Moje knihy roku 2020 o architektuře

Můj subjektivní výběr, ne nutně knihy, které vyšly letos, ani ty, které jsem si koupil nebo dostal, zato takové, které jsem si opravdu s radostí přečetl.

*Christopher Long, The New Space. Movement and Experience in Viennese Modern Architecture. Yale University Press, 2016.* Na podzim mi pandemie neplánovaně prodloužila pobyt ve Vídni, a do těch několika pozoruhodných domů, kam jsem nakukoval přes plot, jsem si mohl důkladně prošel díky knize Chrise Longa. Je to vlastně dost tradičně „kunsthistorická“ kniha: Úvodní teoretická kapitola a pak hlavně pozorné procházení domy tří vídeňských architektů různého stupně známosti, od prakticky zapomenutého Oskara Strnada, přes postupně znovuobjevovaného Josefa Franka, až po Adolfa Loose, o němž slyšel skoro každý. Long se tu zaměřuje na téma kinestetické zkušenosti a ukazuje jak s ní tihle vídeňští obzvláštníci pracovali: komponovali své domy jako procházky, dřív a jinak než Le Corbusier svou promenade architecturale.

*Beatriz Colomina, X-Ray Architecture. Lars Müller, 2019.* Když jsem s Beatriz Colominou krátce mluvil po její pražské přednášce před třemi lety, chystala se další den poprvé v životě podívat do vily Müller. Trochu mi to nešlo do hlavy: V Privacy and Publicity (1994), která z autorky udělala akademickou celebritu (jestli něco takového existuje), se vilou prodrobně zaobírá. Nikomu bych neradil psát o domu, který neviděl naživo, ale u Colomina to zjevně nevadilo dobře. Její poslední knížka – spíš dlouhý esej – přináší zase takové nové čtení, i když teď už Colomině vyčítají, že to pracuje to s kánonem už známých postav. To je pravda – pokud teda za znáte třeba Fredericka Kieslera –, ale přináší nový pohled tu spočívá, léčení a hlavně titulních rentgenových paprsků. Colomina není úplně první, kdo s tím přichází – už před časem jsem někde ve slevě koupil knihu Paula Overyho Light, Air, and Openness, která nás přiměje vidět moderní architektury hledá v tuberkulózních sanatoriích. V tomhle čtení se jeví modernistické budovy vlastně jako terapeutické nástroje.

*Dirk van den Heuvel (ed.), Jaap Bakema and the Open Society. Archis, 2018.* – Nizozemský architekt a urbanista Jaap Bakema, motor holandské poválečné architektury, navrhl několik staveb, které potěší současné zájemce o brutalismus, hlavně ale pracoval jako architekt sociálně-liberální, otevřené poválečné evropské společnosti, pro kterou pracoval tak odhodlaně, že jeho práce někdy ustupuje do pozadí. K doporučení i proto, jak tenhle zásadní společenský ideál ztrácí podporu, a architektura jako služba splečnosti taky není právě hlavní proud. Navíc sympatický formát: žádný coffee-table book, napěchovaný většinou dobovými plány a fotkami.

*William O. Gardner, The Metabolist Imagination. University of Minnesota Press, 2020*. Novinku jsem objednal a četl v podstatě povinně ke svému aktuálnímu projektu o ósacké výstavě, na knihu ale autor nezklamal. Výborně propojuje urbanistickou imaginaci architektů a literární historii, a nakonec i filmovou imaginaci - protože v Japonsku se sci-fi a architektura prolínaly. Vykládá srozumitelně a na to, že je profesor japonského jazyka a literatury a filmu si poradil skvěle i s architekturou. Text, který vychází z jedné kapitoly knihy, si můžete přečíst tady https://placesjournal.org/article/liquid-cities/

The Beacon of the Japanese Vending Machine

The uncanny beauty of the Japanese vending machines fascinates many. This project explores them at the snowy Hokkaido.

