My Blue Heaven: The Architecture of Atmospheres

Author(s): Ákos Moravánszky

Source: AA Files, No. 61 (2010), pp. 18-22
Published by: Architectural Association School of Architecture
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/29546062
Accessed: 15-04-2020 17:52 UTC

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The Architecture of
Today no exhibition of contemporary art
seems complete without the by nowfamiliar
rooms behind black curtains, where the
certainty of the seen is replaced by the
mystique of appear ance, remindingthe visitor
of Plato's cave. The popular success of
installations such as Olafur Eliasson's Weather
Project at Tate Modern in London shows
agrowing social empathy for immersive
artificial environments. Diller + Scofidio's
Blur Building (aka TheCloud)was the main
attraction at the 2002Swiss National Exhibition
in Yverdon-les-Bains and Peter Zumthor's
thermal baths continue to draw crowds to the
small Alpine village ofVals.
18
philosopher Peter Sloterdijk has demonstrated
in his trilogy Spheres howour lives are deter
mined by atmospheric conditions. Until now,
Sloterdijk maintains, philosophers have been
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My Blue Heaven:
Atmospheres
Akos Moravánszky
When Zumthor's Kunsthaus in Bregenz was
inaugurated with an exhibition ofJames
Turrell's boxes offering 'physical-sensual and
psychological-existentialborder experiences',
the organisers stressed the connection between
the architectural and artistic concepts.1
The term empathywas first used by nine
teenth-century German theorists of aesthetic
perception like Robert Vischer and Theodor
Lipps to describe the projection ofthe feelings
of the observing subject into the observed
arte
fact - a kind of aesthetic sympathy between a
work of art and the person looking at it, which
links the sensual to the spiritual by animating
Monte Rosa hut, 2009
ETH Zurich
Photo Tonatiuh Ambosetti
mostly concerned with objects and subjects,
and have not noticed that todaywe all live in the
interiors of atmospheric and meteorological
spheres. But with the bursting of economic and
the object. 2 Developing this thought further,
we may call social empathy the enthusiasm
with which the general public, ora social group,
reacts to the thrills of immersive environments
from wellness spas to 3o-cinema performances.
This social empathy is rooted in a political and
economic sphere - for example, the popularity
of panoramas in the nineteenth century is
directly connected to the idea of conveniently
arranging history in concentric circles around
the bourgeois subject. This arrangement is now
beingcompletedwith all the other, non-optical
aspects of spatiality: with haptic, acoustic,
olfac tory and even gustatory gestures. The
German
AA FILES 61
ecological bubbles, we are slowly becoming
aware of our present condition as participants in
experiments on a global scale, which we can not
even fully grasp.
 The connection between the enthusiasm for
atmospheres anda new environmental aware
ness might appear obvious. It could be seen as
the resultof observingthe sky, the clouds and
the rain not simply as parts of the ever-
changing nature whose caprices we admire, but
as fragile entities which are under threat and
can no longer be taken for granted. However,
the inter est in atmospheres in Swiss
architecture first appeared notas the result of
climate-conscious thinking but as a turn in
architectural theoiy. It was an alternative to
considering architecture a language, the
widespread argument of architec tural theorists
from the 1960s on. The popular studies byJohn
Summerson, Bruno Zevi and CharlesJencks on
the 'classical', 'modern' and 'postmodern'
languages of architecture, respec tively,
prepared the ground for a semiotic approach in
architectural theoty.3
Jenseits der Zeichen - Beyond the Signs - this
short phrase appears again and again, with only
minorvariations, in numerous works by Swiss
architects and critics of architecture during the
late Sos, as ifreferring to a border on our cogni
tive map. On one side of the border is the
empire of signs - surveyed by such illustrious
travellers as Roland Barthes or Umberto Eco, and
beyond it, the realm of immediate experience,
knowing by 'faceto face', undistorted by the
mirror of reflection and interpretation.But
strangely enough, the realm of atmospheres is
shrouded by clouds and fog, indicating that
vision alone cannot lead to knowledge. The
term atmosphere refers to the !ayer of air
surrounding our planet, retained by the earth's
gravity. The atmosphere protects life on earth
by absorbing ultraviolet solar radiation and
reducingthe fluctuations oftemperature between
day and night. Butthe meteorological
phenomenon of clouds as fine droplets ofwater
suspended in the atmosphere has always been
understood as signs - of an approaching storm,
a reversa!offortune or,
as in the conversation between Hamlet and
Polonius, as ever-changing images of a camel,
weasel orwhale.
