8 Pulp Architecture & Frank Heron
Pulp Architecture was only a distant dream when it encountered Mr Frank Heron. It was one of those fine cloudless days in Barcelona when even Antonio Gaudi had been forgiven his anxieties. No aeroplane was invading space, no intention of turning the world into a video game had been thought about. The world was still on remote control. There was a decade left to get things right before the end of the 20th century.
That of course was soon to change.
Wandering around the plaza of wind, someway back from the leading pack led by one Frank or another, two smaller figures walked. One dressed in white, the other in black. Mr Frank Heron was in white, Mr Heron Frank was in black.
Mr. Heron could have been mistaken for a Tunisian tailor of some repute now living in Paris. Glancing up at a construction that looked like a needle had penetrated a doughnut, Mr Heron turned to Mr Frank: “What do we have here?”
Mr Heron usually kept all his questions to himself but this time, amongst the world’s leading architects, he could not resist himself. There was no real response, though certainly enough of a little chuckle from Mr Frank for Mr Heron to continue.
“Ground Control to Major Tom, is what I think we have here.”
“Certainly!” Mr Heron responded, and the smile stretched across the floor of the plaza of wind just as kerosene would have spread. Then up the needle tower went the smile until it reached the doughnut. And there grinning from the world’s biggest doughnut was the future of architecture.
Only no one recognised it for what it was at that time. No one thought it pulp, no one imagined the chaos of the world turned into a video game, and no one thought architects could play hardball as much as they would do when the century was out.
Just to give you a clue to the future at that moment. Frank Koolhaas and Frank Herzog were not smiling from the biggest doughnut in the world. They were at the Bernabou, watching Barca once again show the world how to play football. Led by a dutch coach, players like Bergkamp, Kohman, De Boer and De Boer showed ground control like no other.
Certainly their circuits weren’t dead and these footballers like the architects had twelve years to rule the world before the video game took over.
That of course was soon to change.
Wandering around the plaza of wind, someway back from the leading pack led by one Frank or another, two smaller figures walked. One dressed in white, the other in black. Mr Frank Heron was in white, Mr Heron Frank was in black.
Mr. Heron could have been mistaken for a Tunisian tailor of some repute now living in Paris. Glancing up at a construction that looked like a needle had penetrated a doughnut, Mr Heron turned to Mr Frank: “What do we have here?”
Mr Heron usually kept all his questions to himself but this time, amongst the world’s leading architects, he could not resist himself. There was no real response, though certainly enough of a little chuckle from Mr Frank for Mr Heron to continue.
“Ground Control to Major Tom, is what I think we have here.”
“Certainly!” Mr Heron responded, and the smile stretched across the floor of the plaza of wind just as kerosene would have spread. Then up the needle tower went the smile until it reached the doughnut. And there grinning from the world’s biggest doughnut was the future of architecture.
Only no one recognised it for what it was at that time. No one thought it pulp, no one imagined the chaos of the world turned into a video game, and no one thought architects could play hardball as much as they would do when the century was out.
Just to give you a clue to the future at that moment. Frank Koolhaas and Frank Herzog were not smiling from the biggest doughnut in the world. They were at the Bernabou, watching Barca once again show the world how to play football. Led by a dutch coach, players like Bergkamp, Kohman, De Boer and De Boer showed ground control like no other.
Certainly their circuits weren’t dead and these footballers like the architects had twelve years to rule the world before the video game took over.
posted by frank heron at 5:18 AM
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