The listing flashed across the screen: a Christopher Alexander talk on You
Tube. The information was just noted, as there was no time to look at the
presentation. One would need a couple of spare hours to give to this
occasion.
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Some weeks later there was some free time available, so, after listening to
some music, the Alexander talks were retrieved; one was opened. It was
interesting to hear Alexander talk about his writings to a group of computer
programmers; he explained how the ideas had developed. He finished by
suggesting a more moral approach to programming that could work to help
achieve his goals – an environment that can enrich life. Another session was
watched: conversations with a colleague in Alexander’s home in England. One
could see the references for The Nature of Order everywhere in this
lovely cottage. There was still time for a third session: this was
Alexander’s lecture given on his return to Berkeley after twenty years
absence in England. He had been working at the University of York in the UK,
on the next step in the development of his thinking.
Alexander can be seen sitting in front of the lectern during the lengthy
introduction.
The evening’s presentation at Berkeley had a format that was familiar. It
made one wonder if there was an essential pattern to architectural talks,
prescribed not only as a format, but also with the problems, the clumsy
mishaps. This occasion made one think that such a pattern of acts and issues
was a necessary part of all architectural talks, for the circumstances seem
to appear on nearly all similar occasions attended, almost as exact
re-enactments and sequences.
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First there has to be a ‘nothing’ period, a no-man’s-land time that
anticipates a beginning, allowing for folk to chat, meander in, and settle
down when it suits them; perhaps this period is important, allowing time to
drag on beyond the intended starting schedule: starting on time never seems
to be the right thing to do. Then, eventually, a lone individual strolls up
to the lectern, looks around, and calls casually for some sort of order to
get the evening going. During all of this time, an image is left projected
onto the wall that is the screen, perhaps as ‘something interesting’ for
those who arrived on time to ponder.
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A brief explanation of the evening is given by way of a primary
introduction; then another person is invited to the microphone to give the
‘real’ introduction. The person giving this introductory overview grasps the
opportunity to make a lengthy, ‘intellectual’ statement, providing, in this
case, a personal analysis of Alexander’s life and works, as if he might be a
stranger, all while Alexander sits nearby looking somewhat bored. One
wonders what he thinks of the introduction. There is a sense of excess here,
of one just trying to be too clever in front of the master, seemingly
seeking some sense of acclaim; perhaps some approval, a recognition of the
‘intellectual’ skill involved. The over-kill is completely unnecessary, a
little like the long introductions in publications where it looks as though
the invited author is attempting to create the first chapter, or to steal
the limelight – at least to share it.
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Eventually the speaker, here Alexander, comes to the lectern, strolls off
to one side and starts talking. No one can hear; the microphone has to come
out and be fitted onto his pocket: “Thanks for remembering. Can you hear me
now? Is it OK in my pocket?” is the usual type of crackling
statement/question if the system works the first time without further
adjustment to refine the squealing, electronic muddle. Luckily, in this
case, the sound system works the first time. Alexander then starts again and
asks for the first image to be projected. This comes up, but the photographs
immediately start as a slide show revealing all the images before Alexander
is ready to talk to them. Stop; back to the beginning: “Can we see the first
photo again please?”
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Another ‘expert’ comes out to help sort out the problem with the laptop on
the lectern, and the talk starts again; and again it is the slide show.
“Oops!” So more folk come out to attend to the matter as Alexander says that
he only wants one image at a time, as and when he asks for it. Eventually
things get sorted, and the lights go out again as Alexander continues.
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Once things seem to have been resolved, the evening starts rolling along as
it should have in the beginning. At the end, when Alexander says that he is
tired, and has to finish, he is asked by the moderator who gave the
introduction, if he will take a few questions. Even though tired, he
politely agrees as the moderator turns and asks, begs, the audience for
questions. Maybe the moderator, in this case, had no questions himself;
usually it is this person who starts the ball rolling with a prearranged
thought or unnecessary summary of the presentation. One usually wonders: why
should there be any questions after such an erudite presentation? There
always is someone who wants to be known; wants to talk! After a lengthy
silence, the hand is up and the nod is given. Alexander considers it to be a
silly question, and says so - next; then another ‘expert’ seeks an
explanation of his own ‘in-depth’ theory/experience that Alexander politely
responds to, telling him that it is nonsense; and so on as folk seek
prominence in the crowd, with ever more becoming braver as time, that was
supposed to be limited, passed slowly, filled in by folk raising matters
that have already been resolved by Alexander in his talk. This seems to be
the usual pattern.