Contemporaiy Swiss architecture is gener
ally seen as pragmatic; Swiss critics claim
that architects like Peter Markli or Gigon &
Guyer follow the 'minimal tradition' ofMax
Bill.4 The so-called Swiss boxes, with their
fetishist use of opulent materials and perfect
detailing, are
AA FILES 61
in terms of an earlier experíence with those
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therefore seen as the late capitalist, polished ver
sion of the modernist dream of mass-produced
houses; in this sense, their austerity appears as
the diametric counterpart ofthe aesthetic sub
jectivism of atmospheric arrangement. But this
contrast is misleading. Aldo Rossi, whose per
sonality and work long held Swiss architects
under their spell, was already a master of sailing
under false colours. Rossi was a guest professor
at the Federal Polytechnical Institute (ETH) in
Zurich between 1972 and 1974, where he had
the task ofluring leftist students back to the
drafting table. Ironically, as a memberofthe
Italian Communist Party, he had to convince
them
to abandon the política! activism which had
marked theyears before his arrival. In The
Architecture of the City, written before he carne
to Zurich, he claimed to have established a
scienza urbana, an urban science, applying
Ferdinand de Saussure's linguistic theoiy to
the study offatti urbani (urban artefacts).5
However, his intention to use this rigorous
sci entific method of semiotics soon
evaporated, givingwaytoamore 'atmospheric'
approach. In his ScientificAutobiography he
remembered:
Just standing in Sant'Andrea inMantua I had
thisfirst impression of the relation between tempo,
in its double atmospheric and chronological sense,
and architecture; I saw the fogenter the basílica,
as I often !ove to watch it penetrate theGallería in
Milan: it is the unforeseen element that modifies
and alters,like light and shadow, like stones wom
smooth by the feet and handsof generations of
men. Perhaps this alone was what interested me in
archi tecture:I knew that architecture was made
possible by the conjrontation of a precise form
wíth time and the elements, a confrontation
which !asted until the form was destroyed in the
process of this combat.Architecturewas one of
theways that humanity had sought to survíve; it
was a way of expressing thefundamental searchfor
happiness.6
Rossi's search for happiness, which has an
almost obsessive presence on the pages ofhis
ScientificAutobiography,results in many descrip
tions of atmospheric moments, like víllage festi
vals 'where the theatre shines its lights into the
persistent fog'.7 No wonder Rossi's former asso
ciates in Zurich, first of all Martin Steinmann
and Bruno Reichlin, started asking questions
about the limits of semiotics in architectural
theoiy. Reichlin's essay, 'Jenseits der Zeichen',
was published in March 2001in the journal of
the Union of German Architects, Der Architekt.
This text reports on the 'growing aversion'
among the younger generation of architects
'against any theoretical construct which tries
to explain in form of a rationa!discourse both
the creative search for meaning in the design
process and the critica! reception of the work'. 8
Reichlin contrasts this rationality- probably
alludingto Rossi's 'forms of exalted coolness'9-
with the 'warm bellyof architecture''º that the
younger generation was seeking:
things. There must be forms - or shapes - which
Venturí's symbolism orRossi's ratíonal-poetíc
analogies seemed to tum the warm union with the
body of architecture cold, the union with
something thought asauthentic, basic, natural,
archetypal, primary, anchored in the world of
senses rather than that of the signs, which can be
characterised in any case as more 'physical',
touching, more'able togenerate moods'.11
Peter Zumthor chose 'Beyond the Signs'
as a subtitle toan even earlier essay, 'Eine
Anschauungder Dinge' ('A Way ofLooking
at Things'), originally a lecture he gave in
Santa
Monica in 1988, which was published tenyears
later in his bookArchitekturDenken (Thínking
Architecture ). Comparing Zumthor's and
12
Reichlin's texts, it is immediately apparent that
Zumthor is not criticisingVenturi's symbolism
or Rossi's rationalism. He quotes Venturi's
dictum - 'main street is almost all right' - to
emphasise the ambiguity and vagueness of
'postmodern life': 'Everything merges into
eveiy thing else, and mass communications
creates an artificial world of signs.
