Esprit Futur : Le Corbusier and José Oubrerie at Saint-Pierre De Firminy, Firminy-Vert, France, 1968–2006

What is the secret mesmerism that death possesses and under the operation of which a modern architect – strident, confident, resolute – becomes rueful, pessimistic, or melancholic?1 Five years before Le Corbusier’s death at sea in 1965, the architect reluctantly agreed to adopt the project for L’Église Saint-Pierre de Firminy in Firminy-Vert (1960–2006), following the death of its original architect, André Sive, from leukemia in 1958.2 Le Corbusier had already developed, in 1956, the plan for an enclave in the new “green” Firminy town, which included his youth and culture center and a stadium and swimming pool; the church and a “boîte à miracles” near the youth center were inserted into the plan in the ’60s. (Le Corbusier was also invited, in 1962, to produce another plan for three Unités d’Habitation outside Firminy-Vert.) The Saint-Pierre church should have been the zenith of the quartet (the largest urban concentration of works by Le Corbusier in Europe, and what the architect Henri Ciriani termed Le Corbusier’s “acropolis”3) but in the early course of the project, Le Corbusier would suffer the diocese’s serial objections to his vision for the church – not unlike the difficulties he experienced with Notre Dame du Haut at Ronchamp (1950–1954) and the resistance to his proposed monastery of Sainte-Marie de la Tourette (1957–1960). In 1964, the bishop of Saint-Étienne requested that Le Corbusier relocate the church to a new site, but Le Corbusier refused and the diocese subsequently withdrew from the project. (With neither the approval, funds, nor the participation of the bishop, by then the cardinal archbishop of Lyon, the first stone of the church was finally laid on the site in 1970.) Le Corbusier’s ambivalence toward the project, even prior to his quarrels with the bishop, reveals...

Architecture et révolution : Le Corbusier and the fascist revolution

In a letter to a close friend dated April 1922 Le Corbusier announced that he was to publish his first major book, Architecture et révolution, which would collect “a set ofarticles from L’EN.”1—L’Esprit nouveau, the revue jointly edited by him and painter Amédée Ozenfant, which ran from 1920 to 1925.2 A year later, Le Corbusier sketched a book cover design featuring “LE CORBUSIER - SAUGNIER,” the pseudonymic compound of Pierre Jeanneret and Ozenfant, above a square-framed single-point perspective of a square tunnel vanishing toward the horizon. Occupying the lower half of the frame was the book’s provisional title in large handwritten capital letters, ARCHITECTURE OU RÉVOLUTION, each word on a separate line, the “ou” a laconic inflection of Paul Laffitte’s proposed title, effected by Le Corbusier.3 Laffitte was one of two publishers Le Corbusier was courting between 1921 and 1922.4 An advertisement for the book, with the title finally settled upon, Vers une architecture, 5 was solicited for L’Esprit nouveau number 18. This was the original title conceived with Ozenfant, and had in fact already appeared in two earlier announcements.6 “Architecture ou révolution” was retained as the name of the book’s crucial and final chapter—the culmination of six chapters extracted from essays in L’Esprit nouveau. This chapter contained the most quoted passage in Vers une architecture, used by numerous scholars to adduce Le Corbusier’s political sentiment in 1923 to the extent of becoming axiomatic of his early political thought.7 Interestingly, it is the only chapter that was not published in L’Esprit nouveau, owing to a hiatus in the journal’s production from June 1922 to November 1923.8 An agitprop pamphlet was produced in 1922, after L’Esprit nouveau 11-12, advertising an imminent issue “Architecture ou révolution” with the famous warning: “the housing crisis will lead to the revolution. Worry about housing.”9

In the shadow of the enlightenment : Le Corbusier, Le Faisceau and Georges Valois

On 9 January 1927 Le Corbusier materialised on the front cover of the Faisceau journal edited by Georges Valois Le Nouveau Siècle which printed the single-point perspective of Le Corbusier’s Plan Voisin and an extract from the architect’s discourse in Urbanisme. In May Le Corbusier presented slides of his urban designs at a fascist rally. These facts have been known ever since the late 1980s when studies emerged in art history that situated Le Corbusier’s philosophy in relation to the birth of twentieth-century fascism in France—an elision in the dominant reading of Le Corbusier’s philosophy, as a project of social utopianism, whose received genealogy is Saint-Simon and Charles Fourier. Le Corbusier participated with the first group in France to call itself fascist, Valois’s militant Faisceau des Combattants et Producteurs, the “Blue Shirts,” inspired by the Italian “Fasci” of Mussolini. Thanks to Mark Antliff, we know the Faisceau did not misappropriate Le Corbusier’s plans, in some remote quasi-symbolic sense, rather Valois’s organisation was premised on the redesign of Paris based on Le Corbusier’s schematic designs. Le Corbusier’s Urbanisme was considered the “prodigious” model for the fascist state Valois called La Cité Française – after his mentor the anarcho-syndicalist Georges Sorel. Valois stated that Le Corbusier’s architectural concepts were “an expression of our profoundest thoughts,” the Faisceau, who “saw their own thought materialized” on the pages of Le Corbusier’s plans. The question I pose is, In what sense is Le Corbusier’s plan a complete representation of La Cité? For Valois, the fascist city “represents the collective will of La Cité” invoking Enlightenment philosophy, operative in Sorel, namely Rousseau, for whom the notion of “collective will” is linked to the idea of political representation: to ‘stand in’ for someone or a group of subjects i.e. the majority vote. The figures in Voisin are not empty abstractions but the result of “the will” of the “combatant-producers” who build the town. Yet, the paradox in anarcho-syndicalist anti-enlightenment thought – and one that became a problem for Le Corbusier – is precisely that of authority and representation. In Le Corbusier’s plan, the “morality of the producers” and “the master” (the transcendent authority that hovers above La Cité) is lattened into a single picture plane, thereby abolishing representation. I argue that La Cité pushed to the limits of formal abstraction by Le Corbusier thereby reverts to the Enlightenment myth it first opposed, what Theodor Adorno would call the dialectic of enlightenment.

