THE FACE OF THE COLLECTIVE
MANSILLA + TUÑÓN ARQUITECTOS
An experiment is a text that narrates a non-textual situation, a text that others will later supervise in order to decide whether it’s a simple text or not. If the final test meets with success, then it isn’t a mere text, there’s a real situation behind it, in fact. Bruno Latour [1]
While the present is yet being constructed, the past and future assume new forms. Each instant, each new action, highlights a revision of what is done and also gives a new, or novel-perhaps still unknown-outline to that which is to be done, uninterruptedly modifying both collective memory and future projects.
In this changing scenario, with past and future in constant construction, probability turns into the only possible appearance of certainty, into the only face that enables it to approach reality. At the heart of this transformation, architecture fixes its gaze more widely, or dilates its pupils, considering the definition of space as only a small part of the task to which it is summoned: the construction of artificial environments in which the acts of men unfold. Or to put it more precisely, the time and the territory of the collective, the latter understood in the way Bruno Latour defines it: “In the new emerging paradigm, we have replaced by the notion of a collective-defined as the exchange of human and nonhuman properties in the bosom of a corporation-the word ‘society’, so burdened by its many connotations.” [2]
This is a sort of mobilisation of the world in which the basic tool is negotiation between the parts, and the goal the creation of real or virtual scenarios of wills that encourage collective identity. An extension is involved, putting what we are or think we are on the same level as that which surrounds us, so that the truly important thing is the ability to multiply the relations between humans, nature, machines or the virtual, so that in its abrasions, in its conflicts, in its agreements, and in its distances there dilates our being in the world so as to make space for the awareness that man and woman are nature unfolding thanks to its ability to think about itself virtually. Or put more rapidly: that we are nothing less, but also nothing more, than a small part of a world that spins endlessly, tirelessly.
Today, architecture socialises that which is not really human, so that there may be established, through science and technology, relations with humans. And although it is clear that the destiny of the artefacts constructed or imagined is in the hands of the subsequent users, architecture in action attempts, going back to Bruno Latour, to open the black boxes, explaining facts and machines from the discovery or the revelation of the connection between humans and nonhumans.
The MUSAC, understood not so much as architecture but as action, is an experiment which attempts to construct a circulatory system of the collective, a new space of links and nodes for interaction, the latter understood as that which renders visible-or rather possible-the links between humans and nature, machines, artefacts, the facts, occurred or imagined, or on the point of happening, the virtual.
On a huge flat surface, almost a lake in the expansion of the city of León, the MUSAC interacts with history, or what remains of it, manipulating it by defining the art venue in the same optimistic way that Roman surveyors laid out the lineaments of the Seventh Legion encampment-the origin of the city-on the landscape.
By means of a process of autonomisation, inherited from the non-modern decontextualisations of Pop and from scalar transformations born of the fear of form, the lineaments of colonisation correspond to a Roman mosaic: a structure that is developed from an open system formed by a fabric of squares and rhomboids which permit a secret geography of memory to be constructed.
This involves a process of activation or excitation of a fragment of what surrounds us, similar to casting a stone, or a word, or a memory into a lake with an uneven perimeter, which immediately receives the ripples, reflecting and deforming them when interacting with what surrounds it.
In this way the echo of the Roman mosaic cast into the location activates unsuspected, and at the same time logical, perimeters, distinctly illuminating the cultivated fields nearby, fields always ordered in the middle but disordered at the perimeter, immobile like the desert horizon, and the alternation of two figures convokes that gentle alliance with nature which calls for half the fields in Castile and León to be left to lie fallow each year in order not to exhaust her.
If we look elsewhere, familiarity with geometry updates the potentiality of non-Cartesian configurations. Actually, the orthogonal organisation privileges the relations of each point with an origin, establishing an order that may or may not be hierarchical, but runs into serious difficulties in order to establish particular relations with the close-at-hand, relations of a specific or differentiating kind with the contiguous. Nevertheless, the warp and weft-like combination makes no reference to a centre, but behaves instead like a mechanism which privileges and interacts with what is close-at-hand or contiguous, without the need to know what is happening further on. A system of local pattern behaviour is thus established, one which generates the component to component relations, in which the coherence of the whole is not ordained by the division of a complete figure or by the components making it up but by the connection that links them. The waves rebound here on the terrain of mathematical fields, beneath the shadow and the recollection of the Cordoba mosque, Las Atarazanas in Barcelona or the Spanish Pavilion at the Brussels Exhibition.
The process is akin to a dynamic which tries to overcome the differences between internalist explanations (which look towards content) and externalist ones (which direct their gaze towards context) in assuming that what is truly relevant are their links, articulations and transformations.
