animated by philosophy, not a philosopher with architectural interests. I must confess that I am an amateur thinker although I have read numerous books by philosophers due to my interest in the enigma of human existence, consciousness and the essence of knowledge. I consider myself a craftsman and amateur, and I have even developed a suspicion for expertise in the manner of the statement of Joseph Brodsky, the poet: ‘A craftsman does not collect expertise, he collects uncertainties’.7 Through my long experience as architect and designer, I have become ever more uncertain, as widening knowledge complicates reality instead of simplifying it.
I have been particularly impressed by the writings of Maurice Merleau‐Ponty, whose thinking I have found inspiringly open‐ended and optimistic. He is a truly poetic philosopher, whose expressions often possess the magic of art. His philosophy has made me understand the chiasmatic way in which the mental and the material worlds intertwine, and that view has opened up new ways of understanding artistic and architectural phenomena. My phenomenological thinking began with an interest in the senses and this led me to critique the hegemony of vision in western culture. This dominance already emerged in Greek philosophy, and has been dramatically accelerated by technology, especially writing and mechanical printing, as Walter J Ong has convincingly suggested in Orality and Literacy.8
After several decades of design work, thinking and writing, I am convinced that the most important sense in architectural experience is not vision, but the existential sense, our sense of self. We exist in ‘the flesh of the world’, to use a notion of Merleau‐Ponty, and architecture gives us our foothold in this very flesh.9 I have also become convinced that peripheral and unfocused perceptions and the understanding of the nature of the human existential reality are more important in architecture than our focused percepts. The continuum of memory, perception and imagination is also more essential than isolated sensations. Simply, focused vision makes us outsiders, whereas embracing peripheral and diffuse perceptions turn us into insiders and participants. This view makes the formal and geometric dominance in architectural theory and education questionable in comparison with an existential, experiential and atmospheric understanding.
In 2010, while working on the translation of two books of mine from English into Italian, Matteo Zambelli, architect and professor, suggested to me the idea of compiling a selection of excerpts of my writings in an encyclopaedic form, organized alphabetically on the basis of keywords identifying the contents of the selected chapters. As I tend to write in fragments, or semi‐autonomous paragraphs, instead of aspiring to forge a seamlessly continuous narrative, I immediately accepted the idea. By the time of our conversation, nearly nine years ago, I had published around 45 books and some 350 essays, prefaces and interviews, mostly on experiential and philosophical views of architecture and the arts (several of them through John Wiley & Sons, London), I felt that there would be enough material for a book based on Matteo's idea. At the same time that the idea of an ‘encyclopaedia’ of my writings sounded somewhat pretentious, it also seemed to project a relaxed attitude in regarding individual essays as mere material for a previously unmeditated entity.
The book was published in Italian by Pendragon, Bologna, in 2011, as Juhani Pallasmaa, Lampi di pensiero. Fenomenologia della percezione in architettura, edited by Mauro Fratta and Matteo Zambelli. Now, at the time of writing the preface for the largely expanded English version of the book, the total number of my books is over 60, and I must have published well over 400 articles and essays. The number of entries in this English edition of Inseminations has likewise roughly been doubled. As students today tend to read short fragments rather than full essays or entire books, a collection of condensed chapters on distinct themes could well be attractive to student readers.
My way of thinking and writing is to focus on a subject matter or view point at a time, record my observations, thoughts and associations on that subject and move on to the next view point or theme of my interest, related to the main topic. My writing process is largely self‐generative, and the ideas emerge through the act of writing itself. The fact that most of my essays are originally written as lectures to be illustrated with a great number of associative images following a visual logic of their own has further supported the additive inner structure of my writings. As a result of my manner of writing, the essays are essentially collaged chapters, and I frequently keep moving the various 'elements' around during the writing process. Usually, I also use a number of quotes, which further emphasize the collage character of my texts. The primary reason for the extensive use of quotes is to place my thoughts in a continuum of thinking, instead of presenting ideas as a personal and independent views of mine. Besides, I do not believe in grand truths or theories, I rather place my confidence in the sincerety of momentary views and situational observations. Observations and ideas are bound to depend on one's point of viewing (a point in the evolution of thought in that specific area of thinking), and thus observations and arguments change in accordance with changes in the point of observation. Usually, I do not agree with myself for too long.
The art forms of collage, compilation, assemblage and montage – the syntax of cinematic expression – have long been close to my way of thinking and aesthetic sensibility. The art form of collage is based on an internal dialogue between the parts that give new meanings to each other, which however continue to posses some degree of autonomy and identity of their own. This complex interaction projects unexpected meanings to the entity. Often the collaged image, as well as piece of writing, consist of conflicts and irreconcilabilities, and unresolved juxtapositions. I deliberately seek internal conflicts in my writings. As a consequence of these aspirations, various parts of my essays can fairly easily be disconnected from the continuity of the text and presented as autonomous statements, credos, or propositions.
Real encyclopaedic entries are written around singular concepts, themes, and subject matters, and the entry revolves cohesively around that very topic. Breaking essays into pieces in accordance with their specific contents, and giving them new title words is a reverse process. As a consequence, most of the fragmented chapters could just as well be classified differently and characterized by alternative keywords. So, this 'encyclopaedia' of my writings is bound to be a quasi‐encyclopedia, one of many alternative compilations.
When writing with a literary ambition, such as an essay, the intensity of argumentation intentionally varies; there are parts that have a particular weight, embedded in paragraphs of lesser significance and density of content. The separation of ideas from their overall context naturally intensifies the density of the compilation of the separated chapters, as the literary rhythm is lost. The isolation of chapters also tends to give them a somewhat aphoristic ambience and a forced significance, which may not have been the tone of the excerpt in its original context.
It should also be noted that all excerpts are given in their original published form, without eliminating repetitions.
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Thanks to the publisher, Paul Sayer, and the copy‐editor, Nora Naughton.
I want to thank especially Matteo Zambelli for his idea on an encyclopaedic compilation of a score of my writings, and his arduos work in restructuring a huge sampling of my thoughts. The dismantling of my own writings would have been psychologically impossible for me. In this unexpected encyclopaedic context, I tend to read the various entries from a distance, as if they were actually written by someone else. Even in a normal writing process, the personal identification and intimacy of the text keeps changing, and the measure of its finiteness is when it does not feel like yours any more, and it survives independently of you.
13 June 2019
Notes
1 1 Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space, Boston: Beacon Press, 1969.
2 2 Juhani Pallasmaa, ‘Geometry of Feeling: A look at the Phenomenology of Architecture. Part 1’, Arkkitehti: The Finnish Architectural Review 3:1985, 44–49.
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