HOMELESSPAGE Homelesspage copyrighted by The Construction Site, used by permission This article counts 1768 words. Key words: Peter Smithson. Looking. John Berger. Le Corbusier

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Encuentros, esparcimientos. por Josep Quetglas. Quien tenga por costumbre viajar, podrá haberse sorprendido a veces llegando a lugares, situaciones, instantes similares a otros ya vividos. Ahí no hay repetición, ni copia: hay un acuerdo inesperado entre las cosas, a través del tiempo, a través del espacio, tan misterioso y exacto como entre las estrellas de una constelación. Recorrer esos acontecimientos, en la figura que trazan, siempre resulta un ejercicio sugestivo. Hay quien, por haberlo conocido así, no puede dejar de salir, en todo viaje, a la busca de tales confirmaciones. Cada descubrimiento coincide con un regreso. Los encuentros le llevan a casa. One's "returns" to Bath, to Athens, to Cambridge (Mass), to Milan, to Stockholm are each, if one examines them, ritualized in this way: one seeks ~like an animal to the salt-lick~ the flavour of one's earliest experiences of the territory at its most extreme. One seeks the places where the sensation is sharpest in us. (Alison & Peter SMITHSON, Italian Thoughts, 1993). Dejo de lado un posible repaso a tantos viajeros modernos. Porque a mí, que no viajo, que sólo circulo por un mundo bidimensional (el de las páginas de los libros, como alguien me reprochó), sólo me ha llegado a ocurrir eso durante la lectura. A continuación van dos de esos minúsculos contactos. 1. A & P Smithson y John Berger. En Ways of Seeing (1972), John Berger escribe: «Animals painted like pieces of furniture with four legs». Animales pintados como muebles con cuatro patas. Se refiere a cuadros pintados al óleo, esos objetos en cuyo interior se muestran objetos ~sean personas, animales o cosas~, que tanto éxito tuvieron entre los siglos XVI y XIX. En este caso, se trata de una vaca pintada por Stubbs, que la ha visto como un mueble macizo apoyado en cuatro patas. En numerosos otros lugares Berger ha escrito sobre los animales, pero aquí es distinto: no escribe sobre animales sino sobre una determinada mirada hacia los animales, pintada al óleo. No es la mirada de quien no sabe anatomía. Es la mirada de quien posee, la de quien se toma por propietario. El ojo del dueño convierte en objeto todo cuanto ve. En un texto de los Smithson llegaríamos a coincidir con esa misma frase de Berger, leída del revés, escrita hacia atrás: no animales vistos como muebles, sino muebles vistos como animales. En el catálogo "The Chair", 1986 (ahora en Changing the Art of Inhabitation ), Peter Smithson escribe: «People rarely collect cupboards or dressing tables or stools, but to collect chairs is common: it is probable that we see them as domestic pets ~they have legs, feet, arms, back; they are symmetrical in one direction; like animals, like ourselves». Me gusta pensar que ambas frases se miran entre sí. Desde posiciones opuestas, van al mutuo encuentro, y se vuelven un mismo modo de sentir. Los ojos de Berger y de los Smithson evitan que las cosas sigan estando solas, que se queden ahí, que no sean sino objetos. Junto a su mirada, cada cosa alcanza un mismo grado de vida consciente, intensificada. Las cosas son vistas como animales, los animales son vistos como gente, la gente es vista como ellos mismos. 