"by the muscles of the feet"
a seawall of monitors -
a barrier reef of ripped images -
begs the question of the foot.
A terpsichorean muse is as vital to the study of architecture as to its creation and its meaning; we have that, already, from Philip Johnson's visit to Taliesin West. We heard as much from the caryatids of Athens' Erechtheion, celebrated here, mercifully spared the grisly delectation of Lord Elgin.
We go to great buildings or we absolutely do not know them. And we go, as Philip insisted more than once, on foot. His own dismally unphotogenic Kline building at Yale is proof of that, while one whiff of its environs will illuminate Louis Kahn's Salk, even in the dark. Here, a spiffy embodiment of architectural verities shows what is no more than prudent, in the preparation of the foot for this critical exercise; there, by the same token, a more Orthodox acolyte holds out for an unmediated absorption. It's heartening, to see the principal sustained, the humane vision validated.
Our liberation from the monitor and the motorcar exposes us, then, to the processional experience of the site as well as to the sensitive scale of the edifice. This advantage is felt acutely in the tradition subscribed to by Le Corbusier at Ronchamp and by Johnson repeatedly in his own works, as we shall observe. But the same holds true when terpsichorean values verge on the tactile, as in the texture of façades which may be smoothed or worn with time, as well as those of freshest glossiness and unveiled luminosity. We have, as their example, the reclaimed Carriage Works in Sydney, and the shiny new Federation Square in Melbourne. Traction, too, plays its epistemological part. Now the foot, so wasted at our desktop, acquits itself invaluably.
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