The Prague Post Online: Tempo: Who's afraid of the purple blob?

November 22nd, 2008

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Who's afraid of the purple blob?

Architect rails against politicians who have problem with library

By Julie O'Shea
Staff Writer, The Prague Post
November 21st, 2007 issue

ISIFA

Czech-born architect Jan Kaplický calls Prague City Hall's sudden disapproval over his firm's National Library design plans "suspcious." enlarge

Critics of Kaplický's library call it "the blob" and "the octopus."

Prague Mayor Pavel Bém says the proposed National Library plan is "disrespectful to its surroundings."

THE KAPLICKÝ FILE

Born: April 18, 1937, in Czechoslovakia
Graduated: College of Applied Arts and Architecture
Fled: Czechoslovakia in 1968
Started: Future Systems in 1979
Won: Czech National Library bid in March 2007
Major projects: Media Center, Lord's Cricket Ground, London, 1999; Selfridges Building, Birmingham, England, 2003; Maserati Museum, Modena, Italy, scheduled for completion in 2009

LONDON

It’s a dreary Monday in mid-October. Debate over the future site of the Czech National Library has been heating up over the past two weeks. The intense fervor has caught many by surprise, including Jan Kaplický, the Czech-born architect whose London-based firm, Future Systems, is the brains behind the 2 billion Kč ($110 million) project.

Sitting barefoot in his expansive Notting Hill design studio, Kaplický, tall, lanky and a lot more soft-spoken than he has recently been coming across as in the Czech press, remains baffled as to how things managed to spiral out of control so quickly.

“Why, why, why?” he repeats throughout the late-afternoon chat. “Where is the real problem?”

The “real problem,” at least according to the spin coming out of Prague City Hall, is the Letná Park location where Kaplický plans to erect his 35,000-square-meter purple “blob.”

Mayor Pavel Bém, once an avid supporter of the winning library design, is now saying the proposed building is “disrespectful to its surroundings.” He also reportedly called the plans “arrogant” — and then pretty much stopped taking phone calls on the subject, telling reporters at a crowded press conference last month that he would only be communicating about the matter via prepared statements or during scheduled public appearances.

Kaplický, 70, scoffs at the way Czech politicians have been bad-mouthing him these days, calling their antics “suspicious” and suggesting the mayor is simply playing President Václav Klaus’ dutiful “street puppet.”

Bém has pulled together a “team of experts” to look at the “advantages and disadvantages” of the current library plans and then come back with a solution that will make everyone happy.

“It’s purely political,” Kaplický says, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t think [this] is a controversy. I think it is an attack. … Suddenly, it has become a political problem.”

Not surprisingly, Bém and National Library Director Vlastimil Ježek vehemently deny there is anything “political” behind the questions now surrounding Kaplický’s proposal.

The mayor, for his part, claims he has always had reservations about the project since it beat out more than 400 other designs in an anonymous competition last spring.

Ježek, too, seems eager to deflect any sort of blame away from government heads.

“Kaplický’s project has been discussed and repeatedly appeared on the front pages since the project was picked up as a winner of the competition,” Ježek says. “I am open to all discussions, but sometimes I can hear some words that sound rather envious.”

Not one to mince words, Kaplický is a little more pointed in his assessment of those “envious” voices: Czech architects, he says, are just “jealous.”

Indeed, some of the library’s earliest criticism came out of that community, which accused Future Systems of not following the rules of the competition and winning unfairly. Kaplický is quick to dismiss such accusations. “It’s not an issue anymore,” he says.

He has heard all the nicknames that have been attached to his firm’s library design over the past several months — “the purple blob,” the “octopus.” They don’t bother him. Kaplický likes the differing opinions. In fact, he welcomes them.

“Of course I’m delighted,” he says. The design is “not entirely for everybody. And that’s fine.”

It would be dull if everyone were always in agreement, he adds, poignantly noting that the government should learn how to loosen up a bit.

“In a way, they are still looking at things from the inside rather than the outside,” Kaplický says. “This is the first big public democratic building after the 1989 revolution. This is a building for the people.”

However, what is happening now — or rather what is not happening — “reminds me very much of the old [government] system,” he declares, his voice rising. “Democracy has to be saved in this case.”

