Building Knowledge in Architecture [1 ed.] 9789054875451

Citation preview

Building Knowledge in Architecture Richard Foqué

Show the young sailor how to sail; but don't so falsify the compass and the chart that he can sail only in one direction. John Fowles, 1964, The Aristos, 9.59.

Building Knowledge in Architecture Richard Foqué

Part 1 Design Sciences 1

The Postmodern Paradox

16



1.1

The Legacy of Enlightenment

17



1.2

The Paradox of Postmodernity

20

1.3

The Position of the Professional Disciplines in a Postmodern Society

25

1.4

The Divorce of Art and Science

26



Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

30



2.1

The Method of Scientific Inquiry

31



2.2

The Method of Artistic Inquiry

33



2.3

Creative Thinking

36



2.4

The Method of Design Inquiry

41



2.5

Research by Design

45

A New University Model

46

2

2.6 3

The Nature of Design Activity

48



3.1

The Emergence of a Design Discipline

49



3.2

In Search of a Design Theoretical Framework



3.3

Aspects of a Contextual Design Model

54





3.3.1 Design as a Structuring Activity

54





3.3.2 Design as a Creative Activity

60





3.3.3 Design as a Communication Activity

63



3.4

Biperspectivism and Bipolarity

67



3.5

From the Unconscious to the Rational to the Creative

71



50

3.5.1 D esign as an Unconscious Process: The riangle Locked T

71

3.5.2 Design as a Rational Process: The Triangle Broken

78

4



3.5.3 Design as an Integrated Process

96

3.5.4 Design as an Agent of Change

98



Understanding Architectural Design Processes

102

4.1

The Use of Models as a Tool for Architectural Inquiry

103

4.2

Variety and Uniqueness

110

4

4.2.1 Variety of Architectural Theories and Uniqueness of the Design End Product

112

4.2.2 Variety of Participants and Uniqueness of the Design Process

114

4.2.3 Asymmetry of Knowledge and Symmetry of Understanding

119



122

4.2.4 Variety and Uniqueness of Space and Time

4.2.5 Variety of Liabilities and Uniqueness of Responsibilities

123

4.3

The Interaction of the Parts

124

4.4

Concurrent Architecture and the Integrated Practice

125

4.5

The Inversion of Design Capacity and Research Capacity

128

4.6 Architectural DNA and the Building Genome

132

Part 2 Case Study Research in Architecture 5

The Methodology of Case Study Research

144



5.1

145

Making a Case: Investing in Human Capital

5.1.1 What is a Case Study? Definitions, Strengths and Limitations

145





5.1.2 The Validity of Case-Based Knowledge

147





5.1.3 The Importance of Shared Knowledge

150





5.1.4 Practice-Based Theory Development

152





5.1.5 Case-Based Education

153 5

5.2

Case Study Research and Case-Based Teaching Compared





5.2.1 Case Studies in Law





5.2.2 Case Studies in Medicine

161





5.2.3 Case Studies in Business Administration

163





5.2.4 Case Studies Methodologically Compared

165



5.3

Case Study Research in Architecture

171

156

5.3.1 The Loss of Comprehensive Knowledge in Architecture

171

5.3.2 Building a Framework for Architectural Case Study Research

174

5.3.3 The Characteristics of Architectural Knowledge and Architectural Thinking

176



5.3.4 Case Study Typology in Architecture

181



A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

188



6.1

Defining the Case Type

190



6.2

Selecting a Case

194

6.3

Addressing the Multilayered Characteristics: the PCP analysis

195





6.3.1 Product Analysis

195





6.3.2 Context Analysis

200





6.3.3 Process Analysis

203

6.4

Addressing the Multivariateness: the ACCU-A analysis

205

6.5

Concluding the Case

208

6

7



Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

210

7.1

Case Study Research as an Engine for Architectural Knowledge

212

7.2

Case Study Research and the Building of an Architectural Knowledge Base

216

6

7.3

The Role of Case Study Research in Architectural Education

218

7.4

The Importance of Case Study Research for Internship

221

7.5

Case Study Research and the Architectural Practice: Life-long Learning and the Road to Scholarship

223

References and Literature

226



Index

227



References

233

7

Introduction

Driving from the city center of Antwerp to Brussels, you pass the Royal Conservatory as a last landmark of Modernist architecture before joining the motorway. With the good fortune to be stopped at the traffic light, you can cast a glance at the ridge of the building and admire one of the monumental sculptures of the Antwerp artist Jan Fabre. It is called Man Measuring the Clouds. The four-meter-high bronze statue is representing the artist himself, standing on a library ladder, upright, gazing into the heavens while holding in his opened arms a measure against the sky. Although this iconic work of art has many layers, questioning the paradox between art and science, between the measurable and immeasurable, between fact and fiction, between the possible and unattainable, it inspired me to reflect on my own discipline, the profession of architecture and the true meaning of being an architect. The architect works in the field of tension between imagination and reality. The architect’s task is to convert the dreams and often the unreachable wishes of the client into a buildable concept, which should be functional, technically resolved, and in compliance with all building and safety codes, but at the same time must inspire a sense of wellbeing and have the necessary aesthetic qualities to contribute to and enrich its context. Is the architect the person who is measuring the clouds all the time? Is architectural design, per se, an impossible task to perform? In other words, what is the essence of being an architect? What are the skills, competences, and knowledge an architect needs to perform as a true professional? These questions have puzzled me all the way along my professional career as a practitioner, scholar, researcher, teacher, and administrator. As a participant in architectural competitions, I have always been astonished by the unique but valuable solutions generated from the same brief, the same context, the same guidelines, from essentially the same problem. As a juror myself or as a member of review committees, I find it challenging, if not impossible, to make absolute judgments,

9

Introduction

as criteria vary and are contextually bound; the outcome changes depending on the viewpoint taken and viewpoints possible. In my own practice, I have endeavored to use my professional experience and accumulated know-how in an innovative way for every new commission. But I have always been left with a feeling of discontent: Could I have done better? Did I use all the creative potential and knowledge at my disposal, and did I not overlook essential elements? I have envied other professions such as law and medicine, which seem to have a growing, reliable, and robust knowledge base upon which to guide actions and make decisions. I concluded that the architectural profession, for some reason, does not have such a knowledge base or, at least has it no longer. Indeed, examining history reveals the existence of a consistent and thorough body of knowledge with respect to architecture and building. The writings of Vitruvius in the first century B.C. are perhaps the most popular in the Western World, but there are many more, reaching back to the ancient world of China, Egypt, Greece, and the Middle East. Aspects of that knowledge were considered secret and only accessible through the master builder: the Medieval lodges, for example. Apparently, something happened along the way. Why did we abandon or sacrifice that knowledge base? Why is the architectural profession drifting? Why are we sometimes reinventing the obvious? Why do we struggle to cope with contemporary technological evolution, and why is it so difficult to integrate in a satisfactory way new findings and insights into our design solutions? Why are we losing ground, and why are essential responsibilities of our professional practice being assumed by others? While writing this introduction, and I suppose by good fortune, I received from the esteemed scholar, my colleague and friend Werner Oechslin, his latest book Architekt und/versus Baumeister. Die Frage nach dem Metier, (Architect and/versus the Master Builder. The Question of the Profession), published in 2009. It is the written result of the 7th International Baroque summer course at the Werner Oechslin Stiftung held in July 2006 at Einsiedeln, Switzerland. Oechslin argues that in modern times the architect sees himself as the autonomous artist and creator, an image cultivated and enlarged by contemporary architectural critique, but originating as early as the 17th century. From being “the servant” to society in Vitruvian terms, the architect is becoming an unassailable leader, who does not need to justify his decisions. It is a surprising conclusion, but in line with Postmodern thinking and the dissolving of a clear value system. It definitely refers to the current crisis with which contemporary art is confronted and the media-saturated society in which we live. In this book I aim to examine and discuss the above questions, guided by nearly 35 years of experience as a practicing architect, founder and principal of one of the 10

Introduction

largest architectural firms in Flanders, by my teaching and research on design theory and design thinking, and by the critical reflections on my own career. My perspective is based on the axioms of the pragmatic school. I believe that pragmatic thinking, which is based on a crucial unity between experience and the process of learning, and between conceptual thought and situational consciousness, can offer a key to better understanding the design process. On that basis, I develop a theoretical framework and practical instrumentation to establish a knowledge base for the discipline of architecture. In Part 1 of the book, I present design as a third way of investigating reality, apart from scientific methods or the conception of art. By describing the scientificphilosophical context, I extensively analyze the nature of design activity and the design process, its inherent characteristics, and its differences from art and science. As such, I argue that design processes have a research dimension an sich, which are essentially contextual and action driven. My aim in this first part is to offer an integrated and comprehensive perspective for understanding design activity, from both an epistemological and a practical standpoint, resulting in an extensive discourse about the true nature of architectural design processes. Within this theoretical framework, Part 2 explains how case study research is a primordial means to establish a knowledge base for the discipline and profession of architecture. From this premise, I compare case study research in law, medicine, and business administration and develop a practical and comprehensive approach to case studies in architecture. The methodology I present should offer a solid and general framework wherein a consistent body of knowledge regarding architectural design processes can be generated. This must allow for promoting deeper insight into the complex relationship between context, product, and the design process, on the one hand, and between the several stakeholders involved, on the other. I have written in a sometimes provocative way, so that educators and students as well as practitioners can use the book as a basis for discussion and an inspiring guide to design processes in architecture and case study research, but also as preparation for the profession. I truly hope that this book can offer the opportunity to reflect on the impact and motivations of decision-making, leading ultimately to more responsive design solutions. The writing of this book was a painstaking effort, bringing together endless notes I have made throughout the years, along with books, articles, and conference papers I read and reviewed, to establish a consistent discourse.

11

Introduction

I wish to express my gratitude to the Artesis University College, member of the Association of Universities of Antwerp, which granted me a sabbatical leave following ten years of serving as Dean of the Van de Velde Higher Institute of Architecture and, at the same time, provided a research grant for editing the book. My sincere gratitude goes especially to the Enkeboll Foundation for the Arts and Architecture. Their grant made it possible for me to stay two semesters as a visiting professor in the School of Architecture at Carnegie Mellon University, USA. During that period, I was able to devote most of my time to further research and writing the manuscript of the book. I could not have written this book without the inspiration of so many colleagues who have offered varied and highly valuable perspectives. In 2000, I was invited as a speaker to the first round table on case studies by the American Institute of Architects (AIA) in San Francisco. This event confirmed my belief in the importance of case study research in architecture and ignited my ambition to write this book. The years following this event brought me into contact with numerous eminent American scholars and practitioners, working along the same lines of thought, many of who have influenced my thinking. Among them I wish to acknowledge Harrison Fraker, Daniel Friedman, Richard Green, Marvin Malecha, and Mike Martin. With my brother René, professor of Philosophy and Theory of Law at the University of Leuven and Director of the Research Center of the Foundations of Law, I have had profound discussions on the epistemological aspects of the subject. Moreover, he has directed me toward the analogy between the process of law-making and the administration of justice, on the one hand, and design processes, on the other. I must pay a special tribute to J. Chris Jones. He was my professor and supervisor during my stay at his Design Research Laboratory at the Manchester University Institute of Science and Technology during the late 1960s. Since then, he has remained a great source of inspiration for me. He unlocked for me the world of design theory and the emerging CAD technology, and he prophetically pointed toward the future impact of CAD on design practice. I pay great tribute also to Teun Swinkels. My career as a practitioner would not have been the same without him. He not only introduced me to the praxis of a methodological approach to large-scale design problems but, above all, he raised my consciousness of the ethical dimension of the profession. A very special expression of gratitude goes to Laura Lee. For many years, she has been my life-partner and my greatest source of inspiration. She has given me the necessary energy to continue our common quest for understanding architectural processes and raising the profession to the level of true scholarship — not to overlook her patience to cope with my impatience.

12

Introduction

Many others have contributed to the realization of this book: Edith Macken, who transformed my hand-drawn sketches of the figures and schemes into presentable graphics; Cara Gilotti, who polished my English in a first editing; Samantha Haedrich, who did a wonderful job by creating a consistent graphic concept to advance the content, support the reading, and convey the message. A most special acknowledgment goes to John Morris Dixon who thoroughly edited the manuscript, while asking probing questions and making clarifications. His overall work on the book defines him as an “editor extraordinaire”. His contribution no doubt enhanced the book's quality and readability. I thank the University Press Antwerp, imprint of Academic and Scientific Publishers Brussels, its director Stefaan Janssens, and my personal publisher, Goedele Nuyttens. Their belief in this book and the care they have given it is remarkable, making it a true pleasure to work with them. Finally, I want to dedicate this book to my three wonderful children, Nico, Floris, and Lissa, and my grandchildren, Matteo and Elena. They are the future, and they will continue to follow, in their own way, the road I tried to pave: a road to a better and more humane world. Richard Foqué Antwerp 01.05.2010

13

Part 1 Design Sciences

1

The opposite of a correct statement is a false statement. The opposite of a profound truth may well be another profound truth. Niels Bohr, 1922, Noble Prize in Physics

Chapter 1 The Postmodern Paradox

1

1.1



The Legacy of Enlightenment

In 1687, when Isaac Newton described universal gravitation and the three laws of motion in his treatise “Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica,” he not only established the foundations for classical mechanics, but also drastically and definitively changed the way that human beings experienced the world. If humanity could unlock the laws of the universe, those of God Himself, could we not also discover the laws that ruled all of nature and humanity? People came to believe that human reason would spur a neverending progress in knowledge, technical achievement, and even morality. Arthur Koestler, in The Sleepwalkers (1959)1, refers to it as though the human mind had awakened after having spent centuries sleepwalking. Newton’s work, including his systematic applications of algebra to geometry and a workable calculus to scientific problems, contributed substantially to establishing the momentum of the Enlightenment. The Age of Enlightenment refers to the primary philosophical movement in the 18th century Western World. (Some scholars also include the 17th century, more commonly known as the Age of Reason). The Enlightenment saw reason as the only means by which a consistent and authoritative system of knowledge, logic, aesthetics, ethics, law, and politics can allow the human being to obtain objective truth about the universe. Emphasis was placed on empiricism and rational thinking, applied not only to natural science but also to ethical and political problems on the levels of the individual, the society, and the state. Reason was believed to be the engine of progress. Rationalization, standardization, and the search for fundamental unities occupied much of Enlightenment thought, and led to arguments over proper methodology and the nature of understanding the mechanisms of the universe. 17

1 Koestler, A., 1959, The Sleepwalkers, Hutchinson, London.

Design Sciences

2 Dewey, J., 1923, Democracy and Education, The Macmillan Company, New York.

The Enlightenment, in its turn, has been the cradle of Modernity. Due to the Scientific Revolution, the static, craft-based link that had existed between technological innovation and social change disappeared, making way for the Modern Era and the beginning of what is commonly known as the Industrial Revolution. John Dewey, in his Democracy and Education (1923)2, argued that the concept of “truth” evolved from the Classic Greek period through the Dark and Middle Ages into Modernity. In the Classic Greek period, Dewey stated, individuals could not arrive at their own knowledge, but had to rely on external inquiries by others. “Results were to be accepted because of their aesthetic consistency, agreeable quality, or the prestige of their authors.” Later, during the Dark and Middle Ages, important knowledge was thought to be divinely revealed. But with the rise of economic and political individualism during the Age of Reason, “emphasis was put upon the rights and duties of the individual in achieving knowledge for himself.” René Descartes, arguably the most important thinker of the Age of Reason, gave a solid framework for this reasoning, rejecting the validity of all previous sources of knowledge and certainty and replacing them with a single truth: “Cogito, ergo sum”, “I think, therefore I am.” From that point onwards in European culture, the human subject became the only and central source of knowledge. Skepticism would be built into every inquiry, method would hold a higher place than practice, and the mind would be separated from the body. This is known as Cartesian Dualism. Descartes constructed a system of knowledge, discarding perception as unreliable and admitting only deductive arguments. In epistemological terms, Descartes contributed significantly to the idea that reason is the only reliable method of attaining knowledge: it is the rationalist answer to skepticism. He searched for knowledge that is “incapable of being destroyed” in order to build an unshakable foundation on which all other knowledge may rest. This Cartesian thinking was to remain the prevailing method of scientific inquiry throughout the following centuries, widening the gap between reason and intuition, between what can be logically argued and what can be intuitively felt, between science and art. Undoubtedly this process had already started with the Renaissance. Although considering art and science as equally valid methodologies to describe and understand the world, the Renaissance had placed the human being central in the cosmos. It was an essentially artistic revolution, but it paved the way for the Age of Reason and later the Enlightenment. And by doing so it prepared the way for the modernization of Western culture. There is indeed a consistent thread throughout this evolution. Building on the Renaissance legacy, the Age of Reason introduced rational thinking and abstract reasoning. The Age of Enlightenment took 18

The Postmodern Paradox

the next step by developing the idea of objective scientific knowledge and introducing the concept of control. The human being must control reality, because if we cannot we are not free: control as the prerequisite for freedom and autonomy. The Enlightenment saw the idea of objective knowledge as instrumental for developing human freedom. In this worldview there is no place for emotions and passions, as they must be placed under control. Max Weber, as quoted by Hannah Arendt in her essay “The Crisis in Culture: its Social and its Political Significance” (1968) 3, distinguished three main steps in this process that led to Modernity: first, the process of rationalization; second, the rise of abstraction; and third, the process of differentiating knowledge into separate categories. According to Weber these three movements are instrumental in controlling society. In the end, the process leads to forms of systems thinking and structuralism, where there is no place anymore for the living subject. The result, during the 19th and 20th centuries, is the emergence of two separate worldviews, alien to each other: that of the scientist, who searches for the objective truth, and that of the artist, who makes his own individual interpretations. With respect to this, it is no mere coincidence that the 19th century gave rise to the systematic foundation of Academies of Art and Conservatories all over Europe, completely separate from the existing university structures, and that schools of engineering were born out of the military academies and integrated into the universities. It cannot be denied that over the last century human knowledge has grown exponentially. Scientific reasoning and the Cartesian way of thinking have undoubtedly contributed greatly to that explosion, but they have also caused some very significant side effects. As human knowledge has grown quantitatively, it has become ever more fragmented. Super-specialization has led to the division of knowledge into increasingly narrow disciplines, occupied in searching for their own consistencies, using their own jargons, frames of reference, and methodologies. As a result, contemporary higher education has organized itself “vertically,” based on these disciplinary subdivisions, and by doing so the universities have lost their essential characteristic: their “universality.” Universities have not only organized themselves differently but have split themselves up into faculties, colleges, schools, departments, teaching units, and research centers, each with their own faculty and staff, individual budgets, and infrastructures. More and more resources are devoted to research, which is becoming more and more specialized. Thus the universities are creating cadres of specialist elites with high degrees of concentrated knowledge, who know more and more about less and less. As a side effect, universities are increasingly confronted with organizational and 19

3 Arendt, H., 1968, “The Crisis in Culture: its Social and its Political Significance.” In Between Past and Future. Eight Exercises in Political Thought, Viking Press, New York.

Design Sciences

managerial problems, necessitating more administrators and administrative staff, who may have their own agendas and priorities. This phenomenon not only endangers the true missions of the university, which are teaching, research, and service to the community, but is leading a great majority of faculty, globally, to an awareness and fear that universities are being essentially taken over by the administrators.

4 Giddens, A., 1990, The Consequences of Modernity, Stanford University Press, Palo Alto, California. 5 Lyotard, J.F., 1985, The Post-Modern Condition, The University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

1

1.2



The Paradox of Postmodernity

The evolution of Postmodernity, seen within the global cultural and social evolution of the last decades, is paradoxical and confusing, to say the least. We live in a time of great intellectual controversy. On the one hand, science has never achieved so many breakthroughs as in recent decades; on the other hand, we are confronted with uncertainty and the dissolution of a clear value system. At the same time, it is a period of self-expression and individualism, where aesthetic evaluations are open-ended, and visual culture overshadows verbal culture. These conditions led, in the late 20th century, to a serious questioning of modernity on all levels. Many scholars have argued that at this time we have to transcend modernity itself, and a great variety of terms have been suggested to refer to this transition, as discussed by Anthony Giddens in The Consequences of Modernity (1990) 4. Some of them, Giddens states, refer to the emergence of a new type of social system, such as the “information society” or the “consumer society,” but most suggest instead that a preceding state of affairs is drawing to a close, as indicated by such terms as “Postmodernity,” “Postmodernism,” “Postindustrial society,” “Postcapitalism,”etc. It is useful at this moment neither to engage in semantic debate about these terms nor to discuss in depth the underlying discourses thereof. More important, however, is to differentiate between Postmodernism and Postmodernity. Postmodernism is a term primarily used to describe a style or movement in the arts and architecture. It is composed of aesthetic or artistic reflections upon the Modernist movement in those areas, which in turn were inspired or driven by the rationale of modernity. Postmodernity, on the contrary, refers to a shift away from attempts to ground epistemology in cultural evolution and from faith in engineered processes, as delineated by Jean-François Lyotard, one of the founders of the Postmodern movement, in his The Post-Modern Condition (1985) 5. The Postmodern attitude, he states, implies the recognition of a plurality of heterogeneous claims to knowledge, 20

The Postmodern Paradox

in which science is not granted a privileged place. “We should put an end to the ‘Grand Récit’”, Lyotard states. In other words, cultural development is not linear; there is not one great narrative; there are only contextual narratives. The Classical Greek period grounded epistemology in cosmology, early Christian scholars in theology. Descartes made a first important shift, grounding epistemology in mathematics, followed by the Enlightenment’s grounding it in cultural evolution by objectifying culture and by decontextualizing it, yielding the great narrative. Postmodernity opposes this view by introducing context as a determining element. This introduction of context has far-reaching implications because it fundamentally calls into question the hierarchy between “La vie pensante” and “La vie quotidienne” (literally the thinking life and daily life), as referenced by Jean-Luc Godard in his movie Vivre sa vie. This hierarchy and the debate concerning it had always been crucial to Western thinking, but disappeared completely in Postmodern society. “La vie pensante” and “La vie quotidienne” have merged into a strange melting pot called “contemporary culture.” While the term culture has always referred to the primacy of the thinking human being, Postmodern culture is all-embracing and refers to everything in life: from the painting of a garage door to a painting by Rembrandt or Caravaggio, from a children’s abacus to the most advanced computer, and from a shamanic ritual to brain surgery. As such, the term “culture” has become meaningless. Containing all, it has become empty. In this respect, René Foqué pointed out, in “De Legitimiteitscrisis van het Publieke Bestel” (1994) 6, that in present society culture is increasingly dominated by the law of supply and demand and has become a commodity subject to market mechanisms. He referred to Hannah Arendt and her paper on “The Crisis in Culture: its Social and its Political Significance” (1968) 7. “Culture,” Arendt argues, “is being threatened when all worldly objects and things, produced by the present or the past, are treated as mere functions for the life process of society, as though they are there only to fulfill some need, and for this functionalization it is almost irrelevant whether the needs in question are of a high or a low order”. The wants of the day set the agenda and intensify the banalization of culture. They lead to cultural egalitarianism: all values are identical, because they have become commodities, which can be traded one for the other. It is precisely this phenomenon Alain Finkielkraut denounced in La Défaite de la Pensée (1987) 8.In his analysis of Postmodernity, he showed that as thinking progressed from Modernity through German Romanticism, it shifted towards what he calls “the defeat of the thinking mind.” What is the purpose of Postmodern thinking? According to Finkielkraut, it aims to liberate man, treating him as an adult and no longer as an underaged dependent, to speak in Kantian terms. 21

6 Foqué, R.G.M.E., 1994, “De Legitimiteitscrisis van het Publieke Bestel” in Vernieuwing en Eerste Kamer; Een Reflectie op het Openbare Bestuur vanuit de ‘Chambre de Réflexion’ (Ed. C. Baljé), Sdu Uitgeverij, The Hague, The Netherlands. 7 Arendt, H., 1968, “The Crisis in Culture: its Social and its Political Significance.” In Between Past and Future. Eight Exercises in Political Thought, Viking Press, New York. 8 Finkielkraut, A., 1987, La Défaite de la Pensée, Gallimard, Paris.

Design Sciences

9 Bauman, Z., 1989, Legislators and Interpreters: On Modernity, Post-Modernity and Intellectuals, paperback edition, Polity Press, Cambridge, England. 10 Furedi, F., 2004, Where Have All the Intellectuals Gone?, Continuum, London and New York.

The problem for Postmodern man, however, is that culture in the traditional sense of the word has gone from being seen as a means of achievement, to becoming an authoritarian obstacle. Therefore culture has to be reframed: truth and lie are interchangeable concepts, real and virtual are relative states of being, and beauty and ugliness have become meaningless. What is important is the individual feeling of well-being, with everyone both equal and different. If the aversion to culture becomes culture itself, Finkielkraut concludes, then the mind has no content anymore: it is its own defeat. As a result, we are confronted at the beginning of the 21st century with a strange paradox. On the one hand, we witness the banalization of culture. On the other hand, the supremacy of the scientific mind has created a highly sophisticated technological environment. We witness the downfall of common ethical codes, but at the same time we see a growing global concern for ecological problems, for human rights, and for redefining democratic values. The position of the intellectual in this paradoxical situation is at least unclear, if not dubious. In his Legislators and Interpreters: On Modernity, Postmodernity and Intellectuals (1989) 9, Zigmunt Bauman defined an intellectual as one who possesses the ability to rise above the partial preoccupation of one’s own profession or artistic genre and engage with the global issues of truth, judgment and the taste of the time. Where the term “intellectual” originally referred to a certain class of people who worked primarily with ideas, it evolved into a description of the group of people who claim to be experts and professionals. Frank Furedi, in his Where Have All the Intellectuals Gone? (2004) 10, argues that the structural changes associated with the decline of the traditional intellectual have resulted in the growing impact of the market upon intellectual life. Institutionalization and professionalization, together with the growing power of the media and the erosion of public opportunities for the exercise of autonomy, have diminished intellectualism per se. He states that disappointment with the promises of The Enlightenment and Modernity and the consequent sense of powerlessness regarding our ability to know the future have led to a relativist approach towards knowledge and the replacement of the pure pursuit of knowledge with a pragmatic focus on specialized micro-knowledge. He pleads for the return of an “intellectual” attitude, especially at universities. This analysis confronts us with one of the major challenges for the coming generations: to build an intellectual culture based on the revaluation of a consistent ethical value system. Investing in intellectual capital will be absolutely necessary to provide the coming decades with a sustainable and affluent community. The notion of reflexivity 22

The Postmodern Paradox

— the act of reflecting on what we do and think — is an important key to this, as it may deepen our awareness about how we do things and how we should do them. A real practitioner is a person who is capable of reflecting on that practice as he acts. I have argued extensively, for instance in my “Socio-Technology or Solving the Paradox” (1971) 11, that academia should provide for such a framework and vision. But it is precisely the universities, where the rise of academia over the last decades has resulted in relentless academic careerism, that have enlarged this paradoxical gap. Universities, constantly on the run for money and compromised by research grants from industry and government, remain aloof, in their own world. As William Arrowsmith puts it in his essay “The Creative University” (1970) 12 : “They have chosen technical problems as their forte, they cannot help a society suffering increasingly from problems which have barely been defined before they are compounded by other problems too simply solved.” The result is an increasing alienation between the world of science and the “real” world outside. Mass media, including the Internet, are “educating” the people in their own way. These media have largely eclipsed formal education. They constantly shape public opinion and popularize knowledge on a global scale, without being subject to any scientific check and without any explanatory coherence or contextual framework. Research has proven that 95 percent of the Internet information is not authentic. But the public perceives the information delivered by the system to be authentic and valid. The “correctness” of the information is an attribute of the medium that produces it; a fact is “true” because it is transmitted through a “true” medium. Facts are no longer absolute but have become manipulative goods, permanently subject to change. Within this controversy, the contemporary intellectual is reluctant to be tagged “elite”. He may participate in trivial media shows and television games, almost to prove that he is part of that contemporary “culture,” that he is “à jour”. This has led to a schizophrenic and untenable position. The intellectual must be an expert, a true professional, but at the same time he needs to be popular, a media figure, an icon of the video-clip culture. Scholarship and trends have to go hand in hand. In a certain way, the intellectual has made a caricature of himself. This image not only perfectly fits the notion that culture is a commodity, but the contemporary intellectual has become a commodity himself and lost his critical function in society. A true professional must be capable of applying a theoretical truth in a practical situation. He must be able to decontextualize theory and recontextualize it. He must be able to differentiate between application and reflection. How can we redefine the position of the intellectual? How can we reevaluate culture as the engine of progress? How can we reintegrate artistic 23

11 Foqué, R.K.V., 1971a, “Socio-Technology or Solving the Paradox” in Wetenschap en Samenleving, nr. 25, Amsterdam. 12 Arrowsmith, W., 1970, “The Creative University” in Creativity (ed. Roslansky, J.), North-Holland, Amsterdam.

Design Sciences

13 Piaget, J., 1970, “La pluridisciplinarité et l’interdisciplinarité dans les universités”, in Le Monde, 10 Sept., Paris.

and scientific thinking into a comprehensive epistemological framework? If, as Bauman asserted, the intellectual should have the ability to break through the borders of profession or artistic genre, he should become a transdisciplinary thinker. The concept of transdisciplinarity harks back to Jean Piaget, who in his remarkable 1970 article in Le Monde 13, “La pluridisciplinarité et l’interdisciplinarité dans les universités,” pronounced a most important distinction in the way specialist knowledge can be integrated. He defines three levels of integration: 1

The level of multidisciplinarity, where information from another discipline is used to solve a problem in one’s own discipline. One borrows external information but does so without feedback to the other discipline. Neither the lending discipline nor the borrowing one is enriched — beyond a momentary gain by the recipient — by information transferred in only one direction.

2

The level of interdisciplinarity, where the collaboration between several disciplines results in a real interaction of knowledge and understanding, of approaches and methods. All disciplines are enriched by each other and the collaboration results in added value, in the creation of true synergy.

3

The level of transdisciplinarity, where several disciplines are not only interacting but all are reintegrated into a greater whole, a more nearly total system on a higher level, where the traditional boundaries between disciplines disappear.

Does that mean that micro-specialization is no longer necessary or that highly qualified professionals should be banned from the university scene? No. But this specialized knowledge should be incorporated into a comprehensive body of integrated knowledge, within a global system of values and well-considered choices. Academia should again provide a context in which learning can be merged with the responsibility for society that it has created. Learning should be revalorized in the sense that the creators of knowledge should also be held accountable for the application of that knowledge. This is especially the case for the professional disciplines such as architecture, engineering, medicine, and law. They are based on practical knowledge leading to action and have at the same time a great impact on the human being and on society. They deal with issues related to health, safety, and welfare. In many countries, these professions are therefore institutionalized and subject to special legislation. From the perspective that practical knowledge leads to action, the professional disciplines have to provide in their specific theories for reflection on these actions. This role is vital. “They have access to the real 24

The Postmodern Paradox

world as a generator of basic research problems and a source of data,” as Herbert Simon phrased it in Administrative Behavior (1969) 14.

1

1.3



The Position of the Professional Disciplines in a Postmodern Society

The professional disciplines are the connectors between basic science and the real world, and between theoretical concepts and practical applications. They reduce the gap between real world problems and academic research, research increasingly captured by its own agenda. Important here is that the professional disciplines develop their own bodies of knowledge and methodological frameworks, in order to confront these disciplines within a transdisciplinary context. By doing so, they may become the initiators of a new intellectual attitude. To further investigate the role of the professional disciplines in this process, it is necessary to analyze their position in a Postmodern society. Some of them are considered to have “scientific” status (medicine, law); others classify themselves as belonging to the “applied sciences” (engineering). In the field of business administration, the tendency to introduce quantifiable models and techniques is apparent. Moreover, it is widely known that professional schools within research universities privilege a systematic, preferably scientific, approach. Within this context architecture occupies a somewhat different and unique position. Since the emergence of modernity, architecture, considered to be the oldest discipline with professional status, finds itself in an ambivalent situation. Perceiving themselves as practitioners of a “creative” profession, architects hover between science and art. As a result of this, the position of architectural schools within research universities is often unclear, debated and even questioned. In many cases throughout the world, this has led to a gradual or sudden change in the curriculum, transforming the school from a professional status into a more theoretical, scientifically oriented institute. I will return in a following chapter to this burgeoning dichotomy. For the moment it is important to elaborate on this tendency for universities to put almost exclusive confidence in technical rationality. 25

14 Simon, H., 1969, Administrative Behavior, Macmillan, New York.

Design Sciences

15 Schön, D.A., 1987, The Reflective Practitioner, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco.

In The Reflective Practitioner (1987) 15, Donald Schön rightly pointed out that in the early decades of the 20th century the professions sought to gain prestige by establishing their schools in universities, embodying the idea that practical knowledge becomes professional when its problem-solving instruments are grounded in systematic and scientific knowledge. It is recognized that at the modern university, there exists a hierarchy of knowledge, which starts with basic and fundamental science at the top, applied science in the middle, and technical skills at the bottom. This hierarchy reflects itself in the academic status of faculty. As a consequence, and to enhance their academic position, professional schools present themselves as sciencebased and align their research programs accordingly, risking a widening gap between what they are teaching and what the real world demands. The capacity for future-oriented reflection, for innovation and creativity, are not possible outside an action perspective. They are caught, according to Schön, between the prevailing idea of rigorous knowledge, based on technical rationality, and the awareness of indeterminate zones of practice that lie beyond its canons. To put it another way, how can top-down knowledge and bottom-up knowledge be reconciled, within a reflective context? The answer to this question is not merely epistemological, to be seen as a problem of either deductive or inductive learning processes, but goes back to the essence of professional practice, grounded in the field of tension between “technical” performance and “artistic” creation. It is exactly in that field of tension that every professional discipline grounds its own knowledge base. At issue is the difference between the use of scientific theory in practice and the creation of new knowledge through practice.

1

1.4



The Divorce of Art and Science

It is explained above how the ideas of the Enlightenment have led to a methodological separation of art and science, hence to a reduction of knowledge to rational thinking. Then over the past century, technology, as the product of scientific theory, has become the dominant agent in cultural evolution, a driving force and value-setting standard. Technology represents the collective notion of all knowledge, techniques, and realizations by which science finds it application. It has penetrated all levels of human existence and become an essential dimension of everyday life. Moreover, it has become a conditio sine qua non for existence. Today’s society would collapse without its technical framework of unprecedented complexity. Technology constantly models our society and changes 26

The Postmodern Paradox

“humanistic” thinking into “technical” thinking, in which functionalism and efficiency are the driving forces. In such a world, creativity is reduced to the act of perfect decisionmaking on purely rational grounds. Rational and logical thinking are opposed to intuition, which belongs to the realm of “artistry.” Intuition is an intriguing phenomenon but often dismissed as non-academic and non-scientific. In fact, intuition is a not-yet-conceptualized and not-yet-systematized form of knowledge. It is rooted in tradition and based on a combination of theory and practice. As we have seen, Postmodernism is questioning tradition, hence it is questioning intuition. Art and technology, together with religion, as the primary ways through which culture is adapted, are cut off from each other. Scientific investigation and research are so highly esteemed that the academy now considers its methods applicable even to art. In an earlier essay, “Creativity is Power” (1972) 16, I discussed at length how the discrepancy between art, science, and technology can be cancelled out, based on the assumption that both, in their methods as well as in their results, fail to show an absolute character, but complement each other in the way in which they approach reality. Art, science, and technology can all be seen as a means by which man can understand, intervene, change, model, and structure his environment. He can discover structures in the outside world and try to modify and restructure them. In fact, man is acting then as a “designing being,” whereby designing is defined as the activity of transforming human space into a new and structured reality. The creative moment, which C.A. Van Peursen, in his Informatie, een interdisciplinaire studie (1968) 17, called “the moment of inventiveness,” is essential to this process of structuring reality. This structuring, in both the technical and the artistic sense, provides for new insights and interpretations. On the one hand, a structure may emerge as a totality, without its individual elements recognized or even seen; on the other hand, a structure can be built from its analytical elements. Children’s drawings are good examples of the first, literature and mathematics of the second. But in both processes the principle of synergy is important, the fact that the whole is more than the sum of the parts. Bike-riding is a good illustration of this synergy. If you describe every part of a bike in extreme detail and add these descriptions together, you will by no means have produced an appropriate description of a bike. You have to start from scratch and consider the bike as a structured object with its own characteristics. Having done that, you may be able to explain the rationale behind bike-riding, but by no means would that explanation enable you to become a bike-rider. In other words, it is not by knowing the why that you master the how. You need to add the artistic dimension, the art of bike-riding. 27

16 Foqué, R.K.V., 1972, “Creativity is Power” in The Architectural Association Quarterly, nr. 4, London. 17 Van Peursen, C.A., 1968, Informatie, een interdisciplinaire studie, Het Spectrum, Utrecht, The Netherlands.

Design Sciences

18 Koestler, A., 1964, The Act of Creation, Hutchinson, London. 19 Hadamard, J., 1945, The Psychology of Invention in the Mathematical Field, Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey. 20 McLuhan, M., 1967, Understanding Media, Sphere Books Ltd., London; also 1994, Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 21 Van Peursen, C.A., 1968, Informatie, een interdisciplinaire studie, Het Spectrum, Utrecht, The Netherlands.

It is the synergy on the level of the parts that makes you understand the technological phenomenon of a bike; it is the synergy on the level of practice that makes bike-riding a complete human achievement, where product, process and use merge into a whole. The same leap of insight occurs when someone approaches a river, looks at a tree, and thinks that it would make a good boat. At that moment he is restructuring sets of data dealing with both knowing and acting, which interact with the situation in order to solve a problem. In this sense, creativity is a way to designate the ability to discover existing structures, invent new ones, and modify the old. Creativity is not only a measure for originality, but also an essential feature of human behavior — the unity of thought and action in a given situation, whereby the borderline between rationality and intuition disappears. Examples of this process with respect to science and art were described at length by Koestler in The Act of Creation (1964) 18. A problem arises, however, when this structuring activity is no longer used as an exploratory technique to understand the “real” world, but becomes reality an sich. It excludes personal choice and makes further exploration impossible. There is nothing left to discover; everything is put in place. With respect to that Jacques Hadamard, in The Psychology of Invention in the Mathematical Field (1945) 19, suggested that Greek geometry lost its creative impetus because of exaggerated structural visualization and an excessive use of diagrams. It seems that at this moment we are in a similar situation. The traditional scientific method is considered to be the only orthodox way of structuring reality. This belief is deeply built in into our educational system and hardly questioned. Traditional education still operates in the sphere of “what” rather than “how,” making learned knowledge increasingly obsolete in an ever faster-changing world. Can the way artists see reality provide some insight into this dilemma? “It was always the artists, who built the arks of Noah,” wrote McLuhan in Understanding Media (1967) 20. Hieronymus Bosch, in his Temptation of St. Anthony, integrated two colliding worlds: the Medieval world — flat, iconic, discontinuous, pious, and tradition-based — and the new world of the Renaissance — three-dimensional and based on new discoveries and humanistic thinking. Art has always been a place for conceptual thinking and holistic vision: the melting pot of reason and intuition. Intuitive thinking and rational thinking are not opponents; they are the twin poles between which the artist structures reality. “The way in which innovation functions is the basis for its restructuring character,” wrote C.A. Van Peursen (1968) 21. This corresponds

28

The Postmodern Paradox

to Thomas Kuhn’s concept of paradigm shifts, as propounded in The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1970) 22. A paradigm is an example of a general rule established by combining theory and practice. A shift of paradigm is the introduction of a new theory for which there is not yet a reference to a specific practice. In other words, there is no precedent. Innovation and renewal by their nature demand creativity and therefore must rely on a harmonious integration of art, science, and technology. Insight into their operational methods provides the space and means for the human being to become a designing being.

29

22 23 Kuhn, T., 1970, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

2

When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking. Albert Einstein, 1921, Nobel Prize in Physics

Chapter 2 Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

1

2.1



The Method of Scientific Inquiry

Scientific inquiry aims to establish objective truth regarding the world around us. Science is not only interested in a mere description of reality or in a quantifiable order of facts and data, but aims explicitly at understanding and explaining the phenomena that constitute our world. Science is constantly in search of the underlying principles and the connection between different sets of phenomena in order to be able to predict and control future behavior and effects. The scientific method tries to structure those findings into logically coherent and universal systems, called scientific theories. In the Classical tradition, this method is grounded in empiricism and the Cartesian principle of universal doubt. It has led to the well-known empirical cycle based upon five stages enumerated by Adriaan De Groot in Methodologie (1972) 23: •

Observation, where empirical facts are gathered and organized;

•

Induction, where hypotheses are formulated;

•

Deduction, where special consequences from these hypotheses are deduced in the form of testable predictions;

•

Testing, where the predictions are verified to be true or false;

•

Evaluation, where the results of the tests confirm or refute the hypotheses.

The distinction between observational recordings and the formulation of a hypothesis is in many cases unclear — and often difficult to maintain. The scientist usually has already formed a certain point of view regarding the problem under investigation. Thus, empirical data is collected according to 31

23 De Groot, A.D., 1972, Methodologie, Mouton & Co, The Hague, The Netherlands.

Design Sciences

24 Popper, K.R., 1959, The Logic of Scientific Discovery, Hutchinson, London. 25 Popper, K.R., 1963, Conjectures and Refutations: The Growth of Scientific Knowledge. Routledge, London.

criteria derived from that viewpoint. Therefore it is inevitable that during the observation stage hypotheses have already been introduced, however implicitly. According to Karl Popper’s The Logic of Scientific Discovery (1959) 24, pure facts are never available. All observation is theory-laden and is a function of both purely subjective factors, such as interests, expectations, wishes, and values and of what is objectively real. This assessment seriously questions the traditional empirical method: how to distinguish between facts and assumptions, between facts and ideas, and determine the point at which an assumption becomes a testable hypothesis. The scientist can work inductively or deductively. He can either try to systematically gather relevant data in order to formulate testable predictions, or he can try to formulate a hypothetical theory, which he can then try to verify by observational findings. The history of science gives examples of each: the systematic measurements by Newton, using Kepler’s and Tycho Brahe’s observations; the systematic descriptions and classifications by Darwin, leading to the Theory of Evolution; and the Theory of Relativity put forward by Einstein as a consistent theoretical system, explaining certain phenomena, which only later was validated by experiments and observations. Einstein’s approach starts from a problem to be solved rather than a series of observations, which require explanation. In Popper’s terms, this means that the scientist makes selective observations to test the extent to which a given theory can function as a satisfactory answer to an occurring problem. In that sense, Popper rejects the inductive method as the characteristic method of scientific inquiry. This leads to his Theory of Falsification: a theory is scientific if and only if it is refutable by a conceivable event. Every genuine test of a scientific theory is an attempt to refute or to falsify that theory, and one genuine contra-fact falsifies the whole theory, as Popper states in Conjectures and Refutations: The Growth of Scientific Knowledge (1963) 25. This is based on the paradox that stems from the relationship between verification and falsification: while it is logically impossible to conclusively verify a universal proposition by mere reference to experience, one single contra-fact weakens the corresponding universal theory to the level of rejection and completely discredits it. In other words, the exception does not prove the rule; it refutes it. In those terms “all knowledge is provisional, conjectural and hypothetical.” We can never prove our scientific theories, we can only confirm or refute them. Confronted with this dilemma, we can only eliminate those theories that are obviously false and accept the theories that remain unfalsified. This stresses the importance of critical thinking to science. It is only by thinking critically that we can eliminate false theories and trust that the best of those remaining have the highest explanatory capacity and predictive power. 32

Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

Popper’s theory on scientific inquiry is associated with the positivist approach to science and is still based on the pre-assumption that critical testing is possible at all — that there exist critical tests, which can either falsify a hypothesis or give it a strong measure of corroboration, given that the hypothesis is true until falsified by new facts. In that sense, science can be seen as an ongoing process, where definite results are never obtained, but our knowledge about the world nonetheless increases permanently through a constant process of conjectures, refutations, and verifications. Important here is the fact that the testing should be repeatable and universal, in other words, context-independent. It is only under those circumstances that a welldefined hypothesis can acquire the status of scientific theory. The engine of this process is the scientist: through his research, he seeks to constantly turn theories into more robust and consistent explanatory models of reality.

