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The innovative new building of the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston takes museum design into uncharted territory.
by Peter Walsh
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Institute for Contemporary Art |
Boston, MA - April 18, 2006 -
The glass walled Founder's Gallery at the top of the new Institute of Contemporary
Art cantilevers right to the edge of Boston Harbor. From inside, it feels as
if the building, still under construction on Fan Pier, is about to step off.
But perhaps it is stepping into something deeper than the water below. "Innovative" seems
like the wrong word for such a design. This building doesn't want to renew architecture
so much as turn a corner, to set off for parts unknown.
Diller, Scofidio + Renfro (known until recently as Diller + Scofidio), the
new ICA's architects, have been hard at work for a quarter century. But they
have built only a few normal buildings with roofs and walls and windows. You
can, in fact, count them on one hand. Instead, they have produced what the Whitney
Museum called in a 2003 retrospective exhibition of the firm's work, "aberrant
architectures."
Just what is aberrant architecture? Take, for example, the firm's best known
creation. Designed as an exhibition pavilion for SWISS Expo 2002, "Blur
Building" (2002) was a cloud of water vapor on Lake Neuchatel
, in Yverdon-les-Bains. Some 31,500 spray nozzles, linked to sophisticated weather
sensors, creating an ever-shifting fog bank that hovered over the waves. Approached
by ramps and causeways built over the lake, this virtual structure had no facade,
no shape, no substance. This was architecture turned on its head. Instead of
providing shelter, the Blur Building created the weather.
Aberrant architecture
may have been born partly out of necessity. When Elizabeth Diller and Ricardo
Scofidio founded their firm in 1979, stagflation and malaise were the national
trends. Not much was being built anywhere. Even as the economy recovered in
the 1980s, large, well-established architectural firms, with corporate track
records, snagged almost all the work. So Diller + Scofidio joined a generation
of "virtual" architects -- designers who worked more with ideas and
theories than with physical buildings.
Over the next twenty-five years, the firm's
projects included an exhibition of toy robots ("Master/Slave," 1999) and one about the meaning of
lawns ("The American Lawn, Surface of Everyday Life," 1998), an unbuilt
seaside vacation house ("Slow House," 1991), a New York restaurant
("Brasserie," 2000), an ambitious museum of media arts, shelved for
lack of funding ("Eyebeam Museum of Art and Technology," 2002), a
Japanese housing project ("Slither Building," 2000), and many installation,
dance, and performance pieces -- all in all, a body of work closer to conceptual
art or new media than to what architecture has been for the last 10,000 years.
But
a funny thing happened on the way to the twenty-first century . Everything got
virtualized. Nowadays, intellectual property -- patents, copyrights, processes
-- is far more valuable than factories, equipment, or real estate. In the era
of the Internet, even dating is digital.
Suddenly, idea-based designers like Diller Scofidio+ Renfro seemed a lot less
marginal. After all, the contemporary office building or mass-market retail
store is really just a metal box partly filled with wires, chips, and ductwork
-- closer to your desktop computer than the Pantheon or even the Empire State
Building. Maybe the virtual architects were quietly setting the stage for the
first true rethinking of architecture since the Roman Empire. As the century
turned, the firm and its architects won a slew of awards, including the Smithsonian's
2005 National Design Award in Architecture.
The new
ICA building, which will open
to the public in September, is by far the most physical manifestation of Diller,
Scofidio + Renfrow's new status as architectural gurus. It is constructed around
a simple, clear plan and a series of ideas -- transparent, framing, views,
change, openness, and the mysteries of water -- that hold up the building as
much as its massive steel beams hold up its boldly cantilevered galleries.
Compared
to counterparts in other cities, the ICA building is relatively modest, even
domestic, in scale. There is something about it of the cheerful, clean-lined
modernism of the 1950s -- when technology and design were supposed to make
everything simpler, brighter, more convenient. In renderings, the design looks
a bit like an especially elegant household appliance -- a coffee maker, perhaps,
or a new kind of projection TV.
Two ideas in particular dominate the planning.
One is public access. Built astride a planned "Harbor Walk" along
the water, the lower levels of the building, exterior and exterior, are all
public spaces. Sheltered by the massive cantilever, there is an outdoor "grandstand" or set of
steps, facing the water, designed not as an entrance but as a gathering space,
like the street front of the Metropolitan Museum. Above the grandstand, glass
walls reveal the museum's theatre beyond. To the left of it, a new restaurant
will offer seating inside and out. On an upper floor are a series of classrooms
for public education programs.
The galleries will be on the top floor of the building,
the west
side designated for special exhibitions, the east for the ICA's new
permanent collections. Lit by skylights that will be screened by translucent
fabric, the galleries are deliberately shielded from the panoramic views outside.
This "framing" of
the views, as the architects call it, is the other key idea of the building.
In
the "Mediatheque," a gallery for viewing new media work hung
like a projection booth under the cantilever, the seating is angled towards
the harbor. A single window allows only views of the water, cropping out both
sky and land. The unconventional, horizonless perspective is a bit unsettling,
like the view from an airplane landing over Boston Harbor, but the effect is
intended to be meditative, focusing on the Zen-like changes in the color, texture,
and transparency of the water.
It is impossible to judge a building still under
construction. Unlike an idea, the new ICA will have to function as usable space.
Will the building manage Boston's August humidity and stand up to winter storms
and rain? Will the galleries complement the art? Will the massive glass elevator
function on a daily basis? Will the public spaces be inviting in good weather
and foul? Will the design's New Age sensibilities cloy over time? Only time
will tell.
But some buildings, even as ruins, have the presence of something
important, something that changes the entire planet in some subtle way. And
the new ICA, in its incomplete state, has that aura, too.
WBUR Morning Edition: Sneak Peek of the New ICA Building
Art and Architecture

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