Bęc Zmiana.
32 Oskar Hansen. Extension of LCS throughout the continent, n.d. Source: Courtesy of Zofia
and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
33 Oskar Hansen. Scheme of application of LCS in the territory of Poland, 1972. Source:
Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
34 Oskar Hansen and team. LCS (model), Mazovia’s Belt, 1968. Source: Courtesy of Zofia
and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
35 Zofia and Oskar Hansen, Przyczółek Grochowski, Warsaw, 1973. Source: Courtesy of Zofia
and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
37 Oskar Hansen and team. “The Road,” proposal for Auschwitz memorial, 1958. Source:
Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
38 Oskar Hansen and team. “The Road,” sketches for Auschwitz memorial, 1958. Source:
Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
39 Oskar Hansen and team. “The Road,” Auschwitz memorial (photo-collage), 1958. Source:
Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
40 Oskar Hansen and team. “The Road,” Auschwitz memorial (model), 1958. Source:
Courtesy of Zofia and Oskar Hansen Foundation.
41 Oskar Hansen and team. “The Road,” Auschwitz memorial (model), 1958. Exhibited at tate
Britain, “Moore & Auschwitz,” 2010. Source: Photograph by Magdalena Hueckel, swiatobrazu.pl
44 Oskar Hanesen, Artur Żmijewski. “Sen Warszawy,” 2005. Source: Photograph by Artur
Żmijewski. Foksal Gallery Foundation.
411
(TRANS)FORMING (or how the immaterial
supports an extended understanding of urban social space)
The new technology is not antagonistic to nature. Rather, it is creating a new
kind of nature. If nature as we have always known it is to be considered real,
then this artificial nature should probably be called virtual. And we people of
the modern age are provided with two types of body to match these two types of
nature: The real body which is linked with the real world by the fluids flowing
inside it, and the virtual body linked with the world by the flow of electrons. (Ito
2002, 344)
Until now, the question of space and negativity has been mainly (Im)material
addressed through physical, sensible approximations. In principle, space
this is what one would expect when facing an urban-architectural
discourse that, at least historically, are disciplines with a strong
anchor in material culture. As it has been already argued, the idea of
space and its reverses finds an immediate expression in architectural
and urban forms, through sequences of occupied and appropriated
fills and voids, as well as its byproducts. The body, the most basic
interface situated amidst the primeval disjuncture between interior
and exterior realms (which have been given an asymmetric treatment
in Western thought), has been regarded and explored as a particular
–though non-exclusive– means to apprehend and produce the space
in which it is inserted, in coexistence with multiple beings. However,
an understanding of space as a sort of “abstract materiality,” such
as the one largely promoted by modern sciences during the last
centuries, would be incomplete and insufficient in every respect. The
exploration of alternative, possible spaces, either real or imaginary,
has been present throughout the text in different occasions, thus
challenging solid, monolithic spatial conceptions such as those that
have dominated Western spatiality for ages. Indeed, the very notion
of a public space, associated to a complex public sphere (or spheres) of
relation, is inextricably linked to an immaterial, or virtual dimension
of a space that cannot be reduced to a mere support for bodies and
objects.
Subject to forms and counterforms, the material substrate of the
city is deeply related to the complexity of a dense mesh of relations,
images, myths, dreams, practices and other immaterial elements that
configure it. However, the strong connection between both realms,
as well as the impossibility to reduce one to another –and sometimes
even to distinguish them–, leads us to think of transformations
413
that take place in (urban) space. Once again, an etymological
approximation to the term may serve as a point of departure for
the following section or as a statement of intent. If the question of
architectural form has already been addressed with regard to space,
the Latin prefix “trans” adds a prepositional meaning of movement
“across,” thus invoking a displacement “beyond” and “through”
form. In this occasion, the proposed movement consists on gradual
approaches to the manifold relations between the physical and the
virtual, form and formlessness, with regard to the (re)production and
generation of spaces.
New Paradoxically, new technologies already represent an old-fashioned
materialities topic in academia. Talking today of how technology and the media
are transforming cities is far from being an innovative subject; so
are the technopositivist discourses that imagine an utopian (or
dystopian), hyper-technological city deprived of a material/corporeal
dimension.1 What seems certain is that the city cannot be understood
today through exclusively material and physical relations and forms,
although there are strong currents in philosophy and architecture
theory that aim at redefining a new materiality (Picon 2004; Harman
2011; Lange-Berndt (ed.) 2015; DeLanda 2015). The city is a
mediated entity,2 and its conditions have radically changed from its
origins to our days, to the point that we are facing a very different
milieu which is translated into different relations, practices and habits.
Both realms –the virtual and the physical–, as well as their multiple
layers and the gaps and superpositions that appear between them,
generate an endless work field. However, although the virtual has
acquired a particularly relevant strength today, it is important to
1 “The cyberspace dream of the Self, liberated from the attachment to its natural
body by turning itself into a virtual entity floating from one to another contingent and
temporary embodiment, is the scientific-technological realization of the Gnostic dream of
the Self getting rid of the decay and inertia of material reality” (Žižek 2006, 100).
2 “Mediation (…) is a dialectical term in Hegelian philosophy, developed in
particular in his Science of Logic in the context of his difficult notion Aufhebung – which in
English is rendered inadequately as ‘sublation.’ (…) He writes: ‘Nothing is immediate; what
is sublated, on the other hand, is the result of mediation; it is a non-being but as a result
which had its origin in a being. It still has, therefore, in itself, the determinateness from which
it originated.’” (Andreotti and Lahiji 2016, 11)
414 [TRANS]FORMING
remark that it is not relegated to the exclusive field of new (and not
so new) technologies and media as catalysts for the purely immaterial,
since “reality” is always already virtual.3 Architecture and urbanism
are not an exception: both are disciplines that project future, possible
spaces that remain under permanent transformation, not only during
the early stages of creation and design or construction, but also when
these are being occupied, used and appropriated.
Michel Serres (Serres and Alberganti 2001) denounces the stigma
of the virtual when it is asserted that it leads to the loss of contact
with reality and to disrupted social relations. Instead, he argues
that the virtual is not an invention of modernity, but a much older
concept that goes back to Aristotle and constantly appears in all
kinds of human activity. The author conjures up the image of a
jaded, apathetic Madame Bovary in Normandy, while her husband
is far from home, visiting his patients: “Most of the time she makes
love more in her imagination than in reality. It is completely virtual.
Madame Bovary is a novel of the virtual,” and likewise we are in the
virtual when reading a book, when remembering or when falling in
love with a movie star. “The virtual is the very flesh of man.”4 (Serres
and Alberganti 2001)
The spaces of the city, opening and closing, folding up and out, are
constantly changing and evolving in order to host new activities and
uses in different places: wide squares, streets, malls, interiors, walls
or narrow passages. However, urban space transcends the physical
dimension and extends through the rhythms and habits of elements,
3 Gilles Deleuze would invert the relation between the virtual and the real arguing
that the virtual is the ground for the actual: “The virtual is not opposed to the real, but
to the actual. The virtual is fully real in so far as it is virtual” (Deleuze 1994, 208). On the
contrary, he opposes the real to the possible: “the process undergone by the possible is
therefore a ‘realisation’. (…) The process it [the virtual] undergoes is that of actualisation”
(1994, 211).
4 [T.A.]
416 [TRANS]FORMING
02 03 04
which works as a hinge between the carnal and the spiritual.5 In his
work on Paris –which he recognizes as being indebted to Benjamin’s
oeuvre to a large extent–, David Harvey (2003, 19) notices how the
German writer (as other Marxist authors, such as Henri Lefebvre)
appreciates imaginations, dreams, conceptions and representations
as essential elements that transcend the material world, as they
“mediate that materiality in powerful ways; hence his fascination
with spectacle, representations, and phantasmagoria.” Some of these
imaginary representations which tend to supplant reality as dreamlike
hallucinations are reflected in the idea of the ghostly or the spectral.
Benjamin would choose the notion of “phantasmagoria” to elaborate
a critique, in his very particular materialist terms, on the triumph of
technology and commodity culture over the organization of the city.
Paris, as “the Capital of the Nineteenth Century” –the exposé that
opens the major work of the Arcades (2002)–, embodies this illusory
image that concretizes the aspirations of the bourgeois society in an
industrial era. The arcade, as the paradigmatic architectural typology
of European industrial bourgeoisie, mixing antique appearance and
5 The work of Richard Wagner as Gesamtkunstwerk (“total work of art”) has been
crucial for the characterization of the modern phantasmagoria as mythical illusion and the
relations between aesthetics and the political project (aesthetization of politics). Theodor
Adorno (2005) was the first to study this relation based on the “occultation of production
by means of the outward appearance of the product” (Adorno 2005, 85), which has led to
further studies and explorations by different authors.
6 “Ideology is not in the first place a set of doctrines; it signifies the way men live
out their roles in class-society, the values, ideas and images which tie them to their social
functions and so prevent them from a true knowledge of society as a whole.” (Eagleton
2006, 8)
418 [TRANS]FORMING
hypertrophic forms, interiors and exuberant devices create authentic
global nodes, around which the economy and expectations of the
whole city revolve. Aware of this effect, policymakers of all around
the world have promoted an “urbanism of phantasmagoria,” wishing
to enter global circuits as competitive, recognizable hubs which boost
economy and production.
In a global culture dominated by pure presence (Han 2014) and Pure presence,
circulation,7 this universal conglomeration of urban images have a sensorial
direct impact on the way we perceive the world. Beyond the iconic overflow
building, Lahiji, recalling the notion of anesthetization proposed by
Buck-Morss (1992), invites the reader to walk around the centers of
some of these cities: Times Square in New York, Leicester Square or
Piccadilly Circus in London, the Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo or the
Yonge-Dundas Square in Toronto are examples of hyper-mediated
spaces, where architecture becomes pure image, blasting the senses of
passers-by in an almost intoxicating manner:
(…) the result is a form of “urban trash” characterizing a modern experience
that one can only respond to through cerebral numbness or its opposite – as
the proponents of this architecture and city experience would suggest – full
acceptance and immersion. (Lahiji 2015, 9)
07 08
420 [TRANS]FORMING
that incessantly grows, accumulates and produces through permanent
activity and spectacle. Benjamin (2002, 10) also noticed about the
experience of shock following Baudelaire and his flâneur through the
streets of Fin-de-Siècle Paris:
(…) the gaze of the allegorist, as it falls on the city, is the gaze of the alienated
man. It is the gaze of the flâneur, whose way of life still conceals behind a
mitigating nimbus the coming desolation of the big-city dweller.
Anthony Vidler (1991) relates the perspectives of Simmel and the Agoraphobia
also German writer Siegfried Kracauer under the “spatial pathology”
suffered by the metropolitan society of their time, being described
as agoraphobia,8 that is, the fear (but also related to the desire) of
space as void or emptiness, contrary to the immersive interior of the
passage, the Adornian intérieur or Kracauer’s Hotelhalle. For both
Simmel and Kracauer, the metropolis is a structure where everything
is in permanent move and the individual behaves as a nomad and a
stranger to the other, permanently trapped within the contradictory
dyad of the void or empty space –“of physics, the abstract sciences,
and (..) of the ratio, or rationalized modern life” (Vidler 1991,
44)– and the erfüllter Raum of being with (or surrounded by) the
others, which may cause the opposite fear, claustrophobia. The space
of the hotel lobby described by Kracauer (1995) emerges as the
paradigmatic “space of indifference,” where anonymous hotel guests
wander or sit as isolated particles with “a disinterested satisfaction in
the contemplation of a world creating itself ” (Kracauer 1995, 177).
Here, the notion of Ent-ortung as de-localization and uprooting that
Cacciari (1993) proposes when analyzing Adolf Loos’ thought from
a Heideggerian perspective, seems quite accurate to describe the
character of these spaces, produced by an architecture and urbanism
that annihilate place by means of extreme rationalization.
Ildefonso Cerdà’s grid in Barcelona (and other modern cities) is
a clear precursor to the modern Ent-ortete metropolis, considered
to be the best infrastructural form for the modern city and the
422 [TRANS]FORMING
11
Besides, this acceleration is not only temporal, but also spatial, since
contemporary technologies are available and ready to use in almost
every corner of the world. Thus, it is not surprising that Han’s “twin”
works (The Burnout Society in 2010 and The Transparency Society
in 2012) can be better understood when read together, since the
seductive transparency of a world dependent on images and the
exhaustion of the subject are deeply related.
Han underlines the predominance of neurological illnesses Capitalism
(“depression, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), of anxiety
borderline personality disorder (BPD), and burnout syndrome”)
at the beginning of the twenty-first century, contrary to the
former prevalence of immunological diseases. Contemporary
neural pathologies, according to the author, “do not follow from
the negativity of what is immunologically foreign, but from an
excess of positivity” (Han 2015, 1). This excess is considered to be
symptomatic of a society over which the exercise of violence derives
from this positivity paradigm: “overproduction, overachievement,
overcommunication” (Han 2015, 5) that, far from dialectical tensions,
contribute to the production of transparent, available contents,
informations and images prone to be absorbed and assimilated
without limits. We could even go a step further with Peio Aguirre
(2014, 92), who already talks of a “capitalism of anxiety.”
they have also altered the human sensorium and the mode of perception in the subject’s
experience in a way that is qualitatively different from the previous historical make-up that
Benjamin discussed” (Lahiji 2015, 2).
10 Deutsche offers an interesting remark about the unfulfilled task of public space
from a gender perspective: “From a sociological perspective, agoraphobia is primarily an
affliction of women. In city streets and squares, where men have greater rights, women
devise strategies to avoid the threats that present themselves in public spaces. The phobic
woman may try to define, and stay within, what she considers a zone of safety. She invents
‘cover stories’: explanations for her actions that, as one sociologist writes, ‘do not reveal
that she is what she is, a person afraid of public places.’” (Deutsche 1996, 325)
424 [TRANS]FORMING
12 13
11 [T.A.]
426 [TRANS]FORMING
Times Square, by now, is known only through its representations, its sign
systems, its iconic cinematic presence. Pleasure now derives from experiencing
the illusion of “The Great White Way” by simulating its Lutses [Light Units in
Times Square], by planning its unplannedness, by foregrounding the apparatus
that produces these manipulated representations. (…) Times Square has been
incorporated into a larger sense of assembled space, where all of its simultaneity
and immediacy can evaporate into astonishing imagescapes. (Boyer 1999,
85–86)
428 [TRANS]FORMING
17 18
The railway kills space, so we are left with time. If we only had enough money to
kill time, too! It is now possible to go to Orleans in four and a half hours or in
as many hours to Rouen. Wait until the lines to Belgium and Germany are built
and connected with the railways there! It is as if the mountains and forests of all
countries moved towards Paris. I can smell the scent of German linden trees, and
the North Sea is roaring in front of my door. (Heinrich Heine, Lutetia, 1843)14
13 See Annex I.
14 Translation by Spiekermann and Wegener (1994) from Heine, H., 1964. “Lutetia
(II): Berichte über Politik, Kunst und Volksleben.” In H. Kaufmann, ed. Heinrich Heine:
Sämtliche Werke, vol. XII. Munich: Kindler, pp. 5–160.
430 [TRANS]FORMING
compressions of space and time as the definitive steps into a global
society, in which the whole world becomes homogeneous.
