Perspectives: A Reflection

This is a compilation of forty-or-so perspectives drawn by first year architecture students. Given to them as one of the first exercises of technically drawing a simple object bound by two vanishing points, the exercise comes to offer much more. Or rather, should I press that one can read much more? After all they are perspectives.

In addition to the original oblong (elongated cube) object, I suggested students to put additional features, partly so that each student applies the principles just learnt to exercise their knowledge of the subject and so that each of their objects is unique, almost creating an “alien” object – an object that is unknown to us. Creating an object without visual precedent is much difficult, for how does one draw something that one has never seen, and how does one even perceive and make an object that must never be familiar? In the present case however, one did not pre-decide on making alien objects. It was merely about evolving a known, standard and mundane shape into the undecipherable. This exercise has thus culminated into the hybridization of the familiar and the unfamiliar. Can there be a possibility where two known objects come together to generate a stranger? How would one go about employing this thought? Is there a method? Has this intention been fulfilled here? In this ambiguity, I am eager to find from the readers if the objects here are able to generate a sense of the uncanny.

The outcomes presented here begin to hint different patterns. While some additions seem like evident detached outgrowths from the basic oblong, few examples show how even smaller alterations can change the fundamental perception of the object. There are others where the oblong has merely remained a notion, and instances where its reading has further compounded. In my personal pursuit of achieving “aliens”, the basic object has grown different extensions to itself, those which can be read as organs that may perform imaginary functions, or sometimes even remain redundant.

Often the overall object becomes vividly impressionistic reminding of a figure, icon or gesture. This brings me to notice how each object demands for itself a particular scale it must be seen in. Is the notion of scale embedded in the object; is it constructed through our years of visual training or do we impose scale on to the objects? To be sure, the interpretation of the same drawing at multiple scales is facilitated due to the absence of any reference to human scale. While it may seem to be a toy-like object in a quick glance, the drawing soon becomes spatial and inhabitable when subject to a slow meandering gaze.

Further, it is interesting to compare one drawing to another. Since each drawing is produced by an individual, and each addition / amendment to the basic figure is mostly personal, some of these drawings strangely begin to talk with each other. One will observe how, for example, few drawings are same configurations merely rotated, some fit into each other as positives and negatives and some others could easily be seen as a kit of parts. They could join each other to form a larger whole. How do these “communications” happen? Are these resultant compatibilities purely accidental? Do people work with a common notional repository of forms? If so, what are the mechanisms through which such a repository gets activated?

I had asked the students to reproduce their working sketches into final drawings on square tracing papers. While my original intention was to save them the labour and allow them to quickly trace their final work, I realized that the translucency of the paper lent me several further comparative readings on being overlapped. For instance, I observed that many of these drawings of the same specified object (the one before addition of parts) did not coincide with each other. The dimensions of many outlines differed. In addition, their view points and horizons constantly shifted. What added dynamism to the entire compilation are the students’ varying compositions of their drawing on the small canvas. All these reflections indicate the inherent nature of perspectives – the manifold ways in which standard instructions get interpreted, executed and a singular object in the head gets transmitted and reproduced.

Washing machines, paper weights, acupressure tools, milk cans, building blocks, household furniture – these drawings will remind you of all such objects. Yet, they are not those, or perhaps they share a familiarity with all of them? How do we look at these products, or even reflect upon this exercise? The execution of this exercise, if one may excuse, can be observed in line with the history of perspective drawing. While much of the initial effort in renaissance art was to understand the principles of vision in order to replicate reality as it is, architects of the period furthered this technique to prepare realistic visions of the future. In a similar way, students prepared an object that was made available to them as a drawing but took it in a direction of the unknown mostly following their (own) aesthetic logics. The only difference in this case, perhaps was the freedom for students to be not bounded in imagination by scale, utility or gravity. Yet, this leeway is only to playfully sustain the spirit of the contemporary times, when almost everything seems possible – from future machines to transmutability of objects.

I will be cheating if I said that all parts of all these objects are technically drafted. In times when computer softwares aid more than realistic visualizations and renderings of spaces and objects, what does a class on hand-drafting perspective involving meticulous measurements on paper actually mean? Machines have certainly reoriented the value we put on traditional techniques of creating imaginations on paper. And we would be expecting too much from students to relive the passion of Albrecht Durer who tirelessly built machines to understand how, after all, the magnanimity of the world converged into his eyeball! Such curiosity neither fits contemporary zeitgeist, and nor can it be sustained in a world scattered within technological distractions.

