The Sketchbooks of Le Corbusier

THE SKETCHBOOKS OF LE CORBUSIER

Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts/Cambridge

(Orig­i­nally published in Art New England, Volume III Number 1, December 1981.)

The publi­cation of the sketch­books of Le Corbusier (1887 – 1965) allows us to get inside the mind of one of the greatest archi­tects of our century and to witness the growth of his archi­tec­tural forms. Lucidly orga­nized by William Curtis and designed by Roger Brandenberg-Horn, Frag­ments of Invention cele­brates the bringing to light of more than seventy sketch­books, which the architect used to carry in his pockets at all times to record his impres­sions and ideas.

Eight of these worn, hand-sized, spiral carnets de poche, bound in card­board and numbered by Le Corbusier late in his life, are opened to show his intense, trans­parent drawings. They reveal the fierce concen­tration of Le Corbusier’s thought and his pure, sure line. These reve­la­tions are echoed in several photographs of the architect drawing, which show the intense furrow of his brow and the absolute authority of his hand. Enlarge­ments of pages from other sketch­books, photographs of the architect and his archi­tecture, working drawings, and other works on paper elucidate the movement of his thought.

We see a meta­mor­phosis occur from the lyrical curves of hills by the sea on a voyage to Rio de Janeiro, the prow of a boat, sensual folds of the robes of Algerian women, and seashells, to the roof of the chapel at Ronchamp. Repeated images of a bull’s horns and his own open hand are trans­posed through sketches of oxen and the wheel of an oxcart seen in India and the powerful shape and bril­liant adap­tation of the lighting system at Chandigarh. Even the first glim­merings of an idea project a striking spatial placement of the drawing on the page and determine the choice of colored pencil or crayon. Undu­la­tions of land­scapes, dreams of viaducts, a sphinx among the pyramids, Mount Fuji, drawings of his dying wife’s last hours, images of his own feet and the heads of birds all filter through his genius to reemerge as archi­tec­tural form.

One of the sketch­books is open to show his first drawings for the Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, Le Corbusier’s only building in America. It is thrilling to stand at the center of his realized creation and see its conception in this tiny sketch. The ramp in the sketchbook is a yellow line, a pure idea creating space. Looking up, we see through a glass wall the undu­lating ramp itself cutting through and creating the space of the Carpenter Center. Our ideas of archi­tec­tural space are chal­lenged and trans­formed as the ramp moves with the motive force of an idea made form.

Notes on this sketch include the word expo­sition. The ramp leads to an exhi­bition space, a harmo­nious complexity of planes of polished concrete, wood, and glass riveted by concrete columns, called pilotis, which describe a three-dimensional grid throughout the building. Planes of glass at times reflect the room like a wall of mirrors, extending the space, which is lit up at night to give an inside-out view of the exhibitions.

I’m fortunate to have this marvelous space,” says Roger Brandenberg-Horn, curator of exhi­bi­tions at the Carpenter Center, who has designed and installed over a hundred shows there since 1968. He has inter­preted the space as the field or labo­ratory for his own inven­tions. Concen­trating on color, light, and the propor­tions and placement of exhi­bition furniture of panels, plat­forms, and cases of his own design, he has created an aston­ishing variety of moods, textures, and delin­eations of space within this space.

Brandenberg-Horn rarely uses his model of the exhi­bition space and never makes drawings before beginning to design. He prefers to work intu­itively, at full scale, at human scale, as Le Corbusier envi­sioned. “My mind is the space,” he affirms.

To show the musical nota­tions of John Cage and other abstract composers, Brandenberg-Horn made the room seem dense and cerebral in black and white by building extra columns and wrapping the nota­tions around them. The random notes of continuous elec­tronic music were echoed in the movement of visitors disap­pearing and reap­pearing in a forest of pilotis. For Wedding, a docu­mentary photo­graphic exhi­bition authored by Barbara Norfleet showing two hundred years of American wedding portraits from obscure studios, he painted the room yellow. The photographs were hung on a white ribbon of panels flowing through the space, made light and airy by pathways of white lattice screens. An enormous wedding cake construction with a column at its center, on which were hung portraits of seven gener­a­tions of brides in the same wedding dress, made the whole room spiral and curl out.

To show Le Corbusier’s drawings and plans for a mass housing project at Pessac in the South of France, he made the space seem enormous by placing titled card­board podiums, painted in different colors on each side, on a diagonal grid. He chose orange, gray-green, yellow, and pale blue, based on the architect’s own paintings and prints. “Le Corbusier was not a hard-edged purist,” he says.

This instal­lation recreated the feeling of dynamic order and movement that made Pessac great. For Frag­ments of Invention Brandenberg-Horn painted the walls and panels earthy pink and gray. He placed the note­books at the spine of the exhi­bition, spatially anal­ogous to the spirals binding the sketch­books together. The ribbon of text, photographs, and related works on paper flows along two walls then breaks into panels like the pages of a book flipping open. The awesome little sketch­books, the portraits of the architect at work, and the text are brought together, lifting us up to follow his transformations. The instal­lation, intimate as a book and spatially complex as archi­tecture, gives us the sense of images folding and unfolding, with the pure, expansive movement of ideas taking form, taking flight.

Frag­ments of Invention shows us how Le Corbusier created his own myth through the organic gener­ation of forms. His genius constantly renewed itself, pulling new phenomena into the orbit of his thought and recre­ating them in the purified, monu­mental yet human forms of his architecture.

by Rebecca Nemser for rebeccanemser.com

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