The work that takes place on the construction site represents a phase in the architectural project that normally attracts little attention. But the conditions of production that it reveals, and the strategies of anticipation that it suggests, are of great interest to Tectoniques. It can be highly informative, and particularly as regards the assembly of the frame and outer layer of a building. In some cases, the schedule envisaged by the architects and engineers works out according to plan, with smooth transitions and an uneventful implementation. In other cases, what should have been simple and straightforward turns out to be diffi cult and laborious. There is considerable scope for misunderstandings, and problems can be caused by intricate interfaces between the different steps in the process. The responsibility for this generally lies with the architects themselves, who have a tendency to create complicated rather than simple situations, being more concerned with the end result than with the way it is to be achieved. But the fact is that planning for maximum ease of construction, with a logical, natural progression between the different stages, can facilitate work on the site.
The first of our concerns is to reduce formal, technical complexity. The new possibilities opened up by computer simulations appear to have unfettered the imagination of architects, sometimes to the point where they abandon any semblance of constructive common sense in favour of spectacular formal effects. And when the dictates of seduction win out over those of reason, as far as methods, budgets and energy considerations are concerned, it is almost unthinkable that the final result should be a faithful rendering of the initial 3D image. Tectoniques, for its part, has chosen the path of predictability and better correlation between conceptual intentions and operational consequences, particularly in terms of the construction process as such, with a set of forms which are both basic in themselves and easy to assemble, and which also preserve the autonomy of the primary elements. This minimises the amount of site time that has to be shared between the different operations, and opens up options for subsequent modifications and adaptations. To illustrate the point in practical terms, we might say that, where possible, physical interfaces between wood and concrete should be restricted to plane surfaces, and interpenetrations should be avoided. For organisational purposes, ideally, the wood should not arrive on the site until the concreting has been completed. In parallel, we establish a direct link between construction processes and modes of architectural expression, the aim being to avoid producing a drawing or an image without at the same time taking into account its constructibility. It is an approach that is particularly well suited to the use of wood, with small-section components, short spans and numerous supports. Among other things, it results in the skeleton of a building being strongly expressed. And in fact a number of our buildings have their structures on the outside, for example the reception centre at the Bird Park in Villars-les-Dombes, the house in Montbernier, or the riding club in Draveil. This approach also reduces interference between the structure and the internal surfaces, which as a result are more amenable to functional permutation.
Our second concern is to reduce mismatches between, on the one hand, design objectives, which are often idealised, and, on the other hand, the financial realities of production contexts. Budgetary constraints can make it impossible to fund ambitious research and development. Apart from a few exceptional cases, a building is a “low-cost” one-off that is not intended to be produced on an industrial scale, and it will inevitably have defects which, by defi nition, cannot be corrected in a revised version. But architects are victims of their desires; and contrary to a widespread opinion, they are not wholly responsible for the shortcomings of the system. In the last analysis, they are always trying to do better, and more, with less. Sometimes the result is heroic. Sometimes it is pathetic. In any case, objectives and methodologies must be adapted to this state of affairs. Our own professional experience in prefabrication and “dry” construction has led us to adopt procedures that are suited to a certain type of simulation and repetition—and thus optimisation. In this respect, a simulation should not be regarded as a sort of rehearsal for a performance, but as a means of developing “macro-components” that can be used in a range of different projects, starting out with a common set of technical specifi cations for sections of components, scales, materials, assemblages, joints, connectors, etc. And as experience is built up, it becomes easier to fi ne-tune life cycles (manufacture, assembly, maintenance, dismantling, recycling), associated parameters (costs, expertise), and design considerations. The “Case Study Houses” referred to by Cyrille Simonnet provide an historical anchoring point for this general theme. Their designs were based on a range of primary industrial components (girders, sheet metal, plate glass, etc.) that could be put together “dry.” Our own approach starts out with the same objectives, but the use of pre-assembled macro-components means that one of the phases of the construction process which for the “Case Study Houses” was carried out on the site has been transferred to the workshop, thus reducing assembly time. The optimal size of the macro-components, as determined by the transporting and loading-unloading capacities of trucks, would be something like a length of 3-5 metres, a height of no more than a storey, and a thickness of 20-40 centimetres.
