The Museum of Modern Art in Warsaw rests at the base of Joseph Stalin’s Palace of Culture. The museum has white concrete both inside and out that is constructed within an inch of its life. It is spectacular. In our experience, in every project, there’s usually one person from the construction team who is responsible for instilling a culture of precision and craft. In Warsaw, that was Rafał Rusek, who directed all of the white concrete. One day early in the construction process, he and I were inside this tent they made, watching the forms being built to the level of a piece of cabinet work. The workers were older men who had all been through the end of WWII and had experienced the Russian occupation. As we left the tent, he slowly put his arm around me, which he had never done before, and he said “This building is a matter of pride for us.” That was a teary eyed moment for me.
Craft is the epitome of pride. We’ve been pretty fortunate to find people who take great pride in their sense of craft. We’ve also been fortunate to continue these relationships as we explore means and methods particular to our ongoing work, as we seek to engender a sense of beauty, craft and materiality. As we work with craftsmen we have not worked with before, we slowly gain their trust that we are going to take them to a place they’ve never been before. In Warsaw, we built most everything in Poland: concrete, the stainless steel doors and glazing units, the wood rooms, the terrazzo floors—it was a matter of pride for them.
The experience that thrills me the most is getting on the 1 Train up from the Upper West Side and coming down here and working with this amazing staff. I stand on their shoulders. With them, it’s a matter of concentration, patience, perseverance, and pride.
Rail: When I look at your work, you seem young and searching, always for an experiment, always for something new. You work with a collection of images as part of the design process, which is how young people do it today. The process involves the collection and production of images. How do you think this is related to seeking new ideas?
Phifer: The moment we receive a commission, my mind begins to imagine. I’m thinking of endless images. When we think of how to start, it’s with five or ten of these images swimming around. The experience unfolds within the image. This has to do with patience again. With the first few projects, we had an image in the first month, and then we just built that image. Since then, we’ve developed an openness to what might come later too.
I appreciate it when a client says that a particular idea is not to their taste, because it allows us to continue to explore. The new work is often richer with reinvigorated curiosity. When a building opens, it’s just daunting because I can’t help but think, “Oh what should I have done differently?” Then finally, the building settles and washes over you. There is a certain beauty in having that feeling. After each and every experience, you begin to work on new projects applying even more intensity into every single detail.
Rail: I want to talk about architectural authorship. I think we need to be more clear about how important it is that buildings are authored and there is a group of people, pieces of culture and history, that bring detail into a project. Perhaps we need some redefinition of Gesamtkunstwerk or Baukunst. You present a good case for the possibility of this controlled form of authorship, which ultimately releases when the building gets released. What are you trying to do when you’re in control?
Phifer: Ultimately, I just want to be happy with the work. I don’t read many reviews about our work, because I believe if we are pleased with the work, that’s enough for us. We started our work on the Rice Pavilion with the thought of employing light, transparency, and “lightness of being” to land softly in the remarkable landscape of the Rice University campus. Then, around 2010, we began work on the Glenstone Museum, exploring weight and a sense of permanence in our work. We constantly learn and adjust, always for us moving in unexpected directions.
Rail: You just finished a concrete building in Manhattan, the Wagner Park Pavilion. There are very few concrete buildings in New York, and this one has a smoothness or softness to it. What was that experience?
Phifer: When we received that commission, the first thing I did was take a boat trip around Manhattan. It dawned on me that whatever we built would be as much a part of the harbor as the island itself. In some ways, the weight of the building is meant to accentuate the tipping point that grounds the southern edge of the island. It wanted to be heavy, feel permanent, while belonging to the family of structures in and around New York Harbor: Castle Williams and Castle Clinton and other fortifications and infrastructure. I wanted it to have a presence on the harbor, as much as it occupies the southern tip of the island of Manhattan. The deep reddish tone was inspired by the color of Castle Williams, Castle Clinton, and the brick in Battery Park City. I also wanted it to have a certain formal softness, as if carved by the wind.