MOS

Instant Untitled

photos: MOS

We've been thinking about writing this text for a while, starting, then checking our emails, then stopping. It's not easy to write about your work. Ideally, we would write a charming text that would explain everything clearly and simply to everyone. Reading this text, everyone would smile and think "Oh, that is sooooo funny and smart and clear and interesting." Then they would think, "Why have I never heard of MOS before? " Our office would seem more remarkable than it really is. No one would suspect that we're boring -- that we sit in front of computers, and that some nights, we even dream of sitting in front of computers. Despite our efforts, most of our work remains in the computer. Still, our work is more social than we are. It travels, although mostly it visits other people's computers.

As we are reminded daily, this is not an ideal world. Oil is gushing. Icebergs are melting. Landscapes have been turned into corporations. Architecture is a big, heroic spectacle. Urbanism is no longer an operative surrealist exercise based on the physical juxtaposition of difference. Maybe nobody cares. Maybe nobody is reading this. We're indifferent. Anyway, we're not sure we can read any further either. Some of you might wonder, "Why do we Americans even need a pavilion in Venice? It's absurd!" In our forthcoming idyllic and incredibly thoughtful text, we would respond by telling you exactly what "Instant Untitled" means, what it references, what you should see when you look at it. The first thing we would tell you is that it is very sustainable. In fact, it's probably the most sustainable thing in Venice. (If Rome is heavy and real, then Venice is light and fictional -but Venice isn't sustainable. Fictions rarely are.) We might mention that I.U. has a small carbon footprint. It barely even exists. It's an urban figment. Actually, we're not sure what it is, but we're sure it's incredibly sustainable. Although, that's really saying nothing. Now that we think about it, that's a terrible idea, we probably wouldn't mention it.

If you've seen the structure, we're sure you're wondering, "Why is it made out of helium balloons, why does it make a canopy, why is there seating, etc... Is it referencing other projects? Is it analogical? Is it utopian? Is it micro-? Is it urban? Is it domestic, what is it? Is this even architecture?" (Unfortunately, we can't answer that last question. This type of project is like diet-architecture, a copy without the calories. It's got a sort of bitter aftertaste that you might grow accustomed to, or you might not. That's ok. We like fake architecture.) We've been wondering, what kind of architecture would Haruki Murakami make? Well, when we finally write our text we will definitely tell you that it does, indeed, mean something and it does reference things, but why would you really want to know all of that anyway? Do you really think it would make it better? What about just enjoying this weird artifice, this fake social space? Hey, it wiggles. Look at this strange alternate environment made of reflections and repetitions. Enjoy the visual noise. Have you ever seen N.A.S.A.'s Echo project? Google it. What can we say, we just love the aesthetics of radar reflectors and inflated satellites. They are of another reality. Seriously, even if we wanted to fully explain it to you at this very moment, we couldn't. Even though we're trying not to be, we're only human. Also, they need this text before we've finished the design. Did we mention that we are working with the son of Andy Warhol's "Silver Clouds" fabricator? We're very excited about this. He lives in Duluth.