ELEMENTAL
ALEJANDRO ARAVENA
JOANNA HELM
Interview
ELEMENTAL
Images
EDP BUILDING
LISBON, PORTUGAL
2023
Winner of the prestigious Pritzker Prize in 2016, the Chilean architect Alejandro Aravena is also the founder and executive director of the ELEMENTAL studio, based in Santiago, Chile. During his prolific career, much of his work has focussed on public interest and social impact, devising projects that offer creative and unconventional architectural solutions to pressing housing, public space, and infrastructure issues in socially and economically challenging environments. In addition to serving as curator for the 15th Venice Architecture Biennale in 2016, Aravena now chairs the jury for the Pritzker.
EDP BUILDING
LISBON, PORTUGAL
2023
Photo Franck Martinez
CASA OCHOQUEBRADAS
LOS VILOS, CHILE
2018
Photo Cristóbal Palma
LO BARNECHEA NEIGHBORHOOD
SANTIAGO DE CHILE
2008—2014
“INCREMENTAL” HOUSING,
VILLA VERDE, CONSTITUCIÓN
2009—2013
ART MILL MUSEUM CONCEPTUAL DESIGN
DOHA, QATAR
2022
Digital Rendering
CASA TEC
MONTERREY, MÉXICO
2022
ELEMENTAL & NISSEN WENTZLAFF WINNER PROPOSES A TOWER WITH A FOREST-LIKE FACADE FOR THE NEW BIS HEADQUARTERS IN BASEL, SWITZERLAND.
VENICE ARCHITECTURE BIENNALE 2016
CHILEAN ARCHITECT ALEJANDRO ARAVENA USED OVER 90 TONNES OF WASTE GENERATED BY THE VENICE ART BIENNALE 2015 TO CREATE TWO INTRODUCTORY ROOMS.
ARCHITECTURE AS A TRANSFORMING AGENT OF REALITIES
Aravena’s atelier is a "DO TANK" (not a think tank), where he and his partners, Gonzalo Arteaga, Juan Cerdá, Victor Oodó and Diego Torres resist conventional responses. In this interview, he shares his experience of architecture and urban planning, highlighting the importance of consistency and perseverance in the search for an architecture that positively impacts social reality. He also talks about Elemental’s first project in Portugal, EDP’s head office, which contemplates sustainability, humanist functionalism, and adaptation to local conditions.
1. ELEMENTAL’s creative designs often aim to understand all the conditions and factors influencing the project rather than just solving the given problems. What process does the practice follow?
Architecture is about giving form to the places where people live; it’s no more complicated than that. It’s also no easier. As soon as you double click on each of the terms of that apparently straightforward sentence, namely form, places and life, you understand the size of the task.
What influences the form of a building? The forces at play are powerful, diverse and normally pull in opposite directions: economic, environmental, physical, social, political, and aesthetical dimensions have to be integrated into a single design. The range of places is also huge: housing, schools, offices, parks, streets, sidewalks, even the curb. Inevitably, all of them must have a form and the set of rules to properly design each of them does not follow a recipe. And finally, there’s life itself: ranging from very concrete, measurable, even basic needs, all the way to the intangible and mysterious dimensions of the human condition. And all of them must be integrated into a single design.
So, the first thing is to identify the forces at play. Initially, time is spent designing the question, not the answer. It’s important not to want too early; postpone wanting until the equation has changed. But, once that has taken place, risk a proposal right away. Intuition plays a significant role: you know things before knowing that you know them. So, we trust the intuitive power of synthesis.
2. Where did you find the inspiration to create your earliest and most iconic projects in Chile, such as Lo Barnechea, Monterrey, Quinta Monroy and Villa Verde, which were acclaimed for their innovative approach to providing low-cost housing solutions for underserved populations?
I wouldn’t say that inspiration is the right word to describe what led to those projects. Instead, I would say that the rigorous study of every single constraint was one path: accepting huge amounts of restrictions from the public system. At the same time, we were iconoclasts, fighting the clichés, sceptical of the “business as usual” approach. We understood we had to innovate, not because we wanted to be original, but because new questions couldn’t be answered with old responses. By balancing these two positions we found forms that were simultaneously feasible and accurate.
When there’s no money nor time to deliver housing of a decent standard, we use incremental design, so that such a standard can be achieved over time, not condemning poor families to poor housing forever. We used incrementality as an antidote against scarcity.
Also, housing policies in the developing world are property oriented. When a family receives a subsidy, they become owners of the units. That means that housing is the biggest money transfer from state funds into a family asset. And we wanted such a transfer to act as an investment and not merely a social expense. Social housing is more like buying a car than a house; every day that goes by, its value decreases. So, we identified a set of design conditions that offered value gains that could transform housing not only into shelter against the environment but a tool to overcome poverty.
