A cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he slowly draws a line on the edge of a plan, whilst listening to an agitated engineer. There are eight of us sitting around the table, and the atmosphere is one of excitement. We are discussing the suitability of white marble for the Swiss climate. Novartis has flown an expert in stone out to Porto in order to persuade Álvaro Siza. He argues, sticking to his point ... and he draws this line. The line becomes the outline of a woman's face in profile. Blinking through the smoke from his cigarette, he studies the wife of a building contractor, who is sitting at the other end of the table. The line, which begins by precisely delineating the eyes and the chin, spreads out into the white of the paper. Siza is called to the telephone. At a later point in the discussion, when he has returned to his seat, he begins again, slowly extending the line: one stroke creates the shoulder, the crooked arm and the woman's upper body, inclined forwards.
When everyone left the room, the façade plan was left lying on the table. The edge of the sheet shows a woman's torso, drawn with a cheap ballpoint. I think this was the moment when his drawings first struck me. Siza does a good deal of drawing – in fact, he almost invariably draws when he has a problem to solve. He creates his sketches earnestly and unpretentiously, in a slow, ponderous way. He generally has no paper with him and has to borrow a drawing implement. Very often, you think you know where the drawing is going – but then the line acquires a mind of its own.
The meeting has been held to address all the questions thrown up by designing a building: corner details, materials, how to address technical requirements. Siza quietly draws an isometric view of the upper façade edge. He wants to know about the joints of the eight metal profiles. We ask ourselves why he is spending so much time on this detail: our flight leaves in a few hours, and we have other important things to discuss. Once this issue is solved, however, the other questions are resolved quickly and easily. Sometimes it is as if he has to find access to his building again, remember where we left off the last time, understand how things fit together, what their proportions should be, so that he can then add the next chapter to the story of the building.
In discussing the role of Álvaro Siza’s sketches in his work, two key aspects come to mind. To understand the first,
one has to have known Álvaro Siza and to have seen him at work: his quiet demeanour, his appointment calendar – an
old school exercise book in a plastic bag – his quiet, earnest way of working, and, above all, the way he looks
wat things. Often, he stands and simply looks. This world-famous architect is a stranger to extravagant gestures,
affectation and showmanship. He takes the concerns of the client and the technical issues seriously: he draws
them, turns them this way and that and alters them until they make sense. This approach is echoed in his sketches – they are simply lines, without ostentatious pretensions.
Secondly, his drawings reflect his extraordinary love of detail. His entrance area is an example of this. The position of this plot within the Campus is difficult. The most significant open space in its immediate vicinity – the Physic Garden – adjoins the building only at its northwest corner; otherwise, the building is hemmed in by minor roads. Siza decided to place his building’s entrance on this corner, and not on the axis of the building as the other Campus architects did. The vestibule’s glass front is curved, and one does not enter the building in a straight line, as one would expect, but in an S shaped movement. The entrance is duplicated in the mirrored ceiling. In the entrance area, the support that should belong to the ubiquitous grid is twisted at an angle of 45°, and the pattern of joints in the stone cladding breaks up around the head of this support. Every metal profile and every joint in the stone is attuned to every other element; every element was sketched specifically for this location. It is these details that are at the root of the way of casting a spell that makes something simple extraordinary that Álvaro Siza so often achieves in his work.
How many architects can quickly draw something beautiful, without having to explain it at length? Rationalised, readily understandable design concepts are commonplace today. Experts are commissioned to create visualisations; often, a large team of people is involved in their realisation. If desired, one can even hide the identity of the originator behind the plan concepts. Álvaro Siza, however, can express himself precisely in a few lines, meaning that he does not need this form of explanation to the same degree. For instance, when he builds a building beside another building, the result is never simply two buildings side by side. Siza’s building is bound to turn off at an angle, or to open itself up – to develop, in a way that is typical for Álvaro Siza, its own characteristics. A rationally comprehensible concept may be his starting point, but it never constitutes the whole content of his building.
This phenomenon was recently highlighted by Eduardo Souto de Moura, a friend, close colleague and former student
of Siza. Both architects designed buildings on the Campus, side by side; while the buildings were being built,
they were brutally honest and mischievous, in a friendly way, in criticising each other’s work. Eduardo once stood
in front of Siza’s completed building – also smoking – and, after a long silence, said: I had a stronger concept, but
in his own way he has proved his point.
No – unfortunately, we don’t have the plan with the drawing of the woman’s torso. Out of respect, we did not collect any sketches. Siza still has them all. The small nude on the wooden cladding of the construction elevator was also unintentionally erased. (Whilst going up in the elevator, Álvaro Siza once drew the naked body of a beautiful woman – in a single line – on the boards of the wall next to obscene scribbles by workers). Significantly, when we asked for examples that we could use as illustrations in this book, very few were forthcoming, and those we were offered were generally not representative or compelling when taken alone. Unlike most architects, Siza never creates a neat design sketch constructed on a piece of tracing paper overlaid on a minimised plan outline. What we have is what was created at the time as a by-product of the working process – no more and no less.
A cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he slowly draws a line on the edge of a plan, whilst listening to an agitated engineer. There are eight of us sitting around the table, and the atmosphere is one of excitement. We are discussing the suitability of white marble for the Swiss climate. Novartis has flown an expert in stone out to Porto in order to persuade Álvaro Siza. He argues, sticking to his point ... and he draws this line. The line becomes the outline of a woman's face in profile. Blinking through the smoke from his cigarette, he studies the wife of a building contractor, who is sitting at the other end of the table. The line, which begins by precisely delineating the eyes and the chin, spreads out into the white of the paper. Siza is called to the telephone. At a later point in the discussion, when he has returned to his seat, he begins again, slowly extending the line: one stroke creates the shoulder, the crooked arm and the woman's upper body, inclined forwards.
When everyone left the room, the façade plan was left lying on the table. The edge of the sheet shows a woman's torso, drawn with a cheap ballpoint. I think this was the moment when his drawings first struck me. Siza does a good deal of drawing – in fact, he almost invariably draws when he has a problem to solve. He creates his sketches earnestly and unpretentiously, in a slow, ponderous way. He generally has no paper with him and has to borrow a drawing implement. Very often, you think you know where the drawing is going – but then the line acquires a mind of its own.
The meeting has been held to address all the questions thrown up by designing a building: corner details, materials, how to address technical requirements. Siza quietly draws an isometric view of the upper façade edge. He wants to know about the joints of the eight metal profiles. We ask ourselves why he is spending so much time on this detail: our flight leaves in a few hours, and we have other important things to discuss. Once this issue is solved, however, the other questions are resolved quickly and easily. Sometimes it is as if he has to find access to his building again, remember where we left off the last time, understand how things fit together, what their proportions should be, so that he can then add the next chapter to the story of the building.
In discussing the role of Álvaro Siza’s sketches in his work, two key aspects come to mind. To understand the first,
one has to have known Álvaro Siza and to have seen him at work: his quiet demeanour, his appointment calendar – an
old school exercise book in a plastic bag – his quiet, earnest way of working, and, above all, the way he looks
wat things. Often, he stands and simply looks. This world-famous architect is a stranger to extravagant gestures,
affectation and showmanship. He takes the concerns of the client and the technical issues seriously: he draws
them, turns them this way and that and alters them until they make sense. This approach is echoed in his sketches – they are simply lines, without ostentatious pretensions.
Secondly, his drawings reflect his extraordinary love of detail. His entrance area is an example of this. The position of this plot within the Campus is difficult. The most significant open space in its immediate vicinity – the Physic Garden – adjoins the building only at its northwest corner; otherwise, the building is hemmed in by minor roads. Siza decided to place his building’s entrance on this corner, and not on the axis of the building as the other Campus architects did. The vestibule’s glass front is curved, and one does not enter the building in a straight line, as one would expect, but in an S shaped movement. The entrance is duplicated in the mirrored ceiling. In the entrance area, the support that should belong to the ubiquitous grid is twisted at an angle of 45°, and the pattern of joints in the stone cladding breaks up around the head of this support. Every metal profile and every joint in the stone is attuned to every other element; every element was sketched specifically for this location. It is these details that are at the root of the way of casting a spell that makes something simple extraordinary that Álvaro Siza so often achieves in his work.
How many architects can quickly draw something beautiful, without having to explain it at length? Rationalised, readily understandable design concepts are commonplace today. Experts are commissioned to create visualisations; often, a large team of people is involved in their realisation. If desired, one can even hide the identity of the originator behind the plan concepts. Álvaro Siza, however, can express himself precisely in a few lines, meaning that he does not need this form of explanation to the same degree. For instance, when he builds a building beside another building, the result is never simply two buildings side by side. Siza’s building is bound to turn off at an angle, or to open itself up – to develop, in a way that is typical for Álvaro Siza, its own characteristics. A rationally comprehensible concept may be his starting point, but it never constitutes the whole content of his building.
This phenomenon was recently highlighted by Eduardo Souto de Moura, a friend, close colleague and former student
of Siza. Both architects designed buildings on the Campus, side by side; while the buildings were being built,
they were brutally honest and mischievous, in a friendly way, in criticising each other’s work. Eduardo once stood
in front of Siza’s completed building – also smoking – and, after a long silence, said: I had a stronger concept, but
in his own way he has proved his point.
No – unfortunately, we don’t have the plan with the drawing of the woman’s torso. Out of respect, we did not collect any sketches. Siza still has them all. The small nude on the wooden cladding of the construction elevator was also unintentionally erased. (Whilst going up in the elevator, Álvaro Siza once drew the naked body of a beautiful woman – in a single line – on the boards of the wall next to obscene scribbles by workers). Significantly, when we asked for examples that we could use as illustrations in this book, very few were forthcoming, and those we were offered were generally not representative or compelling when taken alone. Unlike most architects, Siza never creates a neat design sketch constructed on a piece of tracing paper overlaid on a minimised plan outline. What we have is what was created at the time as a by-product of the working process – no more and no less.