Arbitrariness prevails.''3 Zumthor, unlike
Reichlin, has no desire forthe 'warm belly of
architecture', he is looking for 'das wahre Ding'
(the real thing) which is beyond the reach of the
semiotic analysis:
The world is ful! of signs and information
whích stand for things that noone understands
because they, too, tum out to be mere signsfor
other things. Yet the real thingremains hidden. No
one ever gets to see it. Nevertheless, I am convinced
that real things do exist, however endangered they
may be... [They]are what they are,which are not
mere vehi clesforan artistic message, andwhose
presence is selfevident...[When we look at things
that]seem to be at peace wíth themselves,[it is]as
if we could see somethingon which we cannotfocus
ourconscious ness.Here, in this perceptual
vacuum, a memory may surface, a memory that
seems to issue from the depths of time. Now,
ourobservationof the object embraces a
presentiment of the world in all its wholeness
because there isnothingthat cannot
be understood...There is a power in the
ordinary things of everyday life.14
It seems that Zumthor is interested here
in somethingotherthan thesimplicityand
concentration oftheformeforte (strongform)
that critics like Martin Steinmann associate
with the minimal tradition ofSwiss architecture.
Steinmann, in his essay 'Form für eine Archi
tektur- Diesseits der Zeichen' ('Form for an
Architecture - On this Side of the Signs') wrote:
Semiology has made a very important
contribu tion in the past 20 years, identif.ying the
mechanism of meaning. But it hasalsobecome
increasingly clear that forms can bringabout
perceptions which cannot be traced back to other
forms towhich they would refer, and those again
to others...This per manent regression is the limit
of semiology: there must bea pointwhereformsare
theirown mean ings. This correspondswith
thefindingthatwe are fascinated by things but
cannot explain ourfeelings
19
are inde pendentfrom the experience of the
individual, which derive their meaningfrom their
relationship to basic laws of perception.1 s
In these statements, summarised here in
an abbreviated form, Reichlin and Steinmann
wanted to give theirvoice to ayounger, disaf
fected generation of architects. While
conveying the reasons for the dissatisfaction,
they could not suppress their concerns,
suspectíng a cer tain degree of old-style anti-
intellectualism behind the new calls for
aesthetic immediacy.
A paradigma tic example of the search for
meaning 'beyond the signs' was the Swiss
Pavilion at the Expo 2000 world exhibítion in
Hanover, Germany by Peter Zumthor. Made
from 45,000 freshly cut wooden boards,
stacked 9m high as if in a timberyard, ít looked
like the archetypal Swiss box. Thewalls divided
the inte rior space in a labyrinthine pattern. The
larch and douglas fir boards were pressed
together
by steel tension cables without any bolts or
screws, so that the timber, which carne from
the sawmills of 13 Swiss cantons usingwood
cut in 85 towns and villages, could be reused
after the exhibition.
The motto ofZumthor's competition project
was Batterie (battery), a reference not only to the
layered structure of old electric batteries but,
more eminently, to the work of the German
artist Joseph Beuys. For Beuys, the battery was
the sym bol of the accumulation of social energy,
which hadan iconic expression in the dense
layering of warm materiaIs such as felt or
copper. 'The bat tery symbolises the tension in
the combination ofmaterials - energy, tension
and atmosphere Gesamtkunstwerk,materials that
charge each other'- comments Zumthor. What
impresses him in the work ofBeuys and the Arte
Povera group is the 'precise and sensuous way
they use materials. It seems anchored in an
ancient, ele mental knowledge about man's use
of materials, and at the same time able to expose
the very essence of these materials, which is
beyond ali culturally conveyed meaning. I try to
use materi als Iike this in mywork.'16
Whether a work by Beuys, like the wooden
piece titled Wet Laundry Virgin, actually affects
us without tapping into any 'culturally
conveyed meaning' is, however, debatable. The
title sug gests that materials are knowingly
employed to conjure associations with
cleanliness and fertil ity very much in accord
with the iconography of Christian art. Form-
giving, stressed Zumthor,
is the conversion of energy from a disorderly
into a crystalline state. The allegorical use of
substances like wood, felt, fat or honey places
Beuys at the centre of creation; it is the touch
of the artist that converts these raw materials
into meaningful, poetic things. Zumthor under
stands hisown work in a similar way: 'I believe
that they [the materials] can assume a poetic
20
Gugalun house. This indicates that the percep
tion of atmospheres is culturally mediated