1

2.2



The Method of Artistic Inquiry

Where science aims at finding the truth, art is said to aim for beauty. In that sense, it is considered neither measurable nor able to be described in objective terms, but instead is tasked with generating an aesthetic experience. It should appeal to the different human senses, stimulate them while engaging them in a mind-expanding dialogue. The definitions of art in the specialized literature are numerous and often contradictory. But rather than trying to define art as a concept, it seems more relevant to try to answer the question of what art brings to the world, what is its meaning, and what is its purpose. At first glance, art seems to be contraindicative of one of the basic laws of nature: the desire for survival. Art seems to be in essence indifferent to the primary functional needs of the human being, and from that perspective it could even be characterized as afunctional. Nonetheless, examples of artistic expression have been found dating from the emergence of man, the wall paintings in the caves of Lascaux in the south of France dating back between 15,000 and 20,000 B.C. being good examples. They demonstrate a most significant aspect of human behavior, the need to express perception of the surrounding world and to communicate it with others. It distinguishes man from other species. The translation of experiences through communication media is an essential feature of art. Each art form uses the appropriate language of expression: drawing, painting, and sculpture in the fine arts; dance, music, and acting in the performing arts; and photography, cinematography, television, and animation in the visual arts. This dialogue between perception, 33

Design Sciences

26 Bachelard, G., 1968, The Philosophy of No: A Philosophy of the New Scientific Mind, Orion Press, New York. 27 Pallasmaa, J., 2007, “The Space of Time – Mental Time in Architecture” in The Antwerp Design Sciences Cahiers, Nr. 17, Henry Van de Velde College of Design Sciences, Antwerp.

self-expression, and communication is the essential cornerstone of artistic inquiry. Unlike the scientist, the artist does not try to answer the question of how the world is the way it is, but rather reflects upon reality and, through that reflection, questions it. Art does not provide answers; it poses questions. It holds up a mirror and solicits reaction. In The Philosophy of No: A Philosophy of the New Scientific Mind (1968) 26, Gaston Bachelard describes the development of scientific thinking as the progression of scientific thought from animism through realism, positivism, rationalism, and complex rationalism to dialectic rationalism. This is, in his view, the closed orbit of scientific thought: “The philosophical evolution of a special piece of scientific knowledge is a movement through all these doctrines in the order indicated”. Juhani Pallasmaa, in his “The Space of Time – Mental Time in Architecture” (2007) 27, rightly points out that artistic thinking aspires to develop in the opposite direction: “An artistic image works its way from the realist, rational, and analytical understanding back towards a mythical and animistic grasp of the world.” Therefore, Pallasmaa concludes, science and art move past each other in opposite directions along the same continuum: Whereas scientific thought progresses and differentiates, artistic thought seeks to return to a de-differentiated and experientially encompassing understanding of the world. Artistic imagination seeks expressions that are capable of mediating the entire complexity of human existential experience through singular images. Artistic inquiry deals with immeasurable parameters and intuitively-made decisions and by its own nature cannot be subject to verification or falsification. This is not because art does not produce hypotheses about the world. In fact, each work of art is a hypothesis per se, but because these hypotheses can never be true or false, right or wrong, they have to keep their status of hypothesis forever. This is the true meaning and only purpose of art. The artist makes a statement, takes a position, and by doing so puts it to the individual appreciation of the other. The work of art is the message conveyed to the spectator by a chosen medium. The receiver can accept or reject that message, go into a dialogue, or neglect it, but can never refute it on the basis of its being not true. Artistic hypotheses per se can never be true or false, right or wrong, as they are not guesses as to how the world works, but instead suggestions from the artist to the viewer of how the world might be perceived. In that sense the terms “right” or “wrong” are meaningless. By definition, the method of artistic inquiry transcends boundaries between disciplines. It sees the world as a whole of interrelated facts, ideas, 34

Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

and processes. The real artist juxtaposes these facts and ideas, interprets them and confronts them with his personal values and beliefs in an act of enlightened and liberating insight. In that sense, art belongs to the metaphysical, trying to produce “clarity” about the world by questioning reality and answering those questions with a synergetic hypothesis. This metaphysical dimension of art may explain why true art is also visionary. In Art & Physics (1991) 28, Leonard Shlain argued extensively that although the artist usually may not be well versed in scientific knowledge, images, metaphors, symbols and icons used in art have been found to presage thought patterns of a future scientific age not yet born. Shlain quoted the art critic Robert Hughes: “The truly significant work of art is the one that prepares the future. The essence of the avant-garde myth is that the artist is a precursor”. In the same sense, Marshall McLuhan in Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man (1967) 29, defined art as “advanced knowledge,” indicating its function of preparing the future. The fine arts — especially the development of painting in Western culture — provide ample evidence for this statement (but equally interesting examples can be found in music, literature, drama, and dance). Hieronymus Bosch painted a chaotic and pessimistic world, where all belief in human rationality had vanished. He was reacting against a world constantly at war, where the Medieval value system was disrupted and subject to an emerging humanism, but at the same time he demonstrated a deep insight into the human character. With a new kind of symbolism and the introduction of abstract concepts derived from a vocabulary of dreams and nightmares, he not only paved the way for the Surrealist movement in the 20th century, but also can be seen as a forerunner of psychoanalysis and Freud’s theory of the subconscious. Jan Vermeer and Rembrandt, the unsurpassed masters of light and shadow — the chiaroscuro, influenced by the work and technique of Caravaggio — brought painting almost as close to 20th century photographic techniques as possible, where the shadow of one color darkens another, and light and shadow demonstrate the personality of the portrayed character. In the late 18th and early 19th centuries, Turner, arguably one of the England’s most creative painters, spent his life searching for a way to transmit light on a piece of canvas. By doing so, he broke ground for the Pointillist movement, a style of painting in which small distinct points of primary colors create the illusion of a wide range of secondary colors. The technique relies on the ability of the human eye and mind to mix and combine the primary color dots into an almost infinite range of secondary 35

28 Shlain, L., 1991, Art & Physics, Harper Perennial, New York. 29 McLuhan, M., 1967, Understanding Media, Sphere Books Ltd., London; also 1994, Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Design Sciences

colors. Seurat and Signac, both living in the second half of the 19th century and the main protagonists of this technique, were in fact the forerunners of a technology nowadays commonly used in color television technology, in CRT and LCD screen technology and in inkjet-printers. At the beginning of the 20th century, Braque and Picasso, the founders of the Cubist movement, started to conceptually break down their objects, analyzing them by identifying the constituent elements and reassembling them in an abstract way. At the same time they were experimenting with recombining different sections and viewpoints of an object, producing not only an original and strange image, but also a new insight into reality. The same idea is behind today’s 3-D scanning technology. As a result, we can argue that the value of artistic inquiry is defined by the extent that it not only comments on the past and present, but that it predicts a possible future. It re-establishes the dichotomy between art and science and the role creativity plays in both.

30 Koestler, A., 1964, The Act of Creation, Hutchinson, London.

1

2.3



Creative Thinking

Despite the fact that the scientific method tries to be rigorous and exact, the criteria for what is a true fact are not always clear or evident, and the criteria for beauty are even more indistinct. The borderlines between art and science are in fact less well-defined than the contemporary scientist may be comfortable with. So the mathematician speaks about an “elegant” solution, the surgeon about an “aesthetic” operation, the theatre critic about “two-dimensional” characters, the computer artist about bits, pixels, gray-scales. Music, in fact, is the transformation of a mathematical equation into an aesthetic experience. In fact, as Arthur Koestler argued in The Act of Creation (1964) 30, there is a continuous gradient between science and art: from objective to subjective, from verifiable truth to aesthetic experience. This continuum leads from the hard sciences through medicine to the social sciences, from engineering through architecture and design to the performing and fine arts. The Renaissance recognized no boundary between art and science; they could only be conceived as one big continuum. The separation of science and art is a historically recent phenomenon, as we have argued above. This has led to the relegation of intuition and creativity to the arts, rational thinking and discovery to the sciences. It has led to the perceived 36

Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

incompatibility between function and form, utility and experience, necessity and luxury. The positivist approach to scientific thinking in relation to innovation and new discoveries has in the end confined creative thinking to the service of perfect decision-making on rational grounds, strictly following the rules and paradigms of scientific inquiry. But new discoveries in quantum physics and the construction of “virtual environments” in information technology have called this dualistic thinking into doubt. In The Hidden Order of Art (1970) 31, Anton Ehrenzweig rightly pointed out that in creative work there are no limiting rules. Creative work creates its own rules, which may only be known after the work is finished. This means that creative thinking always involves parameters unknown to the thinker; nonetheless he must be able to handle these parameters in order to achieve some precise outcome. Action painting, where, as the term indicates, the artist wishes to act rather than think about the underlying meaning of his painting, is a good example of this. At first glance, this seems to be a completely random process where, apart from the characteristics of the paint and the canvas involved, all parameters are unknown, and there are indeed no limiting rules. However, there are in fact moments of reflection throughout, as revealed by Jackson Pollock, commenting on his own method of working: namely, that after every series of actions he took, he stopped to reflect on these actions, which in turn led to new actions. The Constructivist movement, although at the other end of the modern art spectrum, uses in its turn unusual rules of geometry and calculus. Here too the artist submits himself to a partly unknown world of interrelated parameters, which seems to have no relation with the reality he wants to produce and the form he wants to give to it. Only in and during the progression of his work is the hidden structure revealed as a whole. Edward De Bono, among others, noted in Lateral Thinking: Creativity Step by Step (1970) 32, that a creative process is directly related to the mechanisms of the thinking brain. He introduced the term “lateral thinking”: activity concerned with the choice of the most appropriate steps out of a multitude of possibilities. The search is not for a definite solution, but for a policy of behavior that is more effective than others. In their Creative Synthesis in Design (1964) 33, John Alger and Carl Hays defined creativity as the ability to choose the right series of actions from a number of alternatives, which cannot be evaluated beforehand but are original and effective. These observations lead us to a first conclusion: a creative process is not based on intuition alone, but can only exist when intuitive action is supported and complemented by reflective thinking. I will call this “the creative moment” — the moment where the walls between rational and intuitive thinking disappear and give way to new insight. Through this 37

31 Ehrenzweig, A., 1970, The Hidden Order of Art, Paladin, London. 32 De Bono, E., 1970, Lateral Thinking: Creativity Step by Step, Harper & Row, London. 33 Alger, J. and Hays C., 1964, Creative Synthesis in Design, Prentice Hall, New York.

Design Sciences

34 McKinnon, D.W., 1970, “Creativity, a Multi-faceted Phenomenon”, in Creativity, a Discussion at the Nobel Conference, (Ed. Roslansky), StockholmAmsterdam.

process, new discoveries are made and novelty is created, in both art and in science. Gutenberg invented the printing press by intuitively combining his rational observations of the signet ring, the process of coin minting, and the winepress. In the same way, Keppler combined astronomy and physics. In all these processes, intelligence and creativity complement each other: the first by stating the problem on an abstract level, the latter by collecting evidence from personal experience and applying it to the first. During the creative process, there is a constant confrontation between the abstract and the concrete, between the known and the unknown, between the familiar and the alien. During the creative process, the left side of the brain (primarily tasked with aspects of problem-solving) works together with the right side of the brain (considered the locus of innovation, discovery, and art), hence aspects of problem solving are more related to the left side and innovation, discovery and art more to the right part. The process is aimed at finding and is therefore a cornerstone of heuristics. Crucial in that process is the discovery of the secret analogy or the connecting switch, which bridges the gap between the two parts, creating a new neurological pattern. I will call these new patterns mind-networks, systems of neurological interconnections, which emerge suddenly without any rational evidence or explanation, but which are able to produce novelty in one or another form, from scientific breakthroughs to innovative technological applications, from a virtuoso performance to the creation of a revolutionary work of art. The process of incubation, which keeps the problem under investigation permanently on the subconscious agenda even when the mind is occupied by totally other ones, seems crucial for building these mind-networks. Within this context, intuition can be seen as a thinking activity, which happens at a relatively low level of explicitly conscious reasoning, where rational thinking would refer to the other extreme of the scale. They are two aspects of the same creative process, the two poles between which that process can evolve. A creative person, according to Donald McKinnon, in “Creativity, a Multi-faceted Phenomenon”, (1970) 34, is the one who reconciles in his intellectual endeavors the opposites of expert knowledge and the childlike wonder of naïve and fresh perception. Fig. 1.2.1 illustrates how the creative process proceeds between these dual polarities. Three phases can be distinguished, and each is characterized by its typical fluctuation on the rational-intuitive scale. Phase 1: Initiation and Preparation. The aim is to familiarize oneself with the problem under investigation. It is thoroughly studied, and serious and systematic work is done on searching for a solution, supposing it will be easily found; but not much

38

1.2.1

The Creative Process in Time

Phase 1 Initiation –  Preparation rational thinking

Phase 2 Incubation intuitive thinking

Eureka Moment Phase 3 Consolidation rational thinking

intuitive thinking

Design Sciences

35 Florida, R., 2002, The Rise of the Creative Class, Basic Books, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

progress is made. Thinking here takes place on a strong and increasing rational level. The left side of the brain is fully activated. Phase 2: Incubation. The problem is off the conscious agenda. The right side of the brain takes over and thinking becomes strongly intuitive; creative mind-networks are being constructed. The end of this phase is characterized by a moment of recognition of the solution: with reference to Aristotle in his bathtub, we will call it the “Eureka point”. Phase 3: Consolidation. The solution is elaborated, verified, tested and applied. Right and left sides of the brain work together along an established mind-network. During this phase equilibrium is reached on the rational-intuitive scale, and the mind completes the creative process. Most scholars in the field agree that a creative mind works in a multidimensional and experiential way. A wide spread of experiences and the ability to look at situations from diverse perspectives is recognized as the trigger for creative solutions. Richard Florida points out in The Rise of the Creative Class (2002) 35, that “the varied forms of creativity that we typically see as different from one another — technical creativity (or invention), economic creativity (or entrepreneurship) and artistic and cultural creativity, among others — are in fact deeply interrelated”. This is clearly not coincidental, and history proves that periods of technological innovation go hand in hand with breakthroughs in art and a rich cultural life, embedded within a prosperous and stable political climate. Moreover scholars, scientists, and artists seem to be attracted to certain centers of creativity: Rome in antiquity, Bruges in the Middle Ages, Florence during the Renaissance, Antwerp in the 16th century, Amsterdam in the 17th, Paris in the 18th, Vienna in the 19th century, the U.S. during the second half of the 20th century, along with new centers in Asia, the Middle East, and South America emerging today. More than ever in recent history, we see that architecture and design, recognized as the creative professions par excellence, are shaping everyday life. They are no longer exclusive to the wealthy class but recognized by the man in the street as important and enriching, and thus have gained economic value and status. This development points to a major shift in human evolution, comparable to the transition from a nomadic culture to a sedentary one, from an agricultural and craft society to an industrial one, and from the Industrial to the Information Age. Florida calls it the rise of the creative class in his book of the same name: the emergence of the creative economy, where knowledge and information are the tools and materials of creativity. 40

Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

1

2.4



The Method of Design Inquiry

More than ever before, we live in a man-made world, at a point in history where that man-made world challenges the natural world and comes into conflict with it. This puts great responsibility on mankind. Although science’s primary mission is to investigate the hidden mechanisms of the natural world, trying to understand their workings and behavior, at the same time it aims to control nature to improve the prospects of mankind’s survival. Here technology comes in, or what are commonly referred to as the applied or engineering sciences. Applied scientific research starts where the fundamental scientific inquiry ends. Using an established scientific theory, possible applications are developed. These are the engines of technological innovation through which the man-made world emerges. Starting from a technological hypothesis, based on a scientific theory, prototypes are developed and tested — not in the sense of true or false but on the level of rational applicability. Does it work? Can it be used and in which way? What are the effects? Can it be made or produced and at what cost? Are there ethical concerns? These are the kinds of questions underlying applied sciences. Engineers call it the verification process. If the answers prove positive, the technological hypothesis may be realized and becomes part of the man-made world. At first glance, there seems to be a great analogy between applied research and the research activity within a design context, but a closer look uncovers some fundamental differences. Design thinking is per se innovative, heuristic, and experimental, driven by empathy and focused on problem-solving. It essentially deals with problems with multiple stakeholders and fuzzy boundaries, and where the solution is found between disciplines. Therefore designers should bring to the table a broad, multi-disciplinary spectrum of ideas from which to draw inspiration. Definitions of design are numerous, varied, many-sided, and divergent. But they all agree that designing has to do with a course of actions and decision-making that aims to solve an acknowledged problem. From a methodological standpoint, I will use the definition put forward by Herbert Simon in The Sciences of the Artificial, (1996) 36, where he defined design as every course of action aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones and conceiving artifacts to enable such changes. Therefore, Simon argued, every designer should ask: “Which of the worlds that can be designed is the best one?” This seemingly empirical question, governed by the laws of scientific inquiry, raises fundamental issues related to the underlying 41

36 Simon, H., 1996, The Sciences of the Artificial, 3rd Ed., MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Design Sciences

37 Dewey, J., 1923, Democracy and Education, The Macmillan Company, New York. 38 Putnam, H., 1995, Pragmatism: an Open Question, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, England, and Cambridge, Massachusetts. 39 Foqué, R.G.M.E., 1998, “Global Governance and the Rule of Law” in International Law, Theory and Practice, (Ed. K. Wellens), Kluwer Law International, Amsterdam.

societal value system in which the designer operates, along with his own ethical beliefs. It also points to methodological differences: if the essence of designing is the search itself for a “best” solution, it obeys not only the laws of scientific inquiry but also the logic of heuristic thinking. As we have seen, scientific research is based on the testing of a hypothesis put forward in the form of an explanatory model. In art, testing a so-called hypothesis is senseless, as argued above. The essence of the design inquiry, on the other hand, aims to develop in parallel as many hypotheses as possible, not on the basis of exploratory models but of exploring ones, models with probing capacity. Testing seeks to identify the most desirable result. It is at the same time an optimizing, judging, and subjective activity. In scientific inquiry, testing is based on verification. The results should be objective, repeatable, and universal. In design inquiry, testing is based on both verification and appreciation. It is subjective, essentially contextual, and therefore not repeatable. It is essential in the process of design inquiry that the hidden theoretical and ideological framework of assumptions and premises, on which decisions are based, is made explicit. This is not to say that it should be a general metaphysical analysis, but it should make transparent how the specific design beliefs are determining the normative knowledge about the physical world and how this physical world should be organized. As a process, it refers to the process of pragmatic thinking put forward by John Dewey in his Democracy and Education (1923) 37, and later by Hilary Putnam in his Pragmatism: an Open Question (1995) 38. Pragmatic thinking reflects a unity of the process of learning and experience, of conceptual thought and situational consciousness. It is based on a backward and forward connection between what we do to things and what we enjoy or suffer in consequence. Under such conditions, doing becomes trying: a kind of experiment to find out what the world is like and what it should be. It is per se heuristic, as the purpose is to discover at the same time the existing connection between things and the possibilities of connection. Such an approach involves the use of argumentative and rhetorical means as a necessary precondition, analogous to global governance, as maintained by René Foqué in “Global Governance and the Rule of Law” (1998) 39. Within this context, rhetoric and argumentation are not to be seen as mere skills or techniques of persuasion but as necessary components of a pragmatic approach to looking for the best design solution. Testing design hypotheses is therefore inextricably bound up with the ethical normative framework of society and with its epistemological principles. As a consequence, design 42

Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

relies on the methodologies of both science and art. Understanding how they interact within a design process is crucial for understanding its role in solving socio-economic problems and issues in an innovative way. Moreover, as I have argued in “On the True Meaning of Research by Design” (2001) 40, an instance of testing is necessarily conducted within a strongly determined context, consisting of physical and non-physical elements: nonphysical due to the formal, legal, and historical elements surrounding the test and physical because every design inquiry is related to the constraints and characteristics of a physical environment, be they real, virtual, or imaginary. For the test to be replicable, all of these elements must be held constant. The temporal nature and the uniqueness of the test itself make this impossible. Moreover, putting the design hypothesis to the test in itself changes the context. Therefore the test will never be repeatable. A striking analogy can be found in developments within quantum physics, where the results of a scientific experiment directly depend on the way the experiment is designed and the research methods that are used. In his revolutionary work on chaos theory Ilya Prigogine (1985) 41, introduced the concept of coincidence. His chaos theory assumes that dissipative systems — systems that remain in a high state of unbalance as energy is constantly added — will themselves structure this condition of chaos. According to Prigogine, this process aimed at reaching a certain level of organization is entirely based on coincidence and is irreversible. As we will argue in the next chapter, design can be defined as an attempt to structure the environment, following the law of dissipative systems. In this sense, design inquiry consists of determining which elements constitute the design context and which structural patterns determine its cohesion. Therefore it will always fluctuate between the analysis of objectively perceptible facts and the weighing of subjective value judgments. This is where the notion of creativity comes in. The analysis of creative processes makes it clear that they occur in the zone between unconscious intuition and rational thinking, allowing the designer to propose original solutions to a given problem.

43

40 Foqué, R.K.V., 2001a, “On the True Meaning of Research by Design” in Proceedings of the International Conference on Research by Design, Delft University Press, Delft, The Netherlands. 41 Prigogine, I. and Stengers, I. 1985. Orde uit Chaos, Bert Bakker, Amsterdam.

1.2.2

Scientific Research, Research by Design, and Artistic Production Compared and Applied

the existing world

Scientific Research

Research by Design

Artistic Production

How Things Are

How Things Could Be

How I See Things

Observation Facts

Observation Facts Visions Beliefs

Observation Facts Visions Beliefs Reflection Interpretation Expression

One Hypothesis Explanatory Model

Multiple Hypotheses Exploring Models

Individual Hypothesis Questioning Model

Testing True or False Verification Objective Repetitive Universal Cause-Effect

Testing Most Desirable Verification and Application Subjective Unique and Not Repeatable Contextual Coincidental

Testing Pointless Individual Synergetic Questioning Confronting Visionary Communicative

Scientific Theory Static

Hypotheses In Actions Dynamic

Hypothesis Perpetual

Reality Explained

Reality Changed

Reality Questioned

Applied Scientific Research

Design by Research

Art

Technological Application

Design Application

Artistic Interpretation

the future world

Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

1

2.5



Research by Design

The creation of novelty and, combined with it, the ordering of the environment in Prigoginian terms are the keys to understanding the process of design inquiry and the grounding for what I will call “research by design,” opposed as it is to traditional scientific research, which is mainly based on empiricism, analysis, and deduction. Therefore, research by design constitutes a heuristic activity par excellence. Heuristics deals precisely with the discovery of something new by means of a methodological system. The heuristic method is based on hypotheses in action. This means that a design hypothesis can be adapted, converted, adjusted, and replaced during the testing without being deemed true or false. This is the reason why several hypotheses can exist next to each other at the same time. While scientific inquiry tries to answer the question how things are, design inquiry tries to answer the question how things could be. Both challenge the physical world. Art, on the contrary, transforms reality by giving it new meaning, raising the physical to the metaphysical. A close comparison between pure scientific research, research by design, and the method of artistic inquiry, what we will analogously call “research by art,” shows that the concepts of contextuality, coincidence, and pragmatic thinking are essential in a world that does not merely exist, but is at the same time in a continuous process of being created. In this process, research by design is an essential cornerstone, as it conceives possible realities, investigates their desirability, changes the existing reality by implementing a new one, and evaluates the resultant reality. This implies that the design activity is equally subject to the method of artistic inquiry. Design indeed relies on the methods of both science and art, and from there derives its own methodology. While science tries to explain the world, art questions reality and tries to answer the very personal question, “How do I see and perceive that world?” Art-based research is based on observation, vision, values, beliefs, reflection, interpretation, experience, and expression, all at the same time. It leads to an individual hypothesis about the world, based on a questioning model and impervious to testing. It is a “forever” hypothesis — questioning, synergetic, confronting, visionary, and communicative. Research by design tries to explore and change the world, and by doing so, tries to gain knowledge about how man analyzes and explores the 45

Design Sciences

world and brings it into culture: how we create a man-made world. It does so by creating design applications, relying on technological knowledge and artistic interpretation (Fig. 1.2.2).

42 McLuhan, M., 1967, Understanding Media, Sphere Books Ltd., London; also 1994, Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

1

2.6



A New University Model

The above analysis gives rise to rethinking the classical university model. In Understanding Media 42, McLuhan wrote that Gutenberg had been the father of all assembly lines, meaning that at the moment the printing press was invented, the Industrial Revolution emerged. From that moment, mass products began to conquer the world, leading to a centralized and globalized world. Repetition, homogeneity and the succession of cause and effect have since become the keys to understand a world that is essentially mechanistic, as we have outlined above. Our current educational models are indebted to that world and deeply rooted in it. That mechanistic world has led to specialization and standardization, with increasingly competitive behavior as a consequence. As a matter of fact, competition is still the driving and motivating force in education. Evaluation and grading systems, the admissions process to higher education, and the awarding of grants, for example, are based on it. As in the old mechanical production methods, where materials were pressed in designed molds, students are considered as objects that can be molded and trained in preconceived educational programs. In the traditional sense, education and training mean unilateral information transfer. It is evident that this model is no longer tenable in a world based on information technology and creative thinking. Division, specialization, and uniformity will be replaced by totality, diversity, and extreme engagement. A society and an environment are being created that become information itself. This means that emphasis will no longer be on training, but on discovering. The teacher of the future will be less occupied with information transfer and more on creating the best possible study environments. Therefore, the responsibility for the effectiveness of education will shift from the students to the faculty. Information technology will bring about a new type of student: the “shopping student”, who is constantly seeking individualized packages of information in a global university supermarket. Packages will be tailored to the aims and goals set by the individual student to benefit a professional future and possible career. Ultimately, this may lead to the disappearance 46

Science, Art and Design: A Methodological Comparison

of the traditional diplomas, degrees, and educational structures in general. Students will move freely throughout the educational landscape. Motivation will come from the learning experience itself, and the classical boundaries between subjects and disciplines may become nonexistent. Education, training, and work will become elements of the same process. As a result, the role of universities will change drastically. Gradually, they will become research centers, instead of educational institutions, and university students will become research assistants. As a result, the gap between professional education and academic education will become not only wider but also fundamentally different. The former will reproduce the knowledge that the latter will be producing: universities as actors of innovation and discovery, engines of change. Change will become the steady state of society, instant and global. Basic concepts of right or wrong, real or fiction, true or false, will lose their meaning. Society, on its way to lose its own history as the collective memory, will be permanently rewritten in an almost perverse manner. We are touching the paradox of a world based on global information technology. Uniformity and integration of macro systems on a meta-level will lead toward what McLuhan called “tribalization of the culture; discontinuous kaleidoscopic, parallel and instant.” The film oeuvre of David Lynch is an example of this. There is no story line: he is creating worlds of simultaneous happenings, of everything at the same time in parallel universes: worlds ruled by chance, without any logical relations between events, worlds in a permanent state of coming into being. This analysis confronts us with one of the major challenges for coming generations: to build an intellectual culture based on reevaluating the existence of a consistent ethical value system. Investing in intellectual capital will be absolutely necessary to provide the coming decades with a sustainable and affluent community. To date, the focus has been placed on science and technology as the primary agents for change. We have seen that we are moving toward a new creativity-based socio-economic model. Such a model can only be put into practice when it values critical thinking. Emphasis should be placed on the development of creative and design industries. Design in the next decade will move beyond the product, beyond the workflow; it will deal with total processes, entire environments, and global experiences, creating added value and synergy. In such a context, architects and designers can play an important role, as they are trained to analyze and understand the present and, from there, formulate possible futures. 47

3

One can envisage a future in which our main interest in both science and design will lie in what they teach us about the world and not in what they allow us to do to the world. Design like science is a tool for understanding as well as for acting. Herbert Simon, 1978, Nobel Prize in Economics

Chapter 3 The Nature of Design Activity

1

3.1



The Emergence of a Design Discipline

It is only since the beginning of the 20th century that design, with the exception of the architectural profession, has been slowly raised to a professional discipline from its prior position somewhere between the arts and crafts. It was the Industrial Revolution and the emergence of mass production that triggered the need for well thought-out products, as the economic penalty for ill-considered production became very high. At the same time, human scale as the measure for all things was being replaced by the “machine scale”, thus introducing new fabrication methods and new forms. The “Machine Age” was asking, so to speak, for a new esthetic approach, a reconsideration of the notion of “beauty.” In Industrial Design Heute (1966) 43, Wilhelm Braun-Feldweg argued very clearly that in the Arts and Crafts Movement, led by John Ruskin and William Morris, this is exactly what was at stake. They strongly opposed a so-called “art industry,” which tried to profit by reproducing traditional style elements by industrial production. Therefore they preached the return to the craft tradition and the authenticity of the craft form. The emergence of Jugendstil and Art Nouveau has to be considered within that context. Eminent representatives of that period such as Peter Behrens, Otto Eckman, Bernard Pankok, Richard Riemerschmid, Otto Wagner and Henry Van de Velde were, in their early work, still strongly influenced by the theories of Ruskin and Morris, but they rather rapidly started to recognize function as a form-determining parameter. They started to advocate a new approach to art and design, and by doing so they were to become the founding fathers of the Modern Movement in design. Their new approach was based on two main principles: 49

43 Braun-Feldweg, W., 1966, Industrial Design Heute, Rowohlt, Hamburg.

Design Sciences

1

A new functional relationship between art and society, adjusted to “the emergence of the new modern man” and his technical achievements;

2

An avant-garde art, which should be able to change social structure in an active way.

At the same time, they pleaded for a return to the typical craft situation, where designer, maker, and user were strongly interconnected. But unlike Ruskin and Morris, they embedded their vision within the new industrial society. The most significant of their contributions may be their definitive liberation of art and architecture from traditional methods, techniques, and representations by linking the creation of form to a socio-cultural functionality. They replaced “l’art pour l’art” with art grounded in a social reality, thus paving the way for Walter Gropius and the Bauhaus. But it was only after the Second World War that design definitely gained professional status. The Hochschule für Gestaltung in Ulm, Germany, founded in 1954 by Max Bill, a former Bauhaus graduate, played a major role in that process.

1

3.2



In Search of a Design Theoretical Framework

Although the necessity of good design is now generally accepted as a prerequisite for innovation and economic growth, it has yet to develop a coherent knowledge base along with a methodological frame of reference. I can see three important reasons for this: 1

Design activity has always been considered as an individual act, based on intuitive thinking, where the artistic dimension is important and still prevailing;

2

Methodological critique is made impossible by the absence of a reflective moment, through which questions about the deeper meaning of design decisions could be asked.

3

The essentially interdisciplinary character of design, through which it cannot be classified or fitted into the traditional disciplinary typology.

50

The Nature of Design Activity

All three reasons are interrelated and are highly determined by the development of Western thinking since Descartes, as already noted. Crucial here is the duality between the acting and thinking subject, in this case the designer and the object of his activity, the design produced. This thinking supports the idea that the content of design activity is defined by a certain quest, an exploration of the “true character” of it. It sustains the view that this activity possesses a character of its own, which manifests itself to the designer during the process of designing. The notion that the essence of design is in the doing may be the primary reason why a useful ad hoc terminology is still missing. The designer indeed has no common, precise, and consistent language with which to communicate about his activities and question them through logical discourse. From a cultural and historical standpoint, there has apparently been no need for it, as all polemic discussion regarding, for instance, architectural quality have always been carried out on the level of visual design results, rarely on the level of the underlying process. Attempts to form a more “scientific” approach have been limited to inquiries into the theory of form, color, composition, style, art history, building technology, and physics. Even the intensive efforts by the Bauhaus to formulate the basis for a global and coherent “Gestaltungstheorie” have not overcome this mindset. Central to the Bauhaus philosophy was the concept of “the project.” It was seen as the integration of hitherto irreconcilable dualisms: art and technology, technology and science, the abstract and the concrete, conceptual thinking and hands-on experience, the individual and the society. From this, the Bauhaus distilled new design concepts and interpretations regarding space and form, function and material, and new production methods, contextually embedded in a social-political value system. Nonetheless, these honest attempts never moved past a certain fogginess, typical for a discourse still hovering between a romantic “hineininterpretieren” and an immature desire for rationality in a domain still dominated by an eroded academism. Statements by Walter Gropius (1935) 44 are illustrative in that respect: It is now becoming widely recognized that although the outward forms of the new architecture differ fundamentally in an organic sense from those of the old, they are not the personal whims of a handful of architects avid for innovation at all cost, but simply the inevitable logical product of the intellectual, social and technical conditions of our age, [and further] We are returning to honesty of thought and feeling. It was only in 1962, at the first conference on design methods in London (1963) 45, that a serious concern was raised about the absence of a coherent 51

44 Gropius, W., 1935, The New Architecture and the Bauhaus, Faber and Faber, London. 45 Jones, J., and Thornley, D., 1963, Conference on Design Methods, Pergamon Press, London.

Design Sciences

46 Alexander, C., 1964, Notes on the Synthesis of Form, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Alexander, C., 1979, A Timeless Way of Building, Oxford University Press, New York. 47 Broadbent, G., 1973, Design in Architecture, John Wiley & Sons, London and New York. 48 Gregory, S., 1966, The Design Method, Butterworths, London. 49 Jones, J., 1970, Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future, John Wiley & Sons, New York. 50 Lawson, B., 1980, How Designers Think, The Architectural Press Ltd., London. 51 Akin, O., 2006, A Cartesian Approach to Design Rationality, Meta University Press, Ankara. 52 Buchanan, R., and Margolin, V. (Eds.), 1995, Discovering Design: Explorations in Design Studies, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

theoretical framework that described the design activity. Since then, serious attempts have been made to establish a consistent design theory. The work and writings by Christopher Alexander (1964 and 1979) 46, Geoffrey Broadbent (1973) 47, S.A. Gregory (1966) 48, John Chris Jones (1970) 49, Bryan Lawson (1980) 50, among many others, are examples of such attempts. More recently, there have been contributions by Omer Akin (2006) 51, Richard Buchanan (1995) 52, Nigel Cross (2001, 2006) 53, and C. Thomas Mitchell (1993, 1996) 54, A comparative study shows that there still exists a great diversity in definitions and approaches, characterized by: •

A kaleidoscopically wide variety of viewpoints;

•

A personal and often hermetic approach by each individual author;

•

The use of borrowed terminology and jargon from other disciplines such as engineering design, operational research, decision theory, information theory, and the social sciences;

•

An often extreme tendency towards theorizing and abstraction, alienated from an appropriate practical context.

With these diverse approaches, the noun “design” becomes overused, leading even more into indistinctness and fuzziness. “Design” is used at the same time to point to a drawing, a concept, a plan, and a visual representation, as well as to the end product of such a drawing, concept, or plan. It is used to refer to visual form and at the same time to what that form represents, or even to the intentions and motivation of the designer. A notion that tries to cover everything covers nothing: it empties itself and becomes meaningless. This first diagnosis, however, ignores the fact that a variety of interconnected interpretations imply a variety of possible functions of that notion, whereby the context wherein it is used is essential to understanding it. According to Jones (1970) 55, this variety can give an indication of how to cope with the seemingly growing inability of designers to deal with more and more complex environments: In getting away from drawing and from the conventional ways of thinking about design, the theorists may together have produced the very thing that is needed to overcome the weakness of traditional designing, that ‘thing’ being variety itself, a greater variety than that which exists in the experience and expertise of any one designer, of any one design profession or, for that matter, of any one design theorist.

52

The Nature of Design Activity

What Jones does not acknowledge is the fact that the defined conceptual frameworks — Alexander is an example — are used not only in a descriptive or explanatory way but also in an argumentative way to argue in their own favor. This dangerous ambiguity further weakens the usefulness of the developed theory. These examples show the very individualistic, central, and autarchic character of the design activity, rooted in the above-mentioned dichotomy between subject and object. It is clear that the designer has put himself in a situation defined by a strongly interrelated connection: design activity and theory formulation. From that central and autonomous position, the designer not only designs in an act of “creative force”, but is also at the same time de facto setting his own criteria for the ultimate design. It is clear that this position is no longer tenable. Jean Baudrillard in Le Système des Objets (1968) 56 has pointed out that we need a renewed insight into the meaning of form: form as a representation of culture, a medium by which man communicates with his environment. Form is a direct criticism of a too narrowly understood functionalism and transcends the Bauhaus philosophy: it is more than just packaging but has an equally symbolic value, rooted in cultural values. Form does not automatically follow function, but rather emerges out of the interaction between the end product of the design, the environment, and the user. It is the last one who, by using the designed product, gives a functional meaning to the form. In Baudrillard’s view, designing is an activity of giving things meaning instead of form. As a consequence, the design process should be seen as an openended communication system between designer and environment. The interpretation of our socio-cultural environment, both on the pragmatic and the semantic level, is essential to the establishment of new design codes. These codes should be “depersonalized” and “open,” with a high semantic capacity; they should enable us to see the particular structural approaches (designs) as possibilities rather than as a priori given facts. The designer should use one hand to refer to a world outside himself, and the other to question that world and steer it in new directions. This puts a great responsibility on the designer’s shoulders: the interpretation of culture itself is at stake, but also the understanding of his own mind and its contextual relationships. The individual and cultural value-standards used must be made explicit and transparent. What emerges is an important triangular relationship that underlies the design process: the relationships between designer, designed product, and the design context. A closer investigation of that relationship may give

53

53 Cross, N., 2001, Engineering Design Methods: Strategies for Product Design, John Wiley & Sons, New York. Cross, N., 2006, Designerly Ways of Knowing, SpringerVerlag Ltd., London. 54 Mitchel, C., 1993, Redefining Designing: from Form to Experience, Van Nostrand Reinhold, New York. Mitchel, C., 1996, New Thinking in Design: Conversations on Theory and Practice, Van Nostrand Reinhold, New York. 55 Ibid. 56 Baudrillard, J., 1968, Le Système des Objets, Gallimard, Paris.

Design Sciences

us more insight into how to build a coherent design theoretical framework in which a knowledge base can be developed and supported.

57 Esherick, J., 1963, “Problems of the Design of a Design System” in Conference on Design Methods, (Eds. Jones and Thornley), Pergamon Press, London. 58 Foqué, R.K.V., 1975, Ontwerpsystemen, Het Spectrum, Utrecht, The Netherlands, and Antwerp.

1

3.3



Aspects of a Contextual Design Model

Joseph Esherick once said, in “Problems of the Design of a Design System” (1963) 57: “If science is engaged in knowledge, design is engaged in action”. This action aims to introduce purposeful change into the environment, but by doing so confronts itself with a changed environment. The insertion of change into the environment by the designer, the consequently changed design context, and the interplay between these two actions are fundamental for a dynamic open process. They highlight the importance of the triangular relationships between designer, product and context, and the cybernetic character of it. In an earlier reflection on the design activity, in Ontwerpsystemen, (1975) 58, I argued that designing develops along three main moments (Fig. 1.3.1): 1

A Structuring Moment

2

A Creative Moment

3

A Communicative Moment

These moments do not exist in isolation, nor do they happen sequentially as the design process proceeds. They should not be seen as phases of that process, but rather its driving forces. In light of the above analysis, it seems important to have a closer look at these three elements of the design process.



3.3.1



Design as a Structuring Activity

The notion of structure has a wide variety of contextually determined meanings. We speak about the structure of the human body, the structure of a musical composition, molecular structure, political or societal structure, and family structure, but we may also use it to refer to a built object, a sculpture, an abstract artwork, etc. What they have in common is that there is always a certain degree of ordering involved. To identify something as 54

1.3.1

Design Activity Characterized by Three Main Moments

Structuring Moment

Communicative Moment

Creative Moment

1.3.2

Phases In Cultural Development

Middle Ages

Renaissance

19th & 20th Centuries

Mythical Phase

Ontological Phase

Functional Phase

Structure a priori given

Structure to be analysed

Structure as a system of relationships

Phenomena must fit

Phenomena are individual building blocks

Phenomena are interacting

Mythical : Unconsiously synthesizing character

Atomistic : Explicitly analyzing character

Systemic: Explicity synergetic character

Communal

Individual

Contextual

Design Sciences

59 Van Peursen, C.A., 1968, Informatie, een interdisciplinaire studie, Het Spectrum, Utrecht, The Netherlands.

a structure implies that we have recognized one or more forms of order: a pattern, a clear-cut and permanent relationship between the elements of a greater whole. The way the human being experiences the outside world, reflects on it, and acts in it is an essentially structuring activity. It is not only a way of understanding, knowing, and recognizing the “existing” structure in that outside world, but is at the same time an organizing principle regarding that world in the epistemological sense. A structuring moment is that moment where these two aspects are unified in a new synthesis. Structure, as such, is recognized as an existing fact and reordered as a future possibility. Structure can be manifested in different ways. It may appear as a spontaneous whole before we have identified the elements: children’s drawings are a good example. On the other hand, we can compose a structure in a very conscious way out of individual elements. To achieve that, we use metastructures such as language, mathematics, and musical theory. C.A. Van Peursen’s analysis of the cultural development of mankind in Informatie, een interdisciplinaire studie (1968) 59 put this process in a more universal perspective. He distinguished three primary phases (Fig. 1.3.2): 1

The Mythical Phase, where the human being is surrounded by supernatural powers; he is immersed in a world, which he is unable to understand, so cannot master.

2

The Ontological Phase, where man is no longer a part of that mythical world but has put distance between it and himself in an attempt to understand and master it.

3

The Functional Phase, where man is engaged and participating in that world, developing relationships with it, and reflection on these relationships becomes an essential tool for functioning as a human being.

By applying these three phases to scientific evolution, three kinds of structuring moments may be defined. From antiquity through the Middle Ages, we see that scientific discoveries, new observations, and insights were considered elements to be put into an overall total, static and unchanging framework. It was an a priori structure of mythical-religious-philosophical proportions, in which all empirical phenomena had to fit or be made to fit, and where the individual importance of a single phenomenon was irrelevant. Within such a world view, the structuring moment was only present in an implicit way, and could be described as an unconscious synthesizing occurrence. 56

The Nature of Design Activity

This view was completely overthrown during the Renaissance, when Galileo Galilei and, later, Isaac Newton laid the foundations of modern science. “Newtonian” thinking implies a world where everything can be divided into parts, elements, and particles. The goal of every scientist was the search for the elementary building blocks of the universe. The world of Newton is a world of linear processes, where everything can be described in an unambiguous way — logical, coherent, and systematic. It is a world of cause and effect. Arthur Koestler, in The Sleepwalkers (1959) 60, rightly pointed out that the real reason for Galileo’s collision with Rome had to be found within this context. The astronomical discoveries by Galileo were by no means new at that time. Nicolaus Copernicus and Johannes Kepler had made the same discoveries of how our solar system really worked: that the earth travels around the sun, not the other way around; that the earth is not the centre of the universe. The difference was that in their writings they had successfully fit the heliocentric theory into the prevailing biblical framework, the a priori structured world view, which was not to be questioned. Copernicus did this in his De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium (1543) 61 and Kepler in Mysterium Cosmographicum (1596), in which he claimed to have experienced an epiphany concerning the mysteries of the universe, and also in his breakthrough works Astronomia Nova and Harmonice Mundi (1609, 1619) 62, where he stated that “the geometrical things have provided the creator with the model for decorating the whole world.” Copernicus and Kepler were adhering to the mythical world view of the time. Not Galileo. He used mathematical models and quantitative experiments to prove his hypotheses, questioning his own beliefs and changing his views in the light of his observations: “The language of God is mathematics.” He could not accept a blind allegiance to the authority of the Church. It was exactly this critical modern thinking, unheard of in those times, that was at issue during his trial. This new way of thinking illustrates how the structuring moment shifted toward a process that is essentially explicitly analytical. It is a conscious act whereby structures are defined by the elements that comprise them. The element is of primary importance; from the elements and their properties the structure emerges as the result of simple addition. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Niels Bohr, Albert Einstein, Werner Heisenberg, Max Planck, and Erwin Schrödinger, among others, made new discoveries in physics. These would lead to not only Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, but to the emergence of a completely new area of subatomic physics: quantum mechanics. The importance of the element 57

60 Koestler, A., 1959, The Sleepwalkers, Hutchinson, London. 61 Copernicus, N., De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium. First printed in 1543, Nuremberg, Germany. English edition: 1976, On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres, Barnes and Noble, New York. 62 Kepler, J., Mysterium Cosmographicum. First printed in 1596, Tübingen, Germany. English edition: 1981, Mysterium Cosmographicum,Abaris Books, New York. Kepler, J., Astronomia Nova. First printed in 1609, Prague, English edition: 1992, New Astronomy, Cambridge University Press, New York. Kepler, J., Harmonice Mundi. First printed in 1619, Linz, Austria. English edition: 1997, The Harmony of the World, The American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia, PA.

Design Sciences

63 Parabirsing, S., 1974, De Metabletische Methode, Boom, Meppel, The Netherlands. 64 Piaget, J., 1968, Le Structuralisme, Presses Universitaires de France, Paris. 65 Barthes, R., 1964, Essais Critiques, Gallimard, Paris. 66 Pouillon, J., 1960, “Présentation: un essai de définition” in Les Temps Modernes, Vol. 22, Paris.

within a structure was replaced by the importance of its mutual relationships. A structure was no longer defined by its constituent parts, but by the way these parts interact with each other. When an element is isolated from the whole, it loses all the properties that made it part of that whole. Contextuality becomes the key to understanding the essence of a physical structure. This vision could also be found in the social sciences, in Gestalt psychology, psychoanalysis, linguistic theory, and the theory of change known as “Metabletica,” propounded in S. Parabirsing’s De Metabletische Methode (1974) 63. The structuring moment has reached a new level, characterized by what Jean Piaget, in Le Structuralisme (1968) 64, called “le principe de totalité”: the idea that the totality of properties of a structure is different from those of the constituent elements: the whole is more than the sum of the parts. The structuring moment can be defined as of an explicit and synergetic nature. Structuralism goes beyond even that through the concept of transformation, in which the elements of a structure are completely unimportant; only the network of relations is relevant, and it is exactly that network that defines the structure. This train of thought leads to the concept of superstructures, which define the rules used to perform these transformations. The evolution in the work of Mondriaan is a good example of this, as are Chomsky’s generative grammar, but also digital design grammars and blob architecture. Roland Barthes, in Essais Critiques (1964) 65, called the elements of the transformational processes “analysis and arrangement.” Both are tools through which the structure of the rules of transformation and that of the transformed object itself become transparent. There is no longer a strict difference between structuring and being structured, as Piaget puts it, but both actions are aspects of the same permanent bipolarity. The relation between transformation and structure from the perspective of the structuralist implies that, in the design process, the relation between designer and end product is no longer relevant. Crucial, however, is the position of the designer himself in the design process, characterized as it is by continuous transformation. With reference to Jean Pouillon’s “Présentation: un essai de définition” (1960) 66, it is important to acknowledge that the notion of structuring is embedded within the syntax of the transformation processes. It is precisely the syntactic rules that determine the limits within which the designer can practice his creativity. The syntax not only includes the totality of rules but also defines the limits of the design “playground.”

