15 Practice (in Theory)

Maybe criticism is too strong a word for how MALarch played out. Biweekly certainly was.¹ MALarch started as a biweekly journal of criticism, but has, in practice, been an occasional journal of architectural writing. Criticism springs up often (as does its abstracted cousin, Theory), but it does not characterize this body as a whole. Reflections, inscriptions, observations — all suggest better anthological typifications since their ambiguities unencumber the writing of specific goals. This freedom allows variety beyond the architecturally critical, and MALarch's entries tackled a range of subjects through numerous lenses as a result. Without a set agenda, however, other constants inevitably emerge to bind the thoughts: guidelines, unfinished musings, partially incorporated post-rationalizations, understandings found only during reading, so on and so forth. So what lens will this entry take to the collection of its predecessors?

¹To be clear, biweekly is fortnightly, not twice a week. That would be a much larger and exhausting tome.

As occasional suggests (and fortnightly enforces), all work has a relation with time. From its initial manifesto, MALarch has taken on an array of forms and foci, but most concentrate on different ways to pass time (or at least relate somehow to time's passage). This temporal motif grew as MALarch progressed, but its ubiquity comes not through deliberate writing. Time is a subconscious byproduct, an overarching fascination, and it balances the spatial focus of MALarch's entries. Architectural ideas, buildings, cities, exhibitions and publications — all spatially derivative — comprise the intended subjects of MALarch. The object produced, however, plots these spaces against each other through their disparate temporal reconciliations. The differences in the ancient ruins of Templo Mayor, Palmyra and Koh Ker stem not necessarily from their approaches to architecture, but how their architectures traverse time. Likewise, contemporary capitalist conditions reconcile the histories they continue by neglecting them, rehabilitating them, corrupting them or starting anew. Spatial endeavours provide the basis for temporal ramifications. Like its subjects, MALarch started with space, but became about time.

Let us chart pathways through this chronological conundrum by simplifying it to two axes: duration and derivation.^A Duration maps a work's lifespan, be it an ancient monument or a temporary gallery. Works fall variously between the eternal and the ephemeral. Some endure. Others elapse. Derivation — meaning the rate of change (like taking a derivative, but also like deriving a new idea from an existing one, or even dériving off one's course into lengthy em-dashed parentheticals) — plots out to what degree the work is open. After its initial manifestation, a work faces any number of alterations. At the poles of this axis, immutable works write their words in stone while improvisational works incorporate anything at all. Where the two axes cross, works are equivocal about existence and indifferent to change. Plotting entries 0 – 15 onto this field requires some degree of flexibility; for instance the model is simplistic, and entries are not limited to a single point on the chart. Rather than add more dimensions to account for these variables, the chart can incorporate this squishiness in its making. After plotting each entry to a unique point where it debatably belongs, the points inflate, deforming as they push into each other and fill the limits of the chart.² Boundaries arise not from specific delineations, but from arbitrary collisions. When the simulation has run its course, the blob-entries reveal the sought-after pathways through time.

^A

The sixteen entries mapped out in two temporal dimensions: duration and derivation. Up is ephemeral; down is eternal. Left is immutable; right is improvisational. Collage by author.

² The chart's far reaches, where its extreme labels lie, mark the manifesto (lower left) and this entry (upper right).

Architects are famously bad writers. At best MALarch might be an exception that proves the rule (if I may deem my writing not bad). Its highly structured, often esoteric style favors poetic devices like rhythms and assonances in situations that hinder the text's rhetorical clarity. The writing strives to be more than literary — though it can never fully spatialize, it can emulate aesthetic principles that architecture and its related media employ. It is a translation of building into writing, an attempt to convey the subjects discussed in some way beyond the strictly narrative account of an essay. Experimenting with this approach creates some compelling entries where the form bolsters the concept, but not every story has a happy ending.

Speaking of endings, thank you for reading MALarch. Until next time, whenever (and however) that may be.