Introduction

Architectural discourse at the turn of the 21st century seemed to be dominated by advancements in digital technologies. Powerful CAD, BIM and parametric modeling tools proliferated throughout the industry, establishing a new frame of reference for thinking about form and structure, and ultimately shaping a revolutionary approach to design and fabrication. However, there was a completely separate but equally important conversation happening during the same time period, one that represented a counterculture of sorts within the world of architectural theory. This, of course, is phenomenology, a theory that today more than ever deserves deep consideration amidst the chaos of a highly digital world. 

Finnish architect and theorist Juhani Pallasmaa (b. 1936) has been one of the most staunch and respected advocates of phenomenological theories in architecture over the last three decades. Originally published in 1996, The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture of the Senses has perhaps been one of the most influential contributions on the subject since it became an active thread of theoretical dialogue in the 1960s. In the book, Pallasmaa draws attention to the need for designing complete sensory experiences in architecture, rather than focusing on the visual image. Doing so, he argues, serves to enhance our existential understanding of ourselves and the world around us. 

While not formally labeled as a philosophical discipline until the early 20th century, it could be argued that the notion of phenomenology has been one of the few inherently pervasive principles of architectural design throughout history, perhaps a consideration equally as fundamental and important as structure or form. This essay explores the modern and contemporary thread of human-oriented design through the lens of Pallasmaa, striving to highlight the importance of this movement and strengthen our understanding of his argument by asking two simple questions: What are the practical applications of phenomenology in architecture, and why is it relevant today?

Defining phenomenology

The specific definition of phenomenology has been debated among even its most respected philosophical scholars. It is generally recognized as the “study of structures of consciousness as experienced from the first-person point of view” (Smith). Martin Heidegger proposed the core principles of phenomenology in his 1927 publication, Being and Time. As Norberg-Schulz suggests, Heidegger framed it in the context of existential meaning, related to the notion of “being-in-the-world,” which suggests that human and environment cannot be understood separately (Norberg-Schulz). Heidegger’s definition begins to frame phenomenology in a manner that is useful for analyzing architectural space. 

For purposes of interpreting the practical implications of Pallasmaa’s The Eyes of the Skin, it seems relevant and necessary to pair this definition with the words of his contemporary colleague Steven Holl, the architect and theorist who claimed that, “Phenomenology, in dealing with questions of perception, encourages us to experience architecture by walking through it, touching it, listening to it” (Holl). This notion of creating sensory experiences, combined with the idea of achieving heightened existential awareness, provides us with a simplified understanding of phenomenology in architecture that can serve as a neat framework for the subsequent analysis.

Contextualizing Pallasmaa’s work

While Pallasmaa uses the concept of phenomenology as a platform for discussing his philosophical approach to architectural design, his text should also be recognized as a counterargument to the fashionable “isms” that had come to dominate the global architecture scene by the end of the century. In part, his ideas seem to build upon the argument against the general “consumption of theories” that had been discussed by Agrest and Gandelsonas in the 1970s. While they cautioned that blind consumption on the basis of validating existing ideologies can act as a “theoretical blockade” (Nesbitt 114), Pallasmaa seems to apply the philosophical theory of phenomenology to architecture in a truly critical way. He advocates for a set of design principles that counter mainstream thinking and stylistic obsessions, opposing ideological preconceptions and opening a dialogue for different ideas. Mallgrave suggests that Pallasmaa, by advocating for phenomenology, was trying to refocus the dialogue towards the experience and away from theory for theory’s sake (Mallgrave et al. 562).

It is perhaps most important to contextualize Pallasmaa’s work as a reaction to the general trend towards overemphasis of the visual image. First and foremost, he seems to be commenting on the overly simplified glass and steel facades and white planes that had become popularized by the International Style. Despite its strong functionalist origins, this style gave way to decades of countless architects who sought to imitate the visual “purity” of these buildings without regard for concept or architectural integrity. Modernism also made way for the general intellectualization of architecture through abstract design philosophies, such as the notion of conceptual or autonomous architecture, which sought to strip away all context and emotion from architecture. Pallasmaa’s contempt for these trends is entirely unambiguous, as he describes, “Modernist design at large has housed the intellect and the eye, but it has left the body and the other senses, as well as our memories, imagination and dreams, homeless” (Pallasmaa 21-22).

