How to Cite Medina, Juan Manuel and Eduardo Delgado Orusco. "From radars and emergencies, being 'off the radar'" Dearq no. 37 (2023): 88-114. DOI: https://doi.org/10.18389/dearq37.2023.09
How to Cite Medina, Juan Manuel and Eduardo Delgado Orusco. "From radars and emergencies, being 'off the radar'" Dearq no. 37 (2023): 88-114. DOI: https://doi.org/10.18389/dearq37.2023.09
Juan Manuel Medina
Escuela Técnica Superior de Edificación.
Universidad Politécnica de Madrid, Spain
Eduardo Delgado Orusco
Escuela de Ingeniería y Arquitectura.
Universidad de Zaragoza, Spain
Radar: A system that uses the electromagnetic radiation reflected by an object to determine its location or speed.
Translation from the Dictionary of the Spanish Language
To exist is the Cartesian conclusion of an axiom. However, being is only a fragile, temporary and inexorable condition. These two certainties determine our life and place us in space and time as human beings; whereas what we can freely decide, voluntarily or accidentally, is the way we are or exist on Earth.
In the history of architecture, being is related to peer recognition. The parameters of the discipline are shaped and determined by the discipline itself and by canons established within it. To truly "be" in architecture, one must attain recognition and be acknowledged through awards, participation in biennials, and involvement in the academy. The discipline is self-managed, considering itself as an object of study. Being subject to criticism, publications, and, in today's world, social networks have become a way of being. The primary focus remains on the architecture itself and the architect behind it. That's why, if you "are," you are deemed successful.
Throughout history, finding fulfilment in architecture has been intrinsically linked to the relationships architects have with other stakeholders involved in the construction process. Meeting regulatory requirements, satisfying economic and client expectations, and upholding the discipline's standards have all influenced our professional aspirations, pushing us towards constant improvement and a commitment to fulfil the expectations of all parties involved. If you fulfil, you “are” ok.
Being and achieving fulfilment is undoubtedly accepted. However, in certain instances, this approach to navigating our professional field, driven by the pursuit of being or fulfilling, has inadvertently overlooked individuals, particularly those who did not attain success. Our world, driven by a meritocratic system, often divides people into winners and losers, exacerbating existing inequalities. The more we believe that our accomplishments are solely the result of our efforts, the less empathetic we become towards those who may not have had the same opportunities or resources (Medina del Río and Borrego Gómez-Pallete, 2021). This justified sense of complacency and the culture of merit can distance us from the realities of the mundane, the ugly, and the fallible. Architecture, too, is not immune to these effects and should reconnect with its foundational principles, engaging in philosophical discussions about serving people and the natural environment as the central focus.
In this issue of Dearq journal, we embark on an exploration of an alternative way of existence: being "off the radar". This is not synonymous with failure; rather, it is a deliberate choice. It involves living with what Juan José Millás refers to as the "lazy eye" (Millás, 2002), perceiving the world from the periphery of our vision. It is a state of being situated on the edge, in an indeterminate and nebulous realm of constant uncertainty and indecision. This allows the "human architect" to remain attentive, consistently surprised, and filled with a childlike sense of wonder. Like a child who stands at the threshold provided by the hallway at the entrance of their home, with their mother perhaps cooking in the kitchen behind, they know that the world of the unknown lies wherever their eyes wander. Simultaneously, they feel the reassuring presence of the familiar, which instils them with bravery and strength. One day, that child takes a step forward, venturing out to meet the world, believing they are crossing a boundary. In reality, they are expanding the threshold, perpetually drawing nearer to the limit, forever inhabiting that threshold.
Similar to Zeno's paradox of Achilles and the tortoise, human beings often believe they are approaching a limit, only to find that the limit subtly shifts, allowing them to continue their exploration on the threshold of the known. In this pursuit of the limit, we delve into the vastness of this threshold and venture beyond the confines of our homes. Being "off the radar" entails living as a foreigner in a new realm, embodying what Jean-Marc Besse (2019, 217) describes as "remaining, voluntarily or not, on the edge of this world, on the margins". It involves existing within that boundary, on the threshold of architecture itself, which neither resides completely inside nor outside, but in a state of uncertainty that enables existence without conformity, living "out of the game."
Emergency: Situation of danger or disaster requiring immediate action. Action and effect of emerging.
Translation from the Dictionary of the Spanish Language
The emerging territories and their inhabitants, on a global scale, exist as undefined spaces with blurred boundaries. The criteria that politically and socially classify them as emerging are subject to ongoing debate, lacking a consensus on the defining attributes. While this remains true, these territories share an undeniable commonality: they exist outside the scope of architecture's radar. Disconnected from the focal points of disciplinary discourse, their exponential growth has unfolded organically and spontaneously, driven by the unregulated occupation of land, self-construction practices, and exploitative interactions with the environment. While the causes behind such complex patterns of growth are open to debate, the fact remains that these typological constants are undeniable. Moreover, it is undeniably urgent that we direct our attention to these territories and address their pressing needs.
