Glow Up The Keystone Performing Arts Center as a testament to brilliant expressions of the human experience
The Keystone Academy Performing Arts Center, which has reopened after a year of renovation, stands as a testament to the vision and genius of its designer, Professor Preston Scott Cohen from the Harvard University Graduate School of Design. The Keystone Office of Marketing and Communications had the privilege of sitting down with Professor Cohen as he returned to Beijing in June 2023 to preview the architectural marvel before its grand reopening.
Professor Cohen noted how the Keystone Performing Arts Center changed over the years, declaring it to be “much better” and more mature. Most especially as nightfall descends, the new exterior presents a breathtaking spectacle to behold.
In this edition of The Idea of a University, Professor Cohen expounds on why architecture has the power to inspire dreams. Also, he delves into how the Keystone Performing Arts Center becomes a space of emotional resonance that captures the essence of human experience.
This interview has been edited for brevity.
The Keystone Magazine: Finnish architect Alvar Aalto once said, “It doesn’t matter what a building looks like on the day it’s opened; what matters is what it looks like thirty years after it’s built.” Today, a decade later, you are looking at the renovated Keystone Performing Arts Center (PAC). What do you feel after revisiting it?
Preston Scott Cohen: Well, it’s so much better. The landscape has grown around it. And the buildings, having adjusted and become lived in, are much better. When the PAC was new, I found it a bit typical of Chinese (architecture), much like in the initial experience of the surrounding buildings. I would say it has matured and it feels like it’s been here for a long time. It brings a very serene and beautiful quality to the whole campus. And the innovation is such of a higher-level quality of construction.
The other change was the re-cladding, which gives it a much more crisp and flat articulation. I think it emphasizes the geometry of the whole building far more clearly. The re-conception in metal has been a tremendous improvement. I’m very pleased that we were able to do that. It is wonderful that the school invested in such a building of higher quality. I find the new exterior wonderful to look at in the evening.
The Keystone Magazine: I want to use a metaphor here. Many activities and events have already taken place here over the past ten years. Right now, the PAC contains so many forms of human experience, memories, tears, and joy from students and performers from all over the world. All of that has given new life to this architecture. I hope the PAC can speak to the master—you created it—and say, “I am renewed, (now) with human experience.”
Cohen: Let me tell you. I’m one of those people, who, as a child, had experience with theater. I performed in children’s theater in my home city in North Carolina. This is a very important part of my childhood experience. I felt that the theater was a super emotion-filled space. There’s no question that when I hear you describe the memories, the tears, and the joys of being in that space— that is its meaning.
Of course, I have been unusually interested in becoming an architect since I was six years old. At the time, I already had experience in the theater. I was interested in the space of the theater; I used to draw a plan, try to understand the building, and look at the mechanical spaces backstage. Also, I flew off the stage set factory. The theater mattered to me greatly. And then, my hometown had a new one. I witnessed its opening when I was 12. It was meaningful to me. So, I resonate with what you said, especially how a space could become an entity present when the audience erupts in applause or experience shock watching an episode, a plot, or a scene. And you are performing in those moments. These incredible things—the space itself is in front of you, filled with this audience, and is part of what you will never forget. I think the space of the theater is unforgettable for a performer because the performance is about being precisely in that moment in that space.
Other kinds of experiences are not as resonant with being in that space. For example, some classroom experiences are not as much bound in memory or experience to the place as a performance at a theater space. And so, the theater is truly an emotion-filled building, making it so special.
Then, there is the big question of how the audience, the proscenium, and the stage exchange. And what is the relation between those and the orchestra and the curtain opening? I was extremely captivated by all of that. These are the events that make the building a piece of theater experience.
The Keystone Magazine: I completely agree. To me, the theater is a place for people to dream. Regardless of the art—theatre, music, dance—I think that to be an architect, one must design a place for people to train in the most artistic form. I think this is…
Cohen: It brings me to tears when I think about it. I was recently in the most extraordinary theater, the Metropolitan Opera in New York. I went to see La Bohème. I was so moved by the experience. It’s so unforgettable. And sometimes, I was just looking at the room itself, the people inside, and again, the Met’s enormous proscenium.
One of my ideas for this building from the beginning was to make it as vertical as possible. I’m very interested in learning how people have responded to this. It wasn’t only because I wanted to design it as such; it had to do with the site. But I do believe it is an unusually vertical experience of the proscenium from the balconies. And it really rushes your viewing toward the stage precipitously. You almost feel yourself being pulled to the stage from the balconies. I don’t know if you feel it, but it’s very strong.
The Keystone Magazine: Yes, the top balcony.
Cohen: Do you feel it? It’s very clear. It’s like a hill, and you feel like you’re being pulled to the stage. It almost gives you vertigo, that you’ll tumble into the stage. I love that. That’s different than, for example, the Met, whose orchestra level is huge.
I loved the idea of changing the theater and giving it urgency, which is intense for young people. The audience experience has to be even more extreme. What they watch on stage is not a typical public figure. My impression is that it is more important for the performers to know what it feels on the stage than what their audience feels because they are learning how to perform. For schools, it is important to give these young people the experience of being on stage and performing for others.