58

1.3.3

Design as a Structuring Activity

2 Development of Structural Models

1 Observation of a Design Situation

3 Definition of Elements and Relationships 7 Design Situation Structured

if yes if no

4 Verification of Applicability

if yes 6 Dimensioning of Complexity Structuring

5 Recognition of Structure

if no

Design Sciences

67 Wieser, W., 1959, Organismen, Strukturen, Maschinen, Rowohlt, Frankfurt. 68 Foqué, R.K.V., 1975, Ontwerpsystemen, Het Spectrum, Utrecht, The Netherlands, and Antwerp.

As a consequence, the designer always operates in the field of tension between freedom and determination. It is therefore interesting to see how this notion of structuring has a particular significance in complex design situations. The notion of structuring the environment is a way of introducing order into a “chaotic” environment, enabling us to handle that environment. It is a way of reducing the parameters and consequently the complexity of a design problem. The underlying process can be described as a spiral (Fig. 1.3.3). At first the design situation is observed as something unordered, complex, and impenetrable. Then the designer develops structurally analogous models, defines the elements and the relationships between them, and verifies the applicability of the model to the original situation. If that works, he has recognized structure and, by doing so, has dimensioned complexity into a new “structured” design situation. This process involves both analytical and creative thinking, as I shall discuss in the following paragraph. At the same time, it raises a methodological question about the use of models in the design process. This important aspect will be discussed in a separate chapter. In conclusion, we can describe the design activity as a structuring intervention in the environment, but at the same time it also sets the guidelines that govern the intervention. It is within that polarity that the design process appears and unfolds. We may use the now-common systems theory definition of a structure put forward originally by Wieser (1959) 67 in Organismen, Strukturen, Maschinen: “a relational matrix of elements or elementary processes, which form a purposeful whole, following certain laws or rules. A system is defined as the entity wherein such a structure manifests itself”. If we agree that designing is a structuring activity in the above sense, we can speak about “Design Systems” as the whole, wherein the design process is manifested (1975) 68.



3.3.2



Design as a Creative Activity

It is generally accepted that designers are “creative persons”, and that design belongs to the “creative disciplines.” But what does that really mean? What are the underlying mechanisms of creative thinking? In my investigation of the method of artistic inquiry in Chapter 2, I tried to analyze the underlying mechanisms of the creative process. I have defined the creative moment as the moment where the walls separating intuitive and rational thinking fall to provide for new insight. This is most crucial to the design activity. If design is an activity that aims at a structuring 60

The Nature of Design Activity

intervention in the human environment, leading towards new insight into that environment and the addition to it of new elements, it cannot exist without an inherent creative moment. Design uses the methodologies of both science and art. Both methodologies, as we have seen, are based on the interplay between the rational and the intuitive, between the conscious and the unconscious. Thinking and decision-making are happening on all these levels. So creativity is not only related to the degree of originality of a designed product, as is traditionally believed, but equally related to the effectiveness of its technical and social functioning. This is an important conclusion, as it introduces standards and values into the creative process — and consequently into every design activity. The essence of a creative act is the creation of novelty, and for something totally new there exists no criteria for assessment, as there are no points of reference. Many examples in the history of art and science show that the more original a work of art or invention, the more likely it is that it will be considered incomprehensible — even experienced as threatening and, in some cases, even as evil. This paradox underlying creative thinking leads to the distinction made by Carl Rogers in his extensive studies on creative behavior based on observational evidence from clinical psychotherapy, between “good” and “bad” creativity with regard to its social context (1961) 69. He introduced the concept of constructive creativity: “To the degree that the individual is open to all aspects of his experience, and has available to his awareness all the varied sensing and perceiving which are going on within his organism, then the novel products of his interaction with his environment will tend to be constructive both for himself and others”. Constructive creativity per se implies the presence of an individual value system and seems to be based on four important requirements: 1

Openness and susceptibility to personal experiences: The creative person should distinguish himself by extension-oriented behavior;

2

Capacity for self-assessment: The value of a product should be established by the creator rather than by external critics;

3

A certain immunity to the external critic: The creative person should not fall into the trap of self-defense;

4

Capacity to “play” with elements, ideas, and concepts.

Based on these requirement are many “creativity-stimulating techniques” — brainstorming, developed by Alex Osborn (1957) 70, and “Synectics,” developed by William Gordon (1961) 71, being the best known. These techniques aim to promote the transfer from one field of knowledge to another and to look at common principles, but acknowledge the differences. 61

69 Rogers, C., 1961, On Becoming a Person, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 70 Osborn, A., 1957, Applied Imagination, Charles Scribner, New York. 71 Gordon W., 1961, Synectics: the Development of Creative Capacity, Harper & Row, New York.

Design Sciences

72 Jones, J., 1970, Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future, John Wiley & Sons, New York.

By doing so, they are essentially interdisciplinary in nature, obeying the laws of heuristics. Often used at the beginning of a design process, these methods are intended to stimulate the production of outputs that seem reasonable to the designer, but for which he can give no explanation; the human brain has the capacity to assign value, recognize forms, associate ideas, and generate unpredictable relationships without the need for a rational justification. Jones, in Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future (1970) 72, explained it as follows: “It is therefore rational to believe that skilled actions are unconsciously controlled and irrational to expect designing to be wholly capable of a rational explanation.” It is clear that experience, training, skills, and instinct are important factors in the design process. The designer can thus be seen as a “black-box”: he receives inputs and produces outputs but the process by which this is happening is hidden and cannot be revealed. A closer look at the techniques of brainstorming and “Synectics” reveals some general characteristics of the creative moment in design. Each is based on the idea that a collective of minds acting in concert produces synergetic output and avoids individual stereotype thinking. The participants are encouraged to build on the ideas of others rather than to pursue their own lines of thought, using a mix of different strategies: •

To generate as many ideas as possible regarding a certain design problem, however wild or absurd they may seem;

•

To make the familiar unfamiliar and the unfamiliar familiar;

•

To abstain from judgment of the other participants and their suggestions;

•

To stimulate the use of analogies and metaphors;

•

To make unusual and unlikely connections between seemingly unrelated facts, events, thoughts, and processes;

•

To acknowledge the importance of emotional factors vis–à-vis rational ones;

•

To believe that everything is possible and not to feel inhibited by the idea that something is scientifically “impossible”;

•

To remove mental blocks, by using transformational rules, as suggested by Osborn, such as: Is other use possible? Is it adaptable? Is it changeable? Can it be enlarged? Can it be reduced? Can it be substituted? Can it be rearranged? Is it reversible? Is it combinable?

•

To use fantasy and fiction. 62

The Nature of Design Activity

Since the emphasis is on the quantity of ideas rather than on their quality, Jones concludes with regard to brainstorming, that “the immediately valuable output is not the ideas themselves, but the categories by which they are placed by classification”. This remark, put in a broader context, suggests that intuitively obtained data can be logically analyzed in order to generate added value to the design solution under study. It refers to the concept of mind-networks as explained above. We can conclude that the creative moment is an essential component of the design activity, underlying the moment of structuring. Three main aspects characterize it: 1

The designer’s need for self-expression, sustained by belief in his own ideas and concepts. They give the designer the internal power to overcome mental blocks and seemingly unproductive periods throughout the design process;

2

The importance of novelty in relation to the design output. Novelty asks to be socially and culturally recognized in relation to the value system and the context in which it is embedded;

3

The permanent attempt to synthesize divergent ideas and concepts.

The sine qua non of the creative moment is found in its two polarities: the permanent interaction between rational and intuitive thinking and between internal reflection and external susceptibility. On the methodological level, we are presented with complementarities relating the creative moment and the structuring moment, as well as a congruency between design as a structuring activity and as a creative activity.



3.3.3



Design as a Communication Activity

The original meaning of the word communication, from the Latin communicare, goes back to the notion of bringing something to “the common place,” to the community, to make it part of a larger social group. In a paradoxically stricter and more abstract way, it refers to the transmission or transfer of messages. Max Bense, in Theorie der Texte. Eine Einführung in neuere Auffassungen und Methoden (1962) 73, defined communication as the transmission of a specific message from one frame of representation, the source where the message was created, to another frame of representation, the one where the message is received. The representation should be 63

73 Bense, M., 1962, Theorie der Texte. Eine Einführung in neuere Auffassungen und Methoden, Kiepenheuer & Witsch, Cologne.

1.3.4 The Communication Process, Based on the Shannon-Weaver Model

message from sender

message to receiver

Medium Sender

encoding

decoding

channel Information

Sender

Semantic Noise

noise

noise

Syntactic Noise

Receiver

Pragmatic Noise Feedback Information channel decoding

feedback message to sender

Medium Receiver

encoding

feedback message from receiver

The Nature of Design Activity

understood as the translation of information by means of symbols and signs into an abstract scheme. Such a process needs a medium through which information can be conveyed from source to receiver. This leads us to the famous Shannon-Weaver Model of Communication, put forward by Claude Shannon and Warren Weaver in their foundational work on communication theory, The Mathematical Theory of Communication (1949) 74. Although this model was developed for pure technical reasons, it can be useful for understanding communication in a design environment (Fig. 1.3.4). The Shannon-Weaver model is based on the fact that information is immaterial and needs a vehicle to become a message that can be sent and received. Such a vehicle is called a code. Languages are codes, but so are drawings, mathematical formulas, movements, etc. To transmit the message from source to receiver, a channel is needed. The combination of code and channel is called the medium. The medium offers a way to turn information into messages and messages into transportable signals, thereby making the process of information exchange possible. There is no message without a medium. External influences, which may disturb the transfer system, are called noise. This purely technical approach to communication needs a sociocultural embedding to be useful in a design context. If we really want to speak about communication within a socio-cultural context, the importance of feedback to the sender is important: a message that not only acknowledges that the message has arrived but indicates that it has been understood in a meaningful way. It is the conditio sine qua non without which a process cannot be considered to have a purpose. In his Decision and Control (1994) 75, Stafford Beer put great emphasis on this aspect of communication as a condition for responsive behavior and conscious change. Feedback applies perfectly to the teleological aspect of design systems. Real communication involves two conditions to be fulfilled. First, the message should contain meaning. Second, the receiver should understand this meaningful message as significant. In other words, real communication assumes that both the sender and the receiver agree upon a commonly understood code and channel, and share knowledge of the media to be used. There is no communication without mutual knowledge of the media employed. This conclusion raises questions on three levels: 1

To what extent has the message been transmitted in a technically accurate way?

65

74 Shannon, C., and Weaver, W., 1949, The Mathematical Theory of Communication, The University of Illinois Press, Urbana, Illinois. 75 Beer, S., 1994, Decision and Control, John Wiley & Sons Ltd, Chichester, England.

Design Sciences

2

To what degree does the coded message convey the desired meaning?

3

How effectively does the received message affect the behavior of the receiver in the way intended by the sender?

These three questions refer to what in semiotics are called the syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic levels. On the syntactic level, we are concerned with the technical accuracy of the transfer. We deal with problems of the vocabulary, grammar, and syntax of the code used, but equally with problems related to the technical functioning of the channel and any possible noise, which could distort the message. On the semantic level, we are concerned with the “identity” of the message. What does the sender mean? How aptly is it put? What is the receiver’s interpretation? How closely does it fit with the intentions of the sender? This is a complex problem related to a priori knowledge of the medium used, and has considerable impact on the effectiveness of the communication process. On the pragmatic level, we deal with the degree to which a message serves its purpose. It may involve aspects such as style, rhetoric, emotion, and psychological techniques ranging from propaganda to brainwashing. If we want to maximize communication on all three levels, and make it into a true process of socialization and participation, the medium used should meet the following three criteria: 1

The vocabulary, grammar, and syntax should be clear, simple and easy to understand by all parties involved;

2

The medium should have explanatory qualities to permit a closer and more common understanding of the message. It should make use of symbolism that has been made clear to and is understood by all parties.

3

The effectiveness should be measured by the receiver’s reactions and whether he replies appropriately.

How can we use this communication model to increase our understanding of the design process and its communication moment? The natures of both the structuring and the creative aspects of the design activity call for a permanent communication process. Structure, by definition, requires communication, and without structure we cannot talk about the creative emergence of a new whole. Three types of communication should be distinguished: communication inside the designer’s mind and/ 66

The Nature of Design Activity

or within the design team; communication between designer and design context; and communication between designer and user/client. It is important to recognize that on all three levels the communication moment itself brings about structure in its full bipolarity as explained above. The coding of information is a structuring activity per se, and the proper structural characteristics of the medium determine the way the message is or can be structured. McLuhan’s comment that “the medium is the message” should be understood in that sense: The message of any medium or technology is the change of scale, pace, or pattern that it introduces in human affairs. The medium imprints its own structure on the message and becomes the message itself. It introduces another dimension to the communication moment during the design process. It not only describes aspects of message-processing when designing, but also becomes design itself. The medium also ensures that the communication moment has this bipolar characteristic, analogous to that of the structuring and the creative moment.

1

3.4



Biperspectivism and Bipolarity

The analysis above has revealed an important aspect of the design process: its bipolarity: internal and external. The structuring moment is characterized by the structuring intervention itself, but at the same time by the structural laws, which govern that intervention. The creative moment relies on an active involvement with the design environment, combined with a critical reflection on the designer’s own actions. There is a constant interaction between rational and intuitive thinking. The communication moment is essentially determined by the reciprocity between message and medium. This bipolar aspect requires that the designer constantly switches between extroverted and introverted behavior in each of the three moments. It underlines the intertwining of the three moments, and determines at the same time the open character of the design process (Fig.1.3.5). Design, seen as a communication process between man and his natural and socio-cultural environment, is both a context-driven and a context-interventional activity. The isomorphic principle between the physical and social worlds and the cognitive mind is another aspect of this bipolarity. Too often, the design activity is limited to the domain of physical facts and interventions. Although 67

1.3.5

The Bipolarity of the Design Process

Bipolarity

structuring moment

creative moment

y

Bi

rit

po

la

la

po

rit

Bi

y

communicative moment

external active

Bipolarity

extrovert

context driven

facts

Active Involvement Rational

Medium-Effect

passive introvert

context intervention

Structuring Structural Intervention

internal

values

Structuring Moment

Being Structured Structural Laws

Creative Moment

Critical Reflection Intuitive

Communicative Moment

Message-Meaning

1.3.6

The Biperspectivism of the Design Process in Time

Design Situation Context

Observation from Without

External Action

External Action

External Action

External Action

External Action

t1 observation = intervention = change

t2 observation = intervention = change

t3 observation = intervention = change

t4 observation = intervention = change

t5 observation = intervention = change

time

Observation from Within

Internal Action

Internal Action

Internal Action

Internal Action

Internal Action

Design Sciences

76 Laszlo, E., 1972, Introduction to Systems Philosophy: Toward a New Paradigm of Contemporary Thought, Gordon & Breach Science Publishers, New York.

implicitly present, the value systems behind this activity are not part of the process. The systems approach towards design, as seen in the 1960’s, along with the emergence of digital design techniques in the 1970’s has certainly contributed to this limitation and to the denial of the bipolarity of the design process. No attention is paid to those aspects, which can only be observed through internal reflection. Ervin Laszlo, in his Introduction to Systems Philosophy: Toward a New Paradigm of Contemporary Thought (1972) 76, calls these aspects “mind-events, including perceptions, sensations, feelings, volitions, dispositions, thoughts, memories and imaginations, i.e. anything present in the mind.” They form each individual’s cognitive system, as distinct from the physical, which includes the socio-culltural environment that surround him and of which he is part. It seems impossible to make observations of the cognitive system, as by nature it can only be experienced; only by meta-cognitive observation of mind-events does understanding of them become possible. Natural systems, too, are subject to internal and external experience and observation. This “biperspectivism,” as Laszlo calls it, the fact that both cognitive and natural systems can be “observed” from two standpoints, an external and an internal one, leads to an important paradox: observing a situation means that you are also observing yourself as part of the observational system. Observing is intervention, intervention means change, change induces new observation (Fig.1.3.6). Design activity cannot escape this paradox, as it is exactly that chain of actions along which it operates. The bipolar characteristics of the three moments answer that paradox. They explain why it is that during the design process the designer must constantly change perspective, alternating between external action and internal reflection, defined by the bipolarity of the moment. Designer and designed product, content and medium, theory and practice, techniques and methodology permanently question each other and the design situation as the process proceeds. The intensity of this process is a measure of the openness of the process itself. There are no longer given solutions but only possible answers: design solutions as possibilities within a contextual vision. If we want to build a body of design knowledge as a prerequisite for becoming a true discipline, the understanding of this bipolar and biperspective vision is essential. Let us explore how these characteristics have manifested themselves historically.

70

The Nature of Design Activity

1

3.5



From the Unconscious to the Rational to the Creative

It is generally accepted that the emergence of technology and the evolution of man are closely interwoven and inseparable. Technology can be defined as the conscious act of making tools of a certain and standardized form based upon scientific inquiry and knowledge. Technology transforms the physical world, and by its nature implies a design activity. This may assume a congruency between evolution in scientific thought and design thought. A closer examination will give us a better insight into how design paradigms identify the three moments in the design process, and how the relationships between the three protagonists of the design-built process — the designer, the client/user, and the manufacturer — have changed.



3.5.1



Design as an Unconscious Process: The Triangle Locked

When prehistoric man looked for the right stone to cut and shape in order to increase the power of his hand, he was performing in both a technical and a designerly way. He was engaged in a creative process, relating form to function within a structuring moment. He was communicating with the natural world and reflecting on it at the same time. The designing and making of that stone weapon were joined in a simultaneous act, where intuitive and rational thinking were integrated, leading to a coherent solution. At first sight, the “design process” in a craft society seems extremely simple and almost redundant. However, the results of that process are often extremely sophisticated and complex, suggesting functional and aesthetic perfection. They combine technical perfection with almost natural beauty. How is it possible that often-illiterate craftsmen can control an evolutionary process without an explicit notion of the why and the how and without any explicitly generated technical information? One answer may be that in such societies the maker and the user are one and the same — or at least have a close relationship to each other. Through tradition they “feel,” so to speak, what is necessary to satisfy a certain need and how to produce an artifact to fulfill that need. But a closer

71

Design Sciences

77 Alexander, C., 1964, Notes on the Synthesis of Form, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 78 Office de la Récherche Scientifique Outre-Mer, 1952, L’Habitat aux Cameroun, Paris. 79 Sturt, G., 1923 (first edition), 1963 (first paperback edition), The Wheelwright’s Shop, Cambridge University Press, London, New York. 80 Jones, J., 1970, Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future, John Wiley & Sons, New York. 81 Cross, N., 1975, Design and Technology, The Open University Press, Milton Keynes, England. 82 Lawson, B., 1980, How Designers Think, The Architectural Press Ltd., London.

look at examples of craft culture may reveal some essential features of how design in a craft society has to be characterized. Even now, igloos are built in a vernacular and craft-like tradition. There is a traditional form within which variations are made according to individual needs and required functions. Drawings of floor plans or sections are not part of the process, and questions about technical problems or calculations about thermal heat loss are not considered. In Notes on the Synthesis of Form (1964) 77, Christopher Alexander described a similar situation when he analyzed how the huts of certain African tribes are built and appear as a kind of best solution within the circumstances, calling it “the unselfconscious culture.” He referred to the study L’Habitat aux Cameroun (1952) 78 by the Office de la Récherche Scientifique OutreMer. This extensive study of the Mousgoum huts in northern Cameroon pointed out some very relevant aspects of craft design. These huts have a nearly ideal surface curvature to allow for maximum reflection of the sun and maximum thermal comfort inside. The construction itself is a kind of skeletal system, using a number of bamboo beams filled in with clay. The bamboo beams themselves are made to resemble bent ladders, coming together to one point at the top of the hut, and the horizontal parts are slightly bowed as well, with an inside inclination toward the middle. At first sight, this construction seems far from obvious, and is in fact rather complex to make and to assemble. Closer observation reveals that the form and construction of these curved beams have multiple functions. They not only provide for the stability of the hut, but during the building process they function as ladders to reach the upper part of the construction. When the hut is finished, the bowed form of the horizontal parts of the “ladderbeams,” filled with clay according to the bowing, serve as a kind of gutter, allowing for quick run-off of rainwater from the hut’s surface. Another well-documented case study is found in George Sturt’s book The Wheelwright’s Shop (1923) 79. Several authors have commented on this work, among them Jones (1970) 80, Cross (1975) 81 and Lawson (1980) 82, as it is considered one of the first contemporary books on design methods and theory. For the sake of our argument, however, it is worthwhile to have a closer look at some aspects of Sturt’s investigations. Upon the death of his father in 1884, Sturt Jr. found himself in charge of a wheelwright’s shop in the south of England. In his book, he described in detail his struggle to understand the trade, which he characterized as “a folk industry carried on in a folk method”. He was fascinated by the manufacturing of the cartwheels, especially the technique that he called “dishing”, in reference to the 72

The Nature of Design Activity

saucerlike shape of the cartwheels. Having seen his father going through a rather tedious process, he followed suit for many years. Becoming increasingly dissatisfied, as he did not understand why the dishing of the wheels was so important, he tried to find rational explanations for something that for the wheelwrights seemed obvious. First he suspected that the dish of the wheels was directly related to the building process itself, initially giving the wheel a kind of pre-distorted form to anticipate in a harmonious and directional way the distorting forces to be caused by the tightening of the iron tire on the wooden frame and to regularize its contraction. This explanation seemed reasonable, but studying older examples of wooden cartwheels and looking at pictures of ancient battlewagons, which were not iron-cased, he saw that the dish was already there. Another reason he considered is the advantage that it allowed for a trapezium-shaped cart body, achieved by the fact that the dished wheel should be perpendicular to the road to transfer the load. As at those times the roads where narrow and legislation restricted the width between the wheels to 68 inches, the trapezium shape allowed for extra load and overhanging goods. Not satisfied with these findings, Sturt built a prototype wagon with nondished wheels. During the test drives something remarkable happened: the wagon collapsed, as the wheel spokes didn’t hold. Sturt concluded that the dishing was an answer to the lateral forces caused by the natural gait of the horses, throwing the cart from side to side with each stride. Cross pointed out that the dished wheel also needed fore way. To keep the bottom of the wheel perpendicular to the road surface, the axle could not be exactly horizontal, but had to slope down towards the wheel. As a result the wheels had a tendency to “run off” the axle. This effect was countered by pointing the axle slightly forward as well, resulting in a “fore way” force, which kept the wheel on the axle when driving. A recent study at the Georgia Institute of Technology by Nico Declercq and Cindy Dekeyser (2007) 83 on the acoustic qualities of the theatre of Epidaurus built by Polykleitos around 300 BC, similarly explains on almost scientific grounds the real nature of a design process in a craft society. The theater of Epidaurus is internationally known for its exceptional acoustics, which permit almost perfect intelligibility of the unamplified spoken word from the proscenium to all 15,000 spectators, regardless of where they are seated. This study indicates that the astonishing acoustic properties are the result of a fortuitous accident: The rows of limestone seats, with a corrugate surface, filter out low-frequency sounds below 500 Hertz, such as the murmur of the crowd and other surrounding noise, and amplify/reflect high-frequency sounds from the stage. The authors point out that ancient architects were aware of the physicality of sound waves, but believed that 73

83 Declercq, N. and Dekeyser, C., 2007, “Acoustic Diffraction Effects at the Hellenistic Amphitheater of Epidaurus”, in The Journal of the Acoustical Society of America, nr. 121(4), New York.

Design Sciences

84 Vitruvius, M., around 30 BC, De Architectura Libri Decem, translated by Morgan, M., 1941, The Ten Books on Architecture, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

the slope of the theater was the principal way to control the acoustics, as asserted in Vitruvius’s treatise De Architectura (1st century BC) 84. There is no evidence whatsoever that they had any understanding that the corrugation of the seats was the primary source of the excellent acoustics. The story of the cartwheel dishing, along with the studies of the Mousgoum huts and the theatre of Epidaurus, show that there is apparently no single reason why man-made things are as they are. Form is not a problem an sich, but is embedded in a long tradition. Form seems to emerge from an unconscious synthesis on three levels between function, production process, and product use. This synthesis is an answer to maximizing form, function, manufacturing, and use into one whole. It illustrates the characteristics of the design process in a craft society: •

It is a slowly evolving process of trial and error. Product deficiencies and weaknesses are discovered by experience and subsequently improved upon. Product change occurs by changing one aspect at a time. It means that each new product refers to and relies on the previous one. This time-consuming and sequential search for improvement leads remarkably to a well balanced and a state-of-the-art perfect product. The design of a product has reached that stage of stability and perfection at the moment when the visual structure of the elements has adapted to the invisible but implicitly present structure of the context wherein it is made and has to function.

•

It is manufacturing and using at the same time. The three main stages are essential, interwoven, and indistinguishable. Designer, producer, and user are the same person (or at least belonging to a small and closed social network).

•

Form, appearance, and function of the product itself, together with the “designer’s” memory, are the only source of information about the product. Each product is a model of itself, a prototype. The designer-craftsman uses few if any drawings or technical calculations, which are replaced by experience and historical examples. “This is the way to do it, because it is the way it has always been done”. A sudden change or drastic redesign of the product would cause a fatal loss of information about that product. An implicit database built for generations would disappear. As a result changes in a product form are rare and not encouraged. Only accidents, manufacturing failures, and unexpected situations are reasons to look for new solutions.

74

The Nature of Design Activity

•

Human-centered usability, along with the natural properties of the materials, determine the design of a product. As a result, function, effectiveness, and appearance merge into natural form, innate to the material. This puts extra demands on the designercraftsman: he has to have substantial knowledge about material characteristics and the talent to combine them in an economical way. As a consequence, craft products are characterized by a kind of “material avarice” and minimal waste.

•

The “design-build process” in a craft society is largely dependent on human muscular strength. There is a close interaction between physical action and sensory experience, which gives the process its typical sequential character. Each action has two goals: to complete the previous and to prepare for the next. The traditional mason is a good example of this. Experiential knowledge and skill determine the speed of the process and the energy put into it.

For a craft society, there is no reason to see the design process as something separate per se, nor is the difference between form and function — or what is rationally constructed and intuitively found — considered to be intrinsically important. The three moments of the design activity are not distinguishable and cannot be analyzed as discrete aspects of one process. The integrated position of the designer-producer-user, embedded in a close socio-cultural environment, enables an almost ideal interaction between the internal and external polarity of the design moments as described above. •

The structuring moment in a craft society is of an unconscious, synthesizing character. Individual elements are not seen as separate entities but form a totality an sich, based upon what Sturt calls “the interaction of the parts.” Structure appears as a whole. The design information is stored in the product itself, which acts as its own model, and seldom in one or another symbolic form, such as drawings or formulas. Design as a structuring activity builds harmoniously on existing factors and circumstances, rather than a search for active change. The internal polarity is not questioned, but accepted as a determining design parameter.

•

The creative moment is determined by an extroverted behavior of the designer-craftsman. He is receptive to his environment and relies on experience. At the same time, he has great

75

Design Sciences

professional pride, which is necessary as the touchstone for self-evaluation. The so-called ability to play with elements and concepts, an aspect of constructive creativity, according to Rogers in On Becoming a Person (1961) 85, is limited to the trialand-error process and triggered by external elements. Intuitive action prevails over rational thinking, the latter being limited to the application of known techniques and force of habit. Design synthesis is determined by tradition and historical examples.

85 Rogers, C., 1961, On Becoming a Person, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 86 Simon, H., 1971, “Style in Design”, in Proceedings 2nd EDRA Conference.

•

When the communication moment happens, it appears simple and straightforward. All three aspects of the design communication process — the communication inside the designer’s mind and/or within the design team, the communication between designer and design context, the communication between designer and user/client — are interwoven and happen in a direct way, without intermediate codes. The designer-craftsman, being directly involved and participating in his socio-cultural environment, has a direct relation with the product of his activity.

In conclusion, we can define the design process in a craft society as a process essentially limited to the development of already existing objects. The aim is to bring them to further perfection, using the best possible technologies. This process is embedded in a familiar, largely unchanging and socially static environment, which precludes the need for rapid design change. Within this context, the concept of style in design has a specific meaning. According to Herbert Simon in “Style in Design” (1971) 86, “Style” has three sources: the direct specifications of the object itself, the way the object is produced, and the nature of the underlying design process. The difference between “style” and “imitation-style,” Simon argues, lies in the fact that “imitation” never reveals any information about the design process itself. Simon’s approach is remarkable and eye-opening. It invites discussion about where we can identify “style” or “imitation” or “kitsch,” from the production techniques used and the intrinsic form of an object to the mental, conceptual processes underlying that object. Consequently, in a craft society “style” is not only a form-determining principle, but defines a totality which relates form with function, thinking with acting, and object with environment in a socially acceptable synthesis. The designer-client/user-manufacturer triangle is locked.

76

1.3.7

From the Unconcious Design Process to the Rational

Craft Society The Triangle Locked Design as an Unconscious Process designer

Design Process user

manufacturer

Industrial Society The Triangle Broken Design as a Rational Process designer

Design Process user

manufacturer

Design Sciences

87 McLuhan, M., 1967, Understanding Media, Sphere Books Ltd., London; also 1994, Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.



3.5.2



Design as a Rational Process: The Triangle Broken

In the preceding chapter, I referred to Marshall McLuhan, who argued in his famous Understanding Media (1967) 87 that Gutenberg’s introduction of the printing press was at the origin the Industrial Revolution and supported the emerging mechanistic world view of cause and effect. As industrialization replaced craft society, standardization and mass production took over from individual and tailor-made production. As a result, a major shift in the relationship between designer, producer, and user occurred (Fig.1.3.7). Where in craft society there was a tight bond among them, the relationships between these three major players become anonymous, often almost non-existent. The relation with the user shifts from a personal to a purely consumer level. 3.5.2.1



The Industrialization of the Design Process: “Technical” Drawing as a Design Tool

As a side effect of industrialization, drawing, as a design tool and communication medium, started to lose its “artistic” character and became “technical.” Sketching and freehand drawing became subordinated to the more rigorous, standardized drawing technique, based on the mathematical principles of geometry. The final design had to be accurately rendered in a commonly understandable language. As a result, we see that the rise of the industrial society gave birth to a new profession: the draftsman. The technical drawing became the buffer between concept and execution. The trial and error process took place on the drawing board, and drawing became the medium for experiment and change. The technique of technical drawing reflected the vision of the industrial period: division and assemblage. Complex problems could be split into smaller elements, studied one by one, and reassembled on the drawing table. During that process no definite options or decisions had to be made. Different alternatives could be studied, without the necessity of having to make expensive investments, and the risk for error was minimized. This method of design by drawing was not only vital for the Industrial Revolution, but the Industrial Revolution needed in turn a proper design language. The language of technical drawing, with its typical vocabulary and grammar, brought the machine dimension back to an understandable and human scale, again tangible and able to be discussed. The parallel development of blueprint technology made drawings easily reproducible, allowing for quick circulation among all members involved in the design-production process. Specialized knowledge, crucial for an industrial society, could easily 78

The Nature of Design Activity

be brought to the table, using the drawing technique as the common code and the drawing itself as a model for experimentation. The designer-draftsman was born. Through the nature of technical drawing, rational and scientific thinking started to take over the design game. In his Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future (1970) 88, John Chris Jones commented extensively on the design-by-drawing process. He emphasized the parallel between design and the production process in an industrialized society. Invoking the assembly line, where products are manufactured through the addition of elements one by one in a sequential process, he pointed out that designing has gone through the same evolution. The design problem is split into functional parts, and partial solutions are conceived and then reassembled. Design teams can work together, as they are part of a “design assembly-line.” Specialist knowledge and the division of labor become ways to increase the efficiency of design teams. However, there will always be a need for a so-called “chief designer,” the one, according to Jones, who keeps track of the total solution picture and integrates the parts in a creative way. The above analysis underlines the enduringly individual nature of design as a concept-finding activity. Drawings are to be seen as a means to exteriorize abstract ideas, and drawing seen as an activity allowing the designer to communicate with these ideas. They widen the perceptual span of the designer, enabling a switch from macro to micro levels, keeping the totality of the concept in mind while dealing with detailed solutions. At the same time, partial design changes are easily made at the drawing table. All too often, clients, manufacturers, and contractors try to do this, usually for economic reasons. At first glance such changes seem harmless, but most of the time they result in a mutilated product on both the functional and aesthetic levels. It is known that experienced designers and architects are especially reluctant to change parts of their design precisely for that reason, as they understand the holistic character of a design solution. This illustrates the weakness of the use of technical drawing during the design process, as it inherently sees design solutions from an atomic, Newtonian perspective: the whole is nothing more than the sum of the parts, which can be replaced without changing the character of the whole. Technical drawing alienates designers from design. Easy reproducibility increases that effect and discourages critical thinking. What are the similarities and differences between the “designer-craftsman” and the “designer-draftsman”? For each, the design activity still seems to have a sequential character: a linear process from one phase to the other. The trial and error process, so typical for a craft situation is still present, 79

88 Jones, J., 1970, Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future, John Wiley & Sons, New York.

Design Sciences

but has been moved to the drafting table. Many authors on design theory have commented on this analogy without acknowledging the fact that this step-by-step procedure used as a problem-solving technique has an inherent capacity for transformation. It changes the causalities of the design concept and its context from interactive to linear. The reality of the design situation is no longer derived from the real environment, but instead made by the designer. This unconscious transformation of the real into a man-made model by the designer limits his conceptual design possibilities. The bipolarity of the communication model allows for the drawing technique itself to steer the designed output. The resulting situation emphasizes McLuhan’s thesis that “the message of any medium or technology is the change of scale or pattern that it introduces into human affairs.” Some examples of this transformative aspect of designing by drawing may illustrate this relation between medium and message. •

One important aspect of technical drawing is “scaling”. The use of a scale factor allows the designer to maintain a clear and organized view of complex and extensive situations, bringing them back to the dimensions of the drafting table. In architecture and town planning, for instance, large areas and extensive building programs are made legible and understandable by using the appropriate scale. Design decisions are made on the basis of a “scaled reality,” under the implicit assumption that a simple multiplication will make the solution work in the real world.

•

Design by drawing relies on the principles of Euclidean geometry. Thus, we implicitly introduce important elements of that geometry — such as the laws of symmetry, geometrical forms, and the golden section — into the design decision-making process. Even the use of traditional drafting instruments enforces these principles: the preferences for straight lines (the rule), the 90° angle (the triangle and the sliding rule), and the circle (the compass). Many architectural designs in the 1960’s and 1970’s are characterized by the 30-60-90-degree angle. Undoubtedly, there is a relation between the introduction in the architectural office of the standardized drawing device with fixed positions per turn of 30°. It is not only the manufacturing process that has increased the gap between natural and artificial form, but equally so the design process itself. In architectural design, for instance, we see how surfaces are mathematically optimized and rectangular shapes become prominent.

80

The Nature of Design Activity

•

Anton Ehrenzweig, in The Hidden Order of Art (1970) 89, pointed out another aspect of design by drawing: what he called “the aesthetical trap.” Because the technique of drawing is based on intrinsically precise and stand-alone forms, designers tend to obey the Gestalt psychological law of closure. This is the tendency to simplify images and concepts in a way that allows them to keep their own graphical identity. Images and concepts refer to themselves instead of being a representation of some other reality. Abraham Moles, author of L’Affiche dans la société urbaine (1969) 90, did substantial research about this phenomenon with respect to publicity and the effect of posters as mass media. He pointed out that the public effect of the message is proportionate to the degree of “graphical coherence” of the image. The more it is a “Gestalt,” the greater the impact. Close observation of architects sketching or drawing floor plans, sections, or façades leads to similar conclusions. They draw and redraw, modify and change their designs to look good, first as a drawing. This in fact is a strange phenomenon, as the architect uses drawing as a means to conceptualize, understand, and communicate a threedimensional object, but is seduced by the beauty of the drawing itself. It explains why buildings can be schizophrenic: having a harmonious and aesthetically breathtaking appearance from the outside, which has no fit whatsoever with the interior: perfectly positioned windows in a façade that are in the wrong place when looking from the inside out, rooms without views, balustrades at the functionally wrong height, etc. The laws of the medium take over the content.

This reminds me of an incident during a review session of student work at the Technical University Delft some years ago. One of the reviewers, a respected Dutch architect, looked at the floor plan of a student’s design for a small theatre building and commented: “I don’t think that your design will work, you know; it is really bad and not well conceived; as an example, when you enter the building you cannot even find the restrooms.” Apart from making a rather negative, even nasty comment, what did the reviewer really mean? Was he arguing that if the building were to be built according to the student’s drawings and you entered it, you would not be able to find the restrooms, because they were hidden, in an unconventional place, or simply not built? Or was he pointing to the fact that the drawing itself provided no clues as to where the restrooms were, because he could not read the drawing in detail, because the distance between him and the drawing was too large, because the drawing was clumsily made or the student forgot to assign 81

89 Ehrenzweig, A., 1970, The Hidden Order of Art, Paladin, London. 90 Moles, A., 1969, L’Affiche dans la société urbaine, Dunod, Paris.

Design Sciences

names to the spaces, or because they were simply not drawn? From an epistemological viewpoint, however, the fact that the drawing provided insufficient information is the most valid explanation. This incident questions the ability of models to accurately represent the facts, situations, or circumstances they purport to represent: the architectural drawing being an example. There are important methodological consequences of using models as the main instrument of design inquiry, an aspect I shall discuss in a separate paragraph.

91 Hall, A., 1962, A Methodology for Systems Engineering, Van Nostrand, New York. 92 Foqué, R.K.V., 1975, Ontwerpsystemen, Het Spectrum, Utrecht, The Netherlands, and Antwerp.

3.5.2.2

The Exteriorization of the Design Process

Since the beginning of the 20th century, and particularly after the Second World War, scientific breakthroughs have grown exponentially, increasing the complexity of the human environment. In 1962, Arthur Hall formulated the concept of “expanding environments” in A Methodology for Systems Engineering 91, pointing out that more and more elements of the natural and man-made systems are interacting, causing fundamental changes in each other’s behavior. Information and communication technologies have combined to produce a pace of change that was previously unimaginable. This evolution forces man to interact increasingly with his environment. He has no escape, so to speak, but must engage in a permanent dialogue with his surrounding world. The result is an increasing “density” of man’s environment, on both the technical and the socio-cultural level. The denser this environment becomes, the more restrictions it imposes on privacy and individual freedom. Examples of this phenomenon in everyday life are countless, ranging from global ecological problems, metropolitan urbanization, and security measures in airports to mobile phones, unsolicited mail, internet spam, and television commercials. Change and crisis have become the constant state of society. Hence the designer confronts a nearly impossible task, making every design activity inadequate from the beginning. It is a tragic paradox that, in spite of their best intentions to improve the human environment, architects and planners seem to be unable to significantly remedy its further deterioration. In an earlier book on design systems (1975) 92, I introduced the notion of “design transfer,” as analogous to the concept of technology transfer, to indicate how a new design affects its environment and how it spreads out in time (Fig.1.3.8). Two stages in this process can be distinguished: the design and development stage and the in-use stage. The more the effect expands, the more difficult it becomes to control and to predict the change caused by the product. As mentioned earlier, the growing density of human space 82

1.3.8

Design Transfer Process over Time

Specific Design Problem

Scientific and Technological Means

development phase

Design Concept

transfer time

Prototype

Application within Design Problem Context

Effect on the Immediate Environment

Effect on Socio-Economic Systems

Effect on Society as a Whole

Effect on World View

Knowledge about Design Impact

implementation phase

1.3.9

The Exploding Design Situation/Context

Craft Society

Post-Industrial Society

Steady Design Transfer

Exploding Design Transfer

Society as a Whole

Society as a Whole

Socio-Economic System

Socio-Economic System

Immediate Environment

Immediate Environment

design situation

design situation

1.3.10

high

long

Changing Trends in Transfer Time and Levels of Interaction

trend of growing unpredictability

PostIndustrial Society

transfer time

short

low

Craft Society

level of interaction

1800

1900

2000

The Nature of Design Activity

is speeding up this process, making the design transfer time shorter and shorter. The implosion of the design transfer time causes an explosion of the design situation (Fig.1.3.9). As we have seen, the design situation in a craft society shows exactly the opposite characteristics (Fig.1.3.10): In a craft society, transfer time is long; the level of interaction or density is low. Therefore the change a design may introduce in the short term is, in fact, irrelevant in a craft society. Both the recent condensation of individual and social space and the acceleration of the design transfer time cause a situation of design impotence. This situation calls for a completely new approach to the design activity and the methods used, and it necessitates the building of a design knowledge base. How otherwise can we cope with buildings that are still under construction but have already become obsolete with regard to occupancy? How can we apply concepts of sustainability in permanently changing environments? How can we apply a user-friendly approach to design, as the user is anonymous and inconstant? What is the position of the designer in a world of manipulated values and beliefs? In the 1950’s and 1960’s, designers, architects and town planners slowly became aware of these problems. Christopher Alexander (1964) 93 may have been the best spokesman when he stated the need for changing the design process from an unconscious into a conscious one and making it transparent. During those decades, a knowledge domain emerged: systematic design and design theory as an attempt to ground the design activity in more scientific and rational paradigms. I have already made reference to the 1962 first conference on design methods in London (1963) 94, where the need for increased transparency and rational understanding of the design activity became apparent. Since then, many attempts have been made to arrive at a generally applicable model of the design process, all of them inspired by the growing importance of systems theory and thinking related to the rise of the computer age. These attempts try to systematize and describe in a rational way the design process, its several phases, and the kind of methods to be used in every phase, as Jones (1970) 95 tried to do, developing his “Design Method Matrix” (Fig.1.3.11). It is no mere coincidence that this intense development took place in the 1960’s and 1970’s, as this was the period that gave rise to the introduction of information technology into the design process, and where the first CAD applications made their entry into the design office. More than ever, there was a need for this evolution to have a coherent scientific grounding. The best-known and oldest model for the design process is that described by M. Asimow in his Introduction to Design (1962) 96: the 85

93 Alexander, C., 1964, Notes on the Synthesis of Form, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 94 Jones, J., and Thornley, D., 1963, Conference on Design Methods, Pergamon Press, London. 95 Jones, J., 1970, Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future, John Wiley & Sons, New York. 96 Asimow, M., 1962, Introduction to Design, Prentice Hall, New York.

