Morgan. 25. she/her. Mostly my ramblings and reflections on art, architecture, and creative spaces in conversation with politics, planning, and their collective impact on how we interact with one another.
In defense of Brutalism: An appeal for 21st century revival
Coming into prominence during the reconstruction period following the Second World War, the architecture movement widely known as Brutalism was born out of a need for affordable and functional construction in Europe. Rebuilding efforts in Europe were influenced by socialism and embraced the ideals of utilitarianism, austerity, and low cost. Brutalism, not only holding to those ideals, also stems from the already existing Modern architecture movement, where functionalism is favored to form, and minimalism is preferred to heavily ornamental designs. It remained a popular architectural style in the mid-20th century, lasting until the late 1970s.
Recognizable by – and quite literally defined by – the raw materials and structural elements of construction, the term “Brutalism” is derived from the French phrase “béton brut,” meaning “raw concrete,” a nod to the exaggerated and exposed concrete which is signature to all Brutalist buildings. The phrase was made popular by Brutalist pioneer, architect Le Corbusier. By highlighting the building material’s structural elements as integral parts of the design, Brutalist architects created visually harsh edifices that render power. Beyond that, other characteristics of the movement are strong cubic form, deep set windows, top-heavy designs, and the monochromatic tones. Using cast concrete lends itself to geometric, repetitive designs, creating a rational, robust style. It was not the explicit intent of Brutalist architects to create foreboding structures, but the powerful and weighty buildings that emerged from these principles of design cannot be viewed passively by a visitor. Because of this, Brutalism often evokes visceral reactions of either admiration or frustration.
Unité d'habitation, Marsielle, France
Designed by Le Corbusier
Beyond the physical elements of Brutalist architecture, there are the social and political philosophies behind it. Though this architectural movement was not backed by a specific school of artists or thought, Brutalism was used by architects to create a social narrative and conversation about habitation ethics. There was “a growing desire amongst architects, urban designers and planners to restore human scale in cities and honesty of materials in the construction of buildings; in other words, they wished to combine social and architectural considerations”, prioritizing ethic over aesthetic.
1950s American architecture had become dominated by homogenous sleek and non-decorative buildings, an aesthetic referred to as the "International Style". Originally revered as the look of modernity, International Style buildings were alienating, boring, and unappealing. They became symbolic of corporate culture conformity and did not relate to each other or the space around them in a way that created desirable, socially integrated spaces. The pursuit of a solution to this “human and architectural crisis” that emerged allowed the space for Brutalism to thrive in the U.S.
Architects and thinkers like American Paul Rudolph saw Brutalism as a way to positively impact people’s lives and outlook. The 1960s gave rise to a more humanist-centered architectural approach, pivoting from the monotonous, unexpressive International Style in favor of irregular, monumental, and futuristic silhouettes offered by Brutalism. At the same time, the progressive leadership of President John F. Kennedy and the Great Society agenda developed under Lyndon B. Johnson left the ideal opening for Brutalism to take hold. A period of growth for the U.S. coincided with the rise of Brutalism and “at a moment when the United States was enjoying great prosperity and political influence, Brutalism’s large-scale monumentality answered the desires of political authorities to give architectural expression to their Great Society ambitions." Brutalist style precisely captured the dignity, stability, economic confidence, and desire for a strong public sector that the United States was striving for. It also embodied a rebellion against the cookie-cutter, commercial homogeny of the suburbs and disdain for bureaucratic faultiness.
Boston City Hall, Boston, MA
Designed by Micheal McKinnell and Gerhard Kallmann
Washington D.C. Metro
Designed by Harry Weese
Peaking in the United States in the 1960s and 1970s, Brutalist architecture began to fall out of favor, eventually becoming what is arguably one of the most contested modern architecture movements across the globe, specifically in the U.S. As recent as 2020 under the Trump Administration, an executive order was passed prohibiting further construction of Federal buildings in anything but “beautiful” classic architecture. The order explicitly called out the Brutalist style as one of bad taste, saying that "since the mid-20th century, Modernist mandarins controlling government architecture have been forcing ugly designs upon us." The order goes on to say that “new Federal building designs should, like America’s beloved landmark buildings, uplift and beautify public spaces, inspire the human spirit, ennoble the United States, command respect from the general public, and, as appropriate, respect the architectural heritage of a region." The commentary in former President Trump’s executive order evokes another reason for the Brutalist downfall – the association with communist Russia, as the Brutalist style was used in ultimately failed Soviet public housing and that of other communist countries following WWII.
