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Idea Transcript


The land of Colour LA TIERRA DEL COLOR

Jonathan Glancey Graduate in Philosophy, Politics and Economics, Oxford University _ Honorary Fellow of the Royal Institute of British Architects _ Biennale Books principal author and editor. Critic, journalist and broadcaster _ He writes for the Daily Telegraph, L’Architecture d’Aujourd’hui, the Architectural Review and Architectural Digest. Graduado en Filosofía, Política y Economía, Universidad de Oxford _ Miembro Honorario del Royal Institute of British Architects _ autor y editor principal de BiennaleBooks _ Crítico, periodista y presentador _ Escribe para el Daily Telegraph, L’Architecture d’Aujourd’hui, The Architectural Review y el Architectural Digest.

The exterior materiality and colours of the Brandhorst Museum lends the building a unique physical presence, capturing and absorbing the traffic noise. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton Photograph: Sauerbruch Hutton © Sauerbruch Hutton.

White is the colour of purity. It is also

as assistant editor for the Architec-

the colour of a blank canvas. It is hardly

tural Review in London, I came across

surprising, then, that architects of the

a drawer of glass photographic plates

early Modern Movement were drawn

wrapped in paper that appeared to have

to white. It seemed as if they wanted to

been left unfiled. One of these was the

scrub away layers of accreted colours

classic image of New Farm, a Cubist

from an era, and an architecture, they

house in Grayswood, Surrey, in south-

saw as characterised by the cultural

ern England, dating from 1932 and de-

decadence of the decades leading up to

signed by the young Moderns: Connell,

the mud, carnage and sheer senseless-

Ward and Lucas. With its concrete can-

ness of the First World War. The old or-

tilevers, ambitious glazing and struc-

der of historicism, romanticism, lavish

ture based on Le Corbusier’s Domino

decoration and polychromy was white-

House, New Farm was a daring and

washed over. A clear, lean and antisep-

much publicised design. What intrigued

tically new epoch had begun. A new and

me, though, was the fact that the art

unstained white page had been turned.

editor of the Architectural Review at the

The era of the clean white concrete box

time had painted over the glass plate.

had arrived.

The colour he chose was pure white. It

From Le Corbusier’s Vers une Archi-

was used to disguise the fact that the

tecture, and for the next four or five

thin concrete walls of the house were

decades, the majority of architects at

neither sheer nor as white as the edi-

the leading edge of their art really did

tors would ideally have liked them to

appear to leave colour behind them. In

have been. When the doctored image

innumerable architectural journals the

came out in the Architectural Review,

new pure white architecture began to

the walls appeared to be as white as

dominate. This was aided and abetted

white could be.

by the simple fact that magazines of the

This was an architectural lie. A white lie.

period were printed in black and white.

More significantly, it was an intellectual

Those bright young architects who did

or an artistic conceit, an editorial deci-

venture to see Le Corbusier’s villas were

sion insisting that the new architecture

often surprised to find that their men-

must be and would be white. And yet,

tor used colour, and often in a bold way.

the idea that architecture should be

Some were shocked. How could Le Cor-

either free from colour or white dates

busier betray them with colour?

back to eras long before the Modern-

One day in the 1980s, when working

ist revolution after the First World War.

The article reviews different moments in the relation between European architecture and colour. It begins by analysing the dominance of pure white in post-First World War architecture, emphasizing the relevance that the art directors of architecture magazines, then published in black and white, had in spreading an aesthetics that denied chromatism. It also reviews the background of this tendency, already present in puritan Protestant Europe, with special attention to the neoclassical period and the influence of Greek Architecture, which was by then stripped of its original colouring. The influence of Romanticism and Postmodernism in the revival of colour is then examined. Finally, it finishes analysing the relevance of colour in the work of Sauerbruch Hutton, and more specifically its use in the Brandhorst Museum in Munich. El artículo repasa diversos momentos en la relación entre la arquitectura europea y el color. Comienza analizando el predominio del blanco puro en la arquitectura posterior a la Primera Guerra Mundial y enfatiza la relevancia que tuvieron los directores de arte de las revistas de arquitectura, entonces en blanco y negro, al difundir una estética que negaba el cromatismo. Asimismo, repasa antecedentes de esta tendencia ya presente en la Europa protestante puritana, deteniéndose en el período neoclásico y en la influencia de la arquitectura griega, entonces ya desprovista de su colorido original. Luego se examina la influencia del romanticismo y el posmodernismo en el rescate del color, para terminar analizando la relevancia de este en la obra de Sauerbruch Hutton y, específicamente, su uso en el Museo Brandhorst de Múnich. White _ Modernism _ Classicism _ Postmodernism _ Sauerbruch Hutton _ Brandhorst Museum. Blanco _ modernismo _ clasicismo _ romanticismo _ posmodernismo _ Sauerbruch Hutton _ Museo Brandhorst.

