María Cruz

German Art & Identity FINAL ESSAY

Aya Soika
June 19, 2010

“It seems to me that architecture is, in fact, the machine that produces the universe
that produces the gods. It does so not fully through theories or reflections, but in
the non repeatable and optimistic act of construction. Unlike language, music or art,
which are based on a trace that cannot be traced, architecture, through its
transcendence and materialism, forever discloses its opening but never sees it own
end”. (Daniel Libeskind, The Space of Encounter, 2000.)

Daniel Libeskindʼs approach to architecture has been worldly recognized as unique. His

way of working and his inspiration are of the most unorthodox kind. By analyzing his

works, one can see how his vision of architecture goes beyond buildings, and gives way to

reflexion over the human nature. I would like to focus specifically on the duality of man and

memorial culture.

In order to start deciphering the meaning of the starting quote, it is accurate to approach it

in terms of concepts. God as a concept embodies transcendence and universality. The

universe is a machine for producing gods implies that the cosmos as such, its existence

and its order, demand a first cause that made it be, a god. If this be the way, why not then

saying that god produces the universe? My thought is that the first thing that is understood

is the existence of the universe, its presence, which then motivates the look for a cause,

and in this sense, the cause is understood in a second term. To take it to a more concrete

level: first we see nature, then we wonder about its origin. This categories of mind, this

way of ordering the world in terms of cause and effect, are properly human. It is the

intellect that demands a god, that produces gods.

At this point, one can see how architecture and human beings are positioned in the same

place: they both give birth to god. But it is not that simple, since architecture is in a double

position. On the one hand, is the result of human life on earth. On the other hand, it

generates new movements by organizing human life. Architecture is both bears society
and is born by society. It is in this way that architecture is intrinsically related to the human

mind and life, and cannot get away with not speaking of the main worries that affect

human beings, as well as the issues that need to be dealt with.

Mies van der Rohe, Walter Gropius, and the other great modernist masters

argued that buildings should present a neutral face to the world, but theirs is a

philosophy that feels almost quaint now. Neutral? After the political, cultural, and

spiritual devastation of the twentieth century, is it possible to embrace an

antiseptic reality? Do we really want to be surrounded by buildings that are

soulless and dull? Or do we confront our histories, our complicated and messy

realities, our unadulterated emotions, and create an architecture for the

twentieth century? (Daniel Libeskind, Breaking Ground, 2004.)

Here the architect is pointing out another essential aspect when pairing buildings and

human beings. Edifices have souls as well. In order to explain this, it is better to first look

at what this means for a human being. As established above, god is a concept that stands

for transcendence and universality, two characteristics that are also -to some extent-

present in the human being. In this way, man faces a constant struggle when confronting

his duality: he is both body and soul. On the one hand there is a potential for

transcendence; but on the other hand man is finite. Architecture faces duality in a similar

way. AS established above, it is both transcendence and materialism. However, I will only

speak of this tension later on. To comprehend better the struggle man faces when

confronted with his duality, it is accurate to discuss what role memory plays.

Memory is always meant for transcendence. What it does essentially is rescue a piece of

reality from a past time and preserve it for as long as possible, away from the hands of
oblivion. However, the intrinsic finitude of human beings condemns memory to an eventual

loss: the mind that hosts it will simply not live forever. The history of Mankind is an account

of passing memories, that together give shape to knowledge. However successful this has

been -and still is- in many aspects, there are certain things of the personal experience of

each individual that cannot be transferred. This arose during the debate for the Holocaust

memorial1. A number of survivors argued that they did not need a memorial, since they

already had their own memories on the tragedy. The problem with this standpoint is that,

once dead, the memory will not outlive the person, as it is necessary that it does. A

memorial culture becomes, then, essential. To my view, it introduces two main changes in

the act of memory. It acts upon the unavoidable finitude of human memory. By rescuing

and building a common view on the past, society does not rely solely on the good health of

individual minds. This leads to the second major change a memorial culture brings about,

for now memory ceases to be an individual act and becomes a collective act. In this way, it

transcends the individual and becomes a position adopted by the State. This also means

that memory is not private any more, but public, and citizens are compelled to deal with

whatever facts are brought about: if there was anybody ignoring these facts about the

past, they cannot do so anymore. In addition, since it involves a State action, it implies that

the society aims at coming to terms with its past, in order to better project into the future.