2. Le Corbusier y John Berger. Excepto en un artículo reciente, ahora recogido en Photocopies, 1996, "Una casa de Le Corbusier", sólo conozco un lugar donde Berger se haya referido a Le Corbusier. Lo cita de paso, con disgusto instintivo. Pero precisamente ahí, y no sé si Berger es consciente de ello, se le aproxima hasta coincidir. Se trata de un artículo de 1966, "Giacometti", escrito a la muerte del escultor y publicado desde entonces en varias ocasiones. Cuento cómo llegué a la coincidencia. Estaba preparando un curso acerca del Hospital de Venecia de Le Corbusier. Fuí a los Carnets, a mirar las páginas que pudieran corresponder a aquel proyecto. La primera que se refiere a una visita a Venecia con motivo del proyecto del hospital es la 1024 del cuarto tomo, séptima de entre nueve que Le Corbusier fecha un mismo dia, el 31 de agosto de 1963. Un dia de recapitulación. La página está dividida en dos. En su mitad derecha, hay apuntes de visita a galerías de pintura venecianas. Esquemas de obras de Carpaccio, El entierro de Santa Úrsula, y un Cristo yacente de autor anónimo ~que Le Corbusier también atribuye a Carpaccio. Le Corbusier los dibuja y pide postales. Úrsula aparece en una escena tumultuosa: la de la matanza de los peregrinos reunidos para asistir a su entierro. Para que el cuerpo de la santa resulte visible entre el barrullo, Carpaccio lo ha apartado y sobreelevado, colocándolo sobre un lecho de patas muy altas, palafítico ~como las camas de Le Corbusier, como la misma cama del hospital veneciano, por cierto. El Cristo del autor anónimo yace también en una tabla estrictamente horizontal, igualmente despegada del suelo. Junto a los esquemas de ambas pinturas, Le Corbusier escribe: Demander 1 carte postale de Ste Ursule Carpaccio Palais Ducal morte Jésus mort nu (nu) Carpaccio au Palais Ducal. Tampoco están en el Palacio Ducal, sino en la Accademia. Valen las imprecisiones para sentir que Le Corbusier debe estar dibujando y escribiendo de memoria, quizás aquella misma noche en el hotel, quizás ya de regreso hacia París o hacia Cap Martin. Eso significa que su imaginación está retenida por algo. Dos exposiciones de cadáveres. "Morte. Mort". Hay suficiente para pensar que el Hospital de Venecia pueda deber su origen, más que a un deseo de sanatorio, a una aprensión de tanatorio. Venecia: un lugar para morir, para esparcirse y disolverse en espirales de agua y luz. Pero dejemos ahora esta cuestión y desplacemos la mirada a la mitad izquierda de la misma página del carnet. Hay unas caricaturas, algo así como dos obuses o dos bolsas cabeza abajo, con patitas, ojos, orejas y ombligo. Le Corbusier escribe debajo: «Chacun est dans le sac de sa peau!». Cada cual está dentro del saco de su propia piel. Son palabras tomadas del Poème de l'angle droit. ¿Qué son esa bolsas o sacos humanos? No una escena de carnaval veneciano ~estamos en agosto. Hasta aquí, de momento, Le Corbusier. Volviendo a Berger. Su cita acerca de Le Corbusier, breve, inesperada, despectiva y exacta, me atrajo tanto como unas palabras que la acompañan, que la envuelven ~porque Berger repite esas palabras, un poco antes y un poco después de la referencia a Le Corbusier. Berger está escribiendo sobre rostros ~el de Giacometti, el de Beckett, rostros que están como modelados por el mundo. Pacientemente, Giacometti o Beckett han dejado que las cosas se sentaran sobre sus rodillas y que, desde ahí, fueran acariciando, palpando, surcando, modelando cariñosa o duramente su rostro. Su rostro es tanto de ellos como del mundo. Lo comparten. En cambio, las fotografías del rostro de Le Corbusier son bien distintas. Berger no explica la diferencia, pero, si recordamos los retratos fotográficos clásicos