I wanted to turn it around and make the experience of the performers and how they see the audience the most important. It’s unusual because the common notion is understanding how to be part of the production and learning to perform for the public. I turn this experience around because it’s more personal: this building is part of a school, and the young performers are very important. The focus is on the energy these children transmit and how they feel and respond to the energy they get from the audience. I want them to feel it as much as possible.
The Keystone Magazine: This is an angle we have never thought about. This is important because it comes from the architect who designed this building. You have the learner as the building’s main target audience.
Cohen: That’s right. It is the learner for whom this building is designed. The learner means the performer. And that’s a reversal of the design and purpose of a typical theater: normally, the stage is a technical instrument that has to work perfectly. There isn’t so much attention paid to how the performer experiences the whole space from the stage, right? And I want that to be the primary purpose.
The Keystone Magazine: So, when it comes to a usual theater, you will choose the audience as the main target.
Cohen: Yes, definitely. It’s different for the school.
The Keystone Magazine: That’s unique for the Keystone Performing Arts Center.
Cohen: Yes, it is. And I’ve never designed any theaters for students except for the Keystone Performing Arts Center. Somehow, I immediately philosophically understood that there’s a difference. You have to think differently about how it is to learn by performing and how the theater should be a place of learning and not only for public consumption. It’s very different and I’m sure you have had public audiences, right? But the main point is learning. I hope you agree.
The Keystone Magazine: I agree. And this is so fascinating. We also know that most of your works have mostly centered on the architecture of public buildings in cities. What made you accept the Keystone Performing Arts Center as one of your projects in China?
Cohen: It is an important cultural building set in a very clear and specific context. All projects I have done are quite like that. However, the PAC is unique because it’s situated in a campus context. It’s an unclaimed, distinctive grouping of buildings dedicated to a specific program.
I love the idea of inserting very special cultural buildings in the context that requires resonance, that is, to make the new building the point of focus of something powerful culturally, even though it is smaller than the entire campus complex, which is the main framework. It is what makes this context impressive because the new building becomes a key point of reference for everyone.
That is the same story as the museums, libraries, and places of worship I have designed before. These buildings are centered in their communities. And the Keystone PAC project is consistent with this; it is special because I was asked to make it different from the buildings within a traditional collegiate-style complex. The design would be contemporary but with an outlook different from the rest of the buildings. It was a risk that Keystone’s founders were willing to take. In other schools, the theater is designed to look just like the other buildings. It’s wonderful to see the PAC is a counterpoint and a foil in the architecture of the complex. That’s a pretty bold decision that we all made together. That really excited me because I thought it spoke to the difference between a culturally productive building, as opposed to those made for other disciplines—all of which, by the way, are important—which do not have aesthetic expression as a primary ambition the way a cultural building like the PAC does. That was unique in that it should be made extroverted. Let’s say that since it expresses ideas, it should also look that way.
I’m very happy that this was the opportunity given to me. It was an honor and a privilege to put an exceptional building rather than a conforming one.
The Keystone Magazine: You just mentioned that it’s a bold decision to bring up a design that does not conform with the surrounding buildings. When I first looked at the Keystone campus, I thought the buildings were very old-fashioned.
Cohen: That was the goal.
The Keystone Magazine: I know, and I think it’s very beautiful. But when I look at the PAC, I feel it is very cosmopolitan and modern. For me, Keystone is like an old campus with a modern heart.
Cohen: That’s right! An old campus with a modern heart. Usually, it’s the reverse!
The Keystone Magazine: We have been saying that the PAC is very young at heart and is the most noticeable part of the Keystone campus. This brings to mind what you said in a previous interview about how a building could participate in the aesthetics of its surroundings. Can you talk about the design concept of the PAC in particular?
Cohen: Well, there were a couple of things in my mind when we made the concept. It might sound strange but imagine something like a curtain or a cloth draped over the theater body. The theater is always a big object. It has a flat loft, which is a very high element on the outside of the building, always, in theaters like this. Now, you can imagine the shape of a theater we are most familiar with, like those we see in cities. But I want to drape the PAC with a cloth or curtain and make it look almost as if it is being unveiled. We can lift the veil the way a curtain rises. So, on the front of the PAC, you see the architecture: it is creased, right? It’s like the (right) corner of the front side has been lifted because that’s the side that the public sees. On the other side of the building, maybe it’s more complex to imagine that the drape becomes fused with the building. That part of the building looks like the cloth is being pulled away. It’s almost like the cloth that hugs the body very closely, but it’s joined with it on this end.
On the side (facing the Secondary School building), the PAC is opening up differently. So, you can see these interesting openings look like, in a way, tears. It’s clipping open and letting people in another way. It’s almost like paper at this point. Its materiality is also evocative, sometimes like in a way the reference to cloth on the front, the draping, folding, and then something crisper on this side, becoming more architectural in the context of the whole campus. It should appear to be rigid and properly architectural, since it is being framed in this, as you said, conventional collegiate-style campus. Anyway, it’s very different on the front than on the back.
The other point, which is so interesting about this building and one I was so excited about, is that there would necessarily be what I call a distortion. I’m very interested in this idea. You see, the campus is very symmetrical. We have the Keystone Quadrangle, which is pretty much symmetrical in the plan and remains on the axis. You will see the centered gable, which is an outdoor performance space. I should mention that one of the main ideas is to make the PAC a back-to-back theater: one outdoor, which overlooks the Quadrangle, and one indoor, whose audience entrance is from the East Gate. In a way, the PAC is two theaters backed up to each other. I love the idea of having two theaters that resemble a Janus face: one that looks one way and another looking the opposite.