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quality in the context of an architectural object
... since materials in themselves are not poetic. ''7
The name which was finally given to the
Swiss Pavilion in Hanover was Klangkorper, a
'Sounding Body', like that of a musical instru
ment. The juxtaposition of perceptions by the
senses - the 'sound picture' of Switzerland pre
sented by musicians walking around and impro
visingon folk andjazz instruments, the smell
of the wood, the haptic quality of the layered con
struction, the simple 'finger food' ofthe country
- created the kind of atmosphere which Reichlin
was referring to when he mentioned the 'warm
belly of architecture'. Instead of a catalogue, visi
tors could purchase aKlangkorperbuch,a kind
of dictionnaire raisonné of the pavilion, organ
ised in alphabetically ordered articles. The entry
on atmosphere states:
Atmosphere: the quality of the Klangkorper
which is perceivable by the senses. It is especially
noticeable in particular buildings, situations or
spaces. Atmospheres are di.fficult tograsp by scien
tific or technical means. Nevertheless they can be
generated and they arean essential part of the
per ception of architec ture. There is new research
and publication activity on the atmospheric
outside
of the realm of architecture (Hermann Schmitz ,
Gernot Bohme). > Energy > Theatrícality (mise-
en scene) > materíals mutually charging each
other > music > musicians as co-composers > text
projec tion > stage direction > drinking and
eating.18
This reference reveals the influence of the
two German philosophers Schmitz and Bóhme,
who have reframed philosophical aesthetics as
the study of perception, abandoning its focus
on high art.Theír concept of atmosphere allows
an ínvestigation into the primary condition of
aesthetic perception, the everyday experience
affected by moods and corporeal presence that
is usually neglected by theorists of aesthetics.
Speaking about atmospheres also means to
reject the usual reduction of perception to the
merely visual. Gernot Bóhme describes atmos
phere as having an ambiguous ontological sta
tus, beyond the great divide of object and
subject: atmospheres are sensed, felt, andyet
they are touchingus as very real. Bóhme's essay
'On Synaesthesia', published in 1991in the
Berlín archítectural journal Daidalos, sum
marises the concept. Atmosphere is, according
to him, the 'primary and, to a certain degree,
basic object of perception', a totality 'in which
ali particulars are embedded'.19 He explains
atmospheres as suspended in space, as exten
sions ('extases') of matter: an object like a blue
jug, for example, shows its presence as a kind
of radiation: the colour blue can be located as
the colourofthis object, butstill the blue
affects the whole environment, resisting
objectification. Furthermore, the colour blue
has a synaesthetic character, as it is connected
with a melancholic mood and deep, soft tones.
Synaesthesia, as the
Greek origin of the word suggests (a'Úv = together
indeed. A detailed analysis of the perception
and interpretation of atmospheres seems neces
and afo0r¡ai.; = sensation), is the cross-sensory
experience of connecting, for instance, colours
to sounds, as in Rimbaud's poem 'Voyelles'.
Atmospheres generate sensations. They are
not mere projections; theytouch usas real, as
part of our environment. Atmospheres are felt
by intuition, unreflected: the environment radi
ates a certain mood, and the observer partici
pates in that mood with hisor her sensitivity:
'Perception qua sensitivity is presence which
can be sensed. In turn atmospheres are the
manner in which things and environments
"present" themselves .' 20 Bohme speaks of
'quasi-objective sensations'. He demonstrates
in a more recent book on architecture and
atmospheres (using examples such as the dusk,
light, city, music
and church space) the potential ofthe notion
of atmosphere, allowing a new, surprising
perspective on familiar phenomena.2 1 He
gives sorne examples:
For example one /eaves a lively street and
enters a church. Orone enters ajlat that one is not
yetfamiliarwíth.Orone stopsfor a rest ona car
trip, takes afew steps and suddenly has a view of
the sea. In such primary situations it becomes
clear what is perceivedfirstand, above ali,in
detail; in
a certain sense it is space itself- space not taken in
the Kantian sense of the pure observation of things
existing externa[ and adjacent to one another, but
as the emotionally injluenced restrictions or
expan siveness which one enters, the
overwhelmingjlu idum.We cal! this the
atmosphere, borrowing our terminology
fromHermann Schmitz.22
In Bóhme's argument, the aesthetics of
atmospheres helps to overcome the usual
divisions not only between object and subject,
but between high and everyday culture as well.
