All social life is essentially practical. All mysteries which lead theory to mysticism find their rational solution in human practice and in the comprehension of this practice.[1]
Contemporary discussions regarding the education of the architect often morph into debates about the role of practice within academia and the form that practice assumes in relation to the indeterminant technical, cultural, and sociopolitical demands continuously challenging antecedent pedagogical conventions. If Karl Marx’s claim that “all social life is essentially practical” is extended to academia, then those involved in architectural education will recall the critical banter and ideological rifts between practice and pedagogy that have been the focus of countless journal issues, conferences, and institutional debates.
Even though the concepts and mechanics of practice—or architectural education, for that matter—should constitute obvious topics of architectural historiography, their entry into the discourse was relatively slow. Among the books that gradually elevated the study of practice into a legitimate form of scholarly inquiry are, in the English-language world, Spiro Kostof’s The Architect: Chapters in the History of the Profession (1997) and Dana Cuff’s Architecture: The Story of Practice (1991). During the theoretical wave of the 1990s, stable notions of academia, practice, and their interrelationship were questioned—or even deconstructed—by building on the critique of professionalization as a rather limited understanding of practice. Magali Sarfatti Larson, in particular, contributed to the critical reassessment of practice from the perspective of social and cultural studies, mostly through her books The Rise of Professionalism: A Sociological Analysis (1977) and Behind the Postmodern Facade: Architectural Change in Late Twentieth-Century America (1993). In 1996, William Saunders edited a volume titled Reflection on Architectural Practices in the Nineties, which tried to destabilize the notion of practice even further, including through an essay by Rem Koolhaas, who makes the case that the internationalization of practice is indeed one of the most precious tenets of the profession today—though, for him, the excitement is purely opportunistic, an effect of the period’s unprecedented expansion of global capitalism and neoliberalism.
By the end of the decade, authors like Francesca Hughes had turned to feminist theory and identity formation as a foundation for the expanded field of practice, including in her edited book The Architect: Reconstructing Her Practice (1998). By the beginning of the 2000s, authors such as Jonathan Hill were drawing on the theories of critics such as Peter Bürger, who argued that the institution of art is much wider than its constituent parts. Likewise, architecture is much bigger and more encompassing than its narrowly defined professional institutions. In Hill’s case, that meant a direct critique of the Royal Institute of British Architects (RIBA) in projects such as The Illegal Architect (2000), which questions the narrow definition of the profession as a byproduct of national markets, accreditation, and licensure.
While this abbreviated arc is limited—it relies purely on Western, English-speaking scholarship—it starts to paint a picture of the evolving relationship between academia and practice and how historiography might see practice as its object of study. In particular, it suggests that the internationalization of the discipline has only been accelerated by the global crises and challenges of the last few years. Our own moment is further complicated by the evolving context of “social life,” which has been continually expanded through new forms of social, environmental, and cultural change. Meeting this moment will require an even closer examination of the relationship between academia and practice.
Notwithstanding the importance of building design for the education of architects, this issue of AR seeks to expand the notion of practice of architecture as a whole beyond the static coursework, the legislative and curricular diagrams, by embracing the diversity and creative potential of our world—in particular, that of our students as they seek to define their vision and place within the multifarious practice(s) of architecture. In the context of escalating wars, the anthropogenic climate crisis, and social inequalities worldwide, we cannot but wonder: What does it mean for academia to be practical today? What does it mean to enact—using languages, values, and visions that are not immediately our own—new forms of design research and practice that originate along the edges of dominant pedagogical discourses?
AR 5 presents a suite of papers and projects that broadly address this debate, aiming to engage the questions that are both existential and speculative, literal and metaphorical, local and global. Namely, what is the role of practice—and what form does it take—within schools of architecture? How are manifold forms of knowledge situated within contemporary curricula, and what are those forms? How does history speak to the curricular changes necessary for an architect—and architecture—to find relevance in a seemingly entropic, anarchic milieu?
Straddling all these questions is a series of essays that provide openings into new discourses from various geographies and angles, suggesting that the most cogent dialectic between academia and practice today is perhaps that of planetary thinking and the ensuing global solidarities it creates.
The work of the Polish-born artist Miron Tee frames these conversations through layered annotations and media interventions—a type of art that seeks to legitimate itself not through a particular aesthetic but as a form of real-life poetry that encompasses notes, photographs, and descriptive geometry. This form of self-reflection is somewhat familiar—Eastern European in its directness—while still seeming different and refreshing to the Western reader.
I am deeply grateful to be a part of the AR community through this issue of the journal. The relevance of this edition’s subject is beyond question, and, as I spent my childhood in Belgrade when both Serbia and Slovenia were part of the former Yugoslavia, serving as guest editor for this edition has been a sort of homecoming — a platform for reflection and reconnection. Thanks to the collaborative efforts of AR’s team of editors, designers, and managers, we have made this issue a beautiful reality.
Since I began with Marx, it is probably only appropriate to end with Slavoj Žižek. In a recent “Planetary Conversation” with Giovanbattista Tusa, Žižek reflected on the idea of “unsustainability,” or the paradoxicality of our own world and the demise of its future. In particular, he distinguished between two models of the future: one that envisions it as a progressivist extension of the present—the same things happening over and over again—the other positing that new things are yet to come (avenir in French). “All great plans for different futures necessarily turn into their opposites,” Žižek said, suggesting instead a more open and innovative version of a global, planetary futurism that questions the very norms and standards of the present.[2] Here, too, in this issue of AR, we seek to explore an open-ended dialectic that is tethered midway between academia and practice, using the fragmentary pedagogy of the present to suggest how we might practice in the evolving world of tomorrow.