Architectural languages have been evolving since cave dwellers built the first mud hut. For millennia, buildings were simple expressions of their function and of the materials and methods of their construction. Empires came and went, each with new ideas and forms. For the most part, building forms were derived from necessity. Today, a new necessity is driving the development of a new architectural language that may surpass the richness and longevity of all that have gone before.
In the Western world, derivations of the Classical language of architecture have dominated until recently. Developed by the ancient Greeks, elaborated upon by the Romans, and rediscovered at the beginning of the Italian Renaissance in the mid-15th century, the language slowly evolved over the next 500 years, enriched by influences from other eras and cultures. Classical architecture developed with solid masonry (stone) construction and benefits from its reassuring suggestion of permanence. Its lengthy history and seemingly infinite variations on a limited number of themes provided structures that functioned like wordless storybooks, buildings with meanings that could be understood and expanded upon by every new generation. Columns with their capitals and bases function like words and phrases, while the proportions and relationships of such building parts make the syntax - the rules - of the language. There have been times when the hierarchical superiority of a corinthian column versus a doric column was widely understood, and its use on a building had meaning to the passerby. But the relevance of Classical architecture began to diminish with the industrial revolution, and today few of us can identify one column from the other.
As economies and class structures evolved, the expressive potential of the ancient vocabularies were found to be too limiting, and seemed tied to a dying cultural paradigm. Experimental forms emerged in response to new materials, like steel, and new ideas, like democratic justice. Architects, like painters, sculptors, and composers, were searching for a language that resonated with the contemporary psyche.
With the transformative events of the early 20th century came Modernism. The controversy surrounding this new architectural language began immediately and has not abated in 90 years. Unfortunately, literacy in Modernism has become the province of a relatively small intellectual elite. If, as so many believe, the Modernist vocabulary is singularly equipped to reflect and participate in contemporary life, why hasn't it garnered the same level of literacy as did Classicism in its hay day?
One reason, of course, is that it hasn't been around long enough. Another is that its origins were too heavily nurtured by conceptual thinking, and not enough by the exigencies of making real buildings for real people in a real world. The upshot of this is that the vocabulary of Modernism is a moving target, making it impossible to read like the classical storybooks of yore. While the conceptual foundation of Modernism remains relevant, the language of the movement is still nascent and being influenced by all the factors that shaped the Classical language: functional necessity, cultural identity, advances in technology, and material availability.
But the shifting vocabularies of Modernism are in the process of being pinned down by a real-world demand. Just as the classical language derived its power from the necessity of using stone to make inspirational forms, the modern language is in the process of responding to a necessity only recently understood: the need to build in a sustainable manner. As evidence of the finite and fragile nature of our resources becomes more profound and the public outcry for responsible stewardship grows ever more insistent, recognizable architectural vocabularies are developing in response to the demand. It is within the tent of Modernism that this trend will flower into a full-blown language, because the ongoing response must continue to be on the cutting edge technologically and culturally, and because Modernism provides the ideal framework on which such forms can take shape.
It is a particularly exciting trend because the developing language has the potential to be widely understood on the level of Classicism at its height. It is a language borne of a necessity that we can all understand on a visceral level: it is a powerful feeling when our actions result in the conservation of a precious resource. The potential of the resulting architectural language is made even more exciting because the physical manifestations of the movement can be seen and felt in a literal way: buildings sited to maximize the potential of the sun's movement; windows gathering light for every space and reducing the need for artificial lighting; shading devices controlling solar gain; natural ventilation providing healthful comfort; products without dangerous chemicals and their trail of toxicity; systems to capture and reuse rainwater. All of these stimulate new forms, new vocabularies, and ultimately, a new language of architecture, one that holds the promise of a reborn literacy that will enrich our culture in untold ways.
Graham Pohl is an architect and principal in POHL ROSA POHL, architecture + design (www.pohlrosapohl.com).