Peter Zumthor: Therme Vals One

Peter Zumthor: Therme Vals

One of the best examples of a relatively recent application of phenomenology in architecture is Peter Zumthor's Therme Vals in Vals, Switzerland. Examining how Zumthor transformed an aging spa resort into the unique structure that exists today helps one to better understand how theoretical ideas may intesect the practice and production of architecture. In particular, considering Therme Vals in the context of certain texts discussing architectual phenomenology by Christian Norberg-Schulz, Juhani Palasma, and Zumthor himself reveals the way in which Zumthor's particular design choices, from the locally-sourced materials to the intentional timelessness of the interior, exemplify the phenomenological ideals of simplicity, personality, and individual reflection. The building presents itself as a kind of suggestive, creative space, in which the formal details of the design serve to nudge the individual towards certain ideal experiences.

In order to conduct a succesful analysis of Therme Vals, one must first understand some of the basic theoretical and ideological underpinnings of phenomenology. The theory of architectural phenomelogy developed over the course of the latter half of the twentieth century, and one of the central figures in its creation was Christian Norberg-Shulz, who consolidtated his various ideas in the seminal work Genius loci: towards a phenomenology of architecture. In it, he proposes "the understanding of a place as a phenomenon," an understanding which forces a fundamental reevaluation of architecture's role in the creation of meaning, because it highlights how architecture may serve as a kind of liminal space in which objective reality and subjective experience meet. (Castello 2010, 89).

Norberg-Shulz takes his cue from the philospher Martin Heidegger, proposing "a phenomenology of place [that] comprise[s] the basic modes of construction and their relationship to formal articulation" ( Norberg-Schulz 1980, 15). Thus, Norberg-Shulz is arguing for an architectural practice that seeks to address the space of a structure with an eye towards the way that structure tranforms objective space into a subjective place through the interaction between sensory information and individual consciousness.

As such, the ideal architectural practice for Norberg-Schulz is one that focuses on the most essential elements of any structure; namely, the materials, shape, and context, which results in an apparently simple, clean structure that nonetheless produces a complex personal experience for the viewer. While this neccesarily means that phenomenological arhcitecture avoids ornamentation, one should not confuse architectural phenomenology with the ideals of the international style, because the latter values an almost industrial fetishism of elementary materials that have been molded and cast, thus celebrating an almost Vulcan (the god, not the alien species) pride in human power, while the former is largely concerned with expressing and celebrating "the dependence of man upon nature" through the use of certain materials and a particular attention to embedding the structure into its immediate, local context (Norberg-Schulz 1980, 129). In this way, architecture is not viewed as a triumph over nature, but rather as the process by which humans are able to work with nature in symbiotic fashion.

Zumthor attempts to embody this characteristic in his work, as he notes when he states that "all my buildings are sort of in a critical dialoque with the site, with the place," so that "if you have a good result, then it's a nice metaphor to say that the building looks as if it has always been there because then [...] you have reached some kind of rapport between the place and the building" (Spier 2001, 16). Thus, the goal is not to recreate elements of nature through the use of ornamentation, but rather to integrate with nature by providing a kind of bridge between natural, emergent processes and the intentional ordering of material and space. In a way, one may view "place" as the meeting of space and consciousness, with the particular architecture of a place serving to guide consciousness towards the most productive interaction with that natural, objective space.

In addition the choice of material and lack of undue ornamentation, an architectural practice embodying phenomenological ideals must take into account the personal experience of the viewer, because a recognition of a specific place as a phenomenon means that the architect is responsible for taking the entirtey of the that subjective experience into account by designing a structure that successfully engages the whole range of human sensory perception, because "architecture needs to be expereinced to convey meaning" (Castello 2010, 89). This statement may appear obvious at first, but it is worth pointing out because of the way in which it highlights the importance of the individual in the role of architecture. At its core, phenomenological theory simply agrees to acknowledge that architecture is the process of structuring physical reality according to human perception and experience, and as such should be approached as a kind of intermediary between individual meaning and the totality of existence.