Artists, stage designers, interior decorators,
cosmeticians or 'salespeople creating the
atmosphere in a supermarket' are ali 'aesthetic
workers'. 2J
What makes the reader sceptical, however,
is Béihme's reference to situations thatare cul
turally unspecific. 'One enters a flat and is over
whelmed by the philistine atmosphere. One
enters a church and has the feeling ofbeing
shrouded in a holy gloom. One catches sight of
the sea and is swept off into the distance. It is
only against this background or in this atmos
phere that the details can be distinguished.' 24
Although he notices the 'aesthetic position' of
the perceiving subject, this position is not exam
ined further in the analysis; it is not even taken
into account. Thus it is assumed that there
would be an affective accommodation to
atmospheric phenomena, devoid of ali cultural
conditioning- as if atmospheres would be expe
rienced by everybody in the same way. But it is
obvious that the perception of the 'philistine
atmosphere' of an apartment is dependent on
the social and cultural position, education and
former experiences of the observer - as is the
appreciation ofthe 'tuned space' in Zumthor's
AA FILES 61
sary, an analysis which would investigate the
cultural codes, therebyusingthe methods
provided by semiotics.
Similarly, the Swiss pavilion in Hanover
poses the question: what kind ofknowledge
must the visitar possess to connect the atmos
phere with the idea ofSwitzerland? The com
ments in the guestbook show that manywere
puzzled by the simplicity of the form and the
overwhelming presence of the stacked wood,
and were asking how the buildingwas meant
to beread.
There is a clear difference between
Zumthor's explanations about how his
architecture works and his careful strategies to
determine the conditions of perception - the ways
to direct the observer's attention, to frame or
screen off cer tain views. He emphasises the
necessity of fram ing himself:
Beauty always appears to me in settings, in
clearly delimited pieces of reality, object-like or
in the manner of a still-life or like a
selfcontained scene, composed to perfection
without the least trace of effort or
artificiality.Everything is as it should
be;everything in its place. Nothingjars,
nooverstated arrangement, no critique, no
accusa tion, no afien intentions; no commentary,
no mean ing.The experience is
unintentional.What I see
is the thing itself. It captivates me. The picture
thatl see has the effect of a composition that
appears extremely natural to me and the same
time extremely artful in itsnaturalness. 2s
This corresponds with Uvedale Price's
description of the picturesque, as artfully staged
naturalness that strikes the observer as unin
tended, the result of chance. Nature, as per
ceived from the reclining beds of the relaxation
room of the thermal baths in Vals, is a carefully
edited nature showing idyllic pastures on the
green hill slopes. The new construction nearby,
everything that would potentially conflict with
this idyll, has been edited out. Zumthor declares
his authorship, taking full credit for the per
ceived unityofthe result: 'Iwatch myselfnow
and tell you ... what drives me when I am trying
to generate the atmosphere of my houses. And
it is clear, these answers are highly personal,
I have no others. They are personal,
individual; they are probably even
sensitivities, personal sensitivities.'26
Zumthor's recent bookAtmospheres,from
which this quote is taken, is based on a lecture
that hegave in the barn ofWendlingshausen
castle inJune 2003. He talks in this lecture about
what matters most to him when creating atmos
pheres. It's almost ali too familiar, when it
comes to the nuts and bolts of the technique.
As we might expect, he emphasises the material
presence of things, what he calls 'the body of
AA FILES 61
sunshine of a solarium mixes with the
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architecture', and the harmonyofmaterials:
'Materials resonate, they start to shine, and such
compositions are somethingunique ... take a
stone, andyou can sawit, sand it, drill it,
splitit, polish it, and each time it will be
something dif ferent...Then take it to the light
and it will be different again.' 27 'The sound of
space' - its acoustic qualities - mean that it
functions as a musical instrument, collecting
sounds, amplify ing and transmitting them. 'The
temperature of space' requires that every
building hasa certain temperature, and the
designer has to find 'the correct pitch'. 'The
things around me' come next, the recognition
that a building attracts a wealth of things not
intended by the architect: it is this which gives it
'a sense ofhome'. 'Between composure and
seduction', the 'tension between inside and
outside', the 'steps ofintimacy' and finally, 'the
lighton things' are the further ingre dients of
atmospheric arrangement, exemplified by
Zumthor's own work and his account of mem
orable spaces and movies.