In such a view, these drawings are to be appreciated with a pinch of salt. While many are sincere, some drawings here are opportunistic - those which have been crafted to please the eye, or even finish the god-damn alien. These probably come from different evaluations of the machine-manual debate, and further the multiple ways in which students come to develop interest in the varied aspects of architecture. Many drawings here also contest the intention of applying the skills to be learnt through this exercise, putting primary thrust on the imagination (which assumedly is free of skill). A closer reading of these drawings will bring us to an understanding of how the relationship between skill and imagination gets negotiated in the works of students.

Yet we are fortunate to live in times when the expert who once produced perspectives by hand lives alongside his/her technological counterpart. In the course of this studio, the students got a chance to interact and learn the way in which perspective was traditionally deployed by draughtsmen or skilled architects or artists into making architectural renderings. Those renderings, to a keen observer would be venerable. Today however, the demonstration of skills, instead of the art itself, becomes the product of exhibition. The act of witnessing the art emerge makes us wonder! Whether the art or the act inspire us to pick up a pencil and produce art is an open question. One will quickly find oneself in the dilemma whether such a decision even makes sense in the age of the computer.

The computer still allows one to undo, redo and alter parts of drawings easily until one achieves the desired image. It is not easy to put oneself through multiple iterations, like the computer, until perfection. Many works here are witness to such struggle of achieving perfection. Errors and erasures have thus remained a part of this compilation. What attitudes do students have towards achieving perfection? One of my friends, in order to mitigate the trouble due to my idealism for perfection, would console saying that if you can’t achieve the expected, lower your standards. Perhaps many of us, in our times, were brought up with values of getting everything right, perfect. This often burdened us with a lot of self-expectation. Today, many students are freer, filled with enthusiasm and positive hope to perfect themselves over time. Errors or imperfections in their works do not bother them as they did to us. This allows them space and time and confidence to keep going.

These drawings thus bring many of such experiences to me, which I anticipate, will be one of the many readings you will also have. You will align with my thoughts if you are an architect, and more importantly a person teaching architecture. Moreso, I believe the thoughts shared above are also a result of subjecting architectural drawings to an art historical lens. I wonder if such an analysis brings to us any value in our teaching or making of architecture. Otherwise, this essay can be just left as a perspective.

a reflection on drawing studio works of SEA students
2015 | Anuj Daga


School of Environment & Architecture, 

Eksar Road, Borivali West,
Mumbai – 400 091. INDIA.

The Politics of Representation: Charles Correa

The Politics of Representation: Charles Correa
Anuj Daga
For IES College of Architecture’s Annual Magazine ‘L’espirit’, 2016

Cover page of Charles Correa's monograph

Architect Charles Correa’s monograph published in 1996 was one of the most worn out books in the library of Academy of Architecture, Mumbai where I studied. Despite the fact that it was on permanent reserve at the school library it was referred by students far too frequently; to an extent that it’s binding had gone loose. The dismal condition of this book was inevitable given students’ keen interest in Correa’s works. At the same time, it bears witness to the fact that Charles Correa was, and still remains the most celebrated architect in India. Many of the students would always skip the introductory essay authored by historian Kenneth Frampton, or the one by Correa himself that followed. Instead, we would quickly move on to study the beautifully hand rendered building drawings of his projects. Importantly, these plans and sections were drawn by hand, which we believed were prepared by the architect himself. The style of these drawings was instinctively emulated by many of us into our own studio presentations, as for most of us (like students studying architecture in India even today), such illustrative drawing style became synonymous in conveying a certain idea of rootedness, perhaps even “Indian-ness” in design.

While we had no direct access to meet or talk to Correa, we primarily understood his architecture through the representations of built works published in his books. Correa’s approach of using local vernacular idioms in his building responses like the image appearing on the cover page of his monograph, together with the hand-borne aesthetic character of the representations published within it convinced us about those drawings too, to be prepared by him. Through the process of practicing what we assumed his style of drawing, we even hoped to acquire or appropriate an architectural sensibility of the aging Master, and thus to continue his legacy.

When Charles Correa planned to retire from architectural practice by the age of 82 in the year 2012, he decided to donate his entire archive of drawings, photographs, letters, models and list of published works to the RIBA in London. I was fortunate enough to be a part of this massive archiving project at the office of Charles Correa, which was carried out with the help of his office employees. It gave me an opportunity to observe closely the nature of Correa’s practice – the work of a figure we revered and the drawings from the monograph of whom we almost consumed invariably. To my surprise, I could not locate any drawings in his archive that looked like the ones in his monograph. In fact, I discovered through the co-employees at his office that Correa hardly preserved the process drawings he made for his own buildings. In addition, his original drawing style that I observed being an archivist at his office was quite different to those predominantly occurring in his monograph – one with uncontrolled, uninhibited swiping strokes instead of the slow, undulating ones that we had learned to emulate based on the published monograph. It is here that I came to question for the first time: who made those drawings for Correa’s monograph and why were they rendered differently from Correa’s own style? And how, in this situation, was a peculiar kind of representation technique chosen?

