lunes, 19 de noviembre de 2012

An Endless Architecture

Sin título, 1979.

"I built a castle in the sky to be with you.
It was built. And I dwelled in it".
Gego, 1
935.

It is particularly pleasant for me to be here today and celebrate the work done by Gabriela Rangel and Josefina Manrique in the America's Society's exhibition "Gego, Origin and Encounter: Mastering the Space", but, especially, to enjoy all the additional collection of works, plans and drawings brought to us by this exhibition, in particular those regarding the reticuláreas, as they are significantly displayed in one of the original Reticulárea construction sites.

Gego was an architect. Those who want to understand the complete dimension of her work will need to start, necessarily, from here. This was the main purpose of an exhibition called "Gego, Architect", I was asked to curate by Rita Salvestrini for the Fundación Gego and the Sala TAC in Caracas in 2006.

Back in 2006 I emphasized how acquiring architectural knowledge implies a total change in life, how it changes entirely the organization of the mind. It happened to me, when I ended my architecture studies here in Columbia University, at the GSAPP. You cannot fight it, and Gego's oeuvre is a proof of it. Guided by geometry, structure and construction, the architect’s eye, once born, is bound to penetrate everything. Past, present and future landscapes start weaving a new territory where an endless design process will be unleashed, to never stop in its quest for Mastering the Space.

I want to recall here briefly some of the significant points we found that helped in configuring the endless architecture of Gego. And nothing better to begin with than looking at her city: Hamburg. Gego was born here in 1912. A extraordinary city to begin the biography of an architect, with over 2,300 bridges –more than Venice and Amsterdam together–. Paul Klee said significantly once: “I am abstract with memories”. And so was Gego: an abstract with memories. Klee's lyrical Cityscapes and the Reticulárea compete in the poetic evocation of unending cities and territories.

Gego's hometown is a built estuary, made of islands, channels and banks. Not far from the sea, it always had the biggest ships arriving straight to its heart. In the surroundings stands the solid, vertical, mansard-roofed urban centre, with its flavour of brick-arched gables, and dotted with expressionist works of art,

like the angular Chilehaus by Friz Höger (1923). An urban centre also compounded by simple commercial units, “heavy scale relatives of Peter Behrens’ work”, produced by the local tradition of Hamburg architects,

like The Museum of Hamburg History by Fritz Schumacher. Therefore, a city with a beautiful urban architecture, impossible to forget.

But also, a city populated with naval architecture. Vessels and knots, wind side loads, sea forces, masses and hull lines. Nothing more essential to understand structural behaviour. The ships with their masts, ropes, steel cables, turrets and sails, wander about the channels of the city and its port, with its forest of monumental cranes.

Needless to say, they all fascinated Gego. This is the architectural landscape of the first layer of memories of her practice as an architect, and the undeniable origin of her architectural vocation.
Gego earned her degree of Architect-Engineer from the University of Stuttgart under the tutelage of professor Paul Bonatz in August, 1938.

Her final work for a Boarding School in Kent, had the brickwork drawn with attention and care. Whoever observes it can understand how much truth there is in saying that “the line of Gego comes from drawing”.

From architectural drawing, of course.

A year later, when she was 27, Gego had to leave abruptly Germany and begin a new life in Venezuela. It wasn't too long till she started an architectural practice in Caracas (this is a National Geographic magazine image of the city in 1939).

Her Caraquenian architecture consisted of a series of architectural and urban collaborations, like the plan for Los Caobos (1940), some interior designs and a trio of houses.
Of these, the quinta El Urape, (1947) a suburban villa of well-balanced spaces and elegant volumes, reflects the classical and monumental spirit of the German Neo-academic architecture of
the sculptural Art Museum of Basel (1936) by Bonatz.

And we ventured that the villa's wrought iron railings, with their beehive pattern, pioneered Gego's later Drawings Without Paper.

It is difficult to imagine Gego, after building all these projects, abandoning architecture. She asserted: “my work and my worry for the visual arts have been gradually developing in me, due to a combination of facts, and mainly to my education as an architect”. From 1947 on, what she actually did was to continue the search for new forms of building spaces, which never stopped from being architectural. As in an abstract city that was only in Gego’s mind, her architectures, places in space, built -literally-, the way.

Therefore, all of her artworks, from her Tarma drawings to the academic exercises of her teaching periods, from her installations in architectural spaces to her Troncos, spheres, nets, and reticuláreas... are all architectures that follow one another organized in a rational way. Her 1951-53 Tarma drawings, for instance, belong to the same lineage as her site analytical perspectives of her student years of the 1930s.

These are sketches studying the composition of masses, “secret lines that went across the bodies of the geography". Much later, in 1980, she would re-elaborated the same color planes separated by white lines, and so defining of places

in watercolor drawings that explored with curiosity the elusive interior spaces generated within the reticuláreas. As according to a vital plan, Gego's architectures progressively constructed a mathematically and topologically conceived spatial matrix. Point, line, plane, volumes were combined systematically together to address one by one infinite spatial possibilities

That’s why the nomenclature is so important: Starting from the diamond shape, Three-folded triangles, Eight squares, Globe in a cube or Sphere in a hexahedron. The project titles mark the non fortuitous, crystal-clear rational advance in the infinite matrix of combinations

Additionally, this research is rationalized in her academic exercises at the Facultad de Arquitectura of the Universidad Central de Venezuela (between 1959-1966), and at the Instituto de Diseño of the Fundación Neumann (from 1966 to 1971).

The “Taller Gego” was updated with her visits to the Architectural Association, Berkeley University, Pratt Institute, and with the influence of personalities like Charles Moore, Serge Chermayeff, Sybil Moholy-Nagy and Siegfried Giedion. As once in the Bauhaus, the students practiced with constructivist methods of teaching Once they were done, even the most abstract works looked too much like buildings. Gego herself often pictured the works of her students all together, putting up fantastic cities.

Between 1961 and 1986, Caracas lived the era of urban art and of the increasing demand of works of art in public buildings and spaces. Every new architecture project, every urban renewal, every new urbanism “claimed the presence of one or several artists”. And we clearly understood that Gego, because of her architectural education, had of course to be apart from the other plastic artists. Because she needed no one to understand architectural space. But she did not miss the moment: she took advantage of it, alone, working at a different level. Furthermore, her works of integration are like parallel architectures that interact with the buildings in a compositional dialogue through space, as if they were, again, cities, although they were inserted in interior spaces. The “buildings” of Gego used the hosted architectures as urban spaces. As the architectural theatre of her own art.