3. Why did you make these projects available in the public domain on your website?
To counter another of the market’s excuses for not changing. The building industry, like agriculture, is very conservative. One of the reasons is because all the incentives are on the second mover: if you innovate, you cannot protect your developments. And if you fail, you have to carry the loss alone. So, everybody is waiting for neighbours to test innovations. When we started and proved the market wrong, the developers’ and building companies’ excuse was that we did something different for the same cost, because we were in the desert, a place with no rain. So, we built in the south of Chile, where it rains a lot. Then, the explanation was that those were flat plots. So, we built on uneven topographies. Then the excuse was that all those were small cities, where land cost was low. So, we built in metropolitan areas, in the richest neighbourhoods, using dense, low-rise designs to pay for expensive land. Then the excuse was that they had already paid for architecture and, with such tight margins, they couldn’t afford to pay again. So, we offered the designs for free.
4. As current chairman of the Pritzker Prize, what is your vision for the future of the award and how do you plan to maintain its focus on innovative and socially responsible projects, while also discussing the selection criteria that are considered most crucial in determining the recipients?
The prize stated at the very beginning that the award was intended to honour a living architect, or architects, who have produced consistent and significant contributions to humanity and the built environment through the art of architecture. It’s not humanity or art but humanity through art. So, the first thing discussed each year is the “why” and “what”, and only then the “who”; what the contributions to humanity are; why a given subject, theme or issue is important. Only then do we look for a practice that has used architecture to address such things. Of course, the stature and gravitas of the work must be self-explanatory but it’s not a goal. It’s a means of tackling issues that matter to society.
5. As a former curator of the 2016 Venice Biennale, could you elaborate on the curatorial process and the methodology employed for selecting the projects shown at the exhibition?
At the time (and even now), we thought several battles needed to be won and several frontiers expanded to improve the quality of the built environment and, consequently, people’s quality of life. More and more people are in search of a decent place to live and the task is becoming tougher by the hour. Any attempt to go beyond business-as-usual encounters huge resistance in the inertia of reality and any effort to tackle relevant issues has to overcome the world’s increasing complexity.
However, unlike military wars, where nobody wins and there’s a prevailing sense of defeat, on the frontlines of the built environment, there is a sense of vitality because architecture is about looking at reality in terms of a proposal.
This is what we wanted people to see at the Venice Biennale: success stories worth being told and exemplary cases worth being shared, where architecture made a difference in winning those battles and expanding those frontiers.
“Reporting from the front” [the theme of the 2016 Biennale] was about showing a broader audience what it’s like to improve the quality of life, while working on the margins, in tough circumstances, facing pressing challenges. Or what it takes to be on the cutting edge, trying to conquer new fields. We wanted to learn from architectures that, despite the scarcity of means, add to what is available instead of complaining about what is missing. We wanted to understand what tools are needed to subvert the forces that favour individual gain over collective benefit. We wanted to know about cases that resist reductionism and oversimplification and forsake architecture’s mission to penetrate the mystery of the human condition. We were interested in how architecture could introduce a broader notion of gain: design as added value instead of an extra cost.
We didn’t want the Biennale to be just the chronicle of a passive witness but a testimony of people that actually walk their talk. We wanted to exhibit the work of people capable of balancing hope and rigour. The battle for a better built environment is neither a tantrum nor a romantic crusade. We wanted the report to be more than mere denunciation or complaint, or a diatribe, or an inspirational locker room pep talk. We invited practices (not only architects) that favoured creativity and risk, even if it was for small rewards, because when the problem is big, just one millimetre of improvement is important; what may be required is an adjustment of our notion of success, because achievements on the frontlines are relative, not absolute.
We were very aware that the battle for a better built environment is a collective effort that will require everybody’s strength and knowledge. That is why we wanted the Biennale to be inclusive, listening to stories, thoughts and experiences from different backgrounds. It included practitioners who have the problem of the blank canvas: architects, urban designers, landscape architects, engineers, builders and dilettantes, whose work was winning battles on the frontier. Any kind of frontier. We also wanted civil society to present cases of organised communities and empowered citizens, sometimes without any formal design training, who were able to improve their own built environment. We also wanted to invite key leaders, whether at the top or bottom of the pyramid, who could help practitioners assess which battles were worth getting involved in.
And finally, using their national pavilions, we wanted each country to share the battles they face at home, potentially making us aware of challenges ahead, as well as sharing knowledge that supports others’ efforts to improve places. We wanted to focus and learn from architectures that can escape the status quo using intelligence, intuition, or both at the same time. We wanted to present cases where, despite difficulties (or maybe because of them), instead of resignation or bitterness, people propose action and follow through. We wanted to demonstrate that, when it comes to the permanent debate about the quality of the built environment, there is not only need but also room for action.