The works of Charles Correa often become a comfortable and pleasing aesthetic to settle for an “Indian” response in built form. They were also backed by the geometric diagrams introduced in the Vistara exhibition, as depicted in his monograph. We seldom looked beyond the Correa’s works as represented in his monograph to decipher the political and geographical forces that shaped his buildings. After detailed research in looking into Correa’s career, his architecture appears to be much more complex and ambiguous than what we as students simply accepted as Indian. I have come to realize that the imagination of Correa’s ‘India’ is shaped by, or even shaped for a number of political and geographical factors that transgress national boundaries.

To cut short to the untold story of the drawings - the sketchy, undulating drawing lines were chosen as a means of reinforcing the Indian identity in Correa’s works – they not only relate to the older Indian artistic representations but also the traditional village building forms made out of hand-plastered mud could never be a perfectly straight line. These practices that imparted an innate visual character to the built forms, in Correa’s mind, became Indian. I got to confirm this while working at his office in a candid conversation over lunch one day when Correa went on to say, “Even the Indian khadi fabric looks beautiful because it does not form clean straight lines. The undulating warps and wefts give character to the cloth, it echoes our culture.”[1] In the pursuit of translating this culture into his architectural representation, Correa commissioned employees from his office to reproduce the drawings by tracing over plans and sections technically made by drawing instruments or computer softwares to give an effect that not only allowed a simpler reading, but also strongly relate to the above-discovered theme of the rural and minimal, in other words “Indian.”

Harshraj Mane, one of the contributors of such drawings explains what he learnt under the guidance of the master architect. In a sense of repeating the master, he explained, “When you have to re-draw and abstract the design to re-present it, you focus your mind on the essence of the design - it is planning, navigation, proportions, shadow pattern and then accordingly make the drawing. Also there were parallel artists like Mario Miranda, R K Laxman, warli painting style, to draw influence from.”[2] The “essence” that Harshraj points out is certainly the notion of Indian that was coined in Correa’s mind after the Vistara exhibition – that which were located in traditional art forms and heritage of India. This is precisely the reason why Correa’s own style of drawing – the free flowing quick strokes unlike the poised illustrations in the monograph, that I noticed when I saw him in action while drawing in his office were not used throughout this publication. As we may now reason, in Correa’s own imagination his drawings were insufficient in conveying the spirit of Indian that was originally informed and established by the artistic building forms included in the Vistara exhibition. The building drawings thus reproduced in the form of undulating hand drawn sketches in the monograph, visually perceived like the rustic, unfinished aesthetic of traditional art forms in India undoubtedly made the works appear more rooted in the place.

In the light of the above study, Correa’s ability to steer the reception of his work as extremely relevant for national as well as international audiences at the same time is worth noting. It is this aspect of being able to mould complex political and geographical realities that have emerged as the highlight of Correa’s practice – one that must be remembered while evaluating contemporary architecture in India.

The drawings appearing in the Charles Correa monograph, often understood to be drawn by the architect himself.

The actual hand drawing of Correa.

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ENDNOTES

[1]I quote this from my personal conversation with Charles Correa while working at his office. Mr. Correa was referring to the hand-plastered walls of villages that do not have machine-finished crisp edges, instead evoke a sense of human involvement, when he stated his impression about the Indian fabric.

[2]E-mail interview with Harshraj Mane, former employee at Charles Correa Associates.
Mario Miranda was a famous Indian cartoonist based in Goa; R K Laxman is a well known illustrator and cartoonist from Mysore, India and warli paintings are folk paintings made by a tribal settlement in Maharashtra called “Warlis.” These drawings are illustrative renderings of everyday life drawn using white paste prepared from crushed rice.

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NOTE:

This is a short extract of a chapter for my master's thesis "In the Place of Images" submitted to the Yale School of Architecture, USA, 2014, towards the completion of Master of Environmental Design program. The original chapter investigates the geopolitics of Charles Correa's practice over his architectural career.

Lokmanya Tilak Terminus / New Wing

I know - it opened some time back - so it's hardly "new". But it was quite new for me. And I was pleasantly elated with the building, particularly with its scale and the quality of light. For a change, it did not have bulky over designed columns and a heavy roof. The barrel vaults gave it a sense of dynamism and airy-ness.

The different facilities were spaced decently well. The building was perfectly functional, had a clear diagram. Not glitzy, no patterning, not into frills, I felt it was after a long time I felt nice about a public building in Mumbai.

Any help on who designed it?