Although mobility is undeniably a constitutive factor of this
modern conception of the urban, the so-called “vehicular space,”
in which private car and television sustained the machinery of
capitalist representation (Crary 1984, 289), began to lose strength
as soon as the home computer (and later the mobile phone) made
its appearance, pervading millions of households around the world.
The central, unidirectional screen of the TV has been substituted by
a myriad of interactive screens that surround us and condition our
relations with the environment.15
Beyond the utopian/dystopian visions and predictions made during World without
the eighties and early-nineties (Crary 1984; Baudrillard et al. 1990; an outside
Virilio 1991; Mitchell 1995; etc.), which may be more or less accurate
with regard to the current situation, it seems that, today, interaction
with the world can be mediated almost exclusively through the use
of digital devices. These modes of interaction are possible through
the production of multiple closed circuits that occasionally lead to
self-enclosed structures “without avenues of escape, with no outside”
(Crary 1984, 294). Again, the idea of a nonexistent or irrelevant
exterior gains strength and is reflected spatially. When Peter Sloterdijk
points to a change in the morphological paradigm of human spatiality
in his Spheres trilogy, he depicts a society in which individual space
becomes a sort of shell or bubble that wraps the subject completely.
The interaction of the individual with the world around him/her is,
due to the condition of immunity, inevitably subject to uncertainty
and fear on all scales: from the fetus in the womb to be expelled
into the world to a society bewildered by problems generated in the
peripheral area (terrorist threats, immigration, natural disasters…)
Thus, the world in which we live manifests itself as an involute
labyrinth, where there is no difference between inside and outside,
so the Other –the enemy– becomes unconceivable and ought to be
expelled at any cost. It is not the Greek mythical labyrinth anymore,
15 “Are we not more and more monads with no direct windows onto reality,
interacting alone with the PC screen, encountering only the virtual simulacra, and
yet immersed more than ever in the global network, synchronously communicating
with the entire globe?” (Žižek 2001, 26)
16 This concept appears in a poem entitled “Es winkt zu Fühlung fast aus allen
Dingen,” in which Sloterdijk (2013, 197) sees “a mode of world-experience typical of
primary narcissism,” in which the horizon is not a “boundary and transition” towards the
exterior, but “a frame to hold the inner world.” Durch alle Wesen reicht der eine Raum:/
Weltinnenraum. Die Vögel fliegen still/ durch uns hindurch. O, der ich wachsen will,/ ich seh
hinaus, und in mir wächst der Baum./ Ich sorge mich, und in mir steht das Haus. “Through all
beings extends the one space:/ world interior space. Silently the birds fly/ through us. O, I
who want to grow,/ I look out and the tree grows in me./ I care and the house stands in
me” (Translation by Wieland Hoban, in Sloterdijk 2013, 197).
17 Emmanuel Petit (2013, 31) detects the transition between the extensive,
“modern” conception of a universal and homogeneous space –which German architectural
theory designated as Allraum– and the immersive space of Weltinnenraum (inner world
space).
432 [TRANS]FORMING
2013, 13). Peripheries –and not the center, as some like Sedlmayr
anticipated- are progressively lost, as the different and the remote are
no longer unfamiliar to us: globalization “carries the screened outside
everywhere” (Sloterdijk 2013, 30) and the boundaries can always be
further extended, like in Emerson’s Circles,18 making the world interior
safer, transparent, unconcealed and familiar to those who inhabit it.
Globalization is, ultimately, the process of negating “the externality of
the external” (Sloterdijk 2013, 96).
In a previous chapter, we have seen how some authors argue that Thin-walled
cities are increasingly displacing nation-states as the most relevant societies
form of socio-political organization. Interestingly, Sloterdijk (2013,
152) resorts to the spatial –and very urban– image of the wall to
explain the transition of societies from territorially, symbolically and
usually linguistically grounded communities (“thick-walled societies”)
to the free-moving, mixed and more open “thin-walled societies.”
The wall, which represents the immunological hard membrane that
protected, isolated and defined a certain local group from its external
surroundings (like the fortification of pre-modern cities) loses
thickness with the increase of transnational mobility and exchange.
Territories and cities become, more than ever, spaces of negotiation
at all levels, losing their strength as immunological dispositifs in favor
of the individual body, through means such as private insurances,
pension funds or dietetics (Sloterdijk 2013, 154). Again, Tiqqun’s
qualification of the contemporary metropolis illustrates the
unavoidably immersive and contradictory character of the urban,
in which immediate proximity and absolute estrangement coexist
pervading the whole Earth through this thin-walled membranes and
devices:
[T]here is no outside of the metropolis: the territories that its metastatic
extension does not occupy are always polarized by it; that is, they are determined
in all their aspects by its absence. (…) Metropolises are distinct from the other
grand human formations first of all because the greatest proximity, and usually
the greatest promiscuity, coincide in them with the greatest foreignness. Never
23 24 25
have men been gathered together in such great number, and never have they
been so totally separate from one another. (Tiqqun 2010, 14–15)
The modern The grand interior of modernity finds its ultimate expression in
interior Joseph Paxton’s Crystal Palace that was built in iron and glass to host
the Great Exhibition of 1851 in London’s Hyde Park. In his Notes
from Underground published in 1864, Fyodor Dostoyevsky expresses,
through the figure of the narrator, his impressions after the visit to
such huge construction, which he reads critically from a non-Western
position. The Palace emerges as the great monument of immersive
aesthetics: artificially climatized, transparent but enclosed, built to
host thousands of visitors each day to contemplate the marvels of the
modern world (around 17,000 exhibitors from the main world powers
and their colonies) with perplexity and stupor. It concentrates the
whole world within a protective shell, a huge collective capsule which
separates an agoraphobic civilization from an outside that can be
seen from the interior, but appears as a mere illusion beyond the glass
wall.19 There is no place for negativity in the building, no shadows, no
434 [TRANS]FORMING
hidden elements. Everything is visible and flowing; all elements float
in a homogeneous space bathed in light.
The Crystal Palace disappeared in 1936 after a destructive fire.
But since then, the model of the interior, enveloping atmosphere
has been reproduced in several occasions; in fact, some buildings
and replicas imitating the original Crystal Palace in London were
built in New York, Montreal (both destroyed by fire in 1858 and
1896 respectively), Madrid, Paris or even in Disney World Resort
in Orlando (where one can have a meal with the famous cartoon
characters). There has been even a recent attempt to reconstruct the
original Palace led by a Shanghai-based investing and developing
firm under the auspices of the former London’s mayor Boris Johnson,
although the project, which attracted a select group of world-known
architects such as Zaha Hadid, Richard Rogers or David Chipperfield,
was finally discarded. This reflects to what extent a persistent
fascination for immersive interiors prevails today.
In a different way, contemporary art also produces similar
enveloping atmospheres, echoing the spatiality and the experience
of the all-encompassing interior. Such is the case of Anish Kapoor’s
Leviathan (2011), the immense spatial sculpture built inside the
Grand Palais in Paris during the fourth edition of Monumenta.20
Taking its name from the work of Thomas Hobbes, the monstrous
space is an unexpected cathedral within the Beaux-Arts structure
of the palace, that is, an interior within an interior that swallows
the visitor as soon as he/she crosses the entrance. Four intersecting
semi-transparent red-plastic spheres constitute a 120-meter long and
35-meter high amorphous membrane which can be either observed
from the outside –opposed to the glass and steel frame of the Grand
Palais– or experienced from within as a pervasive atmosphere that, far
from being oppressive, generates a sensation of levity and wholeness,
but also of estrangement at the same time. Contrary to the Crystal
Palace, the walls of the Leviathan do not totally allow the entry of
outer side.
20 Leviathan is referred by Emmanuel Petit (2013, 29–30) as an exemplary
construction with regard to the turn to immanence in contemporary architecture,
together with SANAA’s Rolex Center in Lausanne.
436 [TRANS]FORMING
Luna Park and Steeplechase Park. The exhibition takes as its starting
point the short film Coney Island at Night, recorded by the American
filmmaker Edwin S. Porter in 1905 and in which the leisure complex
is shown through a series of night panning shots. The images offer a
mesmerizing view of the parks, which appear as immaterial, fantastic
castles of glowing light bulbs shining amidst the black background,
creating a surreal, dreamlike effect. At the same time, the possible
counterpart of the American Dreamland would be reflected years
later by the filmmaker Lindsay Anderson, one of the promoters of the
British Free Cinema of the 1950s,21 focused on showing the everyday
life of the big city from a direct and non-contrived approach. O
Dreamland (1953) shows the anodyne working-class consumption of
leisure time in a disturbing, uncanny amusement park, showing a gray
and mechanical reality with no soundtrack other than the squeaking
of the devices, the repetitive music and the loud laughter of the
automatons (Aguilar 2009, 19). Thus, the short film shows the sinister
reverse of the phantasmagoria embodied by the amusement park, as
an illusion of enjoyment and free time.
Theme parks are indeed one of the best examples of modern Capsular space
interiors, presenting a heterotopic, spectacular parallel reality within
an enclosed space devoted to the consumption of leisure time.22
However, the clearest –and probably most successful– example of the
absolute interior today may well be the shopping mall, a typology
combining fascinating transparency and consumerism in a shiny
artificial atmosphere that brings together the essential dreams of the
21 Interestingly, the artist Eduardo Paolozzi (who after a few years in Paris knew
first-hand its cultural panorama and specifically, the work of Henri Lefebvre and who was
related to the Free Cinema group) would introduce Alison and Peter Smithson to the
photomontage technique for their Golden Lane project. In their images, postwar London’s
East End is shown through the “celebration of the ordinary,” allowing the architects “to
discover its inspirational source in reality ‘as found’ and to turn it into a new architectural
paradigm” (Capdevila Castellanos and Iborra Pallarés 2013).
22 The anthropologist Scott A. Lukas, has recently edited a volume collecting
several essays on the immersive character of theme parks: Lukas (ed.), S.A., 2016. A
Reader in Themed and Immersive Spaces, Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon, ETC Press. Other
authors who have reflected on the nature of these spaces are Koolhaas –on Coney Island
parks– (1994, 29–80), Benjamin (2002, 18), De Cauter and Dehaene (2008) and Shane
(2008; 2011).
32 33 34
35 36 37
438 [TRANS]FORMING
capitalist society: proximity, happiness, exchange, leisure… everything
at hand for everyone. From the original American models of the fifties
and sixties –among which Victor Gruen’s Southdale Center near
Minneapolis (USA) should be highlighted– to the hyperscaled malls
of east-Asian cities like the 5-million-square-feet Utama Mall in Kuala
Lumpur (Malaysia), this kind of commercial interior –sometimes
characterized as a theme park itself– has persisted until our days
thanks to its versatility and capacity of adaptation to different social
contexts and individual tastes, offering a total immersive experience.
Taking it a step further, these spaces of collective interiority (the
museum, the amusement park, the shopping mall…) can become
even more pervasive, wrapping up a single individual as a monadic
capsule. Authors such as Anthony Vidler (2000) or Lieven De
Cauter (2004) have characterized the psycho-spatial conditions
of contemporary warped spaces, constituting what the latter calls
a “capsular civilization,” in which systems of immunity become
personal and customized, adapted to the necessities and particular
fears of each individual and reinforced by the effects of the global
preoccupation for safety and shelter. Although the architectural
materialization of this type of space may be not so evident in everyday
life (excluding, for instance, Japanese pod hotels or the emergence of
micro-apartments in urban slums, due to precarious work and poor
living conditions), the proliferation of pavilionaire architectures in
representative contexts, such as art exhibitions and venues, public
spaces or temporary events, anticipates the notion of a nodal space in
which functions and activities are condensed within interior, capsular
enclaves from which the relation with the surrounding environment
is more or less artificially, semi-transparently mediated, like small-
scale reproductions of the monumental hothouse. On a larger scale,
the model is quite similar: the construction of brand new cities in
isolated territories –especially in Asia and the Middle East– presents a
spatial determination that differs significantly from the extensive logic
of its precedents. According to Petit (2013, 28–29), the conclusive
morphology of these cities “reveals a certain indifference to formal
and political dialogue with an ‘other’; each addition to the city relies
on an exclusively interior set of sociopolitical and formal demands.”
The shoreline developments in Dubai depending on an iconographic
pattern or the planned self-sufficient eco-city of Masdar in the
440 [TRANS]FORMING
40 41
silence not as an act of negativity and rejection, but an act of harboring a plethora of
words to come (…)” (Aureli 2011, 36).
442 [TRANS]FORMING
with standard VR devices (2017). Surely, the successive industrial
and technological revolutions have led to a more diffuse, ephemeral
notion of place, ultimately pointing to the atopia that theoreticians
like Eisenman (2007) or Augé (1992) have analyzed under diverse
categories, the popular non-places among them.
But despite the apparent dissolution of space-location, the space Revenge
of flows is not capable of encompassing the whole bodily and social of places
experience, either human or not. Despite the influence of a pervasive
space of flows, the urban experience is increasingly diverse and rich,
at least in some parts of the planet; thus, some authors agree that we
are witnessing a “revenge of places” (Pflieger et al. 2008, 219). In the
end, we are still bodies occupying a place. This apparently obvious
concept is discussed by Massimo Cacciari (2010; 2011), who rightly
points out that the body ultimately resists to the space-without-place.
There may come a time when the body could dissolve in order to
move, but could it be in perpetual movement? Wouldn’t it need “to
land” at some point? Is it possible to renounce place being our own
body a place? (Cacciari 2011, 36–37). The problem is that the city
is mired in the contradiction –even schizophrenia (Castells 2010,
458)– between two fundamental extremes: on one hand, the city is
understood as a space for contact, communication and gathering. On
the other, the immediate city, where everything is available instantly
without any spatiotemporal obstacle, emerges as a consequence of the
networked space of flows, leading to a certain agoraphobic reaction
against long distances. Both requirements are equally present: “we
keep demanding two opposite things from the city” (Cacciari 2010,
26).24 Sloterdijk (2013, 152) explores the same idea with different
terms, arguing that globalizing and mobilizing societies oscillate
between two poles: the “nomadic pole” of the self without a place and
the “desert pole,” or the place without a self.
Given this contradiction, Cacciari argues that utopian constructs
such as the “city of bits” proposed by Mitchell (1995) –articulated
through opposing dyads– are nothing but a reactionary and
conservative pose, yearning for past urban models, such as the agora
and the polis. Mitchell speaks of a city inserted within a computer-
24 [T.A.]
444 [TRANS]FORMING
distance, which seems to be the most defining and problematic
dimension according to other authors:
Distance is a condition of multiplicity; but equally it itself would not be
thinkable without multiplicity. And we might note that while cyberspace is a
different kind of space (…) it is most definitely internally multiple (…) (and,
ironically, often rendered in a language of spatial metaphor which is resolutely
Cartesian). Multiplicity is fundamental. No one is proposing (I assume)
that screens, or instantaneous financial transactions, or even cyberspace, are
abolishing multiplicity. (…) And if multiplicity is not being annihilated (which
would render the whole business of transport and communication anyway
entirely redundant) then neither is space. (...) Space is more than distance. It is
the sphere of open-ended configurations within multiplicities. Given that, the
really serious question which is raised by speed-up, by ‘the communications
revolution’ and by cyberspace, is not whether space will be annihilated but what
kinds of multiplicities (patternings of uniqueness) and relations will be co-
constructed with these new kinds of spatial configurations. (Massey 2005, 91)
By starting one of the sections of her book For Space (2005) with a
routine train journey from London to Milton Keynes –under very
different conditions to those of Heine’s trip in France–, Massey
proposes that the nomadic is inherent to space, a continuous
movement between interior and exterior: “At either end of your
journey, then, a town or city (a place) which itself consists of a bundle
of trajectories. And likewise with the places in between. You are,
on that train, travelling not across space-as-a-surface (…), you are
travelling across trajectories” (Massey 2005, 119). Therefore, relational Relational space
space is understood as a “product of interrelations (…), the sphere
of the possibility of the existence of multiplicity (…) always in the
process of being made” (Massey 2005, 9). In this regard, relational
space offers a framework in which to think of possible strategies for
spatial practice from various disciplines –including architecture.