Translation _ Traducción: José Ignacio Molina.

Text originally published in: Sauerbruch, M.; Hutton, L.; Gehrke, A.; & Sauerbruch Hutton Architects (2012). Sauerbruch Hutton Colour in Architecture, Berlin: Distanz. Texto originalmente publicado en: Sauerbruch, M.; Hutton, L.; Gehrke, A.; & Sauerbruch Hutton Architects (2012). Sauerbruch Hutton Colour in Architecture, Berlín: Distanz.

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Fire and Police Station The branch of the fire brigade responsible for the government district of Berlin has been paired with a local police station in an ensemble that brings together an historic building with an extension made of glass. The Fire and Police Station lies close to the River Spree, within sight of the German Federal Chancellery and the city’s new main railway station. On winning the subsequent competition, held in March 1999, for a combined Fire and Police Station, Sauerbruch Hutton was commissioned to design the new ensemble. The old building was to be restored and adapted to form the Police Station while an extension, in size more than half the floor area again, was to accommodate the Fire Station. The old brickwork has been cleaned up and the once-external cornice has become a series of unusual and thought-provoking benches. In general, colour has been applied to the interior in subdued hues, except for a bordeaux-coloured ceiling that brings warmth to the corridors. In terms of materiality the lightweight, coloured-glass skin highlights the contrast of new against old. It has a degree of abstraction and unconventionality that stands in decided opposition to the stolid authoritarianism of the Prussian fragment, bringing an air of informality and optimism to the site. The façade comprises large-scale horizontal glass shingles of varying length, which carry two colour-families of red and green, relating to the brick of the old building and to the tones of surrounding trees. They also refer to the fact that the Fire Brigade and Police Force are among the only German public institutions that can clearly be identified by their colour. The hues are combined to present a unified appearance when seen from a distance, with an articulated flow along the length of the building from north to south, from green to red. Closer to the building the chromatic treatment becomes differentiated and individual hues emerge. The glass shingles of the façade are tilted a few degrees to bring the sky down onto the building in multiple reflections, celebrating the contrast between their own smooth surface and the mattness of the existing brick and stone. They provide wind protection, holding a buffer of air against the building for extra insulation. The colour was screen—printed onto the weather— protected back of the glass, such that most of the shingles are opaque. Only those lying in front of windows have a calibrated transparency and function as sun-shades for the occupants, opening and shutting by means of a central management system that can be overridden individually. Light entering the building is ‘informed’ but not ‘coloured’ as it passes through the glass, subtly bringing the hues of the façade into the white-painted rooms behind.

La Estación de Bomberos y Policía se encuentra cerca del río Spree, muy próxima a la Cancillería Federal de Alemania y a la principal estación de trenes de Berlín. Arquitectos: Sauerbruch y Hutton _ Fotografía: Jan Bitter © bitterbredt.de / Sauerbruch Hutton.

