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page186from Nordic Architects Writes
More than twenty years ago, Aulis Blomstedt
and Reima Pietilä had a brief but pithy exchange about the concept of “monument”,
in which Blomstedt quoted a Shakespeare sonnet which crystallises the idea
thus: “Your monument shall be my gentle verse which eyes not yet created shall o’er
read.” Here, the monument is a gentle verse which carries a memory, an idea,
value and meaning beyond time. It is thus a question of something that is in
some way a complete opposite to boastfulness and arrogance. The strictest
definition of architectural values is linked above all to monumentality and
artistic quality.
The
same thing is expressed in Chinese calligraphy by the term “Qi”, the vitality
that a line is charged with. It is deemed to be one of the most important
features of calligraphy.
In
the 1920s, the young geologist and poet Aaro Hellaakoski examined artistic aims
with these thoughts:
There
is still a good deal of clumsy and wooden material. Of course, I am entertained
more by sketchy rough-hewn work than polished work. I cannot stand eclectic
manipulation. My verse does not aim for any special suppleness or flexibility. I
am happy if the words feel natural and true. I feel that poetry should be
genuine metal which gives a metallic ring when you strike it.
I
am going brother you with yet another literary quotation in an attempt to show
that architectural study material is scattered far and wide, outside the
palisade of our profession. At the turn of the century, Anton Chekhov advised
his young colleague, the writer Maxim Gorky, about his work thus:
They
are splendid things, masterpieces; they show the artist who has passed through
a very good school. I don’t think that I am mistaken. The only defect is the
lack of restraint, the lack of grace. When a man spends the least possible
number of movements over some definite action, that is grace … The descriptions
of nature are the work of an artist; you are a real landscape painter. Only the
frequent personification (anthropomorphism) when the sea breathes, the sky
gazes, the steppe barks, Nature whispers, speaks, mourns, and so on – such
metaphors make your descriptions somewhat monotonous, sometimes sweetish,
sometimes not clear; beauty and expressiveness in nature are attained only by
simplicity, by such simple phrases as “The sun set,” “It was dark,” “It began
to rain,” and so on.
The
energy at the core of art is a conscious aesthetic intention somewhere below
the surface. Creating art is a matter of digging out this core. Development can
appear in science and technology, but not in art. We have progressed no further
in art today than the painters at Lascaux and Altimira, but it is the same
thing that keeps us going.
To
conclude, I will tell you briefly about a building that fulfills the criteria
of monumentality. I saw it quite by chance about twenty years ago in northern
Portugal. It was a small paper mill that used rags and waste paper as raw
material. The building was set beautifully in a rolling landscape with a little
stream running through it. The lower floor was built of massive blocks of
stone. The hot paper pulp steamed inside this dimly lit production space. The
figures of the mill-workers
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