Instead of rejecting and resisting the inside/outside fissure, the
recognition of this very contradiction could open new ways of action
only by identifying and recognizing the contemporary diffusion of the
notions of exteriority and interiority and grasping its contradictory
force. Besides, as Pardo suggests (1992, 34–35), between time and
space there is a “non-spatial distance” that separates interior from
exterior and that constitutes the possibility of experience: thus,
446 [TRANS]FORMING
in the glass surface of the palace, the initial achromatic transparence
of the structure becomes pure reflection and spectral color that alter
the perception of both the interior and the exterior of the palace,
reaching its maximum splendor during the hours before sunset. This
visual strategy is complemented by a sound one which reinforces the
introspective character of the installation: once inside the building,
the recorded respiration of the artist is heard, with different degrees of
agitation that may either calm down or disturb the listener. As if the
spectator were inside a colorful, monumental womb, the sensation
of being in the space of an other (female) being rapidly emerges,
creating a contradictory impression. Besides, the floor is completely
covered with an extensive mirror that offers the inverse image of the
actual space in which visitors wander together with their inseparable
reflected doppelgänger, who at the same time seem to prevent the Within the
actual spectator from falling into the void, the infinite reflected Other
space. This doubled, reverse spatiality offers the contrary experience
to virtual reality, in which intangible objects create a sensation of
materiality; rather, the material is present in To Breathe, but it is used
to generate an ethereal atmosphere composed of things that are there
and not at the same time. Contrary to the silent skyscrapes of Mies
van der Rohe, which reflected the abstract flows of the metropolis
resisting them, Kimsooja captures the forces of the environment
through interrupted glows, breaths and counterparts in a feminine
interior that evokes the presence of the different. The capsule is not
an immunological terminal anymore, but a relational extension that
incorporates the external and the other into experience. In a political
sense, this relation could be read under the perspective proposed by
Ernesto Laclau and Chantal Mouffe (2001, 125), who argue that the
external other “prevents me from being totally myself.” The relation
between both extremes does not stem from “full totalities, but from
the impossibility of their constitution.” The presence of the other is
thus unavoidable, and cannot be completely subsumed “as a positive
differential moment,” but grasped through both recognition and
negation. This runs counter to the neurotic, self-conscious space
traversed by total transparency that Han (2014, 19) sees integrated
within the contemporary logic of self-exploitation.25
Soft power We have seen how the means of spatial production and organization
transcend the corporeal and material realm. Together with physical
tactics, such as border checkpoints, walls, enclaves, fences or camps,
other methods, related to intangible elements, appear. These have
to do with what is usually called “soft” power,26 conducted through
cultural and ideological means, that is, persuasion instead of coercion.
Hence, the neural and affective repercussion of these strategies is high
and they are directly related to contemporary dispositifs, such as the
panchoreographic or the society depicted by Han. The recurrence
to policies articulated through displacements, discourses, flows or
communicational strategies can be sometimes more relevant and
effective than physical elements. Many authors have analyzed the
dispositifs by means of which soft politics are possible. These are
usually related to informational and communicational –not only
Internet-based– networks which bring new possibilities to the political
field. In fact, it is interesting to observe how the Foucaldian war-
oriented and military terminology on dispositifs coincides with the
concern that his ideas (and those of other French intellectuals) arose
among defence and security forces and agencies like the CIA in the
United States. Gabriel Rockhill (2017) shows this relation after a
disclosed 1985 report27 in which the intelligence agency examines
the influence of French Theory in the European and international
political scene, recognizing its importance and the necessity to
understand its mechanisms in order to counter Marxism and
communism; such is the interest of power administration organisms
in cultural and ideological activity in order to use them as effective
means for the exercise of soft power. Thus, it seems clear that there
later diagnose. In Smile or Die (2009), Ehrenreich criticizes the impact of the generalized
exhortation of thinking positively when facing struggle, disease, frustration, etc. (being
particularly rooted in American society) and how it may result an exhausting, even
destructive habit for those who practice the culture of extreme positivity as a means to
achieve our life goals and desires.
26 The term was coined by Joseph Nye (1990) in the wake of the neoliberal
“counterrevolution” of the eighties and the substantial changes in the global political scene.
Soft power emerges as an alternative means to war and economic pressure.
27 https://www.cia.gov/library/readingroom/docs/CIA-
RDP86S00588R000300380001-5.PDF
448 [TRANS]FORMING
44
are significant translations between soft and hard power not only in
terms of war, surveillance and military or police repression –which,
as Graham (2011) points out, intervene equally in the territorial and
psychological level–, but also of social and spatial organization, as it
will be argued in the next paragraphs.
Before starting to explore how these modes of power are translated
politically into urban spaces and counterspaces, it is important
to understand how soft and hard power work spatially. In 1999,
the American defense experts John Arquilla and David Ronfeldt
elaborated a report for RAND Corporation (a global policy think-
tank related to the US army) in which they found an advance of the
diffuse and the informational in terms of power. Admitting that,
despite their differences, both hard and soft power strategies appear
often intertwined or combined, Arquilla and Ronfeldt sketched a
“geopolitics of knowledge” (Aberkane 2015) articulated around the
space of a Noosphere, the “globe-girdling realm of the mind” (Arquilla
and Ronfeldt 1999, 4).
Coming from the Greek ɋɟɍɑ (“knowledge”), the scientists and Noosphere
intellectuals Pierre Teilhard de Chardin and Vladimir Vernadski
spatialized the whole of the products of human thought (knowledge,
28 The authors point mostly to the strength of new NGOs, but later they would
also recognize that the most effective example may be the global network of jihadis as a
new form of spatializing conflict (Arquilla and Ronfeldt 2007).
450 [TRANS]FORMING
46
452 [TRANS]FORMING
multiple, hybrid networks that allow different types of relations and
spatial configurations.
In previous chapters, the space of the square has been examined
as the paradigmatic example of urban void, enabling a whole field
of action with a wide range of potentialities for spatial practice. As a
space subject to political appropriation and reappropriation, in which
multiple, indeterminate conditions may emerge, the consolidation of
the network society has led to situations that, while not completely
new, present meaningful differences compared to past practices in
the square space. We have already explored the reversal of urban
spaces such as the Bastille prison in Paris, the social unrest in Beijing’s
Tiananmen Square and the workerist protests in Italian piazzas and
central places during the years around the autunno caldo. Urban Multiple
space, and the square in particular, have been a natural scenario for bastilles
demonstration and sociopolitical manifestation for centuries. Still
today, the succession of citizen revolts that have been taking place in
the first years of the twenty-first century –from Iceland and Tunisia
to Egypt, Spain, Syria, the U.S., Turkey or Ukraine– entail the rising
of numerous “bastilles” across the planet. However, the insertion of
these events in a hyperconnected global network has transformed
and extended their scope, effects and consequences, to the point that
some, like the artist Vito Acconci (Acconci and De Jongh 2011),29
have doubts about the present value and purpose of this space
understood as urban room for gathering and demonstrating, since
its former functions would have been transferred to other domains.
Besides, their excessive codification and surveillance may hinder or
impede the course of certain practices. In this regard, reducing the
29 “Also I don’t know if things happen in a so-called public space. I think things
happen over the telephone, through the Internet, in back alleys, in city streets, not
so much in plazas. Well, the United States has no plazas. They really don’t. The only
public spaces in the United States are corporation plazas and they are just there for the
corporation to get more space. Plazas were incredibly important in the past: they were
places where people met and discussed; I am not sure whether that is true now. Now, it
seems as if a plaza is a convenient place for a city to get a large number of people together,
so they can have a surveillance system. It’s almost like you know what it is people are doing
when they are all in that place. You don’t know what they are doing in alleys, what they
are doing in back streets. So, I don’t know whether a plaza is a viable revolution notion”
(Acconci and De Jongh 2011, 1–2).
30 The philosopher Félix Duque (2011, 78) explains the distinction between urbs
and civitas: the first is a combination of physical elements of residence and public space,
while the second embodies the political and cultural manners of citizens: “Today, civiltà
is apprehended through electronic media (virtual public sites, participation in chats or
communities, broadcast of events from other sites: for example, New Year’s Eve at Times
Square has become a global media scene).” [T.A.] However, he does not mention the polis,
the third dimension of the city, which consists on the legal and institutional definition of
the city.
454 [TRANS]FORMING
WikiPartido in Mexico or the Online Party of Canada, now renamed as
Party for Accountability, Competency and Transparency.
Concerning urban-based political movements, David Harvey asks Spatial
himself in Rebel Cities (2012, 117) if the city is a mere scenario, “a affordances
passive site (or pre-existing network) –the place of appearance– where
deeper currents of political struggle are expressed.” At the same time,
he acknowledges that some urban spaces are more prone to host
demonstrations and protests than others, due to their “environmental
characteristics,” such as centrality (“Tahrir, Tiananmen, and
Syntagma”), narrowness (“the more easily barricaded streets of
Paris compared to London or Los Angeles”), or connectivity (“El
Alto’s position commanding the main supply routes into La Paz”),
depending on the case. But beyond these physical qualities, which
undeniably condition spatial practice because of the affordances31 and
constraints they present, the place for protest or demonstration is not
chosen randomly: rather, as Castells (2012) notes, occupied spaces
are usually charged with symbolic and/or historical meaning, being
central places in which the influence of state authorities or financial
institutions is very present, or evoking certain past events which are
relevant to the community. This double condition of urban space,
presenting both material and symbolic affordances, entails other
types of relations between the actual and the virtual that enables the
emergence of a common space, beyond the realm of the Internet and
ICTs.
Nonetheless, as already mentioned, the introduction of the
technological-virtual is the differential component between the 2010s
demonstrations and previous similar ones. At the beginning of 2011,
a 26-year-old Tunisian street vendor named Mohamed Bouazizi died
after having set himself on fire in front of a government building in
protest against his precarious situation as a worker and the treatment
received by authorities because of his situation. The event shocked
a large part of Tunisian civil society that, after being under the rule
31 The psychologist James Gibson (1979) developed the notion of affordance from
an ecological understanding of visual perception, considering the way animals interact with
the environment through what it offers and provides. Later, Donald Norman (1988) would
define affordances as “perceived action possibilities” in the context of human–machine
interaction.
456 [TRANS]FORMING
as Zuloark, dpr-barcelona or Paisaje Transversal,33 which understand
architectural and urban practice from a social perspective close to
activism, it becomes clear that it is possible to produce a complex
reality and manage it through different types of networks, and that
the contemporary city is also inserted within these management
processes. Generating city, after all, also means strengthening links
between communities to enable the creation of social structures.
This phenomenon extends through the Internet, where citizens can
communicate and extend their action in time by means of social
networks and different platforms. These processes activate an open
field consisting in the “massive re-appropriation of corporate social
networks and the invention of new free instruments, together with
large-scale hacktivist strategies for organizational purposes and
political-viral communication” (Alcazan et al. 2012, 7). A Twitter
user linked to the Spanish 15-M movement explains the relation
between material and virtual public spaces as follows:
@arnaumonty: We can talk about the square-network or the network of
connected squares, about the street-network and the network of connected
streets, or about the city-network itself or the connected metropolis. Once the
street-network dichotomy is broken, political action unfolds at the same time
in both territories, inseparable, in permanent feedback, in a living symbiotic
process. The network has reduced the participation costs of political action;
physical exhaustion or isolation itself and the city, the square and the streets
have reemerged as a spatial embodiment of the immateriality of the network, as
affective space for the encounter of rebel bodies. Once the boundaries between
cyber-territory and geo-territory are broken, nothing will be as before (…)
because the power of this hybridization in the hands of connected commons
never existed before, a new field of possibilities has been open to never close
again. (Alcazan et al. 2012, 25)34
458 [TRANS]FORMING
Thus, the network is a paradigmatic spatialization that conditions
“what is visible and audible as well as what can be said, thought,
made, or done” (Rancière 2004, 85), and works as a specific mode
of distribution (of the sensible) entailing modes of inclusion and
exclusion, that is, a clear separation between those who have part in it
and those who do not. Indeed, networks suit the post-political logic
quite well, since they offer a managerial structure in which decisions
and operations can be undertaken rapidly, effectively, and sometimes
uncritically, as it happens in the wake of post-truth and fake news.
However, as Michel Serres (1991, 61) acknowledges in his textual The melting
journey through the North-West passage, we have never lived in network
the Leibnizian network, the harmonic, graphic model of a complex
system that depicts the relations and interactions between its elements.
The network, which was adopted by classic sciences and is transferred
to modernity especially through the theories of communications and
systems (structuralism), enables the rapprochement of more or less
distant elements in space and time. However, the connective network
and its rigid structure “melt under the energy of the Industrial
Revolution” and becomes uncontrollable, fluid and chaotic: “the
observer finally enters the boiler, in which only partial information
is found” (Serres 1991, 62). This complexity exceeds a network that,
although present as a basic scaffolding, is dissolved to become air,
steam, cloud, a disordered order in which everything is connected in
a chaotic whirlpool. It is not surprising that the current computation
system is known as “the cloud” because of its decentralization and
flexibility; data is not hosted in our physical computer anymore, but
floating somewhere in the global server system, available whenever
we want. Still, Serres does not dare to give a name to this model,
although it reflects the fluent, hyperconnected character of the global
space permanently traversed by flows, bursting with activity. But
the ethereal fuzziness of the cloud is interrupted by the concrete
materiality of bodies and objects which occupy a determinate spatial
fragment.
In fact, the materiality of an image may revert the delusional force Hypotopia
of phantasmagorias in order to render noticeable the contradictions
and irrationalities inherent to the system and the abstract flows that
keep the pace of global economy. Such is the process followed in
460 [TRANS]FORMING
streets and make them theirs.” As the nodes and connections of the
network melt and become more diffuse, so do the individual bodies
which conform a certain public or counterpublic, becoming a fluid,
more or less homogeneous and uncountable mass35 that conquers
urban space. In these situations, the limit between the public and the
crowd becomes blurry.36
Whether well-organized or not, the mobilized crowd can become Destructive
a transforming, even destructive element. Sloterdijk (2010, 209) protest
comments on the riots that took place in the suburbs of Paris in 2005,
in which young French Muslims of African origin protested for their
precarious situation. The protests raged like a plague on the periphery
of the capital: cars and urban furniture were burnt; public buildings
were looted and there were violent clashes with the police. While
Baudrillard (Sloterdijk 2010, 208) concludes that the country has
not been able to integrate and develop a consciousness of belonging
among African and Arabic migrants and their descendants, Sloterdijk
(2010, 209) blames it on the great load of subversive eroticization that
the masses have experienced, thus dissolving the “thymotic ensemble
of people, nation, party, and confession.” This means that the desire
to possess (rights, benefits, etc.) inserted on the basis of the capitalist
logic would have replaced the values of pride and courage of the
35 Indeed, the density of the mass is seen as an indicator of the validity and
strength of a specific movement. Media, governments and civil society associations often
make use of these data and try to present it in a way that matches their interest. As a
consequence, and due also to the diversity of counting methods, it is usual to find very
different participation figures depending on who presents the information, sometimes
leading to impossible situations.