For her multiple installations Gego planned, weighed, defined dimensions, details on the drafting table. Each work turned the base-building into a field where new rules would be established. Her architectures emerged among others with their own ideas and own laws.

In 1961, at the patio between party-walls of an art gallery in New York, she first imagined a structure of parallel lines that were perhaps made out of iron. This was the beginning. Afterwards, she will dream of taking this idea much further to eventually build big nets between skyscrapers,

starting with the towers of the Centro Simón Bolívar. “I had always had dreams about reticuláreas between skyscrapers”.

A bit later, a sketch of one of these fantastic nets (Reticulárea Between Buildings II, from 1969), drawn in a narrow street of New York, allows us to take a look at how these structures would had look if they had actually been built.


The 1960s were years of fantastic architecture. Working for our exhibition, we made a discovery in her home library's list. It was a book: The Architecture of Fantasy: Utopian Building and Planning in Modern Times, written by Ulrich Conrads and Hans G. Sperlich, in 1962, which celebrates the legacy left by the Expressionist movement of the works of Félix Candela, Bruce Goff, Frederick Kiesler, Erich Mendelsohn and Frei Otto. Utopian architectures, cutting-edge futurist designs that soon began to resonate in Gego's own creations.

We already see the influence in 1976's Torre Cedíaz. The tall concrete ad-tower vertically tightened its parallel nylon lines between two circular rings to produce a double curvature. We thought this might have alluded to the hyperboloid in revolution of the Port Tower in Kobe, built by architect Hideyuki Tada in 1963. The tower, sewn with neon threads, became a powerful sign in the urban landscape at night.

Furhermore, Buckminster Fuller visited Caracas Facultad de Arquitectura in 1960, and her architecture -as everyone else's in the faculty-, received the impact of the Dymaxion dream. The best example is 1968's Gego's aerial structure at the Centro Comercial Chacaíto, Flechas. Using Fuller's Tensegrity System, Gego “lowered the weight and increased the strength” of her structure, achieving a graceful equilibrium, as Fuller’s tensegrity masts did in the fifties, inspired by the cobwebs that “float in the hurricanes”

Next year, in 1969, Gego installed the Reticulárea in the Museo de Bellas Artes. The results of this extraordinary invention affected almost every one of her following works.

Let me review them very quickly. In Cuerdas (1972), at Parque Central, the commission itself was already architectural. Making Cuerdas, she said, “was like fulfilling that dream”. The resulting interplay of curved surfaces built with parallel ropes, realized her desire of hanging a large net between buildings.

A somewhat naval work, it referred to the landscapes of membranes, formed by double-curved cables and straight edges, being made by many architects at the time, like Baucher, Blondel and Filippone in the Marie Thumas Pavilion at the Brussels World Fair and Frei Otto.

Nets and meshes started to multiply in her work. In 1973, she made a proposal for the mall Paseo Las Mercedes, imagining a vast and fluctuating environmental reticulárea hanging from the triple height ceiling and from all levels that looked into the space.

Later on, she also brought the idea to the Pasaje Concordia, with Nubes, an environmental sculpture. hanging above a public stair, that introduced the use of fixed bronze joints in Gego’s tectonic repertoire. As in Fuller, it was the fascination for joints and articulations.

Later in the eighties, she designed a modular aerial net, for the meeting room ceiling of the Banco Mercantil,

and the great environment Cuadriláteros for La Hoyada Subway Station, also with fixed nodes. Her clouds, like floating architectural utopias, were in fact ephemeral architectures growing between the precision of existing landscapes,

just like the City in Space by Frederick Kiesler from 1925.

With her first Reticulárea, Gego made a monumental passage. She went from the systematic search of singular space in the exploration of geometric form, to the spatial continuum of territorial design, This is why it has been fairly said that all her work “summarizes in the Reticulárea”. Her wire architectures could then link with a contextual discourse where space was still the most important issue, only that it had turned into a dialectic space... like that of a city.

The illusory construction of this broader fabric was to generate an infinite and fluid “Urban Sprawl”; where urban and natural places melt and follow each another, and where memory and dreams go hand in hand.

Lagoon, 1969. Paul Klee Cityscape.



Led by Paul Klee's lyrical line,

by Le Corbusier's tremulous line and

by the force lines of the hanging cathedrals of Antonio Gaudí, Gego made visible in the air “new, autonomous visual constructions”: her new buildings. These buildings, built like those before them with

iron wire, were no longer “objects solved solely by their edges and angles” and isolated in space. They now formed networks ruled by a triangular or quadrangular structural system, creating, in the architect's own words, “air, space, void, light, connected traces, continuative, triangular links, cells, reticules, series, triangulations, inexhaustible, consecutive, habitable (...) constelae", that were interminable.

Like an endless architecture. That could be endless, yes, like the entire Universe. But architects, you know, have had historically no problem with infinity. They have produced ideas and systems for mastering the space that can reinvent themselves every day Ad infinitum.
Like, for instance, the ideal cities of the Renaissance, commanded by perspective, or

like Latin America colonial cities, ruled by the Laws of the Indies. Gego, also, “during the extensive process of invention of the great Reticulárea, confessed her hope of some day being able to develop a system that would allow her design to keep regenerating without the presence of the artist”.

And we know that in the real world, only the city, that collective artwork, regenerates, recreates and reinvents itself autonomously. That is why we said that the great Reticulárea is a splendid metaphor of the city: a fantastic urban utopia, where geometry and order have their place, but imprecision, and random, too.

Because thanks to Gego's choice of abandoning her former fixed nodes in favour of flexible joints, her reticuláreas could become landscapes in perpetual motion, that are not just one specific place, but countless specific places from the past, the present and the future,

that in the best Neo Baroque manner flow from one into the other. Landscapes designed by the rational and educated mind of an Architect-Engineer that wanted to express the stages of her soul -and also of our souls, their dwellers- with the variations of her artificial three-dimensional country_cum_cityscape. Her “personal-poetic idea of landscape”.

Each complicated installation of the reticuláreas introduced several variants every time. Every project generated a different version. This is was partly because situations were clearly different each time in ground plan, section and façade. But, -more importantly-, because Gego wanted them to be different.

The reticuláreas were geometrically perfectly-conceived, but voluntarily tectonically imperfect: they were built employing loose and moveable nodes, changing space closures, differently placed Troncos and Chorros, plus Gego's unrepeatable craftsmanship. This procedure allowed the reticuláreas' territories to fluctuate, and remain poetically elusive.

Now I also think that perhaps this was Gego's response to her lifelong parallelism with the exact art of Gerd Leufert (serie Ganchos).