Finally, a collective view on the past that takes this shape also transcends time, because it

picks up on the different individual recollections and crystalizes them for generations to

come (in an ideal work).

Under the light of a memorial culture, Daniel Libeskind approach to architecture becomes

very relevant. His method first involves understanding the reality he has to portray from its

very core, and not from outside. Furthermore, his interest in voids is directly related to

constructing memory. A void is by definition an empty space. It is significant to memory in

1 Karen E. Till, The New Berlin. Memory, Politics, Place. University of Minnesota 2005.
the sense that it stands for something that is no longer there. Libeskind gives a high value

to voids by incorporating them in his construction plans. While traditional architecture sees

in an empty space a white canvas to be covered with shapes and colors, Libeskind does

not think of building as just something to fill in the space. When it comes to memorials or

building in significant spaces (for the collective imaginary), his objective is to preserve the

emptiness and reflect upon it.

Some years after the wall came down, one of the first spaces to be renovated was

Potsdamer Platz. The square had been an empty space for more than twenty years, since

it was the so-called no-manʼs land between the walls. Daniel Libeskindʼs suggestion was

to preserver the void as it is. Not to build on it, but to preserve it as what it essentially is: a

place that nobody wanted. He said that the image of Potsdamer Platz void would remain in

the citizens mind forever, that it is firmly implanted. “Something like that cannot be easily

erased, even if the whole area is developed”, he stated 2. This is an example of how he

would take a void and work on it using the very sense it has, not to re-signify the concept

of void, as he does, for instance, with the jewish museum.

From his experience visiting the area when the competition was open for the Jewish

Museum, one can see how the first thing he gathers is the empty space. What used to be

one of the most active spots in the city changed into a deserted view once the wall came

up. The Berlin Museum was founded in 1962 as a response to the blocking of the

traditional Märkisches Museum, and functioned as a history museum for the western part

of the city 3. The building used to house the Berlin Chamber Court before the space

became a museum. This area was not directly connected to the jewish community or the

Holocaust, but Libeskind took the void -as place and concept- and re-signified it to speak

about the missing jewish people of Berlin. The structure of the Jewish Museum is a broken

2 Andreas Huyssen, The Voids of Berlin, published in Critical Inquiry, 1997.

3 Andreas Huyssen, The Voids of Berlin, published in Critical Inquiry, 1997.
star of David, anchored in a straight line that goes trough all the building. The access to

the building is only through the baroque edifice next to it, the first thing the visitor has to do

is descend the staircase, get into the void. The underground floor is uneven. It is also

divided in three different axis: the road of the Holocaust, the road of exile and the road of

continuation, a slope that goes upward and then leads to the stairs that will take the

visitors to the the ground floor, the first floor and second floor. The axis of exile leads to the

Garden of Exile, a square in the courtyard of the building full of concrete pillars that stand

on an uneven floor. With this garden we can see how Libeskind works with the space in

order to render the experience in a certain way. Walking through these pillars, the visitor

feels disoriented, the geographical position is not clear and the visitor feels lost. The

desired sense the work should have is achieved in different ways: on the one hand there

are concrete aspects that generate a certain feeling; on the other hand, there is also

symbolism. When looking up, one can see that on top of the pillars there are plants

resembling olives, as a symbol of hope. Going back to the main building, the axis of

Holocaust ends in the Holocaust void, a 27-meters high closed space, built of raw concrete

and with no windows. This is one of the few empty spaces that the visitor has access to,

and can experience in its wholeness. The main void is the straight line that goes alongside

the building, and can only be viewed in certain spots through windows. It is in this manner

that the concept of void is present in different ways, and Libeskind essays different

approaches to speak of the same thing: the absence of jewish people.