The style was also the choice of private developers hoping to use unique Brutalist housing to replace neglected urban neighborhoods in cities like Boston and Washington D.C. to entice wealthier, white residents to remain in the city instead of moving to the suburbs, the migration referred to as “white flight” in the 1960s. But the resulting "urban renewal" efforts in American cities proved just as unsatisfactory as those in Soviet Russia, if not downright malicious. By clearing out urban "slums" and tearing down the existing housing, urban planners displaced communities and culture, only to replace them with experimental Brutalist housing complexes they had no intention of maintaining.
Stevenson Commons in the Bronx, New York, NY
Brutalism in United States cities was the epitome of architecture and urban planning centered on aesthetics without the ethics – the opposite of Brutalism’s original aims. It inevitably led to devastating effects on communities and a nearly universal sentiment that Brutalism had failed to appeal and meet the needs of people. By totally neglecting and skewing the original intentions of the design, "social, political, and economic elites used Brutalism to write power and privilege onto urban landscapes in an effort to redraw the boundaries of American democracy” to favor themselves and further disrupt marginalized populations.
There is poignant irony in this being the way Brutalism was implemented in the U.S., given that the intention of the style was to symbolize optimism, equity, and aspiration, not paranoia and exploitation. Possibly because of Brutalism’s decentralized ideology, over time “its function as a means for the demonstration of hierarchies of power changing. Once conceived of as a language of form designed to articulate ideas and practices of equality and inclusion, it was increasingly reinterpreted as a way of inscribing elite power and privilege into urban space." This shift was exceptionally significant and highlighted in the United States.
Situations like this playing out in U.S. cities were used as neoliberal arguments against public housing. "Step outside in the worst estates and you're confronted by concrete slabs dropped from on high, brutal high-rise towers and dark alleyways that are a gift to criminals and drug dealers." This solidified the public’s connotation of Brutalism as a symbol of urban decay, and overreaching public sector, and totalitarianism.
The Brutalist experiment also proved to be a fundamental failure in branding. Despite efforts to rebrand with phrasing such as “heroic”, to strike a less intimidating tone, Brutalism has remained the dominant idiom, often misconstrued as a reference to the severe look and impact of the buildings and not the French origins of the word. It was very easy to blame the before mentioned issues on a structure and style that had “bad” connotations, which had effectively gone out of style, rather than admit the failure of urban planning.
Geisel Library (University of California, San Diego), San Diego, CA
Designed by William Pereira
Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, NY
Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright
If the founding principles and purposes of Brutalism are adhered to, the architectural style presents a great deal of potential to serve as a vehicle for community building and affordable, equitable housing in urban regions. The failings of Brutalism are superimposed on the style, results of racist and careless planning combined with meager upkeep. The structures and designs themselves are not to blame for the crime and substandard conditions that plagued them. More accurately the management of the buildings and deliberate neglect of them lead the Brutalism’s shortcomings and the demolition of many Brutalist buildings from this period.
Successful implementation of the intended Brutalist ideals in future housing projects, as well as the protection of current buildings will undoubtedly prove to be beneficial moving forward. First, concrete remains a valuable material for construction. Shape and form that are not possible with traditional wood or steel framing is possible, allowing architects to act as artists, pushing the boundaries of what buildings are expected to look like. Though cement – the primary ingredient in concrete – creates carbon dioxide in production, concrete can reduce the energy needed for heating and cooling by retaining heat in the winter and keeping cool in the summer. Cast concrete remains versatile and affordable, and the previous mistakes of Brutalism can be more effectively mitigated, so that construction can be efficient but still produce refreshing, creative, and community-centered structures.
Second, as we move into a new political and social era, the Brutalist architecture of a historic period where the public sphere was prioritized could have legitimate appeal. Through its ethics and aesthetics, Brutalism reflects a time a great hope and represents honesty, idealism, and hubris. The buildings have "visual sensibility combined with a desire for good social planning and an honest expression of materiality, construction and refined detailing. [They are] ‘uncompromising, pioneering, forward-looking and expressed modernity.'"
Lastly, there are examples of current Brutalist buildings that have been hailed as beloved structures by the public, and effectively revived via creative methodology and upkeep. For example, the Hirshhorn Museum shows how the use of color and light displays on the typically bleak, monochromatic walls of a Brutalist building can draw attention and eventually affection from visitors.
Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, D.C.
Designed by Gordon Bunshaft
Our culture today is perhaps more hyper-consumerist, convenience-driven, and commercialized than it was in the 1960s and 1970s when Brutalism made its claim in the American urban landscape. I believe that now, more than ever, the intentional, stimulating, and unique design of Brutalist architecture is needed to re-humanize structures and community spaces. Returning to the origins of the Brutalist counterculture, the holistic construction method and visual features can draw residents in, provide perspective, inspiration, and a sense of camaraderie could prove a solution to modern urban planning challenges.
