Haxted Thinking No. 3 / November 2020
Haxted Thinking is a monthly newsletter for anyone interested in how buildings are designed, made and used.
Edition No. 3: November 2020
Firstly many thanks to all of you who have recently signed up to receive Haxted Thinking. Thanks to Pete the wizard, back issues of the newsletter are now accessible via the website here.
This edition of the newsletter was going to be dedicated to that most ubiquitous of building materials, concrete. And in particular brutalism, which is a heavy subject at the best of times. But with enough heavy stuff going in the world right now I want to provide an antidote to the heaviness. So instead we’ll focus on less weighty and more uplifting matters this month. Edition 3 is a call to arms for curiosity – a subject close to my heart and one that I explored in my 2014 Do Lectures talk. What follows is a bit of a smorgasbord of stuff loosely connected to the process of making buildings. And there will be guitar. Lots of guitar. In terms of brutalism you can make do with the image below for now.
Chasing The Light
When I studied for my photography degree at Goldsmiths back in 2014-2016 I developed a great friendship with a young Spanish photographer and travel entrepreneur, Nacho Piqueras. In his critique after my very first presentation of a set of images to class he said “you are chasing the light.” Initially I was bemused. The imposter syndrome standing in that classroom was bad enough, and now I had to contend with not knowing whether the comment was positive or negative. “You shoot into the light” he said. “You are searching for something. It is good.” I loved our two years together. He became a great critic and mentor. We did a lot of research into the spatial and photographic qualities of Deptford and New Cross’s bewildering variety of watering holes. I’ll put a link to Nacho’s photographic work in a future newsletter when he gets his website sorted. In the meantime you’ll find him here on Instagram.
Nacho’s words had a profound effect. For the next two years I came back to them time and time again. Why did his words resonate so deeply? The conclusion I came to was that this searching, this ‘chasing the light’ was an essential ingredient for productive creativity. In my case it lead to all sorts of helpful discoveries in the adjacent disciplines of architecture, archaeology, anthropology, geography, and not least philosophy. Which proved to be a wonderful antidote to decades of having been told that the most successful people ‘stay in their lane,’ to ‘master their niche,’ and should ‘specialise.’ This notion always seemed suspect to me, and still does. It’s a subject dealt with brilliantly by David Epstein in his book Range which I highly recommend. I believe that the most interesting approach to life and work provides room for all kinds of wanderings, and enquiry. The king of British fashion Sir Paul Smith said:
“If you can’t find inspiration everywhere then you’re not looking hard enough.”
A thousand times yes, Sir. This thinking also provided confirmation of the hypothesis I considered in my Do Lectures talk, namely that actively exercising curiosity leads to greater inspiration which in turn leads to more creativity. And this enhances our prospects for living fully. Furthermore in pushing ourselves into new or hitherto unexplored creative endeavours we are called upon to ask questions of ourselves, often difficult ones. And we are invited to reflect on our innermost vulnerabilities. Which is good. The supreme creator David Bowie put it like this:
“If you feel safe in the area you’re working in, you’re not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you’re capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”
Here he is in a short extract from an interview where he also gives some brilliant advice to young artists.
We’re drifting off-piste. So anyway back to Chasing the Light. This also happens to be the title of part one of Oliver Stone’s brilliant new autobiography which I read this month. I thoroughly recommend it. It’s about making a dream a reality at all costs, even when there is no money. It’s about success and failure and the hubris that comes before a fall. And like all of the very best autobiographies it is really about the philosophy of the journey. And the thing about directing and producing a film is that it's really similar to making a building. First you need a strong idea, one that you believe other people will believe in. Second you need the resilience to persevere with it when all around you are telling you you’re crackers. Often over a period of many years. Third, and for me the hardest part, is that you have to raise obscene amounts of money, usually from strangers. Fourth you need to assemble and lead a team of enormously diverse talent, much of it precious and prone to wild mood swings. Fifth you need to need to keep the faith when all around are losing theirs, and sixth, when it is eventually released you have to let it go, like a child that’s come of age, it’s not yours anymore. And you have to let it go however much you fear for it.
Directing a development project really is like directing a film. I think one of the best bits of advice I’ve ever come across for how to ensure the team shine was from Robert Altman:
“The role of the director is to create a space where the actresses and actors can become more than they have ever been before, more than they have ever dreamed of being.”
So that’s what we try to do. Create the space for the magic to happen and let the actors and actresses make it.
In a similar vein the longstanding conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, the amazing Ben Zander, talks about looking for ‘shining eyes’ in his players. To get the best performance he says you have to create the space where their eyes are shining. And if they are not you have to ask the question “who am I being that their eyes are not shining.” What a wonderful exhortation for any leader. The point Zander goes on to make is truly brilliant:
“The conductor doesn’t make a sound. He depends for his power on his ability to make other people powerful; on his ability to awaken possibility in other people.”
It was this discovery, this realisation, that changed his fortunes and moved him and Boston Philharmonic into the pantheon of truly great performers.
“My job is to remind the orchestra what the rhythm of transformation is because the rhythm of transformation is lighter, brighter and faster than the rhythm of exhortation or blame ….you should, you must, you need…”
So get out there, chase the light, and get their eyes shining.