36 Traditionally, the Western notions of public and mass have been considered to
be similar, although different. The public is mostly a communicational construct, composed
of independent individuals who share a particular interest, while the mass or multitude
works as an agglomeration of bodies that acts irrationally, moved by common interests and
aspirations. This dichotomy, analyzed popularized by the French sociologists Gabriel Tarde
and Gustave Le Bon in the beginning of the twentieth century, stems from the classification
between illustrated, ordered bourgeois public and uneducated, disordered proletarian mass
or multitude. More recent authors have attempted to redeem the notion of multitude
and provide it with a more complex meaning in a time when social movements emerge
as specific publics and counterpublics in a massive scale. (Hardt and Negri 2004; Castells
2013; Delgado Ruiz 2015)
37 Although the most violent outbreaks in the banlieues have taken place since
the 1980s, when they become associated to the immigrant population, these have always
been problematic areas. The violence generated in the Parisian suburbs contrasts with
the violence exerted on them through mass unemployment, discrimination and police
repression. (Gandy ed., 2011:59-61)
38 Text by the Collectif de la Cité des Bosquets (Montfermeil), published in Espaces
et Sociétés, 2005, n. 128-129.
462 [TRANS]FORMING
If the French riots had been an isolated case, there was probably
nothing to worry about. However, in 2006, French students initiated
a further wave of violent riots to express their complaints. Something
similar happened in the United Kingdom in 2011, and thus a long
list of riots unleashed after a concrete event could be elaborated.
The negativity of these forms of rage lies in the impossibility of
articulating them morally and collecting them politically (Sloterdijk
2010). López Petit (2010) places them in the peripheries, facing
the indifferent “center,” which remains enclosed in itself forgetting
the voices that come no longer from inside or outside, but from the
surroundings.39 Those known as the “barbarians” are on the periphery,
those who “open the spaces of anonymity,” which are remote to power
institutions.
Against destructive protest, which speaks of a probably Allagmatic
malfunctioning society that does not see the reason or the way to efforts
organize (because it does not even know how to channel its demands),
there are other examples in which the occupation of a public space
can reach a surprising degree of organization. The aerial view that
BBC News published in February 2011 to inform about the protests
in Cairo’s Tahrir Square40 depicts the amalgam of people that met
daily during several weeks. But what cannot be seen with the naked
eye are the different spaces (tagged with labels) in which the square
was structured as an appropriated space: there were campsites, prayer
and protest areas, a main stage, a kindergarten... Even an ephemeral
but well-organized infrastructure was arranged to facilitate the stay
of protesters: pharmacy, clinic, water points, Internet connection or
rubbish bins, among others. Similarly, the organization of Toma la
Plaza movement in Madrid’s Puerta del Sol reorganized the space
of the square and the adjacent streets with areas designated for
assemblies, commissions, food distribution points, mailboxes, lost
objects, etc. In a sense, the urban fabric is almost instantaneously
transformed by accumulation, redistribution of objects, facilities,
39 The author warns that articulating dualities through the concept of exclusion is
not enough, since capitalism invariably operates from abandonment and seizure, which in
the end are the same mechanism. Seizing, or the action of grabbing, is for Canetti (1978)
one of the most primitive forms of power, together with the act of incorporating.
40 http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-12434787
41 The notion of the allagmatic is recovered by the architect and writer Léopold
Lambert, who retakes the criticism that the French philosopher Gilbert Simondon posed
on the Aristotelian hylomorphic paradigm, in which he considers that a third factor
is lacking so that the matter (܄λη, hyle) acquires form (μορφή, morfé), that is, energy.
“To remain outside of the magical hylomorphic scheme, it is necessary to consider the
energy that the formation process requires and, by extension, the physical effort that
produces this energy. Simondon defines the ‘allagmatic operation’ as one in which energy
is considered as a fundamental element in the production of an individual object or body.
The individual is no longer a being, but an act that requires energy to exist. In this act, ‘the
becoming of each molecule resounds on the becoming of all others.’ Such a definition can
also be applied to various insurrectional movements because a collective action of political
emancipation precisely constitutes an act of individuation” (Lambert 2012, 99). The author
speaks of the tunnel and barricade as examples of militarized architecture created through
these processes, to which the occupied squares could be added.
464 [TRANS]FORMING
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473
SE-DUCTIO III: ISTANBUL.
The temptation to see Asia as one unit reveals, in fact, a distinctly Eurocentric
perspective. Indeed, the term “the Orient,” which was widely used for a long
time to mean essentially what Asia means today, referred to the direction of the
rising sun. It requires a heroic generalization to see such a large group of people
in terms of the positional view from the European side of the Bosporus. (Sen
1997, 13)
The dual condition of togetherness and otherness between two The two
territories, Asia and Europe (Cacciari 2009, 200–201), appears in the women
dream of Queen Atossa, mother of the emperor Xerxes, that the Greek
tragedian Aeschyllus describes in The Persians. In her vision, two
women appear pulling a carriage. Both are sisters, equally beautiful
and majestic; however, a conflict (stasis) emerges between them, so
the emperor cannot control the situation: the first woman, Asia,
proudly accepts the task of carrying the emperor, while the second –a
nameless woman that Cacciari (2009, 201) identifies with Eleutheria,
the Greek freedom– breaks the harness, indomitable, throwing Xerxes
off the chariot. The relationship between both women, their common
lineage, is at the same time their confrontation.
If Cacciari frequently turns to his city, Venice, as the enclave where East and West
the archipelago and thalassocracy manifest, land and sea,1 East and
West at the same time –tragic character, pure contradiction–, Istanbul,
the ancient Byzantium and Constantinople, might be concealed
in this text as the physical union and division where both women
unite their hands. It is the point of rupture and contact between the
475
01
477
risk of being flattened by an extreme Schmittian friend-enemy logic,4
which comes from the absolute oblivion in which the islands fall with
regard to the others. No longer guests, but refugees. Instead, Cacciari
offers a different view:
It is impossible to ignore the Other because “we are” the Other: otherness
with respect to the other “outside” of us is possible because we are others in
ourselves. From this anthropological conception, it is possible to go beyond
mere pragmatism on the issue of solidarity: because my individuality is given in
this community of the absolutely different taken essentially into consideration.
(...) A community founded on a Cum that is different from the one proclaimed
by this “mass”; a Cum that can keep the difference and the relationship
between hospes and hostis; a Cum which is not given among the identical: only
when the neighbor is the enemy (hostis) and the enemy inhabits with me, the
community is possible. The homo democraticus does not tolerate difference,
he needs homogeneity. But the urge to eliminate distances does not generate
the community (...) Here lies the intelligence towards the Other, towards the
different: it is not about capturing or grasping it, but hosting it as the perfectly
different. (Cacciari 1999, 154–55)5
the last decades. After having been set aside during the first part
of the Republican period, the city was progressively regarded as a
potential global city, with a privileged position between Europe and
Asia and extremely rich cultural and historical values. Besides, the
city benefited from the political changes that took place in Eastern
Europe and the implementation of liberal economic policies during
those years (Baycan-Levent 2003, 10–11). These factors paved the
way for Istanbul to become a relevant urban actor at the regional and
global level. Thus, after the military coup in 1980 and the institution
of a democratic government three years later, the country was
embroiled in a series of major reforms, also at the level of planning
and management of the territory. The Mayor of Istanbul Bedrettin
Dalan, elected in 1984, was the first to seriously enhance the vision
of a global Istanbul through diverse urban operations such as the
second Bosphorus Bridge or the new highway along the Marmara Sea
to connect the Atatürk Airport with the center of the city, as well as
starting to transform Istanbul for the bid for the Olympic Games; a
venue that could have definitively consolidated its position as a world
city.
However, urban dynamics would experience a substantial shift after Ekümenopolis
the AKP (Justice and Development Party) won the general election
in 2002. The documentary Ekümenopolis: Ucu olmayan sehir (“A City
without Limits,” Azem 2011)7 portrays the planning and development
operations that the city has undergone in recent years, mainly focused
9 “New ways to moderate urban contention and deliberation (…) were then
introduced. The main motivation was to neutralise dissent through co-optation. One way
was to sponsor entrepreneurial interventions, whereby the state acts as a ‘speculative
investor’ in a coalition of private-sector stakeholders (…) City branding and investment in
large-scale infrastructure, waterfront redevelopment, and other large-scale urban projects
are well known elements of the entrepreneurial ethos (…)” (Eraydin and Tasan-Kok 2014,
115).
12 Synopsis of the film. Found in the website of the European Council of Spatial
Planners: http://www.ectp-ceu.eu/index.php/en/8-newsletter/newletter-articles-no-3/223-
ecumenopolis-city-without-limits [Accessed January 28, 2018]
13 The loss of urban forests is estimated from 270,000 hectares in 1970 to
240,000 hectares in 2009 (Ocak and Sönmez 2014).
14 “The most important problem of the city is insufficient physical and social
infrastructure. The city cannot meet the increasing demand for housing, education and
health facilities. Particularly the high rate of internal migration has made difficult to provide
public services and a planned city growth and development. The uncontrolled development
of the city has led to expensive public services (...) A lack of co-operation among
institutions and the existence of several responsible institutions have led to conflicting
decisions for the city” (Baycan-Levent 2003, 9).
15 Istanbul was chosen as a test site during the 5th IABR in 2012. In this context,
a design atelier was jointly organized by the Biennale and the Municipality of Arnavutköy
(a district in the North-West area of the city). The resulting analysis and proposal were
in line with the environmental and social concerns reflected on the master plan of 2009
(Brugmans and Petersen (eds.) 2012, 89–98; 51N4E, H+N+S Landscape Architects, and
Architecture Workroom Brussels 2012).
16 Žižek (2012, 80 ff) recalls an anecdote about the Turkish Minister of Interior
in 2011 to illustrate how the country is emerging as “a new model of authoritarian
capitalism” that is far from the Western conception of Turkey as a moderate country and
a model of tolerant political Islam. “[The Minister] claimed that the Turkish police were
imprisoning thousands of pro-Kurdish BDP members without evidence and without trial,
in order to convince them that they were indeed free prior to their imprisonment. (…) since
you claim there is no freedom in our society, you cannot protest when you are deprived of
your freedom, since you cannot be deprived of what you do not have” (Žižek 2012, 81).
17 All undergoing and completed mega-projects in the metropolitan area of
Istanbul can be consulted in http://megaprojeleristanbul.com/# [Accessed January 28,
2018]
the other, former intellectual and professional elites (among the, the
Chamber of Architects, one of the most active groups against “urban
renewal”), disadvantaged groups, minorities –such as LGBT, anti-
capitalist Muslims, the hyper-secular nationalists, Kurds and Alawites
(Abbas and Yigit 2015, 63)–, educated workers and students (Yörük
and Yüksel 2014) represent the main opposition groups that consider
themselves to be excluded from decision-making and the scope of the
ruling party. In this regard, urban land and property market policies
have contributed to increase social tensions, favoring certain groups
and penalizing others (Eraydin and Tasan-Kok 2014, 124). In fact, the
most recent urban transformations in cities like Istanbul have aroused
discontent and bewilderment among opposing sectors, so the number
of platforms and organizations against new urban transformations
policies augmented significantly at the beginning of the 2000s
(Eraydin and Tasan-Kok 2014, 121).
There should therefore be no cause for surprise when a space-related issue spurs
collaboration (often denounced on that basis by party politicians) between
very different kinds of people, between those who “react” —reactionaries,
in a traditional political parlance— and “liberals” or “radicals”, progressives,
“advanced” democrats, and even revolutionaries. Such coalitions around some
11 12
13 14
18 The construction of the Taksim water system began in the eighteenth century,
during the reign of Mahmut I (1730–1754) and was completed in 1839 (Baykan and Hatuka
2010, 53).
Taksim is today one of the principal traffic nodes of the city, where
seven major avenues meet –including Istiklal Avenue, the busiest
pedestrian street in Istanbul– and where both vehicles and pedestrians
coexist amidst some relevant twentieth-century buildings, such as the
Atatürk Cultural Center (AKM), the Atatürk Library or the Marmara
Taksim Hotel. Its metro and funicular terminal is one of the busiest
stations of the city. Gezi Park, whose surface has been decreasing
due to the progressive building of its surroundings, lies next to this
node as a green oasis in the middle of this busy central area. Despite
its current use as a main traffic node, Taksim has not lost its highly
political significance and, therefore, stands as a representative space for
pro-republican movements against governmental policies, especially
when these embody certain values that oppose the modern, secular
way of life. Obviously, this symbolic-political meaning was somehow
uncomfortable for the project of the new Prime Minister Erdoğan,
who has worked to change and reverse the political meaning of the
square through some of his “crazy” urban interventions. Through New plans
the Greater Municipality of Istanbul and deliberately ignoring the for Taksim
municipal master plan for the city (Castells 2013; Marschall and
Aydogan 2015), his team designed a reform project for the square
and the park that involved a significant reduction of the already scarce
green space, the reconstruction of the former Ottoman barracks for
the creation of new facilities –including a shopping center– and the
erection of a new mosque and an opera house or museum in the
21 22
19 The course of the protests in Taksim has been reconstructed by using diverse
press sources from all over the world: El País, El Mundo, The Washington Post, BBC News, Le
Monde, Die Welt, Berliner Zeitung, CNN, New York Times , Hürriyet, Sabah, Yeni Şafak... (See
also Özkırımlı (ed.) 2014, 142 ff)
20 The term for “looters,” çapulcu, led to the verbal form “chapuling” that soon
became viral (Eraydin and Tasan-Kok 2014, 120).
25 26
individuals who rejected or criticized the proposal. Two years after the
court’s decision, the Turkish Council of State cancelled the ban, thus
paving the way to the implementation of the whole urban project
(Hurriyet Daily News 2015). The president has expressed his will to
reconstruct the Ottoman military barracks and to continue with the
transformation process that was interrupted by the protests in 2013,
which he qualified as “an attack against Istanbul’s ability to keep
differences alive together” (Hurriyet Daily News 2016). In addition
to the barracks, a great mosque occupying an approximate area of
2,000 square meters is being built in Taksim, after the approval of the
local cultural protection board on February 2016. With this project,
Erdoğan finally fulfills his long-lasting wish to erect the mosque that
Taksim Square was missing in order to become the central space of the
nation;21 a demand that he had been holding since his term as Mayor
21 “Let us see what the nation says. Every country in the world is referred to by
such squares. But we do not have a proper square” (Erdoğan quoted in Hurriyet Daily News
2016).