As far as the distortion is concerned, when we planned the building, we wanted practice rooms and public spaces to be on one side or the other. We didn’t want to split it because it would be very narrow on either side. We didn’t need them on both sides. It meant the building was never going to be symmetrical on the inside. The building is shifted on the inside, but on the outside, it’s symmetrical to the Keystone Quadrangle. The front side doesn’t need symmetry because its unveiling visual design would be dynamic and more reminiscent of the concept of entering. But the back needed symmetry since it is situated in a very formally shaped space. So, the building is caught between an asymmetrical front half and a symmetrical back. The two theaters are shifted relative to each other.
You can see the building is pushed in a symmetrical disposition, like a performer moving in a way that is not static, not standing still, but in motion and changing right in front of your eyes. It is a bit unpredictable. It enacts something; it looks like it is changing from the East Gate side to the Quadrangle side. It has a kind of implicit motion change temporality. It’s not static like the collegiate campus plan. Yet, on the Secondary School building side, it is bound to that point, and you see the PAC moving away from the campus complex. You see that it is distorted, and there is a reason for it. It has to do with the plan and how it functions on the interior. It is not just a voluntary thing. We needed the theater to be asymmetrically placed. And how do you reconcile that symmetrical plan? It’s a perfect problem for me—one of my favorite problems.
I wrote a book called Contested Symmetries, which is about the way symmetry is often challenged by circumstances. It is often precluded by a lot of things, and yet it is often expected and desired. And its expectancy is interesting as it isn’t manifest. We recognize something hasn’t occurred. We start to participate in understanding why it isn’t. When it is manifest, we take it for granted, but when we see it not being manifested completely or challenged, it asks us, “Why isn’t it this way?” It is interesting to learn why so. I like the building to have its own presence itself to call attention. But the PAC is not just doing a job. It’s a piece of art itself.
The Keystone Magazine: What you just said is fresh and makes me think about the concept or the relationship between part and whole. The PAC itself is a complete architectural project itself. It is an independent design. That’s why the front entrance (close to the East Gate) is its true self, and the whole design, ideas, and concepts are revealed there because that’s the character of the PAC. But its backside becomes more in line with the campus environment. To me, the PAC remains in harmony with the campus environment. That speaks to me a lot.
Cohen: You can see how symmetrical the gable is. The stage gable is directly centered. But the theater loft is not. The flat loff is moved over to the left. So, that’s the clue when you see that it’s symmetrical, and then part of it is lifted. Then you see that the corner (close to the Archway) tears open, it’s pulling away. Then you move around (toward the East Gate), and you see it lifting and morphing as you move around. The point of departure is symmetry broken, right? The symmetry is broken when the loft plummets and is shifted to the left. And then, as you turn the corner, it becomes very dramatic.
The Keystone Magazine: The picture you took looked so different from the ones we have.
Cohen: We need this view to see the symmetry.
The many views of the exterior reveal how the PAC changes so much depending on where you are around the building. (It follows) the idea of cubist painting, which is the subject is moving around the object, and the object itself is turning and changing its position. So, the human head and the concept portraits are turning. But we are also walking around the head; we are moving, and the PAC design is moving. We’re trying to capture this in a fixed image. A building is fixed in space. And the question is whether it can depict and induce movement or make us move or perceive that it can move. It’s not moving per se, but there’s an idea of movement in its design.
The Keystone Magazine: Yes. What you said tells us how the architect looks at his buildings. It’s so different because you are interested in what you want us to see.
Cohen: I think the one mistake that photography sometimes makes is it doesn’t back up enough to see the whole form of buildings. This happens often when I’m in China with my clients and taking them to buildings or a place they want me to see. I recall a museum in Hefei that I designed. My clients took me there. They couldn’t speak English, so I couldn’t tell them what I wanted to say. They drove quickly, and I was three feet away from the building. “Could you please drive me about a mile south so I can see it?” I wanted to see the impact it had on the surroundings.
On the other hand, there are some buildings that, when taken from a vantage point, you can feel they are part of their surroundings. Designing a building requires it to look good from a vantage point and consider how it relates to the whole area. There are buildings whose designs need to be viewed from different distances. Too often, people don’t think about their distance from buildings. I wish they would; I can’t make them do that. I would love to encourage people to do it. I don’t mind if people don’t.
The Keystone Magazine: The more I think about what you said, the more interesting the PAC becomes. As we have just mentioned, I realize this is a modern PAC, and the buildings surrounding it are like the “old” having a conversation with the “new”.
Cohen: Think about the PAC in such a way that makes it the performer in a theater. Imagine that this traditional collegiate campus is—this sounds strange, get ready—the theater and the audience.
Designing educational spaces
The Keystone Magazine: Let’s talk about the purpose of designing educational spaces. The design for educational spaces has many similarities to other architectural works. However, educational spaces have their unique mission. Architecture can also be a subtle educational tool for some architects and educators. What do you think of this? How do you consider the impact of the PAC architecture on Keystone teachers and students?