The stripping away of colour from churches and other religious buildings in Protestant Europe, for example, was a practice informed by a zealous puritanism. Religious images, stained glass windows and colour itself were seen as barriers to the direct communication between the religious faithful and God. Colour was also conflated with Catholicism and, specifically, with Rome and all that was wrong, if you were a Protestant, with Popery. And yet, who could deny that abbeys and cathedrals stripped of colour were beautiful? What the religious iconoclasts of the Reformation revealed were the often magnificent architectural forms of Romanesque and Gothic design. What else did these forms need but God’s own light shining through clear glass windows? This Protestant spirit was revived, from an architectural point of view, at the time when Palladianism superseded Baroque design in Britain in the early 18th century. When the Palladians, James Stuart (1713-88), an architect, and Nicholas Revett (1720-1804), an English country gentleman, took off on their famous tour of Greece at the end of the 1740s, what they saw —or wanted to see— as they reached Athens was a magnificent array of Doric, Ionic and Corinthian architecture, its forms and details picked out by dazzling sunlight, free of colour. Bleached and damaged over the centuries, the great Greek monuments had in fact been —as was later discovered— emblazoned with brilliant colours. Red. Blue. Green. Gold. Inside and out, the Parthenon was brightly coloured. And yet, it is hard not to think that even if Stuart and Revett had known this, they would have still returned to England with portfolios bursting with measured drawings untouched by a trace of colour. The first volume of The Antiquities of Athens was published in 1762. Its effect on the architects of the Greek Revival that swept over Protestant Europe and the United States was galvanising. What British, German and other scholars of the time wanted to believe was that the Ancient Greeks were a pure and noble race. They were set up as a political, intellectual, moral and physical ideal that was particularly suited to militaristic states, where strength, efficiency and clean-cut nobility were considered great

and important virtues. That the Greeks had their moments of decadence, licentiousness, sheer Dionysian madness and colour was something 19th century Neoclassicists did not want to think about. Although the chaste Neo-Greek style was taken up enthusiastically in Britain, it reached its zenith in Germany, or more specifically, in Prussia. A militaristic state, Prussia saw itself in certain ways as the modern inheritor of Greek ideals, or rather, of ideals that it wanted Ancient Greece to have upheld. Indeed, the very gateway to the Prussian capital of Berlin was an imposing Doric propylaea: the Brandenburg Gate (1793) by C. G. Langhans (1732-1808). And yet, although the great set-piece Greek Revival buildings in Britain and Germany were largely colourless —or the colour of natural stone— something was beginning to change. As the Romantic Movement swept through cultural and court circles across Europe, architecture became increasingly figurative, and even narrative, in character. Instead of the Greek temple as a pure form, architects and their clients began to explore the ancient world in a fresh and colourful manner, leading to the rich wave of polychrome buildings that characterised much of the architecture in Europe and the United States in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The process was gradual. While the interior of Leo von Klenze’s imposing National Walhalla (1842), which has commanding views of the River Danube outside Regensburg, was an early attempt to bring colour into Neo-Greek design, the exterior, although compelling, was cast in severe grey stone. Later that same decade, von Klenze’s paintings of Ancient Greek townscapes began to reveal a degree of colour on the outside of the buildings he chose to depict. In 1868 Lawrence Alma-Tadema (18361912), the Dutch-born painter who made his fame and career in London, completed his Phidias showing the Frieze of the Parthenon to his Friends. Here, rather shockingly, was Ancient Greece and the famed Parthenon frieze displayed in gorgeous colour. Alma-Tadema had spent a part of his honeymoon exploring Pompeii. Revelling in what he saw as the colour, drama and sensuousness of imperial Rome, it was but a small step from southern Italy

Those bright young architects who did venture to see Le Corbusier's villas were often surprised to find that their mentor used colour, and often in a bold way.

Recuadros: adaptación del texto original publicado en Sauerbruch Hutton Colour in Architecture (Distanz, 2012).

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M9 museum Venice-Mestre M9 is a museum of the cultural inheritance of the 20th century. Part urban renewal, part educational institution, it addresses the current disparity of cultural wealth which divides Mestre from Venice across the lagoon. The M9 scheme consists of two new buildings —the museum and its smaller administration building— plus a former convent and an office block. The buildings are carefully tuned to their surroundings in scale, proportion and polychromy. The development as a whole brings vibrancy to the centre of Mestre.

The M9 Museum strengthens Mestre’s pedestrian network. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton _ Photograph: Sauerbruch Hutton © Sauerbruch Hutton / Archimation.