de Le Corbusier, podemos suponer lo que siente Berger: ve una piel demasiado lisa, estrictamente rasurada, contínua, impermeable, un rostro "à-la-Gide", cerrado a cualquier intercambio, rigoristamente, voluntariamente anestesiado. Un rostro con la autoridad y el desdén de una esfera, interesado sólo en percibir y juzgar exactamente aquel mundo del que no forma parte. Antes y después del comentario sobre el rostro de Le Corbusier, Berger escribe: He [Giacometti] was obstinately faithful to his own time, which must have seemed to him rather like his own skin: the sack into which he was born. In that sack he simply could not in all honesty overcome his conviction that he had always been and always would be totally alone. Y repite, líneas abajo, la misma expresión: His [de Giacometti] basic situation ~in the sack into which he has born~ remained unchanged. (En ambas citas la cursiva es mía). The sack into which he was born: chacun est dans le sac de sa peau. Es la misma frase, ambas coinciden, pero todavía no es ésa la coincidencia que quiero señalar. Si sólo se tratase de palabras, una secuencia temporal podría llegar a imponerles lógica: Le Corbusier publicó su Poème de l'angle droit en 1955. Berger lo habría podido leer y, conscientemente o no, algo hizo aflorar una de sus frases cuando, en 1966, lleva su imaginación desde Giacometti hasta Le Corbusier. Le Corbusier, en 1963, también había recordado su frase, porque la reescribe en sus carnets, pero no pudo ser ahí donde Berger la leyera, puesto que los carnets no se publicaron hasta 1982. Hay algo que rompe esa cadena de continuidades: las ilustraciones. Ya sabemos que, en los carnets, la frase de Le Corbusier está acompañada por dibujos de bolsas, sacos, que son personas ~o personas que son sacos. El artículo de Berger también está ilustrado. Por una fotografía, y el artículo se inicia precisamente comentando esa fotografía. Es una imagen de Giacometti, tomada por Henri Cartier-Bresson. Describo la foto. Llueve. Giacometti, frente a una escuela, cruza la calzada desierta, hacia el fotógrafo, que está en la otra acera, resguardado bajo un arbolillo. Giacometti no lleva paraguas. Para protegerse de la lluvia se cubre la cabeza con la gabardina, que lleva puesta, lo que hace que su rostro aparezca como saliendo del pecho de un descabezado, y que todo él figure como colocado dentro de una bolsa. Dentro de una bolsa, una bolsa con pies. Creo que es esa misma fotografía lo que Le Corbusier está dibujando en agosto de 1963, en Venecia. Creo que son los dibujos de Le Corbusier lo que Berger recuerda en 1966. Pero no es posible. Berger no puede haber visto el dibujo de Le Corbusier hasta 1982. Le Corbusier no puede haber visto la fotografía de Giacometti ~ya había muerto cuando Cartier-Bresson la toma. Empecé a escribir una carta a John Berger para pedirle un comentario a este bloqueo (había conseguido su dirección). Algo en mi actitud me fue haciendo detener, y acabé sin enviarla. Sentía un punto de engreimiento en mí mismo. Arrogante y apremiado por hacerle ver a Berger el cuidado con el que lo leía. Como si me estuviera tomando a mí mismo, no como un lector, sino como un colega. Me encontré tan adolescente como cuando le escribimos, con un amigo, una carta a Brassens. Sí, ¿cuando fue aquello? Lo recuerdo bien: un año antes de empezar a estudiar arquitectura. En el verano del 63, acabando agosto. El mismo día que Le Corbusier estaba dibujando en Venecia. Todo esto está pasando ahora, todo al mismo tiempo, lo grande y lo pequeño, pasa junto, está junto.