The central structure in the building is the void, a disconnected straight line

cutting through the building. This void - different acoustically, materially,

architecturally from the white walls of the exhibition spaces and illuminated by

skylights- refers to that which can never be exhibited in this museum, no matter
 how many objects are brought to it and stories told in it. (Daniel Libeskind,

Between the Lines, opening speech, 1999.)

It is in this way that Libeskind finds materials and shapes them around the idea that he

wants to communicate. The jewish museum is also known for its unorthodox windows, that

cut through the wall in are hardly ever straight, but diagonal and cross over each other.

They are intended to manifest a matrix of connections that invades the museum. In

Libeskind words, “these ʻcutsʼ are the actual topographical lines joining addresses of

Germans and Jews immediately around the site and radiating outwards”4. These lines are

also reproduced in the roof. Daniel Libeskind finds the means to bring together symbolism

and sensual experience to build memory.

It is because of these practices that Libeskind speaks of transcendence and materialism of

architecture, as stated in the opening quote. However, a basic problematic underlies the

putting together of architecture and transcendence. Once a building is constructed, it stays

like that forever. This was also a struggle for the Association for the Memorial to the

Murdered Jews of Europe. Lea Rosh pointed out that once the competition was over, and

the art work completed, the discussion around it also ended 5. The discussion motivated by

how to build a memorial of such dimensions was very rich, since it also triggered a

reflection process on what had happened in the past and why it was important to come to

terms with it. This apparently ended when the memorial by Brandenburger Tor was

finished. Libeskind himself also says that “in the realm of architecture, ideas, having stared

at Medusa, turn to stone” (Proof of Things Visible, lecture, Humboldt University of Berlin,

1997). However, what Daniel Libeskind does is radically different. Having in mind the

terribly deconstructed buildings he brings up, it is not obvious, to the naked eye, to

4 Bernard Schneider, Daniel Libeskind. Jewish Museum of Berlin, 5th edition, 2007.
5 Karen E. Till, The New Berlin. Memory, Politics, Place. University of Minnesota 2005.
understand what such a construction means. What is trying to be said with a building like

the Jewish Museum. Libeskindʼs designs are unconventional and provocative, they incite

interpretation and thinking. And since it is clear that the artist is taking a stand with his

work (as can be appreciated from the first quote), these buildings also motivate discussion.

Contrary to public opinion, the flesh of architecture is not cladding, insulation,

and structure, but the substance of the individual in society and history; a

figuration of the inorganic and organic, the body and the soul, and that which is

visible beyond. Some would deny this substance and, as a result, might

themselves vanish into the emptiness of “facts”, which as indices of power are

only the illusory ghosts of a virtual world. (Proof of Things Visible, lecture,

Humboldt University of Berlin, 1997.)

In this quote we can see how Libeskind struggles to bring together the two aspects of a

human being -body and soul- into architecture. The art of building has a substance as well,

which is informed by the society that gives birth to it. Furthermore, it is interesting to see

why he works so hard on making this relationship work: it is his way of getting involved and

contributing to the constantly flowing human intellect.

This takes us back to the beginning, as to how architecture and people are bound

together. From my view, buildings, as an essential part of every personʼs life, are to speak

about these. Buildings, as the creative work of a thinking mind, are to find a way of

bringing together memory and the reflection upon it. The idea is not to stay in the past,

unable to move, but to elaborate a new way of relating to this past, in order to be able to

build something in the future.

Furthermore, as regards the essential relationship between architecture and the human

mind, and also going back to the capacity to remember, for Libeskind architecture is a

means for people to grasp reality, which is above all evanescent. One could state that

Reality is at the same time a reconstruction of the past that is constantly re-thought; a

reflection on the present situation; and a projection towards the future, that is subject to

change. In order to avoid the inevitable fading out of the past as conceived from an

individual perspective, Libeskind brings -with his approach to architecture- a solid rock that

helps rethink the present situation under the new light of the past. I called it “new” because

memory is turned -in this way- into something collective and mandatory, it cannot be

ignored.