Young Subcontinent

I have been writing reviews of artists' work shown as a part of the Young Subcontinent Project, curated by Riyas Komu in Goa for the Serendipity Arts Festival 2016. 

I invite all the readers here to explore the above writings and artworks on www.youngsubcontinent.blogspot.com

The Split Universe / Review of Baiju Parthan's work

Published in Art India, Dec. 2016

The Split Universe

Anuj Daga floats through Baiju Parthan’s world where the natural, the geometrical and the digital are juxtaposed together.


It is difficult to decipher if Necessary Illusions by Baiju Parthan from the 14th of September to the 5th of November at Art Musings, Mumbai, emphasizes or dissolves the split between art and science – a notion that has been carried from the period of the Enlightenment. Historians of science have debated about the way in which artistic versus scientific approaches (which actually carried different semantic charges then) have come to influence the cultural understanding of objects around us. Eric Schatzberg, a scholar at the Department of the History of Science at the University of Wisconsin, argues (1) that broader meanings of art and its centrality to generating knowledge about objects by operating upon them were displaced into the ‘technological’ narrative of science (2) with the onset of industrialisation. Eventually, such a categorization created a divide between the mind and the hand, thinking and making. Parthan’s acrylics on canvas and lenticular prints compel us to ponder upon this illusory divide between the arts and the sciences by merging different realities.

Today, these multiple realities about a singular object are easily recorded, preserved and accumulated as ‘Big Data’ that contain complex information about objects beyond what the human mind or even computers can process at once. By merely juxtaposing several structures of knowledge – chemical, structural, geospatial, geometrical, astronomical and digital – Parthan evokes the different frequencies and densities in which the world may have been crystallized into varied physical forms. For example, in the painting Meta-Flora, a flower is presented in its range of readings – the softness of petals, their ocular perception, the wireframe construct of their curve, the molecular structure that lends them colour and smell, their symbolic appropriations, all become visible on a single canvas. In a similar manner, in yet another painting Engineered Fruit (Disrupterr), the motif of a pear is blown up but caged within its geometrical formation, scaled against the cartography of the sky, immediately drawing astronomical connections between the two: the shape of the space we inhabit and the shape of the things we consume. These hand-painted imageries immediately bring us closer to the varied experiments of the naturalists, botanists, astronomers, cartographers and enthusiasts dedicated to deciphering the natural world. The pursuit of the design of nature, which was ‘purist’ in the works of earlier artists, has become multilayered in the work of the artist today.

Parthan further makes the art-science discourse more contemporary through his lenticular experiments in the second section of the show. Here, we encounter semi-animated images of the pear dissolving into words that become elastic, stretching their own meanings. As one shifts the position of viewing, the raw fruit ripens and diffracts into its own existential politics. The words seen through the moving gaze refer to the embeddedness of the consumable object within larger networks of trade, economics, production and biomorphics, eventually making us wonder if it even belongs to the natural world. Hung from the walls as free-falling objects, the pear parts that appear and disappear to the moving body, play between the actual and the imaginary – making the ghost of the real a necessary illusion. In another instance, one is pushed to believe that the data-drowned objects of today are caught up in their own evolutionary time – an anomalous raw-ripe maturity. Classification tables now morph objects and their multiple identities, bringing us to a space of ambiguity where ‘things’ have as much agency as humans may have once had. The lenticular layers of these panels present the dangers and depths of data pools within which our lives are suspended.

In his last set, Parthan reimagines living in a phenomenally restructured world, where all objects are packets of information. Parthan’s constructions emphasize our uncanny navigation through the everyday as insecure datascapes. Hovering objects like aeroplanes, gas balloons or even sharks over ordinary urban settings evoke an atmosphere of suspicion due to over-indulgence in information practices. However, in some instances, these motifs seem too literal vis-a-vis their historical referents. The equation of floating sharks to terrorists over the Gateway of India seems too direct a reference to the 2008 attacks in Mumbai. On the other hand, taxis levitating through balloons at the Victoria Train Terminus confuse: does the work depict a flight into history or the future? While it recalls Rene Magritte’s Golconda that depicts scenes of ‘raining men’, the work does not have a strong surreal impact. Nevertheless, the technique engages the viewer in a play of perception – where each eye possibly beholds a relevant scientific reality. Parthan’s artistic renderings thus enable every viewer to participate in his own process of decoding the world and uncovering a certain truth.


End-notes

1) See Schatzberg Eric’s “From Art to Applied Science” in Isis, Vol. 103, No. 3, September 2012, pgs. 555-563.

2) Earlier, it was held that art is directed toward action, science toward contemplation.




1) Baiju Parthan. Meta-Flora. Acrylic on canvas. 48” x 96”. 2016. Image courtesy the artist and Art Musings.

Other Images