Cohen: One of these missions is the relationship between the audience and the performer. The building is seen in the context of encouraging creative endeavors and being a true setting for these experiences. I saw a performance on the outdoor stage. The other, I think, is its ceremonial function, which could be a graduation ceremony. I think it is part of making memories and creative, activated experiences. There is another important question: how about those practice rooms upstairs? Many other rooms in the building cater to specific performing arts. Each of those has their own life. I understood it was important that it should be packed into the PAC. You felt the building was a collection of educational spaces wrapped around a theater. So, it’s really a multipurpose academic building: there are some classrooms that engage with the circulation of the hallways and social spaces in the lobby and everything else inside.
The Keystone Magazine: You just mentioned social spaces. You emphasize the importance of public and social spaces in many of your architectural works. So, why is it crucial or more relevant to educational institutions to have social spaces?
Cohen: In the world we are in, the student needs to be encouraged to have collective experiences to be part of their growth. Nowadays, everyone is both isolated and connected by the media and by our devices, which has changed our relationship with space so much. Both have expanded and contracted our experience simultaneously. The question is, what is the embodied experience about today? There’s a lot of discussion about it, obviously not only because of this phenomenon, but because of COVID-19, the biggest “earthquake” of the media experience, because it has forced us into the media space so much that it really made us confront what it is about to be only in media space and mediated space. We want to call it a “socially mediated space of the devices”. And what would bring us back to the physical experience? After we had finally understood that we could do everything with the device, we could do without architecture either, it would seem.
So, then, everyone craves the personal and physical presence of theater life. The theater is so much about embodying experiences. It’s everything but the media. I recently watched a violinist in New York. The strings in his violin were breaking during this performance. It was beautiful because he was playing so vigorously. This was so clearly the difference between listening to a performance on a device and being in the space with the performer to see the strings breaking while he’s playing. I could hear him breathing vigorously and playing so extreme. He just would tuck them back in when he had a chance. The actual physical encounter was one of the most moving things I’ve ever felt in a long time. I was so close to the performance. The violinist happened to be a Chinese performer, who is an emerging musician in the United States. He’s like the best right now. It was a shocking experience. I was transfixed.
My friend and I intended to leave after the first part of this performance and go to the Lincoln Center for another concert by a more famous performer. That other concert was packed. But the one we watched did not have a full audience because the violinist was not as well known yet, except among the people in music. It was obvious to me that he would become the new of the greatest, so I refused to leave. We were in the second row, and I wasn’t going to give up this experience of listening, watching, hearing, breathing, and tearing strings.
The physical experience is visceral and powerfully resonant. When you feel it, it doesn’t matter whether you are in this medium or not. All of a sudden, you recognize you are hunting for it. It is an insatiable desire for this kind of thing. Education is too. You’ve got to be there with your teacher, see the other students responding and feeling everything. The feeling in the room, the feeling of how people move, the way they’re expressing themselves with their faces, jittering, coming and going—all of the movements, the unpredictable expression- can only unfold in space. It cannot be experienced in devices as nearly the same. It is such a tragedy that some people do not know how important it is. You do not have the privilege to feel enough physical experience. So, educational buildings are essential for enabling this expression, which is so undeniably essential to young people’s lives. This expression shapes them to believe that the device isn’t everything. The school should instill in them a desire for a physical experience of artistry. A theater should and will do that. I want young people to want theater in their lives forever. This will be an unforgettable thing.
When you’re in your 20s, you get hooked on certain things you love. I lived in New York in my 20s. I’m addicted to New York City because of that period of my life. It’s a connection you make when you’re young and have certain kinds of experiences. I think they stay with you, and you always want to return to those thrilling and unforgettable experiences, like they were of your romantic idea for the future where you saw it unfolding in front of your eyes. Where you were, when you saw your future that way—that’s the space you were in and it is part of your core. That space is where you have that experience with people in real time—you cannot experience them on the phone. The buildings have to do that. They have to help you craft your future understanding of the past and your ongoing life. You are living and do not settle into a mundane existence where only the television and the phone are the center of what you’re doing.
More than anything, the pandemic was a crisis of encountering social media as the whole of life. And this is powerful for architecture to push back and return us to experiencing reality.
The Keystone Magazine: Social spaces in the theater are so important. To me, they are more like a pause. Being in social spaces requires me to be spiritually or mentally ready for the show or performance I will experience. Also, after the show, I think the social spaces allow people to reflect and instill in them what they have just experienced. Social spaces are a place to pause and reflect. It’s like a transitional space before I enter into the real world—which helps me to think about it, dream about it, and reflect upon it.
Problematizing in architecture
The Keystone Magazine: In your previous interviews and articles, you said the first step of your architectural design is problematization. This is to say, you break the usual understanding of common sense to refine and reconceptualize the “real problem”. Can you tell us why this method is integral to your work?