We, as the pedestrians of Gego's nets, move along her reticuláreas driven by the tensions and contrasts between virtual forms and by the perception of virtual spaces. Along our journey, we follow the geometric net lines, and we also create random and unpredictable wefts with our own steps.

When crossing a "street", we might foresee what looks like a square; when we arrive into that "square", we are can be attracted by the vision of a "patio" placed in the centre of a "building", where we shall enter -or not-; because maybe then we feel the urging need to climb up some "stairs" that lead us to the heights of a distant "skyscraper" emerging on the horizon. We, the citizens of the reticuláreas, do not necessarily need to orientate in the labyrinth of wire streets. Because here, as in the best of cities, we would rather get lost.

So, to conclude, Gego as an architect anticipated the course of things to come with her city in space: also for the architecture world. In the same way that the manual distortions of her nets reflected the fatigue of the grid that modernity experienced at the end of the last century, the linked architectures and spaces of her nets were prophetical in their shapes, contortions, mutations, turns, folds, deformations, movements, and especially in their transparencies, of the architectures that followed them.

Just recall some of the latest “clouds that take shape on the horizon”: the weaving landscapes, the transparent roofings based on various geometrical grids, the alveolar steel structures or the “eventual architectures” of distorted sculptural bodies and expressionist spirit that pop up everywhere. Contemporary architecture is today at times topographical, and also at times geographical. As what happened in 1969 with the Reticulárea, much of today’s architecture seems aspiring to be an environmental installation, located at the confines of contemporary art.

And here we have Gego, comtemplating the city.

 
Gego at One Hundred Years.


Presentado en: Symposium "Gego at One Hundred Years", The Americas Society, New York City, Noviembre 2012.


lunes, 5 de noviembre de 2012

Un nuevo parque

 (f. "Caracas". Ana Teresa Fábregas, 2012).


"Este parque es un desarrollo democrático de la más alta significación,
de cuyo éxito, en mi opinión,
depende mucho el progreso del arte y de la cultura estética en esta ciudad."
Frederick Law Olmsted, 1 de Agosto, 1858.1

Cuando en 1850 se inició la épica historia urbana de la creación de Central Park en Nueva York, no existían precedentes en esa ciudad ni en toda América de lo que debía ser un parque urbano americano. Se era consciente, sí, en comparación con las ciudades de Europa, que ninguna metrópolis podía brindarle calidad de vida a sus habitantes si no contaba con una cantidad suficiente de hectáreas dedicadas a la recreación y al saneamiento ambiental.

Tras casi dos décadas de esfuerzo, el "Greensward Plan" de Frederick Law Olmsted y Calvert Vaux se concluyó. Su nombre, Greensward, fue clave: hacia el verde. Hoy, con siglo y medio de exitosa vida, la experiencia de Central Park es un paradigma que regresa una y otra vez cada que es necesario crear nuevos espacios abiertos que quieran a ir hacia el verde en alguna parte del mundo.2 Y he aquí que la última epifanía de ese espíritu ocurre actualmente en Caracas.

Aunque la capital de Venezuela cuenta con el monumental Parque Nacional el Avila (la boscosa cordillera que le sirve de telón de fondo), la ciudad carece de suficientes espacios abiertos verdes en el valle que sean de fácil acceso y uso para toda su población. Por ello los caraqueños llevan ya medio siglo dándole vueltas a su vieja aspiración: la reconversión de lo que aún sigue siendo un militarizado aeropuerto, la base aérea La Carlota (1946), al este del valle de Caracas, en un nuevo y verde parque urbano de diseño contemporáneo.

La misión más importante de este nuevo parque es la de saldar la grave deuda de espacios públicos que arrastra la ciudad y convertirse en el principal instrumento de reconversión urbana y relanzamiento de la capital, degradada a niveles intolerables tras años de mal gobierno y falta de planificación. Con tanto tiempo de dura lucha social y sobre todo de política para crear el necesario sentimiento público, en el último año gracias a la suma de un centenar de instituciones civiles y a la asistencia de la Alcaldía Metropolitana de Caracas, el proceso ahora va camino de concluir el concurso internacional de ideas convocado en julio pasado para finalmente avocarse a impulsar la ejecución de un proyecto definitivo y la construcción del parque. 


(f. Caracas Country Club. Raquel Schaffernorth, 2009).

No es Caracas, sin embargo, una tierra virgen en materia de paisajismo urbano, como lo era la Nueva York de mediados del siglo diecinueve. Desde 1928 cuenta con el único proyecto de la firma Olmsted Brothers en Latinoamérica, el Caracas Country Club, una urbanización paisajística con campos de golf, cuyo diseño urbano, de orgánicas líneas, expresa formal y conceptualmente el ideario olmstediano de respeto a la memoria del paisaje. Una suerte de Central Park caraqueño, muy poco conocido fuera de Venezuela.3 

Adicionalmente, desde 1958, cuando surge el Plan General de Parques del Area Metropolitana de Caracas, nace también el proyecto del Parque del Este de Roberto Burle Marx, inaugurado en 1961.4 Este parque público, el de mayor uso de Caracas, con tres millones y medio de visitantes por año, es considerado como "la obra pública más importante de Burle Marx."5 Su obra maestra.

(f. Parque del Este. Mauronline, 2008)

Ambos espacios verdes fueron, a diferencia del Parque La Carlota, adquiridos, diseñados y construidos en tiempo récord. La voluntad del Sindicato Blandín, promotor del Caracas Country Club, logró en la primera mitad del siglo pasado en menos de dos décadas terminar todo el conjunto de las obras. En el Parque del Este, en mucho menos tiempo aún: se logró construir entre 1958 y 1961. De hecho, la idea de hacer un parque verde en La Carlota nació ese mismo año de 1961 dentro de la misma epopeya del Parque del Este, como "Exposición Internacional de Caracas" (aunque nunca se llevó a cabo).

 
Plano de la Exposición Internacional de Caracas, 1961 (f. Archivo Fundación de la Memoria Urbana).

El bello esquema de Burle Marx y del arquitecto Alejandro Pietri extendía su diseño de curvas y colores y jardines tropicales más allá del parque, hasta llenar el área del aeropuerto adyacente por el lado sur. La imagen, poderosísima, quedó indeleblemente grabada en la retina de todos cuanto la hemos conocido. El greensward del Parque del Este se convirtió, desde 1961, en southward: el parque debería crecer hacia el sur algún día, saltar la Autopista del Este, que divide ambos espacios abiertos, y hacer un solo y gran parque verde. La idea, como todas las grandes ideas, sobrevivió.

