Architectural Improvisation and Flamenco
Creating an architecture of generosity through sustainable means is an exercise which occupies much of our current thinking in practice. It is particularly resonant when working on projects within the arts sectors where budget, time and spatial constraints require a balance of generosity and restraint. There is a need for an economical application of materials that does not compromise the impact of the spaces - spaces which inspire, uplift and celebrate the work of the brilliant arts organisations we work with.
I am continually encouraged by the resilience of the performing arts disciplines and their ability to grapple with similar constraints whilst remaining so publicly generous. I have always maintained that there is so much architects can learn from the arts, in relation to the public ‘performance’ of our discipline – this has been particularly evident for me since learning Flamenco dancing in parallel to my training as an architect.
Flamenco is one of the most extraordinary forms of dance because it is so economically flamboyant. It has the ability to appear completely monumental whilst relying on very little physical space. I uncovered this hidden level of restraint and technique behind movements, which had initially seemed effortless, in the first lesson I took. I was surprised to leave the class with a full body exhaustion, as if I’d run ten kilometres, despite not having travelled outside of the small radius around where I stood. Much of my effort was focused on using my core to keep my body tightly grounded in one space and my leg movements small but heavy on the ground, whilst still allowing for expression and articulation from my arms to my fingertips. Many of the most impactful moments in a Flamenco performance come from movements which, in reality, are very small. A modest flick of a heel becomes inflated exponentially through the ruffles of a dancer’s costume which ripple from one layer to the next to create the quintessential Flamenco skirt swish. There is a spectacle of grandeur aroused through the voluminous costumes which embellish the dancers' controlled movements.
My journey into the art of Flamenco brought to light the question of how, as architects of re-use, the forms we inherit as custodians of existing buildings might also be embellished to create a level of grandeur through modest means. The possibility for illusion and exaggeration challenges the notion of architectural re-use as only invisible acts of restoration. The limitations we work within offer an exciting set of questions: Can a sustainable lightweight material offer the durability and immense presence of stone? How can we achieve a transformation of a space through only the application of paint? Is there a possibility for maximalism through only minimal means? How can our interventions constitute a performance of architecture that is much larger than itself?
As an audience member, one of the most striking things about watching Flamenco is its entirely democratic arrangement. At odds with many other traditional performance disciplines there is no orchestra pit, no hierarchy between the singer, dancers, and accompanying musicians. The parameters which distinguish audience from performer can be as little as a plank of wood no more than 1m squared. The singer, dancer, guitarist and ‘palmista’ (hand-clapper) are typically arranged in a semicircular format, fostering a mutuality between them. The musicians are conducted by the dancers, taking cues from their movement to inform the tempo of their playing. The guitarist and vocalist’s melodies meander around a rumbling heartbeat that is provided by hand clapping ‘palmas’ from both palmistas on stage and the audience themselves. All are punctuated by impromptu ‘Joleas’ - spontaneous calls of ‘Olé’ and other words of encouragement - spurring on the dancers. These components come together to make a performance with a moving sense of unity. The audience feels truly a part of the story being told on stage by being offered the freedom to express their responses outwardly. There is a modesty which must be taken on in order to allow for a multiplicity of voices to be expressed. When working with existing buildings, attempting to fight the existing to assert a singular egoic vision will almost always fail. There must be the right balance of compromise and contradiction between existing and new to quite modestly allow for the voices of the as found, the inhabitant, the bricoleur and the weather to coexist.
Learning to dance Flamenco has encouraged me to meditate on the relationship between the harmony, order, symmetry and improvisational flare. In Flamenco, order and improvisation are two elements which work in symbiosis rather than at odds with each other. An enduring ensemble of ‘palmas’ is punctured by offbeats, embellishment, and emphatic silences taking the audience on a beguiling journey of ebbs and flows. There is an immense amount of discipline and technique underpinning the flourishes which appear effortlessly improvised. Coming from a background of classical ballet training myself, taking on the art of Flamenco has encouraged me to employ spontaneity as a new dialect in my body language as a dancer, which is underpinned by the rigorous rules of classical technique. It is a discipline of balance which once practised seriously can permeate into all creative acts. It is something I now transcribe into my architectural problem solving and the choreography of a drafting pencil over layered sheet of tracing paper over an existing drawing. The ‘rules’ of architectural language, proportion and harmony form a ticking metronome against which to improvise. It is this voice of improvisation which can open up endless possibilities for the creation of architecture with uncompromising soul and a flamenco-esque flare.
Written by Lily Markey, Takero Shimazaki Architects