The younggeneration ofSwiss architects is
wary of following such recipes, and is making
even more radical demands for an architecture
'beyond the signs'. Philippe Rahm, an architect
from the French-speakingcantons, emphasised
in his manifesto MeteorologicalArchitecture:
The tools of architecture must become
invisible and light,producingplaces likefree, open
land scapes, a newgeography, different kinds of
meteor ology; renewingthe idea ofform and
usebetween sensation and phenomenon, between
the neurolog ical and the meteorological,between
the physiolog ical and the atmospheric. These
become spaces with no meaning, nonarrative;
interpretable spaces in which margins disappear,
structures dissolve and limits vanish. It is no
longer a case
of building images andfunctions, but of
opening climates and interpretations;working
on space, on the airand its movements, on the
phenomena
of conduction, perspiration and convection as tran
sitory andjluctuating meteorological conditions
that become the new paradigms of contemporary
architecture.28
Rahm's Digestible GulfStream, exhibited at
the 2008 Venice Architecture Biennale, is a good
example of this techno-pastoralvision: agroup
of naked youngsters camp out on floating hori
zontal planes on different levels, clearly
enjoying the stream ofwarm air flowing between
the plat forms. He stresses that by manipulating
climate he is modulatingtime, not space:
Making certain climates swell punctually or
momentarily, naturalising a contextoron the con
trary, distancing it even more, creating moments,
generatingweatherchanges, projecting seasons
and days, specialisingjunctions,shortening or
amplifying distances, reducing the length of the
daysor creating a never-ending night, here and
there. Architecture projects time, infact whole
days are built. Here, architecture generates no
symbol orJunction but time, seasons and days to
physically
fluorescent light of an autopsy room, as in the
inhabit. It affects and shifts time, prolongs and
pro vokes suspended and supematural moments,
out of astronomical rhythms.•9
Rahm stresses in his comments the ecologi
cal correctness ofhis proposals, and remains
silent about the desires ofhis Garden ofEden
for the senses. His proposal hasa hedonistic and
an environmentally conscious aspect. Should we
understand itas acall to save the Earth's atmos
phere orasa technique to control our bodies?
By isolating the generally neglected
component of climate, he conducts a scientific
experiment, turning the house into a
laboratory. Can we take this as a critica!
project?
Bruno Latour, in a text on Olafur Eliasson's
Weather Project, observes that a scientist ora
philosopher of science used to work in a closed
site, 'the laboratory, where a small group of spe
cialised experts scaled down phenomena that
they could repeat atwill through simulations or
modelling before presenting their results. Then,
and only then, could they be diffused, applied,
or tried out in the public sphere.'3°This he calls
the 'trickling down' theory of the dissemination
ofknowledge: 'from a confined centre ofrational
enlightenment, knowledge emerged and then
slowly spread out to the rest ofthe society. The
public could choose to find out the results of
the laboratory tests or remain indifferent to
them, but certainly could not add to them, dis
pute them, far Iess contribute to their elabora
tion. Experiments were undergone by animals,
materials, figures and software. Outside ofthe
laboratorywas the realm of experience -not
experiment.' 31
By declaring that architecture is meteorol
ogy, Rahm wants to provoke: he wants architec
ture to finally realise the deficits of the almost
obsessive search for meaning, and of position
ing 'meaning' and 'understanding' almost exclu
sivelywithin the realm of the visual. But he also
calls attention to the architect's responsibilityto
understand the delights and dangers of atmos
pheric utopías as the invisible realms ofpower.
Many philosophers of the Enlightenment
sought to explain human qualities through the
particularities ofregional climate. Medica!, polit
ical and ethical issues ofthe discourse on
climate informed various cultural projects.
Tropical cli mate was understood as a cause for
degeneracy and debility, laterdescribed as a
zone ofparasitic fecundity. In the work of Rahm
orin the installa tions of the artist Dominique
Gonzalez-Foerster we might see tropicalism as a
sign of escapism, but one that connects
abstraction with the sug gestion of equatorial
fecundity. Rahm uses the laboratory atmosphere
as a technological sub lime, as 'second nature'.
This time, nature is not the 'other' of reason, buta
product of technology.
His more recent work suggests a recognition
that constructing tropicality means construct
ing a place where the Iimits of an addictive hedo
nism become visible, where the boring electric
21
opening scenes ofMatteo Garrone's film
Gomorrah.