Y ese día se acerca. El nuevo Parque verde La Carlota (con la palabra verde subrayada para erradicar todo intento de urbanizar este espacio o de llenarlo de edificios) cuenta con las ideas de sesenta y nueve equipos, fruto de la convocatoria de un concurso público de ideas convocado en julio de 2012. Un concurso de diseño que ha cosechado prolíficamente el prolongado estado de espera en que se encuentra la ciudad, represada en sus sueños y en sus urgentes mejoras. La entrada ganadora, anunciada este noviembre, se beneficia de varias discusiones públicas y del acceso libre a lo mejor de las demás propuestas que compitieron en la primera vuelta del concurso.

Les parecerá a ustedes normal hablar aquí de estas cosas. Pero en los difíciles tiempos que ha vivido Venezuela estos últimos catorce años, esto es en dicha ciudad por lo menos heroico. Hace que la historia de este nuevo parque se convierta en una épica urbana tan repleta -salvando las distancias- de política, de animosidades personales, deseos reprimidos, idealismo, auto sacrificio y genio artístico, como lo fuera la historia de Central Park en la segunda mitad del siglo diecinueve. En Caracas, igual que entonces, las entradas de este concurso versaron sobre "el rol del espacio abierto, sobre la tensión entre pavimento y grama, entre el ruido de la ciudad y la tranquilidad rural, entre aire fresco y contaminado; entre la tierra pública y privada, entre la ciudad y el gobierno; entre la plaza citadina y el parque urbano".6

(f. Kunckel Arquitectos Asociados C. A)

En una de las propuestas no ganadoras (Kunckel Arquitectos Asociados C. A), por ejemplo, una multitud de caraqueños se asoma vitoreando sobre la vista del viejo aeropuerto luego de derribar la cerca que lo rodea, tal y como si fuera un nuevo muro de Berlín.

(f. Kunckel Arquitectos Asociados C. A.)

En otra imagen, cientos de personas liberan globos y vuelan papagayos en la superficie reconquistada de la antigua pista de aterrizaje convertida en gran promenade... 

Así, podríamos seguir por todas las propuestas, donde cada una tiene al menos una buena idea para contribuir en la verde empresa.



(f. Aeropuerto La Carlota, Caracas, 2008. Archivo Fundación de la Memoria Urbana)


Cuando en 1844 el poeta romántico William Cullen Bryant, editor del New York Evening Post, escribió en su periódico el histórico editorial titulado "A New Park" (Un Nuevo Parque), no sabía cuán lejos iba a ir en su llamado por "una extensa tierra de placer para la sombra y la recreación" y "un gran jardín en una gran ciudad".7 La historia demostró que sus escritos lograron el efecto deseado. 

Hoy, aunque no sabemos cuándo este nuevo y esencial parque urbano abrirá efectivamente sus puertas, sabemos que Caracas ya ha decidido que exista. Insistamos en ello. Porque, cuando se trata de la ciudad, como la historia nos enseña... es solo cuestión de tiempo.





NOTAS
1. Morrison H. Heckscher. Creating Central Park, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City 2008, p. 7.
2. M.H. Heckscher, "Vaux, Olmsted and the Greesnward Plan", en: Creating Central Park, Op.Cit., 2008, p. 24.
3. Hannia Gómez, "Olmsted en Blandín", The Urban Times, Londres, Mayo 2011:http://urbantimes.co/2011/05/landscape-architecture-olmsted-in-blandin/
4. H. Gómez, "Primera fila", en: Mitchele Vidal y Marco Petricelli, Arquitectura Musical, Caracas, 2010.
5. Anita Berrizbeitia. Roberto Burle Marx in Caracas: Parque del Este, 1956-1961, Penn Studies in Landscape Architecture Series, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia, 2004.
6. M.H. Heckscher, "The Commissioner's Plan and New York's early Parks and Squares", en: Idem, 2008, p. 7.
7. M.H. Heckscher, "The Decision to Build a New Park and the Selection of its Site", en; Id., 2008, p. 11.




Publicado en: Archivos de Arquitectura Antillana AAA044,
Santo Domingo, República Dominicana, Noviembre, 2012.

miércoles, 14 de diciembre de 2011

Cartoline

"Chiesa di San Domenico, Bologna" (Postal - Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).




"Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,Luxe, calme et volupté."
Charles Baudelaire. L' Invitation au voyage, 1857.1



Una vez en París en la rue d'Assas, visitando la casa de unos amigos arquitectos, me topé con un artefacto, especie de esperpento de hierro, muy cercano formalmente al Egouttoir de Marcel Duchamp: un gran Porta-postales. Estaba repleto de postales de ciudades. Y de postales, lógicamente, de arquitectura. Era por lo tanto un monumento a la memoria urbana. Un itinerario personal. Y un viaje.

El singular tótem reunía cartas postales de muchos sitios y edificios de la historia que aunque me eran familiares, allí lucían distintos. Se notaba que las postales habían sido recibidas efectivamente, o que habían sido escogidas con afecto en otro egouttoir más callejero. Tomar una infundía respeto: era una invitation au voyage. Ello, y la tentación a meterse la postal en el bolsillo, resultaban sencillamente terribles. Fue allí que me volví coleccionista empedernida, ¡yo también!

Besos y abrazos. Ricordi. Souvenirs. No me olvides jamás. Wish You Were Here. Esta es la vista más bella, aquí está la clave del paisaje. Este es el edificio más emblemático. Desde aquí, el mejor crepúsculo de la Riviera. En ésta, las plazas de Italia. Sincere auguri. La escalinata, la rada, el balcón, el panorama. Forget Me Not. La estampa es del tamaño justo: calza en una mano. Le doy la vuelta, y dejo mi registro. De mi puño y letra, la clave de mi caligrafía: mi prisa, mi ansiedad, mi nostalgia, mi rúbrica. Escribiendo, invoco el tiempo ideal en que se conjugan las Slow Cities. 

En cada lugar del mundo las postales han sido el sensible registro del hilo de la vida, la testimonianza. Aún de la contemporánea. Al escoger el fotográfo el mejor punto de vista y lanzarlo al mundo, esa imagen inicia un viaje postal, que implica, como sabemos, infinitas idas y vueltas. Así, el viaje que hemos podido disfrutar gracias a la exposición 150 Saluti e baci, organizada por el Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas para celebrar los 150 años de la Unidad de Italia (1861-2011), es también a su manera, otro monumento a la memoria urbana.

