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page143from Nordic Architects Writes
of built-in cupboards, the opportunity to
open the rooms on the garden, the intimate connection with the natural setting
throughout, to say nothing of the actual artistic design of the detail, with
large, empty surfaces or discreetly patterned ones, a lot of unstained wood,
plaited straw – an aim t let materials speak for themselves without the burden
of ornamentation – in a word, without the stimuli from Japan, contemporary
Western architecture would not be what it is today.
In
some quarters one notices a tendency to again regard what has gradually grown
up more highly than the outcome of rational thinking, the organic, as it were,
as superior to the geometric. According to this the symmetry introduced by the
Renaissance in place of the freer style of composition of Gothic times would
seem to be a lapse, the lifeless and unrelieved chessboard pattern of the
Renaissance town plan a clumsy abomination beside the meaningful hierarchy of
large and small, wide and narrow, of the Medieval town, its organic adherence
to the terrain, its supple adaptation to wind and sun. The relationship of the
Medieval town to the ideal town of the Renaissance is like that of a juicy
sun-ripe orange to a polished, geometrically perfect steel sphere – to use the
image quoted earlier. But it should not be imagined for that reason that hose
Medieval towns were created haphazardly, purely by instinct. They are more than
one at first thinks the fruits of practical calculation and a conscious sense
of beauty. The difference is mainly that the town builders of the time were
greater artists than the architects of the Renaissance, who – as the Swedish
romantic poet Atterbom put it – got too wrapped up in a sheer idea. During the
nineteenth century the last remnants of this wonderful ability were lost, the
ability that enabled earlier people to build their houses and towns so that
they seem as natural where they stand as rocks and rivers, forests and meadows,
so that they seem to belong to the surrounding countryside as though they had
been there since the beginning of time.
“Functionalism”, “the new architecture”, or
what you will call it, is the offspring of the age of bourgeois Liberalism. It
has found its most cherished tasks in industrial buildings, housing and business
buildings; it has scoffingly put “monumentality” inside quotation marks and is
therefore somewhat taken aback when confronted with the new demand for
monumentality. Like the idols of earlier epochs – the church during the Middle
Ages, the Baroque princes, progress under Liberalism (temple – palace – “the
temple of Mammon”, “the bank palace”) – the god of our times, the State,
demands homage in the form of monumental buildings, our new “sacred buildings”.
It
is, incidentally, a strange coincidence that two of the great pioneer works
constructed in glass and iron – the Crystal Palace in London and the Glaspalast
in Munich – were both erected during the first part of the 1850s and both
burned down around 1930. Rarely is an important era in architectural history
brought so clearly to a close.
A dream has been nourished of a “telluric”
culture, a culture common to the entire world which would assimilate all the
best achievements of different peoples. Far-reaching evolution in this
direction would, however, involve the danger of losing all
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