Encounters, Scatterings. BY Josep Quetglas. Whoever is used to travelling, will have been surprised arriving to places, situations, instants just like other ones already lived. It is not a matter of repetition, copy or influence. There is an unexpected accord between things ~through time, through space~, as mysterious and exact as that amongst the stars in a constellation. To pay attention to these coincidences, in order to draw their pattern, is always a stimulating exercise. There are those who, having known one of these accords, can not help going out seeking such similarities. Every discovery, then, coincides with a return. Accords get us home. One's "returns" to Bath, to Athens, to Cambridge (Mass), to Milan, to Stockholm are each, if one examines them, ritualised in this way: one seeks ~like an animal to the salt-lick~ the flavour of one's earliest experiences of the territory at its most extreme. One seeks the places where the sensation is sharpest in us. (A & P SMITHSON, Italian Thoughts, 1993) I leave aside an account of so many modern travellers. I do not travel, I have only a bi-dimensional experience of the world ~that found on the pages of a book. I have only known accords while reading. I would like to offer you two of these read encounters. 1. A & P Smithson and John Berger. Berger wrote, in Ways of Seeing (1972), «animals painted like pieces of furniture with four legs». He was referring to an oil painting, one of those objects so successful between the 16th and 19th centuries, where other objects ~people, animals, things~ were shown to the eyes of their owners. Stubbs was the painter, in this case. He had looked at the cows, seeing each of them as a solid piece of furniture, standing on their four legs. On many other pages Berger has written about animals, but it is different here. He did not write about animals, but about a way of looking at animals. It is not the way of someone who does not know about anatomy. It is the way of an owner. Owner's eyes change whatever they see into a thing. There is a text by the Smithsons where we could find almost the same sentence. Not animals seen as furniture, but furniture seen as animals. In the catalogue "The Chair" (1986, now in Changing the Art of Inhabitation), Peter Smithson writes: «People rarely collect cupboards or dressing tables or stools, but to collect chairs is common: it is probable that we see them as domestic pets ~they have legs, feet, arms, back; they are symmetrical in one direction; like animals, like ourselves». I like to think both texts look at each other. From opposite places they get to the same point and they become a same feeling. Berger's and Smithson's eyes: both prevent things to go on being alone, being there, being objects. Besides their looking, every thing reaches a same, higher degree of conscious life. Things are seen as animals, animals are seen as people, people are seen as themselves. 2. Le Corbusier and John Berger. Before "A Home designed by Le Corbusier", edited in Photocopies (1996), I knew of one place only where John Berger had written about Le Corbusier. He mentions him in passing, maybe with an instinctive displeasure. However, just there, and I don't know if Berger is aware of it, he gets so close to Le Corbusier that they accord with each other. That happens in an article of 1966, "Giacometti", written when the artist died and published in several places since then. I will tell you how I saw the coincidence. I was preparing a seminar about Le Corbusier's Venice Hospital. I went to his Carnets, looking for the pages done during that project. The first one is the 1024 in the 4th volume. It is the 7th of 9 dated on the same day, the 31th of August of 1963. A day of reviewing. The page is divided into two. On its right side there are two sketches drawn after visiting Venetian picture galleries. Carpaccio's work. The burial of Saint Ursula and a lying Christ by an anonymous author, who Le Corbusier supposes to be also Carpaccio. Le Corbusier draws both of them and asks for some postcards. Ursula appears in a tumultuous scene. The butchery of the pilgrims arrived for her burial. So that the corpse of the Saint could become conspicuous in the muddle, Carpaccio moved it away and raised it, placing it on a palafittical bed ~like Le Corbusier's beds, like the beds in Venice Hospital. In the second painting, Jesus is lying in a straight horizontal board too. The bed and the corpse is what Le Corbusier sketches in his carnet. Besides the sketches of both paintings, he writes: Demander 1 carte postale de Ste Ursule Carpaccio Palais Ducal morte Jésus mort nu (nu) Carpaccio au Palais Ducal. They are not either in the Palazzo Ducale, but in the Accademia. The vagueness is useful for us to feel that Le Corbusier must be drawing and writing by heart, perhaps the same night at the hotel, perhaps going back to Paris or Cap Martin. That means something is holding back his imagination. Two exposed corpses. "Morte. Mort. Nu. Nu". There is enough evidence to think that the