"Venezia-Canal grande" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

Curada por Luigina Peddi, honorable Agregado Cultural de Italia en Venezuela, la exposición ofrece un recorrido por todas las regiones italianas en casi doscientas postales antiguas. Allí trabaja con una selección tomada del archivo Colloridi y de las colecciones Tinto & Tomat, buscando revivir "los hechos acontecidos en el país durante el período más significativo de la Unidad de Italia, para conocer la evolución de los italianos y entender sus sentimientos y reacciones más profundas."2

Aunque la mano que guía los recorridos propone muchos caminos posibles en el denso bosque simbólico de usos, costumbres y tradiciones que interpretan los cambios de la sociedad -como el análisis de la grafía-, es el intercambio de postales de ciudades y lugares históricos y artísticos, "sinónimo de un orgullo nacional que expresa el deseo de compartir el rico patrimonio", el que nos atrapa.3

"Rimini, Kursaal" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

En el brillante desfile postal aparecen en primer lugar las Città d'arte. Una a una, con sus sempiternas maravillas. Bologna a la acuarela. Roma, con un Anfiteatro Flavio tridmensional. Venecia multicolor en su Canal grande. Rimini y su neoclásico Kursaal. El simétrico Palazzo del Litorio de Udine enclavado en su bidente urbano, y en la cartolina de Trento, el Cortile del Leone es el orgullo del Castello del Buon Consiglio. Florencia aparece retratada en la Piazza della Signoria y Milán en una gloriosa panorámica en sepia de su Stazione Centrale. Cierra el grupo un Torino di notte en Piazza San Carlo, con luces de neón a lo Calle Real de Sabana Grande.

"Trento-Castello del Buon Consiglio, Cortile dei Leoni" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

"Firenze-Piazza della Signoria, Loggia dell Orgagna" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

"Milano-Stazione Centrale" (Postal - Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

"Torino di notte-Piazza S. Carlo" (Postal - Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

Luego viene el album de los años 1930s, Ricordo di Messina. Allí, sus treinta y dos incomparables vistas sobre fondo color marfil nos hacen preguntarnos qué diablos hemos hecho con nuestras vidas que aún no hemos visitado su lungomare...

"Ricordo di Messina-32 vedute" (Album. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

"Messina-Lungo mare-Sea promenade-Le long de la mer" (Album. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

Inmediatamente se nos sorprende con una reflexión sobre el paisaje mediterráneo. Una serie de panoramas lo explica: en el panorama de ensueño de la Riviera dei Fiori, la ciudad costera de Alassio se aprecia desde lo alto en una visión idealizada. En el de Amalfi, la vista se descuelga hacia poniente; en la Riviera delle Palme, en la Liguria, encontramos un serpenteante "oasis de paz". Es la relación clásica que se establece desde tiempos inmemoriales con el Mare nostrum: la de la contemplación pasiva.


"Amalfi-Scorcio panoramica da ponente" (Album. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

"Finale Ligure-Riviera delle Palme-Un oasi di pace" (Album. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

Más adelante -también en el tiempo-, otra postal marca la ruptura de esa visión marítima en lontananza. Está dedicada al "furioso sommozzatore" (buceador furioso). La gentil curadora nos la señala con atención en el itinerario. Aquí la costa mediterránea es fotografiada por primera vez de cerca: las olas rompen contra una terraza con "furie di onde" (furia de las olas). Un grupo de personas, no obstante, departe tranquilamente a su lado. Es la apropiación urbana del borde del agua.

"Furia di onde" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

En la serie siguiente, titulada convenientemente "Estate al mare" ("Verano en el mar"), el soberbio lungomare de Nettuno, cuenta ahora con calle, alameda, paseo, balaustrada y playa con sombrillas. Capas que se suceden hasta alcanzar la orilla. Es la ciudad que ha descendido al nivel del mar. Y, a partir de allí, el Golfo de la Spezia en Portovenere, el Casino Municipal de San Remo, directamente sobre la costa, y la moderna Marinella de Nervi, construida en las rocas. Con el auge de los balnearios, la playa se volverá una verdadera industria. Y las postales lo registrarán.

"Nettuno-Palazzo Comunale e lungomare" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

"Nervi-La Marinella e Golfo Paradiso" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

Lo cierto es que por toda Italia la ciudad es redescubierta. Los pórticos ojivales de Bolzano. Los jardines públicos de Cuneo. Pallanza, en el Lago Maggiore. El dilatado panorama sutilmente otomano de la ciudad de Padova, con sus domos azules. Dipinto a mano.

"Bolzano Antica" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

"Padova" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

Pero la que mejor lo certifica es una cartolina, bella entre todas, en blanco y negro. Retrata a la Torre del Mangia de Siena y su campana, que aflora desnuda por encima de la fábrica de ladrillo y piedra hasta que se convierte -en el medio del cielo-... en una veleta.

"Siena-Torre del Mangia" (Postal. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).

Desearíamos seguir por los interiores florentinos de la Santa Croce, por entre las columnas de Brindisi, por la edilicia desconocida de Lecce, por el litoral de Massa, por las fuentes de Roma, por los puentes de Taranto, Trento y Torino… Tánta arquitectura, tántas ciudades, tántas historias, tante cartoline! Portami via, anima mia. Mas no podemos llevarlas a todas en el bolsillo.4

Pero sí su invitación al viaje. Para irnos para siempre hacia a esa Italia idealizada: allá, donde todo es orden y belleza, lujo, calma y voluptuosidad.



NOTAS
1. Charles Baudelaire. Les Fleurs du Mal, Poulet-Malassis et de Broisse Librairies-Editeurs, París, 1857.
2. Luigina Peddi. Exposición "150 Saluti e baci", Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas, Caracas, 2011.
3. L. Peddi. Op.Cit., Caracas, 2011.
4. Zucchero. "Soldati nella mia città", en: Sugar Fornaciari Chocabeck, Universal Music Italia, 2010, p. 3.




Cartoline


Once being in Paris in the rue d'Assas, at the house of some friends architects, I ran into an artifact, a kind of iron grotesque, very close formally to Marcel Duchamp's Egouttoir: a big Postcard-holder. This was full of postcards of cities. And, logically, of postcards about architecture. It was therefore, a monument to urban memory. A personal itinerary. And a trip.

The singular totem gathered postcards from many places and buildings from history that, although were familiar to me, looked quite different there. You could see that the postcards had been actually received, or affectionately chosen in another
egouttoir on the street. To take one, instilled respect: it was an invitation au voyage. This, and the temptation to get the postcard in the pocket, were simply terrible. It was then that I turned into an inveterate collector, me too!


