Though this littlc piecc, particularly in its discussion o f Cubism, has been painful t o me since before the day of its publication, i t has here been allowed to stand substantially a published. Though a present day rehearsal s of its arguments in which I s t i l l believe would surely employ a profoundly different strategy, because this article has long enjoyed a certain notoriety I can see no way o f correcting i t s obscurities and maintaining i t s sense. Today the art historical discussion o f Mannerism has achieved levels o f sophistication and detachment which c. There are still two bodies o f information- the one art historical, the other modern architectural-and the possibilities o f their convergence in a work o f rational exegesis still remain remote. Sincc the writing o f this article the initiatives o f Robert Venturi have, to some extent, illuminated the situation.
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Colin Rowe applies the conception of Mannerism to the architecture of the Modern Movement Originally published in AR May , this piece was republished online in March The term Mannerism cannot yet be said to have become a necessary part of the vocabulary of every educated man or woman, but it should not be assumed that its uses are limited to those of a plaything for art historians. But how precisely did the term arise, and what does it mean? Basically this art was cold, perverse, intricate and intellectualized; more superficially it was consciously imitative of the manner of Michelangelo - and hence the term Mannerism.
In applying it to the architecture of the Modern Movement Colin Rowe breaks completely new ground - and turns a number of stones which have been hiding other things than some people thought. The villa built by Le Corbusier at La Chaux-de-Fonds, his first considerable work to be realized, in spite of its great merits and obvious historical importance, finds no place in the collection of the Oeuvre Complete.
This building, in a sense, is out of key with his later works, and by its inclusion, the didactic emphasis of the collection might have been impaired; but the omission is all the more unfortunate, in that six years later, the design was still found sufficiently serious to be published as an exemplar of proportion and monumentality.
The house is of nearly symmetrical form, and in spite of a general lightness deriving from its concrete frame, its conventional character is fairly emphatic. The principal block is supported by flanking wings; and a central hall, rising through two storeys and crossed by a subsidiary axis, establishes for the plan a simple, balanced, and basically cruciform scheme. Externally the appearance of these same characteristics of restrained movement and rational elegance seems to invite appreciation in Neo-Classical terms.
Thus the elliptical windows are part of the stock furniture of French academic architecture; and while the lack of ornament with the simplified cornices suggests the influence of Garnier, and the expression of the concrete frame in the flanking walls indicates an obvious debt to Auguste Perret, the building as a whole, compact, coherent and precise, is an organization which the late eighteenth century could have relished, and a work towards which a Ledoux, if not a Gabriel, might have found himself sympathetic.
But the fourth and entrance elevation presents quite distinct problems of appreciation. Behind its wall, the presence of a staircase continued to the second floor has led to an increase in height, which somewhat detaches this part of the building from the rest; and this elevation affects a severe and obvious distinction from the mass behind, with which on superficial examination it seems, indeed scarcely to be related.
Its succinct, angular qualities are foreign to the curvilinear arrangements of the block, and its inclusive, rectilinear, self-sufficient form seems to deny the type of pyramidal composition, which reveals itself from the garden. The flat vertical surface of the two upper floors is divided into three panels. The outer ones, narrow and vertical, are pierced by elliptical lunettes, while the central one, elaborately framed, comprises an unrelieved blank, white surface.
The low walls, screening service rooms and terrace, are curved inwards rising towards it; two entrance doors prepare the duality to be resolved; the projecting marquise with its supporting columns completes the isolation of the upper wall, where the composition is to be focused; the emphatic elliptical windows in the outer panels increase the demand for a dominant; and with the mind baffled by so elaborately conceived an ambiguity, the eye comes to rest on the immaculate rectangle and incisive detail of its brick frame.
Its mouldings are of extreme finesse, lucid and complex; the slightly curved window reveals are of considerable suavity: the contrast of wall above and below the canopy is permanently exciting; the sharp and dogmatic change of texture refreshes and soothes; but the blank surface is both a disturbance and a delight.