10 DISEÑA PROYECTOS

to mainland Greece. Alma-Tadema’s Ancient Greece existed in a very different cultural world from that of Stuart and Revett or 18th century Prussia. Art and architecture as a kind of Platonic ideal were being transformed into a culture we recognise today: melodramatic, sensual, sultry and —above all— colourful in every way. Even then, the idea of an Ideal Greece —puritanical, Olympian, democratic and heroic— refused to go away. Not only were the Elgin Marbles [the Parthenon Frieze] in the care of the British Museum scrubbed bare with steel wool and chisels in the 1930s, but Le Corbusier himself held up the example of a bare, elemental Parthenon as a foundation for the radical new architecture he proposed in Vers une Architecture. Perhaps there is something in the reaction to great wars, for after the Second World War a reinvigorated Modernism offered Europe and the United States new forms of mechanical and rigorous architecture as if in reaction to the excesses of the 1920s and 1930s. [The white Cubist Modernism of Connell Ward and Lucas, and even of the Bauhaus itself, was the exception rather than the rule during the years when Art Deco and Busby Berkeley musicals were far more popular than Le Corbusier or Mies van der Rohe could ever have hoped to become]. When colour emerged playfully in the Pop era, it had little effect on monumental architecture; in fact, stark, raw Brutalism was at its peak when Pop was at its zaniest and most colourful. Colour did not really break through until Postmodernism burst forth from the United States in the 1970s and 1980s. This was not modern architecture’s finest moment —much of the architecture appeared to be the stuff of comic book illustrations— and not least because the use of colour was all too often brash, crude and unsubtle. Perhaps, though, this explosion of colour was understandable. After decades of restraint, modern architecture let rip. Robert Venturi caught, and helped set, the mood with his Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture published in 1966. ‘Less is a Bore’, he declared, jibing at Mies van der Rohe’s famous modernist dictum ‘Less is More’. ‘I am for messy vitality over obvious unity. I include the non sequitur and proclaim the duality.

I am for richness of meaning rather than clarity of meaning... I prefer bothand to either-or’(p. xx). Venturi himself was very much interested in the potential subtleties of what became an alltoo-often unsubtle Postmodernism. He cited T. S. Eliot, who referred to the way in which poets employ ‘that perpetual slight alteration of language, words perpetually juxtaposed in new and sudden combinations’. (p. xx). This is the stuff of Eliot’s own Four Quartets, but hardly that of the worst, and most garishly colourful, architectural excesses of Postmodernism. Now that colour was out of the bottle again, it was time for its use to be reconsidered by even the calmest, most rational and self-effacing Modernist. It was also used very effectively by Richard Rogers and other hi-tech architects. There was, however, no guarantee in the 1980s that colour would be explored in the forensic structural manner adopted over a number of years by Sauerbruch Hutton. If anything, there was a strong reaction —for a while— against colour because Postmodernism had made such promiscuous use of it. The phrase ‘New Moderns’ recurred in the 1990s, referring to a generation of architects fighting to distance themselves from Po-Mo. Rather as their predecessors in the 1920s rejected colour, the ‘New Moderns’ gave us a world of chaste white-box architecture, whether in the design of private houses, museums, office buildings or art galleries. Slowly, though, the tide has been changing. Sauerbruch Hutton have been in the vanguard of those architects for whom colour is not something to be applied, but an inherent —an elemental— part of both the structure and skin of a building. The Brandhorst Museum in Munich, with its skin composed of 36,000 vertical ceramic batons in 23 different coloured glazes, is at once a brilliant advert for itself — in no uncertain terms the building says ‘I am an art gallery’— and a carefully modelled, beautifully crafted and ultimately simple design that proves it is possible, at long last, for architects to play exuberantly with colour while being rigorous Modernists. The painterly façades of Munich’s new Brandhorst Museum are more than just a wonderful architectural

GSW Headquarters GSW Headquarters is an assemblage of five distinct volumes that reintegrates a 1950s office tower into its context. The high-rise slab embodies the desire for a sustainable building, and contains the cornerstones of a low-energy concept that, at the time, was completely new. These include a narrow plan for optimal use of daylight in the offices, the concomitant long east and west façades that enable and drive the building’s natural ventilation, and the use of the high thermal mass of concrete for temperature regulation. Overall, materiality and colour emphasise the individuality of each part of the ensemble: the pair of low-rise buildings along the street are clad in large-scale anthracite-coloured ceramic tiles; the existing tower, after minimal renovation, remains in its greys and ochres; the Pillbox as urban accent is coated in greens; and the new slab is identified by its unique warm tones. Ten hues of pink, orange and red were distributed onto perforated metal sunshades across the whole western elevation of the slab. Relating to the city’s terra-cotta coloured roofs and amplifying the warm colour of the setting sun, the façade also stands in contrast to the blue—and often grey— Berlin skies. Variations in tonality create a sense of depth and, together with diurnal and seasonal movement of the sun-shades, present and re-present the slab in changing compositions. From the west, the physicality of the building is experienced through a veil of ever-shifting optical effects. In its layering and adaptability the façade unambiguously radiates the ecological aspirations of the building, rising from the fabric of the city like a huge dynamic painting.