Climate, although generally understood as
an element of nature, is also a cultural category
and, as such, is frequentlyused to advance a
wide range of interests - political, social or
eco nomic. The year 1973 marked a first break
with the dream of the society of excess, as
signified by the image of erupting oil gushers.
Paced now with the melancholy oflimited
resources, the aesthetics of atmospheres might
prepare the ground for a more responsible way
oflife. A building has to resist the weather, but
it must also be iconic, in order to advance the
goals of environmentally conscious
architecture. The new mountain shelter on
Monte Rosa in the Swiss Alps, designed by
Andrea Deplazes and
a team from the ETH Zurich, is an example of
environmental autarchy, depending on outside
sources for only 10 per cent of its energy.32 Still,
it is an ambiguous object: while almost entirely
cut off from the physical energy networks, it is
very much part of the socio-economic networks
of attention-making. Commissioned by the
SwissAlpine Club, whose simple, saddle-roofed
huts have provided basic accommodation for
generations of mountain-climbers, this new
shelter offers new luxuries: comfortable beds,
hot showers and last but not least an iconicity
which allows its creator and main sponsor, the
ETH Zurich, to situate itself as a powerhouse
of environment-conscious technology.33
In the diffuse sphere of atmospheric space,
ecological abstinence blends with hedonism.
The planned eco-cities in the oil states promise
true miracles: you save the environment while
skiing down a slope inside an energy-saving
hall,just asyou support the economy in Europe
bywreckingyour old car and purchasing a new
one: save while spending, the old advertising
slo gan is still effective. Technology got us into
this mess, technologywill get usout of it -
architects and engineers proudly present their
latest 'green' products, and politicians urgently
need spectacular results.
It is interesting to see how contemporary
concerns regarding climate change and environ
mental erosionare paralleled in earlier environ
mental projects that emerged from an era of cold
war anxiety. From Buckminster Fuller's urban
dome over Manhattan to the inflatable Suitaloon
byArchigram's David Greene, there is a consis
tent interest in the customisable protective
climate at different scales. As Peter Sloterdijk
argued, we live in the interiors of spheres: bub
bles, globes and foams are not mere metaphors,
they determine our thinking, and decide our
destiny.34 Sorne bubbles might burst- for
instance, the 'real estate bubble' - but this only
transfers us into the interior of another bubble
of economic experimentation.
We have seen that works such as the Swiss
pavilion in Hanover or the Monte Rosa shelter
unfold their impact through processes which
can be analysed using the methods of
semiology.
We are not searching 'beyond the signs'; on
the contrary, the theory of signs can help us to
understand the perception of atmospheres. By
looking at the situations where this perception
takes place, we can consider how it depends
on
the attention stimulated and guided by texts and
other media. But the study of the semiotics of
non-verbal sign systems is also essential. Signs
have their own presence and materiality, and
are therefore not mere substitutes, placeholders
for somethingthat is absent (think ofMagritte's
(non-)pipe, or Duchamp'sFountain).As material
objects, they have their own 'atmospheres' -
when we look at them, we are notjust 'decoders'.
Perception and semiotic interpretation are tem
poral, intersecting processes, actively involved
in the production of meaning.
The essential conflict between 'Swiss boxes'
and 'atmospheres', as interpretational schemes,
seems to be one of shiftingvalues as 'Swiss
boxes' started to look dull:well-crafted but
devoid ofinterest. DonaldJudd's dictum,
'boring the public is one way of testing its com
mitment'35 loses its appeal in an environment
where editors and curators are on the lookout
for new, surprising and interestingwork. In the
Swiss context, the boxes are not replaced by a
radically different aesthetics (like, for instance,
'blobs'), but are rather re-framed by architec
tural critics as atmospheric containers. While in
architectural criticism this might appear a radi
cal change, the work analysed here proves that
architects perceived as minimalists never really
subscribed to sorne ofminimal art's core con
cepts, such as the non-referential relationship
of the object to the world of things - as demon
strated by Zumthor's search for the 'real thing'.
While architectural critics sawthe 'New
Simplicity' ofSwiss architecture through the
eyes of Arnheim, Barthes or Eco, architects
like Zumthor spoke for most of the time in the
language ofHeidegger, Handke and Wallace
Stevens, which hada 'strong emotional
impact'.36 This does not mean that we liked
Swiss architecture for the wrong reasons, but
demonstrates once again that the simplicity
of 'Swiss box' is a precondition for the 'fog',
the unattainabilityof its content.