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Finally, after two extra questions, with folk getting up to leave as time
dragged on, the evening is closed down: at last. It was all so familiar –
every nuance was there. Every architectural talk has these stages that
appear to be essential. Perhaps it is useless to tell folk that things do
need rehearsal, testing, and better management; but if Berkeley cannot be
bothered to sort things out for Alexander, then it all looks pretty hopeless
– we are going to be stuck with the embarrassing process forever. Even here,
no one thought to shift what looked like a large American flag on a stand in
one far corner of the space; it remained there for the whole talk, as an
irrelevant thing in storage, fouling up the context of a talk about
sensitive environments and awareness. No one could see the irony of the
situation. Nothing was new, except the clarity of the talk itself.
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Luckily, the presentation was not the usual, over-indulgent hype. We did
not get the over-confident, slick, flowing verbal presentation illustrated
with cleverly smart images. Alexander sat and spoke quietly and
deliberately, every now and then pouring and drinking water, until he needed
a break; then he showed what he described as “a lot of images of Eishin
College”; too many for him to speak to them individually - there was not
enough time for this: so he let the set run through, and then sat and
continued to speak about the experience of working on the project, the ideas
and aims. One noticed how the images looked old and blurred. The work had
begun in 1980, about thirty years ago. There was a refreshing naivety about
the images; they did not offer clever angles and distortions, or boast too
much. They merely revealed the place and the construction as the passersby
might see things, for it was the process that Alexander wished to talk
about.
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Alexander’s presentation was interesting. It was thoughtful, determined;
every word he spoke was considered. He wanted the issues that interested him
to be precisely expressed so that they were not misunderstood. The words
flowed, and then there was a silence – sometimes a lengthy quiet; then a few
muffled grunting sounds would stumble out as background, suggesting
discovery, perhaps recovery; then Alexander would start the flow again. The
hiatus seemed as though thoughts, or ideas as words, were downloading. It
was a little like those annoying buffering pauses one gets in videos, only
here it was not annoying: it added to the thoughtful stillness of the
occasion. The surprising thing was that these silences made one think that
Alexander had lost his train of thought, that he had become muddled - was it
age? - but, surprisingly, there was always perfect continuity in the ideas
and the words when he began again. It was an astonishing performance; no
hiccups at all; just coherent pauses.
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It seems that Alexander has had much practise at this. At the beginning of
the lecture he must have been thinking back to the times when he was
teaching at Berkeley. He noted how he had never prepared any written
documents for any lecture he had ever given; but believed that, in spite of
this, they did come out as coherent presentations. It was easy to see how,
because this evening showed Alexander performing his trade: speaking about
this well-considered thoughts and his writings with no texts or prompts. It
appeared that he was even re-thinking these propositions as he spoke about
them, as if checking them, testing them again to ensure he had not missed
anything as he looked for more revelations and intrigues. Even though he
must have spoken about these matters many times, it looked as though this
occasion was for the first time, such was his consideration and
concentration.
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There was nothing brash about Alexander; he was humble, often expressing
the opinion that folk might consider him mad, and being willing to accept
this; but still he persevered with a certain confidence, as he had carefully
thought through the issues in his work. Even though he had believed that
A Pattern Language had solved the problems that had caused him
to ponder about design and building, he noted that the idea of establishing
patterns that could be applied turned out to be insufficient. He had noticed
how parts of projects using this system might hold some interest, but
generally the outcome was poor. He realised that there was something else
that needed revealing if there was to be a reliable framework that could
give what he called ‘living buildings.’ The Nature of Order was the
set of books that tackled the next phase; and while he did not mention it
here at Berkeley, he had noted in an earlier discussion that his work at
York was taking on the stage after this, noting that it was difficult to
talk about the nature of order without speaking about God.
There was much to think about in this talk that spoke of the many
challenges for the world that had to be confronted if we were to again get
close to true beauty; to get more “deep feeling” into things. To start this
process, Alexander noted how we had to be extremely honest with ourselves:
“If we honestly love our fellow beings and places, we will get good
buildings. It is not magic; it just depends on the intensity and dedication
with which one does one’s best.”
“The discipline we have come to know as architecture has gone off the
rails. The idea that things can be made by assembly is a crackpot
idea.”
“Life is the only criterion for construction of the environment; for all
building, be this housing or freeways.”
“Non-living structures on earth have undermined life. Buildings are made
from love.”
“I make a mock up of a fireplace; then another. I ask myself: if I am
making a fireplace as a gift for God, which option would be best?”
Alexander was aware of the problems with getting close to religion, but
insisted that these aspects of our understanding and experience were
critical, and could be spoken about rationally. It was a remarkable
performance, bringing over fifty year’s of thinking, writing and practice
together into what one might call ‘slow talking,’ using the television idea
of ‘slow TV’ – where, e.g., the train crossing the Nullabor Plains becomes
the one subject for hour after hour, without any dismissive summary.