The masses and the modelling impel the eye towards it, but it is the activity of emptiness, which the intellect is called upon to enjoy. Distinct and deliberate, drawing attention to itself, and yet without apparent content, at once distributing attention over the rest of the house; by its conclusiveness the whole building gains significance; but by its emptiness it is, at the same time, the problem in terms of which the whole building is stated.
Thus, as an apparent outcome of its systematically opposite values, there issue a whole series of disturbances, of which it is both centre and periphery.
Behind the panel lies the staircase, the lighting o f which can only be impaired, and one must assume that an architect as apt as Le Corbusier, could, had he wished, have chosen some alternative and functionally more satisfactory organization; while even if it were to be supposed improbable as it appears that the frame was intended, to receive some fresco or inscription it is still a motif sufficiently abnormal and recondite to stimulate curiosity and encourage a hunt for possible parallels.
The most probable and certainly the most rewarding field of investigation seems to be Italian; not that with Le Corbusier any direct allusion could be expected, but that in general terms he so frequently appears to be descended from the architectural traditions of Renaissance humanism. In such more frequent sequences from the sixteenth century, panels and windows acquire almost equal significance. This quality must have given considerable pleasure to the generation of architects subsequent to Bramante; and in the pages of Serlio, for instance, panels occur in an almost embarrassing profusion.
Sometimes they are to be found in the typical alternation, or on other occasions absorbing entire wall surfaces; in elongated form they are used to intersect two whole ranges of windows, or they may appear as the crowning motif of a triumphal arch or Venetian palace.
In some cases he has groups of windows arranged on either side of this reduced but evocative form of central emphasis; but it also seems likely that in only two instances does the panel make a central appearance within an elevation so restricted as that at La Chaux-de-Fonds. Unlike the conventional triumphal arches of antiquity, in this instance a developed Corinthian superstructure is included; and although on the ground floor the two functions of the loggia as part of a house and as part of a triumphal arch are closely integrated, in itself the arch is even more intimately related to the panel formed by the Corinthian pilasters above.
The breaking forward of the Ionic entablature about the arch provides a direct vertical movement through the two orders, emphasizing their interdependence, so that the panel retains the focus developed by the arch below, but seems otherwise to read as an intrusion projected upwards into the piano nobile. It need scarcely be pointed out that we are here in the presence of a formal ambiguity of the same order as that which Le Corbusier was to provide in ; although in lucid, academic dress, the disturbance is less perceptible and perhaps more complete.
Unlike Palladio, his two elements of focus, the void of the entrance below, and the solid of the panel above, are not placed in direct relationship; but each, as the dominant interest in strongly contrasted stone and brick surfaces, appears set within an arrangement of incident, which, both diminishes and accentuates its importance.
Two triangles of interest are established. That below is formed by the three tablets with their reliefs of mathematical instruments, and has as its apex an heraldic cartouche. That above is organized by windows and niches about the central panel, in this case, as in the Palladio house, intended to receive a painting.
The composition of the lower wall is framed by rusticated pilasters, which seem to restrict its detail between quite rigid boundaries; but these pilasters receive no downward transmission of weight. Two advanced surfaces in the upper storey carry a form of triglyph or bracket, which seems to suggest for them a function of support; but they are displaced by niches from the position above the pilasters, which reasonably they might be expected to occupy; while the insertion within them of elaborately framed windows invalidates still further their apparent function.
The niches in themselves, on first examination, seem to expand the interest of the upper wall and create there the appearance of an organization as open, as that of the wall below is compressed; but, within this organization, it becomes clear that the different elements-niches, windows and panel-are crushed in the harshest juxtaposition, so that on second analysis, the contrast compels one to attribute to the supposedly compressed basement an almost classical directness and ease.
The complexities and repercussions which such schemes provoke are endless and almost indefinable, but patience perhaps exhausts itself in the explanation. The two examples from the sixteenth century are characteristic late Mannerist schemes, the most apt registers of that universal malaise, which in the arts, while retaining the externals of classical correctness, was obliged at the same time to disrupt the inner core of classical coherence.
