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Architecture & Silence

  • chillsarchitecture
  • Jan 18, 2015
  • 7 min read

A summary of notes from a lecture experience with Philip Kennicott

7:30pm, Monday, December 29th, 2014 Broadway Ballroom, Nashville, TN AIAS Forum Conference 2014

As UT Knoxville College of Architecture and Design Dean, Scott Poole, mapped out the career of Kennicott in a honorable introduction, the Washington Post architectural critic was hastily making his way to the stage in front of a crowd of hundreds of architecture students. The ballroom was lit dimly by large chandeliers, grand ceilings spanning thirty feet, and had fallen to tiny chatters and whispers as Kennicott assumed his position at the podium. As he met the microphone, he welcomed the crowd with a brief personal appreciation of architecture, and he hurried to share that he had become overwhelmed specifically with appreciating silence in architecture. With a punch, he asserted, “Architecture and Silence”, in a manner that encased the two words with intrigue.

With his speedy pace and pleasant tone, he indulged himself first in a metaphor that illustrated the meaning of his lecture header. “The Quiet Car”, he explained, is a place he values greatly; a place where he can be alone in a crowd, silent in a scene of chaos, and meditative in an array of movement. The “Quiet Car” is a car on the subway system of DC in which a strict enforcement of silence provides an enjoyable ride to work for many residents. In this car, the travelers enforce the rules of appropriate volume, a characteristic that demonstrates the respect and value the citizens have for the space. Music is listened to quietly in headphones, books are read, window watchers enjoy the passing views, partners chatter in an undecipherable whisper, and cell phones are silenced and almost entirely ignored. He shared that the value and success of the “Quiet Car” is explained by a deep, human enjoyment to disengage. “Some people think that noise is a marker of social success - an active component or a sign of enjoyment. But we see that the desire for silence, especially in urban spaces, is growing.”

As Kennicott continued, he paused and made a notion to the ceiling. “Think of the stars”, he uttered. “People look to the stars for placement, understanding of human size, self evaluation, and the ephemeral.” He provided that silence can offer the same emotions and powers - "Silence is a power.“ He rendered the idea that silence is God’s symphony. Just the way blank space functions, voids function, and darkness functions, the absence of sound functions. It is a tool. Kennicott asked the audience to recall the unorthodox composition "4:33” by composer John Cage, a piece that consists entirely of complete and utter silence, lasting four minutes and thirty-three seconds, as the title suggests. The piece is a brilliant enlightenment to the foundation behind Kennicott’s idea that silence is an impressive and dynamic power. "It cannot be productive. It cannot be profitable", he explains. “The silence simply is.”

In modern society, the absence of noise offers escape from endless, overwhelming advertisement, masses of tangled voices and conversation, unsettling political debate and alarming news headlines, blaring music, car horns, traffic rumbles, deafening construction. Silence seems to act as a promise of peace and liberation. So why then does silence make us uncomfortable?

Silence is oftened viewed as authoritarian or a dense, burdening mass. Maintaining silence may force us to act in hesitation, reluctant to utter a sound, tip-toeing and timid. There are historical precedents of government enforced silence, cities fitted strategically with signs reading “Silence is Distinguished”, imposing the law on an ambivalent population. But today, we deal with much different sources of noise pollution - infinite and inescapable industrial noise. If we can recognize that we have a human right to silence, how then can we provide this silence in modern urban settings? And how can we provide a “Quiet Car” setting - one that yearns for and self-motivates silence, rather than enforces quiet on a tense audience? "Sound imperialism" Kennicott notes, in manner of response. “Silence is a prominent environmental component.” When silence can be organically arranged, we see that people make efforts to attain and inhabit it. We see this in the popular use of headphones, a newly adopted and affordable administer of privacy and social departure, what Kennicott terms a “sonic bubble”.

“Just like silence can be a fundamental quality of space, architecture can be enormously successful by being supernaturally empty.” It is a burdening stigma to yield a space failed due to the idea of silence and emptiness as unprofitable. Kennicott notes that architects should learn to reconsider ideas of space. Emptiness shall not suggest death, but peace. It shall not suggest absence, but rather presence. He then introduced Walt Whitman’s poem, "Song of Myself", and shared Whitman’s poetic suggestion of silence; “The sound of the belch’d words of my voice, words loos’d to the eddies of the wind”. Turning our attention to the scene of a museum display, Kennicott then urged us to realize how we render the success of art. When surrounded by a quieted crowd, silence is a suggestion that the art is successful at provoking thought and emotion. Therefore, humans can see that silence is not loneliness or failure.