This reaction to the visual extended even further as a commentary on the trend of consumerism that had taken hold in the decades since the rise of pop art. As such, Pallasmaa seems to also be challenging the false facades and symbolic gestures of Postmodernism, the disruptive forms and technologies employed by the Deconstructivists, and all architecture since that has prioritized society’s preference for attractive renderings and aesthetics over meaningful spatial experiences. Steven Holl puts it best when he says, “Throughout our world, consumer goods propelled by hyperbolic advertising techniques serve to supplant our consciousness and diffuse our reflective capacity. In architecture the application of new, digitally supercharged techniques currently join the hyperbole. With this noisy background, the work of Pallasmaa evokes reflective solitude and resolve - what he has once called ‘The Architecture of Silence’” (Pallasmaa 8).

So, at the end of a century that saw a general trend towards the superficial materialization of architecture, it seems that Pallasmaa was making a case for a return to fundamental human values. Through careful analysis of his text and select architectural works over the last century, perhaps we can confirm that humanity never in fact lost its way.

Investigating Pallasmaa’s main arguments

Pallasmaa’s overarching theory is that, in order for architecture to support the understanding of our sense of being in the world, it must appeal to all of the senses. He claims that we must hear, feel, smell, taste and move our way through space in order to truly experience it: “Every touching experience of architecture is multi-sensory; qualities of space, matter and scale are measured equally by the eye, ear, nose, skin, tongue, skeleton and muscle. Architecture strengthens the existential experience, one’s sense of being in the world, and this is essentially a strengthened experience of self” (Pallasmaa 45). Pallasmaa argues that overemphasis of the visual image actually detracts from the act of experiencing the world and understanding our place in it. As he explains, “The current industrial mass production of visual imagery tends to alienate vision from emotional involvement and identification, and to turn imagery into a mesmerising flow without focus or participation” (Pallasmaa 25).

In order to understand the implications of a heightened focus on the senses, it is necessary to translate Pallasmaa’s conceptual point of view into the practical realm of building. We must ask ourselves not only how we appeal to each of the senses, but also what can we, as architects, realistically control? We will not investigate sense of vision here, as this would be counter to Pallasmaa’s argument. As for the nose and tongue, Pallasmaa makes a compelling case for smell and taste, which have the power to arouse nostalgic memories and intimate emotions. However, despite even the best intentions, it hardly seems feasible that we could design spaces that consistently control for these environmental factors. It may be more practical to focus on the sensory conditions for which we can establish meaningful connections through careful design: tactile experience (skin), silence (ear) and movement of the body through space (skeleton and muscle).

Tactile experience

By employing honest materials, natural light and a collage of textures, we can stimulate the skin by encouraging a more tactile experience. Pallasmaa claims, “Natural materials - stone, brick and wood - allow our vision to penetrate their surfaces and enable us to become convinced of the veracity of matter. Natural materials express their age, as well as the story of their origins and their history of human use. All matter exists in the continuum of time; the patina of wear adds the enriching experience of time to the materials of construction” (Pallasmaa 34). Here, Pallasmaa is advocating for the creation of a sensory experience that appeals to our innate human values. The expression of nature and the natural process of aging are critical to achieving a tactile experience and connecting us with our surroundings.

In defense of this point, he mentions the writings and built works of Alvar Aalto. Early in his career, Aalto was a steering committee member of CIAM and a leading proponent of the Modern notion of Functionalism. However, he later deviated from the strict ideals of Modernism and ultimately left behind a body of work that is concerned primarily with the humanization of built space. Pallasmaa wrote an essay about Aalto in 1998, describing that, “He did not seem to be concerned with the conceptual and geometric purity or with the organization of the design as presented graphically in the architectural drawing; his real interest was in the experiential and material encounter of the actual building...Aalto was a sensory realist in his design approach, not a conceptual idealist. In all his stylistic phases Aalto’s designs project a rare sensuality and tactile intimacy” (Pallasmaa, Aalto 31-32). 

