Lupaava Esittely

A rather auspicious introduction to a young American man this morning led to the surprise opportunity to hear Peter Zumthor give a lecture this afternoon. The Finnish timber industry had chosen him for their annual ‘Spirit of Nature’ prize and he had come to Helsinki to accept it and to speak about his work. A tall and august man, dressed tip to tail in black so as not to stand out from the other identically clad recipients, he and his cap of white hair made a seemingly spotlighted appearance in one of the shadowy rooms of Kaapelitehdas, the old Nokia Cable Factory. His entrance was preceded by musikki that had been composed using mathematical proportions parallel to one of his projects. He never took the stage, preferring to stand on the floor among his listeners so that he could turn to see the images he was narrating. Outfitted with laser pointer and headset he began to tell us what he’d done this summer.

A book written in the 18^th century had captured his attention, not for its plot but precisely because it lacked one. It simply described the landscape. Eighteen pages before the first person appeared and even then only to pass by. It went on for thirty pages until time had simply stopped. "Then time begins to grow", he said "and one finally becomes aware of place." After this he introduced us to his new studio which is also where he lives. It’s a house, he told us, that says “I like to be in this place. I like the houses around me.” rather than saying “I’m better.” “It is important to define the atmosphere.” which he said was best done in wintertime when nobody was there. And when what you see amazes you, as an architect you do nothing—“Four walls, a roof and that’s it!”

This is a man fully possessed of Bachelard’s material imagination. He described a chapel built of concrete placed fifty centimeters at a time—“a day’s work”—around a form of hand-picked and felled trees. The tapered top was left open; a smoke escape for burning out the trees and a chance to let the rain fall all twelve meters to the floor of molten lead. He spoke proudly of finding the man who could make the floor and of the oven he will build at the site to melt the lead. He described his own floor of massive sandstone slabs, from Italy and again of the men who placed them, four at a time before going off to cut the next ones. Then he showed images of perforated bricks, laid two courses wide, that made walls into translucent screens for shadow play. And he spoke proudly of the Polish men who worked two full years to develop them. Always a tender courtship of the landscape followed by marrying material to craft. He’s an alchemist of sorts; somehow making mountains or fields and forests and history and faith and food and reverence and gratitude into architecture.