Business
& Labor
The Essence of Education
(archrecord.construction.com - 07/17/2006)
By Robert
A. Ivy
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| Photography: ©
André Souroujon |
The AIA convention in Los Angeles exceeded
the record books, with more than 25,000 attendees enjoying
the cool California air. Members packed the trade show floor,
gathered for continuing education sessions, and jammed the
Art Mile and other social and artistic venues. Yet when the
halls had closed, and the debris had been swept into piles
for the landfill, what remains? From this perspective, one
person stood out.
On the final Saturday afternoon, the
spotlight fell center stage on William McMinn, FAIA, winner
of the current Topaz Medallion given jointly by the American
Institute of Architects and the Association of Collegiate
Schools of Architecture. First, we recognize the importance
of his award. The Topaz deserves greater visibility, given
to someone who has “made outstanding contributions to
architecture education for at least 10 years, whose teaching
has influenced a broad range of students, and who has helped
shape the minds of those who will shape our environment.”
Bill richly deserved the Topaz for his
unusual accomplishments in architectural education: At one
time he was known as a “founding dean.” He earned
the title by launching two schools of architecture: one at
Mississippi State University (a first-rate school in the nation’s
poorest state), and the other at Florida International University
(a fast-growing institution with a diverse, commuter population).
In addition, he spent a 13-year tenure at Cornell, inaugurating
its undergraduate planning program and strengthening its graduate
program. Along the way, Auburn and LSU also benefited from
his oversight. Bill McMinn has espoused excellence wherever
he has set his sights.
On June 10, Bill took the podium on
the convention’s last afternoon, and reminded us all
why we entered architecture in the first place. For days we
had been learning how to better manage our practices, and
were kept busy, busy, busy earning education credits, polishing
our analytical skills in sustainability, and networking with
our peers. It all seemed so important, and certainly it mattered.
Then Bill spoke.
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In the simplest terms, he recounted
the tale of a student who had accompanied him on an educational
trip to Rome. Separated from the group of student travelers,
the young man stood alone, prompting the dean to quiz him
about his absence. The student admitted that, panicked that
he might miss admission to a hallowed space, he had been waiting
at the Pantheon since sunrise. He described how he had first
seen images of the fabled building in his grandfather’s
study as a child, had studied the structure throughout his
education, and now “here he was.” Bill then quoted
the student verbatim:
“I never believed that I would
actually be in this place. It is so awesome … more than
I ever believed it would be … the sphere, the cylinder,
the enclosure, the fantastic space, and that amazing column
of light.”
The dean then knew that the student
had discovered the “power and passion” of architecture
that the educator describes as “the essence of architectural
education,” a discovery that comes personally, even intimately,
and can never be taken away. “If we are good guides,
it will be with them forever.” Bill’s own words.
That storytelling took many of us in
the audience back to our own moments of recognition—the
fortunate, transcendent instant when the universe clicked
into adjustment and we understood the power of architecture.
For some in the audience, the moment of architectural recognition
might have occurred at the Salk Institute; for another, at
Ronchamp. Not everyone has experienced an “Aha!”:
Some find a ripening of appreciation over time. The route
is an individual, inevitable one.
As McMinn articulated, “Each person
discovers it in their own way and their own time.” The
architectural experience then continues for a lifetime, deepening
in appreciation, widening in scope, and never failing to amaze
us. Architecture fuels our careers and our lives, as well.
It’s not for business reasons that we do what we do,
though professionalism and economic good sense matter; nor
is it for the improvement of society, or for health, or for
any of a dozen other good reasons that earnest seminars and
conventions promote. Bill made that perfectly clear. Instead,
we make architecture because we love it. Beside that intuitive
understanding, all learning pales and the lights go dim.
Join Robert Ivy as he jots down notes on his travels and the
state of architecture today in the Editor's
Journal. Check out our index of past
editorials.
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