Aalto’s Villa Mairea (1941) is a prime example of his achievements in this regard, a deep exploration of the role that nature, materials and human emotion play in architecture. Here, Aalto successfully achieves humanization of architecture by creating spaces full of visual and tactile interest, appealing to human senses, sensibility and sentiment in the process. Pallasmaa describes the way in which the Villa Mairea incites emotion in the same way that a painter captivates our attention on a canvas: “Aalto compiled motifs and textures as a painter adds dots of color, light, and shade on his paintings. The building is not unified by a single dominant architectural concept; instead, the conglomeration of ideas, impressions, and associations is held together by a sensuous atmosphere, in the same way that a great painting is integrated by the constancy of its light” (Pallasmaa, Aalto 33). From Aalto, we can begin to understand how to achieve a rich tactile experience by translating the complex rhythms and textures of nature into built form.

Silence

By creating moments of silence in architecture, we are able to eliminate unnecessary noise (aural and visual) to allow for a greater understanding of our sense of being-in-the-world. Pallasmaa explains, “The most essential auditory experience created by architecture is tranquility. Architecture presents the drama of construction silenced into matter, space and light. Ultimately, architecture is the art of petrified silence...A powerful architectural experience silences all external noise; it focuses our attention on our very existence, and as with all art, it makes us aware of our fundamental solitude” (Pallasmaa 55). Pallasmaa is not simply talking about the absence of sound. Instead, he is explaining the importance of architecture’s role in creating spaces and environments that enable existential reflection. 

In his understanding of the importance of silence, Pallasmaa draws parallels to Mexican architect Luis Barragán (1902-88). Throughout his career, Barragán exhibited an innate desire to create spaces that respond to human needs, with an emphasis on spiritual well-being rather than physical comfort. In his 1980 Pritzker Prize acceptance speech, Barragán emphasized the importance of silence as a guiding principle for his designs: “Silence. In the gardens and homes I have designed, I have always endeavored to allow for the placid murmur of silence. Solitude. Only through an intimate communion with solitude can man find himself. Serenity. Serenity is the great and true antidote to anguish and fear, and today, more than ever, it is the architect’s duty to make it a permanent guest in any home” (Barragán). While his forms often borrowed heavily from the International Style in their simplicity, Barragán understood how to create complex layers over them with nature, natural light and familiar textures to create these moments of silence that promoted a deep connection between the individual and their surroundings.

This approach is evident at his own house at Tacubaya, Mexico City (1947). Scholar Felipe Leal describes his time in the house, waiting for an appointment with Barragán in the library: “The imposing monastic silence almost made my every movement seem irreverent. Something very powerful was inviting me to listen and respect the silence, to adopt a contemplative attitude in the face of what I was seeing” (Lacy et al. 110). In this room, Barragán created a complex sensory experience: expansive in scale with its white walls and high ceilings, yet intimate with the familiar textures of wood and books; a framed view of the garden courtyard to the west and the cool afternoon light from an east-facing window above. Individual building and nature coexisting, setting the stage for silent reflection. This must be the type of sensory experience that Pallasmaa is referring to in his text.

Movement of the body through space

By employing thoughtfully planned circulation pathways and transitions, we can guide the movement of the body through space, with the goal of creating a deep physical and emotional connection between individual and place. As Pallasmaa describes, “We behold, touch, listen and measure the world with our entire bodily existence, and the experiential world becomes organised and articulated around the centre of the body...We are in constant dialogue and interaction with the environment, to the degree that it is impossible to detach the image of the self from its spatial and situational existence” (Pallasmaa 69). With the ultimate goal of achieving existential clarity, Pallasmaa seems to argue that orchestration of the behavior and movement of the body is critical to guiding the individual through a complete sensory experience.

