Raised concrete building dominating a field

The Fascinating Abomination of Brutalist Architecture

Biblioteca Nacional Mariano Moreno, Buenos Aires, Argentina When something is good, we tend to elaborate on why we like it, but when it’s bad, it’s usually just bad. Most likely, we will engage in a quantitative analysis of the badness, probably because we want to learn from the mistakes that led to a project’s failure, so as not to repeat them. However, there are times when something is so outrageously bad that there’s little to learn from it. In such cases, all we can do is marvel at its pure awfulness. The Biblioteca Nacional in Buenos Aires is one of these times. The largest library in Argentina domates a flat rectangular plot in the upscale neighborhood of Recoleta with a menacing architectural statement. The main reading area is raised on a pedestal above the esplanade. To reach it, you need to take a staircase hidden within one of the blind concrete cores; the elevator has seen better days. On your way up, you’ll pass by the restricted administrative area on the second floor, and the media library, treasure room, and exhibition hall on the third floor. Adding to the peculiarities, there’s a concrete balcony suspended from an unspecified floor. When I first got in contact with this monument, a mix of emotions swept over me as I moved from the exterior to its inner chambers. I was overtaken by the Kafkaesque spatial confusion, the clunky interior layout, the flagrant lack of modern amenities, the bleak absence of books, the mismatched dirty windows offering hazy city views, the scattered plastic containers collecting rainwater from a leaking roof, and the eerie sound of the wind rustling loose elements in some hidden confines of the ceiling. It’s hard to believe that this building was the winning proposal of a competition. However, in 1961, the time of its design, the popular approach was to turn conventions on their head. It was a time of disruption and bold experimentation, one that pushed the limits of both concrete and taste. This innovative spirit was evident in the decision to place the main reading area high above ground and to bury the books into deposits in sub-basement levels, as a blatant display of the Freudian psychological concepts of “separation between the intellectual task (reading) and the memory function (books).” It was a new kind of programmatic model. The one that literally inverse the traditional approach to designing libraries, where bookshelves are placed against the walls enclosing the reading space. By raising the main floor way high, it provided uninterrupted views to the city, a way to connect the readers to the outside world. PLus, the reduced footprint allowed plenty of room below for leisure activities to take place under the looming concrete shadow. The construction didn’t wrap up until the early 1990s. Fast forward to 2024, and wrinkles already etch the concrete skin, as if it aged too quickly from too much sun exposure. Instead of exuding optimism, there’s a sinister tone to its appearance, almost too loud, something out of a post-apocalyptic steampunk fantasy novel. A better way to approach intellectual tasks emerged later, when books regained their central importance as objects of worship in the shrine of culture and education. Notable examples of this include the Seattle Central Library, and closer to home, the Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec, both buildings established in 2004. Inside, books are arranged in a compact space with low ceilings, carpeted floors, and controlled lighting. The “inhabitable exterior wall” frames the reading area, offering a view to both the city and the book collection. I think we have found our winning concept for now, until the next revolution. While I’m based in Buenos Aires during a remote work trip, I don’t know if I’ll ever revisit the library, but I’m glad it’s there.  Learn more about concrete’s soft side here

The Fascinating Abomination of Brutalist Architecture Read More »

Concrete’s Soft Side in Organic Architecture: The Case of La Miniatura by Frank Lloyd Wright