Cohen: In the case of the Keystone Performing Arts Center, I didn’t have to problematize because the problems were already there. That is great. For example, as I mentioned, we have a completely symmetrical site. The theater has to be symmetrical, ideally in the ends, and its interior should be bilaterally symmetrical. Yet, we were in a situation where we knew we needed these many spaces to develop only on one side. It was determined that, for many reasons, it would be on a specific side. But anyway, whether it would be on one side or the other doesn’t matter. The issue is that there would only be one side of the interior space that is wide and important. So, the building would necessarily not be centered on the campus. That, to me, is a problem because it breaches the order and the expectations. A bilaterally symmetrical building could not adhere to that. I had to solve the problem of putting an asymmetrically placed theater within a building, which is trying to symmetrically engage with the rest of the campus. The outside has some obligations to the symmetry of the campus. The inside of the theater is symmetrical, but the placement of the whole theater interior is not within the building and is asymmetrical in place. That is a problem because there is a dislocated, disharmonious relation between the placement of the theater and its context.
When I don’t have a problem like that, I make something up.
The Keystone Magazine: Yes, and that’s what I’m asking.
Cohen: Why do I do that? This goes back to what I was talking about earlier. I want to enact architecture to make us perceive something unsettled about it, so that we begin to engage it physically. First of all, how it moved or shifted or seems eccentric makes us wonder why, or if we should go to one side instead of the other. Maybe it is meant to make us move in one direction or the other. It gives a dynamic feeling to the building. But it also suggests to us that there was a reason it wasn’t settled and symmetrical, to begin with. It begs a question and opens up a dialogue if it is problematic, or “problematized”, thinking I made a problem. And the reason I say that is because it has to be necessary. Architecture isn’t about arbitrary and expressive things. It is a necessity in its order. It serves purposes. So, you have to negotiate its purpose with the circumstances that might break the order it is establishing. Maybe I will put it that way. What causes the normal order to break or to be not static? As I said, I do not want the spaces. I want to engage people, both cognitively and physically, in some degree of instability. I think the static form is too indifferent. It does not encourage us to participate, and it does not enact enough.
I think the theater interior obviously does not need to be problematized. I think the people on the stage are creating action. The building is asking us to experience that action. Now, I did something else. I don’t know if you want to call it a problem, but it is that ramp and its steepness, which I told you earlier, the way the audience is placed to excite and make the performers recognize the power of their performance in that context. And that has to do with the oblique—the whole audience ramp at a brief angle there in space. I think that is a beautiful thing to be. And we are going to position it because it forces you to recognize your orientation. When you are sitting in the audience, you are looking at the proscenium from an angle. And I love the difference between myself and my place in the audience in the proscenium. The way that the audience member has to reconcile their own body with the placement at the proscenium is also interesting. Of course, the performers are always moving and always adjusting themselves. But the audience members themselves are also in an oblique place. It’s exciting to create these bottling encounters in space. That’s what I’m working on.
The Limits of Architectural Language
The Keystone Magazine: In your article “Predicaments and Surrogates”, you talked about how innovation in architecture comes from architects being forced to struggle with the limitations of the architectural language they have inherited. Sometimes, this reaction to new demands further enriches the form and language of architecture. You talked about the need for an “unfulfilled promise” for architecture to keep itself alive. What is this “unfulfilled promise” for you in your architecture?
Cohen: There have been ideas about making rooms more perfect, beautiful, and harmonious with architecture. As you can recognize, that world is often precluded by circumstances and many difficulties. Today, we face terrible problems, and I cannot even begin to tell you all the reasons for this. We cannot bring about some outcomes that we dream of as architects. We have to work within the limits we are confronted with. We have to negotiate with a conflicted society and an economy insufficient to realize these more perfect outcomes.
The promise, though, is that architecture will still desire and aim to overcome all of this. It will still try to have the ambition to achieve something more perfect than it can. You will still see that it is trying to do that. You will see that the goal hasn’t been fulfilled. But architecture is still hopeful; it is still trying to get there.
The goal is to create something harmonious, beautiful, and integrated with nature, which brings people together in wonderful and exciting ways. But obviously, at the scope of this whole city, the goal is to have it extend beyond only one building and encompass the whole sites that we live in and the totality of the environment we build for ourselves. That is the architectural world; we are building the movements in this environment. It is a human and cultural endeavor, not merely a technical effort. And the question is: how are our goals expressed in time? How are they articulated so that despite not reaching our goal yet, you can still see the promise that we build something that desires and expresses this ambition to get there? This creation doesn’t get us there yet, but it already points toward that goal, thus making us imagine an even more beautiful future.
On teaching at Harvard
The Keystone Magazine: Let’s talk about your professorial duty at the Harvard Graduate School of Design. What usual qualities of students have you observed over the years? In what ways do these qualities help your students design structures that are not just impressive or successful by society’s standards but also those that improve the human experience?
Cohen: It is interesting you are asking me that. Before our talk, I went to a small architectural school in Wuhan. I gave a lecture to 30 students. Two things that were different from American students stood out. The students at the lecture showed enthusiasm and excitement and were unencumbered by worry. There was just openness, and I felt the students were more optimistic; they felt happier, which was striking. I’ve noticed it before, but even more this time. They seem happier than our students at Harvard. Maybe they are more adjusted to finding their way, coming together, and having fun together. Maybe they’re even more excited that COVID-19 is over. I don’t know what it is, but they are capable of just being happier now. It might just be the expression of release from COVID-19, but they were really in a great mood, and it was uplifting. That’s number one.
