… use computation, but stop fucking talking about it. Your project isn’t any better because you told me it was scripted from the secret code found in the lost book of the Bible handed to you by your Merovingian great grandmother. Nor because you spent a semester producing the most intricate parametric network ever seen by man, & still ended up with three crumpled potatoes in glossy grey.
(Mark Gage, “Project Mayhem”, Fulcrum, Issue 18, June 2011. Daniel Davis‘ “Quote of the Year 2011”)

For many, the idea of computation in architecture is synonymous with the use of form that is complex in very specific ways. These forms exist in a sweet spot that combines easy description via a parametric method (B-Splines, subdivision, Voronoi methods) with a dynamic graphic perspective image. In some, but not all, of these projects, additional limitations to the form may exist to ensure that the floors can be walked on, and that the structure does not collapse under its own weight. To highlight the formal dynamism, the chosen rendering method usually involves either a monolithic glossy grey appearance that has virtually no analogue in physical reality, or a similarly impossible ghostly transparency.

A great deal of mental energy is spent figuring out the proper way to derive these shapes, but even more is spent developing ways to construct them. Virtually every advanced fabrication project in academic architectural circles is devoted to novel methods to construct forms that are curved in two directions, whether through the digital generation of formwork, novel methods of panelization, curved origami, giant robot hot-wire cutters, or (if you are appropriately old-school) revisiting traditional thin-shell construction methods. These methods typically involve one or more of the following techniques – sophisticated automation, full size templates, or colossal quantities of volunteer hand laborers. Usually it is some combination of all three. More frequently, mock-up is built at a smaller scale, ideally a scale that allows for the actual connection of the members and panels to be made using methods that cannot be used in full scale construction – glue, zip ties, or slot-and-tab joinery. Usually it is a combination of all three.

Now, I have no problem with either of the types of projects mentioned above. Even after overexposure, I find a well-done architecture of complex surfaces to be engaging and thrilling, and display an admirable geometric virtuosity. As a postmodern apologist, I am thrilled at the graphic and media possibilities that some of these projects show. Likewise, assemblage projects are not only cool looking (particularly if they light up) but are an invaluable way to explore the intersection of idea geometry with physical reality.

My concern is that the two kinds of projects listed above – finding ways to design with complex surfaces, and finding ways to build the same – form a feedback loop that absorbs all of the thought and consideration of an academic group. Designing these forms suggests that time be spent figuring out how to construct them. Discovering novel ways to construct complex forms gives further credence to the idea that these forms are the sole future of design. This has become a tautology that we have learned to live with. It is implicitly assumed that you have two choices in engaging design culture – to join this computational circle, or to ignore or reject it.

What this obscures is the infinite other ways that technology could transform or inform architectural design and practice. Communication, interface, interaction, clarification, comparison — non-formal possibilities are everywhere you look. And there is an incredible variety of form available that does not require the use of continuous curves or facets, that are equally amenable to computational description or interrogation. And many of these other possibilities have a much better chance of reaching widespread adoption in the physical world than the status quo, which frequently is difficult to inhabit and more difficult to construct.

If you really pay attention to how projects are currently designed, tease out the grasshopper definition or actually parse the script, you will often find some numbers at the root. These constants and variables are tweaked to get the desired result, frequently without fully understanding how they relate to the generated form (which, in review, will be referred to as “emergent”. A quick note: the word “emergent,” when discussing digital morphogenesis, should imply the use some kind of complex feedback system. Not understanding your grasshopper definition does not make your project “emergent”).

What if, instead of using random inputs to achieve a desired outcome, we instead used meaningful, rigorously collected, verified, and curated data to generate meaningful and truly emergent designs? Computational methods are data hungry, and we currently are very short on architects interested in the front end of computational techniques. Or what if we used computation to change the design environment rather than the design itself? Where are the architects interested in the tools themselves? One teacher I greatly respect describes the architect’s use of technology as being similar to bricolage. We grab whatever is near and figure out the way it fits into a scheme we have already conceived. What if, instead, we examined and altered this technology to reflect the techniques and abilities we would like to see?

Which leads us back to the quote above. The issue with what I would like to see, with treating computation as a context and not as a style, is that the designer is then forced to find meaning for the design that does not reside in the methodology itself. This is incredibly important if architecture is going to engage the outside world, and incredibly difficult if you are not accustomed to thinking about meaning in this way.

This is the point in the op-ed where the author usually acts as a doomsday prophet. I might say something like “the architectural community now has the choice between increasing solipsism and irrelevancy, or a role as an important partner in the creation of the future world.” I’m going to scale that down a bit. Architecture does not exist in a vacuum, nor does its relationship to technology or purpose in the world. The danger is not in architectural practice or design becoming irrelevant; rather, it is individual members of our community that have to make a choice: are you interested in the future, or just its image?