Above all, Christian embraced the joy of Surrealism. In every dimension, whether it be architecture, arts, music or life among these. Running a practice in the house by the designer Pieter de Bruyne rather contributed to this. During my internship in Christians practice, this house became pivotal for understanding this characteristic type of joy. In the first week, I met three different cleaning ladies, all working on their own weekday. Completely unaware of each other’s activities, I found out the second week. On Monday’s new music for dancing appeared, setting the atmosphere for the rest of the week. Along with new books. For a library which was totally mesmerizing. Soon finding myself enchanted, spending an increasing time in this library. Here, all topics were treated equally, with a similar intension and interest: arts, music, dance, poetry, architecture, obscure, popular, old, new, minimalism. Offering a world full of complexities, layered and joyful. Over time, this library emerged as the physical prove of Christians curiosity, generosity and ability to relate to a multitude of things. Seemingly effortless, Christian knew how to move between contradictions and contrasts, being both engaged with the beauty of everyday banalities as well as with the sophisticated.

‘It must have been before 1990 that I met Christian. As I remember he was with a very young and intelligent William Mann who was his assistant. To me as a Brit, Belgium was eye opening. Its Architects had cultural knowledge about their subject, often wrote and in Christian’s case mounted exhibitions. From then on it seems that Christian and I always met over eating or drink, first at the ‘Morte Subite’ bar in Brussels, and then in Pain Quotidian-the original before t became a chain, when it was singular and authentic. We met again in London for lunch at Fergus Henderson’s restaurant above the French House, looking out of the window onto the Soho life below. The last time I think was in the St John restaurant where I amused him by suggesting that Jo Crepain’s expanding practice might be called Crepain Quotidien (Pace Jo). All through this time he was extraordinarily and self-effacingly  kind and generous. It is inconceivable that you are no longer here. Bless you Christian.

There is a frivolous, theatrical song coming back to me as I think of you: ‘Give me a reason…’ it goes. On one occasion that song elicited our crazed laughs and it is playfulness, among all your qualities, that I want to retain in these dark, dramatic times. Goodbye dear Christian. 

February 2016, Antwerp, the vernissage of his exhibition “The House. The Mentor. The Archive. Christian Kieckens”. Christian invited 5 friends to give a speech about him and his work in front of a full auditorium. We were free to say whatever we wanted. The result: 5 hymns of praise for Christian.

Passionate. That’s how I remember Christian. Passionate, and by using this word I probably mean passionate in the form of all of its synonyms. Ardent, heartfelt, emotional about what he taught, wrote, believed, lectured, attended, drew, defended, built, photographed, curated, studied, and not least transmitted. Thank you for having transmitted us your passion, Christian.

I had the privilege of working with Christian Kieckens and Álvaro Siza in the countryside of Flanders in the early 1990s. I was lucky enough to work with Christian for a few years in the Antwerp school during the legendary ADSL workshops. I had the honour of his friendship.

Five days, twelve teachers, hundreds of students working every year on an evanishing keyword able to result in consistent exhibitions and in an incredible ever-growing network. This was ADSL Week. This was Christian’s clever pedagogy.

Christian Kieckens was a charismatic individual, an outstanding architect and a devoted educator. His energy and unconditional love for architecture will always be remembered and become a vibrant source of inspiration for many architects.

I was lucky for having Christian as a teacher.
At the time, his generosity was utterly liberating.
He was highly passionate in motivating students and shared with them his search for beauty in architecture.
Later, I was even luckier for knowing Christian as a friend.
For then, he also showed me how he found beauty in everyday life.

Christian Kieckens has changed many lives in the culture of architecture in Europe. For many of the participants the invitation to immerse oneself in the ecstatic and charged atmosphere of the Antwerp workshops was an initiation to a world of ideas and also to a network of friends. There were no limits to Christian’s curiosity: his love of architecture was deep and unconditional and found its objects in Borromini’s complexities as well as a search for the essential in twentieth-century architecture. In the former monastery which houses the Antwerp school of architecture, we discussed the need for a profound collective purpose and the pleasure of studying ideas and spatial experiences. Many of us met partners for future projects. The encounters over dinner and during the workshops: photographer Heidi Specker and I first met in Antwerp and then collaborated on the book People's Palaces on cultural centres in Western Europe and the ideas on democracy and culture in the post-war years. In 2016, Christian designed his own exhibition at the Flanders Architecture Institute: an intriguing tour-de-force of studies, designs, drawings and models. Formidable. Unforgettable.

On a 2014 brief text, Christian introduced Absence: “Does Absence mean that there is really nothing or that there is a displacement of something maybe present before?”. Being aware of his absence, some places will result empty when just one soul is leaving.

The ADSL workshops were magical, intense moments; a combination of great people, thinking, drinking, eating, wrapped up in the drive to expose the students to different views. The stimulus was Christian. It was his choreography that made this alchemy work. It was his foresight and energies that assembled people, drawn from a variety of backgrounds and places, who would not only provoke the students of the school, but also the staff. In one edition I had the student utilise a disused plinth for a statue in the courtyard of the school. In ‘nonuments’, the students made an intervention that questioned their relationship to the institution. The outcome was a roughly made slide, ascended via a stair, which for a fleeting moment placed each participant atop the plinth; an ever-changing statue. On the opening night party, Christian energetically took to the slide. As he came down he ripped his trousers. Expecting trouble, I still remember his laughter. It symbolised his willingness to embrace the unexpected. I still owe him for their repair. It will be settled, but now, it will be in another place. You will be missed, Christian.

“Form is one function too,” dear Christian we’d like to remember you quoting the title of your first book. Still a strong statement. Thanks for your work and thoughts, we will miss you.