Interview with Alberto Kalache

Publisher
Petr Šmídek
19.03.2018 08:15
Czech Republic

Liberec

Alberto Kalach

The Regional Gallery of Liberec is hosting an exhibition “Alberto Kalach: Master of Mexican Architecture“ from March to June, curated by architect Zdeněk Fránek. On the occasion of the opening and lecture, archiweb.cz had the opportunity to ask this leading contemporary Mexican architect a few questions. The interview took place on March 13, 2018, at 15:00 in the restaurant of the Imperial Hotel.
Your arrival in the Czech Republic last year was prevented by a natural disaster, as you had to stay in Mexico City and assist with the city's recovery after the earthquake. How significantly does an earthquake influence architectural creation and life in Mexico in general?
Earthquakes are a common phenomenon in Mexico, but what occurred on September 19, 2017, had an unusually strong magnitude (7.2 on the Richter scale and 350 casualties - editor's note) and something very strange happened at the same time, as the last major earthquake in Mexico City occurred exactly on the same day (September 19, 1985, 8.0 on the Richter scale and over 5000 casualties - editor's note). Since then, we regularly practice evacuation on that day. Also, last year, there were trial evacuations at schools and workplaces that we also participated in. An hour and a half later, the earthquake hit hard. We all thought it was some kind of joke. Surely, it's not possible that thirty years after a strong earthquake, another disaster would strike on the same day. In 1985, when I was just starting with architecture, I didn’t yet have any houses, but this time I feared not only for my relatives but also for the inhabitants of the buildings I have constructed since then. So I began to gradually visit my projects to check if they had suffered any damage. People themselves didn’t know whether it was safe to stay in them. It was a traumatic experience. Many buildings collapsed. Not as many as thirty years ago, thanks to the new stricter building codes, but the Earth is a Terra incognita (Latin for 'unknown land' - editor's note).

This invites comparison between standards and regulations in Europe and Mexico. Unlike Central European architecture tied to regulations and woven with technologies, designing in the mild climate of Mexico allows one to focus on different aspects of architecture than we do here.
Our codes are more focused on earthquake protection, so we have to concentrate on construction. Thus, when we design a good earthquake-resistant structure, it also holds up well against potential fires.

Could it be said that structures determine the shape of your projects?

Next to this, my main interest is also gardens. Vegetation helps ensure that the structures are not too aggressive.

I first learned about your work in connection with the José Vasconcelos Library, which looked like a giant shelf or rather like a machine. Since then, I've noticed that nature plays an increasingly prominent role, as evidenced by your studio being engulfed in greenery. Did you previously perceive architecture as something technical, whereas today you see it more as a component of the environment?
Landscape architecture and gardening have interested me from the beginning, but back then I had very little experience. Over time and with each project, it has improved. Now I know far more plants than I did in my youth. It is similar to friendships. You have to get to know them and spend some time learning about them.

Living organisms also require greater ongoing care, whereas once you finish a house, it can stand on its own for decades without the need for maintenance.
We too had to go through this period. Trees left us after a few years, but today we know well what plants to plant in a specific environment.

Recently, there has been more talk about Mexican architecture on the international stage than ever before. Is this just an impression, or is there currently some momentum in Central and South America?
Recently, we have seen significant progress not only in Mexican architecture but also in Czech, French, or Japanese architecture, which has been caused by population growth in the second half of the last century. In the 1950s, there was a shortage of architects, but today young architects are creating an enormous number of proposals to improve homes and cities. I believe this architectural boom can be traced worldwide. Our profession has become fashionable. Schools of architecture are therefore full of students.

Frank Lloyd Wright drew inspiration for his designs of California homes from Aztec cultures. Many significant Mexican architects are now teaching and building in the western USA. What is the general relationship between the two architectural communities? Can it be perceived in connection with the wall currently being proposed between the two countries?

First, it is important to properly understand these current borders, which are artificially created by humans. One hundred and fifty years ago, California belonged to Mexico, which we were deprived of by Americans during the war. California, Texas, and other large states were once part of Mexico. The borders between countries change, but the climate environment unites us. California has a similarly mild climate, and there isn’t much difference in designing houses. The local building codes can be quickly learned.

It is good to know the history of a place and not to take artificially created borders too seriously.
But let’s not only look to history. What should play a much more important role for architects is geography.

Your capital is twice the size of our entire republic. How can sustainable development and functioning of such a large mega-city like Mexico City be planned? I know that historically you have expressed critical views regarding the lack of planning and the state of technical infrastructure.
It is possible to come up with new plans, but it is almost impossible to subsequently implement them. To create a project, one needs sufficient imagination and knowledge, but for its subsequent realization, it is essential that society thinks similarly, which is nearly impossible in today’s diversified Mexico. There is an extremely rich minority opposed to an extremely poor majority. This highlights the dilemma of today's Mexico in its further urban planning.

My next question relates to the division of Mexican society. Luis Barragán was an aristocrat in every sense. The generosity of his buildings shows that he did not acknowledge social issues in architecture. With your family home costing $5,000, you demonstrate that you are concerned about affordable housing challenges.
At the architecture school Universidad Iberoamericana, I had an excellent teacher from Morocco who had lived in Mexico all his life. His name was José María Buendía Julbez, and he initiated me into Barragán’s buildings. He also wrote a book on his work. Once he took me to Barragán’s house and showed me the narrow spiral staircase for the staff and other small rooms for personnel. In doing so, he answered the question you just asked. Barragán was certainly not a bad person, but he lived in his own world and social issues did not touch him. After visiting Barragán's house, Buendía told me that architects in the 20th century should pay more attention to social problems. In the past, architects built gardens and palaces for monarchs, but today's architects should serve ordinary people. He repeated this idea often, and I try to follow my professor’s recommendation.

Now you mentioned your Moroccan teacher. However, you also studied at Cornell University, where Richard Meier and Peter Eisenman graduated. Why did you choose a school from the Ivy League? What did it contribute to your professional beginnings?
When I finished my studies at Universidad Iberoamericana, the economy in Mexico was stagnant, and there was not much work. Thus, an opportunity arose to go abroad and continue studying for another two years. My friend Enrique Norten (founder of TEN Arquitectos and a Cornell University alumnus from 1980 - editor's note) advised me to study at Cornell. Initially, I thought he was joking, wanting me to go to a thirty-thousand-person town with very cold winters. In the end, it turned out to be the right choice, as I started to become more disciplined. I went to the building, which many years later was unfortunately expanded by Rem Koolhaas. At that time, Cornell boasted one of the best libraries focused on the fine arts. Because there were piles of snow outside, I became trapped in the library (the three-story Andrew Dickson White Library with florally decorated metal shelves was built in 1900 - editor's note), where I gained immense experience.

In last year's interview for the magazine Intro, you revealed your knowledge of Czech composers, writers, and playwrights. Is Czech culture somehow close to you, or do you have similar cultural knowledge of many other countries?
An architect should have as broad knowledge as possible or at least strive for it. The books of Milan Kundera opened the door for me to other Czech artists he mentions in his texts. A good book leads one to another, and this should continue indefinitely.

And could a similar continuity be found in your buildings?
That is possible, but I do not closely monitor my own footprint. An analysis should probably be conducted by someone else who can take a step back. Instead of looking back, I look forward.
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