GSW Headquarters is an assemblage of five distinct volumes. Materiality and colour emphasise the individuality of each part of the ensemble. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton _ Photograph: Annette Kisling © Annette Kisling / Sauerbruch Hutton.

Colour did not really break through until Postmodernism burst forth from the United States in the 1970s and 1980s.

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The Brandhorst Museum in Munich, inaugurated in 2009, houses Anette and Udo Brandhorst’s private collection of contemporary art. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton Photograph: Andreas Lechtape © Andreas Lechtape.

The Brandhorst Museum facade intends to stimulate the senses and challenge perception. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton Photograph: Annette Kisling © Annette Kisling / Sauerbruch Hutton.

The Brandhorst Museum, located in the Schwabing district in Munich, has many spaces that evoke the adequate domestic environment for a private collection that was originally exhibited at home. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton_ Photograph: Haydar Koyupinar © Koyupinar / Bayer. Staatsgemäldesammlungen.

Brandhorst Museum The Brandhorst Museum confidently takes its place in the city of Munich, redefining the north-eastern corner of the Museum Quarter with polychromatic intent. The building’s idiosyncratic presence announces its valuable content, the Brandhorst Collection, to the world. The Brandhorst Museum is a simple elongated building that offers the impression of three sculpturally interconnecting volumes. A long, low form beside the street is separated by a band of windows from a second volume above; the third element is the tall ‘head’ that angles out towards the traffic intersection. Each element of the trio has a different tonality: dark for the base, mid for the raised volume and pale for the head. This three-way division optically reduces the mass of the building while also communicating its internal organisation. The museum houses a substantial collection of late 20th century and contemporary art, consisting mostly of paintings. The layered façade of the Brandhorst Museum —an architectonic element with a space and materiality of its own— lends the building a unique physical presence, capturing and absorbing traffic noise. The façade is made of a layer of one-metre tall, four centimetre square glazed ceramic batons mounted in four-centimetre intervals in front of a horizontally folded, metal rain-screen cladding. The two layers of the façade each carry colour in a different way. The metal cladding has contrasting hues that alternate on the upper and lower sections of its wide horizontal pleat, while the dense arrays of ceramic batons in front are glazed in a total of 23 different tones. The distribution of colour on the batons is such that certain areas stand out from the surface like cloud formations. Overall, the colours of the batons are combined with the paired tones of the rain-screen behind to achieve three chromatic combinations: these dark, mid and pale tonal groupings, respectively described by the architects as ‘Bad Bruise’, ‘Deep Peach’ and ‘Rubens Flesh’, in turn define the three distinct volumes of the building. The façade appears more uniform when seen from further away, with only the three tonalities distinguishable in chromatically neutral warm and cool grey tones. Moving nearer, the clouds emerge, bringing large-scale articulation to the surface of the volumes, now further differentiated in terms of colour. Only in close proximity do the multiple layers of individual colours, materials and textures appear. These in turn take on a different appearance depending on the vantage point of the viewer. Looking at the façade orthogonally, the even, horizontal ‘cross-hatching’ of the sheet-cladding is clearly revealed and merges into a single pattern with the vertical streaks of the ceramic batons. From an oblique perspective, only the external, vertical layer of the façade is visible with its multiple nuances of colour, and its glazed ceramic surface with varying degrees of shine or bloom – depending on the light. As a result, what seems to be a relatively even, clearly defined surface from a distance becomes increasingly dynamic on approach, and ultimately ambiguous, in particular when walking alongside or around the building. The visual uncertainty of the façade derives from the optical contraction of these two layers into a single oscillating skin: the viewer’s focus shifts between the front and back layers, while friction between the hues creates a colour space that seems to lose clear spatial or material definition. In addition, depending on the position of the sun, shadows falling onto the back layer of the façade can be difficult to grasp when the angle of the shadow conflates with the geometry of the cladding. The overall impression, born out of a combination of space, light, materiality and colour, eludes any clear tectonic definition. Intended to stimulate the senses and challenge perception, the façade is ornament and message, painting and sculpture, skin and volume. Anticipating further aesthetic experiences inside the building, it contributes dynamically to the urban environment of the Museum Quarter while enriching the lively diversity of the surrounding districts of Schwabing and Maxvorstadt.