22 The building of a mosque in Taksim square was not a mere whim of Erdoğan,
but a long standing demand of Islamist sectors: “(…) the building of a mosque in Taksim
was a major spatial element of the Islamist imaginary in Turkey since the 1950s. A Taksim
Mosque-building Society was established as early as 1952 (…) From then on, Islamists
often raised the demand for a mosque in Taksim, which has to be understood as an
attempt to appropriate public space along ideological lines. The mosque was a hot topic
in the 1990s, while Prime Minister Erdoğan was serving as the mayor of Istanbul. Within
the political turmoil that led to the outlawing of the RP, the Taksim mosque was out of the
agenda, only to be revived during the reign of the AKP” (Batuman 2015, 895).
Tabanlioglu, to realize the project for the new center, which will
include a new opera house, smaller concert halls, exhibition halls,
shops, bars and restaurants. However, the demolition of the AKM is
considered by many as a new victory of the AKP over the republican
values, which is materialized in the urban landscape. The barracks, the
mosque and the new cultural center complete Erdoğan’s project for
the new core of his vision of Turkey.
It can be concluded that Taksim has been a space in permanent Permanent
conflict since the beginning of the last century, which has been conflict
subject to alternate meanings and appropriations by different groups
and ideologies. The square, the park and its surroundings have
shown how relations between state and society manifest themselves
in spatial terms, and how different representational elements
come into play with a varying degree of relevance. In this regard,
architecture and urbanism emerge as very powerful tools to impose
specific representations of space; however, they can be contested,
altered and re-signified through social and political action. Clashes
and conflicts between dominant and alternative discourses, publics
and counterpublics, determine to a great extent the publicness of a
space. Moreover, it is not only a question of state power against social
minorities, but also of different ideologies and visions of the world
which come into conflict.
Rendering visible the invisible. Urban space as commons.
The resonance of the protests and the reaction to them in other parts Spatial
of the world enable to better understand the meaning and elements resonance
that constitute a public space in general terms. While some media
suggest some similarities between the Gezi Park movement and
other protests that took place during the same period, such as those
of the Arab Spring or in Moscow after the general election in 2011
–motivated against a ruling party that had been holding power for
more than ten years (BBC 2013)–, what characterized the fight in
Taksim was that it could not be reduced to a specific issue, even if the
environmental protection of the green area was the main trigger of
the protests. On the contrary, it was a struggle for and within public
space, hence making possible the accommodation of very different
demands and positions, as well as the emergence of questions about
citizenship, political participation and the role of Islam in society
(Abbas and Yigit 2015, 62). It is precisely for this reason that the
mass protests in Turkey deserve a separate chapter: unlike other
manifestations, such as those in Egypt, Spain or the United States,
in which motivations were exclusively political, social or economic,
the object of struggle in Istanbul was public space itself and its
redefinition as a common good; in other words, it was “both the locus
and the focus of conflict” (Batuman 2015, 882). In consequence,
relations established during Gezi Park protests were not necessarily
among equal or similar positions. Instead, different groups with
different interests were able to establish a heterogeneous network, a
joint force in which polarities coexist –but not disappear– for several
23 Yörük and Yüksel (2014) offer a very clear overview of the social and cultural
background of the protesters in Gezi with respect to total population. Through different
graphics, they conclude that culture and political orientation, and not class, are the
variables that explain the heterogeneity of the movement. Some of the figures also show
the presence of opposite ideologies (left-right) and religious beliefs (non-religious-very
religious, secularists-Islamists) among the demonstrators.
The fact that the question of public space has been placed at the
center of Taksim protests has resulted in a clear reinforcement of its
understanding as a common ground for performing both dialogue
and conflict, as well as its extension beyond purely physical or
virtual limits. We have already seen how protests triggered by very
specific reasons, like those in Gezi park, may serve as a platform for
further demands that transcend those initial reasons. However, it is
important to consider that the debate on public space in Turkey did
not start with the demonstrations of 2013. Rather, the conjunction
of scattered, apparently unrelated actions and contributions from
different approaches –activism, design, art, etc. – seem to have
contributed to put the issue of urban public space at the core of public
debate. Perhaps, this is the victory of “chapullers” over the central
government and its spatial policies: the bazaar against the cathedral.
Cathedral In a clarifying report that unveils some of the keys to understand the
vs. bazaar socio-spatial dimension of Taksim movement, the Spanish journalist
Bernardo Gutiérrez (2013) resorts to these two images, previously
used by the hacker Eric S. Raymond that contrasts two different
models in the elaboration of software. Gutiérrez draws a parallel
between software dynamics and urban space that perfectly describes
the struggle in Turkey during the last years:
The Cathedral represents the model of hermetic development and vertical of
proprietary software. The bazaar, with its horizontal and “bustling” dynamics,
would represent Linux and other free software projects based on community
work. No place like Istanbul, with its bustling Grand Bazaar, better embodies
the urban metaphor of Raymond’s thesis. On one side, the cathedral of top-
24 [T.A.]
25 Unlike its Western counterparts, gentrification processes in Istanbul started
around the eighties –almost three decades later than in other cases-, when the rural
exodus had already occurred and the decadent neighborhoods of the city center became
an ideal ground for real estate investments and business opening. Thus, gentrification in
Istanbul has taken place in a phased manner, in different areas and with different intensities
(Pehlivan 2011, 7 ff).
others through networks, whether virtual or not; and all this through
easily transferable projects that could be adaptable to different local
circumstances (Grima et al. 2012). The interest in promoting the
defense and responsible use of the commons was the key topic of the
exhibition, as organizers said, from a hyperlocal scale to a much larger
one, global and almost geopolitical.
Also in Adhocracy there was room for critical designs and works, as The shadow
the giant silhouette of a drone that the British artist James Bridle drew of the drone
on the street pavement next to the school in which the exhibition
was located. The “shadow of the drone” thus becomes a powerful
icon, representing an invisible power, a violence without face, but
deadly and implacable at the same time: “UAVs [Unmanned Aerial
Vehicles] are the key infrastructure of the 21st Century shadow war:
unaccountable, borderless and merciless conflicts” (Bridle 2012). As
the artist states, the Turkish government has been using information
captured by US forces to punish the actions of the PKK (Kurdistan
Workers’ Party) in Turkey and the north of Iraq, while it seems
to be very interested in drone technology, currently developing a
Turkish model. Representing the shadow of the drone with chalk on
the ground means to counterpose the object itself with the space it
controls, revealing the reverse of the aerial in the terrestrial domain. At
the same time, unnoticeable elements for the citizen become visible,
yet being part of the representation of space in which he or she is
inserted:
The drone also, for me, stands in part for the network itself: an invisible,
inherently connected technology allowing sight and action at a distance. Us and
the digital, acting together, a medium and an exchange. But the non-human
components of the network are not moral actors, and the same technology that
permits civilian technological wonder (…) also produces obscurantist ‘security’
culture, ubiquitous surveillance, and robotic killing machines.
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519
without setting definitive borders. If “closing” means to conclude
–related to the Latin claudere, also present in the root of clavis,
“key”–, this action should be completed here with its counterpart,
the disclosure that uncovers, that leaves the door open with visible,
manipulable (that is, flexible and tractable) keys in order to go
through it.
After having explored the notion of space with regard to negativity
(a task which, as any research, necessarily requires a political reflection
and the recognition of one’s position in the world), it is possible
to display a set of ideas that respond to the main objectives of the
project, while at the same time leave the doors open to explorers and
researchers who feel compelled by the complexity and potentials of
the topic.
In the chapter Spatium Negatio, it has been argued how the forces
of negativity have deployed their influence in the West going in
hand with dialectics. In this sense, Hegel has been the pioneer
of negativity, placing it at the core of a system that sees life and
thought in permanent conflict and sublation. This system acquired
an unprecedented strength when translated by Marx and Engels into
a (philosophical) method to unveil and explain processes, clashes
and contradictions inherent to the incipient capitalist framework of
The end the nineteenth century. Dialectics, as a total system, has been used
of dialectics? to study nature and science, but also history, culture and political
economy, always placing the focus on oppositional movements and
forces which succeed one another in time and space. The success of
Marxian dialectics could be measured by the number and diversity
of interpretations and applications that have emerged since then,
even becoming a “state philosophy” (Jameson 2009, 6) as dialectical
materialism in some parts of the world during the twentieth century
with the rise of communist states. This transformation into an
ideological program was one of the precipitating factors of dialectics’
fall into discredit among certain sectors of Western thought. From
positivism and pragmatism to postmodern and poststructuralist
traditions, reactions against totalizing (sometimes understood as
“totalitarian”) Hegelian dialectics and its derivatives have arisen
520 (DIS)CLOSING
from multiple sides, especially during and after the Cold War –
paradoxically, a moment of absolute dialectical tension in global
politics. This account of dialectics as a “pernicious and dangerous
ideology” (Aguirre 2014, 221) on the part of many Western thinkers
must be read together with the limitations of Marxist dialectics
and its own temporality, since Marx could never have imagined the
consequences of the transition from a market economy to a financial
one. Trade and exchange are not based on objects or the material
substrate of things anymore (at least, not exclusively), but on elements
which until then had not been reduced to the category of commodity,
such as desires, ideas, experiences, or even time. The rules of the
game have changed, and thus the Marxist framework appears to be
insufficient to explain contemporary transformations in a world in
which immaterial flows prevail over material ones.
The generalized suspicion of Hegelian-Marxian dialectics Affirmationism
contributed to the articulation in recent continental theory of what
Benjamin Noys (2010; 2013) characterizes as “affirmationism”:
Affirmationist theory is one of the strongest and most developed attempts to
provide a solution to articulating agency in the context of an ontology of capital
that operates through the voiding of content and the distribution of differences.
It challenges the notion of difference as constituting a possible counter-ontology
to capital, insisting on the need for a positive point of orientation to truly
disrupt the void or absence of determinations at the heart of capitalism. (Noys
2010, 13)
522 (DIS)CLOSING
01
524 (DIS)CLOSING
the final moment of absolute synthesis, or the negation of the
negation in which identity is constituted after alterity.
Beyond the totalizing structures articulated by means of binary
oppositions –“the paradigmatic form of all ideology”–, Jameson
(2009, 18–19) proposes to get rid of the “pseudo-Hegelian caricature
of the thesis/antithesis/synthesis” and assume that “any opposition
can be the starting point for a dialectic in its own right.” Moreover, he Both / and
advocates a comprehensive thinking of the positive and the negative
“together at one and the same time” (2009, 421), that is, embracing
contradiction and grasping it, both positively and negatively. In this
regard, he exposes the ambivalence of the system, considering, with
Marx,5 that capitalism is both the most productive and destructive
phenomenon of history.
To illustrate such an ambivalence, he uses the case of Walmart –
the multinational retail corporation– as a provocative example. The
success of the chain lies in its low prices and the enormous diversity
of products it offers in a single space, which represent important
advantages for the client. Although mostly criticized because of its
aggressive model that threatens local business and the way employees
are treated (the company has been involved in several lawsuits
regarding poor working conditions, low salaries, inadequate health
care and even gender discrimination), the truth is that Walmart
has largely surpassed its competitors, becoming the world’s largest
company by revenue in 2017 and being present in twenty eight
countries operating under more than sixty different names, always
showing a trustworthy, familiar face to the consumer who sees
Deleuze’s account of art and literature, where any sign of morbidity or negativity in an
artist or writer is regarded as our own failure to properly register their truly affirmative
function. So, we find Deleuze attracted to the radical re -reading of oeuvres we might
usually regard as ‘negative’: Kafka (…), Beckett (…), Francis Bacon (…), and so on. In each
of his readings, ‘negativity’ is reversed into affirmation, precisely to exclude any trace of a
form of difference that would become mired in the ‘weakness’ of negativity as such.”
5 “The Manifesto proposes to see capitalism as the most productive moment
of history and the most destructive one at the same time, and issues the imperative to
think Good and Evil simultaneously, and as inseparable and inextricable dimensions of the
same present of time. This is then a more productive way of transcending Good and Evil
than the cynicism and lawlessness which so many readers attribute to the Nietzschean
program” (Jameson 2009, 551).
526 (DIS)CLOSING
affirmationist critique, which has significantly reduced the possibility
of disruption. In this regard, he remarks the importance of “relational”
forms of negativity which, based on opposition, contradiction or
confrontation with the other, allow to articulate a strategic thinking of
agency that affirmationism hinders when understanding all relations
as “constrained and delimited” (Noys 2013, 153).
The first and last chapters of Noys’ book constitute the beginning
and the end of an itinerary that starts with what the author considers
to be the immersion of Continental theory into anti-negativity, and
finishes with a possible passage out of it. It is Derrida, according to
him, one of the first authors to negotiate a non-dialectical negativity,
with différance as an “affirmative opening to alterity.” Thus, he is
seen as a liminal figure, as a “weak affirmationist,” since he adopts
negativity but “in a register of political impotence, and at the service
of a prior positivity” (Eyers 2011). It is questionable, though, that if
affirmationism is “the attempt to resist the via negativa of Otherness,”
as Noys (2010, 2) himself defines it, Derrida can be placed under
this heading, considering his engagement and development of
deconstruction (with its controversial relation to architecture),
ultimately “the modulated derivation of the positive opening to the
Other from the primary negative spacing of différance” (Eyers 2011).
More consistent is the last chapter on Alain Badiou, situated “on Re-inventing
the edge of the negative” and offering keys to “re-invent the negative” the negative
amidst the contemporary “crisis of negation” (Noys 2010, 135).
Having explicitly addressed this issue in several occasions (Badiou
2008b; Badiou, Lucchese, and Smith 2008; Badiou and Van Houdt
2011), Noys brings forth the procedures of access to the real that
Badiou unfolds in The Century (Badiou 2007b) both as “destruction”
and “subtraction.” Identifying both of them with different moments
of twentieth-century avant-gardes,6 Noys detects how both forms
6 “Art provides the first guiding thread for our attempt to think the couple
‘destruction/subtraction’. The century experienced itself as artistic negativity in the sense
that one of its themes, anticipated in the nineteenth century by a number of texts (for
example, Mallarme’s Verse in Crisis, or farther back still, Hegel’s Aesthetics), is that of the
end of art, of representation, of the painting, and, finally, of the work as such. Behind
this theme of the end there obviously lies, once again, the question of knowing what
relationship art entertains with the real, or what the real of art is.
It is with regard to this point that I would like to call on Malevich (…) We find here the
origin of a subtractive protocol of thought that differs from the protocol of destruction.
We must beware of interpreting White on White as a symbol of the destruction of
painting. On the contrary, what we are dealing with is a subtractive assumption. The
gesture is very close to the one that Mallarme makes within poetry: the staging of a
minimal, albeit absolute, difference; the difference between the place and what takes place
in the place, the difference between place and taking-place. Captured in whiteness, this
difference is constituted through the erasure of every content, every upsurge.
Why is this something other than destruction? Because, instead of treating the real as
identity, it is treated right away as a gap. The question of the real/semblance relation will
not be resolved by a purification that would isolate the real, but by understanding that
the gap is itself real. The white square is the moment when the minimal gap is fabricated”
(Badiou 2007b, 55–56).
On the contrary, destruction is represented by Dada a certain trends within
Surrealism, working through a permanent, violent process of discrediting and unmasking.
In both, “the desire to dwell in the purity of the absolutely real find s its final correlate in
suicide - what we might call absolute terror directed against the self” (Noys 2010, 136).
