Translating Form Through Tradition and Technologycultural References in Mecanoo S Modern

Anna Olsson

Prof. Woofter

12/6/04

Translating Form through Tradition and TechnologyCultural references in Mecanoo’s Modern Library at Delft University

Out of context, anything can seem absurd, and relatively meaningless. This is especially true for Mecanoo’s Library at the Delft Technical University in Rotterdam, Holland, built in 1997. Without having knowledge of Dutch history and culture, it is easy to pass off as an awkward combination of three dominant forms: the turf roof (1), the glass facade (3), and the piercing cone (1). The library, carefully dug into the Dutch landscape, might be irritating to the uninformed observer (how does the cone fit in?) However, all three major elements of the library are tributes to enduring Dutch traditions concerning the development of land, early painterly sensibilities, and their regard for human ingenuity. Although traditions lend a solid explanation for the forethought of the design, technology must be accounted for in order to explain the implementation of these traditions. This may initially seem to present a debacle: is it not technology that makes many old practices obsolete? For instance, why would you need to preserve volatile land if land has been well under control for almost a century? Although this is true, Mecanoo’s application of technology does not necessarily make the use of tradition superfluous. Mecanoo embraces modern technology in order to reinvent historically significant elements and thus maintain a Dutch signature. The roof carries the tradition of the molding of the land, the cone invokes the verticality and symbolism of the windmill as a beacon, and the glass facade treats light with the same attention as Vermeer would have. Furthermore, each element is not a self-defining part that results as a reaction to familiar architectural issues. The issues are specific to the Netherlands, and have been ingrained in Dutch culture. In other words, the library’s roof is not a response to the land; it is a response to the Dutch land. The glass facade is not a response to light, but to Dutch light. And the cone is not about being a beacon, but being a Dutch beacon. The library’s meaning lies solely within this nationally specific historical context that is invoked and implemented through modern technology. It is through the modern application of tradition, symbolism rather than necessity, that the library retains a Dutch identity. Ultimately it is the coupling of tradition and technology that provide the unique language through which the library must be understood.

The first, single most important characteristic of the Dutch approach to design concerns their treatment of land, which is directly reflected in the library’s roof. This does not mean attention to the landscape, but simply to land. You see, the Netherlands exists, to a large extent, on land that has been taken back from the sea through the creation of polders, or drained basins (3). Dubbed one of the “low countries,” a large part of the Netherlands that is occupied today, originally existed below sea level, presenting a challenging situation for a bourgeoning society. The Dutch operated under the belief that “if you yield only slightly the sea will take all.”[1] They were forced to band together to defeat this natural enemy, creating dams, dikes, and other infrastructure, beginning with the most rudimentary hay barricades in the 13th century, to the most sophisticated concrete dams functioning today (4). The draining of the Zuider Zee (5,a,b,c), finally complete in the late 1970s, was one of their major victories, gaining 550,000 acres of usable land, and perhaps the last major battle in the war against the water.[2] As the saying goes, “God made the world, but the Dutch made Holland”

This constant struggle to recover land permanently influences Dutch culture and society. For instance, the collaborative approach to conquering the water (first in small medieval neighborhoods and now in modern political committees) created a culture of cooperation in Dutch design and planning. It is essentially a policy of agreement above all else. However, what has a more direct impact on the design of the library’s relationship to the landscape is the inherited value of sparing the land. A totally appropriate practice for the country that invented the piggy bank (6), the Dutch take special care that land is not wasted. Two approaches would be to elevate the building to preserve the ground plane underneath a building (7), or burrow into the ground to retain land overhead. Either way, the critical idea is that all land is subject to manipulation.

As a result of human effort, the land in the Netherlands has a rather unique identity. Because most of the inhabitable land is not naturally given, the appropriate term for it is “artificial.” This word, however, does not fully explain its condition. Its negative connotation is misleading, for the Dutch treat this engineered land as equal to the original natural land. Thus the artificial land becomes natural, and the roof of the Mecanoo library may be embraced as such.

The library roof is an explicit reference to the artificial landscape. Mecanoo boldly sliced off sheet of land and lifted it from the earth, a delicate operation that would seem to require the precision of a pair of tweezers. They then dug into the land, burying the books deep within the ground. The reading and study spaces exist between these two realms. The library could not symbolize the Dutch outlook more completely; it acknowledges that the space to live exists somewhere in between the natural land and human inventiveness.

The next element of the library, the glass facade, is more ambiguously tied to Dutch traditions. The large sheet of glass seals the gap between the roof ground plane and indicates the priority of light, not just in the sense of adequate lighting for the tasks performed behind the library walls, but evokes the sense that light the most important issue for the experience of the building and even a certain quality of life. Looking back, it is impossible to exclude light when reviewing Dutch history. Early brick houses (built after wood was deemed too hazardous because of flammability) included whole facades lined with framed rectangular windows (8), often facing a canal. The window, what was once small but frequently used, has now become an entire enclosure, thanks to modern glass manufacturing and steel structures.

Much of the Dutch’s attention to windows and light is a response to the particular quality of that light in the Netherlands. Karel Čapek, a famous Czech poet of the early 20th century, wrote that Dutch light was “so pure and transparent that you can see every outline and detail to the very edge of the world, “ and that it also “imparts a peculiar purity to colors; they are extremely clear, but they are neither hectic nor gaudy; they are like a fresh flower beneath a drop of dew.”[3] Kapek describes this as a preamble to describe the light’s influence on art, alluding to the work of Vermeer, a mid 17th century Dutch painter of the Dutch Golden Age, who uses side lighting in interior scenes as a perpetual theme throughout his work (9 - 12). The Delft Library’s glass facade does nothing less than recall Vermeer’s artistic sensibilities, especially concerning light and the representation of interiority.