1.3.11

Design Matrix by J.C. Jones (1970)

outputs

design situation explored

problem structure perceived or transformed

• Stating Objectives • Literature Searching • Visual Inconsistency • Interviewing Users • Brainstorming

• Literature Searching • Visual Inconsistency Search • Interviewing Users • Brainstorming • Synectics

inputs brief issued

design situation explored

problem structure perceived or transformed

boundaries located, sub-solutions described and conflicts identified

sub-solutions combined into alternative designs

alternative designs evaluated and final design selected

• Stating Objectives • Data Reduction • Interaction Matrix • Interaction Net • Classification • Specification Writing • Literature Searching • Questionnaires • Investigating User Behaviour • Systemic Testing • Selecting Measurement Scales • Data Logging

• Synectics • Removing Mental Blocks • AIDA • System Transformation • Boundary Shifting • Functional Innovation • Alexander’s Method

boundaries located, sub-solutions described and conflicts identified

sub-solutions combined into alternative designs

alternative designs evaluated and final design selected

• Visual Inconsistency Search • Brainstorming • Morphological Charts

• Visual Inconsistency Search • Brainstorming • Synectics

• Strategy Switching • Matchett’s FDM

• System Transformation • Functional Innovation • Alexander’s Method

• Boundary Searching • Systemic Testing • Brainstorming • Morphological Charts • Selecting Criteria • Ranking and Weighting • Specification Writing

• Brainstorming • Synectics • System Transformation • Boundary Shifting

• Systematic Search • Value Analysis • Systems Engineering • Man-Machine System Designing • Boundary Searching • Page’s Strategy • CASA

• Brainstorming • Synectics • Removing Mental Blocks • AIDA

• AIDA

• Value Analysis • Questionnaires • Investigating User Behaviour • Systemic Testing • Selecting Measurement Scales • Data Logging And Reduction • Checklists • Selecting Criteria • Ranking and Weighting • Specification Writing • Quirk’s Reliability Index

Design Sciences

97 Archer, B., 1963–64, “A Systematic Method for Designers” in Design, April 1963, Aug. 1963, Nov. 1963, Jan. 1964, May 1964, Aug. 1964. 98 RIBA, 1965, Architectural Practice and Management Handbook, RIBA Publications, London. 99 Maver, T., 1970 “Appraisal in the Building Design Process” in Emerging Methods in Environmental Design and Planning (Ed. Moore, G.), MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 100 Cross, N., 2001, Engineering Design Methods: Strategies for Product Design, John Wiley & Sons, New York. 101 Foqué, R.K.V., 1988, “Het Bouwproces” in Management Non Profit 4, Kluwer, Antwerp and Amsterdam.

analysis-synthesis-evaluation model. The analysis phase implies such actions as: defining a list of requirements; classifying criteria for design; specifying interactions among criteria; establishing lists of necessary design parameters; and agreement on a definite brief. The synthesis phase comprises such actions as: defining sub-solutions for specific criteria; combining these subsolutions; and elaborating on a total design solution. Evaluation is the phase where alternative solutions are compared in relation to the set criteria and a final solution is selected. Leonard Bruce Archer, in “A Systematic Method for Designers” (1963–1964) 97, elaborated on that model (Fig.1.3.12), which has led to the famous RIBA (1965) (Fig.1.3.13) plan of work map of the design process published in its Architectural Practice and Management Handbook (1965) 98. Tom Maver further developed this RIBA map (Fig. 1.3.14) in his “Appraisal in the Building Design Process” (1970) 99, basing his work on the assumption that the design process is a decision making process that must be run through several sequences of increasing detail. Jones, in turn, transformed the foregoing into a model that refers to the kind of thinking involved in the several design phases — and his model has a certain analogy to the phases of the creative process: divergent thinking, pattern recognition, and convergent thinking. More recently Nigel Cross, in Engineering Design Methods: Strategies for Product Design (2001) 100, (Fig.1.3.15) has put forward a more sophisticated cyclic model with two levels of description: A first level that indicates the nature of the problems addressed and a second level that provides the methods that can be used in order to solve any of the problems indicated by the first level. In my contribution to the standard reference book on building management (1988) 101, I proposed a comprehensive designing and building model, as used in most architectural offices (Fig. 1.3.16). All these models are, in principle, based on a linear sequence of events, decision-making, and actions. They rely heavily on the engineering design process and are inspired by the principles of systems theory. It cannot be denied that they are useful in understanding certain aspects of the design process. They help the designer reflect on what he is doing and impose a certain critical distance on the results of the process he is going through. At the same time, these models create the illusion that design is a kind of systematic process, which can be described in exact terms, and, if you follow the different steps, one that will lead automatically to a satisfactory solution. The assertion that a given input will lead to a well-determined output only by following a systematic path of actions is not only a dangerous myth, but also a catalyst for alienation between the designer, the designed product, its context, and the process underlying the design activity. It gives the 88

1.3.12

Design Process Model According to Archer (1963–1964)

Design Problem

Data Gathering analytical phase

Define Brief

Analysis creative phase

Synthesis

Evaluation

execution phase

Communication

Design Solution

1.3.13

The RIBA Plan of Work Map of the Design Process

phase 1

Assimilation

phase 2

General Study

phase 3

Development

phase 4

Communication

phase 1

phase 3

Assimilation

Development

•

• The development and refinement of one or more of the tentative solutions isolated during Phase 2

The accumulation and ordering of general information and information specifically related to the problem at hand

phase 4 phase 2

General Study • •

The investigation of the nature of the problem The investigation of possible solutions or means of solutions

Communication • The communication of one or more solutions to people inside or outside the design team

1.3.14

The Markus/Maver Map of the Design Process

outline proposals Analysis

Synthesis

Appraisal

Decision

Synthesis

Appraisal

Decision

Synthesis

Appraisal

Decision

scheme design Analysis

detail design Analysis

1.3.15

A General Model of the Creative Strategy by Cross

tension between conflicting Problem Goals

Solution Criteria

explored to establish

developed to satisfy

resolved by matching

Problem Frame

used to identify

Solution Concept

achieved by using Relevant First Principles

embodied in

1.3.16

The Traditional Design and Building Process

Initiative Information Gathering Compose Brief and List of Requirements Legal Codes and Norms Design Process Requesting Permits Building Preparation and Tender Obtaining Permits Building Execution Control Delivery

Occupancy

The Nature of Design Activity

impression that design is indeed a process that can be scientifically investigated and understood. It is no doubt co-responsible for the growing gap over recent decades between academic design teaching and research and the way design is professionally practiced. 3.5.2.3 The Fragmentation of the Design Process: the Design Assembly Line (Fig.1.3.17) There is no doubt a parallel between technological evolution and the way design activity is conceived, and the architectural profession is a striking example of this. In a craft society, the architect was permanently on site. He was the master builder, directing both the design and the building, which composed a completely integrated process. The cathedral building in the Middle Ages is a perfect example of such a process, in which the architect, the master masons, and the apprentices worked together in a lodge. That was the place that served as a workshop and a drawing office at the same time, from which all the work on the building site was organized. Once their work was finished at a particular site, they moved to another one. The immense accomplishments of the Gothic cathedral builders are usually examined in terms of technical and artistic achievement, but they also introduced methods for accounting building costs and organizing the labor, as pointed out by Virginia Lee Owen in “The Legacy of Gothic Cathedral Building” (1989) 102. Professional knowledge was shared in the lodges and kept secret from the outer world. Severe penalties were imposed on those members who revealed that knowledge in public. The Industrial Revolution definitely put an end to that era. As explained above, the introduction of technical drawing techniques gave the architect a common and generally understood medium to transmit his ideas to other participants involved in the designing- building process. It made the architectural office the center for design thinking and experiment. The physical relation with the building site became almost non-existent, along with the direct personal relationship with the builder. The separation between designer, client/user, and manufacturer is a matter of fact: the triangular relation is definitively broken. The rationalization of the design process has been further accelerated by the introduction of systems thinking to the design process, as explained above, the desperate need to cope with the growing density of the human environment, and constant change and technological innovation. Emphasis is entirely given to the structuring and communication moment, embedded in 93

102 Owen, V., 1989, “The Legacy of Gothic Cathedral Building” in Journal of Cultural Economics, Vol. 13, Nr. 1, Springer, Dortrecht, The Netherlands.

1.3.17

The Fragmentation of the Design Process

Designer craft society

User Manufacturer

Designer industrial society

User Manufacturer

postindustrial society

Designer

Designer

Designer

User

User

User

Manufacturer

Manufacturer

Manufacturer

The Nature of Design Activity

a linear process, split up into a sequence of clearly distinguishable stages. The introduction of early CAD systems as a replacement for the drafting board necessitated an even further fragmentation of design by drawing. A few examples of this fragmentation are: the use of databases of standardized building components and construction details, which are interchangeable; the technique of drawing in layers; the zoom-in, zoom-out command to manipulate the level of detail on which to work, but without any reference to scale. The transition from a craft society to an industrial and post-industrial society has given simultaneous rise to an important shift in the socio-economic relationships among the several partners involved in the building process. Architects have themselves to blame for having lost their leading role in that process. There are several reasons for that, which are interrelated and mutually enforcing. Architects were not able to keep up with the pace of innovation taking place in the building industry: the introduction of new composite materials, the rapid change of the building technology itself, the development of efficient methods of cost control and planning techniques, and the increasing complexity of systems integration during construction. Too late, they became aware of a fundamental shift in societal values: the ecological awareness and the consequent importance of sustainability. Architects by their own education, whether grounded in the Bauhaus or the earlier Beaux-Arts tradition — the first group considering themselves as engines of social reform, the second still believing in the artistic calling of the profession — are strongly self-centered and too focused on their creative mission, the idea that their designs will make the difference and should be beyond critique. In a 1972 interview Horst Rittel called this mind set the “asymmetry of ignorance,” 103 the assumption that the architect believes that he has full professional expertise to handle somebody else’s problem, therefore casting doubt on his ability not only to provide adequate answers to the needs of the client, but even to understand the underlying problems and wishes. The almost pathetic worshipping of the “starchitects” nowadays is the almost inevitable result. Dana Cuff’s quote from Peter Eisenman, in her “Through the Looking Glass: Seven New York Architects and Their People” (1989) 104, is illustrative in that respect: “I do my work for me; there are no other ‘people’ for the architect. My best work is without purpose. I invent purpose afterwards. Who cares about function? That is the reduction of architecture to mindless convenience”. At the same time, the professional responsibility of the architect has increased. It has led to changes in the architects’ contracts, attempts to decrease their liability by putting it on the shoulders of the other partners in the building process. But by doing so they have changed the balance 95

103 Rittel, H., 1972, “Interview” in DMGOccasional Paper, nr. 1, Berkeley, California. 104 Cuff, D., 1989, “Through the Looking Glass: Seven New York Architects and Their People” in Architects’ People (Eds. Russell E. and Cuff D.), Oxford University Press, New York.

Design Sciences

of power, creating a vacuum: there is no power without responsibility. The building industry, technically better equipped, better organized and economically more powerful, has eagerly filled that gap, followed by real estate developers seeing market opportunities. The result is a complete division of labor in the design industry and the introduction of an assembly line in the design process. Design problems are split up by discipline and dealt with by the respective specialists. Drafting services in the several parts of the world work around the clock in shifts on the same project. Separate firms handle design and site supervision without much interaction. This has led to design-build commissions where the architect’s role is nothing more than that of an aesthetic building surgeon. Architects are now in a situation where the quality of their work is increasingly based on the publicity value of a design, its media relevance, and the architect’s fame. Too often, the glitter of the scenery must cover the poor quality of the content and the inability to deal with the real environmental and social problems at stake. Architectural design is losing its relation to its context. along with the values on which it has been built since its origin. We are pulling down the three fundamental pillars on which the profession has relied since the time of Vitruvius: “Firmitas, Utilitas, and Venustas” — structure, function, and beauty. Only by reintegrating those three aspects can works of architecture again merit universal admiration: architecture that earns approval without ostentation, where form and function become a materialized whole within a spatial and socio-cultural context, serving the community.

105 Friedman, D., 2006, “Architectural Education and Practice on the Verge” in Report on Integrated Practice, American Institute of Architects, Washington D.C.



3.5.3



Design as an Integrated Process

In his introduction to the Report on Integrated Practice (2006) 105, Daniel Friedman cites three related developments that will fundamentally change architectural practice and teaching: first, the widening influence of contemporary theory on building composition, involving a shift in emphasis from static to dynamic form; second, the proliferation of pedagogies that dissolve professional or disciplinary distinctions based on scale, resulting in an increasing sensitivity to the behavior and interdependency of dynamic networks across multiple scales of production; and third, the shift from linear perspective to virtual modeling and its impact on the relation between the logic of representation and the logic of construction. Friedman rightly 96

The Nature of Design Activity

points out that the first two developments feature new ways of thinking about form and design, and the third, new ways of thinking about business and construction, referring to the emergence of building information modeling techniques, known as BIM, introduced by AutoDesk in 2002. The American Institute of Architects defines BIM as a digital modelbased technology linked with a database of project information. The idea is to reintegrate design, construction, and project management, reducing project delivery time and overall costs. In fact, this is the latest attempt in a 30-year quest to create a kind of artificial design intelligence that goes back to the first architectural CAD application in the 1970’s and the accompanying efforts to create electronic libraries of building elements. In his critical analysis of the introduction of BIM in the architectural office, “Why Building Information Technology Is Not Working” (2004) 106, Ken Sanders refers to the difference between the designing-building process and the production of airplanes and cars (where the use of BIM technology is commonplace) as a major handicap to making information modeling techniques effective tools for the architect’s practice. These differences are many and significant. Each building is a unique product, made on-site, subject to varying standards and local building codes, and subject to different liabilities of the partners involved, dependent on local construction trades and methods. The designconstruction partnerships are temporary and made in relation to the realization of a particular project. This does not mean that the architects should turn away from these new methods. But a fruitful and meaningful use will need a comprehensive contextual framework. The degree to which the architectural profession has been fundamentally changed by the rapid evolution of ICT over the past decades, in particular the growing sophistication of 3-D modeling and fabrication techniques, can hardly be overestimated. This development raises serious questions about the core activity of the architect, his knowledge base, his position within the design and building process, and the traditional ethical values so essential to a profession with direct responsibility to the natural and man-made environment. The analysis I have made in previous paragraphs, showing the evolution of the design process from an unconscious to a rational process and the accompanying disintegration of that process, indicates that there is an urgent need for the above-mentioned contextual framework. It also indicates that the building of such a framework is a complex and multi-layered undertaking. This framework cannot be limited to the introduction of new techniques of representation. It cannot be limited to a renewed discussion on 97

106 Sanders, K., 2004, “Why Building Information Technology is not Working” in Architectural Record 09, McGraw-Hill, New York.

Design Sciences

form and function and how the introduction of 3-D virtual modeling has changed our aesthetic perception, giving rise to new architectural forms, nor can it can be limited to the fact that these new architectural forms can be manufactured due to the growing sophistication of CAD/CAM programs, as Frank Gehry’s office proves daily. It cannot be limited to the argument that BIM may considerably cut design, building, and development costs, or that liabilities should be revisited. What is needed is a fundamental paradigm shift in architectural education, the entrance to the profession, and the profession itself. Other disciplines such as business administration, public administration, law, and medicine have fundamentally changed their disciplines and raised them to an indisputably scientific and professional level. This entails a cultural shift from individual approaches to shared knowledge, integration of education and practice, a reconsideration of the internship process, and the establishment of a research and development strategy between the academic and professional worlds. The key questions are how to build a generally applicable knowledge base on which the architectural profession of the 21st century can be grounded, and what is the socio-economic and cultural context in which it should be embedded? How can we reintegrate a fractured design situation and how can we again master the centrifugal powers that have slowly removed the architect from his central position? What shall be done to regain a respected status like that of other liberal professions, and what can the architectural discipline contribute to a new academic vision? In order to answer these questions, we need to investigate a number of aspects that are particular to the architectural discipline; these can provide the necessary arguments for establishing a coherent framework on which to build an adequate knowledge base for the architectural profession. This will be done in the following chapter.



3.5.4



Design as an Agent of Change

As we have argued, design relies on the methodologies of both science and art. Understanding how these fields interact within a design process is crucial for understanding the role of design in solving socio-economic problems and issues in an innovative way. Design is the activity par excellence to bring culture into a tangible reality. It unites the methods of science and art to produce innovation and economic growth, to the benefit of the coming generations. And it can only fulfill its task when embedded in an environment of critical and creative thinking. In A Whole New Mind: Moving

98

The Nature of Design Activity

from the Information Age to the Conceptual Age (2005) 107, Daniel Pink identifies a clear movement from an economy and a society built on the logical, linear, computer-based capabilities of the Information Age to an economy and a society built on the inventive, empathic, big-picture capabilities of what is rising in its place, the Conceptual Age. Design thinking should play a major role in this social and cultural transition. It is inherently innovative, heuristic, and experimental, driven by empathy and focused on problem-solving. It essentially deals with complex and multivariate conditions, problems with multiple stakeholders, fuzzy boundaries, and the areas where solutions may be found between disciplines. Designers, and especially architects, are known for not limiting themselves to problems as “given” in a well-established brief, but will always try to reformulate, restate, and discover problems not previously identified. It is one of the characteristics of reflexive practice as defined by Donald Schön in The Reflective Practitioner (1987) 108: “Problem setting is the process in which, interactively, we name things to which we will attend and frame the context in which we will attend to them.” Therefore, designers should bring to the table a broad, multi-disciplinary spectrum of ideas from which to draw inspiration. Historically, much emphasis has been placed on design practice and production — the design product — and far less on the educational and research aspects or the design process and design thinking. Design in the next decade will move beyond the product and beyond the workflow, dealing with complete processes, entire environments, and global experiences. Designers should have a heightened multicultural awareness, enabling them to better explore ideas, envision themselves as multidisciplinary thinkers, express ideas clearly in a variety of media and circumstances, develop, attract, and ultimately affect diverse audiences, and explore various professional, cultural, and social contexts as they relate to personal and collective goals. Richard Florida, in The Rise of Creative Class (2002) 109, argues clearly that the key to economic growth lies not just in the ability to attract the creative class, but to translate this underlying advantage into creative economic outcomes in the form of new ideas, new high-tech businesses, and regional growth. The distinguishing characteristic of the creative class is that its members engage in work whose function is to create meaningful new forms. This new class includes, according to Florida, scientists and engineers, university professors, poets and novelists, artists, entertainers, actors, designers, and architects, as well as the “thought leadership”

99

107 Pink, D.H., 2005, A Whole New Mind: Moving from the Information Age to the Conceptual Age, Riverhead Books, New York. 108 Schön, D.A., 1987, The Reflective Practitioner, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco. 109 Florida, R., 2002, The Rise of the Creative Class, Basic Books, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Design Sciences

110 Simon, H., 1996, The Sciences of the Artificial, 3rd Ed., MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 111 Cross, N., 2006, Designerly Ways of Knowing, SpringerVerlag Ltd., London. 112 Foqué, R.K.V., 1996a, “Design Research: The Third Way”, in Doctorates in Design and Architecture, Vol. 1, Delft University Press, Delft, The Netherlands.

of modern society: nonfiction writers, editors, cultural figures, think-tank researchers, analysts, and other opinion-makers. Members of this supercreative core produce new forms or designs that are readily transferable and broadly useful — such as designing a product that can be widely made, sold, and used, or coming up with a theorem or strategy that can be applied in many cases. In his famous treatise, The Sciences of the Artificial (1996) 110, Herbert Simon advocates a “science of design,” that could establish a fundamental and common ground of intellectual endeavor and communication across the arts, sciences, and technology. The challenge is to see design not only as an interdisciplinary way of problem-solving, but also as a discipline on its own. It is, as Nigel Cross remarks in Designerly Ways of Knowing (2006) 111, the paradoxical task of creating an interdisciplinary discipline. A consensus seems to be growing among many authors in different fields of knowledge about the existence of something that could be described as “design intelligence”: a way of thinking that is different from both scientific thinking and from an artistic approach to the world. This would be design as a “third way” (1996) 112, with its own paradigms and method of inquiry, and the recognition that conventional dualistic thinking does not offer any perspectives that can be used to deal with global problems in a world where change is the steady state.

100

4

So architects who without culture aim at manual skill cannot gain a prestige corresponding to their labors, while those who trust to theory and literature obviously follow a shadow and not a reality. But those who have mastered both, like men equipped in full armor, soon acquire influence and attain their purpose. Vitruvius, 25 BC, Book I, Chapter 1, On the Training of Architects

Chapter 4 Understanding Architectural Design Processes

1

4.1



The Use of Models as a Tool for Architectural Inquiry

In the previous chapter, I explained how the design activity is centered around three primary moments: a structuring moment, a creative moment, and a communication moment. All three are interrelated and intertwined. They unroll during the design process through the use of “models.” The technique of “modeling” is in fact crucial for not only our understanding of the world but also for the ability to communicate with it. It was the psychologist Kenneth Craik who first used the concept of mental models in The Nature of Explanation (1943) 113. He postulated that “the mind constructs 'small-scale models' of reality that it uses to anticipate events, to reason, and to underlie explanation.” These mental models are constructed in the memory as a result of perception, the comprehension of discourse, or imagination. It is crucial, according to Craik, that their structure correspond to the structure of that which they represent. In that sense, they are akin to building models used by architects, to models of molecules used by chemists, to diagrams in physics, and to formulas in mathematics. Donald Norman, in the The Psychology of Everyday Things (1988) 114, defined the process of modeling as one of interaction: In interacting with the environment, with others, and with the artifacts of technology, people form internal, mental models of themselves and of the things with which they are interacting. These models provide predictive and explanatory power for understanding the interaction. As we have seen, all communication is indeed based on information transfer between a source, the sender of the information, and the receiver. 103

113 Craik, K., 1943, The Nature of Explanation, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, England. 114 Norman, D., 1988, The Psychology of Everyday Things, Basic Books, New York (reissued, 2002, as The Design of Everyday Things, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts).

Design Sciences

Information per se is abstract and non-materialized, it needs to be transformed into transferable messages and signals. To do so, we use formal or physical bearers of information. We “model” the information into a readable representation. In this context, a model is a representation of reality, used by the person to communicate about specific phenomena and to try to understand these phenomena. Through the process of modeling, information is processed and transformed from one model into another, based on metaphors and analogies. The same functions and parameters are represented, but in each transformational step different “materials” and techniques are used. Within this context, architectural design can be understood as a process of information transformation based on modeling (Fig. 1.4.1). The architect experiences, analyses, and perceives the physical world and constructs his mental model — and so does the client. Those two mental models will intersect and be transformed into conceptual models by the architect, and later transformed into physical models as representations of the intent upon which to build reality. Ultimately the built product as a prototype model itself will add to the physical world. This iterative process of inquiry through modeling defines the essence of the architectural method. As such, it places itself within the systems-thinking approach, as this process of transformational representation invokes the structuring process, as we have described in the previous chapter, but equally so embodies the other two design activity moments: the creative and the communicational. System theory indeed relies on the assumption that a whole is defined not only by its individual elements but also by their interactions. A system emerges when single parts or elements come together into a larger whole to form a structure. The construction of such a structure follows particular rules and structural patterns to fulfill the system’s goals and purpose. Architectural inquiry is based on research by design as outlined in previous chapters. From a systems-thinking point of view, it consists of two phases. First, the constituent elements of the design context are defined and the structural patterns between them identified. This is an essentially analytic activity, taking place in the tension between objective observable facts and subjective value judgments. It implies that the architect must determine the organizational principles he will use within the design context. The second phase is characterized by an active intervention in the perceived structure of the design context. The architect will replace elements, add elements, and change the patterns between them. This is an essentially synthetic activity. It is an intervention in the systemic characteristics themselves to make them fulfill the goals. The result is a definite changed context. 104

1.4.1

Architectural Design as an Information Transformation Process through Modeling

physical world before

Architect Observations Experiences Values Beliefs Perceptions

Mental Model

Mental Model

info-transformation

Conceptual Model

info-transformation

Formal / Physical Model

info-transformation

Building

physical world after

Client Observations Experiences Values Beliefs Perceptions

Design Sciences

Inherent in a design context is the enormous quantity of its elements and their interrelationships. The information packages to be modeled, both on the level of quantifiable and qualitative parameters, are of an almost infinite complexity. Therefore, architectural design problems are always per se contradictory, ambivalent, and incomplete. This poses some serious methodological questions about the use of models in the design process in relation to inherent characteristics of the models themselves. Norman (1988, see note 114 p. 103) mentions some of these: Models are always incomplete and generally inaccurate representations; they contain errors and even contradictions; they are constantly evolving; they provide simplified explanations of complex phenomena; and they contain measures of uncertainty about their validity. Consequently, modeling is in fact a “poor” technique to use to inquire about the world. Why is that? Why is it nevertheless a powerful tool for inquiry and understanding? Modeling simultaneously takes place on three levels: syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic. (Figs.1.4.2 and 1.4.3) 1

The syntactic level deals with the vocabulary, grammar, and syntax of the modeling language. Of primary importance on this level is the accuracy with which knowledge and data can be transformed into a model. The syntactic level provides the elements and signs, the combinatory rules and structural patterns that can be used to construct the model. In this sense, syntax is most important as the underlying cornerstone for the structuring moment in design.

2

The semantic level deals with meaning and value: what do the elements, the signs, and their combinations stand for; how precisely does the model represent the desired and intended meaning of the maker? On the semantic level, signs become symbols embedded in a cultural context. They can refer to real or virtual physical realities, but also to conceptual ideas and thoughts. In that sense, semantics is most essential in the creative moment.

3

The pragmatic level deals with the effectiveness of the model: how effective is the model for the user? Does he understand its purpose? Does it convey the intended message, and to what extent? Pragmatics is about bridging the explanatory gap between the model and the user. The utterances and their contextual interpretation are crucial to that process, referencing the

106

1.4.2

Levels of Modeling

Natural Languages

Logical / Artificial Languages

Modeling

syntactic

• Vocabulary • Grammar and Syntax

• Set of Symbols • Operational Rules

• Collection of Single Elements • Combinatory Rules

semantic

• Language as a Representation of Real and/or Fictitious States

• Strings of Symbols as a Representation of all Possible Worlds

• Models Referring to Reality (Real and/or Virtual)

pragmatic

• Rhetoric as a Medium for Convincing and Influencing

• Relation Artificial Language /User

• Effect of the Model on the User • Explanatory Power

1.4.3

Modeling as a Tool for Architectural Inquiry: Levels / Moments

Structuring Moment

syntactic level

semantic level

pragmatic level

Creative Moment

Communicative Moment

Design Sciences

115 Foqué, R.K.V., 1982, “Beyond Design Methods: Arguments for a Practical Design Theory”, in Changing Design (Eds. Evans, B., Powell, J., and Talbot, R.), John Wiley & Sons, New York.

difference between the “objective” or “literal” meaning of the model and the meaning the maker is trying to convey through the model. In that sense, pragmatics is paramount to the communication moment. Models essentially use a descriptive and static language on both the syntactic and semantic levels. This implies that you must reduce that which you want to represent into forms that can be described by the modeling language used. The language is a given, and you must cut the phenomena to fit the language. A 2D drawing, for instance, may allow for a coherent representation of a building layout and the way rooms are interconnected, but it cannot give any indication of the special experience of walking through that building. Therefore, your interests may be better served by an animated 3D digital model. Moreover, a model can only represent those parameters and functions that are unambiguously definable. Hence highly complex systems, such as architectural contexts, can never be entirely “caught” in a model. There will always exist an indescribable remainder outside the model. Thus modeling will always result in a loss of complexity and reduction of reality. As a result, it is of paramount importance to make well-considered choices regarding the modeling technique to be used in relation to what the model should effectively represent and convey. This brings us to the question of the use of models as a method of architectural investigation on a methodological level. I have argued in “Beyond Design Methods: Arguments for a Practical Design Theory” (1982) 115, that it is essential to examine the use of models critically in terms of their underlying theoretical frameworks and socio-cultural contexts. This assertion is based on the principle that theoretical questions may be overlooked in a purely methodological discussion, as implied in the stereotypical question, “If method A is not working, which method B does?” An answer on that level works when we are looking to legitimize a specific method. It is, however, inadequate when it comes to analyzing underlying value patterns, analyzing the structure of a societal consensus, analyzing the function of theory in the practice of design, and clarifying the subjective position of the architect within the context in which he is working. If we constrain our inquiry to the level of methodology, it is not possible to investigate the relationship between theory and practice, nor can the socio-cultural function of architectural design be discussed. In the Cartesian view, as we have seen, there is a fundamental dualism between theory and practice and between man and his environment.

108

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

As a result of the purely methodological inquiry, reality is seen as objective. The result is a descriptive relationship between reality and the theory explaining it. Within that context, the architect continues to utilize models as a design language, and he perceives the design context as something that is independent of him, following its own course, something that can be investigated and objectively represented. Geoffrey Broadbent (1973, 1976) 116, sees a solution to this problem, suggesting that the architect has to reach as great a completeness of “representations” as possible. “It is a guarantee to open the discussion on underlying norms and values.” In Broadbent’s vision, this is a methodological question. He sees the evolution in design theory as a shift of level from the search for design strategies to the construction of models that can effectively describe the design problem. His analysis is correct, but does not take into account the epistemological dimension of the problem as pointed out above. In order to know the values behind the method used, we should analyze the way knowledge is structured within it and fundamental values are produced by it. In other words, the method of architectural inquiry is not value-free, but produces its own limitations that will ultimately influence the design results. It obeys the law of bipolarity in the design process. Architectural design is in that sense not a problem of reduction but of transformation from the life-factual to the design-factual. The architect always organizes the facts in such a way that the structure gives him the ability to carry out his design activity, both stemming from and contributing towards the models used. Hence, architectural inquiry will always be a confrontation between the structuring rules underlying the mental model, the conceptual model, and the physical model. These rules are embedded in the syntax of the modeling language in the first place, determining the borders of the design “playground,” but also largely determining the semantic scope of the model and the pragmatic power of it. Synthesis in architectural design is not only a matter of uniting design sub-solutions into one overall solution in a physical sense, but of integrating facts and values, a matter of confronting what is with what could be.

109

116 Broadbent, G., 1973, Design in Architecture, John Wiley & Sons, London and New York. Broadbent, G., 1976, “The Development of Design Methods”, in Ontwerpmethodieken 12, (Eds. Foqué, R.K.V., Huybrechts, J., and Putter, H.), Delft University, Delft, The Netherlands.

Design Sciences

117 Le Corbusier, 1923, Vers une Architecture, Editions Crès, Paris. 118 Conrads, U., 1993, Programs and Manifestoes on 20th-Century Architecture, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

1

4.2



Variety and Uniqueness

Maybe one of the main fallacies when it comes to understanding architectural design processes stems from looking at them as analogous to other design and construction processes, such as those of the car or aviation industry and industrial processes in general. This mistake was propagated by the first CAD software developers, who assumed that their programs written for engineering applications could be transferred “mutatis mutandis” to the architectural practice. But already in the 1920’s, the protagonists of the modern movement were charmed by the new wonders of engineering. The successes of technology were inspiring the great architects of that time. Le Corbusier (1923) 117 advocated in his Vers une architecture the evolving esthetic of mass-production building: “La machine à habiter” and the works of engineers who, according to him, achieve harmony inspired by the law of economy and governed by mathematical calculation. In 1924, Mies van der Rohe, quoted by Ulrich Conrads in his Programs and Manifestoes on 20thCentury Architecture (1993) 118, maintained that explicitly linking architecture to industrialized forms of building solved even the artistic problems involved. The CIAM La Sarraz declaration of 1928, also quoted in Conrads, states very clearly: The most efficient method of production is that which arises from rationalization and standardization. Rationalization and standardization act directly on working methods both in modern architecture (conception) and in the building industry. It is urgently necessary for architecture, abandoning the outmoded conceptions connected with the class of craftsmen, henceforth to rely upon the present realities of industrial technology, even though such an attitude must perforce lead to products fundamentally different from those of past epochs. Architects have always been balanced between technology and craft and, as we have seen, the method of architectural inquiry has always relied on a rather foggy combination of scientific and artistic methodologies. To derive a general design theory from the principles of engineering design is very tempting, as at first glance, there seems to be a lot to learn from these so-called more advanced and automated industries. The underlying 110

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

process of engineering design appears to be analogous and follows objectively the same pattern, but is more comprehensive and structured, hence more understandable. This is one of the reasons why the engineering design process was there at the birth of design methodology and theory in the 1960’s and has stood as an example for studying the architectural design process. The most positive effect of this approach has been the introduction of systemic thinking into architecture, paving the way for the introduction of the digital media into the architecture practice and the emerging development of a discipline-characteristic digital language. At the same time, this approach has given new insights and inspired new theoretical thinking about the essence of architectural form and structure, their interrelation and contextual embedding. A closer analysis of the two processes reveals important differences, however, essential for understanding the true nature of the design and construction process as fundamentally different from the process in other industries. If we want to establish a true body of knowledge for the architectural discipline, it is paramount to identify and to investigate these differences. Jean Baptiste Burie was one of the first to distinguish the building process from other production processes, in his Het gedrag van organisaties in het bouwproces (1978) 119. Without further elaboration, he mentioned three major characteristics, typical for the building industry: (1) the strong involvement of the governing authorities, (2) the dissimilarity of each production process, and (3) the inter-organizational character of that process. All three point at a particular degree of complexity: 1

Legal complexity: As the primary function of architecture is to give shelter to human activities, it directly influences human behavior and is constantly balancing between individual needs and the broader societal context, between privacy and community, between private and public property. Moreover, the economic, ecological, and socio-cultural impact is enormous. This is the primary reason why governments, being the protectors of the common interest, want to regulate as much as possible the process that underlies the creation of that built environment. As a consequence, more than in other industries, the architecture production is subject to an increasing and conflicting collection of codes and laws, differing from country to country and from state to state.

2

Production complexity: Each building is unique and erected at a specific site, under distinct contextual conditions, physically and culturally. The building technology involved may differ each 111

119 Burie, J.B., 1978, “Het gedrag van organisaties in het bouwproces”, in Handboek Bouwen en Wonen, Van Loghum Slaterus, Deventer, The Netherlands.

Design Sciences

120 Foqué, R.K.V., 2003, “The Case Study as an Extension into Scholarship and Research”, in Proceedings of the Case Study Work Group, Open Meeting 3, AIA, San Francisco.

time, and each building involves teams of different workers to carry out the production. 3

Organizational complexity: Each building process underlies an increasingly complex combination of individual partners, with their individual organizational structures. They participate in the process with their own agendas, their own goals and aims, often contradictory and conflicting. They bring to the table their particular specialized knowledge, molded in their professional jargon, often causing misunderstanding and resentment.

I will take these three aspects as a starting point for further elaboration, as I already did briefly in my contribution to the AIA case study work group (2003) 120. Examining them leads to the identification of four paradoxes.

121 Finkielkraut, A., 1987, La Défaite de la Pensée, Gallimard, Paris.



4.2.1



Variety of Architectural Theories and Uniqueness of the Design End Product

It is one of the fundamental characteristics of Postmodern society that there is no longer a unified theory about architecture, nor is there a common framework or value system to assess the multitude of architectural approaches or attitudes towards design problems. On the contrary, variety in combination with strict individual beliefs has become an intrinsic feature of architecture today. This makes it almost impossible to answer the question of whether a building is good or bad. Is it “good architecture” or is it “mediocre”? The uniqueness of the building as an end product of design stands in sharp contrast to the variety of theories that could have been applied and the absence of an absolute value system to which the work might refer. We are thus confronted with one of the main crises in architecture today: the complete lack of a frame of reference to compare, evaluate, and appreciate buildings, and the absolute absence of a solid set of criteria to do so. This is another illustration of Alain Finkielkraut’s La Défaite de la Pensée (Defeat of the Mind, 1987) 121. Under the influence of stardom, architecture more and more situates itself on the level of “anything goes”, as long as it bears the signature of such a star. Architectural quality has become directly proportional to the degree of media attention and the publicity value of the building. The “starchitect” has become a brand, like Coca-Cola or Pepsi, Nike or Adidas, and consequently architecture has become a 112

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

commodity and has placed itself on the level of consumption and fashion. It has become an uprooted architecture that shows and not serves; that is built on quicksand, disconnected from the Vitruvian principles of firmness, commodity, and delight. Strangely enough, architects conform themselves to this role model. Joining the league of the stars, becoming famous, is seen as the ultimate goal and the crowning of a career. The professional organizations and journals, the way in which awards, honors, and prizes are won and selections made for participation in architectural competitions, all enforce the same trend — even architectural education. Schools compete to have the largest number of icons in their lecture series; faculty selection is done on the basis of fame rather than on the intrinsic quality of the candidate’s work; and students are directed toward the most fashionable segment of contemporary architecture as exemplary for good practice and great architecture. Architecture has become so intensively a game that the reality of how a building is experienced has been completely overlooked. In Encounters (1995) 122, Juhani Pallasmaa points out that there is a direct connection with the advancement of modern science being dominated by the principles of atomism and reductionism. “Architecture becomes a play with form, combining various visual elements of form and space to a concrete composition built up out of a selection of given basic elements.” Unfortunately, these compositions are no longer in touch with the sociocultural reality from which they have emerged. Alberto Perez-Gomez, in Architecture and the Crisis of Modern Science (1990) 123, describes this situation as follows: “The poetical content of reality, the a priori of the world, which is the ultimate frame of reference for any truly meaningful architecture, is hidden beneath a thick layer of formal explanations.” Where “formalism” in Classical architecture was totally embedded in the value system of the times and socio-culturally supported, it is nowadays emptied of any context. All of this contributes to the paradoxical crisis with which contemporary architecture is confronted. Never before has architecture had such widespread exposure and been so highly valued, culturally by the public, but at the same time it has relinquished its authority by explicitly denying its own content and mission. Architects are defeating their own profession by cutting off the branch on which they sit, leaving their discipline without support. How can we reverse this decline? As permanent change has become the constant state of contemporary society, we should be aware that the search 113

122 Pallasmaa, J., 2005, Encounters, Rakennustieto Oy, Helsinki. 123 Perez-Gomez, A., 1990, Architecture and the Crisis of Modern Science, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Design Sciences

for an ultimate architectural and/or design theory is a dangerous myth, as architects are dealing not with the natural but with the man-made, artificial world. The bipolarity of the design process, as we have defined it, has the consequence that architects are creating and modifying the environment and are at the same time confronted with a kind of “autonomous environment”, which imposes its own rules and is subject to its own paradigms. If we look at architecture that way, we should be able to redefine our concept of architectural theory and cope with the variety aspect of it. We should invest in building knowledge, critical thinking, and methodological reflection. We should try to understand how “architectural products” come into being, the effects they cause on the environment, and the way they are used by the consumer. We should investigate through comparative studies to discover the differences and similarities of contemporary architectural discourses, giving ourselves a broadening insight into how the architect’s mind works, the methods he is using, and the paradigms to which he is indebted. Case study research is a key to this, as we shall see in the second part of this book. It will give us the necessary contextual climate to link the variety of architectural theories to the uniqueness of the products. It will provide answers to the question of whether a building is “good” or “bad” by defining a quality borderline which cannot be trespassed — a borderline that is not only defined by technical or functional criteria, but also by criteria belonging to the essential human senses, by which we experience beauty, enjoyment, satisfaction; a borderline that is rooted in a system of values and beliefs and therefore can be critically questioned and argued. This will help us not only to ask the right questions regarding theoretical concepts behind the design, but also to see correspondences, inconsistencies, and contextual barriers. In other words, it will allow us to discover the opportunities and the constraints of architectural theory in a real world designing and building situation, offering key knowledge for establishing an architectural science.



4.2.2



Variety of Participants and Uniqueness of the Design Process

Typical for the designing and building process in a real life situation is the variety of the participants involved: the architect, the client, the user, the engineering consultants, the contractor, the governmental bodies, etc. They all have their individual value systems, architectural beliefs, and strategies, and they pursue their own different goals. They often conflict which each other; they sometimes endorse each other. This means that all these parties 114

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

will try to influence the decision-making process in order to realize their own set goals. The nature of the designing and building process itself does not allow for a reduction in either the variety of participants or of the variety of messages. In an earlier publication, “Design Participation: The Medium and the Message (1985) 124, I called that the “asymmetry of knowledge,”, paraphrasing Horst Rittel’s “symmetry of ignorance,” where, in a 1972 interview at Berkeley 125, he pointed out that no participant in a design process can guarantee that his knowledge of the design problem is superior to the knowledge of other participants. On the other hand, every designing and building process is unique in time and place, unable to be repeated. Every decision made allows for a sequence of other possible decisions and excludes a series of decisions that could have been made. Hence such a process can be described as a decisionmaking tree, converging in time and place. Once the building is finished, all decisions have been made. This problem of the variety among participants raises serious questions about the professionalism of each party involved. A balanced decision-making process presumes both respect for the knowledge of the specialist and willingness to share that with the other. That is the basis for interdisciplinary collaboration, and it is precisely that balance that is at stake right now. Over the last decades, the building industry has become increasingly aware of the importance of research and development. New materials, techniques, and management approaches have been introduced at growing speed and are changing the industry drastically. Sophisticated financing systems have been developed, and projects are becoming increasingly integrated, global, and international. Clients are more mature and articulate. More than ever before, they have a clear idea what they want and how to get it. They have learned to argue their needs and wishes and to critically question the design solutions offered to them. Unfortunately, the architect did not see or did not wish to see that evolution. He slowly abandoned the “decision-making field,” leaving it to the other parties. The only thing he kept to himself is form and appearance, as explained above. The architect has put himself on the fringe of the designing-building game. Instead of being in the center of the decision-making, he is wandering on the periphery. Apart from the above-mentioned asymmetry of knowledge and consequently of power and leadership, there is also the problem of communication among the parties involved. This refers to the different aspects of the communication moment during the design activity as outlined in 115

124 Foqué, R.K.V., 1985, “Design participation: The Medium and the Message”, in Design Coalition Team, Vol. 3, Eindhoven University of Technology, Eindhoven, The Netherlands. 125 Rittel, H., 1972, “Interview” in DMGOccasional Paper, nr. 1, Berkeley, California.

Design Sciences

a previous chapter. Communication during the designing and building process not only involves written language and/or speech, but the total spectrum of media, such as drawings, physical models, computer animations, photographs, algorithms, calculations, diagrams, etc. The use of these media involves modeling to transform abstract information into a transmittable message that occurs on all three levels: the syntactic, the semantic, and the pragmatic. The question now is, “How can we make use of the traditional communication model for a more profound understanding of the decisionmaking mechanisms during a designing and building process?” The complexity of this process is, on the one hand, directly proportional to the varied characteristics of the different participants on the level of messages sent, media used, and methods applied; on the other hand, it is dependent upon the uniqueness of the designing-building team composition, the design problem to be solved, and the end product envisioned. •

Variety of Participants and Uniqueness of the Designingbuilding Team Although the several roles in a designing and building process are always the same, the firms or the actual persons playing roles are different each time. Very often a team for a given project starts as a collection of mere strangers, working together for the first time. They not only pursue different goals and interests, but they have different professional expertise, ranging from extreme specialist knowledge about certain aspects to absolute naiveté about others. So a person may be at the absolute top as far as systems integration is concerned, but know absolutely nothing about foundation techniques and structural strength.

•

Variety of Messages and Uniqueness of the Design Problem Although every architectural commission puts generally the same problems on the table — problems of structure, systems integration, massing, orientation, occupancy — the problem structure itself is different each time. The individual elements are different, as are the relationships between them and the context wherein they appear. The building site is different — the physical and climatological conditions — but so are the materials and the technology. Even if the building belongs to the same typology, the brief is unique, functions are defined differently, and values have individual interpretations. There are allmost no grounds for making a useful comparison between

116

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

two architectural design problems. They are absolutely unique on the level of definition. At the same time, there is the variety of participants and the uniqueness of the team gathered to tackle and solve these unique problems. These factors, in turn, lead to a wide variety of messages transferred during the designing-building process. The different “professional languages” used result in kaleidoscopic information transfer and in a communication process seriously compromised by noise on all three levels: syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic. All members of the designing-building team are both senders and receivers of information and try to build a complete model of the design problem at stake — a model that they understand, which they can share with the other parties involved, and on which they can act and apply their specialist expertise. •

Variety of Media and Methods and Uniqueness of the Process and End Product The situation outlined above results in the fact that architectural designing and building processes are characterized by a wide range of codes and languages used during the different modeling phases: from freehand sketches to technical drawings, from simple cardboard models to sophisticated digital animations, from rule-of-thumb approaches to exact mathematical calculations, and from qualitative descriptions and value judgments to undeniable fact and figures. On top of this, there may not be much mutual knowledge about these codes among the team members. They speak different “languages,” and even if they speak the same one, the accent is different. Nonetheless, it is essential that the outcome of the process should satisfy the goals and needs of all parties involved.

The above analysis tries to give a picture of the complexity of the communication moment during an architectural designing-building process. The reality, however, is even more complex, as all these parameters interfere with each other on different levels and in the several phases of the process. The Variety/Uniqueness Matrix (Fig. 1.4.4) illustrates how a tremendous “noiseenvironment” is created, with almost unlimited variety on all three levels: syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic. I have called this the “Design Noise Box”: the communication context wherein every designing-building process is embedded (Fig.1.4.5).

117

1.4.4

The Variety / Uniqueness Matrix

uniqueness of

Design and Building Coalition Team

variety of

Problems

Process and Product

participants

messages

media and methods

1.4.5

The Design Noise-Box Syntactic Level pragmatic level uniqueness of variety of

Design and Building Coalition Team

Problems

Process and Product Syntactic Level semantic level

uniqueness of variety of

Design and Building Coalition Team

Problems

Process and Product Syntactic Level syntactic level

uniqueness of variety of

participants

messages

media and methods

Design and Building Coalition Team

Problems

Process and Product

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

If we want to improve communication among all parties involved, we have to reduce this noise box and look for adequate media, understood by all the participants of the process. It is just as crucial that we understand the role and mission of each of these participants. How can we gain insight into this complex process of decision-making during each stage of the designing-building process? The attempt to reconstruct the design process is a good method to analyze this, as I shall explain in the second part of this book. It will allow us to detect the important hinge points, where the design moves in a decisive direction, by identifying at each of these moments the leading decision-making parties and the reasons behind their decisions. This may give us some insight into the weight and influence of that decision on the built result.