The second is they are more pragmatic. They showed me work executed skillfully, real, and believable. They asked me how to reconcile that with very creative work, because architecture is very practical in many ways. They want to become skilled professionals. They want to seek a way to introduce artistry and artistic imagination into their work. They’re not sure how to reconcile the two, because I think they see the world in China and how hard it is to do anything creative. Much of the construction that is happening is already determined by the law, regulations, and codes. Of course, it is not so easy. But they want to reimagine the world; they are very interested in nature and how to bring humans into relation with the environment. I love this topic—it is one of the most important right now. That’s the direction they are going in. I like that better than what the students want to do at Harvard, if I may tell you the truth. I like that Chinese students have a focus that has more to do with how people live and want a different way of living connected with nature. I think the Americans don’t know what they’re looking for as much. Their goals are not nearly as clear; they are going in different directions and there’s a lot of confusion. It can be productive because they’re asking many questions. Obviously, they do some really exciting work. But I think the goal among the students here seemed a little more directed towards something good and envisioning for life.
The Keystone Magazine: Is it something more optimistic?
Cohen: Well, it’s more about how we live. I’ll say this again: I think students in America may be more aesthetic. But also, the Americans always want to make a point; they think they’re making a point—they’re editorializing. They’re trying to deal with social and environmental crises, but they want to make a point. I think the students in China are more interested in how we live. There is a difference. A student saying, “We’ve got to make a point here” or “There is a big problem. I’ve got to make a point about it,” has to make up a statement. A student who says, “I want to figure out how we should live.” They are just different goals. The goal of figuring out a different and better way to live is more important than worrying about making a point or a statement about yourself. For American students, they have to make a statement too much, and it dominates their minds. Maybe it is because they do not know which direction to go. I think there is more confusion in America right now.
But, of course, the talent is so great. That’s the great thing about Harvard; the students are the strength of the school by far. Their talent is such a force. So, I’m only interested in my exposure to this talent. It is the most amazing thing for me. If I were on my own, I would never have gone this far without the force of the talent of the students in that school. I could never have gone this far. So many of them have worked with me. My firm’s co-partner, and now its principal, is a former student of mine more than 13 years ago. He worked on the design of the PAC. In the beginning, I sent it to him. He said, “I’m just a kid.” He remembered when he started on this design because we have done so many others since then. Although he worked on it again to redesign the new outside. Anyway, the talent of Harvard is a force that has transformed my life.
When I was a student, the force was only a very few professors. Maybe five. I had some great professors who shaped my whole outlook. My favorite ones—the certain ones—were my mentors in my mind. I have had other mentors who were not professors in the school. They were authors and architects who I read and regarded as mentors. Today, it is the students. It’s an inversion.
I think students today are way more talented than those during my time. I know when you are a student, you see things differently. I can tell you objectively because of the computer and the tools we have. Because of many transformations in architecture in the past 30 years, the talent of students today is far greater than it was 30 years ago. Their capability to do innovative design work is dramatically higher today than 30 years ago. Now, we are facing artificial intelligence, and I do not know what its impact will be.
The Keystone Magazine: We’re actually living deeply in the age of AI. Because of these changes, what core knowledge should still be taught at universities? What areas of knowledge are still of constant value?
Cohen: I would love to talk to the students about AI. I believe AI will not be able to compete with students in the performing arts, theater, and music because the immediacy of performance cannot be replaced. If AI is a threat, they are the most protected of all artists and creative people.
AI will help us with instrumentation and many technical aspects of theater. There are many things that AI could help us define in theater, and obviously, musical production might be impacted by it. I believe that will happen, but not performing on stage. That is still a sacred act that will not be lost. Performing on stage will persist, and maybe even get stronger, because people will need it more and it will be so exceptional compared to anything AI can create. It will be different because it will be real.
As far as architecture goes, I think it is terrifying and thrilling to imagine what might happen. I am thrilled because I think we can test many things, and many variations and ideas can be thought through. We can work from ideas that are verbalized into visualization. This connection between verbalization and visualization has always been a struggle for architects. It will be a new way of dealing with the connection between the verbalized written words and the visual form. I would like to imagine that this could be a transformative, powerful tool for that.
Architecture is also defended, by the way. Right now, it is still impossible so far for AI to build models. It uses three-dimensional models, but we do not have the data for massive numbers of buildings in computer-modeled three dimensions. We have other kinds of data, and that is why ChatGPT is possible. We have visual materials and photographs of everything online, but we do not have three-dimensional models populating the data system of the Internet enough to build, automate, and make models with AI that are really effective for practice. When and how will that happen? People are working on it. Can we get to the point where AI can build all? Many can start building models and ask AI to do any type of building. Every variation you can imagine, or even those you cannot even imagine. That will be a breakthrough. Let’s wait and see. I’m too old. I wish I were younger. I think we are at the cusp of a radical transformation because I hope I would like that with AI.
The Keystone Magazine: To me, it’s like a Pandora’s box. You won’t know what will come out of it when you open the box.
