Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
The First Amendment to the Constitution
The First Amendment is not particularly eloquent, but it is pretty clear. No matter who's president — and it remains a toss-up as I write this — it's comforting to know that we still have a document that spells out our freedoms.
That's why so many Americans have a hard time wrapping their minds around the maddeningly oxymoronic idea of "free-speech zones." The practice of limiting protesters' movements while pretending to protect their freedom of speech was largely confined to college campuses until the 2000 political conventions, when the specially designated areas were called, even more infelicitously, "First Amendment Zones." Since then, protesters have been regularly consigned to such zones at events ranging from presidential campaign visits to the Olympics.
Architect Mark Cox speaks for a lot of us when he asks, "Isn't all public space in this country a free-speech zone?" As a person who thinks a lot about public space and how to design it for different purposes, he began to wonder what a democratic space — a place specifically designed to accommodate public assembly and free speech — might look like.
He brought up the subject with the organizers of Gala Corina, a hugely popular annual arty architectural party and exhibition, and they decided to pose the question in a design competition. The local chapter of The American Institute of Architects anted up $1,000 in prize money, and the contest, enVision-ing Democratic Space: Tampa, was launched. Entries will be exhibited at the sixth annual Gala Corina exhibition, dubbed ser Libre (roughly translated as "be free"), which opens Nov. 5 (see sidebar, p.23).
Some people have criticized Cox and Gala Corina organizers for engaging such a politically charged topic. But that's what makes it interesting and, for that matter, downright patriotic — because it's our responsibility as citizens to question government whenever it violates not just the letter, but the spirit of the Constitution.
Nevertheless, Cox rightly takes great pains to avoid partisanship in discussing the competition. "It's not about protests or Democrats and Republicans," he says. "That's too limited a debate."
Fortunately, more than 20 artists and architects across the state found the idea intriguing rather than threatening, and took up the challenge. The responses are wonderfully imaginative and diverse, ranging from thoughtful and poetic to utterly abstract, edgy, in-your-face and even dystopian.
Tallahassee-based architect Ricardo Navarro, for example, created a lovely park-like environment near the aquarium that would lead visitors from authoritarianism to democracy. The journey begins with a series of three areas in a large open space that represent fascism, communism and nazism. The trees and pathways in these areas are rigidly defined, orderly and controlled. They keep people contained, says Navarro. On your journey toward liberty, you then cross a series of free-form sculptures that break the barrier between oppression and freedom.
The final structure is a sweeping arc that soars over water. You must climb a large set of stairs to reach the pinnacle of democracy, says Navarro, because you have to work at attaining freedom. The higher you go, the more transparent the structure becomes until you reach the final platform, which is completely clear and situated high over the water. It's a little frightening, he says, like democracy. "You have to trust that it will hold you up."
Orlando architect Eric Kleinsteuber declined to select a particular site for his entry. "Democracy is anywhere as soon as someone starts talking," he says. "The spirit of democracy is in the street; it's in the soul." He proposes a lift that would elevate an orator in whatever place the person chooses to speak. In this way, each individual can define any site as a free-speech zone. "There could be multiple objects in the same space, and people could orate against each other or in unison," he says, "just like democracy."
The idea of this competition and the caliber of the entries elevate this year's Gala Corina to a new level of relevance, sophistication and — excitement.
The event was initiated in 1999 by John Langley, an architect who wanted to show his own artwork (and that of other artists and architects) without having to break into the local gallery system. The resulting exhibitions have been an exuberant melee of artworks of varying levels of skill and depth, shown in fabulous historic places.
The selection of the space — and the way the architects use it — has always been the most interesting aspect of Gala Corina, drawing attention to historic buildings and preservation efforts. And it's always a hell of a party.
The inaugural event was held in the historic Corina Cigar Factory building in Palmetto, thus the name Gala Corina. Subsequent events all took place in partially restored late 19th- and early 20th-century buildings around town. The most chic was the 2002 event in Atelier Architects' gorgeous Sanctuary project, an adaptive reuse restoration-in-progress at the Tyer Temple in Tampa Heights.
Last year marked something of a low point for Gala Corina. The city's fire marshal forced a last-minute change of venue after discovering that approximately 3,000 people were expected to attend the opening on the second floor of the old Arlington Hotel on N. Franklin Street — a considerably larger number than Langley had given inspectors when seeking permits. The 1913 building did not meet safety codes for such a large crowd, and the permit was denied, despite the fact that the building was jointly owned by then city housing chief Bob Harrell and Tampa's proto-preservationist and urban redeveloper Stephanie Farrell. Plus, the hotel was smack in the middle of the long-nascent N. Franklin Street revitalization area — a pet project of the mayor that could have used the boost provided by such a glitzy event. The exhibition landed in Ybor Square, a great space, but no revelation to arty crowds, who've seen it put to similar uses for more than 20 years.
This year's Gala Corina returns to the Arlington Hotel building, but this time it looks like smooth sailing. The event will take place in the former Badcock Furniture showroom on the first floor of the building, which presents fewer safety issues than the second floor did. And city staffers have helped Langley navigate permitting processes this year. With the city and downtown merchants eager to help bring some life to the still largely dead N. Franklin area, this year's edition is shaping up to be a major bash.
Beyond that, the design competition promises to spark some truly interesting conversation. Remember all those inside-the-box consultant studies and government "visioning" processes for Tampa's future we've paid for and shelved over the years? If you want to see much more creative and stimulating ideas about what public space can be, check out the exhibition, which runs Nov. 5-20, and the awards ceremony and discussion Nov. 12.
What follows is a taste of some of the competition entries. Most of the entrants were still in the process of honing their ideas at the time of the interviews, so what you'll see at the show will be more detailed, and possibly quite different from what you see here.
This article appears in Nov 3-9, 2004.