Emptiness is also not an indicator of loneliness or spatial failure. Here, Kennicott began to criticize the way contemporary architects use terminology such as “activate space” to illlustrate success. He compeled the audience to imagine how “de-activating space” can render equally succesful, if not moreso successful architecture. Supporting this statement, he moved to an illustration of a crowded plane, arguing that the notion of allowing cell phones on planes would be a terrifying theft of the “Quiet Car” ideal - people blabbering and arguing, ranting or chatting all around the plane, intruding on privacy and naps and meals and silence. What makes the window-seat such a retreat for us on planes? It is as far from the commotion of the aisle, as far isolated as one can be on a row of seats. The window allows for mental escape from the activity inside the plane, and with the assistance of a pillow and headphones, it can provide the desired ability to disconnect.

“Humans migrate towards and value the ‘edge’ spaces, the quiet and confined garden spaces within urban environments. In large mall zones, people don’t gather in the large spaces - they gather in the arcades.” This particular idea brought to mind the social deviation of a person sitting in the middle of a large room to read a book. It seems unsettling or unnatural. I imagined the bustle of a coffee shop, with all the social interaction of conversation and laughter and movement happening in the open zones of space. Where are the readers, the loners, the studiers, the sketchers, the music-listeners, and writers? People in pursuit of quiet, personal activity remove themselves from the open spaces and nestle in the esoteric corners and the edges to retreat. It seems daunting or frightening to sit on a crowded city street and attempt to revel in a book. Instead, someone wishing to read would seek the isolated, quiet park bench, and find that physical disconnection provides the most spiriutally indulgence. Kennicott calls this space “fourth place”, a place that is already existent, but rarely utilized because of designer’s habit of deeming it failed space and removing its ability to best exist.

In researching sociology, psychology, and spatial value, designers would benefit from the realization that society truly values this “fourth space”. Although often unnoticed, humans yearn for space to be alone, to be still, to watch and admire, and reflect on the active space around them. They yearn to feel independently existent. Public spaces where masses of activity happen may not always be the most impacting, effective, succesful spaces. “Don’t just look at space - listen to it”, Kennicott exhorted. He asked the audience to learn to admire the quality of break-off spaces. “These spaces act as decompression chambers, and can be remarkable and emotionally rewarding”. In these spaces, at an appropriate distance from movement, humans are liberated with the ability to disconnect from, respect, and admire the active places.

I caught every word I could, and paused to savor the message of silence. The whole audience at that moment seemed to become suddenly aware and appreciative of the silence in the immense, yet muted ballroom. Kennicott began again on a delicate vision of silence amidst action. “Dream of the beauty of Central Park in the spring-time.” I imagined the passing faces, the runners, the dog-walkers, the children, and the city quietly rumbling in the sonic distance. “Crawl into a silent bubble, a shield to the sound, but transparent to the vision of what is around you. Imagine how remarkably powerful the experience would be - the impact of the space inside the bubble would be spiritual and immensely beautiful”.

As his pace slowed and lecture met its conclusion, he called us once more to listen to the world, and search for presence of silence. "Listen for what nature and humanity desire of space.“ Silence is divine. Silence is necessary and valuable. "Listen to space, and as an architectural ethic, do not be frightened by remains of silence. Empower these spaces. De-activate. Retreat. Reflect.”

As Kennicott moved off the stage and the audience rose to applause, a film-like vision crossed my mind. I thought of the cinematic use of silence in a city, as the director allows the audience to inhabit the mind of the protagonist as he walks humbly down a bustling street in the shadows of enormous skyscrapers and the motion of swelling traffic. In these scenes, a sense of spirituality envelops the audience as a peaceful symphony drowns out the sound of the city, allowing for retreat from the activity, while still being entirely present in the action of it. These scenes are often a moment of clarity and resolve in the film, and I felt as though this was exactly the concept of silence that Kennicott was urging architecture to generate. Just as silence provides spirituality to humans, architecture must provide silence for humanity. It’s an unwritten human right and a divine partner of design.

Thank you for reading.

 
 
 

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ALISHA BURKMAN, 

ARCHITECTURAL DESIGNER

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