Cohen: That’s okay. We have to take the risk. It’s an effort. There’s nothing we can do about that. I’m ready for that. I think that’s okay. We all are struggling with it. I want to hear how the humanities are dealing with it. I would like to hear more about how you’re dealing with it. I can learn from you because you’re dealing with the real issues in text, writing, mathematics, and the sciences. I want to see what all those fields integrated into AI are doing right now. Architecture is not in AI yet, not in any good way, not in any advanced way. So, we do not know anything about what’s going to happen. The only thing it can do for architects right now is generate images of everything endlessly. It is very powerful because images are important for architects to imagine everything to design. But it cannot build three-dimensional models. Until it can, I am not ready to tell you that it is really important for architecture yet. Not everyone agrees with me. They do not care about three-dimensional modeling as much as I do, but I think that is the essential means to design architecture. After the computer arrived, the potential to build computationally in three dimensions was the complete synthesis of means to represent architecture. You can get inside of it. You can see it in perspective. You can do all the drawings you need to make a building from a three-dimensional computer model. If AI can build a three-dimensional computer model with every variation possible, that is the moment you are in a whole new world. We’re not there. I’m waiting for that.
The Keystone Magazine: I’m curious to know the key lesson that you always share with your students on Day 1 of your lectures or classes.
Cohen: Oh my, that’s a good question! I don’t know, actually. Some basic things come to mind, but they’re not that great. A basic problem in architecture is that it is an artifact of the mind and experience. It is immersive and sensorial—it involves our senses, the actual experience in space. There are two different things. You have a cognitive map of the building; you understand its form, where it is, and where you are in the world. You map yourself into things, you think things through, and you can understand the three-dimensional world in your mind. You hold it in your mind. Some of it you cannot hold in your mind, which is really interesting.
Anyway, for example, I asked a student from my trip to Wuhan, “Do you understand the city of Wuhan?” “Could you see it in your mind?” He said, “Absolutely not.” It is so complicated, and it is so chaotic. It is so vast and incomprehensible. I think that is fantastic, exciting, and interesting that you cannot even comprehend a physical reality that is made by humans. You should be able to, actually, when you think about it. It seems like you should be able to. I feel like I can comprehend New York City or Boston, even though I do not fully have that ability. The form and geography of Boston is pretty hard to hold in your mind. Well, I was driving in Wuhan, which was absolutely impossible to imagine or comprehend. It was a phenomenal experience for me to recognize and feel that. I would spend years trying to grasp Wuhan. It could take many years to come to terms with it. I think you can comprehend Beijing.
The comprehension in architecture is one thing and then there is another: the actual experience of the space, the light, the reflections, the presence of people in it, the interaction you’re having, the mood of it, the character, the mist, the weather, the leaves—everything in relation to the buildings. The phenomenal experience is different from comprehending it. There is a tension between comprehension and the bodily encounter with architecture. Somehow, you will always have to deal with this dialectic, the relationship between the body and the mind.
I think that is one of the things I talk about very early with my students. It is an early issue to look at. I mean, there are many other things, but that is one of them.
The Keystone Magazine: You want them to understand before they explore.
Cohen: I want them to know that there is this difference between thinking things and experiencing things. There are two different relationships you have with architecture. And you need to be clear about that. I think a student needs to know whether it is in the realm of comprehension or the realm of the senses. They have to come to terms with this difference. Although there is another big issue: architecture is not only personal—it is quite impersonal. It’s for others, for everyone. You cannot assume complete control of it. You are a participant. You are in something always already underway—the construction of a city, houses, habitats, and so on. Whatever it is, you are not starting from scratch, and it is not a personal expression. It is not like art. There is still a possibility that art could have a blank canvas. With art, you could start from nothing. If it is possible, you could have no sound and start making a sound. But not in architecture. You cannot start with nothing. It is already something and you are entering into it. It is happening; you are building in something where there are already buildings. You are often adapting to an existing building; you are changing an existing condition or things that exist. You are not starting from scratch, ever. And it is a social act. You have to work with others. The whole thing involves mobilizing resources and people to work together toward a goal. It is the mobilization of any of you that becomes the act of building. The act of designing a building mobilizes these people. You can mobilize your client, the planners, and all of the people who build it, the others who work on the design with you—as an architect, you have to mobilize a lot of things. I think maybe moviemakers or even conductors are mobilizing people. And I think that is not a personal expression; rather, it is a placement of yourself among others. You have to become aware of the social contract with people that you are doing. You are participating in it to get to do architecture. Architecture is a social project. It is not a personal project. That is the risk of it.
That is a kind of contradiction for many because they want to express their ideas. They kind of like the artistic side—that is artistic architecture. It is a strange problem in architecture because it has an artistic dimension to it. Sometimes, you have to have a vision, which often comes from one person. It is a bit of a contradiction. If so, it is a bit too authoritarian. That is not the world we are in. We need to be more collaborative and inclusive of many other voices.
There is another problem, though, when you include many voices: things get very average and flat because everyone has to agree. So, nothing can be remarkable. Because if it is remarkable, somebody else isn’t going to like it. You have to make everything common, killing creativity and making things dull for everyone. I’m sorry to say many Chinese cities look dull and repetitive. It is the same thing city after city. That is a sad outcome of pervasive commonality, a common ground that is so broad, shared, and repeated. There is no personal commitment. So, architecture is a tension between personal commitment and the mobilization of collectives. It is not easy to bring people together and have a vision. It is a big problem. I will admit the PAC involved a vision. I’m lucky I didn’t have to design with the committee and have all these people interfering with my idea. They let me do something creative. I’m contradicting myself here a little bit. Do you follow me on this contradiction? I don’t think this building would be special if it were just purely introduced by a committee or a whole bunch of different voices. It would have turned out kind of like everything else. Isn’t that interesting? I don’t know what to do about this problem. There’s no answer to this. It’s not easy.