6. How can architecture address issues such as climate change, urbanisation, and pandemics and, at the same time, improve people’s quality of life? What future trends and challenges do you see in the architectural profession and cities?
Cities are both magnetic and explosive. They represent a concentration of opportunities (ex. jobs, education, health care, transportation, and recreation) and not just an accumulation of houses, attracting people, resources, and ideas. It may sound counter-intuitive, but evidence shows that people are better off in cities. Public policies can be implemented more efficiently in them because there is greater population density, and they are powerful vehicles of wealth creation.
The problem is the “3 Ss” – scale, speed, and scarcity of means –, which hinders our ability to accommodate those coming to cities. By 2030, there will be five billion people living in cities worldwide, two billion of whom will be living in poverty. This means that we need to house one million people per week, with only $10,000 per family (an average amount based on the housing budgets of developing countries). We don’t have enough knowledge to solve this equation. If we don’t figure it out, the people will still come, which will mean them living in awful conditions, increasing social and political pressures that create an urban time bomb.
However, if we find a way of building fast, massively and cheaply with current building methods, the carbon footprint and energy consumption will destroy the planet.
Finding ourselves in a catch-22 situation, we at Elemental look at cities as shortcuts towards equality because they can improve quality of life without touching income. Strategically identified projects regarding infrastructure, public space, public transportation, and housing are powerful redistributive tools. To implement them, we take a sustainable attitude that is no more than the rigorous use of common sense.
7. How are emerging technologies impacting contemporary architecture, and how are you innovatively incorporating these changes into your projects?
We see them as a means rather than a goal. Emerging technologies are essentially tools. I don’t pick up a tool just because it’s there, or because it’s the latest toy I added to my toolbox. I choose it depending on the task I want to perform. So, I don’t try to use them innovatively. What may require innovation is the goal, not the means. As such, we may need to find different applications. And that almost inevitably happens when we bridge the first and the third world, or avant-garde with prehistoric needs. We use the latest software to design, but then we normally implement them with unskilled labour. How do you negotiate these two realities? Such a clash requires a process of adaptation and translation from us.
8. The project being developed in partnership with the Portuguese architect Carrilho da Graça for the EDP head office in Lisbon presents a challenge in terms of integration with the existing work of Atelier Aires Mateus, the firm responsible for designing the original EDP building in the capital. How does the new project interact with the existing one in terms of concept and aesthetics, and how does this affect choices regarding materials and construction?
We followed the masterplan for that part of the city, which meant any mass that interrupted the view from the hills to the river had to be avoided. The buildings had to be linear with the narrow end facing the direction of the view. In doing so, we were aligned with the Aires Mateus building.
The problem was that the required area for the project did not fit a single plot; we had to have two. However, functionally speaking, it had to work as a single building. So, how to respond to two forces pulling in opposite directions? One that wanted to divide the project in two, and another that needed the project to be a single entity? We didn’t want to connect the two buildings underground; we wanted the main floor to be at street level, an extension of the public space because we believe that it’s part of an institution’s civic responsibility.
So, our solution to the equation was to connect the two buildings with a gentle slope. In the tunnel formed underneath, a link is made at ground level, while the slope overlooks the building in front and offers riverside views to the general public.
9. How was the design of the EDP building in Portugal approached, and how were the aesthetic and functional needs balanced with socio-environmental responsibility, while ensuring its harmonious integration into the urban landscape of Lisbon?
Once we responded to the existing forces at play, a few more decisions were taken, like where to put the entrance. We thought it shouldn’t be in the public space we had just created in-between the buildings because it would imply that the space belongs to the building. And we wanted it to be seen as an offering from EDP to the city.
To this end, we decided on a side entrance, facing the street, beneath a leaning mass.
Then we thought, once construction has taken place, make it last. So, we thought of using a style that is archaeological, as if it has always been there, like many of the old vestiges and monuments in ancient Lisbon: more infrastructure than architecture, like the old, fortified walls of the city. Such a monolithic condition was also a response to the thermal mass on the construction perimeter, responding to Lisbon’s weather, where preventing undesired energy gains is more important than avoiding undesired energy losses.
10. Looking back at the beginning of your career in architecture, do you believe your early projects have influenced your subsequent work? Is there any continuity between them and the projects that you are currently developing?
“Influences” and “continuity” is like handwriting, you can’t avoid it; it is what it is. You are so much a product of your circumstances that it’s inevitable to avoid your own past. So, I don’t pay attention to it. The only thing that may be worth discussing is having been raised in a situation of scarcity. By that I don’t mean that my fate was directed towards an “art popular”; I mean that when resources are scarce, you must be disciplined, pertinent and creative. It is connected to the name of our practice: elemental is something irreducible.