Peter Zumthor (b. 1943) is one of the best recognized contemporary architects who has an affinity towards phenomenological concepts and applications. Many of his works create rich sensory experiences through the use of materials, texture and light. It is at the Therme Vals (1996), completed during the same year as the publication of Pallasmaa’s text, where we see a critical focus on the movement of the body. Zumthor describes the experience that he sought to create in his 2006 lecture, Atmospheres: “It was incredibly important for us to induce a sense of freedom of movement, a milieu for strolling, a mood that had less to do with directing people than seducing them. Hospital corridors are all about directing people, for example, but there is also the gentler art of seduction, of getting people to let go, to saunter, and that lies within the powers of an architect” (Zumthor, 41-43). Zumthor’s intent at the Therme Vals was to allow for individual exploration, albeit in the context of a controlled environment with carefully planned circulation. The goal, as  Pallasmaa calls for, is a strengthened connection between individual and place, and again greater existential awareness.

Confirming the historical prevalence of phenomenology in architecture

The selected works explored here represent a small fraction of those built over the course of the last century that resonate with Pallasmaa’s argument for phenomenological architecture and Heidegger’s sense of “being-in-the-world.” We could just as easily look to other 20th century works by Aalto or Barragán, to Louis Kahn’s emphasis on natural light and materiality at the Salk Institute, or to what Pallasmaa calls the “uniquely full experience” of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater (Pallasmaa 48). Or we could look to more contemporary examples, like the textured concrete walls and imposing silence of Zumthor’s Bruder Klaus Chapel, the overtly vernacular wood cladding of Steven Holl’s Tower of Silence, or the interplay between darkness and light at Tadao Ando’s Church of Light. These architects share a common respect not only for materials, light and craft, but for the atmosphere that they set out to achieve with their works. 

Perhaps more importantly, the work of these architects - along with their like-minded contemporaries and predecessors -  documents a consistent thread of phenomenological thinking in architecture throughout history. With The Eyes of the Skin, Pallasmaa did not set out to establish an innovative architectural theory in order to promote a new style or fashionable “ism.” Rather, he looked critically at precedent in order to synthesize the fundamental human principles that have guided the development of some of the most successful built works and sensory experiences ever created. The result is an instruction manual of sorts for critically thinking about our individual connection to the world around us, and the role that we as architects have in shaping that experience through careful design of the built environment. 

Understanding the impact of Pallasmaa’s work

While Pallasmaa’s text is still a relatively recent contribution in the long history of architectural theory, it has already had a meaningful impact on the study of architecture and will undoubtedly influence future generations to come. The highly respected architect and theorist Mark Wigley, in introducing Pallasmaa as the keynote speaker for the Inaugural Kenneth Frampton Endowed Lecture at Columbia University in 2012, states that “Juhani single-handedly offers a sustained reflection on the phenomenological experience” (Wigley). He goes on to explain that Pallasmaa’s thinking implies an authentic architecture, one that doesn’t allow for a separation between embodied experience and visual image. Coming from Wigley, this sentiment carries significant weight and validation regarding the importance of Pallasmaa’s work.

We can further glean the lasting impact of Pallasmaa’s work through his 2009 interview with Scott Wall, Director of the School of Architecture at the University of Tennessee. Wall describes that, “Pallasmaa bends language into a consistent form - an imperative that has developed over years of thought and experience, proposition and experiment - a poetic that has become a remarkable and carefully measured linguistic aesthetic that demands action” (Wall 75). This notion of a call  to action seems to create a sense of urgency around the topic of phenomenology in architecture, challenging us not to forget the fundamental human values at the core of architectural design. It also brings us back to the original question that we set out to answer: What are the practical applications of phenomenology in architecture? 

Of course, we have explored various practical methods for achieving rich sensory experiences: employing honest materials, natural light and a collage of textures to encourage tactile interactions; creating moments of silence that promote a greater understanding of our sense of being-in-the-world; guiding the movement of the body through space in order to strengthen the connection between individual and place. However, perhaps the most important implication of Pallasmaa’s work is that we, as architects, achieve a heightened awareness of our own sense of being-in-the-world, and that we incorporate that unique perspective into each project as an integral part of the design process. Pallasmaa describes it best in his discussion with Wall: “What is meaningful in any creative work is how one has integrated the elements and ingredients of one’s life experience into one’s sense of self. Because that’s all that counts” (Wall 77).

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