The Keystone Magazine: It’s like a dilemma.
Cohen: Yes, It’s a dilemma. The tension between the individual and society is a dilemma forever. But it is very strong in architecture. There is tension because architecture involves mobilization and independent expression. When a choreographer or a conductor is working, they are leading. The composer is maybe the ultimate lever because they arrive to inform of the whole piece of music that everyone is playing. That is really a top-down process. You’ve got a composer, you got a conductor. There is no doubt that there is leadership, and all of the players perform this piece that someone else wrote together. You are playing the notes of others. You are not playing your own notes when you are in a performing role. But the performing role is also beautiful: the execution of all those pieces is amazing. Anyway, it has to do with the craft of beautiful music. Everyone is playing a different role in which they have to find beauty. This is another thing: you should find beauty in our roles.
The Keystone Magazine: I agree with you in using the metaphor of the conductor. I think architects shoulder many complex responsibilities and have to understand many areas of knowledge, not just architecture itself, but also history, art, culture, geography, and environment.
Cohen: The people who build these windows, that is a different discipline. The engineers, that is another. There is a lot of different expertise involved.
The Keystone Magazine: So, the architect is like a conductor and a composer.
Cohen: You’re absolutely right. It is both. But they have to be aware of who the players are. And they have to be sensitive to what the players can achieve and know enough about the players and care for them, too. Otherwise, the players are crushed. This is a sad role, too. You do not want everyone just following the conductor or the composer. No, they are not slaves. They are enjoying the performance. There has to be pleasure. The problem with architecture is a lot of its production is not pleasurable; rather, it is very tedious and sad. It is not wonderful always to practice.
The Keystone Magazine: I understand why you have used the word mobilize. For the artist, the idea is never homogeneous. Actually, we have to mobilize everything together to make things happen. It is very tough but rewarding.
Cohen: Let me say something about this building again. I hope that is true: even though you could have a central idea of vision, I would like it to express something about architecture and not something that looks personal. For example, some buildings are very expressive, seem sculptural, and look like art because they break away from normal buildings. They decisively suggest they are not part of normal buildings at all or architecture in the most conventional sense. I do not believe it. I want to change architecture. I want the building to look like architecture—no doubt about it. We have a gable, vertical walls, a procession, and a sequence of space that is like a traditional theater lobby. You come in horizontally, and it goes vertically, and you get into the theater. You can remember other buildings in this building. It is not totally alien. It is not like it is totally otherworldly. It is still normal architecture, but it looks different than tradition. It does some strange things like a curtain lifting (form). It looks like it is cut open on one side. It is a bit abstract and has some other suggestions. It looks problematic with the shift and such things. It makes you ask questions. So, it is doing some odd things. And that involves a vision on my part, honestly. But it is not a vision of being totally separate. It is still participating in the whole project of architecture, which is a long history of buildings that do and order certain things, and look and are arranged in certain ways. Those are familiar to a lot of people for many years. I want to evolve from that. I do not want to look like I’m stepping out of that. If so, you are just making an art piece, making you an authoritarian. Everyone is just reproducing your giant pieces of art. And all these people who make the glass, the engineers, the workers, and the designers of your office—all of the mobilizing of the client is for that one piece of art. It is not participating or changing architecture. Architecture is a big societal project that has been going on for centuries. I want to be part of that bigger thing that I call architecture—the language of buildings, the forms, and spaces of buildings that are cognitive and experiential. I want to be part of something social.
Even though there is leadership and envisioning required for this particular building—to be doing slightly strange things such as the curtain, the tear, the asymmetry, the dynamic shape, and the draping form—it is engaged in the bigger, societal, long project of architecture. That is different than some other people. Some other architects do not want that. Rather, they want to stand out for themselves. They want to express themselves. They think personal expression will change architecture, what will be important, innovative, creative, et cetera. I disagree. I think that is authoritarian and incorrect. It is not essentially architecture being social.
This is the tension between the individual and the social. You have to stay close to architecture to solve it. You cannot just act like you are an artist. I think that is immature, wrong, and egotistical. So, what I’m saying is strange because when we started out, this building stood out against others. So, that sounds very egotistical already. There is a little bit of a contradiction here. But I would say that it is part of a certain traditional architecture, the tradition of the classical style for college architecture. And the PAC is part of a different tradition—the modern tradition, which has its own logic and principles. The PAC engages those. It is a different language, but it is not without other associations. It is putting two languages together, which is contrast but not about putting a personal piece of art in contrast with that. It is about putting a different form of architecture in the context of that other architecture. Simply put, it is two architectures set against each other. I don’t want it to look like a personal thing, though. Rather, it is not. It has some personality, though, and that is inevitable. Even these goals, by the way, are specific ways to achieve the collegiate style. And there are other ways. Those architects have that style of doing the collegiate. Every building has something personal about it. You cannot escape the personal, but it isn’t always the main thing. The expression by the individual isn’t the same thing.
