To build has to be to build for one like us, we reveal ourselves
in the process of design, our prejudice, our leanings, as much
as we try to think of what would be appropriate, through discussion.
Only that which is living is worthy to be contained, it was said, but what then
of the dam, the elevator service room, the electrical powerplant, the pyramid?
To contain only the living is to devalue that which is needed to support the living
perhaps it is even wrong to think of it as “support”, as it should be valued
for its own being, for its consequences as well as its unfamiliar manifestation.
No-one lives in the roof, but the roof is home to our lights, to our chimneys
and no-one lives in the technical basement, where pumps and servers
buzz on through night and day. Is this not the house? Is this not form?
The site that was only one site reveals a building which longs to be situated
in another place than the white space of the paper. It wants New York
so it claims the Empire State Building, a replica of its art deco interiors.
It wants Tokyo, so it steals the pachinko halls and the bubble massage rooms
and paint them like a cloak over its naked body. It wants London, so it takes
the pubs, the tube and the overstated football arenas. Whatever is a piece
of architecture that we want instead of purity, will be set in a place
that is unlike everything this building has seen before. It is placed
in the Nevada desert, on the Atlantic ocean, on the Persian steppes.
Eventually, it will grow into the entire planet, a point when there is
no more context, only emptiness.
The overarching narrative of the Diamond house is its craving
for difference and similarity; it takes on the same vices and virtues
that we see in ourselves, when we wake up early to a cloudy sky
or when we frown at postmodernism on show in the gallery.
The house wants dirt, it doesn’t know the joy of diving into mud.
The house wants colour, it is tired of its own monochromatics.
The house wants curves, it has seen itself in the concave mirror.
The house wants volume, it has grown scared of its own flatness.
The house wants company, it has lost its friends in the white space.
The house wants partners, it is a swinger in love with a chair.