Our columnist Eike Becker is furious about the competition decision for the Museum for the 20th Century and explores the question of how it could have come to this.
When the jury of the Museum for the 20th Century presented the competition decision for the extension a few months ago, I was first horrified and then furious. Herzog & de Meuron were presented to the world public as the winners. A great architectural firm, giants among giants. So far, so good.
But the design takes the form of a dark brown brick meadow tent. This was supposed to be the outstanding intellectual masterpiece among almost 500 bids? A house of art, a primal hut, a colossal break with the great modern tradition of the Kulturforum. The House of St. Nicholas between the Demoiselles d’Avignon and Malevich’s Black Square. How could this happen?
In this context, I am not interested in issues such as affinities between jury members and competition participants (jurors tend to vote their friends into first place). I am also not interested in the cynicism with which almost 500 other architecture firms were fooled into believing they had a real chance (which is why I did not take part in the competition). Nor am I interested in the people involved. What interests me are the structures that lead to these monumental designs – this example is representative of many other competitions throughout the country.
No matter how experienced a group of jurors may be, selecting from a field of 20 designs is a challenging, confusing task. I know this only too well from my own experience. The first aim of a jury is therefore to simplify the process by sorting out. According to the principle: I quickly know what I don’t want, but not yet what I do want.
Simple, rustic concepts that take fewer risks are easier. They offer little scope for attack and get through this phase better. Rational concepts that can be deduced and explained are more likely to gain consensus. Similar to soccer betting, a 1-0 is much more likely than a 4-3. Clear and simple bets are like the headlines of tabloid newspapers – immediately understandable. Or to put it another way: already familiar archetypes are like pop songs from the 70s. Everyone can hum along.
Architectural themes, such as the illustration of carrying and bearing loads, visible on the façade or in the room, continue to discipline and also offer recognition value. And without narrative, it is not possible today: new buildings can look like an old industrial building or a historic office building from the 1920s, 1930s or 1950s. After all, we live in post-modern times. This narrows the architectural possibilities down to the subtle differences – to the details. Whoever moves first has lost.
Monumentalism
All these demands lead to firm, clear, unambiguous, hard, angular buildings – to simplification and monumentalism. References to history are more important than inventing new forms. When things become confusing, the longing for simple solutions increases. Organizational openness and formal diversity are then no longer in demand. All too often, therefore, designs are awarded prizes that counter the confusion of the world with a heavy, solid fortress. In the process, however, curiosity and cheerfulness, sensuality and modernity are lost – cynicism takes their place. This is why many new buildings in Hamburg, Frankfurt, Berlin or Munich look so affirmative, populist, retrospective and monumental instead of forward-looking, confident and inventive.
Architectural decisions are always also social decisions. It is important not to be forced onto the defensive and to respond to isolation, nostalgia and despondency with openness, curiosity and courage.