Kaplický is, of course, speaking from firsthand experience. He grew up in the Prague neighborhood of Ořechovka. After graduating from the College of Applied Arts and Architecture in Prague, he immediately set to work, getting his feet wet at a private firm, where he stayed for four years. But then the Soviets rolled into town, and the young architect decided it was time to go. And so, with just $100 in his pocket and a few pairs of socks, Kaplický fled Czechoslovakia for England and, as it turns out, a brighter future. It was 1968.

“We were running away from tanks — from Russian tanks,” he recalls dryly.

Nearly four decades later, one could argue that Kaplický has made a career out of trying to undo the past, one building at a time. He favors loud, bright and unusual designs, a stark contrast to the concrete paneláks, or prefabricated high-rises, that came to define the communist era in Central and Eastern Europe.

Kaplický uses words like “modern” and “colorful” to describe the works coming out of his design studio, many of which have gone on to win major architectural awards, including England’s famed Selfridges department store building and the media center in the Lord’s Cricket Ground in London. Kaplický’s Czech library proposal, it would appear, is cut from the same mold.

“I thought, with this, Prague would be on the architectural map,” Kaplický says.

The mayor’s “expert team” reportedly concluded Nov. 15 that the library can be built elsewhere in the city so long as Kaplický agrees, which doesn’t seem likely.

Kaplický has hinted that if the new library does not go up in Letná, across the street from Sparta Stadium, which is set to undergo its own expansion next year, he’ll pull the plans. He says the structure is designed for that spot. Anywhere else, and it might look out of place.

“Kaplický is a visionary, and they usually have a tough life,” Ježek observes. “That might be one of the reasons his projects are sometimes really difficult to push through. According to me, the quality of his work will be appreciated by the next generation.”

During his first few years in the United Kingdom, Kaplický worked for a variety of different firms. But, by 1979, he had grown tired of designing for others and opened his own studio, which now has some 30 architects on staff.

Situated in a courtyard down a quiet street in an upscale London neighborhood, Future Systems’ little orange door is easy to miss. Essentially a massive warehouse space that has been carpeted over and lined with workstations, the studio seems cozy, almost homey. The small lobby area to the left of the entrance has employee shoes strewn haphazardly about, meshing quite nicely with the laid-back office.

Kaplický stands out. Snaking his way around the studio, he eventually makes his way over to a set of white couches. He takes a seat and a sip of water. A design model of the Czech National Library is displayed on a table just a few feet away, a seemingly deliberate touch.

It doesn’t take long before the conversation moves away from weather pleasantries. Kaplický has a list of points he wants to make. It’s obvious he is well prepared. He answers every question candidly, but it’s clear what he most wants to talk about.

And whenever the conversation turns to other things — other projects, his past — Kaplický always finds a way to bring the focus back to the National Library debacle.

“Nobody is talking about people or books, and the old library where the books are is rotting away,” he says at one point. “Some people in Prague are still stuck in pre-revolutionary days.”

The whole thing has become more than just “a simply Czech story,” according to Kaplický, who says he can’t fathom something like this ever happening in Berlin or Paris or even London. He suspects the Czech Republic might find it difficult to attract worldwide talent in future national building competitions.

That, however, is debatable.

“I can partly agree with this statement, but partly, I can’t,” Ježek says. “There have been some other cases all over the world where a project was picked up and then, for some reason, the building wasn’t built. That can happen. The only thing that can be mistrustful is the fact that members of the jury are accused of being biased and easy to manipulate.”

It’s another point that has surfaced since the competition and another one that is skirted over on this particular fall day. No matter, there is a more pressing conundrum at hand: Given everything that has happened, does Kaplický actually think it’s possible the government might scrap his project?

“It’s not up for me to say,” the architect starts off cautiously, but quickly snaps, “Of course not. It can’t, because somebody will fall, his political career. Scrapped by whom? One person? Politically, he would not survive. … You can’t go against 70 percent of the population.”

Perhaps he is right, but still, there is one question that continues to nag him. It’s a question he says he has repeatedly asked Bém and others, to no avail. And, when he asks it now, it comes out sounding almost like a plea: “Why? Why all this fuss? I think that should be the title of your article.”

— Naďa Černá and Hela Balínová contributed to this report.

Julie O'Shea can be reached at joshea@praguepost.com

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