528 (DIS)CLOSING
as those of September 11, consistent of “a violent destabilization
whose concept is ungraspable” (2008, 655). However, this hierarchy
is revised in further texts in which Badiou seems to concede an
unprecedented relevant to negation. Such is the case of the lecture
on Pier Paolo Pasolini (Badiou 2007a), in which he reflects on the
balanced relation between subtraction and destruction to articulate
a change, which necessarily entails rupture. He reaches the following
conclusion when reading a fragment of Pasolini’s poem Vittoria
(1964):7
We can now conclude: the political problems of the contemporary world cannot Destruction vs.
be solved, neither in the weak context of democratic opposition, which in fact substraction
abandons millions of people to a nihilistic destiny, nor in the mystical context
of destructive negation, which is an other form of power, the power of death.
Neither subtraction without destruction, nor destruction without subtraction. It
is in fact the problem of violence today. Violence is not, as has been said during
the last century the creative and revolutionary part of negation. The way of
freedom is a subtractive one; but to protect the subtraction itself, to defend the
new kingdom of emancipatory politics, we cannot radically exclude all forms of
violence; the future is not on the side of the savage young men and women of
popular suburbs, we cannot abandon them to themselves. But the future is not
on the side of the democratic wisdom of mothers and fathers law. We have to
learn something of nihilistic subjectivity. (Badiou 2007a)
No more heroes However, if courage is ultimately affirmative for Badiou, Noys (2010,
152–53) inverts this reading in negative terms and, contra the French
philosopher, associates courage with the non-heroic, thus emerging
as a political virtue that exerts “a stubborn insistence against the
vacuities of affirmation, in the name of negativity –woven out of
political memories which are not mere nostalgia, but also critique and
re-formulation.” Becoming a hero has lost its epic meaning, especially
after the fall of the Berlin Wall that exemplified the end of the last
grand geopolitical antagonism and the advent of post-politics. The
lyrics of David Bowie’s song (1977) describing the encounter between
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06 07
two lovers coming from both sides of the city is the last cry for the
possibility of an epic or tragic heroism. But at the same time, this
possibility evaporates with what Hito Steyerl (2012, 49) glimpses
in a music video8 in which Bowie himself appears as the new type
of hero after its fall: the image-hero, as object and commodity, or
as a ghost, as Franco “Bifo” Berardi (2015) would describe it years
later. In this situation, Noys’ suggestion (2010, 40) for a politics of Untermensch
the Untermensch rather than of the Nietzschean Übermensch –which
represents the epitome of affirmation– is clarifying, since it opens up
a space for a new type of agency in which negativity regains strength
as a disruptive, critical force. Not falling into weakness or defeatism,
the detachment of negation from heroism entails a much more
diffuse framework for agency, in which Brits (2010, 4) sees a critique
of representation towards a certain kind of invisibility, in line with
the anonymous work of the Invisible Committee or, we may add,
the unnamed subjects who inhabit and protest in the banlieues. The
consequences of this crisis of representation, which has been already
addressed in some fragments of the text and that has repercussions in
architectural and urban space, will be discussed later.
Through these incursions, it is possible to articulate negativity
beyond the constraints of classic dialectical schemes that, furthermore,
do not work properly when applied to non-Western realities and
modes of doing and knowing. As Badiou points out (2011, 235),
we are in a world that “searches for new forms of negation” that may
not be necessarily dialectical. What seems clear is that, in a world
8 https://www.youtube.com/watch/?v=Tgcc5V9Hu3g
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Dada or De Stijl as negative avant-gardes inaugurated the immersion
in the inferno of capitalist disenchantment, rendering evident the
final absorption of any opposing element to it. The Tafurian critique
of architecture and its impossibility of becoming a truly critical tool
only concedes a certain capacity to assimilate and reveal these forces
to projects such as Hilberseimer’s Großstadtarchitektur or Mies’
skyscrapers, with Archizoom’s No-Stop City as the ultimate attempt
to fully grasp the forces of the metropolis by spatializing them.
However, these strategies are inserted, according to Noys (2012, 3),
in a kind of thinking that could be defined as “accelerationism”; an
association that makes sense considering the links between negative
thought and some currents of Italian operaismo. We have seen how
after the counterrevolutionary shift of the eighties –when the world
order and the distribution of labor are radically transformed through
the rise of neoliberalism– and the one of the first decades of the
third millennium –inaugurated with Trump’s election (Catterall
2016)–, the possibilities to articulate resistance and open a “non-
infernal” space amidst the inferno become even more reduced; not
to mention architecture’s insertion in the contemporary dynamics of
transparency, acceleration, hypervisibility, etc. and, at the same time,
the increasing demand for sustainable strategies that help postponing
the consequences of global warming and the overexploitation of
resources –since stopping them seems to be impossible at this
point. This is why Day makes an effort to recover the emancipatory
possibilities that negative thought and other incursions into negativity
may have today; namely setting the negative free from its dialectical
constraints; maintaining the tension between the actual and the
potential; rejecting extreme positions of optimism and pessimism
and rendering perceptible the contradictions and conflicts that may
appear within the system in which we are irredeemably inserted
and which easily absorbs any opposition to it. It is here where the
notion of counterspace may acquire a renew productivity, working
as a constructive framework to situate and think new modes of
making and thinking the spaces of the city, including its architectural
dimension.
Dualities Throughout the text, and with special emphasis in the cases of Beijing,
and disjunctures Warsaw and Istanbul, several doubles and dyads have been mentioned
and explored, showing the disjunctures, gaps and fissures between
their components. It seems that binary polarities have lost strength
during the last decades after the generalized decline of dialectics and
the postmodern questioning of grand narratives. Indeed, the interest
in dualities, divisions and non-identity that, according to Petit (2014),
characterized the beginning of postmodern architecture can be seen as
an attempt to spatialize these divisions and expose their inner tensions,
as well as breaking the binomial logic through new elements. The
incursions of Peterson in the relation between space and anti-space –
and his proposal of a third term, “negative” or “derivative” space– may
be read in this context as well. Besides, the crisis of representation
today in favor of presentation and pure presence –a question that also
entails a deeply binary problematic and that has been addressed both
positively (Barad 2007) and negatively (Han 2014)– has reinforced
this dissolution. However, in a globalized world pervaded by positivity
and in which difference has been practically reduced to a marketing
strategy, one of the main objectives of the present research has been to
rethink the negative as a necessary counterpart to a total whole (the
One) and to expand its understanding through non-evident relations.
Given the architectural and urban background of the research, a
reflection on spatial concepts and processes and their insertion in the
space of the city has been posed as a means to undertake this task.
Negativity, The fact that the idea of the negative has been mostly addressed
space and from the field of philosophy and developed by means of discourse and
politics language makes it difficult, in principle, to establish a correlation with
the notion of space, which pervades all disciplines and cultures, being
present in the highest scientific spheres as well as in the much more
prosaic daily life. The task reveals itself to be more arduous when it
comes to find connections with the concept of space understood from
much more “functional” disciplines like architecture and urbanism.
Throughout the text, the political character of space has proven to be
if not the clearest, one of the most fertile interpretive keys to display
the relevance that the negative has in its configuration: either from or
without a dialectical approach, space reveals itself as a milieu which
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08
536 (DIS)CLOSING
09
538 (DIS)CLOSING
spatial justice that has encouraged a return to his ideas almost four
decades later, as it can be deduced not only from the high number of
academic works and projects related to his ideas –among which the
production of authors like Stanek, Moravánszky or Schmid features
prominently–, but also from the adoption of some of his key concepts
in international urban forums and regulations, such as the right to the
city, which has been included –though modestly– in the New Urban
Agenda (UN-Habitat III 2017) elaborated after the UN Conference
on Housing and Sustainable Urban Development (Habitat III) in
Quito.
Despite the thorough analysis and readings of Lefebvre’s work, Differential
there are still some terms and concepts that, for different reasons, space vs.
have gone practically unnoticed by most of the authors who have counterspace
delved into it. One of them is the notion of counterspace that
has been explored and reinterpreted through the course of the
research. Lefebvre used this term very occasionally, and it is probable
that its potential has been eclipsed by the notion of “differential
space,” whose relation to “difference” makes it easily relatable to its
immediate context, since many other French authors were talking
of difference at that time. Indeed, the disparity between both terms
is hardly noticeable, and sometimes it seems that they may be used
interchangeably. However, Lefebvre associated differential space
to abstract space in a way that seems to go back to the traditional
dialectical scheme that,9 despite its relevance and strength, has
proven to be insufficient to grasp the contradictions that move
the world today, and in which space itself is subsumed. On the
contrary, and maybe because of its indeterminacy, the notion of
counterspace appears to be a more elastic one, less constrained by
previous significations and systems, because it does not propose
Counter vs. anti a final resolution or surpass of the conflict. The prefix “counter”
already allows both a distantiation from and a certain dependence
on that which is countered, thus escaping the absolute rupture of
the “anti,” which responds to a logic of “either/or” rather to “both/
and.” The relation between space and counterspace is not based on
mutual exclusion, but on the manifestation of gaps and disjunctures
in their common margins, exposing the contours and inconsistencies
of dominant spaces. This idea somehow meets Peterson’s reflection
on the question of urban forms and voids as negative, potential fields
for action and the recovery of this space to host conflict and the
right to the city. Just as Ulrich Oslender (2010, 111) acknowledges
in his particular quest for a counterspace through the examination
of alternative spatialities produced in Colombia by black population
groups in the Pacific coast region and the FARC, the construction of a
counterspace is a complex process, full of ambiguities and always tied
to the entanglements between power and resistance.10 Indeed, it would
be possible to find examples in which the notion of counterspace
appears blurred and questionable, even leading to a confusion between
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space and counterspace: such is the case of Israeli settlements and
occupied territories in Palestine.
As it can be deduced from the examples posed in the text, these
tensions can be present in several scales and contexts, from the global
and the territorial to the hyperlocal, from the virtual space of the
network to the enclosed space of the museum and, of course, in urban
space. However, if it is impossible to articulate an alternative spatiality
that could resist the dominant one, counterspaces should not be
thought so much in terms of its actuality or “physical” materialization,
but rather from its potential capacity to imagine, reflect, project and
even produce the possible.11 Thus, an understanding of counterspaces
tied to the irrational, the unexpected and the erratic may be more
fruitful than a literal, constructed one when it comes to disclose
the contradictions inherent to capitalist abstract space and to work
within its phantasmagoric character. In this respect, counterspace
emerges as a tool for critique, whose main task is to reveal contours
and operate from (and against) them. Peio Aguirre (2014) reminds us Productivity
that the productivity of critique –ultimately, of negation– lies in the of negation
capacity of situating oneself both within and without the dominant
system, thriving on everything that remains outside a particular
discipline. Thus, we cannot speak of space –or art, or architecture–
without addressing the larger cultural phenomenon (derived from the
postmodern paradigm) in which the aestheticization of the market
and the commodification of culture meet: indeed, architecture and
urbanism, like art, belong to the realm of cultural production, which
transcends, and does not transcend at the same time, the hegemonic
framework. They are inserted within it, but also within a critical
process, as Jane Rendell understands it contra the disaffection of post-
critical arguments.
14 15
Given the disastrous changes to the Earth’s climate caused by carbon dioxide
emissions, along with the intensification of imperialist aggression by oil-
dependant nations as demand outstrips supply, it is not possible to go along with
corporate capitalism in a pragmatic mode without critique – to do so would
be to support without question the inequalities that are integral aspects of this
economic system. (Rendell et al. 2007, 3)
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any productive connection between these fields and the notions
of counterspace and negativity from this point of view, since their
insertion in capitalist modes of production is inescapable, as Tafuri
imagined. However, Lefebvre’s attempt to detach himself from the Architecture de
restrictions of the Tafurian Marxist approach led him to rethink an la jouissance
architectural imagination of enjoyment –architecture de la jouissance
(Lefebvre 2014)– that leaves space for hope with regard to the debates
in architectural and urbanism today, even when enjoyment may
have also entered capitalist circuits to a great extent. It seems clear
that architecture and urbanism today cannot be simply confined to
the processes of projecting and building; at least during the years of
building crisis, there is a widespread climate of reflection and desire
for change in multiple aspects: work tools, education, redefinition
of the profession, critique, relation to society and other fields of
knowledge and, ultimately, the statute and role of architecture and
urbanism in the world. In the case of the present research, special
attention has been paid to architecture and urbanism as processes,
to both social and non-human agency, to artistic practice, as well
as reflecting on recent events with spatial repercussions. These are
tasks and elements to be included within a discipline that is now
more transversal than ever; contrary to what Argan (1961, 18)
believed, “the idea that the architect determines space in which the
life of the community develops is a premise that is already fully
accepted and fundamental” is not valid anymore. Indeed, it is worth Inoperative
asking ourselves if an architecture of not-doing12 –or inoperative architecture
architecture (Boano and Talocci 2017)– may be beneficial in social
terms; an architecture of processes and potentialities that lets the
others produce their own space. Rather than mourning the loss
of primacy of architecture over space, this should be taken as an
opportunity to establish collaborative links to other fields, even
when a direct translation to building practice may not be possible.
Against the frustrating block that one may experience when facing the
impossibility of escaping or transforming the existing conditions, the
recognition of architecture’s “relative autonomy” (Lefebvre 2014) or
semi-autonomy opens a way for critical practice.
12 One cannot but recall here the non-intervention of Anne Lacaton and Philippe
Vassal in Léon Aucoc square in Bourdeaux.
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16 17 18
architectures and urban spaces of the past. This would only lead to
a fall into a certain nostalgic vision of a space of places dominated
by a space of flows, as Genard (2008) detects in some fragments of
Castells’ work. Indeed, the “solid” character that has been traditionally
attributed to architecture and urbanism and their insertion as
disciplines within capitalist cultural production reinforce the tension
produced by contradictory and paradoxical situations such as
Reverse Theater those described above. In this regard, it is interesting to remark the
strategies of reversal adopted by Kuma in some of his works, such
as the intervention in Chofu Theatre in Tokyo for the performance
Humidity of Transmission, carried out by the theatre group Et in Terra
Pax in 1997. Through a project that can certainly be classified as
transdisciplinary, Kuma inverts the classical scheme of the theatrical
stage and auditorium, vaguely recalling the inversion of the viewpoint
in Debord’s film In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni (1978).
Like Debord, although without mentioning his influence, Kuma
operates from a critical position towards the visual paradigm and
structuration of the spectacle, detecting a turning point in the rise
of the (fluid) cinematic image and the screen and the subsequent fall
of the (Wagnerian) opera as a (solid) means of transmission. Against
the unilateral relation between the image-product and the viewer-
consumer, Kuma (2008, 81–89) advocates interactive relations such
as those that appeared with the emergence of the PC –disclosing,
once again, the contemporary contradiction between immediacy (no
mediation, pure presence, as expressed by Han) and hypermediation
(Andreotti and Lahiji 2016). Thus, after having located the seats
in the stage and the space for representation in the auditorium
space, reversing their position, he separated both zones with an
interactive water screen in which the volume of liquid and the degree
of illumination could be regulated by means of a computer. The
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spectator thus becomes an agent of the performance, and acquires a
new status in relation with a space which is actual and virtual at the
same time, interacting with fluid, distorted images which appear in
different layers.