One will have to take out all of the Alexander books again; finally one
understood their connections. Notes on the Synthesis of Form had
always seemed to stand off to one side as a bad beginning, but in one
discussion it was noted that it was here that Alexander had written: “There
is context and function; form is in between.” The awareness of mystery was
already there in his thinking.
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After this presentation, one was left thinking about the Eishin project.
There was a nagging ambiguity here. Alexander saw the whole project as a
prime example of his ideas on the process required to give the ‘living’
outcome that he described. He believed the current dislocation in the
production of architecture was part of the cause for our situation today.
While one was inspired by the words, there was a lingering uncertainty about
their application: was it ever possible to prescribe the making of beauty?
Parts of the college looked beautiful; other sections looked like
illustrations from the book, A Pattern Language; other portions
simply looked awkward, uncomfortably faked, a little like Prince Charles’
village, Poundbury – a self-consciously ‘olde worlde’ place, something like
a theatre set. Perhaps this is unfair, but it is so.
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One really did not want to feel this way about Alexander’s work, but one
did – honesty is important. One could see the Eishin project as a beginning,
a struggling challenge for rich, inner coherence where everything was new,
untried. There are splashes of timeless wonder that live in this work, but
there are also portions that one sees as replicas of things past,
‘Poundbury-isms’ rather than as original – in the sense of primal origins -
forms and paces with a refreshing ‘live’ present in presence: some outcomes
appear still-born. In spite of the concern, perhaps stimulated by it, one
recalled Meis’s words to his student who was pointing out some dodgy
detailing as they walked through Wright’s Taliesin, perhaps hoping to invoke
the master’s – “God is in the detail” - praise: “Just be thankful that it is
here,” was Mies’s grumpy response.
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Yes, one had to be thankful that the Eishin College was there for us to
ponder, to be reminded of the cause, and be thankful for Alexander and his
efforts to get the world to understand how important it is to make beautiful
things again, and not be distracted by current intrigues. Alexander was not
unaware of the difficulty of the task, but he knew its imperative – its
necessity, if life on earth was to survive and be enriched: this is how
important he envisaged the task.
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Sadly Alexander died some weeks ago – 17 March 2022. He has left us all
with a challenge that he has defined – the revelation of patterns and order
to shape deep meaning. While not really wanting to talk about it, as it was
in such an early stage of its development, Alexander did note that his work
in York involved AI, using computers to help identify the ‘centres’ that
would be involved in a project – knowing these would help guide living
outcomes. The task was so enormous that Alexander saw that computers,
programming, would play a critical role in its achievement. This is what he
told the programmers in the first talk.#
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One can only agree with Alexander, not only with his ideas about beauty and
its making, but that architecture today has become the work of what he liked
to call ‘crackpots.’ We all need to consider Alexander’s work with a new
commitment, and reconsider our place in the world which is in an awfully
chaotic state when one thinks in terms of architecture, well-being and
mental health.
#
NOTE
The three sessions that were watched offered not only an interesting
explanation of the connection between Alexander’s publications, but it also
revealed Alexander over time too: the long-haired thinker talking to the
programmers, became the greying, cropped head of the Alexander in England
casually enjoying thinking for the camera, who was the older man at
Berkeley, keen but easily tired: “I’m a bit wobbly on my feet. I’ll sit
down.”
The discussion with his colleague in his lovely home in England, finished
with a ‘Five Years Later’ clip. Here one saw a changed Alexander, bearded
and grey, sharing time with earlier collaborators, sitting quietly beside
his wife as they remembered. While Alexander changed, his ideas stayed on
course, determined to find a way to reveal beauty, to support life itself –
the only criterion for building.
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4 MAY 2022
“Make sure that any action, thing, picture, poem, or helping someone on a
bus, has inner beauty.”
"The sunlight on the leaves is eternal."
5 MAY 2022
AN ASIDE
One hopes that
Alexander’s books are not forgotten, left as quirky asides in much
the same manner as Howard Robertson’s publications are today: the
work of yesterday, now seen as historical relics; irrelevant. One
can already see how The Nature of Order has not had the impact
of A Pattern Language, but, as Alexander has explained, it is
a natural extension of this first publication, an enhancement of it,
giving attention and thought to finer, more subtle things.
That Alexander
became close to ‘God’ in his thinking is both a revelation and a
worry in our secular, self-confident world. It is just too easy to
dismiss religion with Karl Marx’s “opium of the masses” comment
that squashes all meaning that makes it more than this. We need to
re-discover this world and its elusive qualities, and do away with
blind, aggressive, self-certain ‘Progress’ that bulldozes
everything before it - including life and love.
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