1. Kunsthaus Bregenz, Besucherinfor

8. Bruno Reichlin, 'Jenseits der Zeichen •, Lexikon zumPavillon der Schweizerischen Centre culture!suisse, 2006), p 167.
mation:James Turrel/Lichtraume
Der Architekt, March 2001, p 62. Eidgenossenschaft ander Expo 2000 in 30. Bruno Latour, 'Atmosphere', in Olafur
(information flyerforvisitors,1997).
9. Aldo Rossi, op cit, p 5. Hannover(Basel: Birkhiiuser, 2000), Eliasson, TheWeather Project (London:
2. Harry Francis Mallgrave and Eleftherios
10. Bruno Reichlin, op cit,p 62. pp 17-18. Tate Gallery, 2003), pp 29-41.
Ikonomou (eds), Empathy.Form and
11. Ibid. 19. GernotBohme, 'OnSynaesthesiae', 31. Ibid.
Space: Problems inGermanAesthetics,
12. Peter Zumthor, 'Eine Anschauung der Daidalos 41, September 1991, p 34. 32. ETH Studio Monte Rosa, Faculty of
1873-1893 (Santa Monica, CA: Getty
Dinge', in Peter Zumthor,Architektur 20. Ibid, p 35. Architecture, ETH Zurich, professor
Research Institute, 1994).
Denken (Baden: Lars Müller, 1998), p 21. GernotBohme,ArchitekturundAtmos Andrea Deplazes, Marce! Baumgartner
3. John Summerson, The Classica/
16. In the subsequent English edition phare (Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 2006). (project head), Kai Hellat; Bearth &
Language of Architecture (Cambridge,
of the book the title ofthis chapter is 22. Gernot Bohme, 'On Synaesthesia', op cit, Deplazes Architekten AG, Chur/Zurich,
MA: MIT Press, 1963); Bruno Zevi,
translated as 'Beyond the Symbols'. p34. Daniel Ladner.
TheModemLanguage of Architecture
13. PeterZumthor, 'A WayofLookingat 23. Ibid, p 27. 33. ETH Zurich(ed),NewMonteRosaHut:
(Seattle, WA: UniversityofWashington
Things', in PeterZumthor, Thinking 24. Ibid,p 34. Selfsufficient Building in the
Press, 1978); CharlesJencks,The
Architecture, third edition (Base!: 25. PeterZumthor, ThinkingArchitecture, HighAlps (Zurich: gta Verlag, 2010).
Language of Post-Modern Architecture
Birkhiiuser, 2010), p 16. opcit,p 76. 34. Bubbles,Globes and Foams are the titles
(NewYork: Rizzoli, 1977).
14. Ibid, p 17. 26. Peter Zumthor,Atmospharen: of three volumes of Peter Sloterdijk's
4. Karin Gimmi (ed), Mínima/ Tradition:
Max Bill und die'einfache' Architektur 15. Martín Steinmann, 'Form für eine ArchitektonischeUmgebungen- Die Dinge trilogy Spheres. Peter Sloterdijk,
Architektur- Diesseits der Zeichen', im mich herum (Base!: Birkhiiuser, Spharen (Frankfurt am Main:
1942-1996 (Baden: Lars Müller, 1996).
Faces-Joumal d'architecture 19, Spring 2006), p21. Suhrkamp, vol I 1998, vol II 1999, vol m
5. Aldo Rossi, TheArchitecture oftheCity
1991, quoted byReichlin, op cit, p 68. 27. Ibid. 2004).
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1982), p 29.
16. Ibid, p 8. 28. Philippe Rahm,Meteorological 35. DonaldJudd, 'Specific Objects',Arts
6. Aldo Rossi,A ScientificAutobiography
17. Ibid, p 10. Architecture, manuscript. Yearbook 8 (NewYork: Art Digest, 1965),
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1981), p 5.
18. PeterZumthorwith Plinio Bachmann, 29. Philippe Rahm, 'Architecture Invisible', p78.
7. Ibid,p 30.
Karoline Gruber et in Centre Culture/ Suisse 2003-2005 36. Peter Zumthor, 'The Hard Core of
al,Klangkorperbuch: (Paris: Beauty', in Peter Zumthor, op cit, p
29.

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