The ghost in the city industrial complex: Le Corbusier and the fascist theory of Urbanisme

Le Corbusier participated in an urban dialogue with the first group in France to call itself fascist: the journalist Georges Valois’s militant Faisceau des Combattants et Producteurs (1925-1927), the “Blue Shirts,” inspired by the Italian “Fasci” of Mussolini. Le Corbusier’s portrait photograph materialised on the front cover of the January 1927 issue of the Faisceau League’s newspaper Le Nouveau Siècle edited by the former anarcho-syndicalist journalist Georges Valois, its leader, who fashioned himself as the French Mussolini. Le Corbusier was described in the Revue as one of les animateurs (the “organisers”) of the Party1 – meaning a member of the technical elite who would drive the Faisceau’s plans. On 1 May 1927, the Nouveau Siècle printed a full-page feature “Le Plan Voisin” on Le Corbusier’s 1922 redesign of Paris : the architect’s single-point perspective sketch appeared below an extract lifted from the architect’s original polemic Le Centre de Paris on the pages of Le Corbusier’s second book Urbanisme published two years earlier, a treatise on urbanism.2 Three weeks later, Le Corbusier presented a slide show of his urban plans at a fascist rally for the inauguration of the Faisceau’s new headquarters on the rue du faubourg Poissonniere, thereby crystalising the architect’s hallowed status in the league...

Fourth wall removed : womens' liberation or entrapment?

Australian dramatic literature of the 1950s and 1960s heralded a new wave in theatre and canonised a unique Australian identity on local and international stages. In previous decades, Australian theatre had been abound with the mythology of the wide brown land and the outback hero. This rural setting proved remote to audiences and sat uneasily within the conventions of the naturalist theatre. It was the suburban home that provided the back drop for this postwar evolution in Australian drama. While there were a number of factors that contributed to this watershed in Australian theatre, little has been written about how the spatial context may have influenced this movement. With the combined effects of postwar urbanization and shifting ideologies around domesticity, a new literary landscape had been created for playwrights to explore. Australian playwrights such as Dorothy Hewett, Ray Lawler and David Williamson transcended the outback hero by relocating him inside the postwar home. The Australian home of the 1960s slowly started subscribing to a new aesthetic of continuous living spaces and patios that extended from the exterior to the interior. These mass produced homes employed diluted spatial principles of houses designed by architects, Le Corbusier, Ludwig Mies Van der Rohe and Adolf Loos in the 1920s and 1930s. In writing about Adolf Loos’ architecture, Beatriz Colomina described the “house as a stage for the family theatre”. She also wrote that the inhabitants of Loos’ houses were “both actors and spectators of the family scene involved”. It has not been investigated as to whether this new capacity to spectate within the home was a catalyst for playwrights to reflect upon, and translate the domestic environment to the stage. Audiences were also accustomed to being spectators of domesticity and could relate to the representations of home in the theatre. Additionally, the domestic setting provided a space for gender discourse; a space in which contestations of masculine and feminine identities could be played out. This research investigates whether spectating within the domestic setting contributed to the revolution in Australian dramatic literature of the 1950s and 1960s. The concept of the spectator in domesticity is underpinned by the work of Beatriz Colomina and Mark Wigley. An understanding of how playwrights may have been influenced by spectatorship within the home is ascertained through interviews and biographical research. The paper explores playwrights’ own domestic experiences and those that have influenced the plays they wrote and endeavours to determine whether seeing into the home played a vital role in canonising the Australian identity on the stage.

Writing and the disappearance of architecture theory

One of the first architects to write a book was Vitruvius, the Roman architect who published De Architectura in the 1st century BC, a book that would become the foundation for Western Architectural Thought. When I was an undergraduate, the history of architecture was taught via a series of books by architects that were at least, if not more significant than the buildings. From De Architectura to Alberti’s rejoinder De re aedificatoria (On the Art of Building) in the fifteenth century, Palladio’s Quattro Libri (The Four Books of Architecture) 1570, and Laugier’s Essai sur l'Architecture 1753. In the 1990s, we treasured the heroic architecture books of the 20th century from Le Corbusier, Vers une Architecture, to Aldo Rossi’s the Architecture of the City, Rem Koolhaas’s Delirious New York, and of course Robert Venturi’s Learning from Las Vegas which for me was the very starting point for the postmodern movement.