In a different way, strategies of spatial reversal can be found
in the work of Philippe Rahm and Jean Gilles Décosterd, whose
climatic architecture takes the interaction between the body and its
environment (humidity, temperature, metabolism, radiation, non-
human elements…) as its primary (im)material. We could mention,
for instance, the specific installation Reverse for the exhibition
Intrusiones at the Andalusian Centre for Contemporary Art in Seville
in 2004. The intervention offered an inverted spatiality through a
screen which loses information, instead of receiving it, through the
projection of electromagnetic emissions. Due to the temperature
difference between bodies in the room and the surface of the screen
(between zero and two degrees Celsius), the infrared radiation emitted
by the skin is absorbed by the screen, which becomes a projector of
invisible information. Like Kuma, Rahm and Décosterd question
the primacy of the visual representation in art by means of a more
qualitative, immersive space.
Both examples seem to confirm something that has been addressed
throughout the text: the impossibility of architecture (and urbanism)
of escaping spatial representation. Because of the very nature of their
products, they always work as anchors to reality that, as we have seen
through the se-ductiones (especially in Beijing and Istanbul), societies
need to project themselves or go against certain imposed values:
architecture and urbanism are both “imposing skeletons” and scenes
to perform social practice. However, there are also gaps between
presence and absence, in which the essence of representation lies, and
it is possible to render them noticeable by means of space. In the end,
architecture and urbanism are defined by spatial processes; maybe not
in an indexical way –as the first detractors of “critical architecture”
denounced (Somol and Whiting 2002)–, but because of their capacity
to embody and expose the nature of those processes. Rather than
focusing on a final product, this intertwining between representation
and performance seems to be a suitable field for spatial action, either
from an architectural/urban perspective or any other discipline.
548 (DIS)CLOSING
as image and nothing remains concealed (producing a “massification
of positivity”), thus becoming the ultimate and most subtle veil of
ideology. Instead, the exteriority of the categories of city, body and
environment/nature allow an articulation of space without falling into
the “trap” of the primacy of human reason and interiority, which leads
to a conception of space as pure, abstract extension with no place
for difference. The focus on the articulation of inside and outside, Between
interior and exterior, closeness and openness, etc. unveils that these interior and
dichotomies are more fruitful when analyzed from the gap between exterior
terms –that is, what escapes the binary relation–, and not from their
radical opposition or conciliation. If Aldo van Eyck denounced that
architecture and urbanism had assumed the task to create an “interior
both outside and inside” (Smithson (ed.) 1962, 104; Stanek 2013,
121) –an assertion reinforced by the diagnoses of Petit (2012; 2013)–,
the relevance of exteriority in a world where interiority prevails
might make us turn the gaze towards the other, the different, and
the possibility of creating and integrating diverse spaces; something
essential for a dynamic and plural urban life.
Contemporary space has been described as oblique, rhizomatic,
flat and spiky at the same time, depending on the qualities to
be emphasized in each case. All these adjectives add interesting
characteristics that may help describing different aspects of a global
space that, as it has been argued, can be conceived as a planetary
interior, in which everything flows within well-established limits,
and where discordance is either absorbed or obliterated. However, Archipelagic
after having explored the possibility of counterspaces –through space
(architectural, urban, artistic, social) agency, and specially throughout
the cities studied as se-ductiones–, it can be argued that this “world
interior of capital” could be, if not countered, at least rethought
as an archipelagic space that, preserving the floating character
of contemporary society, still leaves room to the existence and
differentiation of islands which remain independent and interrelated
at the same time. Understood by Cacciari (1999) as a genuine
geopolitical model –with its clearest precedent in the Mediterranean
25
15 “I will then assume fluctuating shreds, I look for the passage between these
complicated cuts. I think, I see, that the state of things is rather a sowing of islands
in archipelagos over the noisy, badly known disorder of the sea, ridges of torn songs
scourged by the undercurrent and in perpetual transformation, wear, breaks and overlaps,
emergence of sporadic rationalities whose links are neither easy nor obvious. (…)
Archipelagos for space and time, and not this naive classification grid where, between
two types of knowledge [exact and human sciences], there is only an interface or a thin
partition” (Serres 1991, 23). [T.A.]
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respectively– remind us. In this regard, Aureli’s (2011) reading of
the archipelago through urban projects such as Koolhaas’ City of the
Captive Globe and Ungers’ Green Archipelago in Berlin articulates
an interesting model that runs counter to the totalizing space of
urbanization. The city-archipelago, with its absent center, is a space
of both separation and union, in which limits work as territories for
exchange, articulating inside and outside –even though Aureli relies
too much on architecture and its capacity of building such limits,
going back once again to a privileged role over space that does not
correspond to it anymore. Rather, all elements present in the city
contribute to its permanent becoming, redrawing its limits in an
archipelagic –and not merely insular–16 space that changes constantly,
that always manifests in a different way through transforming/
destructive forces.
We live in an increasingly globalized and unequal world (both flat and Phantasmagorias
spiky) in which post-political strategies (Rancière 1999; Žižek 1999; of public sphere
Mouffe 2005; Swyngedouw 2009; Lahiji 2014) have a strong impact
in the way space is conceived and produced. To the usual strategies
of managerialism, entrepreneurialism, expertise and obliteration
of conflict that characterize the post-political as the overcoming of
adversarial, antagonist politics, new elements could be added in the
recent years: the advent of post-truth –or “alternative facts”– and
the influence of fake news in public opinion represent the new
phantasmagorias of the public sphere.
In this context, cities consolidate as planetary economic motors,
competing with each other to attract investors and projects.
Touristification in European city centers, the demolition of obsolete
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28 29
554 (DIS)CLOSING
relations among human and non-human elements, which sometimes
escape the scope of human science and politics (Tironi and Farías
2014, 169).17 It seems clear that the public and private dimensions
of the city, as a form of exteriority (and also as a-oîkos, outside the
home), are never permanent, but continuously redrawn. Public space Bodies in
is one of the multiple constructions to understand and experience (public) space
exteriority; not as bodies without space, but as bodies in space,
or rather bodies that inhabit space (Merleau-Ponty 2002, 161),
establishing a link to the Other without absorbing it. Although
Bauman (2008, 104) points out to the impossibility to solve global
problems from a local scale, it is possible to produce resilient contexts
from this perspective. This resilience recognizes and includes forces
that generate life and innovation, as well as being linked to resistance.
These relations become more evident and complex in a noopolitical Asymmetrical
context, in which layers of knowledge, affects and immaterial ecologies
production are added to traditional means of hard power and material
relations. In this regard, and after having analyzed contemporary
spatial conditions, the notion of ecology, for its intrinsic diversity,
appears to be particularly accurate to characterize an understanding of
(counter)spaces from the perspective of the local and the asymmetrical
–considering that “eco” (oîkos) refers to the domestic, the home in
which we dwell. Shane (2011, 36) defines an ecology as “a more or
less stable set of relationships that can be maintained over time and
give order to the city, people’s relationships and the flow of goods
18 Kevin Lynch proposed the Ecological City as the evolution of former models,
the City of Faith and the City as a Machine.
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31 32
33 34
certain space, as well as to extract new keys to re-read and put into
question our own conceptions of (urban, public) space; that is,
contributing to the process of “desacralization of space” that Foucault
announced by questioning the supposedly “‘inviolable’ oppositions
that modern scientific institutions and practices have not yet ‘broken
down’, such as those between public and private, work and leisure,
family and social space” (Shane 2005, 233). In this regard, notions
like counterspace or counterpublic –even the idea of “commons”–,
though coined on the basis of Western socio-spatial categories,
are useful in order to unveil the structures and configurations of
dominant spatialities. Besides, their reverse character and their
definition per via negativa make them non-totalizing and more flexible
toward non-Western contexts. Needless to say that the contributions
of feminist, queer, post-colonial and post-human critiques and
theories have been crucial to the enrichment and versatility of both
notions.
Artistic-urban In the end, a renewed understanding of urban politics requires
counterspaces to unveil the limits of the political and to recover the role of
confrontation and conflict in its core. It is worth remarking once
again the relevance of artistic practice in this sense and the generation
of strategies that, although may not be completely absorbed
or appropriated by architecture and urbanism because of their
disciplinary constraints, point to directions and situations that may
serve as vectors for conjoint thought and change. This happened in
Valie EXPORT’s Tapp- und Tastkino (1968), resituating the limits
of the (female) body in the space of the city through a performance
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in which passers-by are invited to palpate the artists’ breasts hidden
inside a theater-like box. In this kind of performative spaces it is
possible to manifest difference and conflictual positions (in this case,
from an element considered as obscene in Western public space,
at least when not inserted in a market strategy),19 even when space
itself is not projected under a determined political sign, or from an
intentionality with properly political connotations. Valie’s work, who
also reflects on the notions of duplicity and countering on many
occasions, highlights the socio-spatial dimension of art as a privileged
field not only for the redefinition of public and private spheres, but
also for the alteration of traditional perceptions and conventions
established around public space. Even so, as Chantal Mouffe (2007)
warns, it is naive to think that a certain “artistic activism” could
change a whole system, but it can play an important role when it
comes to occupying normative public spaces and establishing new
limits and separations; perhaps, rather than talking of a “political
art,” it makes more sense to align with the processes of a critical art,
which reveals dissent conditions instead of contributing to create a
consensual public space. Giving voice and space to that which cannot
be noticed or heard in the city, even for a few minutes, may be more
fruitful for a fair, inclusive urban society than many expert reports
and policies. Works like Valie’s performance alter the urban rhythms –
through times and countertimes, recalling the monographic exhibition
devoted to her work in Vienna and Linz in 2010– and articulate
new relations in space through the reaction of the spectators, who
immediately become participants of her action, ultimately producing
an urban-artistic counterspace.
19 Tapp- und Tastkino has been reenacted and interpreted on many occasions
by other artists and/or activists with varying degrees of success and accurateness.
For instance, the Swiss artist Milo Moiré used a mirror box to cover and show her
breasts and genitals; and Eva and Franco Mattes (0100101110101101.org) recreated
the performance through virtual characters in Second Life (https://www.youtube.com/
watch?v=YrM8SUEvhsg). Probably one of the most problematic reenactments is the
version that the art researcher Fiacha O’Donnell conducted in Reformance (Festival of
Recycled Performance, organized by the art center CA2M in Madrid), in which he repeated
the action with his male genitals, completely distorting the proposal of the original work.
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While certainly the sentence should be read in a wider context, its
location in the wall of a room devoted to sciences and business does
not seem casual. Indeed, both knowledge fields represent how the
world and its resources are rationally controlled, dominated and
managed by humans. It is comprehensible that this idea acquired
special strength in a newly founded nation that wanted to start its
own history (obviously omitting its pre-Columbian past and leaving
behind the European identity) and to build a prosperous future based
on a vast land plenty of natural resources. Especially after the two
World Wars, the “shift in the political centre of gravity of the West”
from Europe towards the USA became evident (Bonnett 2004, 131),
thus consolidating the triumphant spirit of the “land of opportunity”
and the free market model that has become progressively global.
If Paris was the capital of the nineteenth century and its arcades
the representation of the semi-open, fluid, urban space of European
modernity, New York replaced it as the heart of the West during the
following decades. This transition is articulated through the passage
from the exposés in The Arcades Project (Benjamin 2002) to Kishik’s
The Manhattan Project (2015), which is haunted by Benjamin’s spirit
and replaces the Parisian arcade with the New Yorker street, the
exemplar space of contemporary Western urban life that is inserted
in the universal grid, the “negative space, to be left untouched (…)
concerned with the unproduction of space” (Kishik 2015, 68), setting
the limits of continuous change and permanent expansion, which
finds its way in the vertical direction. Perhaps there is no other city
that represents more clearly the concept of “global city,” not only
because it heads innumerable lists and world rankings that measure
different social and economic parameters, but also because it embodies
one of the most powerful references of the global imaginary. It would
be difficult to find someone who does not have a particular idea of
New York through film, literature, music, art, fashion, architecture
or television, despite never having been there. The mediated images Sheer life
we receive from New York reflect an ideal and consensual space
that embodies the “sheer life” that Kishik (2015, 27) –following
Benjamin once again– opposes to “bare life”: the city and the camp,
the human and the inhuman, the vibrant and significant against the
minimal and meaningless. Thus, New York receives its form “from
the desert it opposes” (Calvino, quoted in Kishik 2015, 28), and it
562 (DIS)CLOSING
hugging the rope, the French would say. And not about to find another one with
which to hang itself, as Lenin once cheerfully predicted. (Debray 2013, 44)
20 “Pourvu que cela dure!” This sentence, quoted by Sloterdijk in Die schrecklichen
Kinder der Neuzeit (2014), was pronounced by Letizia Ramolino, mother of Napoleon
Bonaparte, after the victories of her son, as a bitter, laconic expression of temporality.
21 “For decades there have been boats and smugglers bringing people in search of
jobs over the Mediterranean via Spain and Italy. They came and continue to come mostly
from the Maghreb region and from Western Sub-Saharan Africa. They were mostly regular
migrants (…). These older, smaller, flows continue today, coming mostly via Morocco and
the Canary Islands. They tend to fit the standard definition of migrations.
A major difference in this current flow, compared to decades old flows is that the
center of gravity has shifted to the Eastern Mediterranean. Greece has become the
strategic link for these migrations: (…) already in early 2015 it surpassed Italy as the
main recipient, receiving 68,000 refugees, mostly Syrians but also, among others, Afghanis
564 (DIS)CLOSING
Therefore, the Mediterranean area witnesses the appearance of new
critical regions in terms of migration, especially the one comprised of
Turkey and Greece, including the Aegean islands like Lesvos or Kos.
Besides, displacements and movements within the Israeli-Palestinian
territories should not be forgotten, representing part of a local-scale
conflict that has reached global repercussions.
It is difficult to provide accurate figures, since data about
arrivals and status are often mixed or incomplete, and terms such
as “migrant,” “refugee” or “asylum seeker” are usually confused by
the media, the states and the general public (Access Info and The
Global Detention Project 2015; Couldrey, Herson, and (eds.) 2016,
30–31). Moreover, the number of people arriving European territories
fluctuates every day, but statistics are usually not weekly or even daily
updated. Most of the time, these data do not reflect reality because of
the dispersion of the phenomenon and the lack of means to carry on
a reliable count. For this reason, the problem of migration becomes
extremely complex and the task of thinking possible –even provisory–
solutions is unavoidably tied to indeterminacy.
Regional responses are no less variable and contingent. At the
moment, European countries – facing their own problems of
economic crisis, fear to terrorism, etc. – are still debating about
the number of people that each state has to receive, and the real
number of hosted refugees differs significantly from the agreed
quotas. National and international interventions to rescue migrants
(like Operation Mare Nostrum, led by Italy) have been reduced,
and new fences, similar to the ones in the Spanish exclaves of Ceuta
and Melilla have been built in some Eastern countries (Hungary,
Greece or Bulgaria) and between France and the United Kingdom,
which are also closing their borders to avoid the massive entrance
of migrants. Meanwhile, countries neighbouring the conflict zones
–such as Jordan, Turkey, Egypt, Iraq, and Lebanon– have adopted a
common strategy coordinated by UNHCR, called the 2018 Regional
and Iraqis. Until 2015, the rise in Mediterranean Sea arrivals was felt primarily in Italy. In
2014, Italy received over three quarters of all maritime refugees and migrants (170,000).
