On the trail of a legendary Dutch architect known for iconic buildings and oracular pronouncements

Rem Koolhaas Merlijn Doomernik for The Wall Street Journal

Rem Koolhaas wants to go swimming.

It is the evening before the opening of the Venice Architecture Biennale and, after a long day of back-to-back meetings scheduled in 20-minute intervals, his publicist explains that our interview is now unlikely to happen. The famed Dutch architect, who is also this biennale's director, wants to leave right after the panel on which he's currently speaking.

Mr. Koolhaas is known as much for his theoretical pronouncements as for his iconic, often radical buildings, like the Seattle Central Library, Prada's SoHo store in New York and the headquarters of CCTV—a loop-shaped skyscraper that towers over Beijing. Today, he has little patience for mundane questions. When a member of the audience asks how this year's biennale differs from past ones, Mr. Koolhaas replies, "I don't think that much." He adds, "I don't think it's a question that I should answer."

The biennale is usually a showcase of contemporary design, but Mr. Koolhaas has incorporated architectural history into an exhibition he has titled "Fundamentals." Even the arches in the entrance's Swarovski-crystal encrusted "Luminaire" light installation are nods to classical Italian architecture. Mr. Koolhaas thinks that contemporary structures have become too conformist. "This biennale confirms the irrelevance of architects," he says, noting that this year's focus is on architectural elements rather than architects themselves.

A few other audience members are brave enough to raise their hands, but Mr. Koolhaas is selective about the questions he chooses to answer. His publicist has already hinted that Mr. Koolhaas plans to treat me the same way and, ahead of time, has sent a few questions that the architect might find acceptable, such as, "Do you consider yourself a visionary?"

But now the publicist fears that Mr. Koolhaas has had it with all questioners, telling me that the architect walked out in the middle of an interview with a French television station earlier that morning. I ask the apologetic publicist if we might compromise, considering Mr. Koolhaas's desire to slip away for a dip. Perhaps I could go swimming with him? The publicist looks at me as if I have sucker-punched him. "We can see what his mood is like…but just make sure you try to keep a distance," he suggests.

In person, Mr. Koolhaas looks much like his most famous buildings—tall and angular with a severe expression. Bald with bright blue eyes, he could play a James Bond villain. The interview seems unlikely to happen in the pool.

As Mr. Koolhaas descends from the platform, ignoring a rush of people, his publicist pulls him aside and, after a minute, gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign. The publicist comes over to me and explains that Mr. Koolhaas may have a few minutes to spare after stopping by the Dutch pavilion. As Mr. Koolhaas swerves through the crowd there, a gaggle of young employees follows in his wake. The architect pauses for a few brief exchanges before heading for the exit. His retinue frantically follows.

When the group arrives at a cafe overlooking the Grand Canal, Mr. Koolhaas turns around and introduces himself. He mentions that his son is filming a documentary on him and might come by. Mr. Koolhaas used to be involved with film himself. Before he became an architect, he worked as a journalist and a screenwriter—taking after his father, who was also a writer....Continue Reading

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