Rideau Hall, Thursday, October 16, 2008

They say that architecture is the most immediate and daily expression of culture that exists.

Besides solid practical and technical knowledge, those—like you, distinguished architects—who are responsible for designing our living spaces must possess great genius, real imagination and a true eye for this art.  

Or what Vitruvius, in the first century B.C., called in the first surviving treatise on architecture the three contradictory principles of strength, utility and beauty.

You also need—especially in this age of real estate speculation and “time-is-money” philosophies—a keen awareness of history and of the impact of our decisions.

Because architecture is an art that is built for longevity.

An art that is built to last.

An art that—from its simplest to its most extravagant expressions—represents the values, aspirations, difficulties and greatness of eras and civilizations.

Everywhere where humanity stirs, comes together, is found; all these places are filled with meaning.

Far from random, our way of inhabiting space and places is intimately linked to our vision of the world and how we live in it.

For example, let’s take the igloo.

This house of snow and ice is not only a building model that is magnificently adapted to climate and the nomadic lifestyle of Inuit . . .

. . . the igloo also represents the relationship Inuit have with an environment, a place, a universe.

The igloo is also the ultimate symbol of a mother’s womb, Mother Earth, the very origin of our existence. 

You have to have slept in an igloo to understand the full depth and extent of the wisdom and ingenuity of our Inuit sisters and brothers, who have lived on this land for over 4 000 years.

So what do the works of the architects we are honouring today show us?

What do they say about the societies they incarnate?

What do they teach us about the era we live in, an era in which—for the first time in history—the majority of populations have chosen to settle in urban centres?

Well, your works speak to us, if only we know how to listen.

They tell us that we are not only affected by the city, but that we can, in turn, have an effect on it and make it a more pleasant place to live.

They tell us that development must respect nature, the environment and the human community in which it takes place.

They tell us that spaces, buildings and monuments must be the echoes of their time, be ahead of it, even, with their daring and visionary design, all while maintaining a positive relationship with the past.

They tell us that our country contains the world and that the crossing of cultural influences is a great source of enrichment and renewal.

They tell us that all our public spaces, all our workplaces, all our cultural spaces, all the places we gather and celebrate must be measured on the human scale.

Faced with the increasing standardization of the urban landscape, faced with the aggressive nature of the—let’s just say it—ugliness that is sometimes inflicted upon it, you create spaces full of possibility and sensitivity, spaces where we can gather, spaces where we can live.

They are glimmers of light and freedom within the walls of the city.

As Le Corbusier wrote, “. . . you touch my heart, you do me good, I am happy and I say: “This is beautiful.” That is architecture. Art enters in.”

So you participate in culture, which is also a means of inhabiting a space, of leaving a distinct mark and of making it worthy of daily celebration.

This is your responsibility.

It is your responsibility to listen to social needs in terms of housing, recreational and cultural spaces, and places of memory, which are increasingly striking in our communities.

Our neighbourhoods, our cities and our villages all call upon your vision and sensibility, your spirit of invention and solidarity.

Thank you for enriching our lives with your work.

Thank you for making our world more beautiful.