In the context of emerging territories, today more than ever, silent architectures and invisible populations are increasingly compelled to engage with one another. This encounter presents an ideal opportunity to create a platform for discourse that addresses two of humanity's most urgent challenges: social responsibility and environmental responsibility, which are emblematic of our era. As these challenges become central to political agendas and prompt reflection across various fields, it is essential for architecture, as a discipline, to rise to the occasion. Few disciplines possess the capacity to tackle both challenges simultaneously, making it imperative for architecture to contribute to their resolution.
In architecture, social responsibility is often narrowly focused on policies and plans, adopting a dogmatic approach that, again, emphasises standardisation in resource management, assistance, and protocols. This paternalistic and stagnant view of social architecture, especially in the context of social housing, tends to prioritise top-down decision-making and control over how things should be done. Public entities often adhere to doctrine and norm mode in this regard.
Environmental responsibility in architecture, often approached from a top-down perspective, tends to reduce the complex issue to metrics such as carbon dioxide emissions, energy efficiency, and system behaviours. Numerous mandatory regulations, environmental certifications, and best practice guidelines are formulated as prescriptive lessons (recipes) on how things should be done. However, it is worth noting that these directives often arise from politicians representing countries that have previously exhibited voracious and insatiable consumption patterns, now attempting to assuage their consciences through quality seals and marketing gimmicks.
Setting aside the importance of clear and effective rules and the necessity of regulating carbon dioxide emissions, this issue delves into the understanding of what is deemed "good" through a provoking and challenging question: Can the pursuit of social and environmental responsibility be achieved while existing "off the radar"?
Environmentally speaking, being "off the radar" involves tapping into collective intelligence and utilising local resources. It entails conducting harvest cartography to identify and reclaim materials and construction techniques that are rooted in the vernacular traditions of the specific location where architecture is being produced. It encompasses the transformation of objects by the individuals who will ultimately inhabit the architectural spaces. It considers the interplay between topography, ecology, and living beings. It acknowledges the importance of light, air, and water. In essence, being "off the radar" relates to lived experiences, rather than imported approaches.
Socially, being "off the radar" involves communities coming together and harnessing their collective strength to leverage their knowledge and skills to create objects and forms that, when multiplied, can lead to progress and the creation of their spaces. It centres around the mapping and utilisation of collective intelligence, enabling decision-making that emerges from existing and vernacular practices, which are rooted in bottom-up rather than top-down needs, based on essence and relevance. It prioritises an effective rather than an immediate approach, shifting the focus from humanitarian architecture to architecture produced by humans.
The projects we present are quixotic and magical and do not comply with the form or expectations of the discipline. Their purpose was not to cater to other architects or established norms. Instead, they were conceived to uphold life, essence, and relevance. These projects have succeeded in grasping the true nature of "emergency": something that demands immediate and inexorable attention, emerging organically from the rooted wisdom of the place and the lived experiences.
The architects we present have, at some point, ventured beyond their comfort zones, expanding their horizons and pushing their boundaries. They came to understand that in architecture, as highlighted by Besse (2019, 208), a house is not just a mere building, but “a domestic group, family, genealogy, a human entity made to last, animated by beliefs, values, legends, names and a history". Additionally, "to inhabit" means recognising that we are provisional beings of places "that do not belong to us." These architects decided to transcend their boundaries, embarking on a journey with bravery and determination. Along the way, they developed a deep affection for the people they encountered and the places they discovered. This profound connection with distant lands enabled them to act responsibly, free from the fear of scrutiny (or judgment) from the critical eyes of the architecture and academic communities, unconstrained by the expectations of form or discipline. In essence, they embraced the role of inhabitants abroad and foreigners in their homes, once again living "out of the game."
Figura 1_ Walirumana Ethnoeducational Centre. Source: Juan Salamanca Balen.
Themes: indigenous communities, their ancestral wisdom and the preservation of cultures, architecture as a fundamental necessity. Architectural use as a driver of change, with a focus on the individual and sustainability. Locally Fabricated (Lo-Fab). Trades, materials, climate and environment. In short, the architecture of people.
Located at the farthest reaches of Colombian geography, near the border with Venezuela, in a remote and sparsely populated corner of the world, the Walirumana Ethnoeducational Centre (following its name) is a testament to the poetics of architecture. The architecture comes alive when the function aligns with the essence, and in this case, the centre serves as a meeting ground for an indigenous community. A delocalised resilient ethnic group that defies extinction even in extreme conditions and comes together in a place where it can weave and generate a productive community.
The relevance of architectural use in emerging countries lies in its ability to address the essential needs of the local population. In many parts of the world, where resources are limited and institutions are weak, there is a lack of physical infrastructure that can support the development of local knowledge aimed at ensuring a dignified life. The architecture, therefore, becomes a sanctuary that protects the ancestral wisdom and values of a people with a distinct identity. It serves as an educational, productive, and communal space, promoting the preservation of a culture that emerges from a distant place.
Architecture is both a "what" and a "how," but above all, it is a "for what" and a "for whom." Sometimes, we insist on understanding the object beyond understanding its function; we see the instrument but fail to hear the music. Architecture, however, is not music without the people who inhabit and make it resonate. In the Walirumana Ethnoeducational Centre, architecture seems to resonate with the people who live in it.