And though visually Brutalist buildings do not evoke the same immediate associations with “democratic ideals” as Greco-Roman styles, the grandiosity, audaciousness, and sublime greatness of Brutalism ultimately demonstrates the same heroic narrative of a strong democratic nation. When evaluated through the lens of ethics, correctly executed Brutalist architecture is forward looking to modernity where urban landscapes are not built homogeneously and lazily, but with intention and relatability. As an editorial writer for the Washington Post puts it, "while glass buildings seem transient, Brutalist buildings seem to know they will outlast us. To stand in front of one is to be humbled, to be confronted by a chunk of eternity. That can be comforting — or disconcerting; I choose to view it as a comfort." Using the pragmatic construction and preservation of Brutalist architecture, I believe it is both possible and necessary to create utilitarian housing and urban structures that can withstand the test of time in both ethics and aesthetic — it might just take a little reframing.
Read more:
President Trump upset the architectural world in February when he proposed an executive order mandating traditional, classical architecture
Powerful, imposing structures with an unpretentious and unapologetic aesthetic, yet standing out for their bold individuality, brutalist bui
Acta Academica is an accredited, open access South African journal dedicated to scholarship in the humanities. The journal publishes indepen
Barbara A. Campagna, Redefining Brutalism, APT Bulletin: The Journal of Preservation Technology, Vol. 51, No. 1, Special Issue: The Next Fif
Walking around Washington, DC, you might notice several large federal buildings made of concrete with little to no ornamentation. These buil
The former American Motors headquarters in Detroit.
Oddly enough, this was a tax foreclosure auction property in 2015 – when the once 1.4-million square foot structure sold for $500, briefly. The sale never went through, and the property was transferred to the Wayne County Land Bank.
Last year, the site was included in a land swap that brought it to the city of Detroit, where it’s slated for redevelopment. Hopefully that’ll be a boon the the neighborhood immediately to the east of the site, which has dealt with scrappers, vandals, and the attendant issues of a 1.4 million square foot building sitting vacant and unwatched nearby their homes.
The past eight and a half months have been tumultuous to say the least — dare I say, unprecedented. I have certainly had a lot to grapple with this year, trying to navigate the pandemic, reckonings with race in America, the political landscape approaching the elections, natural disasters, and personal (so far, often failed) attempts to keep my mental health in check and sustain healthy relationships with others. That being just the tip of the iceberg, I know for a fact I am not alone in feeling weighted down by 2020.
The chaos of this year has shed a new light on one of my lesser favorite art movements/styles. As someone who loves art history, deciphering the metaphors, symbolism, and meaning behind all kinds of art, Minimalism always frustrated, and to be honest, bored me. That’s not to say I didn’t respect it as art, I just didn’t get the point of making something void of meaning. It was outwardly unrelatable.
‘Untitled’, Donald Judd, 1980, concrete
‘Lament for the Children’, Carl Andre, 1976-1996, concrete blocks
Minimalism developed in the early 1960s as a counter-movement to Abstract Expressionism. It was a deliberate renunciation of the hyper-emotive artwork in favor of anonymity, lack of expression, and a reduction of art into its most basic shape, form, and material. Minimalist art does not try to represent anything other than itself, and when everything around you is chaotic and difficult to process, this offers more solace than I had previously appreciated.
‘The Diagonal of May 25, 1963 (to Constantin Brancusi)’, Dan Flavin, 1963, fluorescent light and metal fixtures
‘Cube Structure Based on Five Modules’, Sol LeWitt, 1975, acrylic on wood
The simple geometric shapes and perfect linework conjures feelings of control, balance, and harmony — all things that feel especially out of reach in the current moment. Minimalist art uses color and material with no underlying meaning. Often Minimalist art is sculptural, built from factory manufactured shop materials — raw and straightforward. When these works are placed in galleries, they are frequently displayed in ways that forces viewers to become more aware of the space surrounding them. To look at something made with intentional lack of emotion and narrative other than a heightened sense of awareness feels like a breath of fresh air.
‘Circles’, Sol LeWitt, 1973, lithograph
‘The Marriage of Reason and Squalor, II’, Frank Stella, 1959, enamel on canvas
It’s no new phenomenon that we experience art in relation to our own experiences and feelings, but at this point in our collective lives I feel as though Minimalism offers a refreshing escape. Whether it be visiting your local gallery (adorned with masks and strapped with sanitizer), finding archives or posts online, or creating yourself, Minimalism can provide some of the simplicity and structure that is lacking. Minimalist art does not project a feeling onto the viewer, the only thing it asks is that you are aware of the space around you, of shape and form and structure. Looking at Minimalist art is like a meditation for me, and I hope that upon reading this you can view it in a more cognizant way as well.
‘Happy Holiday’, Agnes Martin, 1999, acrylic paint and graphite on canvas
‘Untitled’, Robert Morris, 1965, reconstructed 1971, mirror glass and wood