By grafting the setting of the architecture with a schema of behaviour that only pays attention to the close-at-hand-the square hardly knows that it has a rhomboid next to it-we find ourselves before a figure similar to a woven fabric, which repeats a motif, but which can be cut away at any point without it foregoing its condition thereby, just as a flock of birds is no more or no less of a flock if a few birds are subtracted or added to it. This is important, because we arrive at a scheme of behaviour whose character remains unaltered if more pieces are added or taken away, or even if these are reduced or increased in size. The perimeter or shape of the building literally ceases to be of any importance, and any layout, until being adjusted to the real size required, is equally valid. Each layout is equivalent, or what amounts to the same thing, possible, and our final recollection will remain unaltered. Although here the relevant thing is not our recollections, but the appearance of the concept of possibility and, beyond that, of freedom.
A freedom in which the presence of the same and the different is converted into a terrain of reflection that inundates the work, acquiring concrete form only through the edge condition that ultimately appears. The connecting of the project, of each action, of each thought, to a common territory of reflection enables the work to be endowed with a component that is abstract and, as such, independent of the form. A reflection or a vector of interests which is then particularised according to the concrete conditions.
Thus, the interior of the MUSAC is constructed as a succession of continuous but distinct spatial events, dotted with patios and huge skylights, giving shape to an expressive system that speaks to us of the interest that architecture and art share: the contemporary manifestation of the different and the same, of the universal and the transitory, as an echo of our own diversity and equality as people.
In this slightly involuntary way the MUSAC acquires a sharp outline: that of a set of precise rules, a game board on which order and freedom are simultaneously present, the other face of that presence of the different and the same, as a material echo of our unrenounceable human condition.
Unlike other kinds of space whose museistic quality is centred on the showing of fixed historical collections, the MUSAC is a living space which opens the door to a wide range of contemporary artistic expressions; an art centre that constructs a set of game boards in which actions are the leading players of the space itself; a series of autonomous and interconnected exhibition rooms enables shows of different sizes and characteristics to be created; each irregularly shaped room constructs a continuous, yet spatially separate, space that gives onto the other rooms and patios, providing longitudinal, transversal and diagonal views.
This is a set of rooms alike in their geometry and construction, but which, due to the different kinds of light coming from skylights, patios and picture windows, are nevertheless transformed into spaces with different qualities by means of a simultaneous process of autonomisation and alliance of facts and artefacts. Five hundred prefabricated beams close off a series of spaces characterised by the systematic repetition and the formal expressiveness a changing light brings.
This presence of the condition of sameness and difference is amplified in the entrance lobby where two huge twin skylights disburse light on the space, but each of them is receiving light from different directions, one east and the other west. And so, in the morning one lets a warm, heavy light fall, while the other lets in a cold, changeable light. When the afternoon descends, and the sun shifts round, the situation is reversed, as if two skylights, or two people, might be able to recognise their mutual diversity, but at the end of the day recognise each other as interchangeable, or part of a single group.
Outside, public space assumes a concave shape in order to accommodate different activities and encounters, a shape enfolded by great coloured panes of glass, in which homage is paid to the city as a place of personal intercommunication.
Offcuts of the fabric go to form its irregular perimeter, and they seem more like windfalls than the outcome of a dedicated search.
The wall surfaces of this Forum are bedecked in colours, colours engaged in setting themselves up as protagonists of the Public Image; they speak to us of the vitality of the drying washing and the plants which hang from the balconies of the city squares, of inquisitive children leaning out of the window to look. Although ransacking history with impunity once more, its image comes from the pixelisation of a fragment of the stained glass windows of León Cathedral. This process of abstraction, or of an absent or cold gaze upon the figure of El Halconero, The Falconer, distances it from the form, distances it as much as a falcon distances itself, but refers without a doubt to that combination-at a distance from the personal-of order and disorder, of imbrication and detachment that only nature, with its complexity, is capable of producing. It is a question of seeing the most ancient through the pupils of our own era—computers. Only these manage to get close to nature, such that the works of man seem like a fragment of nature, or an anthropological vestige of the future.
Although in actual fact we neither construct a reality, nor does reality construct us; the MUSAC seeks only to efface the boundaries between the public and the private, between leisure and work, and, once and for all, between art and life, and so its roofs convoke the River Duero, which traverses all the provinces of Castile and León, as if art and water might share that continuous cycle which makes them seem forever the same and forever new-or, perhaps, they simply serve for what they are, for carrying along a simple and normal, everyday water. Just water.
Mansilla & Tuñón, architects November 2004
NOTES
[1] LATOUR, Bruno, La esperanza de Pandora, ensayos sobre la realidad de los estudios de la ciencia, Gedisa, Barcelona, 2001, p. 149. (English edition: Pandora's Hope. Essays on the Reality of Science Studies, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass., 1999).
[2] Ibid., p. 231.