Accepting economic limitations means tolerating a form of “impurity,” i.e. leaving things as they are rather than introducing artefacts, and not insisting on avoiding anything and everything that might affect the idealisation of the image. A good example of this is the treatment of conduits (for electricity, water, heating, etc.), which are effi cient insofar as they are simple, direct, apparent and adaptable. But architects go to considerable lengths to conceal them—to “integrate” them, to distort them—whereas leaving them visible can bring gains in both economic and technical effi ciency. And most of Tectoniques’ projects accept this form of “impurity.” In fact it can become a theme in a project, as with the Maison du Parc Naturel in the Haut-Jura, where the visibility of these systems has an instructive function for the users. And indeed the logic of visible systems has some notable precedents in modern architecture, for example Le Corbusier’s monastery at La Tourette, where austerity was placed at the service of both economics and spirituality.
Our third concern is with the contextual, environmental and social aspects of construction methods. From the contextual point of view, buildings are generally designed, and then produced, in the abstract airlessness of smoothed-out, sanitised constructive modes that are the same all round the world. In Tokyo, Madrid, Dubai or Bourg-en-Bresse, buildings are anonymous. They are impervious to particular situations, being totally dependent on industrial lobbies and global financiers. Architecture is converging towards a world order devoid of discernment, in its keenness to produce forms that are internationally sexy and beautiful, but in the end wholly rootless, like Nikes, perfectly designed and made in China for sale to—anyone whomsoever. Yet there remains a glimmer of hope for resistance. Architects are in a good position to appreciate the particularities of places, to appropriate them and bring them to life. In the same way that we value biodiversity, whose importance is no longer in dispute, we should value architectural diversity, and on the global scale, but based on local specifi cities. With regard to environmental issues, we are facing a challenge that is not confi ned to architecture as such, though it is one that goes to the heart of architectural practice. And it is a challenge that few of us really confront. Most major architectural projects are injected with a small dose of “greenery,” and fronted by a big communications campaign. Today, if you care to believe the talk, even a tower block can be ecological—all it needs is a few wind turbines and an “active skin”—the same way that a 4×4 is supposed to be ecological if you run it on ethanol. Environmental responsibility is all very well up to the point where it calls into question the thinking behind a project; and that is the point where it becomes an inconvenience. As a result, there are few recent examples of large projects that have environmental preoccupations built into them from the start. Ecology is seen as an add-on, confined essentially to the technical register and excluded from that of design. The conclusion must be that a new paradigm needs to be developed, even if this means sacrificing a few sacred cows of form and appearance. From the social point of view, the position is more delicate. We live in a severely polarised reality, and will no doubt continue to do so for some time to come. On one side there is a comfortable, air-conditioned world, and on the other a much larger world of people grinding out a living below the poverty line.
We at Tectoniques are in favour of a constructive and architectural ethics in tune with the new situation in which our society finds itself. Though architects may not be directly responsible for the inequalities that exist around them, they should at least do what they can to avoid exacerbating the situation. It is not a question of “slumming it,” or of preaching for an architecture of “compassion.” It is a question, rather, of drawing attention to the satisfaction that can be derived from buildings constructed with simplicity, using a selected set of materials and methods. It is also a question of cutting down on integrated technological features, and of turning the passive behaviour of buildings to account. Well-orchestrated mundanity can produce sense beyond that which the intrinsic quality of components might be supposed to warrant, and our aim, above all, is to show that the effectiveness of the message need not be compromised by the limitations of the medium.
Max Rolland is an architect, founder of Tectoniques and partner from 1991 to 2022.
Essay first published in Unplugged. Paris : Les presses du réel, 2007. 252 p.