In contrast, Greece received 43,500. In this new turn of events, the central and eastern
Mediterranean routes have become comparable in size. But the people in each come from
different countries. (…)” (Sassen 2016)
566 (DIS)CLOSING
42
568 (DIS)CLOSING
It seems that, in his series of paintings, Caspar David Friedrich was
reflecting on how Europe probably stopped looking at the sun a long
time ago –or maybe we “crucified” it, as Henri Lefebvre understands
the overcoming of vitality and life by means of “morality and social
duty” (Shields 2005, 8). It is easier, as well as less damaging, to look
at the moon, when the limit between the visible and the unknown
has already been surpassed. Schopenhauer had already noticed that:
“(…) the moon remains purely an object for contemplation, not of
the will (…) the moon gradually becomes our friend, unlike the sun,
who, like an overzealous benefactress, we never want to look in the
face” (quoted in Rewald 2001, 12). To close the parallelism of Europe
regarding its own destiny and its own position in the world, maybe
gazing calmly at the moon is a better depiction of the European
society. A society which prefers to find refuge under the harmless
shafts of moonlight and accept its own contradictions and moving
forces, and thus recognizing its links with the rest of the world.
It is not a coincidence that Europeans, when reformulating their historical
project in the fifteenth century, begun to dream of desert islands. As good
Western, one demands an island simply to restart. Desert islands are the
archetype of utopia. (…)
23 The most recognizable use of the term –although much discussed and even
reinterpreted by some authors, such as Gilles Deleuze-is that of Bergson and his élan
vital, related to the complex generation and self-organization of life. In this context, élan is
understood as an intrinsic force of impulse, as a vigorous spirit.
570 (DIS)CLOSING
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577
ANNEX I: Interview with Steven K. Peterson.
01
1 This interview has been published as: López Marcos, Marta. 2017. “Revisiting
anti-space. Interview with Steven K. Peterson.” Risco: Revista de Pesquisa em Arquitetura
e Urbanismo (print version), 15(1): 141–150. http://dx.doi.org/10.11606/issn.1984-4506.
v15i1p141-150
2 In the book Manière universelle de M. Desargues, pour pratiquer la perspective par
petit-pied, comme le géométral, ensemble les places et proportions des fortes et foibles touches,
teintes ou couleurs. (1648)
580 ANNEX I
space of the gothic naves is dynamic, fluid, multiple… very similar to the
notion of anti-space). This is associated, he argues, to the complexity of
human interiority.
Romanticism, according to your article, was one of the factors that
motivated the rise of anti-space. Still, Hegel’s texts reflect an intermediate
situation of transition between space and anti-space. Somehow, this
moment is not reflected in the text. How could this transition be
articulated? May the relational space of Leibniz shed light on the issue,
as contrasted to the built-continuum of Hegel and the later appearance of
anti-space?
S.P.: It is not a zero sum game. There is no transition from space
to anti-space. They both exist conceptually and perceptively after
the Roman period. One, the endless is bound to our ideas of the
natural background, the other to a conscious deliberate act of willful
manipulation. Unfortunately, it is this very attitude toward a history
of progressive development that is problematic. This historicist
process is a bias of thought that insists that the presence of the most
contemporarily apparent phenomena is true and sequentially latest
thing has to eliminate the “older.”
M.L.: The relation between space and anti-space emerges as an analogy
of matter and anti-matter. Both realms are possible, although they cannot
coexist –you state in your article that “any coincident meeting of the
two worlds will cause their mutual obliteration” (1980, 91). Scientific
knowledge has been an essential source to our perception of space:
quantum mechanics, relativity, non-Euclidean geometry… enhance the
dominance of anti-space as a continuum, extensive, infinite realm that
pervades everything. This influence was very evident during the inter-war
period and the rise of the artistic avant-gardes. How has this influence
evolved until our days? Has anti-space “crystallized” to the point that it
has become our natural conception of space?
S.P.: Perhaps we should use “anti-space” only as a term for an attitude
rather than a description of the actual continuum space. It is an
expression of a necessary duality to understand. If there is space as
closed form this is clarified by thinking of space as also open ended
formless.
582 ANNEX I
03 04
584 ANNEX I
this? The other neighbor replies with the proverb, because “fences
make good neighbors.”
As to definitions of space types, first, I think the notion of
“negativity” is not useful as a descriptive term and of course “anti-
space” is not real in the sense of being descriptive either –it is a
rhetorical devise that serves as a warning about its uncritical use. Let’s
try a different approach suspending philosophy, science, and politics
for a moment.
There are really just three conditions of space that we can
experience as phenomena in our lives.
The first is man-made; formed, closed, figural space (exterior
piazzas or interior rooms and all the streets corridors and links that
make sequences and patterns).
The second is: the natural unformed, surrounding, background, -
the open continuous space (includes parks, landscapes, oceans, and
the sky that we look at and also fly through, the whole earth seen from
the moon).
The third is: that which is formed only as an ancillary to the design
of figural space. It is the left over at the edges infilling between the
elements of grouped composition. Let’s call it derivative space (this is
habitable poché, the in between zone, left over area or what I used to
call “negative space”).
For example, let’s do a thought experiment. Imagine a group of
different shaped coasters; ovals, squares, rectangles, octagons, etc. all
pushed together to touch and interconnect. Together, they make a
new assembled complex figure composed of figural space.
Then place this assembly on a tight fitting rectangular tray and
observe the leftover surfaces of the tray. This left over space derives
from both the edges of the assembled figure of coasters and the
bounding edge of the tray. It is derivative space and cannot exist
without the interchange between the created boundaries of figural
space and a further outer boundary of enclosing form.
3 Žižek quotes Michael Hammond’s Performing Architecture (2006): “‘For many, the
real magic of this building is the dramatic sense of place in the ‘leftover’ spaces between
the theatres and the enclosure. The curvaceous shapes of these public areas are the by-
products of two separate design processes- those of the acoustic- and logistic-driven
performing zones, and the climactic- and structure-driven envelope.’ Is this space -which
offers not only exciting views of both inside and outside, but also hidden comers in which
to take a stroll or to rest- not a potential utopian space?” (Žižek 2010, 276)
586 ANNEX I
architecture in projective terms. A space that remains hidden, unexpected,
in-between or even taken for granted… This architecture “of walls” has
also been explored by artists like Gregor Schneider (Haus UR).
What may be the motivations to this turn to negative space? Is there
a necessity of “useless” space, for unexpected actions? To what extent is this
a reflection on the contradictions between inner and outer space and/or a
critique of an “envelope” architecture?4
S.P.: As I am thinking about this again, I believe that, these are good
terms– “residual” “byproduct” space (just like the above “derivative
space”) All these terms imply a dependency on first making plans for
buildings as well as piazzas or streets in cities formed as figural space.
There can be no theory or actuality of “residual space.” It does not
exist by itself. It is a byproduct of something else.
M.L.: Because of their antithetical condition, coexistence of space and
anti-space is not possible, and only gradable by means of negative space,
according to the article. This idea somehow connects with Cacciari’s
negative thought (1982; 2009) and the impossibility of resolution of crisis.
Is it possible to work within this contradiction in spatial terms?
S.P.: Figural space (space) and continuous space (anti-space) can and
do coexist in reality. There is no inherent problem formally unless you
insist on an ethical or moral argument that continuous space is the
only true space (like the only true religion).
Then you are forced to argue that figural space is out of date,
no longer new. It is wrong and even culturally dangerous. Anti-
space must scrub away all traces of the other in a kind of formalistic
counter-reformation.
M.L.: Today we talk of an “informational” society; relations of production
have changed again with the dissolution of certain physical constraints.
However, with the outburst of contemporary design tools, formal concerns
4 Once again, Adolf Loos’ critique: “There are architects who do things differently.
Their imaginations create not spaces but sections of walls. That which is left over
around the walls then forms the rooms. And for these rooms some kind of cladding is
subsequently chosen (…) But the artist, the architect, first senses the effect that he intends
to realize and sees the rooms he wants to create in his mind’s eye.” (Loos 2008, 160)
588 ANNEX I
When Mr. Stanek uses “architecture as space” in your quote, I
think he is actually referring to “modern space” as a universal open-
ended condition that could be revealed. Modernism was obsessed with
space talk, but it wasn’t figural space that was meant. It was a striving
for universal sameness.
When Mies van der Rohe says about his own work “It is the will
if the epoch translated into space” there are no rooms made. The
architecture is about revealing the transparent universal continuum of
a new order of uninterrupted flow.
Bob Venturi wanted to reincorporate ornament, symbolic elements
and historical references into his work and eliminate the bland
neutrality of Modern space. He is creeping up on making figural space
in his buildings, even in his mother’s early fragmented plan there are
subdivide areas and little bits of poché. I don’t think you can argue that
he intended to substitute symbols for space. They are not mutually
exclusive after all.
M.L.: About urban space, it seems logical to associate this “negative space”
with the “voids” of the city, the space between buildings, public space…
In the article, the delimited space of streets and squares is contrasted with
the open “anti-space,” “unsuitable to the city,” that could be associated to
sprawl or certain modernist ensembles. “Anti-space promotes utopianism
because it rejects the language of its antithesis” (Peterson 1980, 110). If
anti-space is egalitarian, homogeneous, random, formless, neutral… space
is hierarchical, diverse, leading to movement, contradiction and conflict
between groups; but both sides may appear in a same city, one next to the
other. Could we find here the spatial encounter between the “volumetric,
plastic” and “political” negatives, beyond the mere rhetorical analogy?
S.P.: I still do not understand your continued interpretation of
“negative space” nor what you mean by “political” negatives. It
surely does not apply to urban spaces like streets and squares. These
are positive entities. There can be negative space in cities (in my
definition) but it is mostly residual areas within the blocks, backyards
irregular courts etc., but streets and squares are positive volumes of
figural spaces shaped by the block surfaces, the void figures to the
solid ground of the blocks. Urban space is not a leftover; it is the
primary medium of urbanism.
590 ANNEX I
Halles. It was 5 years before I wrote the article. That doesn’t mean,
of course, that I didn’t learn from the designing of it, but it was not
conscious.
Then, Ground Zero- to participate in the design competition it was
required to rebuild the exact 10 million sq. ft. that had been lost and
it had to be office space.
There was no choice but to build towers. The question became
for us how to also incorporate traditional urban space on the ground
in order to counteract or at least work with the destructive dynamic
vertical aspect of towers. How can you have both city towers and
urban texture? Your quote “collective unconscious against NY heights”
is wishful thinking. I wish it had been the case but New York –the
public– wanted “their skyline back” –literally in letters to the editor
and public demonstrations– The Empire State building, the Chrysler
Building, the Rockefeller Center complex– What else is there? The
Statue of Liberty, but that is the image of NY.
592 ANNEX I
Although conceived in opposite spatial terms, these two plans are
almost identical in every other organizational way. Curiously, they are
virtually the same size. They have their main rooms in the same left
half of a bisected overall plan. They have the same dynamic shaping
of those main room walls, one oscillating, and the other spiraling.
They have the same gathering space on the right half of the plan, the
columned cloister in one, and the columned open “loft” hall in the
other.
It goes on. They both have the same “left over” areas around the
back, left sides of their main rooms, one a sequence of mini spaces to
get to the corner crypt/ tower stair, the other, visually apparent but
physically inaccessible, dead ended by a rectangle for chair storage.
Even the location of main stairs is the same, both the switch back
rectangular ones in the front right and both the curved spirals in the
back right are in the same locations.
Borromini’s San Carlino could very well be the conscious
antecedent for Corbusier’s Mill Owner’s building in Ahmedabad,
India. It would not be a critical observation to make and it is
unimportant except to note that they are very much the same “parti.”
Their common logical arrangement is so similar that it allows for an
accurate basement of different attitudes and methods. It shows that
Modern space is placeless by comparison, and is the necessary enabler
of an architectural desire for dominant objects.
It is too facile to say, that they are just different, one Baroque,
the other Modern. Juxtaposed, they expose the consequences of an
architecture made exclusively of either space or anti-space.
Peterson, Steven K. 1980. “Space and Anti-Space.” Harvard Architecture Review, 88–113.
Peterson, S K. 1980b. “Steven Peterson. Littenberg, Cohn. New York City. Project No:
874.” Architectural Design september- (A.D. Profile 30: Les Halles: Consultation Internationale sur
l`Amenagement du quartier des Halles): 70–73.
Cacciari, Massimo. 1982. Krisis. Ensayo sobre la crisis del pensamiento negativo de Nietzsche a
Wittgenstein. Madrid: Siglo XXI.
———. 2009. The Unpolitical: On the Radical Critique of Political Reason. Edited by
Alessandro Carrera. New York: Fordham University Press.
Castellanos Gómez, Raúl. 2010. “Poché O la representación del residuo.” EGA. Revista de
expresión gráfica arquitectónica 15 (15): 170–81.
Hegel, Georg W. F. 1975 [1835]. Aesthetics. Lectures on Fine Art. Volume II. Oxford: Clarendon
Press.
Loos, Adolf. 2008 [1898]. “The Principle of Cladding.” In Raumplan versus Plan Libre: Adolf
Loos, Le Corbusier, edited by Max Risselada, 170–73. Rotterdam: 010 publishers.
Scully, Vincent. 1962. The Earth, the Temple, and the Gods; Greek Sacred Architecture. New
Haven: Yale University Press.
Stanek, Łukasz. 2012. “Architecture as Space, Again? Notes on the ‘Spatial Turn.’” SpecialeZ 4:
48–53.
Venturi, Robert. 1977. Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture. New York: The Museum
of Modern Art.
Žižek, Slavoj. 2010. “The Architectural Parallax.” In Living in the End Times, 244–78. London;
New York: Verso Books.
Images.
01 Abraham Bosse. “Les Prespecteurs,” 1648. Source: Manière universelle de M. Desargues, pour
pratiquer la perspective par petit-pied, comme le géométral, ensemble les places et proportions des fortes et
foibles touches, teintes ou couleurs. Bibliothèque Nationalde de France, Gallica.
02 Cubiculum (bedroom) from the Villa of P. Fannius Synistor at Boscoreale, 5040 B.C.
Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
03 Luigi Moretti. Model of interior space of Santa Maria, Lisbon, 1952-1953. Source: Luigi
Moretti, “Strutture e Sequenze di Spazi,” Spazio (7) 1952-1953, 19.
04 Oskar Hansen, Active Negative, 1958 (exhibited at MACBA, 2014). Source: Photograph
by the author.
05 Left: Francesco Borromini, San Carlino alle Quattro Fontane, Rome, 1630. Right: Le
Corbusier, Mill owners’ Association Building, Ahmedabad,1953. Source: Courtesy of Steven K.
Peterson.
594 ANNEX I
595
ANNEX II: Research map.
The course of the research cannot be understood if not through a
spatialization of the thought that generates it. By means of a map
that, as we have seen, does not intend to fix absolute references or be
a precise reflection of reality, but rather the cartography of a process
in continuous evolution, some of the most relevant elements of the
research are highlighted and interrelated through a constellation of
connections and gaps. Some of these elements are shown explicitly;
others, consciously or not, have been omitted. But concealment
reveals at the same time new lines and paths that can be followed,
extended, questioned or forgotten.