In our time innovation talk seeps into every corner of our world from popular culture to education, elementary through university. We celebrate the innovators--the Apples and Teslas. Innovate or die is our mantra. But what is innovation, when, and how does it take place and toward what end? How might we receive and apprehend the value of innovation in technology, engineering, or science differently than we do in art? And where in the practice of architecture (engineering and art) are we in most need of innovation?
We used to talk about inventions. We admired engineers like Bell (telephone) and Edison (light bulb). The technology behind Tesla’s electric vehicle was invented almost two centuries ago in 1830 by an American engineer Robert Anderson and the rudiments of computing technology that run it have been around since at least 1946 when computer engineers J. Presper Eckert and John Mauchly built the Electronic Numerical Integrator and Computer (ENIAC) at the University of Pennsylvania. We had widely available electric cars in America by the 1890s and computer systems in cars by the 1980s.
By the early 20th century, though, automobile manufacturers abandoned electric and instead went with internal combustion—the economics and politics of Texas oil having intervened. Then at the end of the 20th century environmentalists embraced electric (overlooking, myopically, the underlying assumption that cars however powered could ever be environmentally friendly). We first got GM’s EV-1 and then Toyota’s (“pious”) Prius that satisfied the early adopters and holier-than-thou crowd.
Poor range and the inconvenience of charging intervened. Capitalizing on recent increases in the capacities of batteries (invented by Alessandro Volta circa 1800), wisely creating its own network of charging stations, and most importantly creating a car with comparable aesthetics, acceleration, and speed of (dare we say it) “traditional” cars, Tesla captured consumers’ imaginations, made a lot of money and (because of the money) enhanced the status of its high-profile owner. But really, it’s just a better car (or a different one).
All architects are (and should be) to a degree engineers. When Filippo Brunelleschi figured out in 1436 how to build the dome in Florence without the need for conventional centering and Irving Gill in 1910 employed tilt up concrete construction as an alternative to the labor-intensive bearing wall construction he admired in the missions of southern California, each did so in his capacity as an engineer and innovator. While we always welcome innovations in engineering and construction and the introduction of new materials and methods, most efforts over the last century have sought not to improve outcomes but instead reduce cost and quality at the expense of outcomes.
Before the industrial revolution before engineers coopted our language, architects employed the word invention to describe designs. Every new design was an invention because it required a response to a unique context, its place and time, the unique purposes for which it was conceived and conditions under which it was realized --this even though the rules of design then were more circumscribed than what we would allow today. We are as artists partly like actors and musicians for whom interpretation is our art (character and composition). Committed architects constantly innovate, but our innovations are one-off, they cannot (or should not) be scaled up and hence in our time our limited economic rewards and therefore our limited status.
The novelty of engineered consumer products that can be scaled up such as Tesla’s car, or the video cassette recorder or the fax machine before it, always fades. Technological innovations absorb into our lives, then they bore us and then they annoy us, then we reflexively seek magic in the next new thing. But technology is neither magic nor art, it “changes the world” less than the prospects of its propagators. Art, on the other hand-- good art-- which makes no such claim really does “make the world a better place” (more than just a different one). It lasts.
It is embarrassing to witness status-starved architects steeped in Silicon Valley envy engage in hypocritical activity under the guise of innovation to accomplish little more than improve their street cred. What is--it is fair to ask--innovative, sustainable, or iconic about a 3-D printed single-family home, by now a tired trope, the supposed embodiment of the “American Dream”, that we now know to be an environmental predator? This is the kind of innovation of which we are today in need the least and for architects a distraction and an excuse to avoid that of which we are in need the most. If we as architects were to focus on our job—which at the very least would be to improve our environment-- were we to regularly do our best even when no one is looking we might find that talk of excellence will have seeped into every corner of our world, and that would be in our time a real innovation.