Architecture

Architecture is a brutal family story. A shipwreck. Between the beginning of modernity, the first world war and Anschluss.
A period of 30 years. Fed by hope. Its throat slit in a bloodbath. Where language itself loses all sense. Where language dies.
A brilliant family controlled by a crazy father. They are all brilliant. The sons, the daughters, the step brothers and the step sisters. They are all composers, architects, philosophers, writers, scientists and painters. They are all thinkers. They all gave their lives for thought. They all gave their lives for beauty. All - one after another - without mercy, die a violent death, at war, by throwing themselves out of a window, by the hand of their own father, of madness, of starvation, of grief
and by handful in trains and camps. They all fought for more intelligence, for knowledge, for understanding of the world and for justice. All will perish. All without exception. Incapable of preventing the horror happening despite their mastery of the world, of language, of philosophy, of literature, of image and science and covering Europe with a coat of blood and shame. Architecture shows how the most beautiful structures collapse and end up engulfing their brightest children. Architecture is a memento mori to think of our time. If the brightest could not prevent the blood, how will we manage in an era such as ours if the blood comes again?