Obviously, while the architect cannot take every possible individual expereince into account, a phenomenological practice will nonetheless "defend the autonomy and emancipation of individual experience" by organizing a structure in such a way that a multitude of complex individual experiences may arise from the set of relatively simple formal characterstics (Palasmaa 2010, 31). Again this demonstrates a divergence from the rote simplicity of the international style, because as Zumthor notes, the "attempt to generalize" by proposing universal standards of structure regardless of context "rob[s] the individual buildings of their splendor" (Zumthor 1999, 37). Phenomenological practice does not focus on simplicity for simplicity's sake, but rather begins from the assumption that any given space suggests its own essential elements, and it is the job of the architect to recognize these elements and expand upon them in a process of multiplication, rather than addition.

One may see the phenomenological ideals of material and formal simplicity coupled with an attention to the individual subjective experience in all of Peter Zumthor's work, and perhaps most easily in Therme Vals, a spa nestled in the mountains of eastern Switzerland. Pointing out how these theoretical ideas have been exemplified in Therme Vals may be done simply by providing a description of the structure, because each detail may be seen as the practical application of a phenomenological theory of architecture. Beginning with the exterior and moving through the interior along the same path as a potential visitor, one may see how the building serves as a kind of implicit guide, suggesting certain behaviors and connotations that allow the visitor to appreciate an individualized emotional, intellectual, and physical experience without the building or architect's intention explicitly intruding on the emergence of this experience.

Zumthor's structure is "actually a self-contained addition specifically designed to revive the failing fortunes of a tired 1960s hotel spa, which by the late '80s was verging on bankruptcy," and the design seems intentionally opposed to "the traditional alpine cottage" (Reuber 2002, 25). However, this is not to suggest that the building presents any kind of contrast to its surroundings, because visually it represents the symbiotic relationship between the overwhelming force of nature and human attempts to structure some small portion of that force into a habitable space. The exterior is composed of at least "60,000 Valser granite slabs from stone quarries further up the valley," thus exemplifying Norberg-Schulz's "dependence of man upon nature," which he argues "is first of all expressed through the use of local materials" (Henry & Taylor 2005, 47, Norberg-Schulz 1980, 129). It is worth mentioning that this focus on local materials is not necessarily borne out the same kind of environmental concern which has made locally-sourced food so popular, but rather a belief that the integration of a building into its context is made all the more seamless through the integration of contextual materials. Thus, the use of local stone serves to highlight the particular character of the place in the same way that the use of local spring water in the hotel's restaurant does, because both serve to centralize the uniquer character of the place itself.

The stone is "not mere facing, but is wholly structural," and it gives the structure the appearance of having been carved out of the mountain rising up behind it, as if the "rectangular structure has been chiseled into the slope" (Henry & Taylor 2005, 47, Reuber 2002, 25). The stone marks the building as a place of eternal transition, in that it seems to be forever locked in a process of emergence, blending the human with the natural and creating a space in which the two may safely meet. In addition, while the individual slabs allow the viewer to see the grain and detail of the stone, they also serve to paradoxically create a sense of airy lightness due to small slits in the roof and certain walls which "emit dramatic slivers of light, creating a changing tableau throughout the day" that reflects the integration of the structure into the natural processes of its environment, both on the micro-scale of a single day and the macro-scale of the millions of years necessary to form a mountain (Henry & Taylor 2005, 47).

These small areas "where walls seem to not quite touch each other" are important because they help to demonstrate the complexity emergent out of relatively simple materials and small details (Henry & Taylor 2005, 47). This is crucial to note because it disproves the idea that "Zumthor's architecture is preoccupied with materials and tectonics" so that "his design process somehow began and ended with concerns about physical matter" (Platt & Spier 2001, 21). If this were the case, the weight of the stone itself would likely have been highlighted, but instead, Zumthor chooses to subvert this weight by punctuating the stone with light, thus simultaneously imbuing the structure with the apparent timelessness of a stone mountain with the airy elevation of its position in the atmosphere. This effect helps to embody phenomenology's nuanced conception of materials and their relation to a structure's context, because the focus is not necessarily on the material itself, but rather its functional and emotional role within the space as a whole. Zumthor's use of stone is not a celebration of granite as such (in the way that the international style seems to be a celebration of steel and glass), but rather a celebration of the interplay between the specific granite of the mountain and the open sky above it.