4.2.3



Asymmetry of Knowledge and Symmetry of Understanding

There are two important misunderstandings about the “knowledge condition” of the several participants in the design/built process, which are diametrically opposed. The first one is the “symmetry of ignorance”, mentioned by Horst Rittel in a 1972 interview 126: the belief that none of the participants can be expected to have professional expertise regarding the design problems as defined and seen by the other parties involved. The second one, opposed to the first one, can be defined as “the expertomniscient”: the belief by every participant that he knows better about all aspects of the design problem than everybody else. Architects tend to suffer from the latter. The only way to overcome both understandings is: first, the willingness to mutually accept that every party involved in the process has very specific and professional knowledge needed to come to an integrated solution; second, the firm individual awareness of every participant that he himself has essential expert knowledge, which the other has not, and which the other needs to solve the problem he is confronted with. The belief in this asymmetry of knowledge is crucial and vital. It brings true professionalism back to the designing-building arena and, more important, embeds it in an interdisciplinary context. All parties become partners in the same process, realizing that while their knowledge is partial, needing to be merged with the others’ knowledge, it is also absolutely crucial and indispensable to coming to an optimal design end product. 119

126 Rittel, H., 1972, “Interview” in DMGOccasional Paper, nr. 1, Berkeley, California.

Design Sciences

127 McLuhan, M., 1967, Understanding Media, Sphere Books Ltd., London; also 1994, Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Once we have recognized that each participant in the design coalition stands for a vital piece of the design puzzle, we have taken an important step towards the understanding of the design decision-making process. It is a dynamic communication process among “experts” who are engaged in a process of sending and receiving messages during the communication moment of the design activity, as we have defined it. The aim is to find a solution, understood by all the parties involved and agreed upon as the best possible one, within the given context. From that perspective, we can define the design process as a process determined at the beginning by a state of asymmetry of expert knowledge and one that, as it proceeds, turns into a state of symmetry of understanding. Fig.1.4.6 illustrates this process between the architect and the client. It is clear that the same scheme applies to the other parties involved, such as the engineering firms, the contractor, etc. I have pointed out that the media we use for communication during the designing-building process are vital to making the symmetry of understanding possible at all. This means that we should pay more attention when selecting those media, which are understood by all the participants on all three levels of communication. These “languages” should have sufficient syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic capacity to deal with highly complex information clusters belonging to different disciplines and areas of knowledge. Contemporary CAD-systems and the development of sophisticated building information models will become high-powered media with almost unlimited semantic capacity. The speed of information-handling they offer has already reduced considerably the gap between the asymmetry state of knowledge and the symmetry one, and will do so even more in the future. From the perspective of the communication moment, the medium is the method, but at the same time “the medium is the message.” Marshall McLuhan used this slogan in Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man (1976 and 1994) 127, to point out that the message of any medium or technology is the change of scale or pace or pattern that it introduces into human affairs. This gives an extra dimension to the communication moment. Design is not only a process that is engaged in the handling and processing of information between the several team partners but it is a medium of design itself. It introduces a new level of designing by extending our own individual brains and capabilities. What matters is the way in which the communication moment changes the relationships among the parties involved in the design process, the way it changes attitudes towards the design end product and the use of it afterwards. That is the message of the medium. 120

1.4.6

The Communication Process in Architecture Design

asymmetry of knowledge medium

Specific Architectural Messages Decoding

Architect Designer

The Symmetry of Understanding Design End-Product

Decoding

Client User

Coding Specific Client-User Messages

medium

noise–box

specific professional knowledge

specific professional knowledge

Coding

Design Sciences



4.2.4



Variety and Uniqueness of Space and Time

Architecture not only deals with space and time as its primary matter, but is also produced within very specific time and place conditions. Architectural production is contextually determined to an extent that is different from other production processes. This context has several dimensions ranging from the physical to the socio-cultural, the economic to the juridical. A building is built on a particular site. It cannot exist outside that physical place; it is intrinsically bound. This is one of the reasons that makes it unique. This physical context makes architecture subject to all the characteristics of the site where it is produced. Therefore, it cannot escape its consequences. The physical context describes the design latitude on the level of quantitative decisions, such as the choice of foundation techniques and related structures, choice of climatological and other systems, orientation and solar impact, etc. The socio-cultural context provides maneuvering space for the more qualitative design decisions: how to integrate the building into the urban tissue, how to deal with problems of massing and form, color, and choice of materials, where to situate the entrance, how to solve possible security problems, etc. The economic context imposes financial limits on both the micro and the macro level: it deals with budgets and the macroeconomic circumstances of the area. The juridical context defines the legal boundaries within which to operate, such as the several building codes, the safety regulations, tax rules, and the applicable common law. The fragmentation of the design process, as described in Chapter 3, has important consequences for these site-specific issues. The architect does not design the building at the site anymore, but at his office, and in multidisciplinary teams. Of course, he visits the site, studies it thoroughly, records his observations and experiences, and makes the necessary analyses. On the basis of these findings, he reconstructs that site in his office, using sketches, drawings, physical models, and computer simulations — and with Google Earth he can even virtually visit the place at any time. But in the end he relies on models of the building site to make essential design decisions. The same is true for the interpretation of the socio-cultural context and the decisions made within the economic and legal contours of the project. The result is a substantial alienation between the design place and the building site. The several partners of the design team make their decisions on the basis of a modeled reality, distorted in space and time.

122

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

Buildings are also affected by time: during construction and again during occupancy. The building process itself is subject to a time span considerably longer than that of any other production process by virtue of the nature and the state of the art of the construction technology itself. Construction, compared to other industrial processes, is in fact extremely slow and cannot be compressed beyond well-defined limits. Buildings may take years before they are finished and occupied. At the same time, societal needs are changing with an increasing pace. More often than ever, buildings are already outdated before they are even used. This has severe implications during the designing-building process. Design solutions have to be reviewed before they are even given concrete form. Building parts have to be altered and modified during construction itself. Moreover, buildings are subject to aging not only physically but also functionally and emotionally. Building materials react to time in different ways; certain building parts become obsolete before others; technological evolution and new insights necessitate building systems adaptations; the functional demands at the origin of the design may not only change but become totally inadequate in a short period in relation to rapidly changing organizational structures and socio-economic circumstances. This aspect of the variety and uniqueness of space and time is increasingly becoming another serious problem confronting the architect.



4.2.5



Variety of Liabilities and Uniqueness of Responsibilities

More than any other profession, architecture is subject to a wide variety of liabilities, differing from country to country, but always with high penalties for errors. These liabilities apply to not only the design concept but extend to the totality of the designing and building process, including construction methods, quality of materials, safety, site supervision, building codes, budget control, etc. That is why the architect, suffering from this unique and complex responsibility, has tried to minimalize these liabilities. But by doing so, he has gradually given up his leading position, leaving it to the other players in the field. It is obvious that taking up responsibility involves an awareness of the risks, which in turn presupposes a solid knowledge base and extensive experience. 123

Design Sciences

This is precisely what is lacking, as we have outlined above. The architect has, gradually, concentrated on the conceptual aspects of the process, and even that is threatened now by the digital evolution, producing alien forms that enchant the architect, who no longer knows how they were originated, much less how to build them. The architect’s responsibility has never been so high, and at the same time he has lost all connection with his own expertise and professional knowledge. He has become an ordinary seaman on the designing-building ship, with the liabilities of the captain. .

1

4.3



The Interaction of the Parts

Maybe the most intriguing aspect of the designing and building process is the way in which specific sub-solutions for specific sub-design problems form an integrated whole at the end. It is not easy, even for an experienced designer, to obtain insight in this design melting pot. Many of these design solutions are arrived at intuitively, without explicit reasoning, based on practical experience and standard methods, in a linear process: plan lay-out, façades, construction methods, detailing, etc. Nonetheless, this interaction of the parts is the essence of architectural design itself and the keystone needed to make the transformation from analysis to synthesis, to deal with a fragmented process. The degree of integration of these several sub-solutions is indeed a direct measure of the architectural quality of the building. Important to this process is the understanding of the relationships among parts on several design levels — the environment, the building, the exterior, the interior, and the building detail — and within these levels themselves. It is of crucial importance to have an insight into how architectural form is determined by construction and function, and vice versa; how the characteristics of materials define detailing and influence perception; how occupancy contributes to sustainability in relation to the degree of systems integration and the orientation of the building. A nearly infinite number of such questions can be asked, pointing to the high degree of complexity of architectural design systems. Answers to these questions enable in-depth study of the way an architectural product is the result of an almost indefinable amount of interrelated sub-solutions and decisions on both macro and micro levels. These answers will help us to discover the essentially synergetic character of an architectural object. At first sight finding these answers looks to be a tedious and repetitive operation, but if it is done well the result is usually a consistent body of 124

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

knowledge, which transcends the particular case. It offers general insight into the mechanisms behind the interactions of the parts and the way experienced architects deal with them. The architectural process becomes more transparent, and judgment about whether a building is good or bad becomes more objective and, at the same time, more arguable.

1

4.4



Concurrent Architecture and the Integrated Practice

The development of science and technology over the last decades has completely shifted the level on which architecture should be practiced. It has taken architecture from the micro level to a global macro level. Where originally a building was considered as an individual and isolated case, we are increasingly aware of the importance of the interactions between buildings, the integration into the landscape and the urban tissue, and the influence of buildings on the natural environment. Questions about the ecological consequences of buildings, the effect on individual well-being, and on the socio-cultural environment as a whole are becoming essential. It should be acknowledged that the way in which the architectural profession is dealing with these problems is still very traditional, based on a fragmented approach, and often blurred by pseudo-artistic aspirations and ambition for immediate personal success. In my Architects for Health Open Lecture at the RIBA (1999) 128, I made the argument that we still use a linear model to describe the life cycle of a building (Fig.1.4.7): briefing (or “programming,” depending on local usage), designing, building, and occupying. The results obtained in the previous phase are the input for the next one. The process points in one direction and is seen as irreversible in time. Abstract information becomes conceptual and gets structured into more concrete models, models get transformed into a real artifact, the building, which in its turn becomes an operational, living system. This linear model of the designing and building process is no longer tenable. It involves repeated revisiting of a phase as its inconsistencies become apparent in the next phase. The penalties are often high. The overall quality of the building usually suffers from it, planning schemes are not upheld,

125

128 Foqué, R.K.V., 1999b, Architects for Health Open Lecture at RIBA, London, unpublished.

1.4.7

The Traditional Linear Designing and Building Model

Abstract

Concrete

briefing

designing

building

operating and occupying

time

1.4.8

briefing

Pattern of Interaction

abstract

The Concurrent Designing and Building Model

designing

concrete

building

operating and occupying

virtual

real

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

the budget is exceeded, participants involved in the process get frustrated, and in some cases it leads to lengthy, often costly and painful lawsuits. The evolution in information and communication technology has provided us with powerful tools that enable us to replace this linear model with a more integrated one. Building information modeling makes it possible to link the briefing (or programming) phase and the design phase with the construction phase and the operation of a building into one comprehensive whole. This technology makes it possible to experiment in virtual space, to test design hypotheses, see their consequences, and determine their merit. As a result, it causes a major shift in the relationships between different phases of the traditional designing and building process. In “Architectural Education and Practice on the Verge” (2006) 129, Daniel Friedman points precisely to this aspect, arguing that building information modeling allows designers to manipulate data points that embody dimensions, specifications, material properties, structural behavior, and cost. BIM technology will allow the architect to design and build in virtual space and investigate the consequences of his ideas and concepts in real time. This technology can lead to a concurrent, integrated and interactive designing-building process (Fig.1.4.8). Within that vision, there no longer exists a division between the different phases of the project, as was the case in the traditional models. In fact, we should no longer speak about phases in the traditional sense but rather of project levels: the level of the brief (or program), the level of design, the level of construction, the level of building use. At any given moment from the start of the project through the total life cycle of the building, we can define the project state, indicating the status of the project information with regard to the different levels. This will result in patterns of interaction between project information, which is already real — and therefore can only be changed at high cost — and information that is still virtual — and therefore can be changed at low risk and cost. The realization of a project can be seen as an evolutionary process, where data undergo a metamorphosis from abstract ideas to concrete facts and pass from a virtual universe into the real world. At any given moment, all participants involved in the designing-building process can have the same comprehensive building model at their disposal. A parallel concurrent model replaces the old linear model.



127

129 Friedman, D., 2006, “Architectural Education and Practice on the Verge”, in Report on Integrated Practice, American Institute of Architects, Washington D.C.

Design Sciences

130 Foqué, R.K.V., 1971b, “Towards an Evolutionary Integrated CAAD System”, in CAAD (Ed. M. Daru), Bouwcentrum, Rotterdam.

1

4.5



The Inversion of Design Capacity and Research Capacity

Building information modeling technology is an important tool for realizing the concurrent approach described above. It is clear that the introduction of this tool strongly affects the traditional approach to design problems, thus changing the fundamentals of the design process and the way architectural practice is organized. It is less frequently recognized that the introduction of BIM technology fundamentally shifts the architect’s knowledge base and the way the architect should be educated and trained. Even profound and detailed disciplinary knowledge, such as architectural history, architectural theory, building technology, etc., will become irrelevant if they stay fragmented and not integrated into a greater whole. Building information modeling requires extraordinary insight into the relationships between different kinds of disciplinary knowledge, the interaction between them, and the way this knowledge can be integrated on the design-build level. In 1971, in what was probably the first international congress on ComputerAided Architectural Design, organized by the Bouwcentrum, Rotterdam, I made a plea for such an evolutionary integrated CAAD system (1971b) 130, arguing for the shifting role of the architect in the future and the emergence of the “architect-researcher” next to the “architect-designer,” due to the introduction of information technology in the architectural profession. The characteristics of such a system are still valid. It should be able to provide information solicited and unsolicited. It should have cross-relation capacity and understand the relationships and interferences between particular bits of specialized information, and it should have the ability to learn. BIM technology indeed needs cross-disciplinary information if it wants to create added value for the designer, and it can only become a true design tool if it learns from one case to another. As a consequence, we have to investigate these aspects to be able to program BIM tools. This involves research both into the design process and about the design process; it requires the establishment of a researchby-design tradition as explained above. The design capacity in the office needs to be complemented by sufficient research capacity: the capacity to make the design process transparent, to study the effect of design decisions within a concurrent design situation, and to collect, analyze, and appreciate relevant information in one particular situation and understand how that 128

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

information can be used in other similar situations. It is precisely that information that is needed to feed in its turn the BIM programs with content knowledge and make them more effective and relevant. Concurrent architecture, based upon building information modeling, needs data and verifiable knowledge on which these models can be based. Architectural education has a leading role to fulfill here: More then ever it must be research-based. This research is par excellence an interdisciplinary activity, building its own logic and epistemological autonomy, determined by five fields of tension, characterized by their triangular relationship. I call it the triangulation of architectural research (Fig.1.4.9) 1

The contextual triangulation, which is based on the intertwining of historical, socio-cultural, and political beliefs and values of the researcher. They will set the context for the research by defining its boundaries, the methods used, and the “bias” of the outcome.

2

The methodological triangulation, which is based on the combination of methods of inquiry derived from science, art, and design.

3

The professional triangulation, which recognizes the fact that architectural design is always client-oriented. Design by research will therefore always have a practical dimension and integrate basic research with its possible applications and its educational dimension.

4

The triangulation of product level, process level, and problem level. The intertwining of these levels is crucial to understanding the research output. At the level of process, we look into the mechanisms of the design activity itself, answering questions such as: What are the thinking modes of an architectural designer? How are decisions made, and who is making them? Do general methodological patterns exist? How does the process influence the outcome? At the product level, we deal with research topics ranging from the analysis of one single building to comparative building narratives, typologies, the oeuvre of a particular architect, etc. On the problem level, we deal with issues such as: Do general solutions exist for similar design problems? We also consider the application of new materials, social housing, sustainable architecture, systems integration, etc.

5

The triangulation of competences, which is based on the knowledge, skills, and attitudes of the researcher. It is known that architectural solutions are determined by the level of competence of the architect, his likes and dislikes, his basic and 129

1.4.9

The Triangles of Architectural Research

Co m pe ten ce s At

tit

Knowledge

Research

gle an i r lT na o i ss e tic ofe r ac P r P

Educ

es

Tri an gle

s

Skill

ation

ess lem

al tifi

c

ric ien

Hi

sto

Sc

tic

Designerly

Methodological Triangle

t

uc

tis

Ar

od

Pr

ical

Syst ems Trian gle

Proc

Polit

le iang al Tr textu Con

ural

Prob

Cult

ud

1.4.10

The Triangulation of Architecture

Su bje

ent om

Fun tac Syn

gM nd

Mi

Sci

enc

e

ul

tics

=S

tru

ctu

rin

tas

s/

mi

Fir

Fac t tive jec

ics Art So

Ob

ant

ms For s/ nce rie xpe /E nt es as me alu ust eV Mo Ven tive rea =C

ctio

ns

ctiv Sem

A Body Design

Pragmatics = Communicative Moment Utilitas Contextual Solutions / Context

Design Sciences

experiential knowledge, and the way he is able to handle these in a problem-solving way. This triangulation (Fig.1.4.10) indicates the multilayered character of research by design and the complexity of building a body of knowledge in architecture. How can we integrate the results of that research into a workable and general framework? How can we make them operational within the context of concurrent architectural design, as explained above?

1

4.6



Architectural DNA and the Building Genome

Further analysis of the concurrent model can give us more insight into the variety and complexity of the information to be handled by the architect. At the same time, it will provide us with a framework to structure disciplinary knowledge, resulting from both basic research and research by design. To do this, I will introduce the notion of “knowledge pockets.” A “knowledge pocket” is the place or database where specific specialized and relevant information with regard to a specific or group of projects is established and localized. “Knowledge pockets” are the data carriers which describe the building at its several levels and in its different states through time. They relate to the three main domains that define every architectural designing-building problem. These domains are: 1

The Functional Domain. This area contains all parameters, encompassing all the criteria of use in the broadest sense, related to the global functioning of the building. In that sense, it refers to both the Vitruvian concepts of utilitas and firmitas. The first points to the usefulness of the building for its users, the second at the functioning of the building as a material artifact. The building should stand up in a robust way and comply with the laws of physics. The parameters of the functional domain can be objectively described and are essentially quantifiable.

2

The Formal Domain. This area contains all parameters determining the aesthetics of the building. It relates to the manipulation of masses, space, volume, materials, texture, colors, light, and shadow. It relates to the Vitruvian notion of venustas, stipulating 132

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

that a building should be beautiful and generate aesthetic delight for the user. The parameters of the formal domain are essentially subjective and can only be described in qualitative terms. 3

The Contextual Domain. This area contains all the parameters that constitute the environment in which the building will exist. It refers to the complex of circumstances, objects, and conditions — both in the physical and in the socio-cultural sense — that will determine the outcome of the designing-building process and act upon it when in use. It relates to the systemic character of the design activity, as explained earlier. The parameters of the contextual domain are both subjective and objective and, therefore, can be described by both quantifiable and qualitative statements.

The relation between “domains” and “knowledge pockets” forms the key to a knowledge-based designing-building process. There is a striking analogy with the way natural life functions and evolves via its hereditary material, known as DNA. DNA is a nucleic acid that contains all the genetic information and instructions necessary to develop and maintain an operational natural living system. The genes, being a discrete sequence of DNA, are data and program carriers at the same time. They store not only information, but also the instructions to be applied to that information. In that sense they form a knowledge base for every living species. Using the DNA metaphor, we can imagine a kind of artificial DNA: a dynamic database, which contains not only the information useful for the designing of a man-made artifact — a building — but also carries the information needed for the construction and the use of that artifact. In relation to the creation and construction of buildings, I will call it “AR-DNA”, Architectural DNA, using the three-letter designation “DNA” in a metaphorical sense (Fig.1.4.11A and 1.4.11B,C,D,F, E). A particular sequence of AR-DNA can be called an “AR-gene”, consisting of a series of “knowledge pockets” which are active in one or more “domains.” The total collection of “AR-genes” that contains all necessary information about a particular building is, using the same analogy, a “building genome.” Building knowledge in architecture is exactly about unraveling the “building genomes” to analyze them, understand them, and make them applicable. If we want to understand how building genomes can contribute to the emergence of an architectural discipline that is based on universal knowledge and method, we need the appropriate tools to analyze and 133

1.4.11A

ABD: Architectural DNA

context

function

form

function form context

function

form context function form context

Understanding Architectural Design Processes

compose these genomes. This requires insight into the composition of the “AR-genes” and the “knowledge pockets” from which they are built. It implies that we need to know the composition and content of these data carriers: what relevant information they contain, how that information is organized, how it interacts, and how it fits the three parameter domains. A traditional ad hoc approach is in that respect no longer tenable. Case study research, based on a robust methodology, seems to offer such a tool. In the second part of this book I shall examine case study research in general by doing a comparative study investigating how case studies are used in other disciplines, and from there develop a case study research methodology for the architectural discipline. I shall do this by using the design theoretical framework I developed in the first part.

135

1.4.11B

Combination of Knowledge Pockets into Architectural DNA

Context Environment Function

Brief

Design Form

Technical Plans 2D

Volume 3D

Systems

Construction

Build

Sustainabiility

Materials

Occupy

Flexibility

Perception

1.4.11C

The Briefing Knowledge Pocket

Others

Mission Statements

Moral Standards

Budgets Others domain of ethical beliefs and values

Legislation

Technical and Functional Standards

domain of the formal and the normative

Safety and Town Planning Regulation

Living Models

Societal, Cultural and Human Beliefs

Brief

domain of the functional

domain of the subjective

Use Models Others Activity Models Well-being

Aesthetic Sense

Physical and Emotional State of the User

Others

Sensory Perception

1.4.11D

The Designing Knowledge Pocket

Economical Legal Environment Environment Others

domain of context

Natural Activities

Social and Political Engagement

Organizational Environment

Physical and Natural Environment

Man-made Activities

Connection and Circulation Flows

domain of function

Design

Technological Functions

domain of form

Others

Exterior Architecture

Others Interior Architecture

Landscape Architecture

1.4.11E

The Building Knowledge Pocket

Building Technology

ElectroMechanical

Structural Work

Completion Work

domain of construction

Others

HVAC

Safety

domain of engineering

Build

Medical

domain of materials

Others

Finishings

Equipment

Texture and Colors

Furniture

Others

1.4.11F

The Occupying Knowledge Pocket

Operating Facilities

Reuse

Maintenance

domain of sustainability

External Expandability

Internal Adaptability

domain of flexibility

Occupy

Multi-Practicality

domain of user perception

Emotional

Physical

Functional

Part 2 Case Study Research in Architect ure

5 As our society becomes more conscious of its unity and interdependence, and as tradition and novelty enter into a fruitful marriage, we shall discover how to penetrate and to import various kinds of knowledge in ever speedier and simpler ways. The awareness today of the close parallel between the modes of sensuous apprehension and the modes of the creative process have begun to abridge many tedious processes. Learning and creating are becoming very near to each other. Just when it seemed that we had created an intolerable amount of knowledge for future generations to preserve and diffuse, we have discovered how to apprehend it swiftly from within. Marshal McLuhan, 1911–1980, Fragment 143–14, National Archives, Canada

Chapter 5 The Methodology of Case Study Research

2

5.1



Making a Case: Investing in Human Capital

It is generally acknowledged that the systematic use of case studies as a tool for transferring knowledge in an educational setting was introduced at the Harvard Law School not later than 1870. It was Christopher Langdell, the erstwhile dean, who radically changed the vision of legal education. Regarding law as a science, he believed that general principles could be deduced from court decisions. He collected and analyzed representative sets of such decisions to produce the first legal casebook. In his “Making the Case. Professional education for the world of practice” (2003) 1, David Garvin gives an interesting and compact analysis of the history and the use of case studies at Harvard, pointing out that teaching by case studies may be the best way to prepare students for the world of practice. But was what Langdell introduced truly new and innovative?



5.1.1



What is a Case Study? Definitions, Strengths, and Limitations

Building professional knowledge on the basis of practical cases has always been an important method in domains where deductive reasoning and paradigmatic thinking fail to explain certain phenomena or a complex set of interrelated parameters. Especially in such domains as law and medicine, where qualitative and/or ethical judgments often become more important than quantitative ones, the case method has always been an important way of developing theory. Over 2000 years ago in ancient Rome, Marcus Tullius 145

1 Garvin, D., 2003, “Making the Case: Professional Education for the World of Practice”, in Harvard Magazine, Vol. 106, Number 1, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Case Study Research in Architecture

2 Gerring, J., 2004, “What Is a Case Study and What Is It Good For?”, in American Political Science Review, Vol. 98, N° 2. 3 Putnam, H., 1995, Pragmatism: an Open Question, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, England, and Cambridge, Massachusetts. 4 Dewey, J., 1923, Democracy and Education, The Macmillan Company, New York.

Cicero studied precedents of court decisions to use in his own law practice, and the history of medicine shows ample evidence that theory and practice in ancient Egypt, Persia, and China were almost entirely based on case descriptions. This should not be surprising, as case studies describe and analyze how and why professionals have acted within a given situational context, made their decisions, and evaluated the outcome. Using case studies to understand, explain and prescribe action builds on the experience of professional colleagues and is an investment in human capital. It is “learning from doing” and enables us to integrate value judgment and critical thinking in a consistent scientific framework that builds professional knowledge. From the above, it is clear that the true value of case research lies in its ability to build a consistent knowledge base in areas and domains that are primarily governed by hard-to-define and ambiguous parameters, where qualitative explanations often dominate the quantifiable, and where problems can only be defined, understood and solved by taking their contextual and topological aspects into account. Therefore it is not surprising that case study research is a main instrument for building knowledge in the domains of medicine, law, business administration, and social and political sciences. However, a common definition of case studies does not exist, as each discipline has its own purpose for case study research. To address this problem, John Gerring, in “What Is a Case Study and What Is It Good For” (2004) 2, proposes that a case study is “an intensive study of a singular unit for the purpose of understanding a larger class of (similar) units, wherein a unit connotes a spatially bounded phenomenon observed at a single point in time or over some delimited period of time.” Ultimately, the usefulness of a case is based on how it speaks to the understanding or resolution of other cases within the same discipline. Case studies are developed on the premise that intellectual capital requires an investment in the fundamental body of knowledge for which members of the discipline and profession are uniquely qualified and responsible. Case study research is based on pragmatic thinking as defined by Hilary Putnam in Pragmatism: an Open Question (1995) 3, where unity in learning and experience, and in conceptual thought and situational consciousness, is crucial. The pragmatist proceeds from the basic premise that the human capacity for theorizing is integral to intelligent practice. Theory and practice are not separate entities, but tools or maps for finding our way in the world. As John Dewey put it in Democracy and Education (1923) 4, it is not a question of theory versus practice, but rather of intelligent practice versus uninformed, 146

The Methodology of Case Study Research

stupid practice. Theory and experience have a symbiotic existence: just as theory is abstracted from experience, it returns to inform it. Posing such questions as “how”, “why”, and “when” are successful tools in situations in which the researcher has no control over the events being researched, and where we deal with contextual parameters. In that sense Robert Yin, in Case Study Research: Design and Methods (2003) 5, distinguishes between explanatory, exploratory, and descriptive case studies. He sees a case study as an empirical inquiry that investigates a contemporary phenomenon within its real-life context, especially when the boundaries between phenomenon and context are not clearly evident. This is contrary to a scientific experiment, where phenomena are consciously divorced from their contextual environment in order to limit the variables under investigation and to control the situational setting of the experiment. As Yin defines it, case study research is a comprehensive strategy of a holistic character. It neither explains a phenomenon nor passes judgment about the elements that comprise it, but it does provide insight into the complex relationships and interconnections of these phenomena and elements. By doing so, case-based research inscribes itself in the domain of dynamic systems theory, where the relationships between the elements prevail over the elements themselves, and are the determining factors of the system’s behavior.



5.1.2



The Validity of Case-Based Knowledge

Egon Guba and Yvonna Lincoln’s 1981 study on evaluation 6, quoted by Peter Jarvis in The Practitioner-Researcher (1999) 7, suggested that case studies have serious disadvantages, such as oversimplification, exaggeration of the facts, and interpretation of selected facts. Therefore, they concluded that case studies are unscientific, opportunistic, and unrepresentative. These are serious objections, which require closer examination. The problem can be found in the fact that Guba and Lincoln assumed paradigms of scientific research. In Part 1 of this book, I strongly argued that the methods of scientific inquiry, artistic inquiry, and design inquiry differ considerably. The quantifiability of the parameters under investigation and the degree to which the experimental environment can be controlled are crucial in this regard. Case studies are research instruments for situations where two conditions are met: the parameters are mainly qualitative and subject to change, and the context is outside the control of the researcher. Moreover, as Jarvis pointed out, all reports are representations or interpretations of an event or reality, and by their contextual nature, case studies will always be partial or incomplete. 147

5 Yin, R.K., 2003, Case Study Research: Design and Methods, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, California.

6 Guba, E., and Lincoln, Y., 1981, Effective Evaluation: Improving the Usefulness of Evaluation Results Through Responsive and Naturalistic Approaches, JosseyBass, San Francisco. 7 Jarvis, P., 1999, The PractitionerResearcher, JosseyBass, San Francisco.

Case Study Research in Architecture

Therefore, it is not evident how we may derive general conclusions or “objective” facts from case study research. That may be why, within scientific circles, case study research is often regarded as a mediocre method of investigation and is widely considered to fall short of real academic standards. However, if consistently applied in a methodologically rigorous way, it seems to be the only way by which we can investigate highly complex systems and understand their contextual laws and patterns in a changing environment. Yin describes five general characteristics necessary for a case study to be a lasting contribution to research: 1

The case study must be significant. It must be of general interest to the profession and deal with important issues in either theory or practice. At the same time, the case itself may be unusual, exceptional, or critical.

2

The case study must be complete. This means that the boundaries of the case are well described, and that both the phenomena and the context are clearly defined. Moreover, there should be an exhaustive effort by the researcher to collect all possible relevant evidence.

3

The case study must consider alternative perspectives. This means that the researcher should investigate rival propositions and avoid personal bias. He should submit the results of the case study to critical thinking.

4

The case study must display sufficient evidence. The evidence should be presented in an objective way, so that the reader can reach an independent judgment while being confident about the methodology applied and the validity of the outcome.

5

The case study must be composed in an engaging manner. This characteristic situates itself on the pragmatic level and is certainly the least “scientific.” Regardless of the medium used, the output should have a certain attractiveness and power to seduce. This involves the researcher’s enthusiasm, talent, and experience and familiarity with the medium.

Although Yin’s characteristics are related to case writing in the social sciences, they are extremely relevant to other knowledge domains. As the writing of a case must be subject to a consistent methodology, based on fact-finding and experience and allowing for generalization and theory building, its very design is crucial to the relevance of the output. This implies the notion of a theoretical framework prior to the study of the phenomena and their contexts. Robert Sutton and Barry Staw, in “What 148

The Methodology of Case Study Research

Theory is Not.” (1995) 8, call this framework “a sufficient blueprint” for the study, “a hypothetical story about why acts, events, structure, and thoughts occur.” This will, according to Yin, guide the researcher in determining what data to collect and the strategies for analyzing these data. Literature on social research methodology commonly refers to four criteria used to test the robustness of the research output. It seems that these criteria may also be valid for assessing the overall quality of a case study. Summarized, these four criteria are: 1

The construct of validity: establishing correct operational measures for the concepts being studied.

2

Internal validity: establishing a causal relationship, whereby certain conditions are shown to lead to other conditions.

3

External validity: establishing the domain to which a case’s output may be generalized.

4

Reliability: demonstrating that the methods used in a case study can be repeated with the same results.

The liability and validity of the results will depend, however, on the way the methodology takes into consideration internal cohesion on the syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic levels. Only when this cohesion is assured can the case study be said to have demonstrated reliability and internal and external validity: “internal” meaning that the data fit the “truthness” of the context; “external,” that the results may be extrapolated to similar situations. Moreover, these conditions create a successful environment for communicating the case study results, raising them to the level of shared knowledge and operational theory. This conclusion leads to the necessity of a different kind of testing, before we can engage in the four tests as proposed by Yin. This inquiry is on the methodological meta-level. It asks three questions, related to the three levels previously mentioned: 1

On the syntactic level: How technically accurate is the description of the case study? Are the vocabulary, grammar, and syntax of method and medium used clear, coherent, and understandable by all members of the profession?

2

On the semantic level: How well does the case study convey its qualitative parameters? Is the methodology explained well enough to be understood by all members of the profession? 149

8 Sutton, R., and Staw, B., 1995, “What Theory Is Not.”, in Administrative Science Quarterly, N° 40.

Case Study Research in Architecture

3

On the pragmatic level: How effectively does the case study affect the body of knowledge? How meaningful and relevant are the results to the appropriate professional community?

Methodological meta-testing is a paramount condition for sharing knowledge obtained through a case study with the broader professional community and for making that knowledge useful for the advancement of that profession.

9 Lyotard, J.F., 1985, The Post-Modern Condition, The University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota. 10 Scheffler, I., 1965, Conditions of Knowledge, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.



5.1.3



The Importance of Shared Knowledge

Professional practitioners tend to operate individually or in small teams. Despite the fact that the differences among professionals may be subtle, they rarely share their knowledge on a global scale, as do scientists, nor are they likely to submit their experience to extensive peer review. The architecture profession in particular suffers from this phenomenon. Within such a situation, it is difficult to build a common understanding of what best practice should be, let alone to build the solid body of knowledge so necessary to providing the profession with a much-needed scientific grounding. With respect to that, Jarvis (1999, see note 7 p. 147) points out that many practitioners undertake their own research as part of their professional work. Unfortunately, this means that much of it does not get incorporated in their profession’s body of knowledge. As in many professions, but especially in architecture, most of the knowledge is generated and legitimatized pragmatically instead of being logically derived from theory. One of the problems related to the pragmatic approach is the validation of the results obtained, as all data seem to have an individual and relative status. A clear, commonly accepted, and universal value system against which we can verify the results is non-existent. In present society, knowledge is increasingly legitimated by what it can accomplish, as argued by JeanFrançois Lyotard in The Postmodern Condition (1985) 9. It is indeed typical in the Postmodern condition that performance supersedes scientific grounding and the consistency of legitimating findings. In his Conditions of Knowledge (1965) 10, Israel Scheffler pointed out that knowledge can be legitimated in at least three different ways: rationally, empirically and pragmatically. Rationalist knowledge is obtained through pure logical reasoning, mathematics being a good example. Rationalist knowledge relies entirely on its own premises and arguments and from that derives its legitimations. Empirical knowledge relies in essence upon sensory experience. Validation is through the senses: I can see it, I can feel it, I can hear it, I can smell it. Pragmatic knowledge emphasizes, according 150

The Methodology of Case Study Research

to Scheffler, the experimental nature of certain forms of experience. It is a practical form of knowledge, and it may not be possible therefore to generalize it into a universal truth. It is precisely this kind of knowledge we are dealing with in case studies. Pragmatic knowledge is always contextual, and contextually bound knowledge is per se unique in place and time. It is derived at the same time from observation, experience, and performance, where the position of the investigator itself is part of that context. I have mentioned the importance of this bi-perspectivism in the first part of this book, pointing to the isomorphic principle linking the physical and social worlds in relation to the cognitive mind. As we have seen, case studies try to deal with this aspect in a descriptive and evaluative way. Their general starting point is “best practice”: how, in a best practice situation, problems are handled, decisions made, and solutions obtained. This is in particular the case for medicine, law, and business administration. It implies that there should be a common agreement within the profession about what constitutes best practice, in general terms and within a given situation in particular. Such a framework of standards will both rely upon and build upon knowledge shared among the members of that profession. Therefore, the study of a single case or series of cases can only be successful if it acknowledges this agreed-upon framework. But if it does so, the study may transcend that condition by sharing it with the professional community and become validated in its own right. By sharing the results of case studies, the profession itself accepts or refutes that knowledge, in a way analogous to what happens to the results of a scientific experiment. But where, in a scientific experiment, the facts are proven true in an objective and repeatable way, case-based knowledge is proven in a subjective way based on a professional consensus model. Through consensus, subjective data become accepted as fact and in doing so, contribute to the construction of theory and the building of a body of knowledge. This process stresses the importance of the metatesting as described above.

151

Case Study Research in Architecture

11 Jarvis, P., 1999, The PractitionerResearcher, JosseyBass, San Francisco. 12 Schön, D.A., 1987, The Reflective Practitioner, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco.



5.1.4



Practice-Based Theory Development

Our society is becoming increasingly technological and consequently knowledge-based. At the same time, it is in a constant state of change. Change as the steady state of society necessitates a permanent actualization of the several bodies of knowledge. This updating of knowledge can only be research-based. In The Practitioner-Researcher (1999) 11, Peter Jarvis argued that if things change, society is forced to confront the outcomes of these changes and has to become reflexive. A society that incurs constant reexamination becomes a learning society. How do the professions position themselves within such a changing environment? I have argued extensively in the first part of this book that, as a result of the Enlightenment and modernity, the professions are seeking a scientifically grounded theory to legitimate their actions. And I have shown that by doing so, they risk denying their own identity and the core essence of their mission. The architecture profession is not immune from this tendency. It tends to rely on knowledge borrowed from other disciplines, such as history, philosophy, social sciences, and engineering to build its theoretical basis, rather than trying to extract theory from its own knowledge. Although other professions, such as medicine, law, and business administration, have shown that it can be done, architecture has as yet no tradition of building knowledge based on practice. This is, in fact, bizarre, as architecture is the profession par excellence, rooted in a long-lasting tradition of learning by doing. In The Reflective Practitioner (1987) 12, Donald Schön rightly points out that architecture uses practicums, commonly known as the design studios, defining them as settings designated for the task of learning practice. He argues that these studios should have a reflective dimension. The use of the reflective practicum would provide a greater research orientation to that practice, and it calls for a kind of research new to the profession. Schön calls it “reflective research” and indicates four ways how practitioners can engage in it: 1

Frame analysis: Practitioners should become aware of their “mind-frames,” and, by doing so, become aware of alternatives that in turn might lead to further reflection in action about their own practice.

2

Repertoire-building research: This relates to the accumulation and description of useful examples of reflection in action through the use of case studies. 152

The Methodology of Case Study Research

3

Research on fundamental methods of inquiry and overarching theories: According to Schön, this research may occur in two ways: first, by examining episodes of practice that may help others entertain different ways of thinking; and second, by action research, which is concerned with situations of uniqueness, uncertainty, and instability.

4

Research on the process of reflection in action: When practitioners are able to understand their practice, they should be able to restructure it.

If we elaborate further on Schön’s above-mentioned four ways of reflective practice and raise it to the level of critical thinking, we come close to what I have defined as research by design: the investigation of how things could be, instead of how things are. This research is essentially practice-based, and is the key to the development of theory that can be applied in a practical design situation, laying the foundations for a body of knowledge adapted to a changing world. By learning through practical experience, practitioners take the content of what they have been taught and what they acquire in practice and try to build their own theory. This theory is essentially pragmatic, necessarily dynamic, and relative to the practice situation. Case-based research is the cornerstone of the reflective practice and the key to the development of theory from practice, as it has the potential to transcend individual theories, transforming them into generally accepted theoretical frameworks.



5.1.5



Case-Based Education

I have started this chapter by acknowledging the important role Harvard University has played in this realm by having introduced case studies in the curricula of the professional schools at the end of the 19th and throughout the first half of the 20th century. Since then, the problem of educating professionals at a research university has become increasingly subject to controversy. Earlier in this book I have noted the growing alienation between academia and the “real” world outside. This evolution imposes a considerable burden on open debate on the issue. Two tendencies are in opposition. On the one hand, we have the “theorists,” on the other hand, the “pragmatists.” The first group claims that all higher education, including the training of professionals, should be based on 153

Case Study Research in Architecture

orthodox scientific research. Especially in architecture, this has led to schools that have lost almost all contact with the reality of the design and building practice. Their educational and research programs are based on knowledge and methodologies acquired from other disciplines, which they then apply to their own discipline. They deal with questions inside and outside of architecture. On the contrary, pragmatists see the necessity of adding practice to the curricula. They make a clear distinction between practice-based knowledge and the relevance of “other” knowledge offered by related disciplines, and they try to balance the two kinds. Law and medical schools, with a much longer tradition of being part of research universities, suffer much less from this dichotomy. They have found a proper balance between theory and practice, and are aware of the relevance of case-based research as a crucial contribution to the advancement of their professions. Most of the architecture schools, on the contrary, have only recently obtained university status, as they had traditionally been rooted in the academies or colleges of fine arts, or had emerged at engineering schools, branching off from the civil engineering departments. That may be the reason that many of these schools, looking for “scientific” status and recognition by academia, belie their own nature. This has resulted in a growing gap between the field’s professional and academic worlds. If we still believe that the main aim of architectural education is to prepare the students to enter the architectural profession, it is obvious that the alienation of theory from practice is counterproductive and ignores the essence of architectural design. In most architecture schools, curricula are still focused on a strict and narrow interpretation of the design process. This process starts with a brief (or program) and ends with a final design proposal. Architectural design education in those cases is limited to teaching the students how to analyze the brief, develop possible alternative solutions, evaluate those alternatives, select a definite solution, and work toward a final proposal. The reality of architectural practice is far more complex and is rooted in a much broader model of the design process. In architectural practice, the design process is not limited to the strict design activity itself but includes acquiring the commission for the project by participating in business initiatives, market positioning, convincing potential clients, participating in competitions, developing and selling ideas, etc. Moreover, the process does not end with the proposal of a final design solution. The design proposal should also be buildable, as the client wants not only drawings and a model, but a real building. This means that the design process continues during the building process and that no strict 154

The Methodology of Case Study Research

boundaries can be drawn between the design and building phase. Every practicing architect knows that the building process affects the design and may considerably impact the end result. If we want to prepare our students for an architectural design career in an office, we should try to give them an understanding of the complex mechanisms that govern the entire designingbuilding process. The question, however, is how to do this in a manner that produces added value both to education and practice. In an earlier analysis (2001) 13, I commented on some problems that impede this integration. One should not underestimate the intrinsic difference between education and practice. They obey different laws and pursue different goals, which are not always compatible. Architectural practice deals with real projects in real life. The client is known, the brief is well-established, the building site exists, and the regulations are beyond discussion. Budget, timing, and planning are fixed and should be kept under control. Every commission has its welldefined context, and the architect has to cope with the parameters inherent therein. If he fails to do so, he may either lose the job or end up with a mediocre result and an unsatisfied client. A design studio project is done within a completely different setting, as the primary goal is educational: to learn the knowledge and skills needed in order to enter the profession with a reasonable chance of success. There is no client, and most of the time no well-defined brief. The building site is often arbitrarily chosen, if not imaginary, and the building regulations imposed on the students, if any at all, are usually free of obligations and subject to change. The student need not necessarily work within a strict budget. The work schedule is entirely determined by the academic calendar. The question, of course, is whether we should move to a more congruent situation between practice and studio and, by doing so, try to simulate as closely as possible the office environment in the design studio. There seem to be arguments for and against such a move. It is obvious that putting students in an office-like situation will considerably reduce the gap between theory and practice. The students will be confronted with the typical constraints of a real commission, and through that discover the tensions between a theoretical architectural discourse and implementing what they derive from it in an actual design environment. To do this successfully, however, the students need a frame of professional reference and a sufficient degree of maturity and learning experience to fit their design activity into that frame of reference. But this is exactly where problems arise. Faculties themselves are increasingly insufficiently familiar with practice. As has been mentioned, there is, unfortunately, a worldwide tendency in academia over the last 155

13 Foqué, R.K.V., 2001b, “Notes on Re-integrating Theory and Practice in Architectural Education”, in Transactions on Architectural Education N°11, (Ed. N. Caglar), EAAE, Leuven, Belgium.

Case Study Research in Architecture

decades to change the academic stature of the faculty. This makes it almost impossible, or at least very difficult, to combine a teaching position with private practice. This has a serious impact on the possibilities of the architectural schools to attract experienced and recognized professionals. Even more fundamental is the difference between learning to design and learning to be able to design. The first should allow for the discovery of its own creative boundaries, and for the gradual formation of a personal view towards architecture. The second should start from the ability to optimize creativity and architectural beliefs within the strict limitations of a real design situation in order to create the best possible architectural solution. This process takes time and cannot be compressed. The introduction of practice-based learning is a delicate operation and calls for other methods and teaching approaches. The use of case studies is undoubtedly a promising way to accomplish this — to bridge the gap between profession and academia and to prepare the students to step into the reality of practice. It allows for the integration of theory and practice and, concurrently, the introduction of moral values. The confrontation of a pure “academic” situation with a “real professional” one necessitates a never-ending questioning of architectural beliefs and values before they become ideologies, and legitimizes the role of architectural theory pur sang in architectural practice.

2

5.2



Case Study Research and Case-Based Teaching Compared

From the above, it is clear that the best solutions to real world problems, which are generally complex and multidisciplinary, cannot be derived through mere application of current theories and/or methods. More and more professionals are confronted with questions for which the answer lies between disciplines and for which no clear-cut theoretical framework accommodates a solution strategy. Moreover, “right” answers usually do not exist, as every solution will be subject to debate among fellow members of the profession.