Venice Hospital debts its origin not to a wish of a sanatorium, but to an apprehension towards a thanatorium. Venice: A place to die, scatter, melt away and assemble oneself again in water and light spirals. Let's set aside this aspect now, and lead our eyes towards the left half side of the same page in the carnet. There are some caricatures there, looking like two shells or bags upside down, with little feet, face and navel. One of them facing, the other one backing. Le Corbusier writes below them: «Chacun est dans le sac de sa peau! ». Everyone is in the sack of his own skin. They are words picked from the Poème de l'angle droit. What are these human bags or sacks? Not an image of Venetian carnival ~we are in August. Since here, for the moment, Le Corbusier. Going back to Berger. His short, unexpected, pejorative and exact mention against Le Corbusier attracted me as much as the words that go with it, wrapping it ~because Berger repeats these words, a little before and a little after his mention. Berger was writing about faces ~Giacometti's, Beckett's, faces modelled by the world. Patiently, Giacometti and Beckett had left things to sit on their own knees, and things, since there, were caressing, frisking, modelling bringly or violently their face. Their faces are as much theirs as the world's. They share them. However, pictures of Le Corbusier's face are quite different. Berger doesn't tell the difference, but, if we remember Le Corbusier's classical portraits, we can suppose how Berger feels: He sees a too elastic skin, strictly shaved, continuous, waterproof, an "à-la-Gide" face, locked to any change, rigorist, willingly anaesthetised. A face with the autorithy and reserve of a sphere, only paying attention to watch and judge exactly a world where he does not belong. What Berger writes before and after his mention about Le Corbusier's face are the following words: He [Giacometti] was obstinately faithful to his own time, which must have seemed to him rather like his own skin: the sack into which he was born. In that sack he simply could not in all honesty overcome his conviction that he had always been and always would be totally alone. And he repeats, a few lines below, the same statement: His [Giacometti's] basic situation ~in the sack into which he has born~ remained unchanged. Italics are mine in both quotations. The sack into which he was born. Do you remember?: Chacun est dans le sac de sa peau. They are the same sentence, they both coincide. This is not the encounter I wanted to show yet. If it would have been matter of words only, a temporal succession could give them sense: Le Corbusier published his Poème de l'angle droit in 1955. In August 1963, he reminded his own words, which he writes in his carnet again. But it was not there where Berger read them, because the Carnets were published only in 1982. However, Berger would have been able to read the original edition of the Poème and, aware or not, something made one of its sentences to emerge, when, in 1966, his imagination went from Giacometti to Le Corbusier. There is something that breaks this succession of continuities: the illustrations. We know already that, in the Carnets, Le Corbusier's sentence comes together with sketches of bags, sacks that are people ~or people who are sacks. Berger's article is illustrated too. With a picture, and the article begins about this photography. This is a photography of Giacometti, taken by Henri Cartier-Bresson. I tell you the picture. It is raining. Giacometti is on the street, rue d'Alésia, in front of a school, crossing the empty roadway, towards the photographer, who is on the other sidewalk, sheltered under a little tree. Giacometti carries no umbrella. In order to protect him of the rain, he has covered his head with his raincoat. That makes his face look as if it was going off the chest of a beheaded, and the whole of himself looks like somebody put into a sack. In a sack, a sack with feet. They are the same picture, the same words. I think it is this photography that Le Corbusier is drawing, in Venice, in August 1963, three years before the picture was taken. I think they are those Le Corbusier's sketches that Berger recalls, looking at the photography in 1966, sixteen years before anybody could see them. I began to write a letter to John Berger, to ask him to open for me this blockage (a friend had given me his address). Something of my action made me stop, and I ended up without sending it. I felt myself vain. Proud and hasty to make see Berger the attention with which I was reading him. I found myself as adolescent as when we wrote a letter to Georges Brassens. Yes, when did it happen? I remember it well, it was one year before I began to study architecture. It was in the Summer of 63, end of August. On the same day when Le Corbusier was drawing in Venice. The whole of that is happening now, everything at the same time, big things and little things, all that goes together, is together.

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