Gehry and the box

I heard MIT is suing architect Frank Gehry’s firm, alleging design flaws in the Stata Center in Cambridge, MA. I haven’t seen the actual facility yet, and I will definitely stop by the next time I go down to Boston, but from what I have seen in the photos, it is a typical Gehry structure, and looking at its unconventionally angled walls one can easily see how its design might lead to some drainage problems and leaks. I’ll stop here without further comments. This post is supposed to be about my interpretation of the cliché phrase “thinking outside the box”.

Reading about Gehry brought some memories from design school. I studied Interior Design at Mimar Sinan Universitesi in Istanbul, and it was exactly 20 years ago, during my freshman year, when I first started feeling confused and concerned about my approach to design. In a creative drawing class, we were assigned with the task of designing a next generation vehicle within an hour. No design constraints. Just paper, pencil, maybe some colored medium, and only an hour to put together everything needed to get a design concept across. I needed to select a subject quickly. Since the assignment specifically said “next generation”, I decided to design the next step in the evolution chain of an iconic car of our times. Having always been a big fan of Volkswagen, I picked the Beetle as my subject. My big “idea” was to redesign the beetle, and give it the capability to fly, without losing its recognizable form. I quickly sketched the body with minimal alterations, and mainly focused on the classic protruding fenders which I transformed into spherical sockets that housed some kind of exhaust-based propulsion system that would enable vertical takeoff. I drafted the typical top and side views, and included a few perspectives showing multiple operation modes such as driving, hovering, takeoff etc. Quick but effective. I was really excited about my Harrier-wannabe beetle! I named my creation “Beetle³”. Perfect name for a car that can move in all 3 dimensions, how smart!

At the end of the hour, everybody—there were about 30 of us—posted their sketches on the walls and we had a group critique with the professor. To my surprise, my Beetle³, the über Beetle, the amazing Bug-Icarus didn’t really get much attention from the crowd. Instead, everybody was excited about a few other designs that looked like organic space ships from an alien civilization. I was flabbergasted! While I was approaching the challenge from the “next generation vehicle” angle, these other students had focused on the “no constraints” aspect of the assignment. Their vehicles had no doors, windows, seats or tires. In fact, they did even look like vehicles. This was the first time I encountered the concept of “thinking outside the box” even though it would to take me another 10 years before I heard the actual phrase. I felt discouraged and uncreative. But somehow I did not feel like I was on the the wrong path. So I moved on.

After that incident, I started thinking a lot about the different ways one can approach a design problem. Mine has always been from a communication and problem-solving angle. I define my main challenge as the the specific constraints and requirements of a given task, and I find my inspiration in what I want to communicate from behind those barriers. In a sense, I like to start working from inside the box, then explore my way to the outside, and continue to work “with the box” as much as possible. I prefer to find creativity “around the box” if that makes sense. Others, like the folks in the example above, approach it from a purely artistic point of view. Creativity becomes a form of expression for them. While I use the constraints and functionality as my main tools, they use it as a launch pad, off of which they would jump high up, and never look back. In comparison, it is as if the “box” is not even there for them.

When I look at Frank Gehry’s work, I see more art then design; sculpture vs. architecture. As with any other artist, he is creating his own rules. You can never ignore a Gehry structure if you see one on the street. It stands out from its surroundings, and it screams “I’m different!”. I appreciate this kind of approach to architecture. But I personally feel more intrigued by the work of architects that fall under the first school of thought I mentioned above. There is something very poetic when someone comes up with a creation that gives you goose bumps, without compromising functionality and objective-driven problem solving. Perfect example would be Tadao Ando’s Church of the Light, which is basically a small, boxy building that features a cruciform shape cut into the wall behind the altar. It’s a concrete structure—typical Ando—with a lot of “emptiness” that creates a very zen-like spiritual space around the visitors. The form factor is not appealing or even interesting. And yet it is considered one of the most beautiful buildings of our time. I would like to think that it communicates its architectural presence by “whispering” into your ear, rather than shouting at bystanders on the street.

Enough with my ramblings, I wasn’t really planning on writing so much in this post. Please feel free to add to or contradict with my train of thought here.