In so-called academic, or frankly derivative architecture, the recurrence in of a form of composition, which at first glance appears intrinsically Mannerist, need perhaps cause no undue surprise; but, occurring as it does, in the main stream of the modern movement, it is remarkable that this motif at La Chaux-de-Fonds should not have aroused more curiosity.
Such a correspondence may be purely fortuitous or it may be of some deeper significance. Such discussion must obviously lie beyond the scope of this present essay, which for a frame of reference relies to a great extent on the article and lecture already cited. In the most general terms, works produced between the years and are to be considered Mannerist, and it is hoped that the particular analysis of two sixteenth century schemes has provided some illustration of types of ambiguity that are characteristic.
An unavoidable state of mind, and not a mere desire to break rules, sixteenth century Mannerism appears to consist in the deliberate inversion of the classical High Renaissance norm as established by Bramante, to include the very human desire to impair perfection when once it has been achieved; and to represent, too, a collapse of confidence in the theoretical programmes of the earlier Renaissance, which it is able neither to abandon nor to affirm. As a state of inhibition, it is essentially dependent on the awareness of a preexisting order: as an attitude of dissent, it demands an orthodoxy within whose framework it might be heretical.
Clearly, if as the analysis of the villa at La Chaux-de-Fonds suggests, modern architecture may contain elements analogous to Mannerism, it becomes essential to find for it some corresponding frame of reference, some pedigree, within which it might occupy an analogous position.
Among sources for the modern movement, the characteristic nineteenth century demand for structural integrity has rightly received greatest emphasis. Dependent to some extent on the technical innovations of industrialism, this demand was unexpectedly reinforced by the Revivalists, both Gothic and Greek; and it was they who transformed its original rational basis and imbued this structural impulse with a dynamic emotional and moral content.
In this possibly fallacious form, the structural tradition has remained one of the most crude, indiscriminate, and magnificently effective forces which we have inherited from the nineteenth century. But it remains apparent that a system of architecture cannot enjoy a purely material basis, and that some conception of form must play an equal and opposite role.
Although formal derivations for the modern movement often seem to impose too great a strain on the imagination, at a time no more remote than the later nineteenth century, it is noticeable that advanced architecture from the seventies onwards belongs to one of two discernible patterns. The programme of the first is certainly closest to our sympathy, and its outlines clearest in our minds. It was the heroic process of simplification, representing an intense and consistent aesthetic effort, the direct assault upon nineteenth century pastiche of a Philip Webb, a Richardson or a Berlage, and it would seem that the central tradition of modern architecture does proceed from the personal conflict, which such individuals experienced between the authorities of training and reason.
Obedience to the nature of materials, to the laws of structure, consecrated by the theorists of the Gothic Revival and everywhere recognizable in the products of contemporary engineering, seemed to offer an alternative to purely casual picturesque effects; and from within such a framework, it was felt that an architecture of objective significance might be generated. For architects of this school an inevitable tension is clearly experienced between a pictorial education and the more purely intellectual demands which a structural idealism imposes.
Trained in pictorial method, but insisting on an architecture regulated by other than visual laws, their forms frequently bear all the marks of the battleground from which they had emerged. The alternative tendency apparently owes nothing to this dialectic; but equally concerned with the rational solution of the mid-nineteenth century impasse, it found in physical attractiveness its architectural ideal. From an analysis of function, there emerges a discipline of the plan; and from the impressions of a visual survey, that research into architectural composition which has engrossed so many subsequent theorists.
Thus we find Norman Shaw is able to support late Gothic effects of mass with detail from the school of Wren; and concerned chiefly with broad effects of movement, mass, silhouette and relationship, architecture is valued more completely as a source of visual stimuli. For the first school, architecture still possessed a certain moral quality, among its purposes was that of imparting a truth; for the second its significance was more exclusively aesthetic, its purpose was to convey a sensation.
The architects of this second school saw the possibilities of a rational manner to lie in the expression of the sensuous content common to all phases of art, and in this emphasis they are perhaps more typical of the late nineteenth century.