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1. 20% of the energy consumed by the German Federal Environment Agency comes from renewable sources. The energy used to produce heating is 40% below German energy conservation norms. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton Photograph: Jan Bitter © bitterbredt.de / Sauerbruch Hutton.

2. The Agency as a whole addresses both external and internal space with equal weight. This idea is echoed in the treatment of interior and exterior façades. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton Photograph: Annette Kisling © Annette Kisling / Sauerbruch Hutton. 1

2

3. The offices of the German Federal Environmental Agency accommodate over 900 employees. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton Photograph: Jan Bitter © bitterbredt.de / Sauerbruch Hutton.

3

The German Federal Environment Agency, built between 2001 and 2005, revitalises an industrial area in Dessau. Architects: Sauerbruch Hutton _ Photograph: Busse. © Busse.

flourish. Clad in a geometric coat of many colours, here is a building that looks like a giant abstract painting. This couldn’t be more appropriate, since the Brandhorst’s purpose is quite simple: it’s a big, seductive container for the display of hundreds of contemporary paintings, sculptures and videos. While the architecture is clearly an advertisement for what goes on inside its enticing walls, the Brandhorst, for

all this polychromatic playfulness, comes across as an ultra-modern civic art gallery, one that manages to be both f lamboyant and modest. This building is the servant of the art inside and not the master. With the work of Sauerbruch Hutton, the old divisions between puritanism and sensuousness, bare and decorated buildings, and white-versus-colour finally, and happily, make no obvious sense. DNA

Federal Environment Agency The Federal Environment Agency in Dessau provides a communicative, flexible and healthy working environment for over 900 employees and revitalises a highly contaminated inner-city industrial area. The main Agency building has a flowing form that stretches along the eastern side of a new park. In all, the four-storey Federal Environment Agency is strongly embedded into its context through the creation of new spaces, both urban and natural, while also respecting and augmenting the historic fabric of the city. The Agency as a whole addresses both external and internal space with equal weight. This idea is echoed in the treatment of interior and exterior façades: alternating bands of timber and glazing envelop the entire building, and stream effortlessly in from outside. The colour concept for the Federal Environment Agency is an integral part of the urban design. All too often large office buildings are built with repetitive façades derived from the rows of single offices behind: to avoid this, here colour is used to modulate the surface of the façade. Areas of coloured glass appear to be loosely strung, like beads on an abacus, along the glazed bands that flow around the building. The colours themselves, extracted from the immediate urban surroundings, coalesce into seven families to define a sequence of chromatically reinforced spaces that embed the building into its context. The new building is intended not only to act as a catalyst for economic change within the wider Dessau region, supporting new research areas in the rapidly growing environmental industry, but also as a paradigm for a sustainable and enjoyable urbanism.

Sauerbruch Hutton Berlin-based studio for architecture, urban planning and design. Since 1989 it develops sustainable solutions for a broad spectrum of programs. Presently consists of over 75 architects, designers, engineers, model-makers and administrative. The team is led by Matthias Sauerbruch, Louisa Hutton and Juan Lucas Young, as well as by Jürgen Bartenschlag, Andrew Kiel, Tom Geister and David Wegener. Sauerbruch Hutton has been distinguished with the following awards: Gottfried Semper Architekturpreis (2013), Energy Performance + Architecture Award (2011), Fritz Schumacher Prize (2003) and The Erich Schelling Prize for Architecture (1998), among others.

Sauerbruch Hutton have been in the vanguard of those architects for whom colour is not something to be applied, but an inherent – an elemental – part of both the structure and skin of a building.

14 DISEÑA PROYECTOS

Referencias Venturi, R. (1977). Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture. Nueva York: Museum of Modern Art.

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