It reminds me one day in May, on my trek along the Kumano kodō, the day before reaching the waterfall in Nachi. I passed the last remnants of derelict teahouses and followed the ancient pilgrimage road, constantly going uphill. It turned out to take much longer than my map estimated, and the dusk slowly turned into darkness. I had to climb up a pass first, about an 800 m elevation, and my goal was to reach the nearest rest booth where I hoped to seek shelter with my sleeping bag. I took out my headlamp and tried to walk fast. But I had to be cautious. The last marked place I passed mentioned it is a place where deities like to gather “and chat over tea”. That gave me less worries than all the bear warnings I had seen before. Long after sunset I finally reached the pass with a stele bearing a carved poem. The darkness now grew thicker and thicker and as I was higher up, the temperature also fell. Now I found myself on a stony path in a pitch dark Japanese forest, and I carefully started descending into a valley. May I have overestimated my skills this time? The stones became damp and slippery from a small stream and at the same time, in quite a wrong moment, my headlamp started to fade quickly. I tried to focus on each step, trying not to sprain an ankle. After a while, I briefly saw a glimpse of light among the trees, and some minutes later it blinked more often so I was sure that it is where I want to go. It gave hope but I also was not sure what to expect. Are there any people? At last I was on a small asphalt road, still in the middle of a forest, still no one around… facing a vending machine, shining bright into the dark. Only then I recognized there was also a toilet next to it and an unfinished teahouse.

The Orange

In May, the inland of the Kii peninsula is sunny and hot. Luckily the Kōhechi Trail of the Kumano Kodō leads mostly through woods that give enough shade, but descending to a valley means suddenly diving into a much warmer climate. This valley is less damaged by construction than the previous ones I had passed, and at first I decide to walk all the way to Totsukawa onsen along the road. I meet some beautiful orchids growing from the cliff beside the road, but soon the sun becomes too stingy. I ask inside the local shop in a village called Nagai to make sure the bus is coming. I have about fifteen minutes to wait. While I sit there, an old lady hobbles around, very slowly. She is hunched, her back bent literally at a right angle so that she faces the ground when she walks. She walks a few times to the grocery shop and back to her house across the narrow street. Then she is holding two oranges and I immediately think of eating fruit, I haven’t had any in days, it is crazily expensive in Japan. She moves so slow that I almost forget about her presence, and I believe she couldn’t have even seen me sitting there because of her posture. But then suddenly she is in front of me, handing me one of the oranges. A true Japanese hospitality to pilgrims. I thank her very much. It is apparently a local grown orange (I see an orange tree from the bus soon after). I carry it in my my bag till the afternoon. I pass the the village of Hatenashi and then I eat it, at a small shrine with a spring in the hills. A wild rhododendron sheds its blossoms all around. The fruit is slightly dried out and a bit bitter, but it doesn't bother me. It is the orange from the magic old lady.

Teshima Museum of Art

The Inner Sea has a somewhat Mediterranean feel and getting to the island of Teshima takes time. The Museum of Art, up among the rice fields (project by the architect Ruye Nishizawa and the artist Rei Naito), is able to restore one’s trust in the marriage of art and architecture, integrity of building with landscape. After being led around a hill by a winding path, on entering one starts to look where is the “art”. Then you look down to find it is the thing that made your sock wet, drops of water and small puddles on the concrete. Slowly treading, sitting or lying on the ground people watch the droplets ooze from the ground form innumerable patterns and occasionally being sucked inside. Art as a common experience, art as meditation. Voices of birds or rustling of the leaves sometimes enter the shell this light cave and resonate. Thin white ribbons are blowing in the wind. (There is no photo allowed inside as it would ruin the experience.)

Kumano Kodō

Kumano Kodō 熊野古道 are several ancient pilgrimage routes leading to Kumano Hongū Taisha, the centre of the Kumano religion. The religious significance of the Kumano region goes back to prehistoric times and therefore predates all modern religions in Japan. The area was, and still is, considered a place of physical healing.

In Mid-May, I walked the Kohechi trail 小辺路 and then to the waterfall of Nachi.
Walking roughly 100 km through the inland of the Kii peninsula was a wonderful way to experience the heart of the Japanese landscape: up and down the steep hills, through hinoki forests, with only brief sights of the horizon. Amazing plants, a Buddha statue or a haiku stele here and there. The memory of thousands of pilgrims of the past days, remainders of ancient teahouses, overgrown by forest. But the path is well kept.