We don’t think of concrete as an organic material, yet it originates from the earth and undergoes minimal processing. By recognizing its natural origins, we can explore fresh aesthetic possibilities beyond its industrial connotations. What if concrete, known for its affordability, efficiency, and industrial strength, could also evoke a sense of lightness, floral motifs, and cozy atmosphere in residential designs? In the vibrant scene of 1920s Los Angeles, Frank Lloyd Wright, a prolific American architect, initiated a radical shift in the use of concrete for construction. Breaking free from the stereotype of concrete as bulky and unattractive, Wright imagined a new narrative—one centered on delicacy and harmony with nature. Drawing inspiration from the earthy textures of traditional dwellings in southern America, Wright experimented with methods to eliminate finishes and decorations and reveal the true essence of the material. This led to the development of the “textile block” technique, which involved casting perforated concrete blocks and assembling them into intricate patterns like a woven fabric. Wright’s approach not only reflected his belief that architecture should echo nature but also resonated with the spirit of the time, with the emergence of the International Style in Europe and the Art Deco movement celebrating industrial techniques in unique ways. The nature of materials: The concrete debate Concrete has a reputation of being cold and uninspiring, making architects reluctant to use it for houses. Le Corbusier and other modernists of the time were the first to use concrete in residential projects, exposing its austerity in its pure form as a statement. But Wright sought an alternative that would bring dignity and aesthetic to homes. Concrete offers many advantages: it’s  affordable, fire resistant, malleable, it can be molded, pre-cast, reinforced with steel, or pre-stressed.  It’s the modern child of the ancient practice of building shelters with earth material.  Using earth as a construction material has minimal impact on the land’s topography and consumes little energy as it doesn’t require heat or extensive industrial transformation. To make concrete manageable and prevent shrinkage, the proportion of clay is limited to 20%, unlike brick and terra-cotta, which require fire to stabilize their high clay content. However, the conventional way of using concrete, whether precast or cast-in-place, didn’t satisfy Wright. Either approach lacked standardization and modular consistency, unlike brick or wood, making it impossible to create regular patterns or rhythms or use the units as a shaping and dimensional tools. What about the concrete block? It was the cheapest and ugliest thing in the building world. It lived mostly in the architectural gutter as an imitation of rock-faced stone. Why not see what could be done with that gutter rat? Steel rods cast inside the joints of the blocks themselves and the whole brought into some broad, practical scheme of general treatment, why would it not be fit for a new phase of our modern architecture? It might be permanent, noble, beautiful. F. L. Wright Toward a new solution A discussion was held on the impact of modern construction on artistic forms during the 6th International Congress of Architects, held in 1904. In an effort to promote an architecture that celebrates the construction process, the congress adopted the following resolutions: To bring handcrafted quality to modern construction, Wright proposed an innovative solution: Refine the concrete block and knit it together with steel in the joints and construct the joins so they could be poured full of concrete after they were set up. The walls would thus become thin but solid reinforced slabs and yield to any desire imaginable. We would make the walls double, of course, one wall facing inside and the other wall facing outside, thus getting continual hollow spaces between, so the house would be cool in summer, warm in winter and dry always. F. L. Wright The textile block principle Textile blocks were formed by packing concrete into wood or metal moulds, with one internal face embossed with patterns the other coffered for lightness. However, to achieve thin, mosaic-like walls with textile blocks, structural members had to be concealed. An evolution in this technique consisted in integrating glass corners into the joints between the blocks. This innovation resulted in a seamless transition between contrasting materials, clearly separating the inner concrete armature from the outer membrane and enhancing the interplay between the structural and surface elements. Later on, larger blocks were used as columns to save on labour time, creating an alternating pattern of solid and void. These hollow columns doubled as conduits for ventilation and services. The construction steps Wright’s own book “The natural house” provided a construction procedure for textile-block houses: Wright got the chance to test his new concept in 1923, thanks to a widowed woman running a rare book and antique business. La Miniatura was the second house commissioned by Alice Millard. The house was placed to overlook a ravine at the back of an inexpensive site. This implantation allowed for the main entrance to be located on the back of the house on the second floor, so as to give the living and dining areas uninterrupted views of the ravine and pond below.  The house’s plan consisted of two rectangles positioned perpendicularly to each other, connecting at one corner to form a simple yet dynamic base. This layout maximized sun exposure, with the main rooms receiving western afternoon sunlight and the later sunset, while the bedrooms and studio enjoyed the morning light. A central core housing a staircase and fireplace separated the public and private spaces, a characteristic seen in Wright’s earlier work. Material dictate space: compact and cubic Building materials play a pivotal role in a house’s final character and should be taken into consideration at the beginning of the process.  While wood construction imparts a sense of lightness, ideal for large, sloping overhangs in northern dwelling, concrete embodies a robustness and opacity well-suited for the hot and arid climate of California.  The 16-inch square block served as the foundation for the grid system used in the house design. Both the

Concrete’s Soft Side in Organic Architecture: The Case of La Miniatura by Frank Lloyd Wright Read More »