For although in intention the architecture of the early nineteenth century was romantic, pictorial and literary; in practice, particularly through its Neo-Classical exponents who have with justice been interpreted as the legatees of the Renaissance tradition, it inherited a good deal of earlier academic thought. Just as the Renaissance, in opposition to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, conceives Nature as the ideal form of any species, a mathematical and Platonic absolute, whose triumph over matter it is the purpose of art to assist; so in painting it seeks an infallibility of form.
The artistic process is not the impressionist record of the thing seen, but rather the informing of observation by a philosophical idea.
In its architecture, imagination and the senses function within a corresponding scheme, proportion is the result of scientific deduction, and form by these means becoming a visual aspect of knowledge, typifies a moral state, acquiring the independent right to existence, apart from the sensuous pleasure which it might possibly convey. It was not until the later eighteenth century that with Romanticism and the empirical philosophy of the Enlightenment, there emerged their corollary, the direct pictorial approach to architecture, and its evaluation according to impact on the eye.
Eclecticism and an individual sensibility emerged as necessary products; and personal liberty was as effectively proclaimed for the world of forms, as in it was asserted for the political sphere. Thus in architecture the Romantic forms and their sensational implications are codified. While the earlier phase had been sensible of literary and archeological overtones for the later these suggestions tend to be discounted.
An eclectic research into elements and principles of architecture arises, which is distinguished from the analyses of the Renaissance theorists by its exclusively functional and visual frames of reference. The development of the idea of architectural composition might be cited as typical of these generalizations. The conception of architectural composition was never during the Renaissance successfully isolated, and while Reynolds and Soane were alive to the scenic possibilities of architecture, architectural composition as such does not play a large part in their lectures.
A developed literature upon the subject is of comparatively recent growth; and as representing the co-ordination of a subjective point of view; the idea seems to be characteristic of the later nineteenth century.
Apart from an expressed antagonism to the exponents of the late nineteenth century, modern architects have still not clarified their relationship to its ideas. Although these ideas now usually called academic have never been effectively replaced, modern architects generally have expressed a decisive but undefined hostility towards them.
But mere reaction from a system of ideas is scarcely sufficient to eradicate that system and it is more than probable that in the sense of providing a matrix, the attitudes of late nineteenth century analysts were historically effective in the evolution of the modern movement. It is a defect of the pictorial approach, taking account chiefly of masses and relationships in their effect upon the eye, that frequently the object itself and its detail suffer a devaluation. Subjected exclusively to the laws of human sensation, it is seen in an impressionist manner, and its inner substance, whether material or formal, remains undeveloped.
It is a defect of a universalized eclecticism that it must inevitably involve a failure to comprehend both historical and individual personality. Its theorists perceive a visual common denominator of form, but are unable to allow the non-visual distinctions of content; indisposed to permit the internal individuality of particular styles, but affirming the idea of stylistic reminiscence, the late nineteenth century academy destroys the logic of the historical process, while insisting on the value of historical precept.
By all-inclusive tolerance history is neutralized, and eclecticism, which as a principle demands a fundamental prejudice, is seriously weakened. The specialized eclecticism of the early Romantics no longer convinces, and the reduced effects of the eclectic method are rationalized in order to support a more abstract investigation of sensuous properties in mass and proportion.
Thus almost by negative action a most powerful solvent of revivalism is provided; and in advanced circles, by the early twentieth century, with the identity of the past destroyed and revivalist motifs reduced to mere suggestion, there is in general circulation a developed and systematic theory of the effects of architecture upon the eye.
With this conception the Art Nouveau, the more expressionist schools of contemporary architecture, and the current of Neo-Georgian taste could certainly be associated, and in their direct sensory appeal, those Mendelsohn sketches representing film studios, sacred buildings, observatories and motor-car chassis factories, might be considered a logical conclusion of the idea of architecture as pictorial composition. Schemes of Gropius have suggested a descent from the same sources; but it should be noticed that this early twentieth century admiration for.