Kisses and hugs.
Ricordi. Souvenirs. Do not ever forget me. Wish you were here. This is the most beautiful view, here lays the key to the landscape. This is the most emblematic building. From here, the best sunset in the Riviera. In this one, the squares of Italy. Sincere auguri. The steps, the bay, the balcony, the panorama. Forget Me Not. The picture is the right size: fits in one hand. I turn it, and I leave my record. From my own handwriting, this is the key to my calligraphy: mi rush, mi ansiety, my nostalgia, my signature. Writing, I invoke the ideal time in which Slow Cities are conjugated.


In each place of the world postcards have been the sensitive record of life's thread,
la testimonianza. Even of contemporary life. When the photographer chooses the best point of view and sends it back to the world, that image begins a postal trip, that implies, as we all know, many twists and turns. Thus, the trip that we have been enjoying thanks to the exhibition 150 Saluti e baci, organized by the Instituto Italiano de Cultura of Caracas to celebrate 150 years of the Unification of Italy (1861-2011), is also, in its own way, another monument to urban memory.


Curated by Luigina Peddi, the honorable Cultural Attache of Italy in Venezuela, the exhibition offers a journey through all the Italian regions in almost two hundred antique postcards. She works with a selection belonging to the Colloridi archive and the Tinto & Tomat collections, looking to "relive the events that happened in the country during the most significant period of the Unification of Italy, in order to know the evolution of the Italian people and understand which were their deeper feelings and reactions."2

Although
the hand that guides proposes many possible paths within the dense symbolic forest of uses, customs and traditions that interpret the changes in society, like the analysis of handwriting, it is the interchange of postcards of cities and of historic and artistic places, "synonymous of a national pride expressing the desire of sharing its rich heritage", the one that captures us the most.3


In the brilliant postal parade appear in the first place the
Città d'arte. One by one, with their sempiternal wonders: Bologna in watercolor. Rome, with a tridimensional Anfiteatro Flavio. A multicolored Venice in its Canal Grande. Rimini and its neoclassical Kursaal. Udine's symmetrical Palazzo del Litorio nestled in its urban hoe, and in Trento's cartolina, the Cortile del Leone is the pride of the Castello del Buon Consiglio. Florencia is portrayed in black and white in the Piazza della Signoria while Milan is shown with a sepia panorama of its Stazione Centrale. the groups closes with a Torino di notte in Piazza San Carlo, with neon lights like the Calle Real de Sabana Grande.


Afterwards comes the 1930s album,
Ricordo di Messina. There, thirty-two incomparable urban views with an ivory background make us ask ourselves what the hell have we done with our lives that we have not yet visited its lungomare... Immediately we are surprised
with a reflection about the Mediterranean landscape. A series of panoramas explains it: in the dream-like panorama of the Riviera dei Fiori, the coastal city of Alassio can be seen from above in an idealized view. In that of Amalfi, the view clings down to the west; in the Riviera delle Palme, in the Liguria, we find a winding "oasis of peace". Is the classic relationship established since inmemorial times with the Mare Nostrum: that of passive contemplation.

Further on -also in time-, another postcard marks the rupture with this distant maritime vision. Is the
cartolina dedicated to the "Furioso sommozzatore" (furious scubadiver). The gentile curator points it out carefully for us in the itinerary. Here the mediterranean coast is photographed up close for the first time: the waves break against a terrace with "furie di onde" (fury of the waves). A group of people, nevertheless, quietly chats next to them. Is the urban appropiation of the waterfront.


In the next series of
cartoline, titled "Estate al mare" ("Summer at the sea"), the beautiful lungomare of Nettuno, has now street, trees, boardwalk, balustrade and beach with umbrellas. Layers that succeed each other until the water's edge. Is the city that has come down to sea level. And, from here on, the Golfo de la Spezia in Portovenere, the Casino Municipal of San Remo, right on the shore, and the modern Marinella of Nervi, built on the rocks. Later, with the rise of public resorts, the beach will become a real industry. And the postcards will register it.


But what is true is that, all over Italia, not only the sea, but the city itself, are rediscovered. The ogival porticoes of Bolzano. The public gardens of Cuneo. The subtly Ottoman wide panorama of the city of Padova, with its blue domes.
Dipinto a mano. But the one that certifies this better is a cartolina, beautiful among all. In black and white. Portrays the Torre del Mangia de Siena and its bell, that outcrops above the bricks and stone fabric until it turns -in the middle of the sky-, into a vane.


We wish we could go on by the florentine interiors of Santa Croce, by the columns of Brindisi, by the fountains of Rome,
by the unknown urban fabric of Lecce, by the bridges of Taranto, Torino and Trento… So much architecture, so many cities, so many stories, tante cartoline! Portami via, anima mia. But we cannot take them all in our pocket.4

But we can surely take with us their invitation to travel, to leave forever toward that idealized Italy,
there, where everything is order and beauty, luxe, calm and voluptuousness.



150 Saluti e baci (Postal invitación. Instituto Italiano de Cultura de Caracas).





Publicado en/Published: Papel literario, El NACIONAL, Caracas, 11 de diciembre de 2011.






miércoles, 9 de noviembre de 2011

Secret Lines: Interweaving a New Territory

Ancient sound, Paul Klee, 1925.

"I am an abstract with memories."
Paul Klee.[1]


A (Modern) City within a (Modern) City

If we want to study Caracas modernity, we will always have to begin with Venezuelan architect Carlos Raúl Villanueva and his monumental work, the Ciudad Universitaria de Caracas (1944-70). From within and around this masterwork and its great project of the Integration of the Arts, grow since the mid-century most of the architectural and artistic searches in Venezuela.

A Modern city within a modern city, the Ciudad Universitaria made a strong impact in the Caracas' artistic scene that produced multiple reverberations: other epics, other architectures and other art. Artists began to react to the brilliant modernist campus from their own searches, while orbiting their own paths. Like parallel wefts, they went from architecture to art and vice versa, interweaving in their projects the artistic territories of the university city with those of the real city, sharing their personal experiences of the vanguards.

Besides the pantheon of heroes that built the Ciudad Universitaria, where stand together Villanueva, Alexander Calder, Fernand Léger, Antoine Pevsner, Francisco Narváez, Pascual Navarro, Jean Arp, Oswaldo Vigas, André Bloc, Armando Barrios, Héctor Poleo, Henri Laurens, Carlos González-Bogen, Baltasar Lobo, Víctor Vasarely, and, particularly, Mateo Manaure and Alejandro Otero, stand other fundamental cases that multiplied the interchanges between art and architecture to sensibly transform the city's artistic and architectural realm.