156

The Methodology of Case Study Research

This is especially the case in the so-called regulated professions, such as medicine, law, architecture, engineering, and business administration. Each of these professions carries serious liabilities and considerable responsibilities. Consequently, the penalty for failure is high and carries significant personal consequences. Case study research and case-based learning are extremely powerful tools to train students and professionals to tackle problems that are pragmatically demanding, based on creative and critical thinking, deliberating capacity, and the ability to handle, within limited time frames, incomplete information and fuzzy contexts. In Teaching & Learning With Cases (1999) 14, Lawrence Lynn defines the use of cases as a method that is intended to further the development of professional, intellectual, and behavioral skills; it is issue- and problem-oriented, and essentially concerned with the interpretation of real-world experience. Two important aspects should be added to Lynn’s description. First, the study of cases, when done in a rigorously methodological way, contributes to the building of professional knowledge; and second, it provides insight into how professional attitudes contribute to shaping solutions. It is, therefore, obvious that the case method has become a major tool for education and research in medicine, in law, and, most recently, in business and public administration. These disciplines have built a considerable body of knowledge that otherwise would have never existed. This knowledge has raised them to an indisputably scientific and professional level. Surprisingly, this is hardly the case in architecture, which still suffers from a strongly individualistic approach, a lack of shared knowledge among members of the profession, and consequently the absence of a consistent experiential knowledge base. What can architecture learn from these other disciplines, and how can it apply the case method to raise its own “scientific” status? An initial examination shows that the use of case studies in other disciplines varies. The definition of a case study differs from discipline to discipline, as do the methods used, the contextual parameters, and the significance accorded to the output. Comparative studies by Lynn (1999, see note 14 p. 157) and by Garvin (2003, see note 1 p. 145) provide useful insights into these differences: the first through a practical discussion of how the case method is used in law, medicine, and administration; the second by providing a historical and scholarly view of the Harvard approach to case study research and case-based learning in those disciplines. Both authors stress the fact that regardless of the discipline, the primary aim is to learn how the professional thinks and, accordingly, acts. Case-based education and

157

14 Lynn, L.E., 1999, Teaching & Learning With Cases, Chatham House Publishers, New York-London.

Case Study Research in Architecture

research are about getting familiar with thinking and acting like a lawyer, thinking and acting like a clinician, thinking and acting like a manager. In the following paragraphs, I will use both studies to elaborate on the similarities and differences in case study research and case-based learning in these three disciplines, and suggest ways in which these findings may apply to the architectural profession.

15 Ginsburg, J.C., 1996, Legal Methods: Cases and Materials, Foundation Press, Westbury, New York. 16 Foqué, R.G.M.E., 2007, Personal Communication, Leuven, Belgium.



5.2.1



Case Studies in Law

When Christopher Langdell introduced case-based learning at Harvard Law School, he justified it by arguing that state laws might vary, but as long as lawyers understood the principles on which they were based, they should be able to practice anywhere: “To have a mastery of these principles so as to be able to apply them with consistent facility and certainty to the ever-tangled skein of human affairs, is what constitutes a true lawyer.” Lynn defined a case in the legal field as a particular matter before a judge and/or the written record of that matter and its disposition. In the common practice of law today, case analysis and statutory interpretation are fundamental. According to Jane Ginsburg, in Legal Methods: Cases and Materials (1996) 15, these skills involve techniques of close reading, analogizing, distinguishing, positing related fact patterns, and criticizing judicial and legislative exposition and logic. At the same time, Ginsburg avoided the question of whether legal reasoning is based on inductive or deductive methods. Is thinking like a lawyer “rule-based” or “case-based”? And if you can think like a lawyer can you also act as a lawyer? In a personal discussion with me (2007) 16, René Foqué compared Benjamin Cardozo (1870–1938) and Oliver Wendell Holmes (1841–1935), both judges at the U.S. Supreme Court, professors at the Harvard Law School, and the most influential advocates of what is now called the School of Legal Realism. For Cardozo, the common law did not work from preestablished truths of universal and inflexible validity to conclusions derived deductively. Its method is inductive, and draws its generalizations from particulars. Holmes argued that the whole outline of the law is the result of a conflict at every point between logic and good sense: the first striving to generate consistent results from a presumptive course of events; the second restraining and at last overcoming that effort when the results become too manifestly unjust. Moreover, he stated, “The life of the law has not been logic, it has been experience.” I shall go on to address the differences between legal realism and legal formalism. 158

The Methodology of Case Study Research

The legal realists oppose the dominance of syllogistic thinking, where facts are subordinated to general rules, and plead for inductive reasoning, where the particular leads to the general. This process, argue the realists, has to do with “fact skepticism” and “rule skepticism.” On the one hand, facts are not unambiguous, but need to be contextualized to get to the “real” truth. On the other hand, rules derive their legitimation, neither from their internal logic or syntax nor from their historical interpretation, but from their relation to the socio-cultural, economic and ethical norms of society today. The impact of a fact is not only dependent on societal context, but can only be relevant within the perspective of the normative framework within which the society interprets that fact. In some of his writings (1990, 1998) 17 René Foqué concluded that the narrative of facts in a case of law must always be considered alongside the narrative of the norms relevant to the case. This means that the judge must always rely both on comparative case law and on fact typology before he can qualify and subsume the facts. Moreover, the result is consequence-focused. It means that the legality of a court decision is codefined by its individual and societal effects, and by doing so it constitutes policy-making. This dispute between legal formalism and legal realism explains the importance of case studies in law. Legal case studies encompass rules of general applicability, derived from an accumulation of prior decisions by judges in particular matters. They are written records of matters and their dispositions, in relation to their full contextual, environmental, and societal impact. According to Linda Edwards, in Practical Case Analysis (1996) 18, the analysis of legal case studies involves “the dissecting of courts’ reasoning, coming to a conclusion regarding the status of the law, and applying that conclusion to a current dispute.” It is, in essence, an individual creative process, based on seeing connections and drawing interferences from them, applying principles to specific fact patterns, and explaining this whole process in a clear, concise manner to another. The conclusions may make sense to the investigator, but others looking at the same set of conclusions may perceive different patterns, derive different principles, leading to different conclusions. In law, concepts tend to be complex and multi-layered. Although its adherence to a formalized standard must be respected, legal writing itself is often unclear and open to interpretation. As a result, argumentation and persuasion intended to convince the other parties involved are important factors in a legal process. Case-based teaching in law primarily uses the Socratic method, described by David Garvin in “Making the Case. Professional Education for the World of 159

17 Foqué, R.G.M.E., 1990, Instrumentaliteit en Rechtsbescherming, Kluwer, Antwerp. Foqué, R.G.M.E., 1998, “Global Governance and the Rule of Law” in International Law, Theory and Practice, (Ed. K. Wellens), Kluwer Law International, Amsterdam. 18 Edwards, L., 1996, Practical Case Analysis, West Publishing, St. Paul, Minnesota.

Case Study Research in Architecture

19 Garvin, D., 2003, “Making the Case: Professional Education for the World of Practice”, in Harvard Magazine, Vol. 106, Number 1, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Practice” (2003) 19, as “an interrogatory style in which instructors question students closely about the facts of the case, the points at issue, judicial reasoning, underlying doctrines and principles, and comparisons with other cases.” The aim is twofold: to lead the student through a process of logical thinking with the intent of soliciting his opinions, ideas, and interpretations about a case’s consistency and contextual validity; and to confront students with what may remain unknown, thus developing a degree of comfort with ambiguity. There is a striking analogy between this process and the process of architectural design, in terms of both methodology and level of skills required. Methodologically, we see a similar dichotomy between design formalism and design realism. The first goes back to the Vitruvian tradition, where architecture is based on a set of preconceived building elements and general rules of scale, proportion, and harmony; the second is rooted in the Modernist movement, which contextualized architecture as intrinsically bound to societal values. Both approaches appear in contemporary architecture. Computergenerated architecture, where the architectural form is derived from a set of algorithms and preset rules, is a typical example of the formal tradition. Equally so is the case for most of the products of the so-called starchitecture, where the design originates from the autarchic position of the designer, and buildings are seen as icons of the designer’s personality, creating their own environment instead of relating to a socio-cultural and physical environment of which they are part. The school of New Urbanism that arose in the 1980s is another example of the formalist approach, as it grounds its approach in a particular interpretation of local historical traditions. Intervention architecture, critical regionalism, and sustainable design are examples of trends belonging to design realism. These approaches also incorporate and advocate both fact- and rule-skepticism, acknowledging that neither facts nor rules are unambiguous, but need to be contextualized and interpreted. Although the subject matter of legal and architectural design cases is quite different, analysis by Edwards (1996, see note 18 p. 159) of the skills needed for case-based research in law applies equally to both. These include the ability to reason from the general to the specific and vice versa, to think analogously, and to be able to explore and distinguish related fact patterns. The application of formal inductive and deductive logic to the essential facts of a case is crucial, as is the acceptance of ill-defined parameters, unknown circumstances, and ambiguous interpretations of facts. 160

The Methodology of Case Study Research



5.2.2



Case Studies in Medicine

A medical case is commonly defined as a patient with symptoms, requiring diagnosis and treatment. A medical case study is the formal written record of a case, composed of a record of symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment. Unlike the practice of law, medical practice has always recognized the importance of the individual and his environment. Medicine has everything to do with problem-solving, and each medical case is intrinsically unique, as it is linked with a particular patient in particular circumstances. A strategy is demanded to improve the patient’s health in a given and limited time frame. This involves both clinical experiences from previous analogous cases and sufficient knowledge to quickly determine all hypotheses regarding the patient’s problem within a framework of high moral standards. In medical practice knowledge, skills and attitudes are tightly interwoven and are the bases for competent professional action. From that perspective, thinking like a medical doctor is different from thinking like a lawyer. In Problem-Based Learning: An Approach to Medical Education (1980) 20, Howard Barrows and Robin Tamblyn called it “the clinical reasoning process.” Thinking like a clinician has less to do with the analogical reasoning of lawyers, and is related more closely to science’s application of the formal logic to a singular case. Through a systematic method of inquiry, the physician has to come up with a collection of facts and use them to make a diagnosis and determine the most adequate treatment options. However, this clinical reasoning process must be embedded within its moral context: Facts must be coupled with values and ethics. In Clinical Ethics: A Practical Approach to Ethical Decisions in Clinical Medicine (1998) 21, Jonsen, Siegler, and Winslade argued that every clinical case should be analyzed on four levels: 1

Medical diagnosis: This refers to the diagnosis and treatment of the patient’s condition.

2

Patient preferences: This refers to the will of the patient, based on his own values, personal assessment of his condition, benefits, and burdens. The questions to be raised are: What are the patient’s goals? What does the patient want?

3

Quality of life: As the objective of all clinical encounters is to restore, maintain or improve quality of life for the patient, the 161

20 Barrows, H., and Tamblyn, R., 1980, Problem-Based Learning: An Approach to Medical Education, Springer, New York. 21 Jonsen, A.R., Siegler M., and Winslade, W.J., 1998, Clinical Ethics: A Practical Approach to Ethical Decisions in Clinical Medicine, McGrawHill, New York.

Case Study Research in Architecture

question should be raised of how this quality should be understood in the particular case. 4

Contextual features: This refers to the fact that every medical case is embedded in a larger context beyond physician and patient; it includes family, hospital policy, law, insurance, and so forth.

Medical case studies focus on the first level, that of medical diagnosis and treatment. From the above, it is clear that this narrow view is no longer tenable. Like legal realism, clinical realism takes into account all contextual variables of a case. When these are acknowledged, thinking like a clinician becomes more comprehensive, by focusing not only on knowledge and clinical skills but also on interpersonal responsibilities, value-related attitudes, and sociocultural standards. Another difference from legal cases is the time frame wherein the case unfolds. In law, the time frame is determined by procedural rules and mutual agreements between parties. In medicine, the time frame is set by the case itself and is essentially beyond control of the parties involved. As a result, the physician’s decision-making process depends on the evolving pathology of the patient. It necessitates a combination of deductive logical inquiry and heuristic strategy. Clinical case studies help to develop such skills. Their interpretation echoes the ability to perceive initial cues from the patient and the environment, to rapidly generate multiple hypotheses, to apply a strategy of inquiry, to distinguish significant data from a large set of diverse data, to relate empirically observed facts to an established body of knowledge, and to make decisions in the face of uncertainty. Therefore, case studies in medicine are problem-based rather than rule-based. A case study can help a medical professional understand and solve a similar case, and by doing so it adds to a growing body of clinical knowledge — whereas in law, each case becomes a precedent with legal force and by doing so builds jurisprudence. If we compare medicine and architecture in terms of case study research, some interesting similarities and differences emerge. Where medicine is essentially a problem-solving activity, architecture is both problem- and rule-based. Architecture deals with factual and formal rules. The first are objective and driven by legislation, scientific laws, and physical requirements; the second are subjective and driven by the client’s wishes, architectural beliefs and theories, values, and aesthetics. As in medicine, each case is different and contextually bound. The “clinical reasoning” process, however, differs considerably from that of “architectural reasoning.” In architecture, the process relies much more on intuitive and heuristic thinking than on formal, logical thinking. To a great extent, architectural problems are defined 162

The Methodology of Case Study Research

by unquantifiable parameters and cannot be solved by pure science-based deductive reasoning, as in medicine; neither is the outcome of the problemsolving activity well defined and clear, as it is in medicine, where the healing of the patient is unambiguous and objectively measurable. The result of an architectural design process is not only unique, but exists as one possibility among others. Architectural competitions are a good example. Although the problem and context are the same for all participating architects, each competitor will produce a different response. To compare them, let alone rank them, is difficult and in some ways arbitrary. It depends not only on the particular set of criteria, but also on the interpretation of these criteria by the jury. Architectural cases are, at the same time, characterized by a variety of problem descriptions and the possibility of a wide range of “satisfying” solutions. There is not one “good” solution, but a multitude of possible ones. Where medical reasoning is science-based, architectural reasoning is primarily based on values.



5.2.3



Case Studies in Business Administration

The definition of a case in business administration is less straightforward than those for law or medicine, where cases occur in a “natural” way during professional practice and are externally driven, such as an accusation of an illegal act or the emergence of an illness. In business administration, few cases originate naturally, but are generally constructed by the players involved and are, as such, internally driven. Consequently, they can be studied on a wide variety of forms and levels. In “Because Wisdom Can’t Be Told” (1954) 22, Charles Gragg stated that a case in business administration should deal with an actual problem, and he defines a case as a record of a business issue which has been faced by business executives, along with surrounding facts, opinions, and prejudices. Business cases are problem-generated and problem-driven. They rely less on scientific knowledge than on tacit knowledge and experience, the objective being to connect that knowledge to a favorable outcome. The case emerges through the initiative of a particular party or parties, for instance: two companies want to merge or a company wants to improve its internal structure. Although the case evolves in a real world context, it is also strongly influenced by the parties involved. There is a strong analogy to contemporary gaming situations, wherein each player tries to optimize his gains within a limited set of common set rules, incomplete knowledge, ambiguous 163

22 Gragg, C.I., 1954, “Because Wisdom Can’t Be Told”, in The Case Method at the Harvard Business School, (Ed. McNair, M., and Hirsum, A.), McGraw-Hill, New York.

Case Study Research in Architecture

information, and hazardous interventions. Incontestable answers do not exist, as each decision may change the problem parameters. More so than in other disciplines, business cases are characterized by goal finding in action, and therefore they are heuristic and teleological. Business cases differ from those of law and medicine, as Lynn (1999, see note 14 p. 157) stated, in the absence of a well-defined professional knowledge base and of formal, logical processes for its application. As a consequence, virtually their entire body of knowledge is borrowed from other disciplines, such as economic, behavioral, and social sciences. Leadership, organizational acumen, and the ability to plan, persuade, and make decisions under pressure, are important characteristics of a successful manager. Thinking like a manager, therefore, involves a more experiential and associative way of thinking, based on intuition and a combination of analytical and synthetic reasoning with diagnostic and persuasive skills. Garvin (2003, see note 19 p. 160) describes this thinking as an activity that regularly has to size up ambiguous situations — emerging technologies, nascent markets, and complex investments — and to make hard choices, often under pressure, since delay means loss of competitive edge. Managers work collaboratively, since critical decisions usually involve input from diverse groups and departments. However, in the end, they have to make their own decisions, and assume the responsibility for them. In business cases, the questions to be answered may appear at first glance obvious — sometimes trivial. The essence of the case study, however, is how these questions are answered and what underlying process led to a particular solution. The reconstruction of discourse among the parties involved is just as important a part in understanding the solution as is an understanding of the problem itself. Interpersonal dynamics, personal likes and dislikes, accidental circumstances, and first impressions are the uncontrollable parameters jointly determining the case’s outcome. Both in medicine and in business administration, cases are based on decision-making processes. But where in medicine these are based on clear, logical thinking, underpinned by a scientific knowledge base, in business administration decision-making is a process in action, whereby inductive reasoning, intuition, and experience are the driving forces. Flexible, critical, fast thinking is essential for success. The aim of case research in business administration is to reconstruct and draw the decision map, and evaluate its logic and coherence, rather than to point to a particular road followed. The study should develop a way of understanding two things: how a solution was found, and how it solved the problem. 164

The Methodology of Case Study Research

This focus on how a solution developed is especially relevant for architecture. Just as in business administration, there is no unique answer to an architectural problem, so it is just as important to understand how and why a solution came into being as it is to analyze the solution itself. And as in business, the decision-making process is also a process in action. But, whereas in business administration the dynamic of the action is driven by an external dialectic between the actors involved, in architecture it is mainly driven by an internal dialectic within the architect’s mind. There are also major similarities between the architect’s way of thinking and that of the manager. Both are characterized by a strong combination of analytical and synthetic components, associative and innovative power, and the capacity to come to conclusions in the face of uncertainty. Therefore, it may be more apropos to speak of such processes as decisionforcing than as decision-making. The knowledge obtained in action is an important factor in this process, as it allows for coping with chaotic situations and will benefit performance in a “similar” future situation.



5.2.4



Case Studies Methodologically Compared

Although there is common ground for case study research in the professional disciplines, the analysis above shows that case study research in law, medicine, and business administration differs considerably not only in content but also in methodology. Thinking like a lawyer, like a physician, or like a manager involves different skills and attitudes. The closer analysis that follows illuminates these differences in greater detail. I will examine them on the basis of nine parameters: basic characteristics, field of tension in which the discipline operates, modes of thinking, the reasoning process used, the context, the methodology, the knowledge base, the time frame, and the case study output. By doing so, we can group the differences on three levels, grouped by main characteristics: fields of tension, modes of thinking, and underlying reasoning process; methodological approach, time frame, and output; and validity testing in relation to the case study characteristics. Fig. 2.5.1 gives an overview of these similarities and differences.

165

2.5.1

Law / Medicine / Business Administration Compared

Law

Medicine

Business Administration

characteristics

• Rule Based • Conclusion Driven

• Problem Based • Result Driven

• Process Based • Solution Driven

fields of tension

• Legal Formalism vs. Legal Realism • Norm vs. Fact

• Clinical Purism vs. Clinical Realism • Knowledge vs. Fact

• Managerial Objectivism vs. Managerial Pragmatism • Fact vs. Application

thinking modes

• Deductive vs. Inductive • Formal vs. Analogical • Autarchic vs. Contextual

• Deductive and Inductive • Pragmatic • Contextual

• Inductive and Intuitive • Pragmatic • Contextual

reasoning process

• Logical • Analysis and Interpretation • Normative and Rational • Pattern Finding

• Scientific and Associative • Analysis and Evaluation • Rational and Empirical • Pattern Finding

• Associative and Teleological • Analysis and Synthesis • Empirical and Heuristic • Pattern Finding and Creating

context

• Output Defining

• Input Defining

• Input and Output Defining

methodology

• Socratic Dialectic • Case Defining • Rule Testing

• Positivist • Problem Finding and Solving • Scientific Inquiry

• Rhetoric and Heuristic • Problem Generating and Solving • Scientific and Design Inquiry

knowledge base

• Formal Body of Rules • Precedents

• Scientific Theories • Experiential Knowledge

• Experiential Knowledge • Examples

time frame

• Externally Controlled

• Beyond Control

• Internally Controlled

case study output

• Building Jurisprudence

• Building Scientific Knowledge • Best Practice by Objective Results

• Building Experiential Knowledge • Successful Practice by Subjective Results

The Methodology of Case Study Research

5.2.4.1

Fields of Tension, Modes of Thinking, and Underlying Reasoning Processes

A case in law is rule-based and conclusion-driven, and the difference in approach between legal formalists and legal realists identifies a field of tension between norms and facts. In the formalist approach, facts are subordinated to the rules, which constitute a body of universal truth. Consequently, conclusions are arrived at through deductive thinking, respecting the autarchic position of the law-maker. The legal realist school, on the contrary, takes a relative position, contextualizing norms and facts. The relation between them needs to be interpreted case by case. Conclusions are arrived at through inductive and analogical thinking based on experience and context. Context is an important factor in determining the output of the case. A case in medicine is problem-based and result-driven. As in law, we can distinguish two approaches: clinical purism and clinical realism. In clinical medicine, this difference defines a field of tension between knowledge and facts. Although the difference is less vocalized, as both schools recognize the importance of contextual influences and pragmatic thinking, the purist approach sets scientific knowledge above the diagnosed facts, using deductive thinking to find a problem solution, whereas the clinical realists will rely more heavily on inductive thinking — contraposing, balancing, and interpreting facts and knowledge. Where in law the context is output-defining, in a clinical case the context is basically input-defining. A case in business administration is process-based and solution-driven, thus differs substantially from cases in law and medicine. A case here evolves through the actions and reactions of the parties involved, and is therefore engaged in a field of tension between facts and application. In this sense, we can speak about managerial objectivism and managerial pragmatism. The first, also known as the contingency theory, asserts that when managers make a decision, they must take into account all aspects of the current situation and act on those aspects that are key to the situation at hand. Basically, they are dealing with the facts prima facie, believing that the outcome depends on it. Managerial pragmatism, on the other hand, is systems-oriented and deals with the facts in an interactive way within a constantly changing context. It involves a complex mode of inductive and creative thinking, relying on intuition and critical thinking at the same time. A managerial case is always contextual and multi-layered, where the context is both input- and output-defining.

167

Case Study Research in Architecture

From the above, it becomes obvious that the reasoning processes underlying case studies in law, medicine, and business administration have different emphases and differ in certain other aspects. In law, the reasoning process is essentially logical, based on analysis and contextual interpretation by using norms and rules. The essence is pattern-finding by a normative and rational process in order to come to a norm-fitting conclusion. In medicine, the reasoning process is both scientific and associative, based on analysis and evaluation. As in law, pattern-finding is essential, but in medicine it relies on rational deduction and empirical induction at the same time. The aim is a satisfying result that can be measured objectively. In business administration, the underlying reasoning is multilayered and complex, at times involving both rational and intuitive thinking. It is based on an iterative process of analysis, evaluation, and synthesis. It deals not only with pattern-finding, but also with pattern-creating. Therefore it has a heuristic and teleological character, whereby experience, empathy, and communicational skills are important driving forces. The result aims at a satisfying solution, which is acceptable for the parties involved, serves the goals of the organization, and can only be evaluated in a subjective and contextual way. 5.2.4.2

Methodological Approach, Time Frame, and Case Sudy Output

As a legal case is rule-based, it is essential to define the problem as precisely as possible in order to efficiently confront the case with the rule. The methodology used is defined by rule-testing and is based on the Socratic dialectic method. It refers to and builds on a knowledge base generated out of a set of formal rules and precedents. The time frame in which a case evolves is determined by external and well-defined factors, laid down in procedural rules. The outcome of the case study results in jurisprudence, which adds to the existing body of knowledge. In medicine, the methodology operates on the level of problem-finding and problem-solving by applying the methods of scientific inquiry in a wellcontrolled environment. The knowledge base is formed by a combination of scientific theory, experiential facts, and proven results. The time frame is driven by uncontrollable external factors. The case study outcome in medicine builds new scientific evidence, which leads to new generally applicable treatments, thus extending the body of knowledge on a scientific level. It defines best practice on the basis of objective results.

168

The Methodology of Case Study Research

Cases in business administration deal with problem-generating and problemsolving at the same time. The methodology uses both the methods of scientific inquiry and design inquiry. The knowledge base most commonly drawn from is experiential, relying on examples and precedents. There is hardly one single theory behind it, but rather borrowed knowledge from other disciplines such as economics, sociology, psychology, and communication and information technology. The time frame is partly externally determined but essentially internally controlled. The case study outcome in managerial cases generates experiential knowledge, which builds a pragmatic body of knowledge, defining successful practice in a subjective way.

5.2.4.3

Validity Testing and Case Study Characteristics

As we have seen, testing the validity of a case study should be done on three levels: the syntactic level, dealing with the vocabulary, structure, and syntax of the method and techniques; the semantic level, dealing with meaning and interpretation; and the pragmatic level, dealing with the effectiveness with which the case study contributes to the body of disciplinary knowledge. Fig.2.5.2 gives an overview of the main parameters to be tested on the three levels in the disciplines of law, medicine, and business administration. They logically follow from the comparative analysis above.

169

2.5.2

Law / Medicine / Business Administration Levels

Law

Medicine

Business Administration

syntactic level

• Formal Correctness • Logical Pattern Coherence • Symmetry of Vocabulary

• Scientific Correctness • Logical Pattern Coherence • Asymmetry of Vocabulary

• Situational Clarity • Logical and Intuitive Pattern Coherence • Symmetry/Asymmetry of Vocabulary

semantic level

• Interpretive Quality • Interference Dialogue • Context Clarification

• Interpretive Quality • Pattern Recognition Intensity • Context Interpretation

• Interpretive Quality • Pattern Recognition Understanding • Context Interpretation

pragmatic level

• Argumentation Quality • Persuasive Power • Contextualizing Power

• Scientific Application Quality • Clinical Effectiveness • Contextualizing Power

• Argumentation Quality • Persuasive Power • Contextualizing Power

The Methodology of Case Study Research

2

5.3



Case Study Research in Architecture

Business, law, and medical schools and their related professions exhibit examples of highly successful case-based education and research programs that have fundamentally changed these disciplines and raised them to an indisputable scientific and professional level. Through case study research, they have developed a consistent body of experiential knowledge, which has led to a solid scientific basis and academic recognition. Business administration is maybe the most striking example of such a discipline. When it emerged at the beginning of the 20th century, it lacked its own body of knowledge, let alone scientific grounding. The intensive and consistent development of case study research has raised it in a short time to a well-respected academic discipline and a showpiece for many universities.



5.3.1



The Loss of Comprehensive Knowledge in Architecture

Architecture, however, although recognized as one of the oldest professions, has still not succeeded in establishing its own body of knowledge — or rather, has lost the ability to do. From antiquity through the beginning of the 20th century, the discipline of architecture was par excellence the center of a consistent and coherent body of knowledge that bridged the gap between the exact sciences and their applications, between technical constructions and aesthetic perception; it represented an integrated model of science and art. The Ten Books on Architecture by Vitruvius, written in the first century B.C. 23, constitute the earliest known example of a comprehensive treatise on architectural knowledge in the Western World. The great architects of the Renaissance and the Baroque built on Vitruvius’s legacy, expanding that body of knowledge. In 1452, Leon Battista Alberti (1404–1472)wrote his influential work on architecture De Re Aedificatoria, which by the 18th century had been translated into Italian, French, Spanish, and English. Around 1480, Francesco di Giorgio Martini (1439-1501), the famous painter, sculptor, and architect from Siena, wrote his Trattato di Architettura (Treatise on Architecture). One of the milestones of architectural theory of the Italian Renaissance, it describes the state of the art of both civil and military architecture. Leonardo da Vinci studied it 171

23 Vitruvius, M., around 30 BC, De Architectura Libri Decem, translated by Morgan, M., 1941, The Ten Books on Architecture, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Case Study Research in Architecture

24 Tschumi, B., 1995, “One, Two, Three: Jump”, in Educating Architects, (Ed. Pearce, M. and Toy, M.), Academy Editions, London.

intensively, as evidenced by the fact that the manuscript was found in Leonardo’s library, annotated with his comments, notes, and sketches. In 1570 Andrea Palladio (1508–1580) published his I Quattro Libri dell’Architettura (The Four Books of Architecture) . His book defines systematic rules and plans for buildings, derived from precedents and case studies. He distinguishes two types of general rules: design rules, related to form and based on aesthetic appearance; and construction rules, based on the logic of building technology. We must not forget that during the Middle Ages, although no important written material is known, the cathedral builders in the lodges created their own knowledge base, which was used for centuries as the underlying theoretical framework for Gothic architecture. Eugène Viollet-le-Duc (1814-1879), famous for his restorations of Medieval buildings, brought that knowledge to the foreground in the 19th century. Through examining cases, making notes and drawings, he studied Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance buildings. He did not limit himself to the architectural aspects, but extended his studies to furniture and ornament. This breadth of study resulted in an impressive architectural knowledge base, published in several books: the two most influential being Dictionnaire raisonné de l’architecture française du XIe au XVe siècle (Dictionary of French Architecture from the 11th to the 15th Century) and Entretiens sur l’architecture (Discourses on Architecture). Many Neoclassical architects studied the projects and buildings of Etienne-Louis Boullée (1728–1799) and Claude Ledoux (1736–1806) and used them as references for their own designs. For more than 2000 years, the discipline of architecture built a growing, comprehensive, and professionally recognized body of knowledge. How did we lose that tradition? Why did we stop building on this legacy? There are many reasons, including growing emphases on variety and uniqueness and the increasingly autarchic and individualist attitude of the architect himself, as explained in the first part of this book. But the Modernist movement certainly played a decisive role in this, as well. By considering architecture as a means of creating a new world, it conferred a lot of emphasis on the socio-political role of architecture, and in the process the architect became an agent of social change, somebody with a mission. This vision gave rise to the architect as an individual whose design activity should be driven by innovation and creation of novelty, leaving no room for tradition or interest in studying what came before. In a discussion of the changes in architectural education, Bernard Tschumi (1995) 24, highlighted three great shifts, which are also relevant to the discussion above. Tschumi situated a first split in the 17th century, with the creation 172

The Methodology of Case Study Research

of the first school of architecture, the Académie Royale d’Architecture in Paris. From that moment on, the architect no longer learned at the construction site, but at school. A second split occurred in the 20th century, with new methods of construction developed by the building industry. As a result, the architect lost control of the building process. Finally, as a fall-out of the 1968 happenings, theoretical concepts became more important than practical realizations. This led to a kind of theoretical practice, which forgoes building for publishing, and gave rise to the starchitects, who do a well-published sketch design, which is then made buildable by an anonymous job architect. The latter illustrates how far the architect has moved away from his core business: “building.” The growing impact of ITC technology on the designing and building process, at an unprecedented speed, adds yet another dimension to this dramatic shift in the profession. Now, more than ever, we are witnessing a nearly schizophrenic situation in most architecture schools around the world. Theory and design practice are dissociated, they develop their own content along different lines, and faculty communicate little with each other about what they are teaching and how one area could enhance the other. Although architecture schools still teach architectural knowledge, it is split up into specialized packages, such as architectural history, architectural theory, construction methods, material science, building systems, etc. Hardly any attempt is made to integrate them: to teach students to see the connections and the impact on design decisions by studying real cases and bringing that integrated knowledge to the design studio. In a razor-sharp analysis, Edward Allen (2008) 25, points out how important the skill of detailing is for architects, but concludes that few architecture schools teach this in an organized way. Detailing is, quintessentially, the activity of integrating building technology, historical knowledge, and practical experience in a design work that is buildable. This should be the core business of the architect, but it seems no longer to be a valuable subject in the curricula. This dearth exemplifies the contemporary view that architecture is about concepts and not about buildings, that architects should produce ideas rather than dealing with how these ideas can be realized. This view represents the “softwarization” of architecture, the essential purpose of which is to produce hardware, in the form of buildable buildings. Although the study of precedents appears in most architectural curricula, it does not lead to the creation of a body of knowledge as it does in medicine, law, or business administration. Barry Russell, discussing the use of precedent

173

25 Allen, E., 2008, “How to Make Technical Courses More Relevant”, in Design Intelligence 2008, Greenway Communications, Norcross, Georgia.

Case Study Research in Architecture

26 Russell, B., 1995, “Paradigms Lost: Paradigms Regained”, in Educating Architects, (Eds. Pearce, M., and Toy, M.), Academy Editions, London.

studies in architectural education in “Paradigms Lost: Paradigms Regained” (1995) 26, mentioned that the reason for this is that thorough knowledge was said to destroy the creativity in the student, who should pursue innovation at all times, and therefore the notion of a teachable body of knowledge became explicitly ignored. Furthermore, we have seen above that the Modernist tradition in architecture introduced the belief that originality is essential for “good” architecture. This latter development may be an even stronger explanation for why the architectural profession has for so long been averse to shared knowledge.



5.3.2



Building a Framework for Architectural Case Study Research

Architecture is no longer considered to be a true discipline, based on a comprehensive knowledge base, as it was for more than 2000 years. It is clear that this situation is no longer tenable, if architecture wants to survive in the information age, and in a quickly changing globalized world. A key question regarding the discipline of architecture today is how we can build a store of knowledge again. A fundamental paradigm shift on the levels of architectural education, entrance to the profession, and the profession itself is needed to achieve the same status as disciplines such as law, medicine, and business administration. This demands a cultural shift from individual approaches to shared knowledge, integration of education and practice, reconsidering the internship process, and establishing a research and development strategy between the academic and professional worlds. Building knowledge in architecture will concurrently establish the “scientific” status of architecture. As in the other disciplines, case studies can be used to establish a knowledge base for both the discipline and profession of architecture. Case study research can contribute to the elaboration of architectural design theory. This conclusion is based on the assumption that the results of case study research can provide a solid and general framework, wherein a consistent body of knowledge about architectural design processes can be generated. This will allow for deeper insight into the complex relationships between context, product, and process that govern every design process, as well as the interactions of the participants involved. Insights acquired from case study will offer a better understanding of individual design methodologies both in academic and professional 174

The Methodology of Case Study Research

environments, thus enabling the architect to constantly improve his or her capabilities, resulting in “better” products. If, at the same time, this learning process could be based on a common and repeatable method of case study research, we will have taken a first step towards establishing a general design theory based on pragmatic thinking, where, as defined by Hilary Putnam, in Pragmatism: an Open Question (1995) 27, the unifying of the processes and experience, and of conceptual thought and situational consciousness, is crucial. In The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1970) 28, Thomas Kuhn argued that shared examples provide models from which spring particular coherent traditions of consistent knowledge of what he defines as “normal science.” This is the body of accepted theory, illustrated with successful applications, and compared with exemplary observations and experiments. He referred to these as “paradigms”. Shared paradigms make it possible for scientists to commit to the same rules and standards for their practice. By analogy, building architectural knowledge is providing for shared paradigms. Case study research will produce the necessary information, the building blocks for these paradigms. In Part 1 of this book, I described design activity as consisting not only of exploration and analysis of the existing environment, but at the same time the structuring and shaping of that environment. I argued that this definition is unique compared to the fundamental scientific approach and the manner in which art addresses the physical world. Comparing the methodologies of science and design, it is important to ask what they have in common and what their differences are. What are the essential characteristics of traditional scientific research and of research by design? This may seem a purely academic and intellectual question. but we should be aware of the importance of explicitly defining our own research criteria related to our core expertise, “architectural design,” thus delineating the “scientific status” of design in general and enabling the generation of a knowledge center unique to the discipline and profession of architecture. The design process can indeed be defined as a structuring activity. The essence lies in deciding which elements constitute the design context and which structural patterns determine its cohesion. Such design activities are based on a permanent process of information transformation through the use of models. Information from the existing environment, defined as the design context, can be translated into mental models, which in turn are converted into formal models to describe a design hypothesis that can be contextually tested. The uniqueness of the designing and building process, 175

27 Putnam, H., 1995, Pragmatism: an Open Question, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, England, and Cambridge, Massachusetts. 28 Kuhn, T., 1970, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

Case Study Research in Architecture

as described in Part 1 of this book further defines the complexity of a case. Therefore, case study research should be done on various intertwined levels: the level of possible hypotheses, the level of factual and desired outcomes, the level of methodology, and the level of context. The hypothesis level refers to possible solutions for a particular design problem. It implies analysis of the design brief, problem formulation, expectations of the client, and various design propositions by the architect(s). The outcome level compares the selected design proposals as built and as intended, the building techniques, and materials used. On the methodological and contextual levels, analysis is made of the design methods used, the underlying decision-making process, the several participants, and the overall context, both physical and non-physical, in which the design process took place.

29 ENHSA, 2007, Profile of the Graduates from European Schools of Architecture: an Inquiry on the Competences and Learning Outcomes, EAAEinternal document, Leuven, Belgium.



5.3.3



The Characteristics of Architectural Knowledge and Architectural Thinking

In architectural education, there has always been discussion of whether it should focus on a generalist or specialist approach, and of how the curriculum can keep up with the demands for more specialized graduates, who can perform sooner and more effectively once they enter the office. A survey carried out in 2007 by the ENHSA (European Network of Heads of Schools of Architecture) 29, reveals that there is a considerable difference between what academia thinks should be the competences of students graduating from an architectural school in Europe, and what competences the profession expects the young graduates to have. Highly prized, by professionals, for instance, is the ability to create architectural designs that satisfy both aesthetic and technical requirements. But that is not even on the radar screen of the educationalists. An even more striking outcome of this survey is that the profession believes that the competences they consider very important are not present in new graduates, particularly the ability to meet requirements within the constraints imposed by cost factors and building regulations and the ability to apply knowledge to practice. That last competence, however, is considered important by both academia and the profession. This indicates a serious difference of opinion between school and practice regarding the knowledge, skills, and attitudes needed to be a competent architect. It is clear that architecture is interdisciplinary by nature, but a fruitful and meaningful interdisciplinary collaboration assumes three important preconditions: a clear understanding of one’s own expert knowledge; an understanding of and respect for the expert knowledge of the other relevant 176

The Methodology of Case Study Research

disciplines; and the ability to mutually communicate this knowledge. Consequently, the key question is to define the essence and characteristics of architectural knowledge. The analyses in Part 1 of this book have already explained these characteristics. They can be summarized in seven points. 1

Architectural knowledge is both multidisciplinary and multilayered. There is a layer of knowing, involving an acquaintance with knowledge belonging to different bodies of scientific disciplines, ranging from the natural sciences to the socio-cultural sciences and everything in between. There is the layer of integrated application of these different sets of knowledge, and the layer of interpretation of how to apply the knowledge in a design situation.

2

Architectural knowledge is contextual. Architectural knowledge derives its relevance from the specific physical, environmental, historical, socio-cultural, and economic environment in which it is applied. Architectural knowledge becomes meaningful only when put into context.

3

Architectural knowledge is value-sensitive. Underlying individual and societal value systems, including ethics, determine the degree of importance of particular knowledge pockets. Boundaries must be set, within which architectural knowledge is applied, and choices must be made of what knowledge is relevant and what is to be discarded. Individual attitudes, likes, and dislikes jointly determine the relative importance of the elements that constitute the body of knowledge.

4

Architectural knowledge is meta-knowledge. It relates to the problem level, the process level, and the product level. This means that architectural knowledge offers insights into how to formulate an architectural problem, how to conceptualize possible solutions, how to realize that solution through physical building, and providing the means to do that.

5

Architectural knowledge is systemic. This means that it can describe not only the elements of an architectural product but also the relationships among these elements and how a combination of them can create additional value and synergy.

6

Architectural knowledge is bipolar. It is subject to internal reflection and external validation. This means that architectural knowledge is not universal, but subject to constant individual interpretation, alternating between analytical exploration and synthetic problem-solving. 177

2.5.3

Law / Medicine / Business Administration /Architecture Compared

Law

Medicine

characteristics

• Rule Based • Conclusion Driven

• Problem Based • Result Driven

fields of tension

• Legal Formalism vs. Legal Realism • Norm vs. Fact

• Clinical Purism vs. Clinical Realism • Knowledge vs. Fact

thinking modes

• Deductive vs. Inductive • Formal vs. Analogical • Autarchic vs. Contextual

• Deductive and Inductive • Pragmatic • Contextual

reasoning process

• Logical • Analysis and Interpretation • Normative and Rational • Pattern Finding

• Scientific and Associative • Analysis and Evaluation • Rational and Empirical • Pattern Finding

context

• Output Defining

• Input Defining

methodology

• Socratic Dialectic • Case Defining • Rule Testing

• Positivist • Problem Finding and Solving • Scientific Inquiry

knowledge base

• Formal Body of Rules • Precedents

• Scientific Theories • Experiential Knowledge

time frame

• Externally Controlled

• Beyond Control

case study output

• Building Jurisprudence

• Building Scientific Knowledge • Best Practice by Objective Results

Business Administration

Architecture

• Process Based • Solution Driven

• Rule based • Problem based • Process based • Solution driven

• Managerial Objectivism vs. Managerial Pragmatism • Fact vs. Application

• Formalism vs.Pragmatism • Experiential Knowledge vs. Factual Application

• Inductive and Intuitive • Pragmatic • Contextual

• Inductive and Intuitive • Pragmatic • Contextual

• Associative and Teleological • Analysis and Synthesis • Empirical and Heuristic • Pattern Finding and Creating

• Associative and Teleological • Analysis and Synthesis • Empirical and Heuristic • Pattern Finding and Creating

• Input and Output Defining

• Input and Output Defining

• Rhetoric and Heuristic • Problem Generating and Solving • Scientific and Design Inquiry

• Rhetoric and Heuristic • Problem Generating and Solving • Scientific and Design Inquiry

• Experiential Knowledge • Examples

• Experiential Knowledge • Examples

• Internally Controlled

• Internally and Externally Controlled

• Building Experiential Knowledge • Successful Practice by Subjective Results

• Building Experiential Knowledge • Successful Practice by Subjective Results

Case Study Research in Architecture

7

Architectural knowledge is transformational. This means that the individual elements of micro-knowledge, derived from several disciplines — and as such relevant in their own disciplines on the micro-level — when brought together transform their content into wholes, which become relevant on an architectural macro-level.

Case study research as a means of creating a body of knowledge should address these characteristics. This inevitably leads to a need for different types of case studies in architecture. The methodological comparison of case study research in law, medicine, and business administration at first sight implies that, in many ways, architectural case study research is much more related to case studies in business administration than to law and medicine. That there are major differences among types of case study research in architecture is precisely because of the above-described multivariate characteristics, making the case study undertaking complex, to be sure. Fig. 2.5.3 provides an overview of this complexity in comparison with the other three disciplines. As we have seen above, architectural thinking is simultaneously rule-, problem-, and process-based. It is caught in a triangular field of tension between design formalism, realistic thinking, and pragmatic decision-making. Thinking like an architect involves the ability to switch alternately between deductive and inductive reasoning and between intuitive thinking and adductive reasoning — referring to the logic of what might be. Further, the architect must do this within an unstable contextual framework. The essence is pattern-finding and pattern-creating at the same time. In that sense, design thinking is both empirical and heuristic. It forces the combination of analytical and associative reasoning into meaningful syntheses, based on experiential knowledge and successful practice. Design thinking is per se innovative, teleological, and experimental, driven by empathy and focused on problem-solving. It essentially deals with “wicked” problems with multiple stakeholders and fuzzy boundaries, and in which the solution is to be found between disciplines. Therefore design thinking brings to the table a broad, multi-disciplinary spectrum of ideas from which to draw inspiration that leads to concrete solutions.

180

The Methodology of Case Study Research



5.3.4



Case Study Typology in Architecture

In the previous paragraph, I discussed the nature of the design activity and of architectural knowledge. If we want to define case study parameters, it is important to refer back to these arguments and conclusions. Architectural design is a process of problem-generating and problem-solving at the same time. It is rule-based, as it is driven by both universal laws of physics and particular rules imposed by context. This contextuality, along with the fact that it is also problem-based, makes the architectural design process unique and subject to debate. As we have seen, this uniqueness is a major reason why it is distinguished from other production processes. Moreover, a design situation presents itself as a unique case that is value- and belief-dependent, and therefore falls outside traditional categories of theories and techniques. It does not subscribe to disciplinary boundaries, nor is it well defined. On the contrary, a design problem is defined during the design process, and therefore constantly changing and adapting to the contextual circumstances. This heuristic character implies that design problems are unstable and indeterminate, multi-layered and conflicting. In every design situation, the architect tries to construct a problem that is coherent and consistent, both internally and externally. This construction should take into account the architect’s need to move between the physical world, social-cultural reality, and the cognitive mind. From problemgenerating to problem-solving, the architect essentially walks an exploratory road in a virtual world, a constructed representation of reality by the technique of modeling. In The Reflective Practitioner (1987) 30, Donald Schön, rightly pointed out that in the terms of John Dewey’s Democracy and Education (1923) 31, this process is transactional, in that the architect’s action is both a testing of the design hypothesis and also a move by which he tries to effect a desired change in the given situation. But it is also transformational in the structuralist sense, since the architect uses rules of meta-design, as we have seen in Part 1, Chapter 3. By doing so, he probes his own propositions in order to understand them and fit them into the greater whole of a solution. This reflection is primarily the product of tacit knowledge, as defined by Michael Polanyi in The Tacit Dimension (1966) 32, and of implicit rational reasoning: We know that we are moving in the right direction, but we are not able to state the underlying rules or paradigms. The question is, how can we use this tacit and experiential knowledge from the past in such a unique and complex situation as described above. Schön suggests that architects build up a “repertoire” of examples, images, 181

30 Schön, D.A., 1987, The Reflective Practitioner, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco. 31 Dewey, J., 1923, Democracy and Education, The Macmillan Company, New York. 32 Polanyi, M., 1966, The Tacit Dimension, Doubleday & Company Inc., New York.