Neo-Classicism was not exclusive to the modern movement, for so many commercial palaces and domestic monuments betray the same affinity. In these buildings although attempts are made to enforce classical detail, the necessarily increased scale or elaborated function leads either to inflation or a too discreet suggestiveness; and it is in reproducing the blocking, the outline, the compositional elements that greatest success seems to have been experienced.
The Edwardian Baroque in fact offers admirable examples of the impressionist eye brought to bear upon the remnants of the classical tradition, and outside the strictly academic limits we find architects functioning within the structural tradition whose point of view remains decisively impressionist.
With the early Gropius a compositional norm rather broadly derived from Neo-Classicism is actively balanced by the promptings of a mechanized structure.
The buildings of Perret, Behrens, Adolf Loos, to name architects illustrated by Professor Pevsner in his Pioneers of Modern Design, are not naive, nor primitive; they are evidently precursors of the later development.
But comparing for instance the Adolf Loos house of at Vienna with any typical production of the twenties, it becomes clear that there are differences of formal ideal, which neither nationality, nor the temperament of the architect, nor technical innovation, nor the maturing of an idea, can fully explain. Such is certainly not the case with the villa at La Chaux-de-Fonds. The Cubist experiment which can now be seen, not as an arbitrary break with tradition, but as the necessary development of an existing situation, is the single most striking artistic event of the early twentieth century.
Its influence and that of abstract painting in general upon the modern movement in architecture has been consistently emphasized, and its effects are obvious -simplification and intersection, plane as opposed to mass, the realization of prism-like geometrical forms, in fact the developed manner of the modern movement in the twenties.
But it is clear too, that though working with a visual medium, the abstract art of today is working with a not wholly visual purpose, for abstraction presupposes a mental order of which it is the representative. Here it is important to distinguish between its process in the Renaissance and at the present day.
Abstraction occurring in Renaissance art makes reference to a world of ideal forms, asserts what the artist believes to be an objective truth, and typifies what he considers to be the scientific workings of the universe. There is thus in both cases a reluctance merely to report the outward forms of the external world: but, in the one it is related to a world of public, in the other of private, symbolism.
That private symbolism might form a basis for art is clearly a point of view inherited from the subjective attitudes of developed Romanticism; and thus, while on the one hand contemporary painting, in abandoning the impressionist programme, denies the value of sensational schemes which had developed since the eighteenth century; on the other it affirms an attitude derived from closely related sources.
The Mathematics of the Ideal Villa and Other Essays
Colin Rowe applies the conception of Mannerism to the architecture of the Modern Movement Originally published in AR May , this piece was republished online in March The term Mannerism cannot yet be said to have become a necessary part of the vocabulary of every educated man or woman, but it should not be assumed that its uses are limited to those of a plaything for art historians. But how precisely did the term arise, and what does it mean? Basically this art was cold, perverse, intricate and intellectualized; more superficially it was consciously imitative of the manner of Michelangelo - and hence the term Mannerism. In applying it to the architecture of the Modern Movement Colin Rowe breaks completely new ground - and turns a number of stones which have been hiding other things than some people thought. The villa built by Le Corbusier at La Chaux-de-Fonds, his first considerable work to be realized, in spite of its great merits and obvious historical importance, finds no place in the collection of the Oeuvre Complete. This building, in a sense, is out of key with his later works, and by its inclusion, the didactic emphasis of the collection might have been impaired; but the omission is all the more unfortunate, in that six years later, the design was still found sufficiently serious to be published as an exemplar of proportion and monumentality. The house is of nearly symmetrical form, and in spite of a general lightness deriving from its concrete frame, its conventional character is fairly emphatic.
Mannerism and Modern architecture
Collage City was expanded and published as a book in And all these would seem to summarize much of architectural post modernism. This system is established on autonomous grid and heterogeneous fragments. He graduated from Liverpool School of Architecture. This essay is important for his career and his ideas about architecture. He influenced on world architecture and urbanism in the second half of twentieth century. Fred Koetter is British architect and architectural historian.