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Henri Lefebvre: A Critical Introduction - autonomous learning

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F o r e w o r d<br />

because my writing “isn’t about architecture, of course.” The last<br />

two words carried the burden of Johnson’s meaning. The subject<br />

was closed to discussion. Architecture was the moving and shaping<br />

of geometric forms in two and three dimensions. All else was<br />

sociology, a waste of time. Nice work if you can get it.<br />

And there had been a time when formalism was a radical<br />

position, and to take it was to embrace a broad set of progressive<br />

causes. And it is still available both as an analytic tool and as an<br />

episode in the history of taste. I take to heart Roland Barthes’s<br />

warning that the enemies of formalism are “our enemies,” they are<br />

the people who claim the authority to enforce a strict correspondence<br />

between signs and meanings. Unfortunately, by the 1960s,<br />

the enemies had become very shrewd in manipulating forms to<br />

cleanse the images of toxic enterprises. The Life of Forms in Art<br />

had become the Death of Art in Logos.<br />

We are workers, producing our own factory just by walking<br />

down the street: that’s one way to summarize what I took away<br />

from <strong>Lefebvre</strong>’s The Production of Space. And I say this as a<br />

former window dresser, who once had the good fortune to work<br />

inside one of those precious glass-enclosed storefront stages. Store<br />

display was the only form of design I ever worked in, and I loved<br />

it: the commercialism as well as the aesthetics (the store, which no<br />

longer exists, specialized in Good Design objects) and the effect<br />

that the fusion of commerce and appearances can have on the life<br />

of the street. It was like being a sidewalk painter, and if people<br />

believed that buying the objects on display enabled them to acquire<br />

the image I had set up for their viewing pleasure—if the window<br />

got enough of them to cross the threshold into the shop—that was<br />

good enough reason to ask for a raise.<br />

But a sidewalk painter isn’t only or even mainly working for<br />

paying customers, and neither was I. I was working for passers-by,<br />

for the wonderful ladies who get all dressed up to go out window-shopping,<br />

almost as if they were going to the opera, and for<br />

xiii

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