Case Study Research in Architecture

33 Kuhn, T., 1977, The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition and Change, University of Chicago Press, Chicago. 34 Gerring, J., 2004, “What Is a Case Study and What Is It Good For?”, in American Political Science Review, Vol. 98, N° 2. Gerring, J., 2007, Case Study Research, Principles and Practices, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, England.

understandings, and actions across the design domains, including sites they have seen, buildings they have known, previous design problems they have encountered, and solutions they have devised. Confronted with a unique design problem, the architect tries to find a matching or analogous situation in his repertoire, thus making the unique similar and familiar, while keeping the differences firmly in mind. The architect is looking for a precedent that may give him the problem-solving capacity for an essentially original and new problem. According to Schön, the practitioner-architect sees "this" situation as "that" one, concluding that he may do again in this situation what was done in that one. In The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition (1977) 33, Thomas Kuhn defined this reference to precedent as “an exemplar for the unfamiliar one.” Case study research is a tool to make the individual “repertoire” more generally applicable, and so to transform tacit knowledge and individual experience into a body of disciplinary knowledge. If we analyze state-of-the-art case studies in architecture, we discover a wide variety of approaches. This makes it difficult to compare the results or integrate them into a consistent body of knowledge. If case studies are to serve the purpose of understanding a larger class of units through an intensive study of a single unit, it is necessary to investigate the different types of case studies with the goal of forming a comprehensive typology. This will provide new insights into an integrative model for architectural education and practice. An important contribution toward a consistent typology in case study research is found in the social sciences. John Gerring has written extensively, including two studies (2004, 2007) 34 about such a case study typology. He distinguishes between research based on one single case and research based on several cases, called “cross-case” research. A single case refers to a unit, a delimited phenomenon, with spatial and temporal boundaries. Most of the time, it contains sets of sub-cases, which Gerring calls “within-cases”. Consequently, a case study is the comprehensive study of such a single case and one or more of its within-cases. This study can be done at a particular point in time (synchronically) or over a certain period of time (diachronically). Cross-case research studies multiple cases and, from them, tries to derive general principles. Cross-case research is, therefore, based on comparative analyses, all or not all situated into a historical dimension. At first glance, this typology seems as though it might be applied to case study research in architecture as well. Fig. 2.5.4 is an attempt to do so.

182

2.5.4

Case Types

Studied Sub-Level

single case

several cases

Variation

Research Type

spatial variation product

temporal variation process

• No Within-Cases

• Building

• Designing and Building Process

• Case Study

• Within-Cases

• Building Parts

• Designing and Building Phases in the Process

• Within-Case Study

• No Within-Cases

• Comparative Building Studies • Building Typologies

• Comparative Processes • Process Typologies

• Cross Case Study

• Within-Cases

• Comparative Building Parts Studies • Building Parts Typologies

• Comparative Phases in Processes • Process Phases Typologies

• Cross Within-Case Study

Case Study Research in Architecture

35 Friedman, D, 2004, “In Any Case: Ten Questions for the Large Firm Round Table”, ACSA/AIA Cranbrook Teacher Seminar, Cranbrook Academy of Art, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan.

It is clear that in architecture, a study can be done on a single case or on several cases. A case can be studied in general without taking sublevels or so-called within-cases into account, or one can look at a particular set of within-cases. However, the division between spatial variation and temporal variation is less evident, as both space and time are important contextual parameters in architecture and are fundamentally intertwined. Therefore, it is not relevant to study a single building or group of buildings — or a subset of within-cases — in a single moment in time, as that will not reveal significant knowledge about that building unless it is placed in its time frame. A similar problem arises on the process level. The designing and building process must not only be studied within its time frame, but is inextricably bound to its spatial context. Currently, case studies in architecture comply largely with the above Gerringbased typology. They might focus on a particular building, aspects or parts of buildings, or on a building typology. They are product-related and essentially quantitative and descriptive. I shall call them type 1 studies. Other examples focus on the design processes themselves, on the multiple participants or stakeholders in those processes, and on the ways in which decision-making occurs. They are qualitative, process-related, and based on story-telling. I shall call them type 2 studies. Type 1 studies are primarily analytical, investigating scientific and technological aspects of a project. Type 2 studies not only look at managerial and operational aspects of a project, but also take into account how decisionmakers or stakeholders direct the process. Type 2 studies deal with the contextual parameters and the less quantifiable conditions. Thus, type 2 studies try to make statements about the art and design dimensions of architecture. In his “In Any Case: Ten Questions for the Large Firm Round Table” (2004) 35, Daniel Friedman makes a similar distinction, differentiating between what he calls “case studies,” and “case method.” According to Friedman, “case studies” refers to a product: a written document that focuses on the facts and figures surrounding a single event or artifact. It is presented from beginning to end within a narrative form. “Case method,” on the other hand, refers to a process. With reference to the use of case method teaching in law, medicine, and business, Friedman characterizes “case method” as based on Socratic dialogue and the study of real conflicts, real events, and real persons. It is about interpretation rather than factual reporting. As we have seen in our comparative analysis, Friedman’s distinction applies more to case studies in business than in law or medicine, and is therefore indeed useful in an architectural context. 184

The Methodology of Case Study Research

Type 1 studies report the facts; they are explanatory and internally consistent. They have a beginning and an end and primarily employ methods of scientific research. As such, they can be characterized as “case studies.” Type 2 studies, on the contrary, are based on argumentation and interpretation. They are exploratory, tasked with asking questions rather than providing answers. They use methods of research by design, defining the design hypotheses that underlie the case and investigating possible design solutions by answering questions of how, why, and when. They belong to the “case method” group. Architectural knowledge and architectural thinking, as defined above, are essentially multilayered, interdisciplinary, and systemic. Moreover, they are value-sensitive, contextual, and meta-leveled. As such, they are transformational, meaning that the individual elements or decisions of an architectural design process are unimportant as such, but become relevant only as part of a larger structure, governed by rules on a meta-level. From this transformational standpoint, type 1 studies investigate definable elements, while type 2 studies explore relations between the elements and the dynamics of the decision-making. The issue of the “transformational” refers to Marshall McLuhan’s groundbreaking studies (1967/1994) 36 on media and how they transform the cultural world. He adapted the Gestalt Psychology idea of a “figure and ground,” which underpins the meaning of his slogan “The Medium is the Message.” He used this concept to explain how a form of communications technology, the medium — or figure — necessarily operates through its context — or ground. McLuhan believed that to fully grasp the effect of a new technology, one must examine the figure/medium and the ground/context together, since neither is completely intelligible without the other. He argued that we must study media in their historical context, particularly in relation to the technologies that preceded them. The present environment, incorporating the effects of previous technologies, gives rise to new technologies, which, in their turn, further affect society and individuals. Further, McLuhan argues that all technologies have embedded within them their own assumptions about time and space. The message, which is conveyed by the medium, can only be understood if the medium and the environment in which it is used — and which, simultaneously, it effectively creates — are analyzed together. Architecture is indebted to the same law as explained above, and therefore can only be understood when the medium – the architectural language and technology – and the context are studied and understood as an inseparable whole. McLuhan’s analysis provides a renewed insight into the transformational characteristics of the architectural intervention. 185

36 McLuhan, M., 1967, Understanding Media, Sphere Books Ltd., London; also 1994, Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

2.5.5 Case Types 1/2/3

cool

hot

Scientific Research

Research by Design

explanatory

exploratory

Science and Technology

Art and Design

Product Related types units parts aspects

Project

Process Related context beliefs values decisions

Type 1 Case Study Analytic Fact Reporting

Type 3 Case Project Synthetic Argument Understanding

Type 2 Case Method Heuristic Discourse Interpreting

The Methodology of Case Study Research

To raise the professional level of architecture, and to validate the unique status of research in the discipline, it is indeed necessary to identify and understand the rules that govern the transformational aspect of an architectural process. That knowledge is necessary to answer questions such as “Why is a building as it is?”, “Why are there many satisfying solutions to the same architectural problem?”, and “Why is a building considered good by one and bad by another?” Answering these questions by way of the seven characteristics and defining the essence of architectural knowledge as outlined in the previous paragraph will give us the building blocks for a real body of knowledge and renew the status of architecture as a true profession, In order to do this, we need to introduce a third type of study. Where type 1 is a “case study” and type 2 belongs to “case method,” type 3 is “case project” — the confrontation, interface, and synthesis of type 1 and type 2. The very creation of type 3 cases establishes knowledge for the discipline: information is gathered and facts established (type 1), then interpreted and contextualized (type 2), contributing to a shared knowledge center (type 3), where scientific research and research by design meet to produce theory. Such a knowledge center is the cornerstone for building an integrated comprehensive design model, as I advocated in “Design Research: A New Paradigm,” (1999) 37. Fig. 2.5.5 shows how these three types of studies are interrelated. The various models are illustrated in relation to their correspondence with type 1, type 2, or type 3 cases.

187

37 Foqué, R.K.V., 1996b, "In Search of a Scientific Status of Design Research" in Doctorates in Design and Architecture, Vol. I, Delft University Press, Delft, The Netherlands.

6 The biggest challenge for all of us, designers and businesspeople alike, is to become equally adept at quantifying the now and intuiting what’s next. There’s simply no other way to win. Roger Martin, 2006, Dean of the Rotman Business School

Chapter 6 A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

If we intend to establish a general and universal body of knowledge regarding the architectural discipline, along with a robust frame of reference wherein it can be embedded, we need a unified and universally applicable methodology. That is the only way to objectively compare the results of case study research in general and cross-case projects in particular, and from them to formulate general and systematic patterns. As argued above, that is the key to establishing a consistent and practical architectural design theory. As we have seen in the previous chapter, a case project is constituted by both case study and case method. The confrontation and intertwining of the outcome of these parts can produce comprehensive architectural knowledge. Therefore, a general method for case project research should provide for this. It should address quantitative and qualitative parameters and investigate how each contributes to the realization of an architectural object. How do these parameters interrelate, how are they connected, and how do they influence each other? Moreover, the method should allow for a deeper insight into the complex relationship between context, product, and process, including the roles of different actors in that process. It will be based on an analytical discourse and on argumentative and rhetorical means, with the last two seen not as mere skills or techniques of pure persuasion, but as necessary components of a pragmatic approach to answering the question of why a design solution is optimal within a given context. If we agree that case research can generate information to make the individual “repertoire” of an architect more generally applicable and transform tacit knowledge and individual experience into a body of disciplinary knowledge, we may be able to state the underlying rules or paradigms of the architectural discipline. Following our analysis of the way architectural thinking works, an efficient methodology for case research in architecture should be multilayered, multivariate, and multi-contextual. Multilayered, as it has to 189

Case Study Research in Architecture

investigate product, process, and context and the way they are intertwined; multivariate, as it has to pass judgment on different participants of the process and the way they interact and influence decision-making; and multicontextual, as the same design problem will be approached differently by each architect, giving rise to different and unique solutions in the same spatial and time context. In the next paragraphs, I will outline a method for case research in architecture that can address these aspects in a systematic way. I started to develop the method at the Higher Institute of Architectural Sciences Henry Van de Velde in Antwerp in the late 1980’s, where I was working with students on what was at that time called “project analysis.” The method was gradually improved and theoretically supported, becoming what appears to be a robust and consistent vehicle for case study research. It can be used in a single-case study or in a comparative study, where multiple cases are studied; it can be used to study a case in general or on the level of its within-cases.

2

6.1



Defining the Case Type

Before beginning any case study, it is crucial to define in a clear and exact way the boundaries within which the study will be done, the parameters under investigation, and the hypothesis we want to investigate. What is the aim of the study and what is the expected output? As we have seen, architectural design is in principle a hypothesis-generating activity par excellence. The way we execute a single-case study should take this into account. This means that a single-case study cannot be used as a tool in a traditional “conjectures” and “refutations” process, but must be considered an exploratory tool to understand the nature of a proposed design hypothesis and why that hypothesis should be viable and valuable within its context. Consequently, the outcome of such a study will in its turn be a hypothesis. In other words, single-case studies can generate hypotheses on the level of architectural knowledge by investigating hypotheses on the design level. Single-case studies in architecture are, therefore, hypothesis-generating and not hypothesis-testing. However, cross-case analysis on the basis of multiple comparable cases can test the generated hypothesis and raise it to the level of a contextual paradigm. Type 1 case research will do that on the product level; type 2 case research will do that on the process level. 190

2.6.1

The Architectural Knowledge Generator

Architectural Knowledge Base

Paradigm Formulation

multiple cases

Type 1 Study

Type 3 Study

Type 2 Study

Knowledge Hypothesis

single case

Type 1 Study

Type 3 Study

Design Hypothesis

Type 2 Study

2.6.2

Type 1 / Type 2 / Type 3 Studies, Buildings

Type 1 Study single case

multiple cases

nowithin

A primary school building in a particular neighborhood

Primary school buildings in similar neighborhoods

within

• The classroom layout and the floor plans • HVAC systems integration • Material use in relation to construction detailing

• Typology of classroom layouts and floor plans in similar school buildings • HVAC typology in that kind of school buildings • Detail typology in relation to material use

single case

multiple cases

nowithin

The decision-making process regarding the realization of a primary school building in a particular neighborhood

Comparative study of decision-making processes regarding the realization of primary school buildings in similar neighborhoods

within

The decision-making process regarding the classroom layout; the HVAC systems integration; the material use and detailing

Comparative study of decision-making processes regarding the classroom layout; the HVAC systems integration; the material use and detailing

single case

multiple cases

nowithin

Knowledge and understanding why the primary school building is as it is in that particular neighborhood

Knowledge and understanding why primary school buildings may have a certain typology in that kind of neighborhood

within

Knowledge and understanding why in that particular school building in that particular neighborhood the classroom layout is as it is

Knowledge and understanding why classroom layouts may manifest a certain typology in that kind of neighborhood

Type 2 Study

Type 3 Study

2.6.3

Type 1 / Type 2 / Type 3 Studies, Firms

Type 1 Study single case

multiple cases

nowithin

The architectural language of a particular architect /firm

The architectural style of a particular group or generation of architects

within

The architectural solution of a particular architect /firm to a specific building type

The architectural style of a particular generation of architects regarding a specific building type

single case

multiple cases

nowithin

The design approach /process of a particular architect /firm

The design methodology of a particular group or generation of architects

within

The design approach /process of a particular architect /firm in relation to a particular building type

The design methodology of a particular group or generation of architects in relation to a particular building type

single case

multiple cases

nowithin

Knowledge and understanding about how a particular architect /firm integrates method and content and their mutual influence

The relation between style, method, and design solution within a group or generation of architects

within

Knowledge and understanding about how a particular architect /firm integrates method and content and their mutual influence in relation to a particular building type

The relation between style, method, and design solution within a group or generation of architects regarding a particular set of design problems

Type 2 Study

Type 3 Study

Case Study Research in Architecture

The integration within the same case of both types into a type 3 case project will make it possible to transform the contextual paradigms into architectural knowledge. This comprehensive use of type 1 and type 2 research into type 3 creates a method for generating architectural knowledge (Fig. 2.6.1). It is precisely the combination of a type 1 study with a type 2 study of a particular building or of multiple buildings that will generate knowledge on a transformational level, allowing us to understand the uniqueness of an architectural product as well as the contribution it makes to the study of architectural production in general. Therefore, it is first important to determine the type of study we want to conduct. As we have seen, type 1 studies are product-related. They investigate a single building or a collection of buildings within its spatial context. The study will be essentially descriptive, analytical, and fact-based, directed at the building as a whole (without within-cases) or at certain aspects of a building (within-cases). Type 2 studies are process-related, directed toward the time context. Such a study will be narrative, interpretative, and reconstruction-based, focused on the underlying decision-making process and/or life cycle of a building (no within-case) or of certain aspects of a building (within-case). Type 3 studies are simultaneously analytical, interpretative, and explanatory. They combine facts with intentions and qualities within contextual circumstances. Fig. 2.6.2 gives an example of how a case regarding a particular building type can be defined in the context of several types of case studies. Fig. 2.6.3 does the same on the level of the oeuvre of a particular architect or architectural firm.

2

6.2



Selecting a Case

The selection of a case depends not only on the type of study we want to conduct, but even more on the questions we want to address. These questions must be directly related to the knowledge we want to obtain through the case study. Important here is the ability of a case study to create pertinent knowledge. In the previous chapter, we discussed the characteristics and criteria for such case validity. The selection of a case or multiple cases must be directly based on these criteria. Important questions to ask include: Is there sufficient information available? What are the sources of this information and where can we find them? Is the information 194

A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

confidential? Is the building, or group of buildings, accessible; can it be visited? Are the several stakeholders/participants prepared to collaborate? At what level and at what cost do they want to participate?

2

6.3



Addressing Multilayered Characteristics: the PCP analysis

As we have seen, the result of an architectural intervention can only be understood within its contextual parameters and is directly dependent on the process that led to that intervention. This context has a physical dimension but also a non-physical one that belongs to the level of ideas, norms, values, attitudes, and ideologies. Case studies in architecture should address these different layers. This means that product, process, and context are under investigation, not as separate entities but as mutually influencing constituencies. The relevance and validity of a case study are therefore directly dependent on the degree to which this multilayered characteristic is understood. In my contribution to the AIA Case Study Work Group Open Meeting, which took place in 2003 in San Francisco (2003) 37, I provided a brief outline of how we might deal with this multilayered characteristic. I will now elaborate further on this method, which I have called the PCP analysis (Product-Context-Process) (Fig. 2.6.4). This analysis aims to understand the complex interactions between the context within which the architect has had to work, the end result with all of its characteristics, and the process that led to the building within that given context. The methodological framework of this analysis is based on a systematic and integrated approach.



6.3.1



Product Analysis

The aim of this analysis is to gain as much insight as possible into the building and/or building parts on the level of objective and observable facts and figures. The researcher should describe the building as it is by analyzing several aspects. The product analysis is done on five levels; on each, the analysis must be consistent and comprehensive. On each level, conclusions 195

37 Foqué, R.K.V., 2003, “The Case Study as an Extension into Scholarship and Research”, in Proceedings of the Case Study Work Group, Open Meeting 3, AIA, San Francisco.

2.6.4

PCP (Product – Content – Process) Analysis

Context

Product

Process

2.6.5

Product Analysis

functional analysis

construction analysis

cost analsysis

environmental analysis

morphological analysis

A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

have to be drawn and the relations and interferences between them discovered, commented on, and discussed with stakeholders such as the architect, the client, the user, the contractor, and the authorities. By doing so, “subjective” facts can be objectified, and information is gathered that can be used during the context and process analyses.

Product Environmental Analysis

The building is analyzed as part of the environmental system. Its relevance to the urban tissue and/or landscape is studied: How is it situated in relation to other buildings, how is it disclosed to the traffic system, how do you approach the building, where are the entrances, etc.? What is the relation between outside and inside space, and how are they architecturally connected?

Product Functional Analysis

The building is analyzed as a functional system: a collection of rooms, spaces, connecting elements, and outdoor places where certain activities can or should take place. A distinction should be made between the quantitative and the qualitative data both on the level of the “plan analysis” and the “occupancy analysis”. •

In the plan analysis, a functional model of the building is made: functional spaces (indoor/outdoor) are described in individual terms but also in the way they are grouped together into functional building parts and may form a hierarchy of spaces. The relationships and possible intersections between the spaces are indicated both on the level of a particular part of a building and on the level of the entire building.



Horizontal and vertical circulation patterns are studied and reconstructed by means of diagrams.

•

In the “occupancy analysis”, the building is seen as an accommodation for a collection of activities. Data should be obtained in relation to the dynamics of the building as a place of human activities. Questions to be answered include: Which activities take place in the building? Which of them are intended, which are not? Are there seasonal differences, differences in use between day and night? What is the frequency of use? What space or room is used for what? Did the intended function of a certain space change during occupancy, and for what reason?

197

Case Study Research in Architecture



Product Technical Analysis

In this part, the building is seen as a collection of technical parts. Research and data gathering is done on three levels. •

The structural level: Structural parts are analyzed and structural typology is investigated and reconstructed in a model. What is the bearing structure? Is the design based on a modular system?

•

The level of finishing and detailing: Descriptions are made of the cladding materials, construction details, interior design elements, built-in furniture, etc.

•

The systems integration level: Heating, ventilating, cooling, sanitary, electrical, and mechanical systems are studied in relation to the construction, finishing, intended operational goals, and real output during occupation. What were the requirements and specifications, and are they matched?



Product Morphological Analysis

The morphological analysis investigates architectural form and its internal and external consistency. The building is seen as an integrated system of forms and masses. Architectural elements are described and analyzed, answering such questions as: Does the architecture of the building belong to a particular style or school? Has the architect made use of particular aesthetic elements, proportions, and patterns? What is the relationship between internal and external form? How does the use of colors, textures, and materials relate to the architectural form?

Product Cost Analysis

The researcher should try to understand the real costs in relation to the initial budget. This part is not always easy, as these figures are often confidential and difficult to contextualize. It is recommended to do this cost analysis in as much detail as possible in relation to the building parts, the structural work, the finishing, and the several systems, and to compare these results with similar building types. It is essential that the product analysis conclude with a discussion of how the architect has integrated these five lines and/or levels of approach into one integrated “piece of architecture” (Fig.2.6.5) Special attention has to be given to how the architect has dealt with the interaction of constituent components. How did function influence construction and vice versa? How did decisions about the massing influence structural choices? How did systems integration determine the morphology 198

A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

of the building? Are only some of these questions to be asked and answered? Why? Personal observations and interpretations should be obtained by interviewing stakeholders in the process, including the architect, engineering firms, client, contractor, and users. Comparative analysis of these data in relation to facts and figures should enable the researcher to get an “objective” insight into the product as a whole. The method of triangulation is a practical tool by which this may be accomplished. The researcher analyzes the systemic aspects of the building by investigating a number of relational triangles. For each triangle, the case researcher should investigate the relationships among the three elements and determine whether they work and to what extent they contribute to the architectural quality of the case. Examples of such triangles are: •

Form – Function – Construction,

•

Material – Detail – Sustainability,

•

Exterior – Interior – Environment,

•

Perception – Use – Maintenance,

•

Building Techniques – Technical Installations – Budget and and Schedule

In a next round, we reshuffle the triangles into different combinations and do a second analysis: •

Form – Detail – Perception,

•

Construction – Maintenance – Budget and Schedule,

•

Function – Use – Technical Installations, etc.

By doing so, we force ourselves to re-examine the same parts within another context and in different relationships, discovering the synergetic character of an architectural object. This method enables deeper study into the way an architectural product is the result of an almost indefinable number of interrelated sub-solutions and decisions on both macro and micro levels.

199

Case Study Research in Architecture



6.3.2



Context Analysis

The goal of this analysis should be threefold: first, to reconstruct all the elements that constituted the context during the designing and building process; second, to determine how and why these contextual parameters have influenced the design and building decision-making; third, to unveil, map, and understand the relational network linking the different contextual components. The parameters to be investigated should be seen as interacting elements of a contextual subsystem. These subsystems are the elements of the overall dynamic contextual system wherein the design-built activity takes place. The following subsystems may be distinguished:

The Physical Context

The physical context includes all those elements which determine the physical qualities of the building site and its surroundings. They are quantifiable and may be described in objective terms. Research questions to be answered include: What are the dimensions of the site? What is the topography? What is the orientation with respect to natural lighting and climate exposure? What are the qualities of the soil? What is the microecosystem of the site and how does it fit into a greater regional whole? What kind of infrastructures are already present and what are their characteristics? How is the site connected to the rest of the environment? The Socio-Cultural-Historical Context This includes all the elements that describe the sociology of the neighborhood, the town, and the region — and also the cultural infrastructure and level of social interaction and the way the case is situated within the dimension of architectural history. Some of these elements will be quantifiable and objectively measurable, some of them only qualitatively describable. Research questions include: How would we describe the social composition of the neighborhood’s occupants, social status, intellectual level, professional composition, moral and ethical values, etc.? How safe is the neighborhood, what are the crime rates, kinds of crimes, etc.? What are the important historical facts and values regarding the case? What elements of cultural infrastructure, such as schools, museums, theatres, community centers, libraries, and churches, are present? What kind of commercial entities are present, such as shops, restaurants, cafés, and what is their quality?

200

A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture



The Legal Context

This analysis includes all the elements applied from a legal standpoint to the design and the construction of the case. They refer to the whole body of applicable codes and regulations. This subsystem will be descriptive by nature. The analysis will rely on initially collecting all relevant codes, rules and guidelines, such as building codes, town planning policies, safety regulations, functional, technical and ecological standards to be met, etc. It will then determine to what extent they are mandatory and applicable to the case under study.

The Economic and Financial Context

The elements to be researched here are: budgets and resources; eventual local, regional, or national subsidies; grants; tax incentives; type of financing; and stakeholders involved. The collected data will be quantifiable and can be represented as objective facts and constraints.

The Project Context

This analysis tries to map the several constituents of the project under study. The elements to be investigated are related to the project brief (or program) and to the choice of the architect commissioned to execute the project. The collected data will be essentially descriptive in both quantifiable and qualitative ways. So it is essential that we know the original brief that the architect received at the start of the project, including requirements, prescriptions regarding material choices, timing and planning, and how the brief was modified and changed during the design process. Equally important is an investigation of the architect-selection process. When in the overall process was it done, and what criteria were used? What was the procedure — through competition, interviewing, study visits, or another method? How did the commission fit in with the total oeuvre of the architect, and what were his architectural philosophy and specific beliefs? As in the product analysis, the context analysis should conclude with an extensive examination of the relationships and links between the five contextual subsystems (Fig. 2.6.6). The mapping and understanding of their interactions will produce a more comprehensive view of the case context and will give us indispensable information for a valid testing of the design hypothesis, as outlined in the first part of this book. We should be aware, however, that a design context is not static, but changes over time. In other words, the context changes during the designing and building process due to its bipolar and biperspective character. 201

2.6.6

Context Analysis

physical context

socio-cultural and historical context

economic and financial context

legal context

project context

2.6.7

Process Analysis

level of decision making

Level of Relational Network

level of process continuity

A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

This dynamic behavior of the context system must be fully understood as a prerequisite for the validity of the case study. It should therefore be one of the key elements under investigation during the process analysis as it defines the multilayered character of the context itself.



6.3.3



Process Analysis

The analysis of the designing-building process must be done in parallel with the context and product analyses. It is the most difficult and delicate part of the PCP-analysis, as possible important facts and figures may have disappeared or may no longer be available. The researcher must rely on the “stories” and interpretations of the architect, the client, and the contractor. He must be constantly aware of the “colored” meanings of these stories, and try to compensate for individual biases. Comparing information from multiple stakeholders with the same story is understood to transform subjective interpretations and believed truths into contextual objective facts. The process analysis should be done on three levels: the level of decisionmaking; the level of relational networks connecting process participants; and the level of continuity in relation to the timeframe.

The Level of Decision-Making

A designing-building process can be seen as a chain of interrelated instances of decision-making. Each decision contributes towards the final outcome and is co-responsible for the product being realized. It is important to recognize hierarchy in the decision-making process. Some decisions fundamentally determine the output; these are the key decisions; others are subordinated to the primary ones and are complementary to them; and still others are of minor importance and have no influence on the process outcome. The goal of this analysis is to reconstruct this decision-making chain in as objective a way as possible, and to distinguish between the categories of importance. Decision-mapping along a timeline is a very useful tool for doing this. Decisions are always made by actual persons or organizations involved in the process: the process protagonists. Full understanding of the relationships between the decision-making process and the product output assumes insight into the context in which decisions are made, by whom they are made, and why they are made. What is the motivation behind a decision? What are the reasons and arguments to promote a particular decision over others? How is consensus reached to make a particular decision that may not have been obvious at first? These are some of the crucial questions to investigate. 203

Case Study Research in Architecture



The Level of Relational Networks.

As mentioned in Part 1 of this book, the designing and building process is characterized by the great variety of participants involved. They pursue their own goals and seek to optimize them during the process. To that end, they form alliances and engage in ephemeral and changing networks of interest. The ways in which communication takes place within these networks determine to a great extent the final building output. Temporary coalitions are made, and compromises are reached. It is part of the process analysis to understand the interplay among these participants, to unravel these networks, to see how, when, and why they change throughout the process, and to trace their effects on the decision-making — and ultimately on the end product. As we shall see in the next paragraph, the result of this analysis will have direct importance for investigating the multivariate qualities of the case.

The Level of Process Continuity

At first glance the designing building process seems to be a continuous one, with a starting point and a well-defined end. In reality, it is not, as the process proceeds through points of discontinuity. These are the points that are of paramount interest. They define important moments where the project may not only have taken a different road, and where irrevocable decisions are made, but also where the designing-building context changes in a definite way. The process analysis should highlight these points of discontinuity, determine their influence on the end product, and investigate how they changed the contextual parameters. Moreover, the starting and end points of the process should be well defined by the researcher, as they are often unclear. This will enable us to frame the case in time and indicate the limits of the study. The above may give the impression that the process analyses on the three distinct levels are separate pieces of work. Nothing could be less true. They only reveal their significance when approached in parallel. It is therefore recommended that the process be reconstructed simultaneously on each of the three levels as outlined above. The decision-making process must be mapped in time along the line of continuity/discontinuity and in relation to participatory involvement and networking (Fig. 2.6.7).

204

A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

2

6.4



Addressing Multivariateness: the ACCU-A Analysis

As we have seen, the uniqueness of the design process is co-determined by the variety of the participants involved, their changing roles, disciplinary knowledge, skills, attitudes, and value systems. They form an intrinsic part of the context and are responsible for the course of action during the designing and building process. Here we touch on the different aspects of communication and information flows during this process in relation to what I have defined as the asymmetry of knowledge between the different stakeholders – the most important being the architect, the client, the contractor, the users, and the authorities involved. I shall address the influences of these various participants by doing what I call ACCU-A (Architect-ClientUser-Authorities) analysis. The goal of the ACCU-A analysis (Fig. 2.6.8) is to get a clear picture of these stakeholders and the roles they have played in the process: the architect and his design team, the client, the contractor, the user, and the authorities involved. Finally, it is important to understand their individual assessment of the end product. This evaluation allows us to contextualize the strengths and weaknesses of the case under investigation, and to test a participant’s own conclusions by comparing them with the opinions of the other parties involved. Data should be collected regarding three aspects: the profile of the participants, their contribution during the process, and their personal views, opinions, and reactions regarding the product and processes.

Profile Description

The profile description of every participant will give us a framework, whereby we may interpret each one’s actions, decisions, and degree of influence on the final result. At the same time, this will enable us to better understand the design outcome as a result of creative and heuristic thinking, subjective judgments, and collaborative effort. In relation to the client, the profile analysis must answer questions such as: Is the client an individual or an organization? If an organization, how is it structured? What are the client’s relevant beliefs and values? What is the attitude towards architecture and building in general? To what degree is the client experienced in building and/or developing a project? Has the client developed a particular strategy regarding the project undertaken?

205

2.2.8

ACCU-A Analysis

Authorities

architect

client

user

contractor

Authorities

A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

In relation to the architect, similar questions need to be answered: Are we dealing with an individual designer or with a firm? How large is that firm, and how is it structured? What is the in-house know-how, and what services can be offered? What is the level of experience, overall and in relation to the commission? How does this commission fit into his total oeuvre? What is his architectural vision and how is it expressed in his buildings? Does he use a standard approach or methodology to solve architectural design problems? Are there particular likes and dislikes regarding certain technologies, materials, etc.? In relation to the contractor, it is important to know his organizational structure, workload capacity, in-house disciplines and technology, know-how and skills, and experience with building in general and with the project under study in particular. Are subcontractors involved? Which ones, how many, for what purpose? What is their added value? What was their relation with the general contractor, etc.? The profile description of the users is equally important, as they will be the occupants of the building and therefore the touchstone for evaluating its success or failure when occupied. Questions similar to those asked of the client should be answered. Important here is the composition of the user group in terms of age, sex, social status, educational level, professional disciplines, related experience, etc. The group of official bodies involved is of another category. Their role in the process is different, as they may intervene from a legal standpoint and derive interventional power from their official position and administrative function within society. They provide the necessary permits, but also play a controlling, sanctioning, and advising role as the guardians of the law and of the public interest. Defining their role in the process and their influence on the final outcome must be done in close relation with the legal context analysis.

Participants’ Contributions

This aspect must be investigated closely, along with the analysis of the process as outlined above. A description of the role each stakeholder played during the designing and building process is a useful tool to contextualize the decision-making. Questions such as the following will help to do that: What were the interaction patterns? Which communication media were used, and how effective were they? What was the degree of involvement of each participant in different phases of the process? What was their contribution, and to what degree did it change the course of action and the final outcome?

207

Case Study Research in Architecture



Personal Views and Opinions

Asking each stakeholder for his views on the product and process brings the ACCU-A analysis to a meta-level. This analysis shall be done on the basis of structured and well-prepared interviews based on data gathered during the PCP analysis. Topics to cover are the degree of satisfaction with the end product and with the overall process, the quality of interaction and communication among the participants, appreciation of their own role and involvement, their thoughts on problem management during the designing-building process and the role of the authorities, and any other matter they may deem important. It is clear that the data gathered in the ACCU-A analysis are of a different kind from those collected in the PCP analysis. They are less quantifiable and more of a qualitative nature. They reflect personal viewpoints, subjective interpretations, and “colored” information. Therefore, the interpretation of these data should be done in an observational way and not further biased by the researcher’s own standpoints. They should be presented as recorded facts.

38 Foqué, R.G.M.E., 1998, “Global Governance and the Rule of Law” in International Law, Theory and Practice, (Ed. K. Wellens), Kluwer Law International, Amsterdam. 39 Dewey, J., 1923, Democracy and Education, The Macmillan Company, New York. 40 Putnam, H., 1995, Pragmatism: an Open Question, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, England, and Cambridge, Massachusetts.

2

6.5



Concluding the Case

The PCP analysis and the ACCU-A analysis still do not constitute a case. In fact, the first is an adequate method for type 1 case studies, the second for type 2 studies. To generate comprehensive knowledge, however, we have argued that we must understand the rules that govern architectural processes on the transformational level. Only then will we be able to answer the questions posed in the previous chapter: Why is the building as it is, and why are there multiple solutions to the same architectural problem? What is needed is a test of the design hypothesis as explained in chapter 2 of Part 1. I will call that ‘concluding the case.’ This conclusion is based on extensive comparative research correlating the data collected in the PCP analysis and those in the ACCU-A analysis. Arriving at this conclusion will involve a contextual interpretation of the facts, figures, and opinions. It will be based on the methodology of argumentation and discussion, as explained by René Foqué in “Global Governance and the Rule of Law” (1998) 38, which refers to the process of pragmatic thinking in the tradition of John Dewey (1923) 39 and Hilary Putnam (1995) 40, which link conceptual thought and action with

208

A General Method for Case Project Research in Architecture

situational consciousness. As argued in the previous chapter, this discussion and evaluation must be done on three levels: syntactic, semantic and pragmatic. Two research actions have to be carried out. First, we must examine the interaction between product, context, and process — and how that interaction has contributed to the uniqueness of the solution. What synergy is created, what are the mechanisms that generate that synergy, and what principles can be derived from it? Second, using the results of the investigation into the patterns of interaction among all participants, we must determine their influences on the product, context, and process. The comparison and combination of the outcomes of these two research actions will result in an overall conclusion about the case under study. This conclusion will be both descriptive and explanatory, based on robust arguments. At the same time, the case study researcher should comment on his own learning process and how such study may have helped him gain a better understanding of the designing-building process — and, consequently, how this understanding may contribute to and be embedded in a general body of architectural knowledge. The result is that concluding the case builds professional knowledge.

209

7 The function of knowledge is to make one experience freely available to other experiences. The word ‘freely’ marks the difference between the principle of knowledge and that of habit. Knowledge furnishes the means of understanding or giving meaning to what is still going on and what is to be done. John Dewey, 1916, Democracy and Education

Chapter 7 Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

The line of reasoning throughout the book leads us to state that the essence of architectural design is the transformation from the “life-factual” to the "design-factual" and back. This necessarily implies the confrontation between physical laws, which govern the physical world, and paradigms, which constitute the cognitive world of ideas, values, and perception. This transformation is where technology transcends cultural reality, where science and art meet to create purposeful synergetic value. The variety and uniqueness of this process gives it an almost infinite complexity, and therefore it can never be described or understood. Architecture constantly integrates facts and values. It is an activity of materializing ideas and concepts to meet human needs. This is certainly one of the reasons why the architectural discipline has always taken a somewhat ambiguous position among the other professional disciplines, such as law and medicine. On the one hand, architecture relies on the hard facts of physics, material sciences, and building technology; on the other, it systematically evades any discussion on that level, as it wants to be judged on the level of sensory perception, functional well-being, and innovative power. That may explain why architects seem to almost deliberately avoid scholarly debate that distinguishes between objective facts and subjective values and interpretations. It is almost frightening to see how little substantial and comprehensive knowledge there is about important contemporary buildings and why they are the way they are. This paradoxical situation weighs seriously on present architectural discourse and leads to unclear and disparate views towards architectural education. The situation is exacerbated by the widening gap between academia, professional building environments, and changing technologies — the latter almost impossible to keep pace with. Ignoring the fact that architecture needs a body of knowledge that is both pragmatic and teachable is no longer an option if the architectural profession wants to survive the coming decades. Nevertheless, the specific character of design by research and the fundamental differences between the method of scientific inquiry and of artistic 211

Case Study Research in Architecture

inquiry give the architectural design activity its own scholarly status, as argued in the Part 1 of this book. This implies that the architectural discipline is governed by its own laws, premises, and paradigms. Our task is to discover, understand, and apply them. Building knowledge in architecture is only possible with full insight into these laws, premises, and paradigms — and into the processes that steer them.

2

7.1



Case Study Research as an Engine for Architectural Knowledge

In this book, I have tried to build an argument as to why case study research is important and vital for understanding the core activity of architects, from the viewpoint of both theoretical and methodological design. Case study research of type 3 is believed to be a powerful tool to do this. It examines the underlying processes and links them to both the end products, in relation to the several stakeholders involved, and the context wherein they emerged. By doing so, it tries to reveal and make clear the contextuality of the process itself. Using a universal and unified methodology should make it possible to systematically build a proprietary body of architectural knowledge. We have distinguished seven main characteristics of architectural knowledge. How does type 3 case study research address these characteristics?

Addressing Multidisciplinarity

A case study not only reveals the roles of the disciplines involved in the designing and building process, but also their individual contributions with regard to content. It studies the extent to which these contributions influence each other, are intertwined, and have determined the final product. As a result, we should have a more comprehensive insight into joint decision-making: how, for instance, the choice of a particular structural solution has contributed to the form of the building; how a proposed solution by the systems engineer has improved its functional qualities and has co-determined the internal architectural finishing of the building, including the interior design process; or how the landscape architect has influenced the way the architect has dealt with the transition between the exterior and the interior. In that sense, case study research can offer a better understanding of the synergetic architectural effects caused by interdisciplinary collaboration. On the level 212

Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

of comparative case research, where multiple similar cases are studied, it should be possible to establish more general patterns regarding these two aspects, thus contributing to a better understanding of the interdisciplinary relationships and the building as a product of interdisciplinary knowledge.

Addressing Contextuality

A building is not something that can exist on its own. Any architectural product can only be understood in terms of its context. This context is per se multilayered, as we have explained, and its constituent parameters are of both physical and non-physical nature. In two pivotal books (1977, 1979) 41, Christopher Alexander acknowledged the importance of the design contextuality, developing a pattern language, which he presented as a universal tool to solve design problems. Although his method suffered from a lack of consistent, objective data and was blurred by an overly subjective and personal vision of how to solve environmental and architectural problems, the pattern language was important as the first attempt to systematically put design requirements into their physical and cultural contexts relative to design solutions. But in order to do this, we need a more systematic insight into this interplay between product and context, based on “objective” data which can be generalized and re-used in similar design situations. As we have seen, case study research may be the strongest tool to offer this information. It extensively describes the designing and building context and formulates answers about how the design solution addresses the contextual parameters. Comparative case research, when done in a systematic way, can generalize individual solutions into commonly applicable possibilities, revealing patterns governing the complex and often hidden mechanisms of the designing and building process. Such research will produce knowledge not in absolute terms, as done in the case of a scientific inquiry, but in contextual terms, respecting the specific character of the architectural discipline.

Addressing Value Sensitivity

Architecture has always embodied the socio-cultural and economic value system from which it emerged. There is an inextricable bond between architectural production and the individual and societal aspirations of its generation. That explains why architecture has always balanced between art and science, between subjective interpretations of reality and objective facts, between the qualitative and the quantitative. This unique position of the architectural discipline makes it a true engine of cultural evolution, bringing meaning to the physical world. Thus architectural design activity is subject to societal ideologies, ethical values, aesthetic beliefs, personal opinions, and individual taste. The result throughout history has been an almost 213

41 Alexander, C., 1977, A Pattern Language, Oxford University Press, New York. Alexander, C., 1979, A Timeless Way of Building, Oxford University Press, New York.

Case Study Research in Architecture

incredible variety of architectural styles, building forms, and utopian visions. The current shift from pure functional thinking to ecological thinking with respect to sustainability is a good example of how the architectural discipline is constantly confronted with new challenges and needs to create new knowledge. Case study research also intervenes on this level. It investigates and compares the values and belief systems of the stakeholders and tries to identify how they are expressed in the built result. At the same time, such research positions the building in its cultural and societal context and tries to comment on the fit between context and built result — on how that building is an emanation of its times. Comparative case research can discover common characteristics, while revealing tendencies and new trends that lead to a better understanding of contemporary architecture and its cultural meaning and significance.

Addressing the Multiple Levels

The starting point for any architectural intervention is problem-based and solution-driven. The process leading from the problem to the solution co-determines the quality of that solution. The level of basic and experiential knowledge and the level of skill to apply that knowledge in concert with the rules of building technology are crucial for success in that operation. Little is known about the way this process evolves in practice and how the architect is able to operate concurrently on these two above-mentioned levels. On the one hand, the architect deals with concrete problem solving; on the other, he must critically evaluate his own course of contextual actions, which may lead to a reformulation of the problem and consequently to new viewpoints regarding the solution. Case study research is the only tool that generates insight into this complex process. It does so by examining in parallel the architectural intervention as a product and the decision-making process from which that product has emanated. It can bring individual experiential knowledge to the level of general applicability. It builds upon the experience of others, distinguishing between successful practice and failures, and brings the discipline to a higher degree of professional expertise and awareness.

Addressing the Systemic Character

In my Part 1, Chapter 3, analysis of the design process as a structuring activity, I argued that the architectural design activity can be explained in terms of dynamic systems theory, and also how the building as a product of that activity may be described in systemic terms. Architectural value and building quality can only be understood in terms of the constituent elements and the way they are interconnected to form a whole. The concept of wholeness as a 214

Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

comprehensive synthesis of facts and values, of form and function, and of technology and material is fundamental to evaluating architecture in qualitative terms. Case study research addresses precisely these relationships: What are the constituent elements of the building, seen as a collection of integrated functions and as a construction system translated into a formal language? How are ideas and concepts materialized into an environmental artifact? A case study will systematically analyze building elements and then investigate the way they are connected and interrelated, describing the underlying patterns. It will lead to a better understanding of the synergetic characteristics of architectural design as a process, while also explaining the holistic quality of the building itself. On the level of comparative case study research, it can discover and generate prevailing design rules, establish generally acceptable standards, and define state-of-the-art procedures.

Addressing the Bipolar Character

As we have explained, every design activity is subject to internal reflection and external action. This explains why architecture, constantly subject to personal interpretations and external appreciation and validation, is not an exact science. This bipolar aspect, as explained in Part 1, Chapter 3, considerably impedes the construction of a robust knowledge base. The pragmatic and heuristic character of design thinking and the fact that this design thinking is able to create new solutions to traditional problems make the establishing of such a knowledge base even more difficult. By analyzing both the product and the process in relation to contextual parameters and from the individual perspective of each stakeholder, case study research should enable us to understand the mechanisms of bipolarity and their effect on a particular architectural intervention. The teaching of architecture in the design studio is essentially based on making the student aware of this bipolar character. In the studio, the student is stimulated to critically study precedents, confronted by faculty members with the consequences of his own design decisions, and encouraged to practice constant reflection and critical assessment.

Addressing the Transformational Character

This aspect of architectural knowledge is closely connected to the concept of interdisciplinary collaboration; it involves the confrontation and integration of divergent knowledge. The act of synthesis, an essential and crucial phase in the design process, precisely aims to transform these pockets of microknowledge into workable wholes that have meaning and serve purposes. The discovery of the mechanisms underlying these transformational processes can only be done through comparative case study research, focusing on the way that multidisciplinary knowledge can contribute to a greater whole. 215

Case Study Research in Architecture

2

7.2



Case Study Research and the Building of an Architectural Knowledge Base

From the above, it is clear that knowledge generated by case study research will be diverse and belong to different categories and levels. There will be knowledge generated on the syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic levels. How can we distinguish between these levels of knowledge, and how can we transform them into an operational knowledge base?

