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excerpt
The enhanced nature of the Tectoniques culture
Jean-Pierre Chupin
(p. 10-13)


Though only just reintroduced into the lexicon of contemporary architects, tectonics, according to some, is already close to exhausting its potential. A categorical rebuttal of this allegation can, however, be found in recent work done by the eponymous Lyon agency for which “tectonics” is not just a slogan or a doctrine, but a shareable, open-ended, enriching conception. There are, in fact, forms of tectonics that are doing very well. Better still, they incorporate, at different programmatic scales, perspectives on constructional thinking that the emerging environmental consciousness would do well to adopt. And here, it should be added, aesthetics sacrifices nothing to ethics. Constructional choices are not legitimated by sustainability alone, and do not pit nature against culture in the name of ecology, or diminish the complexity of urban, social, economic —in a word, human—situations. In fact I would say (and this will be my guiding thread) that constructional thinking should always amplify and reinforce the cultural primacy of the idea of nature.

Since 2001, I have been working with Kenneth Frampton, and researchers in a wide range of disciplines (in a French-speaking context, given that by then the subject was already well advanced in the English-speaking world), to develop tectonics, not as “the” key, nor as a retrograde rallying call (though in fact criticism of this kind been levelled, unjustifiably, at Frampton himself, who besides being an eminent historian is a critic of modernity), but as the fulcrum of an open, inevitable debate on constructional thinking. “Inevitable,” because it takes place, symbolically, in the type of potentially rewarding, but often improbable, encounter between engineers, artists and architects that characterises, for example, the approach adopted by the Grands ateliers de L'Isle-d'Abeau, in France's Isère department, which is a leading centre for teaching, research and experimentation in construction. We foresaw conflicts of vested interests, and the kind of apprehension that is liable to be aroused by any approach which can be seen as over-erudite, and confined to questions of procedures and techniques. We had anticipated the cacophony of expert viewpoints that we did in fact observe, but not the media campaign of misrepresentation, though in the end tectonics may be fated always to split off from its scientific foundations and fall foul of superficial interpretations. On the other hand, as Cyrille Simonnet has noted, an explanation may lie in the nature of the word itself, which, both in English and in French, sounds like a double click of the fingers, conveying a musical intensity and rhythm. But does this justify its being identified with a more or less improvised, more or less disarticulated dance form that children mockingly mimic? One might have hoped for better, though without being overly worried. After all, architects do not have a monopoly on “tectonics,” any more than geographers or geologists. But it would be a pity if the concept were identified exclusively with a passing fashion. It has contributed to a demonstration that everything possible has not yet been said about the profundity, both auditory and corporeal, of constructional culture, and its true nature, which in the end is more prosaic than poetic, and which benefits from the authenticity and affirmation of constructional dispositions.

The architects of Tectoniques (as they themselves say), are concerned with rhythm and musical interpretation when it comes to making decisions about formal, structural and constructional orientations. Let us take a closer look at what is involved in these orchestrations of assemblages in wood, metal and concrete, which the Tectoniques team characterised as “unplugged” in their previous publication, and which they now call “explicit” (as enthusiastic downloaders of music files that can be frank, up-front and crude).

In order to get a better idea of the causes they seek to champion, let us (if only for the sake of migraine avoidance) leave aside the theoretical, historical debate on tectonics, and concentrate on the architectonics; because it was the second ethmological part of the word, the tekton (denoting the art of the carpenter), that was of interest to the team when it came to choosing a name and a programme of work. They do not deny that after completing their (chaotic and indigent!) studies they had to, as it were, go back to the drawing board, and to the sources of architectural construction, in other words the sizes, proportions and selection of the primary elements, and their in situ assembly. This latter aspect of the question was crucial, in that the team regarded the construction site itself as the crucible and touchstone of the design process.

Unrepentantly whimsical, the Tectoniques team does not see construction as a question of details, but rather as a sort of Lego game; and it is this metaphor that we must take into account if we are to understand their modus operandi. The fact that the great majority of their projects exploit the possibilities of wood should not mislead us. This is not an architecture of carpenters, but rather of musicians who know about mechanics. As exponents of paradox, they aspire to, and dream of, edifices that are as easy to dismantle as to assemble. And this certainly explains the high degree of legibility, in terms of constructional layers, that is a hallmark of their work, since one such layer may often hide another.

Taking the nature / culture dichotomy as our hermeneutic standpoint, let us look at the project which in my view gives the best counter-example to the naturalistic interpretation of solid wood architecture: the Espace nordique for biathlon in Bessans, in the Savoie department. It would be difficult to imagine a more basic concept than the athletes' reception facilities. And it would be difficult to imagine a more impressive backdrop than this proud, massive mountain, this block of granite that dominates the horizon. But we suspect (and the dimensions of the structure confirm the suspicion) that there's snow on the way! Result: a deep roof, including a heavy, oblique section placed on posts that seem, by comparison, surprisingly frail. The beams are numerous, though in fact everything seems so solidly and cleanly arranged that one almost overlooks their necessity. It is on the other side of the building that an impeccable rhythm appears; and the biathletes must certainly appreciate this facade. The doubling of the joists means that the vertical elements are clamped on both sides. The roof is covered in thin leaves of stone; in this project, everything is a question of strata. On the mountain-facing side, the wall is sturdy and opaque, and on the ski-slope side, facing the valley, the facade is open, in the urban sense of the term. The glazed parts contrast with what the transverse section seems, at a distance, to suggest, namely that this is not a chalet in the depths of nature, but a long strip of terrain, raised and detached, as though the ski slope extended from one extremity to the other. It would scarcely be surprising if a tram stopped here, so fundamentally urban is the architecture. At each end, three stays projecting from the wall—three small points of suspension—generate an inner rhythm. And the configuration leaves room for extension. So this is not a stopping place, after all.

(...)


Jean-Pierre Chupin is an architect, and a professor at the University of Montreal. He is also a researcher at the Laboratoire d'étude de l'architecture potentielle (www.leap.umontreal.ca). With Cyrille Simonnet and Kenneth Frampton, he edited Le Projet Tectonique (Geneva, Infolio, 2005).
topics Tectoniques architectes: other titles




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