When architecture assumes an essential purpose, it becomes essential. Therefore, the form is not important—the space is not eloquent or self-absorbed—it is simply support. The extreme condition of a challenging and remarkable ecosystem leads to a reflection on the heat, lack of water, absence of resources, and hostile and rough land. For that reason, the materials are local and respond to common sense: the skin is dressed in form and culture, and the place only waits to be filled with activity, air, life, and shade within the arid desert. These materials are generated by Locally Fabricated (Lo-Fab) processes, harnessing local materials and collective intelligence to foster an emerging architecture rooted in its context.
The walls become lattices and cane is used to revive the traditional bareque technique and guadua (bamboo) structure. This materiality recalls the essential fabric-like nature of architecture—an artisan element that treasures the secrets and know-how of an indigenous ethnic group. The shadow, the air, the light, a simple and intelligent architecture that not only contains but also teaches and keeps the secrets of ancestral wisdom.
Figura 2_ Vitoria-Gasteiz Green Belt. Comparison between images taken in 2008 and 2022 at the same point on the trail. Source: Elena Escudero López and Irene Zúñiga Sagredo.
Themes: Designing the territory and metropolitan boundaries. Incorporating nature and major ecological structures as integral elements for reconnecting with our essence.
Cities, as containers of life, need to have limits. Since ancient times, cities have sought to define themselves through their limits: walls, hills, rivers, and, more recently, mobility infrastructure. Whether being inside or outside, humans need these limits and their finitude for a sense of belonging and security. The connectivity project linking a forest and a river complements a ring, the Green Belt of Vitoria-Gasteiz, introducing a new concept of the metropolitan boundary. As we discussed in an article about the limit within this issue, this is a diffuse limit, as diffuse as a line created by nature. This boundary takes the form of trees, paths, and water, creating an indefinite yet recognisable shape that fosters a welcoming transition between the exterior and interior. Crossing this boundary, entering or leaving the city, entails a moment of contact with nature, a metropolitan natural threshold.
The design of the territory in this project recognises and acknowledges the importance of main ecological structures, seeking to uncover the inherent richness of a place that existed before the urban fabric and reintegrate it within the urban context. The aim is for human beings to coexist harmoniously with their natural environment, as an essential path towards the future. By identifying, naming, and utilising such structures (inhabited limits), we not only rediscover our natural condition but also foster a sense of belonging, not just to a specific place but to a natural way of being in that place.
This project arranges the landscape in a way that allows it to serve as a diffuse boundary, a space for living where architecture takes a backseat. Instead, the natural support remains and architecture is "off the radar".
Figura 3_ Palacio de Exposiciones de Quang Ninh. Vista desde el mar. Fuente: Salvador Pérez Arroyo.
Themes: The architect as a translator of worlds. The milestone as a starting point for personal identity and a sense of belonging to a place.
The world grows and multiplies in a systemic and disorderly manner. This disorder emerges out of necessity and therefore encompasses the effort required for its creation. The architecture we observed in the earlier projects embodies this type of approach: an architecture that is both possible and desirable, utilising materials sourced from the local environment and drawing upon the collective intelligence and history of communities. However, at times, architecture also establishes a foundation.
Founding is closely related to the act of naming and, through that, giving a sense of the future to a place, creating memories through the activities and its forms. At times, architecture becomes the catalyst for imagination and memory. This can be observed in cities like Sydney, New York, or Brasilia, where architecture has shaped the identity of the place and has become inseparably linked to its image. In emerging countries, where the physical environment is often shaped by geographical features, and where architecture may not always be at the forefront, sometimes a milestone is needed as a starting point for a renaissance.
The project of an architect who has always operated in a remarkable and understated manner—"off the radar"—shapes not just a community (Quang Ninh), but also a bay and even a nation. It generates identity for a modest and overlooked population, making its name resoundingly known worldwide. It evokes a sense of belonging, acting as a milestone and foundation.
To talk about limits, about the quests and about being without being, together with the challenge of editing an architecture issue that deals with matters that are not on anyone's radar but may soon be, are ideas that began with conversations over coffee and non-conformity between two architect friends of kindred disorientation and who are, in a certain way, dreamers. The conversations turned into a challenge, and the challenge into something extraordinary and exciting, the issue we are publishing today.
The remarkable realisation and primary conclusion of all this is the absence of a definitive conclusion. No definitive answers or solutions have been attained. The established knowledge instructs us about the past —the architecture we are familiar with and publish over and over again— however, venturing beyond existing boundaries and pushing the limits proves to be more thought-provoking than confining ourselves within them. Furthermore, the suggestion is to inhabit our limits.
If we need to exist, let us decide (with forgiveness) to do it by being out of the game, "off the radar." Instead of merely being or fulfilling, let us willingly immerse ourselves in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable forest that lies outside our comfort zone. Let us allow illusion and surprise to catch us off guard, let us unlearn to learn, let us retrace our steps to advance a little and prepare ourselves to contribute, not only in our areas of expertise, but in whatever is truly needed.