Building Knowledge on the Syntactic Level

On this level, we are interested in the vocabulary, grammar, and syntax of the architectural language. It is obvious that case study research produces knowledge on all three aspects. On that basis, robust typologies can be built. These typologies can relate to building types in relation to function, form, construction, and materials. The oeuvre of influential and important architects can be analyzed and catalogued. Architectural firms can get a comprehensive insight into their working methods, architectural language used, and internal organization.

Building Knowledge on the Semantic Level

Case study research also produces knowledge concerning the meaning and context of architectural form in relation to function, construction, and material. It offers insight into the way architecture represents cultural values and is an emanation of a socio-economic environment. The understanding of architectural language as a tool for expressing individual and societal visions and attitudes regarding the contemporary world is part of that, as is the ability and knowledge to use architectural elements to create emotional space.

Building Knowledge on the Pragmatic Level

Case study research allows for the collection of a vast amount of comparative data with respect to the designing and building process in practice. It illuminates the decision-making process by limning the patterns of argumentation, the persuasive power, and the implications for the built output. Clients and occupants gain a better understanding of their buildings, why design decisions were made and how they were put into practice.

216

Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

The result is often an increased feeling of satisfaction, even after years of using the building. Moreover, case study research produces data concerning a less obvious aspect of the architectural discipline: how clients can be convinced that the proposed concepts and designs by the architect are the best possible solutions for their problems: in other words, how to sell ideas, how to argue that an architectural concept is “right.” To build a true knowledge base for the architectural discipline, it is of paramount importance to integrate the results of case study research into a comprehensive, robust, and integrated system of easily accessible information on all three levels: syntactic, semantic, and pragmatic. It should be an interactive database, which faculty, students, and practitioners can use in their daily professional work. Information technology, specifically the development of more advanced BIM software, could provide for a major leap in that evolution. While it is not the aim of this book to develop these ideas, it is worth noticing that in the domain of artificial intelligence, case study research has always been a special field of interest. In that field, it is called CBR (Case-based Reasoning) and is used to build cognitive systems, which computers can use for problem-solving. Little research has been done on how we might use this approach to develop case-based reasoning in architecture and integrate it into BIM systems. One of the few attempts to investigate these possibilities has been done by Ann Heylighen as part of her PhD. research (2000) 42. She developed the software tool DYNAMO, an interactive design assistant for architectural students and professionals, “providing a platform for interaction between designs and designers in various contexts and at different levels of experience.” It is clear that case study research cannot be an end in itself, but that the results must be integrated in a larger body of knowledge. That goal pleads for further research into the field of information modeling and how these systems can be successfully applied in architectural practice. The building of AR-DNA in combination with the notion of concurrent design-built systems, as I have described in Part 1, Chapter 4, may be a way to do so. But this can only be successful if we can produce the necessary knowledge to feed these systems by case study research.

217

42 Heylighen, A., 2000, “In Case of Architectural Design.”, PhD thesis, University of Leuven, Belgium.

Case Study Research in Architecture

43 Wilson, B., 1987, Methods of Training: Groupwork, Parthenon Publishing Group, Carnforth, England. 44 Kwok, A. and Grondzik, W., 2003, “Case Studies as Research” in Proceedings ARCC Spring Conference, Washington D.C. 45 Martin W. et al., 2003, “Building Stories. A Hermeneutic Approach to Studying Design Practice” in Proceedings of the 5th European Academy of Design Conference, Barcelona.

2

7.3



The Role of Case Study Research in Architectural Education

There are two ways of introducing case study research into the curriculum: the passive one, in which the case is prepared and reconstructed by the teacher outside the classroom; and the active one, where the students have to do the actual research work and construct the case themselves. The first method is the more classical of the two, used in teaching law, medicine, and business administration. The teacher presents data and aspects of the case to the students for analysis and discussion. The case serves as a tool for better understanding practical and experiential knowledge, but is already framed in the existing body of knowledge of the discipline. The second approach is based on the active involvement of the students in building the case. It involves generating knowledge and trying to contextualize that knowledge in a learning context. According to Bob Wilson, in Methods of Training: Groupwork (1987) 43, such case studies are reconstructions of real life situations examined by one or more students, using problem-solving and decision-making. They involve analysis, synthesis, and evaluation for the purpose of establishing general principles, which are illustrated by the particulars of the case. In “Case Studies as Research” (2003) 44, Allison Kwok and Walter Grondzik argue that exactly such an approach would benefit architectural education. The method of “Building Stories” as it is used at the University of California, Berkeley, tries to bring these principles into practice (2003) 45. The advantage of doing a case study in the form of storytelling is that at first glance it seems to be a natural way in which people share highly complex phenomena which are not always fully understood. The story format indeed provides a dense and compact way to deal with these phenomena in a short time. However, it is usually unable to deal with large quantities of information, and it hardly distinguishes between the importance of quantifiable and qualitative facts and how they have contributed to the final design output and building. Undoubtedly, the active method of case study research is a superior teaching tool from an educational viewpoint. Based on learning by doing, it produces an enormous amount of experience and knowledge for students in a very short time and on the four levels enumerated below. 1

Architectural students learn about the relationship between theory and practice and the complex way in which they cross-fertilize

218

Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

each other. They learn that architectural theory does not obey the same methodological laws as a classical scientific theory. They are stimulated to integrate what they have learned — e.g. in their architectural theory and history classes — into the analysis of an actual building. They should try not only to formulate the right questions to be asked regarding theoretical concepts behind the design, but should discover its correspondences, inconsistencies, and contextual barriers. In other words, they start to discover for themselves the opportunities and the constraints of architectural theory and history in a real world designing and building situation. This will help them individually to discover the relative borderline below which a building is “bad” and above which a building is “good” or can become “better,” architecturally. 2

The reconstruction of the designing and building process as part of a case study teaches students how the complex mechanisms of decision-making during each stage of that process have influenced the design result. Students will detect the important hinge points, where the design turned in a decisive direction. They can identify at each of these points the leading stakeholders involved and the often-hidden reasons behind important decisions. By doing so, they will be able to define and weigh the direct relationship between process and product. This part of the case study may be the most difficult for the students, as practical experience is very important for understanding that complex network of relationships determined by roles played, functions filled, and individual characters and beliefs. It is therefore important to have teachers with practical experience themselves and to have an open and honest relation with the architectural firm and/or architect who was commissioned and led the project. However, if this part of the case study is successfully completed, the students have gained an enormous amount of practical knowledge, which cannot be obtained through their architectural courses in any other way or in such a short time. They will not only have had the opportunity to see a glimpse of hidden decision-making mechanisms but will also become aware of the fact that the testing of a design hypothesis is not only contextual in the physical sense but is performed jointly by a wide variety of parties concerned. Students will discover that a design process needs to lead to a consensus if the result is to be built. They will also understand why that building is a unique artifact shaped by the input of all the participants of the design team. 219

Case Study Research in Architecture

3

One of the main features of the architectural design process is its synergetic character. This goes back to the way architects deal with the interaction of the parts. The constant switching between analytical and synthetic thinking underlies the heuristic and intuitive layer of the design process. To get a real insight into these mechanisms is a difficult endeavor, as the majority of the design decision-making is done on the basis of experiential knowledge and not on exact scientific arguments. Case study research, as we have seen, is aimed precisely at the investigation of how the different design elements form an integral whole, through looking at the building in a systems view. Active case study research by the students themselves gives them the opportunity to investigate the relationships between the elements as constituent parts, along with the degree of integration of the several sub-solutions as a measure of architectural quality. At the same time, students will learn about the design method of the architect, the representational models he used during the design inquiry, and to what extent these models contributed to the overall result. This aspect of case study research looks, at first sight, to be a tedious and repetitive operation, but if it is guided well the result is usually the discovery by the students of a consistent body of knowledge, which may even transcend the particular case under investigation. It definitely offers the student general insight into interactions of the parts and the way experienced architects deal with them. The architectural process becomes more transparent, and the judgment of whether a building is good or bad becomes more objective and arguable. 4

Case study research taught in an active way, as we have described it, has been shown to be an excellent method for bridging the gap between the academic and professional worlds, as the research works both ways. As we have described earlier, the relation between academia and practice is not always easy, as each obeys different laws, pursues different goals, and has different purposes, which are not always compatible. Case study research, however, brings a considerable amount of practical and theoretical know-how, built up in practice, into the school as part of the curriculum, and it takes the school out into society and the reality of building. By doing this, case study research is an invaluable tool for moving into a more congruent situation between practice and

220

Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

education, thus simulating as much as possible the professional environment of a design studio. It is obvious that subjecting students to an office-like situation will reduce the gap between theory and practice. The students will be confronted with the typical constraints of a real assignment and can discover for themselves the tensions between theoretical architectural discourse and implementation in an actual design environment. At the same time, it is an answer to the fast pace with which not only our knowledge is changing. but above all the context wherein knowledge should be applied. Active case study research offers data for an evolutionary design process model based on empirical facts and backed up by a solid methodological framework. Maybe the most important contribution of case study research to the architectural curriculum is that, for the first time during their education, students get a full overview of the total designing and building process as practiced in reality. They become immersed in all the complexity of a real design context and learn how practitioners deal with it. They are able to transcend mere academic design work and the traditional educational methods used to gain an understanding of both the management of an architectural office and of a project. Moreover, they may have personal contact with practicing architects and important architectural firms. The students can even use these contacts to look for job opportunities after graduation, and the architectural firms can check on possible suitable candidates in an informal way. Finally, case study research offers the student the opportunity to discuss a real project with a real client and learn from his experiences, and to establish informal contacts with local authorities on professional matters.

221

Case Study Research in Architecture

46 Horan, J., 2002, “The Case Study: A Relationship Between the School and the Profession”, in Proceedings of the Case Study Work Group Open Meeting, AIA, North Carolina State University, Raleigh, North Carolina. 47 Lee, L., (Ed.) 2004a, Emerging Professional’s Companion, A Resource for Architectural Education and Experience, AIANCARB, Washington D.C. Lee, L., (Ed.) 2004b, Case Studies Starter Kit, AIA, Washington D.C.

2

7.4



The Importance of Case Study Research for Internship

Internships are another characteristic typical of architectural practice. In almost all countries throughout the world, internships in one form or another are required to enter the architectural profession and to be registered as an architect. Internships are, in many ways, the most significant developmental period in the architect’s career, applying the knowledge and skills acquired during formal education to the daily realities of an architectural practice. Internships are about acquiring comprehensive experience in basic practice areas, exploring specialized areas of practice, developing professional judgment, continuing formal education in architecture, and refining individual career goals. It is not always clear, however, how this internship can be optimized in order to most effectively fulfill its goal: preparing a graduated student for practice and enabling him to take full responsibilities for his professional acts. Without going into the details of the architectural internship here, it is clear that case study research can play a primary role in this period of an architect’s career. In a paper delivered in one of the case study work group open meetings of the American Institute of Architects (2002) 46, James Horan explained how the making of a case study is a required part of admission to the profession in Ireland. It is seen as a bridge between school and the profession, and it is expected that professional practices provide the young interns with as wide a range of professional experience as possible. The thorough analysis of a project is considered fundamental to doing this. The AIA and the National Council of Architectural Registration Boards are very explicit that becoming an architect does not end with the diploma but that continuous education is needed. Within that context, the Emerging Professional’s Companion (EPC), developed and compiled by Laura Lee (2004) 47 is a recognized tool used to help interns fully optimize that period. The EPC is a free web-based professional development resource to improve the quality of internship training. It challenges interns to develop the awareness, understanding, and skills needed to achieve the required core competences. The shift from school to office is seen not as a transition from theory to practice, but as the period when theory merges with practice. The EPC considers case study research the major tool by which this may be accomplished.

222

Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

Although the benefit of case study research for the interns themselves is clear, it also brings considerable benefits to practices that encourage interns to do case studies about their projects. It offers them an extremely valuable analysis of their work and insight into their own working methods. Architectural practice in general has always neglected assessing the outcomes of its activities, and so is co-responsible for the lack of experiential knowledge to benefit the profession’s future. Case study research as part of the internship program begins to break down this mindset and introduces the possibility of research by design in the architectural office. At the same time it offers a tool for quality control and improvement strategies.

2

7.5



Case Study Research and Architectural Practice: Life-long Learning and the Road to Scholarship

Continuous change, both on the level of theory and on the level of technology, has become the steady state of society. So architecture should deal with this situation. Future architects should learn to cope with change, to design for change, and even be enabled to change their own beliefs. It is from this perspective that the notion of sustainable building should be seen. Change now underway includes professional attitudes and practical experience. It involves a methodological approach to architectural design that exceeds everyday practice and returns to the very essence of architectural theory pur sang in relation to the architectural profession and the latest technologies. It necessitates the permanent questioning of our architectural beliefs before they become ideologies. It calls for life-long learning and introduces the notion of the reflective practice as advocated by Donald Schön in The Reflective Practitioner (1987) 48. The architectural firm should develop an almost natural reflex for introducing in-house case study research as part of the continuing process of learning. In “Case Studies as Reflective Practice” (2004) 49, Richard Green, longtime principal and president of one of the largest American architectural firms, argues that case studies must generate two distinctly different sets of information: measurable information and immeasurable information, calling the last one the most important. He especially points to the need 223

48 Schön, D.A., 1987, The Reflective Practitioner, JosseyBass, San Francisco. 49 Green, R., 2004, “Case Studies as Reflective Practice”, in Proceedings of the ACSA/AIA Teachers Seminar, Cranbrook Academy of Art, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan.

Case Study Research in Architecture

50 Malecha, M., 2004, “The Case Study in the Practice and Study of Architecture”, in Case Studies Starter Kit, (Ed. Lee, L.), AIA, Washington D.C. 51 Fraker, H., 2004, “Why Case Studies as Scholarship/Research Track” in ACSA/AIA Cranbrook Teacher Seminar, Cranbrook Academy of Art, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan.

to understand and record knowledge about the aspirations of clients and communities and to assess the emotional content of an architectural project. Well design and orchestrated case study research can give voice to the client’s aspirations by addressing strategies that are critical to the implementation of the vision of the project. Finally, Green points out the role case studies can play in leadership training. Every architectural practice has its own culture, working methods, and approach to design problems. It has always been a challenge to transfer this culture to a new generation of young associates and possibly future principals of the firm. Marvin Malecha, in “The Case Study in the Practice and Study of Architecture” (2004) 50, addresses this delicate transformation of an architectural firm as one generation is succeeded by another. The development of a tradition of case study research is a paramount tool for accomplishing this transition in a scholarly way, as it investigates all major aspects of a professional firm. The younger generation can start to understand how client acquisition is done, how design teams can be formed in an effective and successful way, how a project is managed, and how liabilities are handled and failures adjusted. From the above, it is clear that case study research can undoubtedly contribute to the shaping of curricula for continuous professional education. It offers enormous insight into the complex and often hidden mechanisms of the architectural and building process in a reasonably short time, and it can explain how and to what extent the building will be able to cope with a changing socio-economic and cultural environment. It can offer the building blocks for AR-DNA, so needed to further develop architecture into scholarship. In “Why Case Studies as Scholarship/Research Track” (2004) 51, Harrison Fraker asserts that carefully researched and written case studies are powerful acts of scholarship and analysis, countering the tendency toward fragmentation of knowledge, and are one of the few ways in which the wholeness of architectural production can be vividly perceived. Case study research can be seen as a “flight simulator” for architects, to be used as a tool for professional training in the office or as an instrument in an educational environment: a tool for permanent learning. The “architectural flight simulator” can become an essential training vehicle in every firm and school of architecture, bridging the gaps between the academic and professional worlds and between theory and practice. I have argued extensively that it is exactly this combination that may hold the keys to a better understanding of individual design methodology, in both academic and professional environments, and may enable the 224

Building Knowledge through Case Study Research

architect to constantly improve his own design capabilities, resulting in “better” products. By adopting case study research, we will have taken a definite step towards the establishment of a general design theory based on pragmatic thinking, where the unity between the processes of learning and experience, and between conceptual thought and situational consciousness, is crucial. Architectural design is on the crossroads of using scientific theories in practice and creating knowledge through practice. Case study research is a more than helpful tool to reveal this interplay and raise it to the level of scholarship and architectural design theory. But there is more. Throughout this book I have tried to argue the importance of elevating architectural design to the level of scholarship and to give it the status it deserves: a discipline that unites the methods of scientific and artistic inquiry in a unique approach to investigating reality, the method of design inquiry. By taking this step, architecture will gain a unique position among the professional disciplines. Its stature will demonstrate that the combination of intuitive and rational thinking is the cornerstone for advancing architectural culture in the world. That will argue for a muchneeded return of an intellectual attitude both in academia and in practice, based on critical thinking and a consistent ethical value system. Investing in intellectual capital will be absolutely necessary to provide coming generations with a rich and sustainable environment. It will be the only way to solve the paradox of Postmodernity and to initiate a new Renaissance where, to paraphrase the slogan of Carnegie Mellon University, the left brain meets the right brain to create innovation with impact.

225

Index

ACCU-A (Architect-Client-User-Authorities) analysis xx Act of Creation, The, by Koestler xx Action painting xx Administrative Behavior, by Simon xx Affiche dans la société urbaine, L', by Moles xx Alexander, Christopher xx Alger, John xx Age of Enlightenment: see Enlightenment Age of Reason xx Ahrendt, Hannah xx AIA (American Institute of Architects) xx AIA Case Study Work Group xx Akin, Omer xx Alberti, Leon Battista xx Allen, Edward xx American Institute of Architects: see AIA Applied Imagination, by Osborn xx Archer, Leonard Bruce xx Architect-Client-User-Authorities analysis: see ACCU-A analysis Architectural DNA: see AR-DNA xx Architectural Practice and Management Handbook xx Architecture and the Crisis of Modern Science, by Perez-Gomez xx AR-DNA (Architectural DNA) xx Arrowsmith, William xx Art & Physics, by Shlain xx

Art Nouveau xx Arts and Crafts Movement xx Asimov, M. xx Bachelard, Gaston xx Barrows, Howard xx Bauhaus, The xx Bauman, Zigmunt xx Beer, Stafford xx Behrens, Peter xx Besne, Max xx Bill, Max xx BIM (Building Information Modeling) xx Biperspectivism xx Bipolarity xx Bohr, Niels xx Barthes, Roland xx Baudrillard, Jean xx Boullée, Louis xx Braun-Feldweg, Wilhelm xx Broadbent, Geoffrey xx Buchanan, Richard xx Building Information Modeling; see BIM Burie, Jean Baptiste xx CAAD (Computer-aided Architectural Design) system xx Cardozo, Benjamin xx Carnegie Mellon University xx Cartesian: see Descartes xx Cartesian Approach to Design Rationality, A, by Akin xx 227

Index

Case Study Research: Design and Methods, by Yin xx Case-based Reasoning: see CBR CBR (Case-based Reasoning) xx Chomsky, Noam xx CIAM (Congrès International d'Architecture Moderne) xx Cicero, Marcus Tullius xx Clinical Ethics: A Practical Approach to Ethical Decisions in Clinical Medicine xx Conditions of Knowledge, by Scheffler xx Conference on Design Methods xx Conjectures and Refutations: The Growth of Scientific Knowledge, by Popper xx Conrads, Ulrich xx Consequences of Modernity, The, by Giddens xx Constructivism/Constructivist Art xx Copernicus, Nicholaus xx Craik, Kenneth xx Creative Synthesis in Design, by Alger and Hays xx Cross, Nigel xx Cuff, Dana xx da Vinci, Leonardo xx De Bono, Edward xx Decision and Control, by Beer xx Declerqc, Nico xx Défaite de la Pensée, La, by Finkielkraut xx De Groot, Adriaan xx Dekeyser, Cindy xx Democracy and Education, by Dewey xx De Re Aedificatoria, by Alberti xx Descartes, René, and "Cartesian" xx Design and Technology, by Cross xx Design in Architecture, by Broadbent xx Design Method, The, by Gregory xx Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future, by Jones xx Designerly Ways of Knowing, by Cross xx Dewey, John xx

228

Dictionnaire raisonné de l’architecture française du XIe au XVe siècle, by Viollet- le-Duc xx Discovering Design: Explorations in Design Studies, editors, Buchanan with Margolin xx DNA, Architectural: see AR-DNA Dualism (see also Descartes) xx Eckman, Otto xx Edwards, Linda xx Ehrenzweig, Anton xx Einstein, Albert xx Eisenman, Peter xx Emerging Professional's Companion xx Emerging Professional’s Companion, a Resource for Architectural Education and Experience, by Lee xx Encounters, by Pallasmaa xx Engineering Design Methods: Strategies for Product Design, by Cross xx ENHSA (European Network of Heads of Schools of Architecture) xx Enlightenment xx Entretiens sur l’architecture, by Violletle-Duc xx EPC: see Emerging Professional's Companion Esherick, Joseph xx Essaies Critiques, by Barthes xx Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition, The, by Kuhn xx European Network of Heads of Schools of Architecture: see ENHSA xx Falsification, Theory of xx Finkielkraut, Alain xx Florida, Richard xx Foqué, René xx Foqué, Richard xx Fraker, Harrison xx Friedman, Daniel xx Furedi, Frank xx

Index

Galilei, Galileo xx Garvin, David xx Gerring, John xx Gestalt Psychology xx Gestaltungstheorie xx Giddens, Anthony xx Ginsburg, Jane xx Godard, Jean-Luc xx Gordon, William xx Gragg, Charles xx Green, Richard xx Gregory, S.A. xx Grondzik, Walter xx Gropius, Walter xx Guba, Egon xx Habitat aux Cameroun, L', by Office de la Récherche Scientifique Outre Mer xx Hadamard, Jacques xx Hall, Arthur xx Harvard Law School xx Hays, Carl xx Heisenberg, Werner xx Heylighen, Ann xx Hidden Order of Art, The, by Ehrenzweig xx Higher Institute of Architectural Sciences Henry Van de Velde xx Hochshule für Gestaltung, Ulm xx Holmes, Oliver Wendell xx Horan, James xx How Designers Think, by Lawson xx Industrial Design Heute, by BraunFeldweg xx Industrial Revolution xx Informatie, een interdisciplinaire studie, by Van Peursen xx Information Age xx Introduction to Design, by Asimov xx Introduction to Systems Philosophy: Toward a New Paradigm of Contemporary Thought, by Laszlo xx Jarvis, Peter xx Jones, John Chris xx

Jonsen, Albert R. xx Jugendstil xx Kepler, Johannes xx Koestler, Arthur xx Kuhn, Thomas xx Kwok, Allison xx Langdell, Christopher xx Laszlo, Ervin xx Lateral Thinking: Creativity Step by Step, by De Bono xx Lawson, Bryan xx Le Corbusier xx Ledoux, Claude xx Lee, Laura xx Legacy of Gothic Cathedral Building, The, by Owen xx Legal Methods: Cases and Materials, by Ginsburg xx Legislators and Interpreters: On Modernity, Postmodernity and Intellectuals, by Bauman xx Lincoln, Yvonna xx Lynn, Lawrence xx Lyotard, Jean-François xx Machine Age xx MacKinnon, Donald xx Malecha, Marvin xx Margolin, Victor xx Martin, Roger xx Martin, W.M. xx Martini, Francesco di Giorgio xx Mathematical Theory of Communication, The, by Shannon and Weaver xx Maver, Tom xx McLuhan, Marshall xx Metabletische Methode, De, by Parabirsing xx Methodologie, by De Groot xx Methodology for Systems Engineering, A, by Hall xx Methods of Training: Group Work, by Wilson xx 229

Index

Mies van der Rohe xx Mitchell, C. Thomas xx Modern Movement xx Moles, Abraham xx Mondriaan, Piet xx Morris, William xx Multidisciplinarity xx Multi-layering xx Multivariateness xx National Council of Architectural Registration Boards xx Nature of Explanation, The, by Craik xx New Architecture and the Bauhaus, The, by Gropius xx New Thinking in Design: Conversations on Theory and Practice, by Mitchell xx Newton, Isaac xx Norman, Donald xx Notes on the Synthesis of Form, by Alexander xx Office de la Récherche Scientifique xx Outre Mer xx On Becoming a Person, by Rogers xx Ontwerpsystemen, by Richard Foqué xx Orde uit Chaos, by Prigogine and Stengers xx Organismen, Strukturen, Maschine, by Wieser xx Osborn, Alex xx Owen, Virginia Lee xx Palladio, Andrea xx Pallasmaa, Juhani xx Pankok, Bernard xx Parabirsing, S. xx PCP (Product-Context-Process) analysis xx Perez-Gomez, Alberto xx Philosophy of No, The: A Philosophy of the New Scientific Mind, by Bachelard xx Piaget, Jean xx Pink, Daniel xx Planck, Max xx Pointillism/Pointillist xx 230

Polanyi, Michael xx Popper, Karl xx Post-Modern Condition, The, by Lyotard xx Postmodern, Postmodernism, Postmodernity xx Pouillon, Jean xx Practical Case Analysis, by Edwards Practitioner-Researcher, The, by Jarvis xx Pragmatism xx Pragmatism, an Open Question, by Putnam xx Prigogine, Ilya xx Problem-Based Learning: An Approach to Medical Education, by Barrows and Tamblyn xx Product-Context-Process analysis: see PCP analysis xx Programs and Manifestoes on 20th-Century Architecture, by Conrads xx Psychology of Everyday Things, by Norman xx Psychology of Invention in the Mathematical Field, The, by Hademard xx Putnam, Hilary xx Quattro Libri dell’Architettura, I, by Palladio xx Redefining Designing: From Form to Experience, by Mitchell xx Reflective Practitioner, The, by Schön Renaissance xx Report on Integrated Practice, by Friedman xx Riemerschmid, Richard xx Rise of the Creative Class, The, by Florida xx Rittel, Horst xx Rogers, Carl xx Ruskin, John xx Russell, Barry xx Sanders, Ken xx Scheffler, Israel xx Schön, Donald xx Schrödinger, Erwin xx

Index

Sciences of the Artificial, The, by Simon xx Scientific Revolution xx Shannon, Claude xx Shlain, Leonard xx Siegler, Mark xx Simon, Herbert xx Sleepwalkers, The, by Koestler xx Socratic dialectic method xx Staw, Barry xx Stengers, I. xx Structuralisme, Le, by Piaget xx Structure of Scientific Revolutions, The, by Kuhn xx Sturt, George xx Style in Design, by Simon xx Surrealism/Surrealist xx Sutton, Robert xx Synectics: the Development of Creative Capacity, by Gordon xx Système des Objets, Le, by Baudrillard xx

Vers une architecture, by Le Corbusier xx Viollet-le-Duc, Eugène xx Vitruvius/Vitruvian xx Wagner, Otto xx Weaver, Warren xx Weber, Max xx Wheelwright's Shop, The, by Sturt xx Where Have All the Intellectuals Gone? by Furedi xx Whole New Mind: Moving from the Information Age to the Conceptual Age, A, by Pink xx Wieser, Wolfgang xx Wilson, Bob xx Winslade, William J. xx Yin, Robert xx

Tacit Dimension, by Polanyi xx Tamblyn, Robin xx Teaching & Learning With Cases, by Lynn xx Ten Books on Architecture, by Vitruvius xx Theorie der Texte. Eine Einführung in neuere Auffassungen und Methoden, by Bense xx Thornley, D.G. xx Timeless Way of Building, A, by Alexander xx Towards an Architecture, by Le Corbusier: see Vers une architecture Trattato di Architettura, by Martini xx Tschumi, Bernard xx Understanding Media, by McLuhan xx Van de Velde, Henry xx Van Peursen, C.A. xx Variety/Uniqueness Matrix xx

231

References

Akin, O., 2006, A Cartesian Approach to Design Rationality, Meta University Press, Ankara. Alexander, C., 1964, Notes on the Synthesis of Form, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Asimow, M., 1962, Introduction to Design, Prentice Hall, New York. Bachelard, G., 1968, The Philosophy of No: A Philosophy of the New Scientific Mind, Orion Press, New York.

Alexander, C., 1977, A Pattern Language, Oxford University Press, New York.

Barrows, H., and Tamblyn, R., 1980, Problem-Based Learning: An Approach to Medical Education, Springer, New York.

Alexander, C., 1979, A Timeless Way of Building, Oxford University Press, New York.

Barthes, R., 1964, Essais Critiques, Gallimard, Paris.

Alger, J. and Hays C., 1964, Creative Synthesis in Design, Prentice Hall, New York.

Baudrillard, J., 1968, Le Système des Objets, Gallimard, Paris.

Allen, E., 2008, “How to Make Technical Courses More Relevant”, in Design Intelligence 2008, Greenway Communications, Norcross, Georgia.

Bauman, Z., 1989, Legislators and Interpreters: On Modernity, Post-Modernity and Intellectuals, paperback edition, Polity Press, Cambridge, England.

Archer, B., 1963–64, “A Systematic Method for Designers” in Design, April 1963, Aug. 1963, Nov. 1963, Jan. 1964, May 1964, Aug. 1964.

Beer, S., 1994, Decision and Control, John Wiley & Sons Ltd, Chichester, England.

Arendt, H., 1968, “The Crisis in Culture: its Social and its Political Significance.” In Between Past and Future. Eight Exercises in Political Thought, Viking Press, New York. Arrowsmith, W., 1970, “The Creative University” in Creativity (ed. Roslansky, J.), North-Holland, Amsterdam.

Bense, M., 1962, Theorie der Texte. Eine Einführung in neuere Auffassungen und Methoden, Kiepenheuer & Witsch, Cologne. Braun-Feldweg, W., 1966, Industrial Design Heute, Rowohlt, Hamburg. Broadbent, G., 1973, Design in Architecture, John Wiley & Sons, London and New York.

233

References

Broadbent, G., 1976, “The Development of Design Methods”, in Ontwerpmethodieken 12, (Eds. Foqué, R.K.V., Huybrechts, J., and Putter, H.), Delft University, Delft, The Netherlands. Buchanan, R., and Margolin, V. (Eds.), 1995, Discovering Design: Explorations in Design Studies, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Burie, J.B., 1978, “Het gedrag van organisaties in het bouwproces”, in Handboek Bouwen en Wonen, Van Loghum Slaterus, Deventer, The Netherlands. Conrads, U., 1993, Programs and Manifestoes on 20th-Century Architecture, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Copernicus, N., De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium. First printed in 1543, Nuremberg, Germany. English edition: 1976, On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres, Barnes and Noble, New York. Craik, K., 1943, The Nature of Explanation, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, England. Cross, N., 1975, Design and Technology, The Open University Press, Milton Keynes, England. Cross, N., 2001, Engineering Design Methods: Strategies for Product Design, John Wiley & Sons, New York. Cross, N., 2006, Designerly Ways of Knowing, Springer-Verlag Ltd., London. Cuff, D., 1989, “Through the Looking Glass: Seven New York Architects and Their People” in Architects’ People (Eds. Russell, E., and Cuff, D.), Oxford University Press, New York.

234

De Bono, E., 1970, Lateral Thinking: Creativity Step by Step, Harper & Row, London. Declercq, N. and Dekeyser, C., 2007, “Acoustic Diffraction Effects at the Hellenistic Amphitheater of Epidaurus”, in The Journal of the Acoustical Society of America, nr. 121(4), New York. De Groot, A.D., 1972, Methodologie, Mouton & Co, The Hague, The Netherlands. Dewey, J., 1923, Democracy and Education, The Macmillan Company, New York. Donald, A., 1983, “Some Observations on Mental Models” in Mental Models, (Eds. Gentner, D., and Stevens, A.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, New Jersey. Edwards, L., 1996, Practical Case Analysis, West Publishing, St. Paul, Minnesota. Ehrenzweig, A., 1970, The Hidden Order of Art, Paladin, London. ENHSA, 2007, Profile of the Graduates from European Schools of Architecture: an Inquiry on the Competences and Learning Outcomes, EAAE-internal document, Leuven, Belgium. Esherick, J., 1963, “Problems of the Design of a Design System” in Conference on Design Methods, (Eds. Jones and Thornley), Pergamon Press, London. Finkielkraut, A., 1987, La Défaite de la Pensée, Gallimard, Paris. Florida, R., 2002, The Rise of the Creative Class, Basic Books, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Foqué, R.G.M.E., 1990, Instrumentaliteit en Rechtsbescherming, Kluwer, Antwerp.

References

Foqué, R.G.M.E., 1994, “De Legitimiteitscrisis van het Publieke Bestel” in Vernieuwing en Eerste Kamer; Een Reflectie op het Openbare Bestuur vanuit de ‘Chambre de Réflexion’ (Ed. C. Baljé), Sdu Uitgeverij, The Hague, The Netherlands. Foqué, R.G.M.E., 1998, “Global Governance and the Rule of Law” in International Law, Theory and Practice, (Ed. K. Wellens), Kluwer Law International, Amsterdam. Foqué, R.G.M.E., 2007, Personal Communication, Leuven, Belgium. Foqué, R.K.V., 1971a, “Socio-Technology or Solving the Paradox” in Wetenschap en Samenleving, nr. 25, Amsterdam. Foqué, R.K.V., 1971b, “Towards an Evolutionary Integrated CAAD System”, in CAAD (Ed. M. Daru), Bouwcentrum, Rotterdam. Foqué, R.K.V., 1972, “Creativity is Power” in The Architectural Association Quarterly, nr. 4, London. Foqué, R.K.V., 1975, Ontwerpsystemen, Het Spectrum, Utrecht, The Netherlands, and Antwerp. Foqué, R.K.V., 1982, “Beyond Design Methods: Arguments for a Practical Design Theory”, in Changing Design (Eds. Evans, B., Powell, J., and Talbot, R.), John Wiley & Sons, New York. Foqué, R.K.V., 1985, “Design participation: The Medium and the Message”, in Design Coalition Team, Vol. 3, Eindhoven University of Technology, Eindhoven, The Netherlands. Foqué, R.K.V., 1988, “Het Bouwproces” in Management Non Profit 4, Kluwer, Antwerp and Amsterdam.

Foqué, R.K.V., 1996a, “Design Research: The Third Way”, in Doctorates in Design and Architecture, Vol. 1, Delft University Press, Delft, The Netherlands. Foqué, R.K.V., 1996b, "In Search of a Scientific Status of Design Research” in Doctorates in Design and Architecture, Vol. I, Delft University Press, Delft, The Netherlands. Foqué, R.K.V., 1999b, Architects for Health Open Lecture at RIBA, London, unpublished. Foqué, R.K.V., 2001a, “On the True Meaning of Research by Design” in Proceedings of the International Conference on Research by Design, Delft University Press, Delft, The Netherlands. Foqué, R.K.V., 2001b, “Notes on Re-integrating Theory and Practice in Architectural Education”, in Transactions on Architectural Education N°11, (Ed. N. Caglar), EAAE, Leuven, Belgium. Foqué, R.K.V., 2003, “The Case Study as an Extension into Scholarship and Research”, in Proceedings of the Case Study Work Group, Open Meeting 3, AIA, San Francisco. Fraker, H., 2004, “Why Case Studies as Scholarship/Research Track” in ACSA /AIA Cranbrook Teacher Seminar, Cranbrook Academy of Art, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. Friedman, D, 2004, “In Any Case: Ten Questions for the Large Firm Round Table”, ACSA/AIA Cranbrook Teacher Seminar, Cranbrook Academy of Art, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan. Friedman, D., 2006, “Architectural Education and Practice on the Verge” in Report on Integrated Practice, American Institute of Architects, Washington D.C.

235

References

Furedi, F., 2004, Where Have All the Intellectuals Gone?, Continuum, London and New York. Garvin, D., 2003, “Making the Case: Professional Education for the World of Practice”, in Harvard Magazine, Vol. 106, Number 1, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Gerring, J., 2004, “What Is a Case Study and What Is It Good For?”, in American Political Science Review, Vol. 98, N° 2. Gerring, J., 2007, Case Study Research, Principles and Practices, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, England. Giddens, A., 1990, The Consequences of Modernity, Stanford University Press, Palo Alto, California. Ginsburg, J.C., 1996, Legal Methods: Cases and Materials, Foundation Press, Westbury, New York. Gordon W., 1961, Synectics: the Development of Creative Capacity, Harper & Row, New York Gragg, C.I., 1954, “Because Wisdom Can’t Be Told”, in The Case Method at the Harvard Business School, (Ed. McNair, M., and Hirsum, A.), McGraw-Hill, New York. Green, R., 2004, “Case Studies as Reflective Practice”, in Proceedings of the ACSA /AIA Teachers Seminar, Cranbrook Academy of Art, Bloomfield Hills, Michigan Gregory, S., 1966, The Design Method, Butterworths, London. Gropius, W., 1935, The New Architecture and the Bauhaus, Faber and Faber, London.

Guba, E., and Lincoln, Y., 1981, Effective Evaluation: Improving the Usefulness of Evaluation Results Through Responsive and Naturalistic Approaches, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco. Hadamard, J., 1945, The Psychology of Invention in the Mathematical Field, Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey Hall, A., 1962, A Methodology for Systems Engineering, Van Nostrand, New York. Heylighen, A., 2000, “In Case of Architectural Design.”, PhD thesis, University of Leuven, Belgium. Horan, J., 2002, “The Case Study: A Relationship Between the School and the Profession”, in Proceedings of the Case Study Work Group Open Meeting, AIA, North Carolina State University, Raleigh, North Carolina. Jarvis, P., 1999, The Practitioner-Researcher, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco. Jones, J., and Thornley, D., 1963, Conference on Design Methods, Pergamon Press, London. Jones, J., 1970, Design Methods: Seeds of Human Future, John Wiley & Sons, New York. Jonsen, A.R., Siegler M., and Winslade, W.J., 1998, Clinical Ethics: A Practical Approach to Ethical Decisions in Clinical Medicine, McGraw-Hill, New York. Kepler, J., Mysterium Cosmographicum. First printed in 1596, Tübingen, Germany. English edition: 1981, Mysterium Cosmographicum,Abaris Books, New York. Kepler, J., Astronomia Nova. First printed in 1609, Prague, English edition: 1992, New Astronomy, Cambridge University Press, New York.

236

References

Kepler, J., Harmonice Mundi. First printed in 1619, Linz, Austria.English edition: 1997, The Harmony of the World, The American Philosophical Society, Philadelphia,

McKinnon, D.W., 1970, “Creativity, a Multi-faceted Phenomenon”, in Creativity, a Discussion at the Nobel Conference, (Ed. Roslansky), Stockholm-Amsterdam.

PA. Koestler, A., 1959, The Sleepwalkers, Hutchinson, London.

Malecha, M., 2004, “The Case Study in the Practice and Study of Architecture”, in Case Studies Starter Kit, (Ed. Lee, L.), AIA, Washington D.C.

Koestler, A., 1964, The Act of Creation, Hutchinson, London. Kuhn, T., 1970, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, The University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Kuhn, T., 1977, The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition and Change, University of Chicago Press, Chicago Kwok, A. and Grondzik, W., 2003, “Case Studies as Research” in Proceedings ARCC Spring Conference, Washington D.C. Laszlo, E., 1972, Introduction to Systems Philosophy: Toward a New Paradigm of Contemporary Thought, Gordon & Breach Science Publishers, New York. Lawson, B., 1980, How Designers Think, The Architectural Press Ltd., London. Le Corbusier, 1923, Vers une Architecture, Editions Crès, Paris. Lee, L., (Ed.) 2004a, Emerging Professional’s Companion, A Resource for Architectural Education and Experience, AIA-NCARB, Washington D.C. Lee, L., (Ed.) 2004b, Case Studies Starter Kit, AIA, Washington D.C. Lynn, L.E., 1999, Teaching & Learning with Cases, Chatham House Publishers, New York and London. Lyotard, J.F., 1985, The Post-Modern Condition, The University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Martin W. et al., 2003, “Building Stories. A Hermeneutic Approach to Studying Design Practice” in Proceedings of the 5th European Academy of Design Conference, Barcelona. Maver, T.,1970, “Appraisal in the Building Design Process” in Emerging Methods in Environmental Design and Planning (Ed. Moore, G.), MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. McLuhan, M., 1967, Understanding Media, Sphere Books Ltd., London; also 1994, Understanding Media, The Extensions of Man, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Mitchell C., 1993, Redefining Designing: from Form to Experience, Van Nostrand Reinhold, New York. Mitchell, C., 1996, New Thinking in Design: Conversations on Theory and Practice, Van Nostrand Reinhold, New York. Moles, A., 1969, L’Affiche dans la société urbaine, Dunod, Paris. Norman, D., 1988, The Psychology of Everyday Things, Basic Books, New York (reissued, 2002, as The Design of Everyday Things, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts). Office de la Récherche Scientifique OutreMer, 1952, L’Habitat aux Cameroun, Paris. Osborn, A., 1957, Applied Imagination, Charles Scribner, New York.

237

References

Owen, V., 1989, “The Legacy of Gothic Cathedral Building” in Journal of Cultural Economics, Vol. 13, Nr. 1, Springer, Dortrecht, The Netherlands. Pallasmaa, J., 2005, Encounters, Rakennustieto Oy, Helsinki. Pallasmaa, J., 2007, “The Space of Time – Mental Time in Architecture” in The Antwerp Design Sciences Cahiers, Nr. 17, Henry Van de Velde College of Design Sciences, Antwerp. Parabirsing, S., 1974, De Metabletische Methode, Boom, Meppel, The Netherlands. Perez-Gomez, A., 1990, Architecture and the Crisis of Modern Science, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Piaget, J., 1968, Le Structuralisme, Presses Universitaires de France, Paris. Piaget, J., 1970, “La pluridisciplinarité et l’interdisciplinarité dans les universités”, in Le Monde, 10 Sept., Paris. Pink, D.H., 2005, A Whole New Mind: Moving from the Information Age to the Conceptual Age, Riverhead Books, New York. Polanyi, M., 1966, The Tacit Dimension, Doubleday & Company Inc., New York. Popper, K.R., 1959, The Logic of Scientific Discovery, Hutchinson, London. Popper, K.R., 1963, Conjectures and Refutations: The Growth of Scientific Knowledge. Routledge, London. Pouillon, J., 1960, “Présentation: un essai de définition” in Les Temps Modernes, Vol. 22, Paris. Prigogine, I. and Stengers, I. 1985. Orde uit Chaos, Bert Bakker, Amsterdam.

238

Putnam, H., 1995, Pragmatism: an Open Question, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford, England, and Cambridge, Massachusetts. RIBA, 1965, Architectural Practice and Management Handbook, RIBA Publications, London. Rittel, H., 1972, “Interview” in DMGOccasional Paper nr. 1, Berkeley, California. Rogers, C., 1961, On Becoming a Person, MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Russell, B., 1995, “Paradigms Lost: Paradigms Regained”, in Educating Architects, (Eds. Pearce, M., and Toy, M.), Academy Editions, London. Sanders, K., 2004, “Why Building Information Technology is not Working” in Architectural Record 09, McGraw-Hill, New York. Scheffler, I., 1965, Conditions of Knowledge, University of Chicago Press, Chicago. Schön, D.A., 1987, The Reflective Practitioner, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco. Shannon, C., and Weaver, W., 1949, The Mathematical Theory of Communication, The University of Illinois Press, Urbana, Illinois. Shlain, L., 1991, Art & Physics, Harper Perennial, New York. Simon, H., 1969, Administrative Behavior, Macmillan, New York. Simon, H., 1971, “Style in Design”, in Proceedings 2nd EDRA Conference. Simon, H., 1996, The Sciences of the Artificial, 3rd Ed., MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts.

References

Sturt, G., 1923 (first edition), 1963 (first paperback edition), The Wheelwright’s Shop, Cambridge University Press, London, New York. Sutton, R., and Staw, B., 1995, “What Theory Is Not.”, in Administrative Science Quarterly, N° 40. Tschumi, B., 1995, “One, Two, Three: Jump”, in Educating Architects, (Ed. Pearce, M. and Toy, M.), Academy Editions, London. Van Peursen, C.A., 1968, Informatie, een interdisciplinaire studie, Het Spectrum, Utrecht, The Netherlands Vitruvius, M., around 30 BC, De Architectura Libri Decem, translated by Morgan, M., 1941, The Ten Books on Architecture, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Wieser, W., 1959, Organismen, Strukturen, Maschinen, Rowohlt, Frankfurt. Wilson, B., 1987, Methods of Training: Groupwork, Parthenon Publishing Group, Carnforth, England. Yin, R.K., 2003, Case Study Research: Design and Methods, Sage Publications, Thousand Oaks, California.

239

Published by UPA UPA is an imprint of ASP nv (Academic and Scientific Publishers nv) Ravensteingalerij 28 B-1000 Brussels Tel. ++ 32 2 289 26 50 Fax ++ 32 2 289 26 59 [email protected] www.upa-editions.be Editor John Morris Dixon Design Samantha Haedrich Printing Van der Poorten, Kessel–Lo All figures courtesy of the author. © 2010 Richard Foqué and UPA (University Press Antwerp) With the support of Artesis University College, Antwerp.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher and the author. ISBN 978 90 5487 545 1 NUR 648 Legal Deposit D/2010/11.161/063