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Late 19th century and early 20th century architecture and industrial design is known for the axiom, "form follows function." I think of the German Bauhaus School when I hear this, but supposedly it can be attributed to American architect Louis Sullivan. Either way, it was meant to represent a functionalist approach to architecture and design, which was, as is often the case, a reaction to what had come before it.
It was Modernist architects eschewing decorative elements or what was referred to at the time as "ornament." If it didn't serve a functional purpose, it was to be removed. Nothing was to be superfluous. And similarly, if the function of something didn't change, there was no need to change its form.
Of course, if it was truly all about function, one could argue that there should have been a great deal of variation in the resulting forms. But instead, the designs that emerged out of schools, such as the Bauhaus, are some of the most recognizable in the world. That is true even to this day.
Which is why I think this is a great line from Witold Rybczynski (taken from a recent post about the book iBauhaus): "It is also a quintessentially Bauhaus example of form follows predetermined aesthetics rather than form follows function." Ouch. The difference here is that Witold obviously isn't a fan of the Bauhaus or of Modernism, whereas this period of time is what inspired me the most as a student of architecture.
Photo by Marina Reich on Unsplash
The work of John Snow is instrumental to the field of epidemiology. In the mid-19th century, during what was the third major outbreak of cholera, he created the following map showing the clusters of cholera cases in London's Soho neighborhood. Stacked rectangles were used to indicate the number of cholera cases in a particular location. This was a major breakthrough for the fight against cholera because, at the time, it wasn't clear what was causing it. According to Wikipedia, there were two main competing theories. There was the miasma theory, which posited that cholera was caused by bad particles in the air. And there was the germ theory, which posited that cholera could be passed along through food and/or water.
If any of you have gone to architecture school (or know someone who went to architecture school), you’ll know that everything revolves around something called studio. Studio – that’s really all you need to say – is worth many multiples of your other classes and consumes an even greater multiple of your time. What time will you be in studio? How’s studio going? I was in studio really late last night. This is how the conversations go.
So I was intrigued by Seth Godin’s post this morning comparing “working in a studio” to working in a factory. The latter, he says, relies on compliance: “More compliance leads to more profits. Do what you’re told, faster and cheaper, repeat.” And this was very much the narrative of the 20th century and was the model that empowered small-town America to thrive (see yesterday’s post).
However, the studio is different. Here is how Godin defines it:
The studio, on the other hand, is about initiative. Creativity, sure, but mostly the initiative to make a new thing, a better thing, a process that leads to better.
It’s peer to peer. The hierarchy is mostly gone, because the tasks can be outsourced. So all that’s left is leadership.
Initiative plus responsibility. Authority is far less important, as are the traditional measures of productivity.
It is not difficult to tell the two apart, which is how Godin ends his post. But it is worth noting that the studio model also thrives in a different kind of geography, compared to the factory model. So not only is the studio itself a different place, it also wants to situate itself in a different kind of place. So in a way, what we are seeing today is the new studio geography.
By mapping the clusters of cases, Snow discovered a concentration of incidents in around the intersection of Broad Street and Cambridge Street (now Lexington Street) where a water pump was located that drew water from the Thames. This led Snow to the conclusion that it was maybe a bad idea to offer up polluted river water as drinking water. And sure enough, when the pump was shut off and residents were directed to other nearby pumps, the incidences of cholera began to decline. The germ theory had proven to be true.
The first time I saw John Snow's map was in architecture school. Perhaps many of you have seen it as well. It is often used to illustrate the potential of visual representations to not only tell a story, but to teach the creator what that story actually is. In hindsight, it may seem obvious that polluted river water is something that we maybe shouldn't drink, but it wasn't at the time. This map helped people understand that. Today, we have far more sophisticated tools available to us, but we still have a lot to learn and we're doing that every day -- particularly during a pandemic.
One other thing worth mentioning is that there are a few exceptions to Snow's findings. Supposedly, many of the workers in a nearby brewery were able to completely avoid the cholera infection during the outbreak by only drinking their own brew. Some say it is because the brewery had its own water source, whereas others say it is because the brewing process -- the water is boiled -- kills the cholera bacteria. Either way, I think the moral of this story is pretty clear: when in doubt, choose beer over water.
Map: Wikipedia
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