The ephemeral structures that anticipated the revolution of 1968
find new life in a traveling exhibition.
by Joan Ockman
1967 was the last year that oversize presentation drawings in the
grand compositional manner were submitted for diploma projects
at the École des Beaux-Arts. One year later the academic bastion
of the French architectural establishment was rocked by student
strikes, overturning more than a century of stultifying tradition.
So it was prophetic that the wash-and-ink renderings three graduating
architects hung on the venerable walls that final year were for
inflatable structures. The pneumatic designs of Jean Aubert, Jean-Paul
Jungmann, and Antoine Stinco--the architectural contingent of a
radical group called Utopie, founded the same year--were both a
critique of and a countermetaphor for the bombastic academicism
that had inflated an antiquated educational system to the point
of explosion.
"The Inflatable Moment: Pneumatics and Protest in '68," a traveling
exhibition at the Architectural League of New York through August
28, evokes the utopian imagination that inspired those ultimately
ephemeral "events of May." The designs of the three architects--who
also established a commercial firm called Aerolande in 1967 to
manufacture inflatable furniture--offer a vivid image of the countercultural
preoccupations, Pop fashions, and techno-enthusiasm of the 1960s
avant-garde.
Aubert's design was for a traveling theater for 5,000 spectators,
transported by a fleet of trucks. The 30-ton movable festival
was surmounted by a monumental geodesic dome self-supported by
air-inflated tubes. Stinco produced a mobile exhibition hall for
the display of everyday objects, a sort of agitprop salon of domestic
equipment. Its organic form was derived from German engineer Frei
Otto's experiments on the pneumatic properties of soap bubbles,
while its program was inspired by the philosophy of everyday life
propounded by Henri Lefebvre, the French Marxist who was Utopie's
primary mentor. Jungmann's project, closest to science fiction
but technically detailed, was a pneumatic dwelling called the
Dyodon, after a species of fish that puffs itself up when threatened.
A grotesque, multimorphous cluster of cellular spaces joined by
a complex geometry of pressurized membranes and air locks, this
soft living machine could be adapted to any topography, suspended
in the air, or floated on water. Equipped for sybaritic living,
it contained everything from play and guest rooms to a conservatory
and an indoor swimming pool.
Interest in inflatables, in fact, had existed for at least half
a century. As early as 1917, a pioneering British engineer, Frederick
William Lanchester, took out a patent for a pneumatic roof, and
by World War II large-scale inflatable military structures were
being produced by American and German manufacturers. California
architect Wallace Neff invented one of the first domestic applications
of the technology in 1941, using a balloon as a frame for a sprayed-concrete
Bubble house. When the 11-foot-high shell dried, another layer
of concrete and mesh was added, and the balloon was deflated so
it could be reused.
After the war, inflatable structures continued to be developed
in the United States by the engineer Walter Bird (who founded
the company Bird-air in 1956), the architect Victor Lundy (who
worked with Bird on a facility for the Atomic Energy Commission),
and Buckminster Fuller. Frei Otto published his systematic studies
of pneumatics in 1962. In France, Robert Le Ricolais's elegant
investigations of structural forms and Jean Prouvé's engineering
innovations (although not specifically related to inflatables)
stimulated interest in experimental structures.Aesthetic possibilities
also began to be imagined. At the Bauhaus, László Moholy-Nagy
and others envisioned air walls and air-supported furniture. By
the Fifties, even Frank Lloyd Wright got into the act, designing
an Air House for the U.S. Rubber Company. But in the mid-Sixties
pneumatics became an expression of the zeitgeist.
Superseding earlier megastructure fantasies, the blow-up structure
was seen as an antimonumental--and therefore antiestablishment--answer
to the avant-garde's desire for emancipation through technology.
Fluidly indeterminate, user-oriented, sensuous, and mobile, it
seemed responsive to a dawning eco-consciousness on the part of
consumers who demanded instant gratification and throwaway expendability.
Reyner Banham, father figure to the British group Archigram, envisioned
an "unhouse" in 1965, a plastic bubble dome inflated by air-conditioning
output. Archigram abandoned its imagery of "control" (expressed
in mechanistic megastructures) for that of "choice" and seized
on the inflated auto-enviornment with projects like David Greene's
Living Pod and Michael Webb's Cushicles. Meanwhile, in Vienna,
Haus-Rucker-Co and Coop Himmelblau made the poetics of the inflatable
palpable, interpreting it as a prosthetic extension, an erotic
membrane, a dream world, and a happening.
With Archigram's Instant City of 1968--71, the fantasy of transformable
and mobile equipment reached a festive apotheosis. A symbol of
the mobility and instantaneity of idea transfer in the new global
village, the inflatable was now a lifestyle phenomenon from London,
Paris, and Vienna to Italy and Japan, manifesting itself not only
in furniture but also in film sets and haute couture. (Don't miss
the stills in the exhibition from the film version of Boris Vian's
L'Écume des Jours or the dress by Courrèges.)
What distinguished the French pneumatic utopia, however, was its
volatile alliance with radical politics. Besides the three architects
in the group, the founding members of Utopie included Jean Baudrillard,
Hubert Tonka, Isabelle Auricoste, René Lourau, and Catherine Cot.
These young urbanists and sociologists were influenced by Lefebvre
as well as by Guy Debord and the Situationists. Their critique
of an alienated consumer society was matched by their fierce opposition
to the French government's repressive urban policies and bleak
postwar housing.
The first issue of Utopie's eponymous journal--a mix of urban criticism,
utopian theory, satirical cartoons, and "detourned" advertisements--appeared
in May 1967. The following March, the three architects organized
"Structures Gonflables" at the Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville
de Paris, an ebullient survey of the inflatable idea from engineering
to mass culture to happenings. However, at a time when student
protests were escalating--and Utopie was centrally involved in
the action--the show revealed the political irrelevance of the
inflatable idea. Despite the architects' insistence on the importance
of "a social practice of architecture," the relationship between
the Pneu world (as it was dubbed by the British magazine A.D.)
and revolutionary theory was, at best, vague.
During the late Sixties, virtually every form of architectural
production, however experimental or ephemeral, was questioned
by leftist intellectuals as complicit with the dominant power
system. Diagnosed by Manfredo Tafuri in Theories and History of
Architecture (1968), this "crisis of the object" was expressed
in the dystopian imagery of "paper architects" like Superstudio
and Archizoom. Baudrillard, who emerged as Utopie's primary theoretician
with the publication of The System of Objects in 1968, arrived
at a similarly nihilistic conclusion, condemning architecture's
infatuation with technology as a product of late capitalist society.
In this context, the marriage between pneumatics and politics,
like the revolution of 1968 itself, was destined to be short-lived.
The architects formally left the group in 1971, returning (in
the case of Aubert and Jungmann) to teach in the reorganized Beaux-Arts
school or eventually (in Stinco's case) to conventional office
practice. The journal Utopie survived another decade, sans architects.
Meanwhile, Baudrillard was led by his own inexorable logic to
proclaim the end of a political economy based on material objects
and the advent of one based on an endless replication of simulacra.
Ironically, while the original group and its ideas have remained
obscure until now, Baudrillard has become a superstar theorist.
Self-appointed agent provocateur, he continues to issue prophecies
about an apocalyptic hyperreality in which all that is solid has
melted into air.
Joan Ockman, an architectural historian and critic, teaches at Columbia University.
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