During the day, the Delf Library’s facade helps turn the library into what might be called a “non building.”[4] Although Mecanoo used the term “non building” to define a building that tries to be a landscape and not a building, the reflectivity of the glass also invokes the separated interiority of the space. Vermeer’s paintings concentrated on interior spaces, filling them with light from a visible or implied window, but lacking view out. Similarly, most documented interior photographs of the library do not include views to the exterior. The authors of False Flat, also recognize the interiority of Dutch art and life, writing:

“[A]rt in the Netherlands does not refer to an outside context. It might draw on the outside world but seeks to either keep it out (like the sea) or use it again (again, like the sea) to bring elements under control. [. . .] The Dutch world is essentially interior.”[5]

The Dutch effort to control the exterior applies wholeheartedly to lighting. The first brick houses included heavy shudders to block out the light at its most intense times (13). This is one thing absent in the Delft library, indicating that throughout the centuries the Dutch have been able to control light in more sophisticated ways, paralleling their development in controlling the land. Also, physical connection to the outside is prevented in order to create a highly controlled interior microclimate. The glass facade is a thermal barrier, and the turf roof is also a successful natural insulator. Water is cooled and heated through pipes in the ground and run through the building. Operable windows are few, and small at that, so the exterior climate does not disturb the carefully designed interior climate. Although this is only possible through modern technology, it is still an inherited response to a volatile climate, one depicted to some extent in Vermeer’s View of Delft (1660) (9). The analysis in False Flat provides a fitting interpretation:

“The Dutch were very fond of painting this ever-changing vista [...] The complex array of blues, grays, and whites that races over the carefully gridded landscape below takes up almost two –thirds of the canvas. The wind always blows here, producing a sky that reminds the Dutch of the unpredictability of nature, and of the larger forces against which they must struggle”[6]

These forces, embodied in the dark impending clouds, the barrier of the murky water, and the striking strip of golden light cutting through the cityscape, explain an everlasting mythical battle against nature, in all aspects of climate and especially land. For Mecanoo, technology permitted them to design a totally independent interior space, shut off from the outdoors and resisting the instability of nature.

During the nighttime, however, the library seems to react against this tradition of interiority. Francine remarked, “At night the interior becomes exterior: the blue and red wall can be seen from outside.” This contradiction is simply another manner in which Mecanoo recalls Dutch traditions.

Reflected light occurs most powerfully at the intersection of the cone and the roof, as light seeps in at the seam and spreads out along the ceiling over lower level (14). This refers to the type of indirect light found in Vermeer’s paintings. Figures are illuminated by light from a concealed source, or from a window with no exterior view. The intersection of the cone and the roof operates in both these ways. The gap between the cone and the roof is bridged with glass. At the top level of the interior of the cone one can see up to the tip of the cone on the exterior of the library and through to the sky, but because it is less natural to seek views and connection to the exterior through overhead windows, one must see the intersection of the elements as a light channel, directing light down into the deeper areas of the library and still promoting the interior would be unnecessary to distract from the unique experience of occupying the cone.

The cone may be the most radical element of the library, or at least the loudest. Without an external context, it can be hard to accept, especially if the building truly seeks to be a landscape. Houben wrote of how the cone was a “symbol of technology,“ and, “like a drawing pin, it pins down the ‘endless form of the landscape’.”[7] Although technology may have been in the front of Mecanoo’s mind, the subconscious may have initiated the cone’s references to traditional forms from the Dutch culture. This reference is specifically evident when comparing the cone to a Dutch windmill (15, 16), bell tower, or church spire.

The first notable connection comes from the pure clarity of form. The cone is unmistakable in the way that the subjects of Vermeer’s paintings are unmistakable (13 – 15). For example, Vermeer’s Maidservant Pouring Milk (11), the subject is first stated clearly by the title, and then portrait depicts a woman performing the indicated activity of pouring. Other Vermeer works share a similar clarity in their titles, matter-of-factly stating an object of activity of particular interest. These objects are intentionally placed in the frame of the canvas, all with specific symbolism, as in the Geographer (10), which shows a man mapping the world. In this painting, Vermeer focuses the viewer’s attention on the compass, the man’s head, and the globe in the background, connecting all three in a continuous line. Delft library as a whole is made up of similarly clear objects, with no obvious ambiguities

Aside from this immediate visual clarity, the form of the cone has deeper symbolic meaning related to the historically established symbolism of the windmill. Windmills began dotting the Dutch landscape since the 13th century, and have become a staple of Dutch culture. The first windmills were used to process grains, but later proved to be effective in draining water. Either way, the windmill represents the effort required to reside on Dutch land. A joke in Rotterdam corresponds to this aspect of life in the Netherlands; it is that you can only buy shirts with the sleeves already rolled up.[8] The prevailing sentiment is that every task requires hard work and ingenuity, since the natural state of the Netherlands was unreceptive to human inhabitance.

Although the cone of course does not have spinning blades to literally become a windmill, the most striking and significant quality is its verticality. This verticality, juxtaposed against the horizontal roof, echoes the verticality of the windmill against a predominantly horizontal order of dams and dikes impressed in the Dutch landscape. Transforming the initial symbolism of the vertical element, the cone represents the intellectual might of the Dutch, with four rings of study spaces housed inside.