Paul Klee said significantly once: "I am an abstract with memories." Klee, who was a professor at the Bauhaus, without being an architect, conceived landscapes that are capable of "speaking for any city," from the indelible traces of his secular Munich and his native Bern. [2] And we could ask, Who were the abstracts with memories that spoke for modern Caracas, conceiving landscapes from the indelible traces of the city of Villanueva? How did their "secret lines" nourished the spatial experimentation of the Venezuelan modern cities?

Fuori le mura: "The Role of the New Art Must Be Met in the Street"

The first artists who "wanted to reinvent the city from within" in the 1950s, outside of the Caracas university campus, were Alejandro Otero and Mateo Manaure.[3] Between 1944-46, when the plan of the Ciudad Universitaria was being conceived, a group of Venezuelan artists called The Dissidents -led by Otero and including Manaure-, was formed in Paris. They were called by Villanueva to constitute with a prominent set of international artists the team that was to work in the creation of the Ciudad Universitaria's spaces.[4]

Alejandro Otero, while still in Paris, at the end of 1950, was interested in the work of Piet Mondrian. Some years before, he had seen in New York Mondrian's Boogie-Woogies. With this inspiration, he began a series of "free chromatic harmonies," of straight bands on a horizontal-vertical position. The result were his collage Orthogonals, from 1951.

After a short time, Otero began to feel that his compositions were not longer mainly optical: they already contained another dimension that was claiming for more than a two-dimensional medium.[5] News were coming from Caracas that "an architectural movement of great importance and novelty was going on in the city." This led him to return to Venezuela in 1952.

Once there, Otero would work in two key sites. For the José Angel Lamas Amphitheatre (1954). he made "five mosaic and aluminum panels," the Murales, from 1953, and a monumental mosaic Coloritmo, displayed on the stands. (This image is shown here for the first time, as it comes from a recently recovered archive). However, for him, the polychromies were yet his best accomplishments.

Therefore in his next project, the eighteen-story high "Unidad de Habitación" (as for Unité d'Habitation) at El Paraíso (1956), whose architect was also ViIllanueva, he decided to apply a mosaic-colorful polychromy on the facades interwoven with the structural concrete grid.[6]

Yet, another major polychromy experiment was performed in Caracas, closer to the historic center: the 2 de Diciembre popular housing complex (better known as the 23 de Enero). This time Villanueva decides to work with Mateo Manaure, who lined up with Abstract Constructivism. Here is a detail of his Bimural at the Ciudad Universitaria, from 1954/

The huge 2 de Diciembre is "a complete city, planned over large terraces with thirty-eight fifteen-story high superbloques and forty-two four-story high buildings."[7] Here, Manaure applies his search within Abstract Constructivism to the housing units facades, turning them into big abstract murals based in color-plane compositions. With his work, he emphasized the image of the complex as a paradigm of modernity."[8] With the works of Alejandro Otero and Mateo Manaure, the new art began to play a role in the streets of Caracas in accordance with modern architecture.[9]

City With (out) Soto

Villanueva knew and admired Jesús Soto. He once said about him: "Half magician, half geometer, Soto has managed to make surfaces vibrate, and continues conquering countless unknown dimensions with great pleasure."[10] However, "within the great project of the Ciudad Universitaria, Villanueva did not include Soto. Visiting today the university, one can only find a single work of his: Estructura Cinética (Kinetic Structure, from 1957). It is meaningful, though, that it is placed within the School of Architecture."[11]

Soto's absence from the university project in part to political reasons. By 1944-46, when the plan of the Ciudad Universitaria was brewing, Soto was also in Paris, but he did not belong to the group of The Dissidents. He remained as individuality within the same universe, watching from afar the gestation of Caracas' modern process.

In the mean time, he continued his personal quest, wishing "to understand the fourth dimension that Cubism incorporated." He realized "that he had to bring the fourth dimension of time, movement, to painting." It was in 1955 when he "found a way of moving the image." That same year he anticipated his architectural constructions and his Penetrables in the work La Cajita de Villanueva (Villanueva's Box), a homage to the Venezuelan architect.

Soto was dazzled by architectural space: "Architecture is a positive plastic result, where walls disappear in order to give way to light, where space does not end in a wall but continues as a stream of air that passes through it. This idea of an open architecture required a similar art at the same level." These words are almost a description of what was being built simultaneously at the Ciudad Universitaria.

Although Soto might be physically absent from the Ciudad Universitaria's deed, his spirit is there haunting it, and well as it haunts that of Villanueva. For its part, the architect will not delay to pay greatly for this absence in his grand collaboration with Soto of the 1960s: the Venezuelan Pavilion in Montreal's 1967 World Exposition. There Soto hangs from the top of Villanueva's cube a great waterfall of vibrations, a column of light that cascades at the center of the pavilion space.[12]

Soto did many artistic interventions in Caracas. At one end stands the most successful, the Volumen suspendido (Suspended Volume, from 1979), installed inside a Jonhson & Burgee building, the Cubo Negro (Black Cube, from 1975). But there are public works of all kinds, and specially, many projects of a virtual architectural nature. They remain a source of ideas and, above all, a teaching on "how to 'de-materialize' a city to turn it into a field for visual exploration."[13]

Gego, Architect

Since the 1950s, a fourth artist begins to mark with her work the modern art and architecture of Venezuela. This is Gertrud Goldschmidt, better known as Gego. Gego differs from the other artists in that she was an architect. Since her arrival in the country in 1939 from Hamburg, she worked as an architect. But from 1947, Gego turned to in art to seek new ways of building spaces, which nevertheless, never ceased to be architectural.

Gego too was not part of the Ciudad Universitaria's original team of artists. However, like Soto, a beautiful work of hers, El Chorro (The Jet, from 1974), shines within the School of Architecture.[14] This tribute to her work is also very significant.

Thanks to the experience of the Ciudad Universitaria, thre was a growing demand for works of art for public spaces and buildings in Caracas. Gego had many commissions. But her integration projects were different. Her sculptures are installed in other architectures, turning them into their urban context. They are parallel "buildings."

In 1961, for the courtyard of a New York art gallery, she imagines a first structure of parallel lines (Reticulárea Between Buildings I) that climbs up the walls and twists, transforming the space. It's the beginning.