This careful attention to emergent emotional and perceptive experience produced by the interaction between a relatively few elements continues in the interior of the building, because the interior is composed of a "complex of interconnected open and closed geometric caves and caverns" which include the water of the baths in such a way as to give the impression of an interior etched over the course of millions of years but paradoxically intended for human use (Henry & Taylor 2005, 47). The baths utilize "the warm, therapeutic spring waters that rise out of the mountain," further integrating human use and natural context (Sahin 2009, 192). Coupled with the stone and natural light, the warm water completes the elemental cycle, such that Therme Vals may be seen as embodying an almost classical view of nature even as it forgoes any kind of classical architectural details.

Even the entrance to the baths gives the visitor the impression of entering some kind of ancient, elemental place, because "the main entrance is located at the back of the hotel complex at the cellar level," as if the structure was built specifically to accommodate this preexisting passageway (Reuber 2002, 25). The first passageway into the baths is made of black concrete, followed by a corridor where "water drips from simple copper spigots on one side, staining both the granite wall and floor with blood-red iron and bile-yellow sulfur," ending in "a cobalt-blue sandblasted glass door" (Reuber 2002, 25). This is the first introduction of color into the otherwise gray and black palate of the building, and once again it serves to exemplify the simplicity of phenomenological practice. Zumthor's design uses these three primary colors as a means of distinguishing between the different pools and baths in the complex, thus allowing each area to take on its own distinctive character while nonetheless maintaining a feeling of continuity.

Thus, the first thing the visitor sees after passing through the changing room is "the large rectangular bathing hall lit by 16 blue skylights overhead," which branches off into "a small contemplative cave lit eerily from below" as well as "a sunken red-hot grotto, where sulfurous water is imbibed from brass cups chained to a small circular brass railing" (Reuber 2002, 25). The different baths serve to highlight different features and connotations of a cave, with some areas highlighting a kind of natural serenity exemplified by the light filtering in to the open cavern, and others playfully enacting an almost hellish aesthetic so that the bath may be recognized as "a playful and joyful thing" (Spier 2001, 22). This "joke" is quite intentional, because the baths are meant to be a place of enjoyment and reflection, experiences not possible in an oppressive environment.

Instilling a sense of playfulness into the design is crucial if it desires to enact a phenomenological practice of architecture, because if it the building was domineering or otherwise restrictive then it would preclude the kind of individual experience that is so central to phenomenology. Surprise is a key element of this playfulness, because the design must simultaneously serve to comfort and relax the visitor (it is a spa, after all) while nonetheless confronting the individual's assumptions in order to generate a novel experience. The various branching caverns and grottoes serve this purpose, because depending on where one is, "occupants are able to comprehend the whole at certain moments and be surprised by its parts at other moments" through the use of "occupant circulation paths that are suggestive, but also allow the occupant to choose their own path and create their own experience" (Genaze 2010, 30). This embodies the phenomenological focus on the individual experience of a place, because the building serves as a kind of suggestive structure, offering just enough guidance so as to help visitors toward the production of a unique experience that nonetheless arises out of the formal characteristics of the architecture.

Even the auditory characteristics of the interior serve to highlight the individual sensory experience of the place, because although "the bath starts to sound terrible when there are more than a 100, 120 people in it and the children start to yell and scream," the size of the interior itself limits this possibility as much as possible so that the visitor can, in Zumthor's words "hear all the sounds […] hear the space" (Spier 2001, 22). This is crucial because the building itself serves to suggest its ideal use, so while it does not dictate the visitor's experience in any kind of rigid way, "the building can tell you better what it wants" such that one may achieve an ideal experience in a natural, emergent process. In a way, the building itself attempts to subtly recede from the visitor's mind, so that the experience has less to do with the solid, immovable structure and more with the ephemeral meaning-creation which occurs within the structure, thus "forc[ing] the distinction between one's formal understanding of the building through drawings, say, and one's experience of it" (Spier 2001, 23).