How modernism changed the profession of architecture, for the worst.
By: Andrei Vasilief
Tags: Architects, Modernism, Bussiness, Design, Architecture

Meet Rocco…Sorry, I mean: Meet Howard Roark

You can’t go through architecture school without being bombarded by “The Fountainhead”, that is simply a fact. For those unaware, “The Fountainhead” is a novel written by Ayn Rand, later adapted into a movie, portraying the exploits of Howard Roark, architect, full time tortured artist and part time educator of the philistine public. For a significant portion of architecture students and most professors, Howard Roark was the man. Strong, visionary, uncompromising his work and art for the average, uneducated consumer. The dude was basically the architect version of Rocco Siffredi. To me, Roark was a pompous, arrogant twat who expected nothing short of carte blanche from his clients and threw temper tantrums when they inevitably refused his ridiculous demands. While Roark was portrayed a a genius, everyone else not sharing his opinion were bumbling fools. Now, evidently the book was written in 1943 (the movie was made in 1945) and the character is nothing more than a mouthpiece for Rand’s philosophy. This book and character would be talked about in design studio classes, students would share clips from the video as motivation and inspiration and you basically had to say that you admired Roark, the Promethean architect, least you be looked at with a mix of horror and despair.

So what was about this book that made it so admired by the Ivory Tower that is architectural academia? The book isn’t terribly well written and, just like a significant portion of Rand’s novels, is being looked at more questionably nowadays. The character isn’t likable, the dialogue fringes on the ridiculous side and the plot is dubious at best. What made it admired was the fact that Roark embodied the ideal of the Modern Architect (in the eyes of students and academia).

Modernism changed the profession of architecture completely. It severed it’s ties to the past, bringing in new ideas and creativity. But it brought several downsides as well. Modernism is less of a movement and more of an ideology for architects. In modernism, the architect, the creator, is the central figure. Projects aren’t done for clients but for artistic, social, environmental or utopic pursuits. The famous quote from the movie, “I don’t build to get clients, I get clients so that I can build” is a shining example of this. For modernists, clients were a (barely) necessary evil, uneducated and obtuse, obstructing the way of the visionary creative. It’s no wonder some of the most bonkers proposals originated in this period. Architect Charles-Édouard Jeanneret aka Le Corbusier (the most important modernist architect and overall Jesus figure for the profession) proposed to demolish the centre of Paris and replace it with tower blocks.

Le Corbusier’s Paris proposal

It would be easy to discount this as being a silly fascination that, upon graduation, architects grow out of. But that is the problem, they don’t, and the problematic attitudes exemplified in The Fountainhead are pervasive through the profession.

Let’s start with a fundamental problem, the way architects view the relationship with clients. Most of the time this is put in a confrontational light, with architects seeing themselves as being oppressed. The fundamental quality at the core of any client-professional relationship is trust. The client has to trust that the one he has hired is at least moderately competent and the architect has to trust that, at the very least, the client won’t directly screw him over. It has to be a (somewhat at least) balanced relationship, otherwise there can be no moving forward. Of course, clients come to us all the time with insane requirements and craptacular ideas, but that is true of every liberal profession (such as law, architecture, medicine, etc). How many doctors have had patients come to them convinced they are dying of cancer after reading some online article? Our profession is no different. And, just like the doctors that talk and convince their patients that they are in fact not dying (or giving them a placebo and getting rid of them), we need to take the insanity thrown at us and mold it into something good. But most architects are insulted by this, refusing to work with someone who does not understand them. In the book, Roark accepted nothing short of being given full control over the project, seeing any modification at the request of someone else as a cardinal sin, ruining the art (he chose to work in a quarry when a client refused his design, such a balanced individual!).

How not to work with clients

Roark knew he was a genius and expected others to accept and recognize this fact. In the end of the book, after one of his projects suffers alterations, he chooses to literally dynamite the building and his defense in the trial is that the project hurt his ego and creative integrity (the best defense against charges of terrorism, obviously). And because the book is so well written, this insane idea of defense actually works. Roark is let go, and his crush (a woman he ‘’kinda raped’’ when meeting her) marries him (such a swell guy, clearly a role model to be followed). Here’s the problem: most architects actually think like this. Engineers don’t understand us, they just seek to ruin our vision; Contractor are morons that can’t build our vision; Project managers are monkeys who just send emails every day, not working towards our vision; Clients are uneducated fools who refuse our vision; etc. These attitudes are normal and pervasive in the profession, and they come from modernism. Arrogance is not the exception, it is a state of fact for most architects. I recently went to an interview in Bucharest, with an older architect. One of the projects I presented was the Deck House. Now, one of the main questions was why was the house long and narrow, the response being that is was an aesthetic choice inspired by American barns (more specifically, 30x40 Design Workshop Long House). This prompted a reaction followed by a somewhat masked disgust and a long criticism of the lack of an actual American architecture and history and amazement at me for choosing such an awful inspiration (peppered with remarks like ‘’Well, if you don’t design large scale buildings you’re not a real architect’’or ‘’We have someone who worked in New York, but fortunately he adjusted well to the city’’). Look, everyone has subjective opinions (personally, I don’t like parametric-style architecture, but that is a subjective dislike), but not liking something is not a valid criticism, unless you think you hold the supreme truth (in other words, if you are an arrogant f*ck).

And that arrogance ends up costing a lot of money. In one scene in the movie adaptation, Roarke presents his design for the Security Bank in Manhattan (no offense, but I’ve seen better made up names in a Brazzers parody than this). It goes down well, but the board want some modifications, involving classical architecture inspirations. Now, in these situations, good communication is essential, understanding the real issue the client has, and either acting accordingly, or putting those fears to rest. Well, Roark insults the clients and leaves. Good communication is essential in this profession (to paraphrase Thomas Jefferson, this should be a ‘’self-evident truth’’ but from what I’ve seen so far…). You need to understand what the client wants, where he wants to go and what to actually do. We don’t build projects for our sake in the end. If this communication is lacking, a lot of work will end up never leaving the office.

Keating and Roark

The Fountainhead would have a character for someone like me, someone looking to ‘’pander to the customer’’ and ‘’compromise the integrity of the building’’, and his name would be Peter Keating, the shrewd and talentless hack that goes to Roark for help, seeking his genius. Fortunately, the real world is not so black and white as the novel. And for this profession to move forward, it’s going to require people with open minds that look to push design forward, collaborating with others and letting go of their preconceptions and arrogance. The funny thing is that, some decades later, Monty Python made a sketch about architects that bears some resemblances to the bank scene from The Fountainhead. It also had a few key differences…

Andrei Vasilief, Architect, founder of Animo Regis, a Bucharest-based design and research practice