Between 1961-1962 inside a 1950s bank designed by architect Martín Vegas, she builds her first actual installation. In a large and very vertical courtyard flanked by railings and stairs, she proposes a large sculpture, a second "stair" of aluminum, which competes with the architecture itself. [15]

Those were years of fantastic architectures. Gego admires the expressionisms of Félix Candela, Bruce Goff, Erich Mendelsohn and Frei Otto.[16] These architectures will soon begin to resonate in her own production. Thus, in front of a neutral brick building by architects Bornhorst & Neuberger (1965), she builds a great tower, the Torre Cedíaz (from 1967), with parallel lines stretched between two circular rings. Similarly, following a visit to Caracas by Buckminster Fuller in 1960, Gego creates in a shopping center an aerial structure Flechas (Arrows, from 1968), using the Tensigrity System developed by Fuller in that same decade, inspired by spider webs that "float in the hurricanes."[17]

Further on, in 1969, at the base of an office tower by architect Tomás Sanabria, she elaborates a mural playing with the rhythm of the facade brise-soleils.[18] Then, in 1972, she builds the work Cuerdas (Strings) the Parque Central complex by the firm Siso & Shaw. Here even the commission was already architectural. The structure, tense over a reflecting pond, refers to Frei Otto's wire membrane landscapes of double curvature.

From 1969, Gego creates the great Reticulárea project. This fluctuating environmental sculpture is a splendid metaphor of the city: featuring flying Prouns reminiscent of El Lissitzky, neoplastic crosses, Antoni Gaudí's inverse vaults, Naum Gabo's surfaces and twists, canals, ports, inland seas, ships, and all of her previous projects. A fantastic urban utopia, suspended in the air like Frederick Kiesler's City in Space.

Besides her works of integration with architecture, Gego will also develop an important educational work that will leave an indelible mark on all the architects that came out from of the school of architecture in those years. In the academic exercises taught at her workshop, the Taller Gego, the memory of her formal education in pre-war Germany was always present.

The two architecture schools that stood out in the German scene of the time, were the Bauhaus from Dessau and the Stuttgart Technical School. Although the Bauhaus was closed down in 1932,[19] its experience will linger in the imagination of many of its witnesses, as was the case of Gego.[20] Gego, although in 1932 began her studies under the tutelage of Paul Bonatz in the Stuttgart school, she will always evoke it.[21] It was impossible to be immune to the radiance of these avant garde architectures. The Bauhaus influence entered through the eyes of the young woman as soon as she arrived in Stuttgart and could wander by the modern scenery of the Weissenhof.

Therefore, the Gego Workshop of Basic Composition (1959-1966) had as major concern the space generated by forms and their structures. Its main interest was for space as a determinant of form, for three-dimensional structures, for the relationship of modern architecture with structural form and for the dialogue between the living and technical structures. Her activity in the architecture school is intense. The "Taller Gego" renewed through the influence of figures like Serge Chermayeff, Sybil Moholy-Nagy, Siegfried Giedion and Charles Moore.

The workshop results were plastic objects which bring "mental abstractions into real space."[22] Students worked as at the Bauhaus, with constructivist methods of teaching. Once completed, even the most abstract student projects, even stripped of all their data and built in space with only what is strictly necessary, were too similar to buildings. Gego herself photographed the works of her students all together on many occasions, building-up countless fantastic cities within the Ciudad Universitaria de Caracas.

New York, October 29, 2011.

"Fantásticas ciudades." Taller Gego, 1961-62 (f. Fundación Gego)


Paper for the conference "Beyond the Supersquare," The Bronx Museum, New York City, October 29, 2011.

ENDNOTES

[1] The Diaries of Paul Klee, 1898-1918, edited with an introduction by Felix Klee, University of California Press, (1968).
[2] Klee Cities, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, (1999), in: "Sin título," Arquitectura, EL NACIONAL, Caracas, September 13, (1999).
[3] Balza, José, Alejandro Otero, Olivetti, Milano, (1977): 54.
[4] Gómez, Hannia, "Soto, Ciudad y Arquitectura," in: Soto a gran escala, catalogue of the exhibition Soto a gran escala, Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Caracas Sofía Imber (MACCSI), Galerie Nationale du Jeu de Paume / MACCSI, Caracas, (2003).
[5] Balza, J., Ibid, (1977): 46.
[6] "Unidad Residencial el Paraíso," Fundación de la Memoria Urbana/Instituto del Patrimonio Cultural, in: Preinventario Arquitectónico, Urbanístico y Ambiental de Caracas 2005-2006, Caracas, (2007).
[7] "Urbanización 23 de Enero," Fundación de la Memoria Urbana/Instituto del Patrimonio Cultural, in: Preinventario Arquitectónico, Urbanístico y Ambiental de Caracas 2005-2006, Caracas, (2007).
[8] Gómez, H. "Imposing, Transposing, Erasing: the Making of a "Revolutionary" Caracas (1998-2010)," conference Transnational Latin Americanisms, Liminal Places, Cultures and Power (T)here, Graduate School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation, Columbia Univsersity, New York, (2010).
[9] Balza, J., Idem, (1977): 54.
[10] Quoted in: Imber, Sofia, "Jesús Soto," catalogue of the exhibition Nueve Artistas Venezolanos.
[11] Gómez, H., "Soto, Ciudad y Arquitectura," in: catalogue of the exhibition Soto a gran escala, Galerie Nationale du Jeu de Paume / Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Caracas Sofía Imber MACCSI, Caracas, (2003).
[12] Villanueva, Paulina and De Sola, Ricardo, Crónica Tres Cubos en Montreal, Caracas.
[13] Guevara, Roberto, Arte para una nueva escala, Maraven S.A., Litografia Tecnocolor, Caracas, (1978): 30.
[14] El Chorro, (1974), http://www.fau.ucv.ve/obras_arte/arte.htm
[15] Hanni Osott, Sistemas estructurales: Líneas paralelas, Gego, Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Caracas Sofía Imber MACCSI, exhibition catalogue, Caracas, (1977) : 24.
[16] Ulrich Conrads and Hans G. Sperlich, The Architecture of Fantasy: Utopian Building and Planning in Modern Times, First English ed. Translated, edited and expanded by Christiane Crasemann Collins and George R. Collins, Praeger, New York, (1962).
[17] Buckminster Fuller & Robert Marks, The Dymaxion World of Buckminster Fuller, ‘Tensegrity’, Anchor Books, Nueva York, (1973) : 57-58.
[18] Galería de Arte Nacional, catalogue of the exhibition Tomás José Sanabria Arquitecto, GAN, Caracas, (1995) : 127.
[19] Frampton, Kenneth, Modern Architecture: A Critical History, "The Bauhaus: the evolution o fan idea 1919-32," Oxford University Press, New York, (1980), : 124.
[20] Iris Peruga, “Gego, el prodigioso juego de crear,” in: Gego 1955-1990, Museo de Bellas Artes, Caracas, (2001): 24. [21] Manrique, Josefina, Sabiduras y otros textos de Gego, Op. Cit., : 191 and 229.
[22] In: Gego 1955-1990…, Op. Cit.,: 31.