Up, Up and Away from All of Our Problems

 

Rem Koolhaus' description of the metropolis in “Culture of Congestion” is fascinating to me. Manhattan, to him, showcases an “ecstasy about architecture,” the result of human fantasy. He paints a picture of an “accumulation of privacies,” a multitude of bubbles so close that they could be touching, keeping its inhabitants far from one another. The building, the bubble, is a shell, an external form that disguises the activities within. The interior is a mess of programs climbing on top of one another with no concern for practicality. The image seems as if it is a story from Calvino’s “Invisible Cities,” but everything he describes is real.

A glimpse into what might be a crack in this fantastical way of life is Koolhaus’ description of the elevator. The further the elevator travels upward, the more undesirable the circumstances it leaves behind. This observation brings to light a harsh reality of this new way of living. What is the relationship to the ground, to the people? Is it truly desirable to live in a world where all program is hidden in towering forms, sweeping residents up and away from the rest of the city?

In a way, this is what quarantine has done to us as well. We live in an “accumulation of privacies,” separated from our peers in a bubble of digital isolation. Nature is replaced by clouds, and we can’t worry about what is happening in our streets if we cannot see them.