The definition provided by Wikipedia for ‘agonism’ puts an emphasis on the legitimacy of struggle, on its “permanent place”, and less on the outcome of the conflict. With this—and not to say by any means that all struggles are valid—the point is still quite clear. It is the struggle that matters, not the result. It is the activity that counts, not where it leads. It is, as we tell children who lose a ball game, all about participation; it’s about moving, staying fit, agile; it’s about always being in flux.
But agonism (says Wikipedia) is a “political theory”, and we are here to talk about architecture, which is by all means political, but it is not politics as such. To think of architecture in those terms is much too literal (as architects usually do). Yes, architecture is agonistic, it thrives on struggle; it is the bread and butter of our creative, pedagogical, and professional world. Despite our own complaints and wishes for a client that agrees to everything, a professor that likes every drawing, and a municipality that accepts that some rules just need to be broken, we need and yearn for pushback that makes us more creative as we struggle “against gravity, against time, against, against, against.” This is architecture—no doubt about it. This is why it moves, keeps moving. This is why it (and we through it) participates. It is all about participation. For there has always been, always is and always will be, a thing to be amended, a battle to be fought against the anti-agonists who standardize everything into the flaccid tranquility of bodies lying motionless on a beach.
to use architecture as a tool to see differently the struggles that exist outside its supposed realm
But this is unavoidable. I do not fear a moment in which architecture has nothing to fight against—a moment in which architecture ends. Rather, what worries me about this question is the thought of architecture as an a priori struggle: the notion that it is indeed all about participation. No, this is not why we draw, build, write and make. True, we need to keep ourselves limber, to practice the muscles and tendons of our creative minds, but if that is the purpose, if struggle is an end, the purpose, rather than a means, how different is our fate than that of a muscleman lifting weights in front of mirror, admiring the strength gained?
Instead I think that architecture, instead of emphasizing the things we fight against, requires a reflective agonism; to use architecture as a tool to see differently the struggles that exist outside its supposed realm; to unravel, unveil and surface certain conditions and manifest them in a physical and representational form; to point the places where struggle exists (everywhere!); to show it exactly for what it is (everything!).
Reflective agonism then is not a practice that perpetuates struggle or takes part in an equation or a battle between two foes. It does not participate so that the game keeps going; it understands that the game is being played no matter what it does. It is not part of a dialectic—there is not synthesis at the end of this line, simply because there is no line. Rather, architecture is a lens, a tool of vision, of observation, an instrument through which one sees that struggle exists. It is a camera obscura holding the unique potential of making space, and through it, seeing a different vision, a reversed view of the (struggling) world.
Cross-Talk is a new recurring series on Archinect that endeavors to bring architectural polemics and debate up-to-date and up-to-speed with the pace of cultural production today. Each installation will feature four responses by four writers to a single topic. For this week's iteration, the topic is 'agonism', a political theory that has begun to enter the architect's lexicon. Championed, in particular, by the political theorist Chantal Mouffe, 'agonism' asserts that productive conflict, rather than consensus, produces democracy.
Eli Keller is an architect, researcher, and author, currently pursuing a PhD. in History, Theory and Criticism of Architecture and Artprogram at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He is the co-editor of the forthcoming 46th volume of the department’s peer-reviewed ...
6 Comments
well said
I've never, ever thought of myself as struggling against gravity as an architect. Not in the way that we might think of the "heroes" fighting it, at least: trying to build the highest skyscraper or the longest cantilever, which I think are silly games.
But reading this and thinking about the current project that is obsessing me - renovating a 100 year old abandoned brick building - I realize I constantly fight against decay, or entropy, or disuse. I always want things to be ordered and maintained significantly enough that their slow progression of age is managed, or even celebrated.
But I'm not afraid of death, which might be said of someone who fights decay. Death, aging, decay are all natural states. I just want buildings to be cared for and used well for as long as possible.
Do you recognize the source of the quote "against gravity, against time, against, against, against."? I couldn't locate it... Closest I came was a book/exhibit by co-curators Michael Darling and Joanna Szupinska.
The quote comes from Lebbeus Woods' Slow Manifesto, published on his blog.
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Thanks!
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